Cinderella

The New Station

At night, the carnival was still. There were no jolly stilt-men to walk through the cobblestone street, no colorful jesters to light up the blackened sky. No beautiful gypsies to lead someone to freedom. Mariette stumbled through the array of tents, peeking a bit into each one for the gypsies. In each tent she saw people gently asleep, content in that they had a home. But she did not see the gypsies.

As she became more and more apprehensive, she became more and more daring; once, she entered a tent completely, sure it was them, only to find a snoring man, who was twice the size of any she had seen. Almost giving up completely, she stumbled out of the tent and into Mr. Olivier.

"Excuse me," he murmured before he saw her. Then he glanced at her face. "Oh! Hello!"

Mariette nodded politely. "Monsieur Olivier. I've come to ask a favor."

His eyes widened a little, but then took on a mysterious glint. "Of course, Mariette. It is Mariette, isn't it?"

Again, she nodded. "While I still feel less than qualified to join your...group...my circumstances have changed. Is your offer still open?"

He laughed and clapped her hard on the shoulder. "Of course! Oh, Mariette you are going to love travelling with the gypsies! Come, let me show you to your tent."

He took her by arm and led her to a tent she was surprised she had not noticed; the sheer size of it was unbelievable. It was the same tent Mariette had entered the day of the carnival, but she had assumed that is had just been for the working day-that there was another tent that they slept in. Inside, there were bedrolls lining the floor on which the women slept.

As a thought occurred to her, Mariette commented, "Monsieur Olivier? Why are you awake at this hour?"

He shrugged. "I have a mild case of insomnia. Usually tea calms me, but the woman that brews it for me is sick. Yugh."

He pulled open the thick curtains of the entrance, and ushered her inside. The girls were fanned out this way and that, all sleeping soundly. Putting a finger to his lips, he led her to an empty bedroll.

"This used to be Julianna's spot," he whispered, close to her ear, "but she left today. A man proposed to her, a very rich man, and she left almost immediately." He sighed dramatically. "Oh, how she will be missed." He smiled at her, and said, "I will leave you now to your rest. Tomorrow we shall discuss the technicalities of this...arrangement."

When he left she fell onto her bedroll, her head in her hands, and cried.

The girls immediately warmed to her. Melina introduced her to all of them, and the fell on her like flies on a candied apple. One, a charming young brunette with flashing blue eyes, asked her if she had any other clothes.

"Oh," Mariette whispered, plucking at the neckline of her servant's garb. "No, I...I do not."

The brunette smiled and said, "Wait right here."

Moments later she returned with a thin drapery (the word 'gown' would be improper in this case) of a scarlet hue. When Mariette tugged the fabric over her, it clung like a second skin to the parts it covered, and it was nearly transparent. The brunette brought her a mirror, and Mariette gasped at what she saw there. She was beautiful, but more than that she was...alluring. Undoubtedly, heart stoppingly alluring. It was certainly a shock to the sheltered servant girl.

After admiring her with jealous glances, the girls began to instruct her on the dance. It was simply a swaying of the hips this way and that, a twirl of the scarf around her waist. She took to it easily, and was ready to participate the second day.

The crowd was thick with people (of mixed gender) and each was straining to catch a glance at the girls. There were audible gasps as Mariette stepped out of the tent. She twirled throughout the people, as she was instructed, trailing her scarf along the watching men. Once, while stepping backward, she bumped into someone behind her. She spun, an apology on her lips, and was stunned into silence. It was Nicolas.

His eyes widened when he saw her, then roved over her scantily clad form. "Mariette?"

Mariette disguised their discussion by tracing her scarf down his chest, doing a quick twirl around his body. "Hush. I am not supposed to speak with the audience," she said, hoping it would silence his questions.

But it didn't. He only spoke quieter when he said, "What are you doing? Why aren't you at the castle with Winslow?"

Mariette swallowed forcefully. "He-he doesn't know I'm here. Don't tell him, please. I couldn't stay. It's a long story-one that I don't have time to tell."

Suddenly, a large hand cupped her hip bone and yanked her away from Nicolas. She was spun to face the assailant, who was a smiling man in his mid-thirties. He had brought her nose to nose with him, and she could see the glint in his eyes. This man, however, she only vaguely recognized. The slope of his nose, the slant of his eyes....they seemed vaguely familiar.

"Pardon me, sir," she said quietly, trying to tug away from him. She could not.

"You're a pretty one, aren't you?" he said, his eyes roving over as much of her as they could without letting her put distance between them.

This was something she was not prepared for. Her eyes roved the crowd, searching for Monsieur Olivier oranyone really, who could get this man off of her. "Thank you," she murmured, almost distantly.

He was having none of that. He twisted one heavily calloused hand into her hair, jerking her head back to him. "You seem very familiar."

Suddenly, the familiarities in his appearance snapped into place. "Monsieur Merle?! I would have thought you would be home, not in the city."

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Mariette de Casé? When did you join the gypsies?" Before he allowed her to answer her question, he smiled slyly. "Well, isn't this just a stroke of good luck? I just so happen to need my fortune told."

One of his hands, the one on her waist, slid lower and she gasped at his audacity. "I am very sorry to disappoint you, Monsieur Merle," she snapped, again trying to pull away, "but I do not tell fortunes. I am purely here as a dancer. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to return to my position."

Again, he smiled, but now his smile made her want to vomit. "This is your position. Right here." He jostled her, then slid one leg between both of hers, pulling her close. Without warning, he crushed his mouth onto hers. Watching personnel gasped, as did Mariette. She pushed uselessly onto his face, but he only pressed closer.

He was torn away from her, suddenly. A sweating Nicolas was standing above him as he threw him to the ground. Nicolas brought his fist down hard against Monsieur Merle's jaw, and his head snapped back.

"Nicolas!" Mariette gasped, falling onto him and pulling him away. Luckily, no one had seen the incident; while she had been unfocused, Monsieur Olivier had instructed the public to enter the tent.

Antonie Merle lye gasping on the ground, staring in wide-eyed fear at Nicolas. "You disgusting swine! You darelay a hand against me?! I will have you flogged!"

Nicolas was still edging toward Antonie Merle, but Mariette had a firm grasp on his forearm. "No, you will not," Mariette said. "Or Monsieur Olivier will send his men after you." (She did not know if Monsieur Olivier did indeed have "men" to send after Antonie Merle, but it certainly sounded like a legitimate threat).

Monsieur Merle stood and pulled his coat straighter. "Fine. But I will return, Mariette."

When he left, it was only the hold she had on Nicolas that kept Mariette from falling. He caught her as she began to fall, and said, "Mariette? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Thank you, Nicolas, for what you did. Even though it was incredibly stupid."

He granted her with the smallest of smiles. "If you're going to be travelling with the gypsies, then you're going to need to learn some basic self-defense. I suppose I'll have to teach you."

Mariette smiled widely. "That would be wonderful."