Cinderella's Blues

By Brent Nichols

Fancy shoes are the least of Cinderella's problems. She's met a boy she likes, but he's got baggage - a murderous regent with armed henchmen. If she wants to dance with her prince, she'll have to rescue him first. It's time to take off the glass slippers and kick a little butt, or Cinderella will never survive until midnight.

Enjoy an action-packed re-telling of the Cinderella story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brent Nichols
• Release date: Mar 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9780986913709

Brent Nichols

Brent Nichols is a writer and trainer based in Calgary, Alberta.

Book preview

Cinderella’s Blues

By Brent Nichols

Copyright 2011 Brent Nichols

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

The house was small, pleasant, nestled close to a grove of stately oaks on the edge of the village. Twilight illuminated manicured flowerbeds beneath stone walls that rose to meet gables of dark oak, bathed here and there with a warm yellow light that shone through the house’s thick glass windows.

Inside was a scene of simple and pleasant domesticity. The master of the house, a tall man of thirty with a rugged lantern jaw, was pulling on his boots prior to heading out for what he liked to call an evening business conference. Beer would be drunk and songs would be sung, but the men involved would all stoutly claim to their wives that they were forging business alliances.

He paused in the doorway to look with quiet affection at his wife. She sat at the fire doing needlepoint, the soft glow of the flames accenting her simple, unpretentious beauty. She sensed his gaze and looked up, smiling indulgently.

Have fun, dear. Don’t be too long. Cindy wants you to tuck her in tonight.

Okay, Martha. The man smiled fondly at his daughter, a flaxen-haired girl of six who sat at her mother’s feet playing with a cloth doll. She looked up when her mother spoke her name, smiling sunnily at her father.

Bye bye, Daddy. Read me a story tonight?

He smiled. When I get back.

Okay.

She resumed playing with the doll as her father stepped outside, closing the door behind him. When the porch boards creaked a few minutes later, she looked up, expecting Daddy to come back in for something he had forgotten.

Instead there was a moment of silence. When it stretched into several seconds, Cinderella felt a sudden prickle run up her spine. She couldn’t have said what she was afraid of, but she was distinctly uneasy. She frowned at the doll in her hands, then put on a brave smile. Don’t worry, Miss Polly, she whispered. I’m sure everything will be fine.

There was a knock.

Martha set her needlepoint aside and stood, a puzzled smile on her face. As she stepped toward the door Cinderella caught the hem of her skirt, looking up at her mother in mute anxiety. Martha looked down and patted her on the shoulder.

Cinderella sat back and tried to relax. It was, she knew, just her imagination running away with her again. So someone was at the door. It was probably Mrs. Applewood next door wanting a cup of flour, or –

Martha opened the door, and Cinderella gasped in dismay. For a moment it seemed that her fears had been justified. A woman stood in the doorway, her face sharply illuminated from the side by the lantern that hung on the porch. Her nose, vast and ponderous, threw a huge shadow across one cheek. The eye closest to the lantern was squinted shut, the opposite eye open wide, and her mouth gaped open on just one side, to facilitate the squint.

Cinderella shrank back, alarmed. Her mother, though, cried Gertrude! Hello! and stepped back to let the visitor come in. The woman, a stout creature in her forties, moved past Martha and advanced on the quaking child. Cinderella registered only quick impressions – curly hair that stuck up in tufts, a smile that seemed just a little too wide for a healthy person, eyes that didn’t quite line up…

You must be Cinderella! Even the voice seemed just slightly off, a bit more shrill that it properly ought to be. Why, it’s been ages! The last time I saw you, you were just a tiny baby!

Even through her deepening dread, Cinderella managed to roll her eyes. Didn’t people know that babies grew? Adults could be such imbeciles, they really could.

Martha moved up to stand beside her guest. Yes, that’s my Cindy girl. Cinderella, this is Gertrude. She lives over in Fenwick, and she’s finally come for a visit. She’s your Godmother.

Cinderella looked up at her mother, puzzled. Martha explained.

If something was to happen to your father and me, Gertrude would be the one to take care of you.

Cinderella felt her heart constrict in her chest. Martha said quickly, I’m sure it will never happen, though. It’s just in case. Gertrude was my nanny when I was a little girl. She’s a dear family friend.

Cinderella’s anxiety eased somewhat but by no means disappeared. When Gertrude reached down and pinched her cheeks, her fear was largely replaced by annoyance. Cinderella sighed and resolved to make the best of things.

Martha moved toward the kitchen. Gertrude, can I get you a cup of tea?

Gertrude immediately straightened, to Cinderella’s relief. Nonsense! Let me tend to that. I have a lovely draught here, I mixed it from an old recipe that my mother left me, and it will cure colics, foot pain and halitosis… She bustled past Martha, brushing aside all objections, and marched into the kitchen like an invading general. She plopped a kettle on the stove, poked vigorously at the fire, and clattered bowls and cups. Then she rummaged through the capacious pockets of her coat. She drew out a number of vials and little pouches and peered myopically at each one.

Let’s see, this could be it. No, that’s hemlock. Maybe this one? No, that’s to get rid of rats. Let me see… aha! I think this is it. She held