CHAPTER 4

Gaston awoke the next morning and was immediately flooded with memories of the night before. Overcome with despair, he groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. He was still sore and bruised, he looked terrible, he had no way of breaking the curse any time soon, and he was almost out of cash. The idea of getting up was not at all appealing.

But then he realized how he was acting, hiding under the covers like a coward, and he became furious at himself. What was he doing? He had been under the curse for less than two days - was he already just going to give up and let the Enchantress win?

Never, he thought defiantly. He was Gaston. Defeat was not an option.

He pictured the Enchantress gloating at his sorry state, and that image alone was enough to make him leap out of bed, determined to prove her wrong. If she thought he was defeated, she had another think coming. He had never backed down from a challenge, and he wasn't about to start now.

Whatever setbacks she threw at him, he would overcome them, he vowed. One way or another, he would break this curse and get his life back.

And when he did change back, he would show the Enchantress what a terrible mistake she had made in betraying him.

The same went for those robbers, he thought vindictively. He knew he would never forget what they looked like. When he was back to himself again, he would track them down and make them pay for their crime.

The thought of vengeance cheered him up considerably. He turned his attention back to the problem at hand, certain he would come up with a brilliant plan.

His biggest problem right now was money. After the robbery, he had only 20 gold pieces left, and that wouldn't last him more than a couple of weeks. If he couldn't break the spell by then, he would need to find some way to earn money to live on. And if he ever expected to win a girl's love with jewelry and presents, that would take money too.

He would have to get some sort of job, he realized. But what kind of job? It couldn't be anything that required physical strength, because the Enchantress had stolen that from him. It couldn't require much education, because he didn't have that either.

He thought hard, but nothing came to mind. He left the inn and walked around the town, looking at the various establishments, hoping for an idea. Blacksmith? No, they needed to be strong. Carpenter? That required a steady hand and a keen eye, which he certainly didn't have now. Lawyer? That took years of schooling. Baker? He didn't have the slightest idea how to do that. Farmhand? They worked from sunup to sundown - it wouldn't leave him any time to search for the girl he needed. Bookseller? Gaston shuddered. Definitely not.

Overcome with frustration, he smacked his fist against the palm of his hand. He hated thinking, yet he'd already done more of it in the past two days than in his entire previous 21 years of life. His head hurt from the effort. It was so unfair - everything he wanted had always come so easily to him before. Why was everything so difficult now?

"Pots and pans, pots and pans," called a singsong voice. Gaston looked up to see a shabby peddler pushing a small cart of kitchenware. "Get your pots and pans here. Pots and pans, pots and pans."

Gaston snorted in derision. The fool wasn't going to sell anything that way. He should be bragging about his merchandise, boasting about how it was the best to be found anywhere.

Gaston stopped, the wheels turning in his head. Of course! He could be a peddler! It was perfect. If there was one thing Gaston knew how to do well, it was brag and boast. And he could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. After all, it had taken him less than two minutes to convince his entire village that Belle was crazy, that her "kind and gentle" Beast was really a vicious killer, and that they must storm the castle immediately. Convincing some dim housewife to buy a frying pan would be child's play.

Best of all, being a peddler would allow him to meet lots of women. First he would travel to all the large towns and cities, stocking up on whatever useful goods or luxuries they specialized in, and then he would move on to all the small villages around France to sell them. He would meet thousands of girls as a peddler. Surely the one he needed to find would be among them.

Of course, he would have to write down the items he bought and sold, and how much was paid for them, but he thought he could handle that. He could read and write simple words; it was only long sentences and paragraphs that gave him trouble.

And he excelled at basic addition and subtraction. A man had to know his sums to avoid being cheated. When he gathered up his winnings after a game of poker, Gaston always knew to the penny how much he was owed. When he bought a new rifle or a horse, or sold the rabbit pelts he brought home from hunting, he always drove a hard bargain. He could manage being a peddler, he was sure.

But he wouldn't just be some small-time peddler like the kitchenware salesman, Gaston told himself. Gaston never did anything halfway. Whatever he did, he had to be the best at. He would be the most successful peddler in the world, he decided - the most merchandise, the highest sales, the biggest profit.

And it all fit in perfectly with his plan to break the spell, he thought, congratulating himself on his resourcefulness. He would try to charm all the girls he met in his travels. With luck, he might very well find the one who could love him tomorrow, or next week. But in the meantime, he would also save all the money he earned. So even if he didn't come across a willing girl as quickly as he hoped, eventually he would have enough riches saved up to impress any girl with his wealth and success. Then he'd pick a girl, shower her with jewels, win her love, and finally get back the life he deserved.

It might take a while, but either way he would triumph in the end, and that was all that mattered.

All right. He had a plan. Now he just needed something to sell. Most of his money was gone now, so he wouldn't be able to buy much stock. It irritated him: if he had to be a peddler, then he wanted to be the best one ever, with a wagon stuffed to the brim with all kinds of amazing things - to do this in a really big, flashy way, the way he did everything in his life. But with his lack of cash, he would have to start small.

He walked around the town square, looking at the shops, trying to think of something he could sell.

Then he noticed the same hapless kitchenware peddler still trying to make a sale. Perfect.

He went over to the man and handed him 10 gold pieces. "I'll take everything you have for this gold," he offered.

The peddler's eyes widened. The amount of gold wasn't anywhere close to what he would have earned if he had sold every one of his items to customers separately, piece by piece - but he hadn't had a sale in two days. The chance to unload all his merchandise all at once, for a lump sum, was too tempting to pass up. "You've got a deal," he said, smiling broadly. "Where shall I bring it?"

Gaston shook his head. "I'll take it right now. And the cart too," he said firmly.

The peddler hesitated. But he could see that Gaston was adamant. "Well...all right," he said, giving in.

Gaston took over the cart and brought it back to the inn.

He was eager to put his plan into action immediately, but he realized he should wait a few days for his bruises to fade. He had to make a good impression if he was going to convince people to buy things from him. So he bided his time, chafing with impatience all the while.

On Friday, he picked up his new clothes from the tailor. A few days later, he pushed the cart of kitchenware the five miles to the village of Peillon. With his lack of strength, it was hard work pushing the cart so far. He was sweating and exhausted by the time he got to the village. As soon as I start making money, I've got to get a horse and wagon, he thought. I can't do this every day.

He got a room at the local inn, washed up, and put on one of his new, expensive outfits. Then he pushed the cart of kitchenware into the town square.

"Pots and pans, the finest in the world!" he called. "You won't find better pots and pans at any price!"

A woman wearing a kerchief came over to him. "How much for a frying pan?"

Gaston named a price 50 percent higher than what the other peddler was selling them for.

"That seems very expensive," the woman said doubtfully.

"Quality costs money, madame. You get what you pay for," he told her, improvising smoothly. "This cookware comes all the way from Germany. The iron there is so much purer and stronger than what we have here in France. And they forge it three times over, to make it extra durable. These pots and pans will last a lifetime. You'll see, you'll be passing them down to your daughter."

He smiled at her. "But if you can't afford it, don't worry," he said reassuringly. "I'm sure another peddler will come by any day now with some cheap French cookware. Of course, it will probably fall apart the second or third time you use it. But at least it won't cost you as much."

He sounded so confident, so sure of himself, that the woman was convinced. "You're right," she said. "It's worth the extra money. I'll take three pots and three pans."

"Very good, madame. You won't regret it," Gaston said, taking her money. Well, that was easy, he thought with satisfaction. The Enchantress might have stolen all his physical skills, but at least he was still as persuasive a liar as he ever was.

Other villagers came over, and Gaston gave them the same spiel. Within two hours, he had sold all the cookware from the cart.

He went back to the inn, feeling more cheerful than he had in days. Things were finally looking up for him.

He next travelled to Lyons, which was famous for its silk. He purchased as much as he could, then went to the small outlying villages to sell it. His gift of gab served him equally well this time.

After two months, he had saved enough money to buy a used farm wagon. Then he headed to the local stables to buy a horse to pull it.

There was a long row of stalls with horses for sale. Gaston examined them with a practiced eye. He paused wistfully at a sleek, finely-bred Arabian that tossed its head, snorted restlessly and pawed at the ground. It was just the kind of spirited steed Gaston loved to ride. But it wouldn't do for his purpose now. He needed a strong, steady horse that was bred to pull a wagon, and this wasn't it. Reluctantly, he moved on.

He chose instead a big, plodding brown draft horse named Henri. The horse had belonged to a farmer and was well accustomed to pulling a plow or a wagon.

Gaston was elated. Riding in a wagon would be so much easier than walking. And the wagon could hold much more merchandise than the little pushcart, making it easier to grow his business. He was certain that he would be wealthy in no time. Very soon, he was sure, he would be able to impress a girl with his riches and break the spell at last.

Things were finally going his way.