Barely half an hour after Mrs Potts left Belle picked up her boots, slunk across the floor, and stepped through into the hall. She drew the door close with a soft click, and held her breath for several moments as she waited for a noise from the wardrobe – Madame de Garderobe, she reminded herself. When she was greeted only with silence, Belle relaxed a tad and bent to put the boots on. Straightening up, she drunk in her surroundings; the rich, deep carpets; heavy curtains presumably covering windows which would flood the corridor with light during the day; and the sheer vastness of the space around her – the ceilings stretched so high Belle wondered how they could ever be reasonably dusted. She glanced left and right, making up her mind to double back on what little she remembered of the path the creature had taken her down earlier that night.

She padded slowly down the corridors, carefully drinking in the surroundings. Everything was as opulent as she would have expected from a palace, although she didn't quite dare poke her nose in any of the rooms in case it contained another cursed servant. Belle glanced up towards the still-unlit sconces in the walls, remembering how they had burst into flame around the beastly lady of the castle. There is definitelysome kind of magic going on here, she thought. I don't know how or why, but this isn't just my imagination. There's some kind of powerful spell, or curse, or somethingin the castle – and I'll bet it's got something to do with that creature.

Before long, the corridor Belle was following joined a fork; as the right-hand fork looked as if it contained an actual light source at some point further down, she followed that path. I've had more than enough dimly-lit corridors for one night, she thought. Maybe I can snag a candlestick from downstairs so that I don't have to walk back in the dark. Soon enough she was back at the head of the staircase in the hall. To her surprise, the light she had spotted wasn't from a stationary source, but from a candelabra which was almost at the bottom of the stairs; as Belle's eyes processed what she was seeing, it hopped onto the smooth floor, off the carpet, and hopped towards a side room.

Uneager to be left alone in the darkness, Belle swiftly followed it at a distance, although she was careful to stay on the carpet for as long as possible to try and muffle her footsteps. As the door swung shut behind it, Belle tiptoed towards the room, still careful to keep quiet. Now that there was no light source at all, the castle seemed as intimidating as it had ever been – except now, she didn't have the option of leaving. Belle steeled herself as she drew closer. Mrs Potts said herself that her mistress prefers sulking to shouting. Even if she doescatch you, she's not going to eat you. So standing directly behind the door – which, Belle could now tell, had been left slightly ajar – she peeked in through the small gaps at the hinges.

The 'side room' turned out to be a deceptively small entrance to the largest kitchen Belle had ever seen. Enormous cupboards stretched nearly the whole length of the three walls Belle could see, and from the glass panels in the doors she saw cutlery, chinaware, stacks of napkins, bundles of spices, herbs drying from hooks in the ceiling, bronze pots and pans of every conceivable size, and an uncountable number of cooking utensils, the uses of which Belle could only guess at. As well as being visually busy, it was filled with a clanging noise from the other end of the room, under which Belle could just hear a gravelly voice, although the words escaped her hearing.

"Oh, stop your grousing." She recognised Mrs Pott's voice, and Belle started scanning the tables to try and find the white teapot. "This has been a long, unusual night for all of us. You should have seen Madame – she was half-hysterical."

"Well, I think the girl was just being stubborn," a third voice added. Belle leaned a little closer to the gap and managed to see a small mantel clock – as he moved, it became clear that he was the source. "The Mistress made her wishes very clear!"

"The girl did have a point, Cogsworth," Mrs Potts retorted. "If she'd been kept in that horrible dungeon it would have been one thing, but she explicitly said that the girl was to be treated like a guest! What kind of host orders one down to dinner instead of inviting them?"

Her curiosity thoroughly awoken, Belle leaned in closer to the door. Although the servants were speaking loudly, the cacophony of noise in the kitchen was still raging, and Belle was suddenly very intrigued to listen to the end of their conversation.

A beleaguered sigh came from the door, directly in front of Belle – she hopped back, stifling the little gasp she had made in surprise. "I suppose that is my fault," a second man said. He made a soft chink sound as he moved further into the kitchen. "I advised her to invite the girl to dinner, but I should have stayed to make sure that . . . well, that this did not happen!"

"You honestly thought she could do it with no prior experience?" the first man – clock – Cogsworth replied.

"Oh come now, Cogsworth, there's no need to be cruel," Mrs Potts said.

"All I am saying is that if she is ever to break this infernal –"

"Shh, shh!" the second man interrupted. "I think I hear something!"

"Is it the Mistress?" Mrs Potts asked.

Belle flushed, and took a moment to compose her face into an expression which hopefully didn't look too guilty. She pushed the door all the way open, stepping into the kitchen and drawing it shut behind her.

Her assumption that the second man had been the candelabra she had followed was correct; indeed, as soon as she had shut the door, both clock and candelabra had hurried to her feet.

"Splendid to see you up and about, mademoiselle!" the clock exclaimed. "I am Cogsworth, head of the household and your humble servant." He bowed and extended an appendage, as if to take her hand. Belle hurriedly dropped to her knees to cut out the rather significant height difference, before he could take her fingers, however, the much larger candelabra had literally swooped in and taken it from him. "This is Lumière," he added dryly.

"Enchanté, mademoiselle," Lumière said, dropping his warm, waxy lips to her fingers. To Belle's surprise it was neither wet, burning hot, nor sticky, but she withdrew her hand as soon as she could all the same.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said. "I was wandering around the halls earlier, trying to explore, but I think I got a little lost. I was hoping to find a spare light."

"Haven't changed your mind about the food, then dearie?" Mrs Potts asked.

"No, no, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you," Belle said. Her polite statement was undercut slightly by her stomach rumbling midway through her sentence.

"I would be more than happy to give you a guided tour around the castle, if you wish," Cogsworth said. "This building has a long and ancient history, you know."

"Oh, oui, mademoiselle! Scandal, murder, treason –" Lumière began eagerly.

"Important political landmarks, architecture unique to the region," Cogsworth said pointedly.

"Both of you can take her, if you so desire, but I'm getting some food in that girl first," Mrs Potts said. "I'm not about to let the poor child go hungry!"

"Oh, that's really not—" Belle said.

"Nonsense!" You've has a long, tiring day, and everything looks a little brighter with some hot food in your belly."

"Mademoiselle, allow me to escort you to your table," Lumière said, hopping towards another door Belle hadn't even noticed. "I assure you, you will not be disappointed by the service or the food."

"I . . ." Belle started, but the kitchen had already come alive with servants. She followed Lumière through to the second room, a grand dining hall with a table as long as the bookshelves in Léon's shop were tall. "This certainly puts the hall of Heorot to shame," she murmured in astonishment.

"Heorot?" he asked. "Have you been to Denmark, mademoiselle?"

"Oh – no," Belle said – she hadn't realised Lumière had heard her. "It's in an ancient poem I read once, Beowulf – Heorot is continually ransacked by this monster, called Grendel, who doesn't like the hall because the knights there keep feasting late into the night, every night – and then when he's inevitably slain, his mother comes to avenge him, and there's a whole tangent where Beowulf has to get a sword, and then sink down to the bottom of this ocean to fight Grendel's mother, and also I think there's a dragon at some point but I can't remember the context, and – and, I'm so sorry, I'm babbling again." She could feel her cheeks burning, and she hurriedly took a seat.

"No need to apologise, mademoiselle," Lumière said after an awkward pause. He glanced back at her curiously, before hopping towards the edge of the table nearets the kitchen. "In fact, your enthusiasm for literature will probably be appreciated here."

Before Belle could ask him what he meant, he waved his arms in a flourish; evidently the cue which the serving staff had been waiting for, as they trundled into the hall presenting Belle with a rich, hearty tomato soup, nutty brown loaves, and pats of golden butter. Despite her dismay at having put the servants to work, she was hungry, and Belle made a good meal of it. She had half-expected to be left alone in the room, a lone figure in the vast emptiness; to her relief, Mrs Potts, Lumière and Cogsworth stayed in the room with her. She listened to them talk as she ate and soon gathered a rough idea of their dynamic, smiling along to in-jokes and references she didn't understand but which had evidently been made a hundred times before. She got the feeling that although there were lots of servants in the castle, they hadn't had any new people there for a long time, and were relishing her presence.

"I'll just take this back through, and then maybe we can begin that tour?" Belle asked, piling her dishes up and standing up from the table.

"Oh, no need, dearie, we'll take care of the dishes," Mrs Potts said. "We appreciate your kindness, but this is our job."

"Alright then," Cogsworth said. "We'll start on the ground floor and work our way up, shall we?" He hopped off the table, using the chairs to break his fall, and waddled out a door different to the one Lumière had led her through – when Belle followed him, she saw that they were back in the entrance hall again. "If you'll kindly follow me, mademoiselle, and we will begin here, in the Great Hall."

For the next hour or so, Belle was inundated with a wealth of information about the castle – its place in local history, regional history, the rough genealogy of the family who used to reside there, and any and all details of architecture which Cogsworth found interesting. Whenever he wasn't talking, Lumière filled the silences with tales of the family from the last thirty years or so – scandals, intrigue, murder –

"Oh please, Lumière, nobody has been murdered here in half a century, and especially not while Ferrier was maître d'."

"You old spoilsport," Lumière grumbled. "But alas, mademoiselle, he is right. Since the Prince took possession of the house, it has been largely scandal-free."

"The Prince?" Belle asked lightly, trying not to betray how interesting this nugget of information was. "Who you mean by that?"

"Prince Francois, the fourth son of the king," Lumière said. "He lived here for many years, but now –"

He was abruptly cut off by Cogsworth elbowing him in what would be his ribs. "The king has been dead for many years, Lumière," he said. "It must be the dauphin on the throne now."

"Oh, yes, of course," Lumière said with a strained voice.

Belle wandered behind a little as they continued the tour, her mind going wild over the information she had received that evening. Not only was there a curse on this castle, but it involved royalty as well. If her books had taught her nothing else, Belle knew that the winged creature who'd imprisoned her was most likely the key to the whole mystery – and was most likely hiding whatever had been used to cast the spell in her lair. But did she cast the spell? Belle wondered. Are these servants cursed by her and the Prince murdered? If that creature didcast the spell, why was Mrs Potts so adamant that she wouldn't harm me or any of the servants for disobeying? And if she didn't,what did?

". . . and if I may draw your attention to the flying – mademoiselle!"

Belle spun around in shock. Lost in thought as she was, she had automatically begun climbing the next set of stairs under the assumption that Cogsworth was about to take them in that direction. His moustache was almost in a 3 and 9 o'clock position on his face, and his foot tapped the carpet nervously. "I'm sorry, Cogsworth, I just assumed we were going here next," she said. "What's up there?"

"That?!" Cogsworth squeaked. "Oh, it's nothing, horrible, dusty, dull – nothing of interest at all in the West Wing."

Belle suddenly remembered the creature's command from earlier, and glanced further up the stairs. So thisis the one room she didn't want me to enter, she thought. I wonder what she's hiding up there.

"Nice going," Lumière muttered to Cogsworth. "You know, mademoiselle," he said at a slightly louder volume, "we have quite an extensive library here as well which we haven't shown you yet."

"A library?" Belle asked, genuinely interested. She took a few steps down towards the corridor again. "Do you have many books here?"

"Oh, shelves upon shelves!" Cogsworth interrupted. "The Prince and his family were something of collectors, and I dare say that we have the most extensive library in this region."

"For once, my friend is not exaggerating – we do have a lot of books," Lumière said. "Come, we'll show you!"

Without waiting for her to follow, Lumière and Cogsworth took off arm in arm down the hall at a fast rate. Belle followed with heavy footsteps for a moment, but hurriedly slunk back around on tiptoe and began ascending the stairs again. She wouldn't have much time before the servants found out she'd left them. But Belle knew that after Cogsworth's slip-up she would never be allowed within five feet of these stairs again without someone making sure she didn't try to investigate. This was her one and only shot.

Turning the corner on the stairs, Belle saw that the carpet was much more threadbare, almost as if it had been ripped up. She continued onwards lightly, reaching the upper landing. There was only one set of doors at the far end, and Belle began to make her way towards them. The corridor was filled with the dusty remnants of broken furniture, loose feathers on the floor and claw marks in the walls. Belle remembered the force with which she had been thrust to one side, and the ease with which the creature has picked up her mother; suppressing a shudder, she continued onwards. Glancing backwards, she noticed that her footsteps had left imprints in the dust. Clearly nobody had walked this corridor in years – the servants had probably avoided it, and the creature presumably flew in and out of windows to change location.

Too soon, Belle was at the door. She reached out to touch the handle, still reluctant to commit herself to her course of action. This is the only chance you will get, she said to herself. Don't be a coward now.Steeling herself, Belle silently inched the door open.

Inside the carnage continued. She tiptoed around fallen tables and broken chairs, although she noticed that as she drew closer to the far end of the room the floor was clearer underfoot – obviously this area of the room was used more. She glanced around, looking for anything that might pose as a key to the mystery surrounding the castle, and was struck by a ripped portrait on the far wall. Belle carefully made her way over, being careful not to knock anything on the floor as she did so. The frame was as rich and ostentatious as she had come to expect from the castle's decor, but the painting itself wasn't just ripped as she had thought – it was utterly ruined. The subject appeared to be a man, but the canvas had been partially torn directly beneath his blue eyes so that it dangled limply from one corner, exposing the inside of the frame. Belle picked up the hanging edge and lifted it back into place. She realised with a start that she had been wrong – the subject was a young woman, maybe five or six years younger than Belle, with pale blonde hair and deep, clear blue eyes. Her face had a polite, albeit strained smile, but her eyes were bright and merry – as if she knew how to laugh, and had been ordered to cease her mirth until the portrait had been completed. Reluctantly, Belle let the canvas drop again. Beautiful though the girl was, she didn't have anything to do with why she was here.

Belle wandered deeper into the room, taking in the slightly cleaner surroundings – the floor was cleared, the walls had no gouges in them, and although there were some feathers about, they were kept to a minimum. An untidy bed lay at one side of the room with a small study desk at the other, while large open glass doors led out to a balcony. However, the most striking thing in the room was a large cream rose under a bell jar, on a table close to the balcony. As Belle drew closer, she saw that the rose itself was actually glowing. Strangely, it seemed to be wilting a little. Belle glanced behind her once again. This was the key to the mystery – it had to be. Carefully, she lifted the bell jar away and set it to one side. A passing breeze stirred her hair, causing a single cream petal to detach and fall on the surface of the table. Belle reached her hand out.

Before she made contact, a powerful gust of wind forced her to take a step backwards. A familiar dark, looming figure landed on the balcony outside, and let out a rasping shriek when she saw Belle with the rose. Belle stumbled backwards in fear as the creature encased the rose in its glass once more, noticing the fallen petal as she wrapped her arms around it. She cocked her head to the side, turning it to face Belle with a fierce glare as her wings spread out behind her to almost their full width.

"I – I'm so sorry," Belle stuttered. "I didn't mean to – to –"

"Stop talking." The Beast released the rose, drawing herself up to her full height. "I told you to never come up here. And now look what you've done!"

"It's – it's just a rose!" Belle said helplessly. "Roses wilt, it's a part of any life cycle, and I'm sorry that the petal fell but –"

"You ignorant fool!" the Beast screamed. Belle ducked backwards, rubbing at her ear – the pitch and volume combined were deeply uncomfortable. "You've brought us all one step closer to hell!"

"I –"

"Get out!" the Beast screamed again, batting her wings violently so that spare papers and her drapes shook and swirled around her. "Leave this place and never return!"

By the time she had finished, however, Belle was already halfway down the stairs towards the great hall. She ran straight past Lumière and Cogsworth, past Mrs Potts and her son on their trolley, and outside. The cold hit her as if she had just sunk into a bath of ice, and Belle huddled into herself as she raced to the stables. Phillipe was still there, safe and warm, although he grew agitated when Belle ran in. Glancing around, Belle saw an old woolen cloak hanging on a peg, which she took and wrapped around herself – her own cloak was still lying on her bed upstairs, and she wasn't about to go back inside for it. "Promise or no promise, Phillipe, I'm not staying here another minute!" she shouted into his ear as she mounted the saddle. Within another few minutes, the two of them had galloped back into the forest and were soon lost from sight in the dark trees and swirling snow.