VI

"Is my surprise in there?" Belle asked dubiously, looking at the unfamiliar doors in front of her. Coming from the Master, she wasn't sure what to expect.

For the first time in the years that she had lived in his castle, the Master had come to her room that morning. It had been at the crack of dawn and her room still dark when his insistent rapping at the door had awoken her. She had rolled over in her bed and hoarsely called out: "Yes?"

He hadn't come in – curiously old-fashioned and polite, she thought through her grogginess, not walking in on a lady in her nightclothes – but had spoken through the door. "If you would get dressed and join me, dearie there is something I have to show you."

She had dressed quickly, tying her messy hair back with a ribbon. When she stepped out into the corridor, he was waiting for her there. "What is it?"

"I can't tell you. It's a surprise," he had said gravely as he turned around, clearly expecting her to follow. He had led her through the Dark Castle, down a familiar corridor when he suddenly stopped, and turned towards a pair of double doors that Belle was positive had not been there before.

"Is my surprise in there?"

"Right through here, dearie."

"Do you want me to close my eyes?" she offered lamely, just as he put his hand on the doorknob.

"Close your eyes?" he repeated, bemused.

"You know – because it's a surprise. People are often blindfolded or, you know, close their eyes, so they don't see it coming."

"Oh," he said, frowning. "All right, close your eyes then."

Belle did. She heard the doors open, and although she had expected it, the sudden cool touch of his hand on hers still came as a surprise when he slowly pulled her forwards into a room. A very large room, judging by the echo of their footsteps.

"Wait here." His hand disappeared, and she heard the sound of curtains being opened and sensed the room growing lighter around her.

"Now can I open them?"

A pause. "All right."

She did – and couldn't help gasping when she found herself standing in the middle of the most massive library she had ever laid eyes on. The bookshelves covered the walls up to the ceiling, high, high above, accessible by ladders, so that the room seemed practically made of books piled one on top of the other, with the exception of the windows – mercifully large windows, with open curtains – overlooking the mountains, so that it was still a light and pleasant room despite its size. Belle found herself beaming involuntarily as she twirled around again and again to take all of it in.

The Master was watching her carefully from a small distance. "Do I take it you like it?"

"It's wonderful." She couldn't downplay her joy. Books had been the thing she loved most for as long as she could remember.

He made a grand, sweeping gesture with his arm. "Then it's yours."

"Where did it come from? It wasn't part of the Dark Castle before."

"No," he admitted. "I grew it just for you last night."

"Grew it?" She shook her head, unable to repress a smile as she looked around yet again. "How did you know?"

"Well, you did have a book in your hand, that night in your father's throne room. I suppose I don't know much about what you like to do – most of what I see you do, you do because you have no other choice," he said delicately. "You'll have to tell me more, since I missed over a hundred of your birthdays. In any case, it will come in useful in keeping you entertained. I have to leave for a few weeks."

"Again?" she said dispassionately.

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear where I'm going," he said. When she didn't hazard a guess, he mimed rattling bars with both hands. "Prison, dearie. And much smaller and more unpleasant than the Dark Castle, I assure you. I am on my way to go and pretend to want some slob's infant brat to give them a reason to lock me away."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"I need to give a certain former pupil of mine the opportunity to ask me a question," he said.

"You're never going to tell me, are you," she said dispassionately.

"I will," he said. "Later. There's still time to tell you later." He hesitated before he spoke again. "Belle, can we begin a new chapter, starting today?" he asked. "I know you hate me, and I don't blame you – I had feelings similar to yours, a long time ago. But we are both creatures of a time that disappeared more than a lifetime ago, and I think we have no choice but to be companions, as much as we can. Neither of us can die, so as long as we live might as well see if we can squeeze a semblance of happiness out of it." He held out his hand. With a monumental effort, Belle shook it. This is what you decided on, she told herself, to make the best out of it. Nevertheless, a swirl of faces – father, Gaston, her maid – passed through her head at the same time.

"I have to warn you," she said without looking at him. "I may forgive, but I won't forget."

"On the contrary, dearie," he said, unsmiling. "I expect you won't forgive. But you'll forget."

At the desk in the library, Belle kept note of how many days the Master was gone, if only for the pleasure of being able to keep track at all. Most of her days were spent in the library where she read with unprecedented voracity, sprawled on the large green sofa, on the floor, or on the bottom rung of one of the ladders moments after she had pulled a book from its shelf. Her appetite for books had been a source of bemused indulgence from her father's household and the townsfolk alike, back in the day. A memory shot through her head unbidden – A beauty but a funny girl, that Belle - who had said that? Gaston hadn't liked her appetite for books, she knew. Her father, though no reader himself, had just laughed. "Better whip up some fascinating conversation to distract her, my boy." But now she had all the time in the world – literally.

The only times she left the library were to make herself something to eat, to sleep, or to go for her usual daily walk in the garden. Old habits were hard to lose. In an adventurous spirit – the Master had been gone for fifteen days then, safely locked up somewhere – she had climbed the old ash tree again and attempted to climb over the wall; she relished the thought of seeing something other than the gardens, going for a stroll. And if the Master happened to come home while she was away, the only pity would be that she wouldn't be there to see his face.

But her efforts were met with as little result as always – the tree branch seemed to extend the longer she climbed, until she had to give up exhausted. There were still no birds or insects in the garden, and she had to admit to herself that it was still a prison – the only difference was that she had chipped a cup and could pick flowers from the flower beds, for lavish bouquets to be scattered around the library. Never roses, however. She could no longer stand the sight of them.

Belle was once again perched fifteen shelves high on one of the ladders, nosing through the volumes. The books were a diverse jumble of novels, poetry, encyclopedias and dictionaries, gardening manuals and cook books, and even some volumes of sheet music. It was as if, as the Master had said, they had really grown there in wild abundance like weeds, with no fixed order or system. She would have to organize them, she was thinking to herself, create her own system, just like the real library in her town…Almost at the same moment she caught sight, with a start of joyful recognition, of a familiar blue cover over to the right. She knew that book, she was almost certain of it. Wasn't that the story book the friendly shopkeeper had given her as a gift, once…? She leaned over eagerly – and too far. One of her feet suddenly lost its footing on the rung and slipped from under her. She crashed into the bookshelves, her head knocking painfully against a sharp edge even as she lost her balance and felt herself falling. Preparing for a painful smack onto the marble floor she had closed her eyes tightly and drawn in her arms – and it took her several moments to realize that someone had caught her.

"Good thing my time has always been impeccable, isn't it." The Master's voice was unexpectedly close by her ear.

"When did you–" she stammered.

"I just came home. I had a feeling you would be in here."

She found it hard to believe she was looking at a man who had spent any time at all in prison. He seemed more relaxed and in better spirits than she had ever seen him, and seemed almost reluctant when he set her back on her feet.

"Thank you," she said, belatedly. She was still in a state of shock, not just because of the narrowly avoided fall but also because of the sudden abundance of physical contact. No one had touched her over the past years, with the exception of the one time he had touched her waist and exactly three times he had touched her hand – she was practically tingling.

"You're very welcome, dearie," he said. Did she imagine it, or did he also seem just a little rattled? "I have a voracious appetite, so it seemed wise to save my only cook."

"I'll get started on dinner soon, then." She paused. "I take it your stay in prison went well?"

He bared all his teeth in his familiar laugh. "Just swimmingly."

Before going to the kitchen, Belle stopped by her bedroom. Her temple, where she had hit her head falling, was aching and she touched it with tentative fingertips. Was it swollen? Bruised? Automatically she turned to her mirror, but she had forgotten that it was still securely shrouded, as the Master had left it after his mirror rampage. And then a sudden moment of inspiration came over her. She kneeled down by her set of drawers, and hurriedly rummaged through the blankets in the bottom drawer. She had forgotten about it, but there, small but intact, was the hand mirror in which the Master had shown her what had become of her childhood home. Now, unexpectedly, it had become the only mirror in the entire Dark Castle to have survived the massacre. Absent-mindedly, she held up to her face. It took her a few moments to realize that the face she saw wasn't her own.