Shut Up, Cinderella

Exit, Pursued by Geese

The first place where they stopped to ask questions was a place Cinder remembered. Old Lark, the master of this workshop, had been his father's teacher once, and Cinder had known him since childhood. Which wasn't to say that he had seen him in the past two or three years. He only hoped the old man was indeed still running the shop, and nobody else had taken over the place.

"Good morning," he said as he entered, looking around the room. It still looked the same as the last time he had been here, the same organized chaos; the perfect opposite to Cinder's neatly-arranged workplace. Shoes and tools, pieces of wood and leather and metal lay scattered all over the floor, mingling with loose pieces of paper with scribbles and sketches on them. There was no sign of the owner anywhere. He had to be in the backroom again, as usual.

"Master Lark?" he called inside.

There was a shuffle of footsteps, then a curtain opened, and out came Lark the shoemaker. The past few years had barely changed him; he was still the same scrawny old man, lanky for a commoner, his gray hair messy and darkened from work in places. His skin was still as weathered as ever, and the dark eyes in his wrinkled face had lost none of their spark.

"Cinder!" he exclaimed, tossing aside his work and laughing. "Why, it's Cinder! You've grown so big! How are you doing?"

Cinder looked aside, unsure how to answer that question. "Well enough," he said vaguely. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know, same as ever." Lark gestured around the workshop. "Always busy, always something to do. It's what keeps me young!"

Cinder didn't answer. Part of him wondered if he should try to smile, just out of politeness, but he didn't feel up to it. He rarely felt much like smiling these days.

Clearing his throat, Lark sobered up, regarding his former pupil's son with curious eyes. "But never mind," he said. "What brings you here today?"

Cinder looked over his shoulder to Gemstone. "We have a question to ask you."

Looking past his shoulder, Lark caught sight of the prince for the first time. "Who's that?" he asked. "Friend of yours?"

"Just an acquaintance," Cinder said as dismissively as he could, solely to see the look of annoyance on the prince's face.

Needless to say, it worked like a charm. Scowling at him, Gemstone stomped up to Cinder's side, pushing himself in front of him and pulling out his shoe. "I'm looking for the owner of this."

"Oh my! Did someone lose it?" With one hand Lark took the shoe from his hands while the other felt around on a shelf for his small gold-framed eyeglasses. "What a fine piece of work, too! The owner must miss it badly."

Gemstone's face fell. "So you didn't sell it?"

"Me? Goodness, no; I'd remember selling such a fine specimen, lad." Lark examined the shoe through his glasses. "What a small marvel! Buckskin, from the looks of it, but dyed black so expertly you couldn't tell it's not natural. And the seams!" He traced his finger along them. "If I didn't know better, I'd say no human hand could make them so fine."

Cinder stared at the window. Sugar Plum's face was flashing before his eyes.

Gemstone leaned closer, trying to see what Lark saw. "So they're expensive?"

"That's one way to put it, lad! I'd say they cost a fortune," the old man laughed. "Whoever bought and lost them must've been rich...or supported by someone very rich."

"The godmother," Gemstone muttered. Cinder grimaced. If only the prince knew how right he was.

"D'you know who sold them?" Gemstone asked, straightening, grabbing Lark by the shoulder with an urgent squeeze. "Anyone who might know who they belong to?"