"It's really coming down now," she says while pouring the tea, staring at the blizzard outside. "Maybe you won't have so many, er, clients."
"Oh, you're wrong there, dearie. Winter's the busiest time of all." He takes the chipped cup from her and sips. "Something about the cold makes everyone more desperate. 'Help, we have no food' and 'Help, Granny's freezing to death.'" A bolt of curiosity jolts him. "What season were you busiest?"
"Before? Oh, spring, I'd say." She hesitates when he extends his arm, motioning for her to take a seat. "That's always when we'd tour the kingdom the most, throw the most balls, lessons included outdoor things again. I'd be doing lessons now, I suppose," she sighs. "You know, my governesses could never find me sometimes."
"No?"
"I'd hide up on the roof sometimes with nothing but a book and an apple," she says, the closest thing to an evil grin that can materialize on her face coming into view.
"So I'll know where to find you should you disappear."
"You needn't worry about that," she says with far more serious a tone. "I understand adult obligations. It's just, when you're a child..."
"You feel trapped," he interrupts, not sure why there is a bite to his tone. "A grand estate with ample room to explore."
"Do you want me to be quiet or do you want me to be honest?" she says with a firmer tone, setting her cup down hard. Never one to shy away from the more interesting choice, he sits up and rests his chin in his hands, knowing she'll pick up on the rapt but sarcastic attention. "I keep myself busy, but there is little to stimulate my mind here. A house like this ought to have a library where the walls are covered in books. I'm not normally one to complain, but you did bring it up." She picks up her teacup and holds it in front of her lips, shielding them.
"Ah. Stimulation. How fired up are you for some variety in your routine?"
"Why?"
"Let's say I have a deal in mind." Her flushed face should mean refusal before she even hears the terms, but he's bargained and negotiated for so long he knows intrigued eyes when he sees them.
"I think there are a great many people who would say I'd have to be mad to make a deal with you," she chuckles and angles her chair so she faces the windows rather than the table.
"Or adventurous. But, no matter," he sings. "I did notice the laundry piling up..."
"What would you offer?"
It's all he can do not to squeal.
"Now we're talking! I have a method to entertain one such as you. Good-deed-doers and all. I've noticed a couple in the village, shoemakers, and they are just about to. Be. Washed. Up."
"That's horrible," she says. "What was your price?"
"I haven't made a deal with them. They won't come to me and I don't seek anyone out. Not sure why they won't. Call it fear..."
"Virtue..."
"Anyway," he growls, "I'm toying with the idea of being...nice. So if they won't come to me, maybe you will on their behalf."
"In exchange for what?" He'd been told over and over, in rather snippy tones, that only simpletons would make deals with him, but he'd found the intelligent just as willing. No one is immune from want, or the kind of fascination that makes people stop in the streets when a carriage has run over someone.
"A garden."
"A garden?"
"Once the weather clears, there is a patch of field out front that could do with some color, don't you think? You see I want to give the occasional traveler a sense of hope and flowers seem to inspire such."
"You mean you want to lift their spirits before you snatch that hope right out from under them."
"What an unromantic way of putting it! I thought I'd pegged you as an idealistic sort. Very well." He stands and sets his cup on the tray himself. "Since you don't want a project that could stimulate that precious mind of yours..."
"Wait." She rolls her eyes as she says it. Goodness, was she ever becoming more fun to watch. "You're going to help complete strangers and give me something more challenging to do?" Pause. Don't overplay your hand, he tells himself. "One condition."
"Let's hear it." This should be rich.
"I get to come with you."
It takes no extra magic to take her with him to the tiny shop in the village. It smells of leather and ash and wood shavings. She glides around the perimeter while he immediately goes to the soles laid out for the next day. Smirking at them, he picks up the scissors.
"What can I do?" she asks.
"I thought you wanted to watch."
"I thought I did, too, but you, you inspired me just a little," she whispers. "How can I help them?"
What the hell helping them had to do with the bigger picture, he neither knows nor cares, but the curse, the curse that will be his masterpiece, requires a dash of altruism, and this is as close as he can come to that.
"I'm sure you'll come up with something." Busybody. Busybody Belle. It sounds like a folksong. "Just remember they're sleeping."
His back is to her, but he can hear her sweeping the floor, the swishing of the broom providing a rhythm for him to work. Sewing by hand—not in years and yet the bones and muscles in his fingers remember. An artisan, a craftsman—hmm, it had once been his identity. Now, working with his hands, with the exception of spinning at his wheel, is a mere novelty.
Belle's humming yanks him back into the present, and he finds it pleasant, but all too soon it and the swishing stop. Turning around in his chair, he catches sight of her on all fours, rump high in the air.
"Lose something?"
"They have a mousetrap under here," she whispers a little louder than before. Careful to not bump her head on the many tools hanging up, she walks over to him. "How many more miles of garden would you add to my work if I asked you to get them a cat? Please?"
"You're a mercenary when you're trying to help!" he scoffs, placing his hand on his heart for emphasis. "You'd suck the magic dry as this village would grow rich overnight!" She snorts and nods, not the reaction he expects, and resumes her sweeping. Raising an eyebrow at her, she responds only with humming the same little ditty as before, her movements a little less structured now, as if dancing. Returning to his work, he wonders if a cat just for the hell of it would add to the altruistic value of it all.
A/N: This chapter and the next one are concurrent.