Depravity: A Beauty and the Beast Novel (A Beastly Tale Book 1)

  Depravity

  A Beastly Tale

  Part 1

  M.J. Haag

  Depravity

  Copyright: Melissa Haag

  Published: June 16, 2015

  ISBN: 978-0-9888523-7-2

  Cover Design: Melissa Haag

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without express written permission from the author.

  One

  I wrapped my hands around the cold bars of the massive, black iron gate and glared after the smith’s sons, Tennen and Splane Coalre. The pair cast nervous glances back at me as they scurried away from the beast’s shadowy garden. They had locked me inside because of misdirected spite. It wasn’t my fault I’d seen what I had.

  “This is what you get, Benella,” Tennen had said as he had pushed me into the beast’s lair.

  Tennen thought his treatment just. However, the current situation was anything but just.

  A strand of my dark hair, loosened from my braid by the encounter, fell across my cheek and partially obstructed my view of my retreating tormentors. I shook the hair away from my eyes and took stock of my situation.

  Outside the gate, early morning mist floated around the trunks of the trees, and blue sky shimmered through the gently moving canopy. Inside the gate, neither the light mist nor blue sky penetrated the garden in which I stood. Cast in shadow and eerie silence, the beast’s domain welcomed nothing from beyond its walls.

  Sides still heaving, I struggled to quiet my breathing. I needed to leave quickly. Tennen and Splane hadn’t departed quietly, and it wouldn’t be long before the creature came looking for me.

  I studied the top of the gate. The iron should have been easy enough to scale, but vines climbed the rock walls and twined with the iron rods. I didn’t trust the vines. They tended to move on their own. I didn’t much trust the gate, either. It should have been closed and locked.

  The birds outside the gate fell eerily silent, and my stomach gave a sickening twist as I realized I’d run out of time. I dropped my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

  The beast had come.

  A heavy breath gusted across my neck, sending shivers of fear over my skin, and my hands twitched on the gate. In the distance, I heard the mocking laughter of the smith’s sons as they raced home.

  Taking a slow breath, I forced my fingers from the bars and dropped my hands to my sides. I didn’t turn to look at the beast. I didn’t need to. Once before, I’d seen his dark shape hidden in mist when strangers, worked into a righteous fit, had come to Konrall and tried to storm the estate.

  My breath left me when he clasped my arms, and I suddenly found myself sailing over the wall. I flipped, spun, then floated for a moment before I felt myself drawn back to earth.

  I braced myself for the bone-jarring collision. Instead, I bounced slightly on impact. Puzzled, I quickly sat up.

  A woven mesh of vines strung between trees had cushioned me from the hard landing I had expected. I scrambled off and turned to stare at the tangled vegetation that had saved me. The vines slithered back from the trees, releasing their hold on each other. Slowly, they withdrew to disappear over the wall from where they’d come.

  I stood panting and shaking, looking at the stone wall that extended beyond sight in each direction. The bars I’d held only a moment ago broke the monotony of the stonescape far to my left. He’d tossed me a good distance. Had it not been for the vines, I would have broken a limb or worse.

  My stomach growled hungrily as I bent to inspect my clothes. Father couldn’t afford to replace them. Other than dirt and a few small tears, which I could mend, the old worn pants and shirt would last a while longer. I sighed and straightened.

  The day hadn’t started well. I’d set out to trade for bread using the wild carrots I’d foraged at dawn. Carrots, typically a fall crop, were easy to find in early spring if one knew where to look. The beast’s enchanted gardens grew year round. Though he allowed no one inside, a clever girl could still benefit from the estate. On the east side of the property, the plants crept through a section of crumbling wall. Amidst the fallen rocks, I could find any variety of fruit or vegetable. The type changed every day, depending on the mood of the magic.

  After the long walk back to town with the crisp roots in my bag, I had waited by the baker’s side door, hidden behind one of the discarded barrels littering his yard. Through the gaps in the roughly boarded walls, the heat from the ovens warmed my face as I watched the baker move around his kitchen.

  Sweat had already dampened his brown hair and the heat had colored his face. The white apron that covered his girth was well dusted with flour as he worked at the large wooden table, rolling dough and adding ingredients. The smell of yeast and baking bread filled my cramped hiding spot outside.

  He lifted something to his mouth and chewed. His jowls jiggled with his jerky bites as he squinted thoughtfully. He sampled everything. When I was younger, I’d asked him why. He’d winked, in a secretive way that made me feel uncomfortable, and said he needed to sample in order to know if the goods were quality.

  I didn’t care for the baker. That’s why I hid in the alley, hoping for a glimpse of his mother. She was kind enough to trade carrots for bread while the baker didn’t care how hungry a person was unless they had coin. My father, sisters, and I often went without bread because of it.

  As I crouched, waiting for the baker’s mother, the smith’s wife, Sara, timidly knocked at the baker’s door. I saw him smile before moving to answer the door.

  “Come in, dear lady,” he said, backing up to let Sara enter.

  I found it odd that she used the side door. The shop, filled with the goods for sale, ran along the front of the building and had its own entry.

  “How’s business at the smithy?” he asked in a cordial tone.

  “You know it’s no better or Patrick wouldn’t have sent me,” Sara said.

  I wondered why Sara’s husband had sent her to the baker if their business was slow.

  “That’s too bad,” he said, clearing his dough from the table. “The price has gone up.”

  “What?” Sara said in a shocked gasp.

  “Don’t fret. You’ll be able to pay, I’m sure. I’ve looked my fill, you see.”

  With the table cleared, he moved to Sara and helped her remove her jacket. Though an older woman, she still held her beauty. I’d heard many men in town comment on her pretty features and gentle bearing.

  “A taste. That’s all I ask. If you don’t want to mention the increase to Patrick, I’ll not mention it, either, though I don’t think he’d mind.”

  Sara chewed on her lip and struggled with threatening tears. She watched the baker as he laid a cloth on the flour-dusted table. Then he gave a single, curt nod, backed her up to the table, and helped her sit upon it.

  I wondered what they were about. My curiosity held me in place as I continued to peer through a small crack in the wall, so that I might find out.

  “As I promised Patrick in the beginning, I’ll not lay a hand on you.” The baker walked to the door that separated the bakery from the shop and locked it. Then he locked the side door.

  “Flip back your skirts.”

  Sara lay back on the table and did as she was told. I was shocked to see bare legs and no underthings, but I began to understand the baker’s price. At sixteen, though still innocent, I was far from naive. I’d spied my sister, Bryn, kissing Tennen on occasion. A loose blouse and a hand on her breast usu
ally accompanied the kiss.

  “Draw your heels up to the table, and drop your knees to the side so I can see you better,” the baker said in a husky voice. I could see a bulge under his apron as he watched Sara do what she’d been told.

  He dropped to his knees, kneeling between her splayed legs. My view became slightly obstructed by her foot, but I saw and heard enough to know he licked her. Repeatedly. Sara started making little gasping noises, and I wondered if it hurt.

  True to his word, the baker didn’t lay a hand on her, but he did on himself. He reached under his apron and began tugging on himself. His grunts mingled with her gasps. The sounds they made remained muffled until the end when they both increased in volume for just a moment. Then, silence fell. The baker gave Sara one final slurp and rose to wash his hands.

  My cheeks flamed from what I’d just witnessed, and I felt sick.

  Sara sat up, equally flushed. She refused to look at the baker as she straightened her skirts and stood on shaky legs. The baker wrapped a large loaf of bread, fresh out of the oven, and handed it to her.

  I didn’t want to stay and hear anymore. Silently, I rose and crept from my hiding spot, willing to wait for another day to catch the baker’s mother. My list of reasons to avoid the baker had just grown.

  That was when I turned the corner and ran into Tennen and Splane. They had both been leaning against the neighboring building, waiting for their mother. Neither had noticed me at first, until Tennen ran his hand through his dark hair. Splane’s golden head was turned to study his brother, until Tennen froze.

  The pair had taken one look at my face, somehow sensed I had seen their mother with the baker, and had started toward me. Forgetting about the carrots in the pouch slung across my shoulders, I’d run, and they’d given chase.

  A chase that could have ended much worse, I thought.

  Sighing, I checked that the carrots were undamaged from my fall, grabbed one out, and started munching on it as I walked. There’d be no going back to the baker’s today. I hoped Bryn would be able to make something of the carrots.

  Birds chattered around me, and the mist dissipated the closer I came to home. The trees thinned, and I spotted the curling wisps of smoke from Konrall’s chimneys ahead. At our cottage on the outskirts of the village, I wiped my feet on the rug before letting myself inside.

  The smell of breakfast surrounded me and, despite the carrot I had eaten, my stomach growled again. Bryn stood before the stove, stirring something. Everything else was quiet. I glanced around. Two cups sat near the edge of the sink. Father and Blye had already left for work.

  “Any luck this morning?” Bryn asked as she plated an egg and some greens for me.

  “No bread. But I do have a lovely bunch of carrots.” I set the carrots on the table and sat at one of the four chairs.

  I lived at home with my father, Benard, and my two sisters, Bryn and Blye. Father taught the local children for a modest fee, and Blye helped the seamstress. What little money Blye brought home, she gave to Father. Mostly, Blye received scraps of lace and ribbon as payment, which she kept in a box in our room. She was clever with a needle and thread. So much so, that no one could tell I wore hand off clothes from my sisters.

  “Mr. Medunge wasn’t cooperating again?” Bryn asked.

  She knew the baker didn’t often trade. He required coin. Except this morning. I stirred the eggs on my plate, wondering if I should mention what I’d witnessed. I wasn’t even sure if I could talk about it, but shouldn’t someone know that Mr. Medunge had gone too far? I recalled Sara’s face, flushed and uncomfortable with a trace of disgust when she had stood. She wouldn’t like anyone knowing what she’d done for bread, so I kept the tale to myself.

  “I didn’t bother with him. It’s easier if I wait for Mrs. Medunge.”

  Bryn cleaned up breakfast from the stove then turned toward me.

  “If you have no plans for today, would you circle the estate? We’re running low on just about everything.”

  I glanced at the shelves near the stove. Crocks and cloth sacks lined the aged wood planks. Granted, a few of the sacks drooped loosely at the tops, but they weren’t empty. It took a moment for me to realize it wasn’t supplies she wanted but my absence.

  Bryn had it in her head that Tennen, the same Tennen who’d locked me in the beast’s garden, would make her a fine husband. She thought the Coalre family was wealthy and wanted a comfortable life. Little did she know. However, I needed no further motivation to eat quickly and bring my plate to the sink. I didn’t want another run-in with Tennen or Splane so soon.

  Because of Bryn’s unshakeable infatuation with Tennen, I didn’t bother telling her what he’d done. Any remotely negative remark toward the Coalre family would result in retribution from Bryn, usually in the form of inedible food.

  Taking the fresh carrots from the bag, I searched the sacks on the shelf for any aging vegetables. Wilted greens caught my eye, and I swapped them for the carrots. Calling out a farewell to my sister, I left her to her affairs and once again trekked toward the beast’s estate.

  I didn’t mind the time I spent outdoors. It was a vastly acceptable pastime compared to my sisters’ chosen occupations. Sewing for an extended period numbed my mind, as did cleaning and cooking. Amongst the trees, however, opportunity for adventure abounded.

  In the woods, just before entering the thicker mists, I set several snares with the wilted greens. I’d learned long ago not to set my traps any closer to the estate. Odd things happened to them if I did. I often found the ropes chewed to pieces and, once, animal feces in place of the bait in the exact center of the unsprung trap. It didn’t take long for me to determine the vegetation wasn’t the only thing enchanted around the estate.

  With the snares set and nothing else to do, I went to the nearby stream that ran perpendicular to the estate, flowing south near Konrall. Since most people didn’t venture this close to the estate, I enjoyed enough privacy for a swim. Clothed, of course, since the waters still ran cold; and I didn’t trust Splane to stay home while Bryn entertained Tennen. I didn’t linger long.

  Chilled and wet from my time in the water, I shivered as I walked my way around the estate, heading east. It typically took me most of the day to complete the circuit, but I didn’t mind. Gradually, the wall curved north, and I passed the place where things usually grew. I was not surprised to see barren ground, even though I had picked only a third of what the estate had offered that morning. A third seemed more than a fair share to me, and the estate seemed to agree for, if I returned later in the day, as I did now, it never offered more.

  At the northernmost point of the walled property, I spotted a unique flower growing from the mortar. Its roots barely clung to the hardened surface, but I didn’t puzzle over it. I knew that anything was possible at the estate or near its wall. I plucked the flower, placed it in my bag, and continued on my way.

  Several hours later, I came back to my traps and found I was lucky to have caught a fat rabbit. Its dull eyes let me know it’d been waiting for me awhile.

  With the rabbit slung over my shoulder, I started home. Bryn could make a wonderful rabbit stew, and I knew to look forward to it for breakfast.

  At home, Bryn had already cleaned up dinner but had left a plate for me near the stove to keep it warm. She thanked me when I showed her the rabbit, but insisted I clean it before I ate. She didn’t want it staring at her any longer than necessary.

  Tired, hungry, and wanting to change out of my stiff clothes, I went to the back and cleaned the rabbit, keeping the skin for the butcher. The butcher, a kind man, took many different things in trade for meat. My luck with snares didn’t often require me to visit the butcher, but it didn’t stop me from helping him when I could. I had no use for the skins, but he cured them and sold them to traveling merchants or anyone else looking for leather or fur. It didn’t amount to much money for him, but it did make it possible for him to be charitable to my family when the need arose.

  With the
carcass clean and the skin set to dry, I brought Bryn what she needed for the stew and sat down for my own rushed dinner. I hadn’t forgotten the flower and wanted to ask my father about it.

  My father, a brilliant man, often fell under the thrall of the books that lined his study walls and didn’t hear me when I first knocked. I knocked a second time to get his attention. He looked up with a smile and motioned me in, setting his book to the side.

  “What do you have there, Bini?” he asked.

  I grinned at him, liking that he had used his pet name for me. It meant I had his full attention.

  “I found this near the wall. Do you know what it is?” I handed the delicate flower to him.

  “It’s a primrose, dear. We don’t see them here.” He set the flower on his desk and stood, eyeing his shelves. “Let’s see...” He moved to a section and took a book from its place. Flipping it open, he read for several moments, occasionally turning several pages at a time. “Here,” he said, handing me the book.

  In it, an artist had sketched a likeness of my flower. Once common to many places around the world, its numbers had dwindled as ladies, enraptured by its sweet smell, tore it from the ground in vast quantities to make perfume. I frowned at the book then at the flower. I shouldn’t have picked it.

  “I would think your sister, Bryn, would like the flower if you have no use for it. She could make a light scent from it. Very small, of course. Fun for her to try, no doubt,” he said as he went back to his book.

  I scooped up the wilted flower, replaced the book, and did as he suggested, feeling guilty.

  * * * *

  With relief, I tucked the warm loaf of bread into the bag hanging from my shoulder. The crust crackled as I handled it, sending the yeasty smell into the air to tickle my nose; and I couldn’t wait to get back to the cottage to show Bryn.

  After two days of patiently waiting, I’d finally had a bit of luck. In need of a visit to the outhouse, the baker had called for his mother and asked her to watch the browning bread.