CHAPTER FOUR:

LOST ALONG THE WAY

Two days after Marinette rejected Theo's proposal, her father left on a business trip.

The neighboring town of Beaumont sat on the edge of the kingdom, right next door to the great sea. The best shipments of foods, spices, jewelry, silks and livestock from all over the world sailed into the town's busy harbours at least twice a year. Tom went each time, selling or trading his best quality goods so that he could buy special presents for Sabine and Marinette at Beaumont's market.

And each time, Marinette would beg her father to take her with him.

"I'm seventeen now, Papa," she whined. "Please, let me go with you! I want to hear the seagulls and taste the salty sea air, and explore the markets and try on some beautiful silks!"

"I know, ma cherie," Tom said, stroking her chin, "but your mother needs some extra help watching the shop, especially with the holidays around the corner. Besides, the weather is a lot nastier this year. I'd feel happier knowing you weren't in it."

In the end, nothing Marinette said would change his mind. Sometimes, she thought, he could be too overprotective.

Sabine helped set up the wagon, and she made sure their personal horse was fed a steady meal of carrots and sugar cubes. Marinette filled up her father's travelling pack: candles, matches, a quill and ink, some parchment, a small knife, a fresh loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth, a couple of apples, and a blanket. It would be a two-day journey to Beaumont – she wanted her father to have all the essentials just in case.

Tom finally emerged from the bakery in his travelling furs, matching gloves, his boots and his winter cloak. Then, he kissed his wife deeply before climbing onto the front of the wagon.

"Wait, Papa!" Marinette hustled over with a long wooden pole in her hands. "Don't forget this."

Tom chuckled. "Oh, come now, Marinette… I'm not so old that I need a walking stick."

"The roads are worse out there – you said so yourself," his daughter argued staunchly. "And who knows what you'll run into in the woods. I'll sleep better knowing you had this to help you get out of trouble."

"She has a point," Sabine noted with a raised eyebrow.

Tom's mustache twitched a bit, but then he smiled. "All right, ma cherie. For your sake, I'll take it." He swept the stick up and propped it beside him.

Marinette came over and folded her hands on her father's knee. It always saddened her to see him go, but she knew he would always find his way back home.

"Now, then…" Tom said. "What would you ladies like from Beaumont?"

Sabine grinned. "For you to come home safe," she replied dryly. "But if you can't manage that, a new scarf or two would be nice."

Tom rolled his eyes with a small laugh. "Easy enough. And you, Marinette?"

Marinette ran her tongue along her front teeth. "A rose," she said.

Tom's dramatic sigh was feigned… mostly. "You ask for that every time," he complained.

"And every time, you bring it," Marinette said, her blue eyes conveying more than what her words did.

She knew she could ask for whatever she wanted. Yet, like all the other times, she couldn't find it in her heart to ask her father to buy something for her. He had already given her so much. She didn't want him to fret over finding her a perfect gift. Besides, roses were a rare find in Villeneuve, even in the warmer months. Every time her father brought her a rose – be it red, yellow, or any other colour – Marinette would feel like the richest girl in the village. Then, she would draw a picture of it in her journal so that it would stay alive forever.

Tom winked at his daughter and caressed her chin. "Very well. A rose, it is."

Marinette beamed at him. Then, she climbed up and kissed her father on the cheek. "Goodbye, Papa," she said as she stepped back down into her mother's waiting arms.

"Goodbye, Marinette," Tom said, and he gave the reins a good flick. The wagon lurched forward, and the horse pulled it steadily down the street.

Marinette stepped out and waved him on. "I love you!" she called out.

"I love you, too!" the baker waved back. "I'll be back! With the rose!"

Marinette giggled, watching contently until her father and the wagon were out of sight.

And in her heart, she whispered, Be careful.


The trip to Beaumont went as smoothly as the winter weather permitted, with a few bumps here and there.

Tom made sure he always made it to an inn or a traveler's campsite well before dark. Like Marinette had said, the woods were full of danger and mystery. Once in a while, the baker would stiffen at the sound of a howl or a hoot. Oh, don't be such a fraidy cat, Tom, he would scold himself. Nothing's going to attack you as long as you have a roaring fire and your walking stick. After that, he would go straight to sleep.

Eventually, he caught a salty, fishy smell in the air, and he knew long before he saw those high church towers and tall smoking chimneys that he had arrived in Beaumont.

It wasn't that much different from Villeneuve, save for the great blue ocean to the east. Ships of every size with sails as big as clouds came and went from the massive harbour. The townsfolk were bustling along at top speed, dragging their own wagons of goods through the slush. At this time of year, Beaumont was a hub for trade, and everyone in the kingdom wanted a taste of her.

Tom never got tired of the sights, sounds and smells of the town. It reminded him of the days of his youth, when he was just a baker's boy in a wealthy manor. Servants, cooks and maids would hustle on by with their daily chores, working non-stop from dawn until dusk. Tom had never complained – he was a big strong lad who could lift anything. It had been a steady life of hard work and effort, one that he had been proud of.

Then he met Sabine, and both of their lives had changed forever.

But now was not the time to dwell on the past. Tom had a mission to fulfill, and all those pastry boxes hidden beneath the large tarp in his wagon weren't going to sell themselves.

So, the baker directed his horse straight to Beaumont's busy market. Luckily, there were a few more open stalls, so he managed to quickly set up shop and start showcasing his goods just as the crowd was getting thicker.

"Come one, come all!" Tom declared to the passersby. "You have a sweet tooth that needs satisfying? Try one of my buttercream fruit tarts! Or help yourself to a slice of chocolate mousse – the best tasting treats in all of Villeneuve!"

As always, customers would be drawn in like hungry pigeons. Little by little, Tom's pastries were selling at a steady rate. A few happy shoppers even stopped by for seconds! If I'm lucky, Tom thought as he counted his earnings, I'll have enough to buy some new wood for the house. Heaven knows we need to patch up the roof… and that old chair.

By late afternoon, Tom's goods were sold out, and he packed up his wagon. Giddy with success, the baker decided to do his own shopping before turning in for the night. The silk merchants always had something new every year, so he had no doubt he'd find something nice to give Sabine.

On the way there, Tom decided to stop by the gardening sector first. The flower stalls filled the air with their sweet aromas, completely masking the stench of fish. Lilies, sunflowers, hydrangeas, tulips…

But something was missing.

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur," Tom asked one of the flower merchants, "do you have any roses? All I need is one."

The balding man shook his head. "Sorry, Monsieur. Our last shipment was ruined by parasites, and the town has had a poor crop this year. I'm afraid you'll have to try again next time."

Tom's heart sank. Marinette would be disappointed. "Oh, well," he sighed. "I'll get her something else instead. She'll understand."

By evening fall, he finished his shopping with a new scarf for Sabine, and a beautiful silver locket for Marinette. Best of all, the locket had a rose on it! "Now, she can keep it forever, and it'll never wilt!" Tom said proudly.

He stayed the night in Beaumont, treating himself to a good mug of ale and a hearty dinner of salted pork.

The next day, however, an eerie fog settled over the town, making it difficult to see. Most of the travelers had decided to stay a bit longer, but Tom couldn't afford to. He had a business to run and a family to take care of. So, he whipped his horse into action, and their wagon trailed back up the snowy road.


When Tom looked back on it, he knew he should have waited another day.

For that very evening, a great snow storm blew through the land.

Tom yanked his hood down over his eyes, but it was no use. He still had to shield them from the stinging wind. Snowflakes plastered his mustache, and his fingers were becoming numb as he gripped the horse's reins.

The horse itself was struggling to move forward, fighting against the blizzard as it trudged through the heavy mounds of snow. It didn't help that the road was now completely obscured, leaving nothing but forest. Tom shivered, trying not to dwell on the idea that he might be going in the wrong direction.

Darkness fell, and still the storm howled. Tom couldn't see a dastardly thing. I should stop and build a fire, he thought. I can't go on like this, and neither can the horse. So, he found a small area surrounded by thick trees to seek shelter in, and began building a fire pit. He had to use some of the parchment paper Marinette packed for him, since all the sticks he found were wet with snow, but eventually he managed to get a few flames going. Huddling close to his horse and warming his frigid hands by the fire, Tom shuddered.

It's going to be all right, he told himself. The storm will pass very soon, and I'll find the road again.

He was partly right. By the time he started to fall asleep, the wind died down and the only snowflakes that fell were bits of dust.

Not long after, a great howl sounded not too far from the makeshift camp.

Tom jolted awake, and his horse whinnied in terror.

Another howl sounded. Followed by another. Then another.

"Wolves," Tom breathed. Oh, God…

He couldn't stay here. He had to keep moving!

Dousing the fire with snow, the baker yanked on the horse's reins, urging the creature to follow him. But the horse planted his hooves firmly in the snow, too scared to obey his master's commands.

"Come on, boy! Let's go! Come on!" Tom pulled harder, and the howls grew closer.

Finally, the horse did as he was bid, and Tom hoisted himself onto the front of the wagon before ordering his steed into a gallop. He didn't care where he was going at this point, as long as it was away from the wolf pack.

The wagon bounced as they sped through the forest. Tom could do nothing but urge the horse on and glance around for any sign of trouble. A few times, he caught sight of what looked like a pair of glowing yellow eyes, and his heart froze inside his chest. I'm not going to die out here, he muttered fiercely. I will not!

Unfortunately, Fate had other plans.

For just when Tom thought he was going to make it, a phantom wind erupted through the air in front of him, carrying a painful moaning sound with it.

The horse reared back and bolted to the side so quickly, the wagon tipped over, taking Tom with it. The baker screamed as he went flying into the snow. When he went still, he felt the ground shudder, followed by the sounds of cracking wood… and hoofbeats fading into the distance.

Tom groaned, his back stiff and sore from the fall. Somehow, he forced himself to stand. He looked up and saw to his dismay that his wagon now lay overturned with two of its wheels shattered and broken off. Tom's pack, his belongings, Sabine and Marinette's presents… they were all buried under that wooden ruin. The only thing that remained unscathed was Tom's walking stick. He picked it up and leaned on it as he glanced around.

The horse had vanished into the darkness, and the woods were now as silent as the grave.

Shivering heavily, the baker tried to glean his surroundings. He didn't recognize these trees. Then again, all trees looked the same. Tom groaned. He could be anywhere! And with all those clouds blocking the stars, he had no way of telling which way was north.

Tom was lost, and he was all alone.

A low snarl from behind him made him snap around.

Even in the darkness, the glowing eyes of the wolves weren't hard to miss. Tom counted three pairs of them, and knowing they travelled in packs of at least eight, the others weren't too far behind.

Panic overwhelmed him. "No…!" he gasped. He turned and bolted in the opposite direction.

The wolves barked in protest, and more howls sounded. Tom only ran faster, holding his stick high as he bounded through the snow-covered ground. Several white shapes appeared in his peripheral vision. They were trying to herd him!

Tom panted. His lungs burned. Every muscle in his legs and back screamed at him to stop. But if he stopped, he would die. He would never see his wife and daughter again…

The baker took one quick glance behind him… and that look cost him.

His foot stepped into open air, and Tom cried out as he fell forward and slid down a steep hill. Luckily, he managed to scurry to his feet in time before running on.

That's when he saw a most peculiar sight.

Glistening in the moonlight – moonlight that seemingly came out of nowhere – stood a tall, frozen gate covered with spikes of ice and shaped to look like laurels and ivy vines wrapped together. As Tom approached it, the gates screeched open for him, revealing open lands beyond. A way out!

Praying that he would find safety there, Tom picked up the pace just as the wolves gained on him and snapped at his heels. He whacked them away with his stick as he ran. But the moment he crossed the threshold, the padding of paws stopped.

Tom finally skidded to a halt, coughing and taking deep long breaths to stop his lungs from bursting. When he dared to look back, he was surprised to see the white-furred beasts standing right before the gate, snarling at the baker with rage. For some reason, they couldn't – or wouldn't – cross into the courtyard beyond.

Tom knew he should consider himself lucky, but he couldn't help but grin and wave considerately at the pack. "Sorry, boys!" he called, his throat raw from all that running. "You'll have to find dinner elsewhere!"

The pack leader – a hulking wolf with claw marks over one of its hateful yellow eyes – bared its wet fangs at the baker. Then, it barked at its companions and led them back into the forest.

Tom sighed with relief. "Thank God… Thank God…" he repeated again and again. Against all odds, he had survived. He raised his walking stick and gave it a great big kiss. Thank you, Marinette.

Now, only one thing concerned him: where in heaven's name was he now?

Tom turned around to get a good look at the area… and what he saw made his dark-green eyes go as wide as tea saucers.

He was standing in a courtyard that was made to look like a hedge maze, with little gardens peppered here and there. Beyond the maze was a small stone staircase.

And at the top of those stairs, shooting into the sky like a monument of pearl and obsidian, was an enormous castle.