CHAPTER 5:

From the West Wing's leaded glass windows, the Prince watched curiously as the two very attractive people raced around the edge of the castle. He wondered if they were servants of his. Whatever they were, he was interested to meet them. He wanted to call his butler or footmen to summon them up, but he was baffled by a strange inability to remember any of his servants' names, or even what they looked like — though he was sure he must have some servants. What Prince wouldn't?

Unconsciously he fingered the gold earring in his right ear. It was hurting him — the jewelry too heavy and the piercing too fresh — but it had no fastener or clasp like a normal earring. He couldn't figure out how to remove it. He couldn't even figure out why it was there. He wondered if there were some bolt cutters about that he might use to remove these offensive objects from his earlobes.

His contemplations were interrupted by a very ugly old woman who burst into the room unannounced. The Prince was immediately repulsed, and frankly offended.

"Who are you?" he demanded angrily. "What are you doing in here?"

The Enchantress frowned. She had wiped the Prince's memory, intending she would stay out of his sight until she became beautiful in a few more hours. Necessity now compelled her to do otherwise. It was a similar accident to what had befallen all those years ago, when she arrived at this same castle intending to secure the young Prince's promise of a marriage once he arrived at his age of majority — she had meant to appear as a beautiful woman who could easily seduce and entice him, but she had been flustered by the Prince coming unexpectedly to the door while she was still obliged to exist as an old woman. Still, the Enchantress knew he no longer remembered that, nor her. Whatever she did now was going to be his first impression of her in her true form. She endeavored to be soft and appealing.

"My Prince," she said. "I'm here to warn that you are in danger. Come with me. I can put you somewhere safe."

The Prince wrinkled his nose at the intruder. "I'd rather not."

"Come!" she insisted, stretching out her blotchy, withered hand. "There's no time to lose."

"The only danger I'm in," spat the agitated Prince, "is having nightmares about your face. What is wrong with you? Surely you know you have a problem? Wear a veil or something." The Enchantress's spell had erased all the humility and humiliation he had developed as a Beast, leaving his manners in the same state he had known at age ten. Still, to his credit, his distress at her appearance was absolutely genuine and unembellished. He considered being forced to look at her as a rudeness on her part, equivalent to her having shit in his hallway.

The Enchantress sighed in frustration. She was dismayed at the loss of her decade's work towards making him accept an unattractive person; but the fact was, she was every bit as shallow herself, and she hardly blamed him for his reaction. She only wanted him because she knew he was destined to be the most handsome man in the world. His personality did not alter that fact — though it made him harder to control.

"You're forgetting," said the Enchantress with a gruesome smile that she intended should appear friendly, "that if you come with me, there will be a beautiful woman waiting to marry you in a few hours." This was absolutely true.

The Prince, with his youthful lack of critical thinking, was interested by the proposition. "Really? Strange… could that have slipped my mind? I can't remember anything about it."

"That's part of the danger you're in," she replied, arguably lying, but it was arguable. "Now hurry up! Follow me and I'll get you to safety, so you can marry your dream girl!" Technically true, if he was having nightmares about her face; nightmares being a type of dream.

The Prince regarded her outstretched hand with suspicion. "Do I have to touch you? I feel like I'd need a jar of hand lotion just to counteract the effects."

The Enchantress responded by using her magic to lift him up from the floor and pull him alongside her.

The Prince was rather surprised, but he did not try to resist her. It was better than having to touch her, at any rate. "Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"The tower," she answered, walking out of the room and hauling the Prince behind her like a dog on a leash.

"The tower?" he groaned. "I don't want to wait up there!"

"Well," said the Enchantress with a lurid note, "you could always come up with me, and wait things out in my room. I know I'd enjoy it." She knew he wouldn't say yes.

Indeed, the Prince grimaced in disgust at the thought. "Fine. The tower," he answered. If only the poor fellow knew of the things he had previously done with this woman, he'd skin himself alive.

Belle and Gaston entered the castle from the rose garden, coming into what was by palace standards a little room, this being a space that was as large as Belle's entire cottage. It was often used for serving informal meals; she and the Beast had breakfasted there many times.

The young beauty was relieved to see no servants about, in contrast to the hordes she had witnessed on her previous visit. She remembered the Prince writing that the Enchantress had scared them all away. It was unimaginable, but a good thing, she supposed — it meant at least they were all safe, and that her old friends like Chip and Rosine and Lumiere were not at the evil woman's mercy.

"So your friend is somewhere in this castle?" said Gaston, entering the building. "What does he look like?"

"He's tall — almost as tall as you — and he has light hair, with a reddish hue. Strawberry blond, I think it's called. And a cowlick stubborn as he is." She noticed her heart fluttering as she recalled him. "He has bright blue eyes," she added, and tried to think of what else she could describe about him. An idea struck her. "Wait! I can show you," she said. She reached into her satchel and took out the magic mirror. She instructed it to show the Prince, and with a burst of green his image was presented upon the glass.

The Prince was shown getting into one of the tower's prison cells, apparently at the command of the Enchantress. Gaston looked over Belle's shoulder to observe.

"That's him?" asked the huntsman in a tone of surprise. "From what you had described… he sounded like someone at LeFou's level." He was a bit disturbed to see a rather handsome and well-built fellow was Belle's target, rather than a silly little pouf as imagined. But, he reassured himself that he was better looking than that milksop, and so Belle surely couldn't be more attracted to anyone else.

Suddenly Gaston remembered that he hadn't checked his teeth in a few hours. He began to wander, searching for a mirror that didn't show images other than its gazer. Meanwhile, Belle lingered over the magic mirror, listening to the buzz-distorted conversation it emitted:

"How long will I be here?" asked the Prince.

"Not long," said the Enchantress. "Don't worry. You won't be late for your wedding."

At that the Enchantress closed and locked the door of the cell, so that the Prince could neither wander away nor be easily rescued.

Belle gasped at what she heard. "Oh no!" she cried. She looked away, and returned the faded mirror to the satchel.

It sounded like there wasn't much time before the Prince's intended nuptials. Blood racing, Belle looked around for Gaston and did not see him in the little room. She went to the hall and discovered him at a mirror. His shirt had been ripped in the battle with the trees, and he now was deliberately ripping it even more, into a manner he deemed aesthetically appealing.

"What do you think, Belle? Should I rip the shirt so there's a nipple showing? Or is that too much? Nah, too much."

"I know where the Prince is at," Belle cried, ignoring his question. "We have to hurry!"

"Hang on a moment," said Gaston, sculpting his hair, which had been mussed. "This is all a test to make sure I can be a good enough husband, so I have to make sure I do this in proper style — "

Belle stomped her foot. "Gaston! Hurry! I — I won't deduct marks for messy hair, I promise! Let's go!"

Gaston gave his hair one last swoop of the glove and ventured forward with renewed confidence.

It was to the great marble stairs that Belle led him. "The tower is up a few flights," she said. "I just hope we won't run into the Enchantress herself."

The dark of night made everything sinister. Though the castle was very clean and all its furnishings were new and light in color, there were few lamps or torches set out in the empty building. Belle and Gaston plodded across the floors made of various stone, tile and carpet, before ambling up a broad stairway hung with long silk banners. After they progressed through another hall, at last Belle recognized the door that led to the tower.

"There it is!" she whispered with the force of a shout. "We just need to figure — "

Belle's thought was interrupted by a swift movement from Gaston. With a sudden jerk his bow was in his right hand and his left hand was buried in his quiver.

The old Enchantress was before them, her figure barely visible in the dark. It was a commendation to Gaston's eyesight that he'd been able to see her at all.

Gaston had no history with the Enchantress, but his gut told him that anything that ugly needed to be killed right off. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and prepared to unleash on her.

Calmly, the Enchantress waved her hand and bowled over the hulking figure. Gaston cried out in alarm, hitting the floor.

"Get out right now," said the Enchantress with an authoritative tone, "and I promise you'll have a safe journey home. What happens in this castle is no business of yours."

Belle turned to the Enchantress. "It's my business when my friend has come to me for help! The Prince doesn't want to marry you. He told me so. Promise to let him go, and I'll go."

"I can assure you, he's changed his mind since then," said the Enchantress.

"Then let him tell me that," demanded Belle.

Gaston was regaining his wits. Infuriated, he leapt at the old hag, intending to beat her to death with his bare hands. He seized her by the shoulders. Eye contact was made.

"My!" said the Enchantress in an impressed tone. And that was all she did, before she vanished into thin air.

Belle was prepared to resume her pursuit of the Prince immediately, but a deafening popping sound instantly distracted her. The noise came from the end of the hallway.

Next came a still louder noise, of something great and heavy barreling along the floor. She almost would have taken it for the Beast racing on all fours; but it sounded like something even bigger.

At last it appeared. Enormous. Barely able to squeeze through the hallways of the castle, roomy as they were. A dog-like creature that it was impossible to describe by any other term than a hellhound. A great spiked collar was around its neck. It bounded directly for Belle, its ferocious teeth bared in hunger. There was no doubt: it intended to eat her.

Belle screamed. Gaston sprung into action. The huntsman had his bow in grasp. Though his arrows wouldn't do much damage to something so large, he knew an arrow well-placed could achieve something. He fired three, in rapid succession, into the hellhound's eyes. They struck, spraying bursts of blood and aqueous humor from the creature's rightmost orb.

The monster howled and ceased to move forward, instinctively trying to shake the objects from its injured pupils.

Gaston grabbed Belle by the arm and pulled her behind him, protectively. "To kill something that big," he informed, "we either need a spear, a cannon, or a lot of poison."

Belle regarded the injured monster. It was no longer attacking her; it merely sought to repair its wounds. A pang of sympathy hit her. There was something she began to regard as familiar about the creature, like she had seen it before.

"But wait," she said, "he isn't hurting anyone now. Let's just go — "

Suddenly the hellhound seemed to recover himself. He came bounding at the pair, using his good eye to scout his bloody vengeance.

Gaston wordlessly threw Belle over his shoulder easily the way another man might so toss a coat. He started to run from the creature. His direction was a retreat, going back to the stairway.

Belle, draped over Gaston's massive shoulder, was left looking at the horrible monster in a furious pursuit. She suddenly perceived the ground was no longer beneath them, and she was flying weightless through the air. She squealed in alarm.

Gaston jumped from the top of the stairway and with his free arm he grabbed hold of one of the silk banners suspended from the ceiling. Swinging his legs, he drew himself and the fabric back towards the top step, finally settling his feet upon the marble balustrade.

The hellhound continued towards them in all its outrageous hunger. Gaston turned to face it. Belle was left Belle staring down the staircase, disoriented by all the floors layered so far below. She could not imagine what her custodian intended, nor could she see what he did. All of a sudden her body was whipped up in his movement as he leapt at the monster. The silk banner was still born in his hand.

"What are you doing?!" Belle shrieked in horror.

Gaston shouted back, "Carrying you over my shoulder while killing a monster without breaking conversation!"

They landed. For a brief moment they were riding atop the huge creature's head. Belle couldn't imagine how Gaston kept his balance; she couldn't keep hers, and she wasn't even standing. Still holding her, he leapt in front of the hound and began to run. He was actually beginning to break a sweat.

Belle faced the pursuing monster again. She could see Gaston had hooked the banner onto its collar. Now he ran with the intention of leading it. To Belle's terror, she realized he leapt from the gallery, over the balustrade, out into the open space that dropped to a distant stone floor below. She screamed, falling with him.

With a hard thud, Gaston landed on his feet on the stone floor. He groaned — it hurt. But he was in one piece, and Belle was completely unharmed.

The hellhound leapt from the top of the stairway after them.

Belle shrieked — but in surprise she watched as the monster hanged itself, its neck snapping with a gruesome crack. Its massive form was left swinging, tethered by the banner. It dangled like that for a moment, before the tremendous weight tore through the cloth.

Belle and Gaston screamed in unison — the enormous monster was falling directly atop them, ready to crush them both.

But then, they were struck only with the body of a medium sized shaggy dog.

Gaston, terrified but suddenly realizing he was unharmed, started to laugh. He plucked Belle from his shoulder and instinctively, in the thrill of his emotion, kissed her.

Belle screamed into his mouth. When he pulled back, she slapped him. "I haven't made up my mind yet!" she spat.

"Aw, come on, Belle," he smiled, undeterred. "How did that not prove my abilities?"

"It isn't about proving your abilities, it's about supporting my friends — and we still need to find the Prince." She shook her head in disbelief, reflecting on what had just transpired. "I have to say, if you're used to adventures like that, it's no wonder you don't expect to live past thirty-five." She looked at the animal that had fallen upon them. It was a gray and brown spotted dog, very normal in appearance. Its dead body rested sad, helpless.

It suddenly dawned on her that she knew this dog. It was Sultan — the Prince's dog. The palace's only dog. Her heart sank.

"The poor thing," she said. "That Enchantress must have altered him…" From the household pet into a vicious monster. She recalled his bloodthirsty pursuit, and she trembled at the thought of what else the Enchantress had the power to change about someone.

And she remembered the Prince was still in that woman's power.

"Let's hurry," said Belle.

She rose unsteadily to her feet. Gaston did likewise, mustering his machismo to disguise a slight limp. They resumed their course up the stairs, warily gazing about for signs of any fresh monsters.