(This story is written strictly for the free enjoyment of fans of the "Beauty and the Beast" television series. No copyright infringement is intended.)
Cloaked
Angie
I must become a borrower of the night
For a dark hour or twain.
She had loved Devin, and now he was gone – dead, most likely. Her heart was breaking.
She had not dared to let him know how she felt - she had been too new to the tunnels, too aware that she was there under sufferance.
Oh, they had declared she was one of them, and she knew they thought themselves sincere, but she had never felt completely comfortable. Her life above, though, was one she did not want to return to. That made it important that she do what she was told and work hard.
However, when Devin had disappeared, she had been unable to keep herself from crying into her pillow. Mary had comforted her, told her not to worry, that she was safe with them. She had not dared to tell Mary what really troubled her.
But she had soldiered on, as her mother would have said, and Mary had given her a project to do. A special one for a special person.
She was good with her hands. Her mother had taught her to sew and she soon realized that a good seamstress was a valued profession below. Their clothes were all made from patches and remnants. Little they garnered from the world above was whole, how could it be, where they found it – in garbage bins, in stinky alleys, in dumps?
However, she liked sewing, liked making something useful from the many things that were piled onto the work table in the sewing chamber. She had made leather vests from a hundred pieces taken from whatever she could find – old handbags, ripped jackets, soft, high-heeled boots. It was a challenge she enjoyed.
Vincent. She had met him within a few days of her acceptance into the tunnels. He had often been with Devin; they shared a chamber. But Vincent was younger, a follower, not a leader. Devin had led him into mischief, but they were brothers in all the ways that mattered. Vincent’s differences never bothered Devin. The two were inseparable, their adventures almost legendary. She heard them all.
When Devin had disappeared, Vincent had been inconsolable. He blamed himself, she realized, and wondered what had happened between them. Father was also morose, and she suspected there was some guilt there too. She had heard rumours of a terrible argument.
But all had returned to normal eventually, and now Vincent’s 15th birthday was approaching. Her project was for him.
Vincent paced his chamber like a caged lion. It was an allusion he was very aware of, but he couldn’t stop himself. Tomorrow he would be 15. Ever since Devin had disappeared, he had been restless, unhappy. That was three years ago.
They had looked everywhere below, afraid he had gone exploring and come to harm. The shattered rooms, the Maze, the Whispering Bridge, all had been carefully examined. But Vincent knew his brother had not gone there. There was no sense of anything having moved or changed. There had been no recent rock falls, no gas leaks. Vincent’s nose told him that.
When he finally calmed down enough to allow his brain to work, he had realized something else. If Devin had disappeared, it was not below, but above. Vincent knew his brother had been restless and upset for days before his disappearance. He wouldn’t talk about it, but Vincent knew there had been a terrible argument with Father. There were few secrets below. Vincent suspected the argument had been about him. No one would discuss it, and he had been afraid to ask.
Devin had been twitching in his sleep, mumbling, in the bed they shared, awakening Vincent, who was a light sleeper, in the middle of the night. He had said nothing to Father, just watched and worried.
He knew his brother was restless. He did not like the restricted life below, ached for the bright lights and sunshine above. Most of all, he liked the people he met up there, especially the women. At 15, Devin looked 18 and was darkly handsome. Mitch had introduced him to some of his friends above. That worried Vincent, but he had not told Father. Devin, he sensed, needed some release – but he was also very careful and didn’t follow anyone around, least of all Mitch. Mitch’s pranks had a dark aspect Vincent found distasteful and they both generally avoided him.
Then Devin was gone. Vincent had found a dark blanket and wrapped it around himself like a rough cape. He had visited all the entrances at night, over and over, to watch for his brother returning, to no avail. He dared not go outside. Father’s warnings were ringing in his ears, but he didn’t need them to know how dangerous it was for him above, even at night. The carousel incident had taught him that. Without more knowledge, he couldn’t sneak above to look for Devin.
Mitch said he had not seen Devin for days. He would have delighted in saying so, if he had. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar - as far as they knew.
Vincent knew, deep in some hidden part of himself, that Devin was alive. They had been very close and he was sure he would have known if his brother had come to grief. His empathic sense was a secret he told no one, not even Father. Devin suspected it. His brother had always known more about him than anyone else, but he never told secrets.
Father seemed sunk into despair and Vincent could not be sure of his knowledge, did not want to raise false hopes. So he said nothing, and eventually life returned to normal below.
Now, his birthday loomed, and he sensed that somehow his life was about to change. Father had hinted at something special.
She worked long hours on the project, cutting pieces of lightweight wool and leather, stitching them together with thin leather thongs. She had to estimate the length, but watched Vincent as he went through tunnel entrances. She ran to measure the space and was able to guess his height with reasonable accuracy. It mustn’t be too long. It must cover, but still give freedom of movement. She left the lower part of the long seams open. The hood, she made generous. Vincent had a lot of hair and it was bright, easily seen in the dark. The hood had to pull down over his face if he wished.
Finally, the main garment was finished, but the sleeves were giving her trouble. She got one done, but could not find enough leather for the other, even in small pieces. She quilted leather shoulder pads with strong leather laces and left the ends hanging in a kind of fringe. She waited, hoping to find the extra leather she needed when the weekly foraging parties returned.
But the night before the big event, she still lacked enough leather. The sleeve was nowhere near long enough and she didn’t want to attach it half-done. She finally made a roll out of a small piece of shiny black leather she had, and tied it up under the shoulder. It gave the look of a swordsman’s cape, leaving the right arm free to move. She had seen a lot of Errol Flynn movies once, and remembered that detail.
They would just have to understand. When she found the rest of the leather, she would complete the sleeve and attach it. Until then, at least the rest of the cloak was done. It wasn’t heavy, but had some bulk. She was sure Vincent wouldn’t mind. He had to be able to hide himself from curious eyes.
She knew Vincent missed Devin, and in her way, she felt she was helping him look for his brother. She knew he sometimes went to the tunnel entrances at night, watching for Devin, even now, so long after the disappearance. Vincent, she realized, knew that Devin had not died below in some lost rock fall or fallen into the Abyss. There was still hope. She took heart from that. One day, he might return. Then she would tell him how she felt.
His birthday dawned and Vincent got up quickly, bathed and dressed. He had not slept well. He waited impatiently for the breakfast signal, writing fractured phrases in his journal. Reading was out of the question. He couldn’t concentrate.
Finally the signal sounded and he almost ran to the dining chamber. He entered to find it dark. Had he misheard the signal? Was everyone still asleep? No, his inner sense told him it was breakfast time.
Suddenly the room exploded into light as many candles and all the overhead lamps were lit simultaneously. Vincent’s eyes were momentarily dazzled. A rousing "Happy Birthday, Vincent" rang around the hall. Everyone was there, huge smiles on their faces, and he laughed with delight.
Father gave his usual birthday speech, but Vincent hardly heard him and then they all sat down to eat. William had made large muffins with chocolate chips and Vincent was allowed two of them, this being his birthday. He wolfed them down to the laughter of his family.
Then the best part, the presents. One by one, the table in front of him became piled with small handmade gifts, wrapped in hand towels or handkerchiefs. One was a bright red, pirate-like bandana, which momentarily reminded him of Devin. Vincent buried that sadness and carefully unwrapped the gifts, finding an embroidered bookmark, a pair of thick red socks, a knitted muffler, a book of Keats poems, and a fountain pen.
He looked around and everyone cheered. Vincent seemed speechless.
She watched as Vincent opened his gifts and realized with a shock that she had made a terrible mistake with the cloak. Vincent was left-handed! How had she never realized that? If she’d had to leave one sleeve open, it should have been the left one. Now that sleeve could impair the movement of his left arm.
She was so upset and embarrassed at this oversight that she barely heard Father hammer for attention and begin his special speech. Father explained that he had reluctantly come to understand that Vincent was not going to allow himself to be a prisoner below. He needed to see the world above, if only at night. Although Father was very concerned about the danger, he had done the only thing he could - he had commissioned her to make a special garment.
She caught her name, finally, and rose in a rush, grabbed the sack at her side, and clumsily made her way to where Vincent stood, looking at her expectantly.
Gathering her dignity, she dropped the bag at her feet, opened it and lifted out the cloak. She couldn’t look at Vincent. He would realize immediately that she had made a mistake – but she knew, just as surely, he wouldn’t say anything.
She heard him address her, realized he knew she was ill at ease and looked up at him. His eyes were so blue she was mesmerized. He was smiling broadly, showing all his canines. She didn’t remember ever seeing them so clearly and felt her heart skip a beat.
She held up the cloak a little higher and he turned so she could put it over his shoulders. Good thing she was tall, she thought. Even so, she had to stand on tiptoe to get the cloak placed properly.
When he turned, he thanked her again, and for the first time, she realized the beauty of his voice. She had never paid it much attention, until then.
She looked at him as he turned to face the tunnel folk. Yes, the cloak looked wonderful on him and it wasn’t too long. He filled it nicely. No one made any comment about her gaffes. Perhaps they didn’t notice.
She spoke up at last, telling everyone that she had run out of leather, but that she would add the other sleeve when she had enough.
Vincent turned to her and took one of her hands in his big, hairy, sharp-nailed ones. She had never felt them before and they sent a thrill down her spine. His hands were gentle, warm and soft, all at once. She found herself speechless. He spoke to her and she looked up into those eyes again.
"The cloak is perfect as it is. It is wonderful, made with skill. I will treasure it, and wear it always."
He let her go and turned to look at his family again, spoke with gentle passion.
"I have had so many gifts today, all of them expressions of love, but this one will give me real freedom. Thank you."
He turned and hugged her to him and she felt her embarrassment melt away. Gods, he felt good! She felt a little guilty for a moment, almost forgetting her love for Devin. Then he let her go and she mumbled something and quickly returned to her seat, her face burning.
They all raised their voices then in a rousing rendition of the Happy Birthday song. After that the party broke up so the day’s work could begin. There was always lots of that.
She returned to her chamber, overcome with emotions. Sadness was primary now. Devin had not returned, as she had half-hoped he would. Surely he would have done so on Vincent’s birthday, if he could. Perhaps he was dead, after all. She sighed and made her way to the sewing chamber. Work, she needed to work, to forget. She picked up a large cushion she was quilting. But her mind wasn’t on it and she stabbed herself several times with the long sharp needle. Finally, she drew blood and she was forced her to wrap her finger in a piece of cloth, to keep her blood off the cushion. She had forgotten her handkerchief. She decided the sewing could wait and went to help Mary with the children.
That night, Vincent made his first foray above. The cloak was so much a part of him, felt so right, he hardly noticed it. He felt like a shadow in the city. It was perfect.
A week later, she was found dead in her chamber. Father diagnosed septicemia, and guessed she had cut herself, perhaps in the sewing chamber. He lectured the community on the importance of getting even small wounds properly cared for.
Vincent regarded his cloak that night with pain. He desperately hoped that she had not injured herself making it. He had not known her, really, but was saddened that the person who had made his most prized possession was gone. He didn’t care about the mismatched sleeve. She had made the garment with great skill. He would be forever grateful.
In truth, he could use his right hand with relative ease, except for writing. He should have told her that, he realized belatedly. She had been visibly upset at the mistake when she gave him the cloak. In his eagerness to test out the cloak, to roam above, he had not thought of her again.
Well, he would think of her now, often. She was lost, as lost as Devin, he thought. In her memory, he found the half-finished sleeve and made it into a pouch for his fire kit. The flint had been a gift from Devin. They had often pretended to be wilderness explorers and made fires in the deep caves.
Vincent hung the pouch over his shoulder, under his vest, on a long leather thong. Now, every time he lit a fire, he would remember both her and Devin.
He didn’t realize that he had brought together two people sundered by circumstance, but the action did give him peace of mind. It seemed right. He felt happier after that.
END