Chapter Six: The Signing Ceremony

“You were not prepared for this,” Rumpelstiltskin observed when they were standing alone, outside the palace walls. “You did not even pack.”

“Why would I?” Belle thought to herself. All magic came with a price, but she never imagined she’d have to leave home to pay it.   

She did not say this aloud. The less said to him, the better. But she did not relish turning back for her things. She’d gotten through her goodbyes without a painful scene. She wasn’t so sure she could hold out a second time. Still, there was no other way.

“Well, no matter,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “Just think of a few things, and I will get them to the castle.”

She looked at him blankly.

“For example,” he said with a note of exasperation in his voice, “what do you wear on a cool night like this? A cloak, I assume?”

The first cloak that came to mind was the coarse green and yellow one she’d borrowed from Gabrielle, not her own fur-trimmed cape. But the moment she thought of it, she was wearing it.

“This isn’t actually mine,” she said, looking down at herself. “I borrowed it from a friend.”

“Very well then. Think of your friend, and I will leave a gold coin and a note for her.”

“But –”

“It’s a simple purchase, not a deal. She will owe me nothing.”

Belle stared at him. A gold coin was an exorbitant sum to pay for such a plain cloak. He certainly threw his wealth around capriciously. But since he could just spin more gold, and it would benefit the Villeneuves. . .

“May I make another purchase from the same friend?” she asked, thinking of the blue dress.

“If you must,” he said, as the dress materialized out of thin air. “But that’s all for clothing.”

He lifted the flap of his own cloak, and the dress disappeared into it. Just like the pirate in the tavern, he was wearing an Agraban Cloak of Endless Storage.

“I will allow a few books. I gather you are fond of reading.”

Grateful to be getting books at all, Belle closed her eyes and began envisioning her favorites. “Her Handsome Hero, for sure. My pen and journal, and. . .”

“Enough!”

Startled, her eyes flew back open. He was now sizing her up. He frowned disapprovingly, much in the way she had seen the housekeeper look over a maid whose uniform was askew. In the next instant, she was wearing long, leather riding gloves.

“Thank you,” she whispered, embarrassed at being found lacking.

“Hmmph!” he sniffed, making her feel worse. Yet his next gesture was one of incongruous chivalry. He offered his arm.

Belle balked. She'd tolerated the brush against her elbow because that was how he sealed his deals, but linking arms with him was beyond the call of duty. She'd agreed to work for him, nothing more.

“No time for fussing, dearie. We’re keeping the ogres waiting.”

“We’re meeting ogres? What for?”

“To sign the peace treaty, of course. That is what you asked of me.”

Now Belle felt stupid. When she asked for his help, all she imagined was him magically sending the ogres away. She never dreamed there would be this much pomp and circumstance. Even Father had never signed a peace treaty! Avonlea was so small and quiet, he never needed to. Belle felt completely out of her depths. 

“Transport will be easier if you would just take my arm,” said Rumpelstiltskin impatiently.

Reluctant as she felt, she could not disobey him. She grasped onto his arm, and he snapped the fingers of his other hand. A puff of smoke surrounded them, and suddenly, the ground seemed to fall out from under her feet.

“Oh!” she cried out.

They were floating through the ether, but the only thing she could see around her was smoke. She clung to his arm as though her life depended on it. The whole trip only lasted a second, but he was laughing at her when they landed.

“You may let go now, dearie,” he giggled. “Didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

Belle snatched her hand back and took a step away from him. “No, it didn’t hurt,” she thought, “but it didn’t feel normal.”

She tried to collect herself and get her bearings. They were no longer at the palace, but on top of a hill in the forest. They could see the entire lay of the kingdom from up there: the palace, the village, and the two army camps.

He reached into his cloak and pulled the legendary dagger of the Dark One, engraved with his long, cumbersome name. She gasped at the sight of it, but he ignored her. He held it skyward, just as Morraine described, and it absorbed some of the moonlight. The engraved letters went from black to shimmering.

A beam of white light streamed out of the dagger and radiated up through the air. One of the ogres took notice and walked toward them. His noisy footsteps made the ground tremble. Belle was nearly trembling herself, her heart was pounding so hard.

“Here. Drink that,” said Rumpelstiltskin, handing her a vial of chalky liquid.

“What is it?”

“An import from Wonderland. It will make you grow to the height of an ogre. Perfectly safe.”

Eyeing the vial warily, Belle did not drink. Meanwhile, Rumpelstiltskin reached back into his cloak and pulled out another vial for himself. He downed it in one gulp and began doubling, tripling, and quadrupling in size. It all happened so fast, Belle felt like she must be shrinking as he shot up through the sky. She swallowed her potion and caught up just in time to be introduced to the ogre.

“Chief Shrek, allow me to present Princess Belle of Avonlea.”

Belle was too stunned to speak. Ibber must be the ogre she freed from Gaston’s trap. Father criticized her for doing it, calling it an act of misplaced mercy, but it sounded like she’d earned Avonlea some goodwill. She longed to ask the chief more about Ibber, but Rumpelstiltskin would brook no delays. He wanted to get down to business.

He waved his hand, and a table with three chairs, perfectly proportioned to their now inflated size, appeared. Even sitting down, they were so big that they were overlooking the treetops.

“Peace treaty,” said Rumpelstiltskin, making three sheets of parchment unroll on the table, “for your review.” 

With another wave of his hand, Rumpelstiltskin conjured a lit candelabra and three quill pens. Belle and Chief Shrek began reading their copies of the treaty.

Shrek, Chief of the Ogres, representing all ogrekind, and Belle, Princess of Avonlea, representing herself, the monarchy, and its subjects, hereby agree to leave each other in peace. To this end, Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, guarantees that he will fortify the ogres’ barrier and will maintain a protective force over Avonlea. This treaty is binding now and forever.

“We agree,” said Chief Shrek.

“As do we,” said Belle.

“It’s a deal then,” said Rumpelstiltskin. They passed the treaties around the table, taking turns signing each copy.  

When they were finished, Rumpelstiltskin looked over all three documents. He wrinkled his nose and passed them back to Belle. “You must sign with your title,” he told her. “’Belle, Princess of Avonlea.’”

Flustered, Belle made the correction. Rumpelstiltskin scrutinized the treaties once more. Satisfied at last, he handed one copy to Chief Shrek.

“Ordinarily, I would simply transport you back,” he said, “but the people of Avonlea need to witness your departure. March your troops out in procession, and when the villagers recognize that you are going, I will signal and send you the rest of the way.”

“That works for us,” said the Chief. The two shook hands, and when Shrek got up, not only did he bow to Belle again, he kissed her hand. “Our deepest apologies for your mother’s death,” he said.

“Th- thank you!” stammered Belle.

Evoking Mother’s memory now was a bittersweet tribute at best. She was the prime martyr of the war, but her inspiration guided the peace. Belle only managed to keep her composure because she knew that Mother would have.

“I know an apology is not really enough,” said the Chief, “but at least we have peace now.”

“Yes, we do,” said Belle. She glanced shyly at Rumpelstiltskin. “Thank you.”

Just like Chief Shrek, he bowed.

Shrek saluted him and then turned back to his encampment. He covered so much ground so quickly, it did not take him long to give his army the order to begin packing themselves out.

Rumpelstiltskin pulled two more vials out of his cloak. He spilled a drop of liquid onto the table and then passed a vial to Belle. “The antidote. Drink up.”

She obeyed him immediately that time. If she hadn’t, she would have broken the chair she was sitting on. Like everything else on and around the table, it was shrinking to its regular size.   

“I will store these at home,” said Rumpelstiltskin, making the two resized treaties disappear. He made Shrek’s chair vanish, too. Only the candelabra and quills remained.

“Contract of Employment,” he said, as two more pieces of parchment spread out before them.

“Contract. . . of Employment?” repeated Belle shakily. She should have seen this coming.

“What else? Did you think I’d pull a bait-and-switch and have you sign a marriage contract? That’s not my style at all. I’m a man of my word. Besides,” he tittered, “I’m not that cruel.”

While he sat there snickering at his own jokes, Belle stewed in resentment at being the butt of them. It was just like what Morraine wrote. He raises commoners into royalty because he thinks it’s funny. Apparently, doing the reverse tickled him, too. One minute, he was bowing to her as head of state, and the next, he was making her sign over her life.

Still laughing, he nodded toward the contract, silently prodding her to start reading. She picked up her copy. To her surprise, it was longer and more complicated than the peace treaty.

In payment for services procured by Belle, Princess of Avonlea, and delivered by Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One, both parties agree to the following conditions and terms:

The first several clauses began “Belle shall,” and they listed her new responsibilities. She did not get far in reading them. Her eyes began brimming with tears. What if he grew dissatisfied with her performance? She’d made a few blunders already. Would the people of Avonlea suffer for her mistakes? A few tears dropped onto the page.

“No, no! You’ll destabilize the ink!” he scolded, levitating the contract so that it floated out of reach.

She promptly dried her tears. He lowered the contract back down. She tried to continue reading, but it was no use. She was too distraught to concentrate. All she grasped was that the last set of clauses began exactly the same way, “As long as Belle remains in his employ. . .”

Belle never expected to end up with a bagful of gold like Morraine, but she thought she’d at least be clever enough to see through his word games and emerge from her deal unscathed. Now it seemed she was just like everyone else: caught in a life-sized knot, with herself stuck in the middle.

“How do I sign this one?” she asked morosely. “As ‘Belle, the maid?’”

“Just ‘Belle’ will do.”

She signed both copies, and so did he. Then he whisked them away with the quills. She sat there feeling utterly hollow.

“Look!” he said, pointing at the village below.

Little by little, the villagers were lifting their window curtains to get a peek at the ogres marching away. As promised, Rumpelstiltskin sent Shrek the signal. He pointed his dagger upward, and the silvery moonlight shone out of it again. Shrek gave him one last salute before he and his army disappeared in a massive cloud of smoke.

A great cheer erupted all over Avonlea. The soldiers began breaking camp. The townsfolk ventured out of their homes and poured onto the public square. Friends ran to friends and hugged one another. Belle thought she could even make out the happy tunes of fiddlers.

How she wished she was down there, celebrating with everyone! But she must stay here, with her new master. The full weight of her decision was sinking in.

“I will never see Avonlea, or anyone in it, again!” she thought as tears refilled her eyes.

She’d always dreamed of getting away from there, of seeing more of the world. Sometimes she even complained about how provincial her life was. But now, with magic exploding around her at breakneck speed, all that dull sameness was suddenly precious.

“At least Father and the villagers will be safe,” she told herself. But her tears were beginning to fall.

She remembered her oversized hood and pulled it over her head. There was no hiding from the mercurial monster she’d just bound herself to, but she was not going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“As steady as a heartbeat in the negotiation,” he said, “but they always break at the execution.”

And then Belle couldn’t stop herself. Her floodgates burst forth. Soon she wasn’t just crying; she was sobbing. Her whole body shook until she was off her chair and kneeling on the ground, weeping over that beloved bit of forest earth.

Belle did not know how long she remained bent over the ground like that. She simply cried until her energy was spent. Then, she became self-conscious. No servant could behave like this at home! She caught her breath in short stutters, got up, and curtsied to her new master. “Excuse me,” she whispered.

He did not reprimand her. He did not even mock. He simply held out his arm like an unenthusiastic partner leading her to a dance set. With a matching lack of enthusiasm, she took it.

Once again, smoke surrounded them and brought them somewhere else. The floating sensation didn’t jostle her as much the second time, but she could see they had traveled much further in that brief instant. It was colder in his part of the Land. There was a chill in the air and frost on the ground. She shivered as he waved the great doors of his castle open.

His castle was bigger than Father’s, but much drearier. They stepped into the foyer. Evidently, he kept no other servants, so he removed her cloak with a snap of his fingers. It vanished completely, leaving her feeling bare and powerless. This man could go anywhere, do anything, and hurt her anytime he chose. She was entirely at his mercy.

Cackling, he led her through his Great Hall. With its banquet table and imposing tapestries, it wasn’t all that different than any other grand home she had seen, except the back wall was lined with cabinet upon cabinet of objects she assumed were magical. At the side of the room stood his famous spinning wheel.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Let’s just call it, ‘your room.’”

He opened an iron door to a bare jail cell. There wasn’t even a bed. No favorite book or journal to give her a little comfort. No blue dress to change into in the morning when she started her maid duties. Just her cloak, which would have to serve as both pillow and blanket.

“My room?” she exclaimed in horror.

“Well, it sounds a lot nicer than dungeon,” he chuckled, pushing her inside.

She heard him lock the door behind her. “You can’t just leave me here!” she shouted, pounding on it. He did not answer. He probably didn’t even hear her. All he had to do was snap his fingers to take himself anywhere he pleased.

She sank down onto the cold, stone floor.  

“I guess it serves me right,” she thought. “I let Anna get caught by that witch, so now I’m in prison, too.” She sniffled. “At least this time, I’ve only harmed myself.”

A fresh batch of tears welled up. Belle thought she’d cried herself empty back in the forest, but it seemed her sorrow would never end. And there was no reason to hold back now. Her pride shattered, she let loose. She curled up with her cloak, and for the rest of the night, sobbed and keened for home.