SIX

The stillness and clarity of the morning carried with it just the faintest sound of church bells. The Cathedral of St. Clothilde called out into the village and carried over the wood and to the castle, which once had been the source of her main attendance. Now it made the beast once named Adam think of only two things. One was that his parents were buried in its cemetery. Two, it reminded him of the only way out of his curse: for a girl to fall in love with him enough to have the cathedral play wedding bells. He could not now think of the latter. He knew such a thing was hopeless to wish for. He knew just as well as anyone that it would take a miracle for a girl to even give him a chance. Thus instead of praying for such a miracle, he continued to pity himself.

Gazing at the pink glow of the rose, its only barrier, a thin glass cover, the beast glowered until the bells chimed their last. Then lifting up the mirror at the rose's side he demanded to see the churchyard where there stood a small chapel in honor of Notre Dame. Near at hand were the tombs of his parents surrounded in brilliant colors of stained glass and statues of angels and patron saints. The chapel itself was lit by a sing candle as someone swept the front of the chapel's altar, but the tombs were dark and silent in the attached chamber, and this was where Adam's attention had been drawn, of course, not to the happy worker, a little monk, whistling a hymn up front. The normalcy of the worker made the beast all the more aware of his horrible predicament. He blocked him and stared at the darkened tombs of his parents.

The mirror narrowed in on them as it felt the direction of the eyes of the beast.

He did not remember his mother. She had died in childbirth. To be honest he had not given it too much thought since he was very small and first understood what that had meant, and it had been the only time he had ever cried about it. His father he barely remember either, and he did not remember ever crying about it. Perhaps he had, but it had been lost in the enigma of the mind. He had been told by many that his took after his father in his appearance; the paintings gave testimony to it. Adam's portrait in his bedchamber that now had been torn to shreds was almost an exact replica of another one of his father Robert in his parents' old, unused bedchambers just down the hall.

For a few seconds, the beast glanced at the shreds of portrait still hanging upon there before returning with a leer into the mirror.

Its ethereal gleam made the image of the tombs look like a dream, and he realized it had been years since he looked upon these tombs. Remorse of having neglected them for the first time touched his heart, but that only caused anger to resume. The image faded away, swallowed up as though in a boiling pot as he let out a roar, which although pitiable and powerful was at the same time the cry of self-pity and not actual remorse of heart for his neglect of his parents.

Yet while the effects of the roar still echoed in his bedchamber and out over the balcony, he heard the voice of Mrs. Potts from the night before.

Your mother and father would die a second time to know how miserable you are.

A long silence then fill the chamber as this thought churned in the mind of the beast.

Could he allow himself to starve to death?

Throwing the door of his bed chamber open, he saw on the floor the tray and the glass of wine from the night before. He stared at the silver cover a moment upon which the shadow of his monstrous form loomed and reflected back an unrecognizable dark shape.

Snatching the tray off the ground with a low growl in the back of his throat, he closed the door behind him far gentler than how he had opened it.

Lifted the cover he wrinkled his nose at the now cold dry meal before him. Nevertheless at the sight of the food his stomach cared not what it looked like and hunger awoke. It did not take long to eat up every last crumb. He returned to the door. Put the tray back for the servants, and then taking the glass of wine he drank it down like a visitor to the bar might slug down a shot. Leaving the glass then beside the tray, he slammed the door such behind him.

#

January came and went. The Master had taken to his usual supper-only meals again.

Cogsworth always had to keep moving. Once he woke he was up and going until bed. Of course, he usually had no destination in mind; though, he did stop by in the kitchen and where the dusters and sweepers were, for at least in these places there were normal menial tasks being performed.

Normalcy, consistency, movement, propriety, and clockwork really — all these things had been so important to him before the curse, and still were despite the curse, which at least proved he had not gone into complete despondency. He would, as of old, give his own input on the matters of these tasks, but it would be some time before any of his old luster would return, and in fact would become stronger to the point of becoming rather eccentric. For now he remained uncharacteristically quiet, unless someone got him riled up about the true state of affairs again.

February trundled by, and March was in the works. The Master's appetite seemed to have been regained a little, for he began eating breakfasts sometimes.

Cogsworth had gathered a routine of sorts in making rounds of the castle. Having no physical requirements save that of resting his mind at nightfall he had nothing to do all day but make these rounds, and they became a most serious matter for him.

For you see in that time when he had appeared in the kitchen and had discovered that the curse could be broken in theory he had been doing previously nothing at all. He had been standing on the floor in some dark and dismal corner staring out across the hall to the window up into a white, blank sky. At first he had been merely feeling sorry for himself and he stood there in silence for quite some time. Not sleeping, not resting, just staring and not thinking about much of anything at all except that he hated the state of things. And a dreary sense of lethargy grew within him. Hatred mellowed to annoyance and annoyance to apathy until he found that he suddenly had lost himself entirely. When he awoke or came to himself days had gone by, and he was not quite certain what had happened. As he had pondered over it afterwards he came to the conclusion that he had for a brief period become entirely a clock and nothing else, which frightened him exceedingly. He had then an appreciation for the fact that he at least still had possession of his mind and free will if nothing else, but then the witch or whatever she was could not take that away. No one could take a person's free will, it has been said, unless someone gives it up willingly which Cogsworth had, he realized, almost done.

This resolve to keep himself busy and moving and thinking was furthered by the fact that in just a couple months' time, he did see from time to time a servant who had gone into such a lifeless state only to be picked up or moved out of the way by some other servant thinking such a person to be an ordinary object and becoming quite surprised when the person awoke at the motion. At least it was easy to wake someone from that lifeless state, but still! What if one was undisturbed for years in some forgotten corner?

Cogsworth shuddered.

Thus he kept to his rounds, and made use of his abilities to move and to talk without too much complaint in the months as mentioned, and nothing seemed to change.

Mid March drew every closer to April. The Master now managed one full breakfast and one full supper (both of which he supplied with ever-worsening table manners), and he roamed the castle and the grounds, stalking about like some dark phantom, a ghost upon a crumbling estate, a lion guarding his territory. Yet still most of all he stood upon his balcony staring in silence and so still and angry and miserable that he looked like the many grotesques posted all about.

#

Cogsworth glanced now out the window for a brief pause in his rounds, and a bit of a break from routine. He was still human after all and the steady beat of time had to be broken up eventually. His mind was not mechanical even if his head clicked and clanked with tiny gears and cogs. He managed to climb up onto a table and look out, for he had been attracted by the sound of someone outside, and he had to see what was happening.

The spring weather, which seemed to have been planted permanently within the castle grounds poured out upon a rather charming scene regardless of the oddity of the sight of two or three little tea cups trying to play in a bird bowl along with a few other children of the castle: a little ball, a pair of tiny baby's shoes, and one long snaking jump rope.

Cogsworth was getting used to the sight of the enchantment of the household, but it still looked stranger to see the servants outside than inside. He himself had to admit he had only gone out once since becoming a clock.

The children had reached the bowl with the help of the Jump Rope coiling around each in turn to the edge. Now the Rope just watched more than anything else as she coiled around the stem and the base like a snake. The shoes jumped with all their might creating a great splash. The Potts children scooped up water and threw it out, and the Ball bounced and splashed and fell out to the ground from time to time. Leaping back in again proved for him no problem however, for he out of all the children needed no help from the Rope to accomplish this, and all in all the children seemed to be enjoying themselves. Children, it seemed, could go on with life far better than many of the adults in trying situations. Laughing and giggling with the occasional childish shriek, they would have sounded quite normal had it not been for the sight of them.

A sad sort of smile formed on Cogsworth's face. He found himself charmed by their innocent joy despite it all even if he did think it a tad dangerous for the tea cups, and he had a mind to go out and tell them so. But not just yet. Besides, the grass below them grew thick, green, and soft.

They should be alright, he thought.

The Potts children had come back from tragedy before. The passing of Mr. Potts was still only three years ago, and this new curse at least had not separated their family any further. As some of the more optimistic members of the household had said, at least everyone was still together. No one had been broken; no one had died from the curse. They just had to keep sanity, and as it had also been said by Monsieur Optimisme himself Jacque Lumiere, there was still a way to end the curse even if it never came about.

A thought came into Cogsworth's head then. He had once said that the household should work as though nothing had happened. If he took his own advice, he knew that by this time the castle servants would be in the middle of preparing for Pâques.

Now if normalcy was to continue in any sense of the word, it was his responsibility to keep it going. He was, after all, head of the household. The Master trusted him. The household respected him, more or less, even if he had already lost some of that respect for his behavior at the start of the curse, but perhaps he could make up for it now. Though, perhaps it would also be best to ask the Master first.

Turning back to the corridor, which seemed rather dark and ominous after the bright sunlight of the grounds, he twiddled his hands a bit, longing for the proper use of fingers to perform the correction wringing action.

Such a prospect as asking the Master could not end well. Although the Master had as of yet not hurt anyone badly, the image of himself being grabbed around the middle by a massive, clawed hand and thrown with the strength of an elephant down the staircase and crashing into the floor into a hundred splinters and chunks of coils and gears could not be blocked entirely from Cogsworth's mind. It surprised Cogsworth that the Master had not hurt anyone further than he had even if by accident, but then perhaps that proved that the Master had not changed inside anymore than the rest of the cursed ones. His rage came out more in words and commands than brutish physicality. Yet there was still no reason to provoke the physical beast side of the Master, after all.

Oh, it might as well be forgotten, Cogsworth told himself. The Master would prefer, I'm sure, to brood. This incessant brooding will be the death of him, but who can argue with him now?

"Ah, Cogsworth, there you are," came just the right voice right on cue as if Cogsworth's thoughts had been read.

"Is there a problem, Lumiere?" asked Cogsworth before looking down from the table.

"Why would there be a problem?" asked Lumiere with a shrug. "The only problem is monotony, and wait until you see how we're going to break it."

"Does it have anything to do with Easter?" Cogsworth asked with caution.

"How did you guess?" Lumiere said with a mischievous grin.

Slapping his face with his hand Cogsworth turned away.

"I can still hear my brother," he muttered, "'Basile, this is your last chance to come with me to London. I leave the day after next.' I hear it again and again and … oh … what is it?" He turned back to Lumiere and climbed down from the table.

#

Despite his complaints and his warnings about what the Master would say the turn of events made Cogsworth quite happy. Betraying his true feelings on the subject when he thought no one could see he did appear quite satisfied, and he smiled to himself as he strolled through the activities of the servants.

Gathering flower to be stringed about, the castle cleaned to a shine, the garden pruned, the food and drink planned — everything had to be on the grandest scale. Music had been planned and dances outside. They actually ordered a foreign animal for the roast that arrived at the castle a couple days beforehand to be butchered and roasted on Saturday for Sunday's dinner.

An Easter celebration was just what the castle needed to brighten everyone's spirits. A second chance at Christmas might as well have been granted to them, and indeed in secret some of the servants found or made what they could for gifts for each other. It would be the grandest Easter celebration the world had ever known, but the world would not know of it. The only thing lacking from the preparations was the massiveness of the feast and the guest list for those who would eat it. There was only just a little more than what the Master would need to have his fill on his hungriest days; though he seemed to know nothing about it so far.

The Potts girls each carried a flower in their cups, and giggled as they teasingly argued over which one had the best flower.

"Mine's the biggest," declared one with a smile.

"Oh, indeed it is," laughed the eldest daughter. "But I prefer the buttercups."

"Nothing with cups," said a third in mock offence. "Daffodils are far better."

"You can barely hold yours up, silly girl," said the eldest.

"But the lily is the flower of the occasion," said the first one again, throwing her lily up into the air where it landed on the floor. Running to scoop it up she turned to her fellow sisters and said, "The symbol of purity and new life."

"Which we all know we shall get eventually!" said the first.

"Oh, oui, oui! We will, Heloise," said the eldest. "Eventually."

"I have a flower too!" cried Chip who came bounding forward with an assortment of wild flowers, some spilling out as he bounced like a little rabbit.

"Oh, Chip, now look," said the first one, Heloise. "You're getting them everywhere."

"Let him," said the eldest. "It just makes the place look more cheery. It'll all be cleared away eventually anyway."

"I think the whole floor should be carpeted in flowers!" cried the third, the youngest before Chip.

The other sisters laughed, and Chip grinned.

"I can get more then, if you want?" he said amused by the idea himself, for swimming in flowers covering the whole floor of the dining room would be like the leaf pile of one's dreams.

"No, no," said the eldest. "Just bring your flowers to Maman, Chip."

"Okay!" said Chip bounding away again, most of his flowers had found their home on the floor behind him. He nearly lost the rest of them too as he dodged out of the way of Cogsworth who seemed to the child to have materialized suddenly in front of him.

Cogsworth had been ready for him however and allowed him past, and moved on to the kitchens. Out of habit he checked the time, which was, as stated as easy as blinking now. In his usual way he kept track of how much time everything would take, when everything needed to be done, and any compensation that needed to be made. Yet once in the kitchen he simply asked with hands behind his back how everything was going.

"Finally something other than simple stews and roasts," Honoré said with pride. "There are some things I'm doing for this dinner that I wish I would have done before when the elite of France would be eating it!"

"Ah, ah," said Cogsworth with a knowing smiling. "No talk of before, just enjoy the present."

"Mais oui, mais oui!" agreed Honoré, and his assistant cooks with him.

Then it was off to the gardens where Cogsworth saw how the groundskeepers were getting along. He had not seen the castle so happy since the curse began. He could not remember the last time he had felt this happy himself even before the curse. He strolled about almost leisurely and against his usual tense disposition, but he could feel in the back of his mind the ever present shadow of the Master looming over him.

He knew that not telling the Master of their plans was completely against all Cogsworth had ever stood for, but he could not help it. His heart longed for something happy, and if the happiness of the lifting of the curse could not come to them then at least he could make his own form of happiness. Could he not at least have that? One day of happiness? Could not the Master allow himself such happiness as well?

But for the most part, Cogsworth would not allow himself to dwell on such thoughts. The afternoon sunshine banished all dark thoughts and burned away all cobwebs of gloom. Everything looked so green and so fresh, the hedges were cut to perfection, and the walkway cleared of all debris. It was a paradise, as it should be, the grounds of one of the finest castles in all of Europe! He did not even mind it when he heard the voice of Lumiere singing out of century again l'Amour est bleu toBabette as he passed them by under a small ornamental tree.

Lumiere played the while upon a strange, little instrument of his own design that resembled to some extent a sort of lyre that, because of its size, had a very high pitched sound despite the fact he played it well enough to keep it from outright squeaking.

"You have work to do, I'm assuming," Cogsworth still could not help but say, but he allowed Lumiere to make excuse with little fuss before going on his way.

Real birds had found their way onto the grounds again. The sound of insects was just about as welcoming. The gentle breeze wafted through the trees, and crisp shadows danced upon the sharply cut lawn. He could not help but think along similar lines as the chef. Why had he not enjoyed such simple pleasures before the curse?

He saw to it meanwhile that the grotesques were covered up as best they could be in chains of flowers and colorful drapery, which made their shapes indistinguishable, much to his satisfaction. Not a hedge was misshapen, and the pavilions were decorated in streamers.

"All set for tomorrow," said Cogsworth to the head groundskeeper, and he laughed. "It really is too bad there won't be guests arriving. We've certainly outdone ourselves."

"Yes," agreed the groundskeeper. "But I suppose there is no harm in making it bright here if only for the castle's own residents, and of course, in honor of the day."

"Indeed!" said Cogsworth cheerily and after going on a little further he returned to the castle.

With the glow of the perfect spring still warm inside him, and literally still warm upon his metal parts, Cogsworth walked through the now blackish-looking corridors with a step quite light and quick.

Then he heard it.

All joy drained out into the cold floor beneath him at the sound of that horrible roar.

Part of Cogsworth wished only to stand where he stopped and not dare to venture forward, but he knew that he had to. It came from the dining room and the kitchens. As he approached he could hear the Master yelling; though his exact words corrupted in their travel to Cogsworth's hearing by way of the castle's massive echoes.

Biting his lip, Cogsworth pushed open the door to the dining room in time to see the table overturned and thrust against the fireplace.