Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin

  “They are alive,” said Red, “but that doesn’t mean they need a name. They don’t have a destiny like we do.”

  “Well, what about The Village? Wouldn’t it be nice to give our village a good name, like … Asteria or Ochenleff? That way, if you wanted to go on an adventure, you could say, ‘I’m leaving Asteria at last!’ Or if you were coming home, you could say, ‘Ah. Ochenleff, my home.’ It would be like greeting a long-lost friend, instead of a mountain full of metal, or just dirt. And maybe it would have a destiny then.”

  “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard,” said Red, but she was also smiling.

  We heard the gnomes in the distance, shouting something in their gravelly little voices. Finally, a gnome ran right past us. “Furball! The name of the new daughter is Furball! Furball!”

  Red and I stared at each other. Then we burst out laughing. We laughed and laughed and curled over our stomachs. We laughed until tears were streaming from our eyes, but then something appeared from the darkness of the trees and loomed over Red.

  I stopped laughing. Red still giggled until a thin, knobby hand touched her shoulder. Red looked up and squealed.

  “Granny!” She looked around nervously, as if to see who else was watching. “W-w-what are you doing here?”

  “I’ll go where I please, girl.” Her voice was remarkably steady, even though she looked ancient. Her cheeks sagged past her jaw and she was hunched over on a gnarled stick that shook under her hand.

  “But—”

  “Hold your but! What’s so hilarious?”

  “Nothing,” said Red. She nudged me while keeping wide eyes on her granny.

  “Nothing at all,” my voice squeaked.

  Red’s granny squinted at me. “You’re Elsbith’s boy.”

  “I’m her grandson.”

  “Well, how is she? A crabby old wretch still, no doubt.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean no, ma’am, she’s fine.”

  “You’re the one with only half your name.”

  I shuffled my feet and glanced at Red.

  “Oh, stop your worry prancing. Red already knows. She won’t tell.”

  How did they know? Gran had told me never to tell anyone that Rump wasn’t my whole name. Some people might think a half name would make a person addled in the brain or even dangerous.

  Red’s granny leaned down close to me. She had a strong, but not unpleasant smell, like fresh things that grow in the earth. “Hmm …,” she said, staring into my eyes. “You’ll find it all.”

  “What all?”

  “Your name. All of it.”

  “I will?” Red’s granny suddenly looked very wise and maybe even less crouched and wrinkly.

  “Not before you cause a heap of trouble, though. And you have to find your destiny first.”

  “But I thought my name was my destiny.”

  “No, no, other way around. Find your destiny, you find your name. It’s right under your feet.” I looked under my feet. Just dirt.

  My brain felt all tangled. Red’s granny came even closer and hunched over so her face was level with mine. It felt like she was looking through me and around me and beyond me all at once. “One more thing.” She pointed her gnarled finger at me. “Watch your step.”

  “What step?”

  The old woman ignored my question and looked between Red and me. “And just what were you two hee-hawing about?”

  “Nothing,” Red and I insisted for the second time.

  “Oh, it’s not nothing. That new baby’s name is funny to you, isn’t it? Well, I wouldn’t think either of you would have the right to laugh at such a name.”

  “Don’t we have more right than anyone?” I asked. “Ouch!” Red dug her heel into my foot, but her granny’s mouth twitched into half a smile.

  “For someone with half a name, you’re pretty smart,” said Red’s granny. “Give Elsbith my warm regards, crabby old wretch.”

  I stared after the old woman as she hobbled away and disappeared in the trees.

  “Your granny’s strange.”

  Red turned red all over and stamped her heel on my other foot. “She is not.” She marched off, kicking up dirt that flew in my face.

  At least I was safe from another pixie attack.

  At home, I told Gran that Red’s granny sent her warm regards, but left out the “crabby old wretch” part. “Hmph,” said Gran. “Crabby old wretch.” Maybe all old women think that about each other.

  I lay awake that night for a long time. The old woman’s words kept poking at my brain, refusing to let me sleep. She said I would find all of my name. How? I forgot to ask her how. Then she said I would cause a lot of trouble. How? She also told me to watch my step. Well, that was probably just general advice. I was always tripping.

  But the words that kept running through my mind over and over were Find your destiny, find your name. Where? Where was it?

  For some reason, I kept looking at the spinning wheel. It sat in a shaft of moonlight, still just biding its time. Waiting for me to spin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Fluff to Mouse, Mouse to Mice

  The next rations day, Red and I walked home together from the mill. We hugged our rations sacks to us, the promise of fresh bread inside them. I wanted to ask Red more about her granny and the things she had said to me, but I didn’t dare, not with the way she’d reacted when I said her granny was strange. Sometimes little things could make Red steaming mad. I just couldn’t tell what those little things might be. That’s the danger with Red. Unpredictable.

  Suddenly Red groaned, and I looked up to see a tall, skinny man leaning against a tree, a giant sack flung over his shoulder.

  “Kessler the peddler!” I shouted.

  The man turned toward me, flipped his hat off his head, and bowed. His bright orange hair stuck out in every direction. Kessler was the only person we ever saw from The Kingdom besides the tax collector. He came to The Mountain to sell goods from The Kingdom—colorful threads, clay pots, and wooden spoons. Sometimes he had gold (likely from our mines) molded into rings and bracelets and chains. How funny that we dug up all that gold, but we could never afford to buy it back. But I wasn’t interested in gold, and the thing I most wanted to see from Kessler wasn’t in his old, patched-up sack.

  “Children!” chimed Kessler. He looked around to see if we were alone, then whispered, “Come for a spell? An enchantment?”

  Magic! I stepped forward, but Red grabbed my shirt collar and hauled me back. “Of course not,” spat Red.

  “Speak for yourself!” I shook her off. I had heard Frederick and Bruno talk of Kessler’s magic. Nothing like a witch turning someone into a toad or making a storm, but he could touch fire, make things disappear, or turn one small thing into another. That’s what I wanted most: to see him turn one thing into something else.

  “Only cost you a scoop of grain,” said Kessler.

  I hesitated. Gran would be furious if she knew I’d traded even a tiny amount of our food for a magic trick. We had so little to begin with. Besides, she didn’t approve of magic. I shook my head and stepped back.

  “Oh, come, just one scoop. You won’t starve for it. Bet you haven’t had much fun in weeks, all that digging.” Kessler gave a feeble smile. Suddenly I saw the hunger in his eyes, how hollow and sharp his cheeks were. He must be even hungrier than I was to sell a magic trick for a scoop of grain. Was I that hungry to see the magic?

  “Can you turn one thing into another?”

  “Of course, of course!” He waved me to come closer.

  “Don’t, Rump.” I turned to see Red standing with her arms folded around her rations, glaring at Kessler.

  Kessler frowned. “There’s no harm in it.”

  “Says who?” asked Red. She suddenly looked very motherly. “Last time you came, you set Gus’s hair on fire.”

  “Well, that was a bit of a—”

  “And remember Helga and her wart—?”

  “Purely coincidence!” said Kessler, cutting her
off with a nervous laugh. He reached into his pockets. “Look, see? No fire, no warts. I will simply turn this bit of fuzz into … a mouse. A mouse!” He waved a tuft of lint in front of my face. Could he really turn it into a mouse? Gran told me a story of turning mice into horses and a pumpkin into a golden coach. Wouldn’t it be fun to see a bit of fuzz turn into a live mouse?

  “Rump,” said Red through gritted teeth. “No.” I ignored her. It was just a scoop of grain. Gran would hardly notice, and I’d skip breakfast in the morning. That was fair.

  I opened my rations sack and Kessler whipped a tin cup from his pocket. He quickly scooped out a heap of flour and then pocketed it again. My stomach clenched. I’d have to skip three breakfasts for that. Red clucked her tongue in disappointment.

  “And now,” said Kessler, holding out the piece of lint, “I shall turn this little fuzz into a mouse!” Kessler cupped the fuzz in both hands and brought it close to his face. He muttered some words, and his eyes got big and glassy.

  The fuzz started to tremble and swell. A tail poked out of one end, and the other end grew ears and a pointy little snout and made a tiny squeak. Last to take shape were four small paws and two beady black eyes.

  A mouse! He had turned the fuzz into a mouse!

  “Did you see?” I said to Red, pointing to the mouse.

  “I saw,” she said grumpily.

  I smiled up at Kessler. He smiled back and put the mouse in his vest pocket. “Next time, maybe I’ll turn the mouse into a cat!”

  Eep, eep!

  We looked down to see another mouse scurrying toward us. Then came another, and another. Eep, eep! Eep! Six mice were skittering over Kessler’s feet. “Well, look at that!” He pulled the mouse out of his pocket. “They’ve come to greet their new friend! Isn’t that magical?”

  I started to nod in agreement, but then I heard strange noises, a pattering, like rain, and also a distant squeaking, like a flock of birds taking flight. The sounds got louder.

  “Here it comes,” said Red.

  Kessler’s eyes went wide. He held the mouse up and stared at it. “Oh. Oh, my—”

  Then came the explosion. An explosion of mice! Hundreds of mice poured from trees and holes in the ground, through windows and under door cracks. Screams and shouts echoed throughout The Mountain. Something crashed in a nearby cottage, and a man threw open the door and fled with a dozen mice squeaking at his heels. The mice converged and ran toward us. I scrambled up a nearby tree and wrapped my legs around it.

  “Time to go!” Kessler hitched up his pants, flung his sack over his shoulder, and ran, mice trailing in his wake.

  Red laughed and shook her head. “That fool! He still hasn’t learned to stay away from magic. He’d be safer playing with fire.”

  “But Kessler only does small tricks. What’s wrong with that?”

  “All magic has consequences, Rump. Even small magic can have big consequences.”

  “If he had turned it into a squirrel, would all the squirrels have attacked?”

  “Something entirely different could have happened, something even worse. Like maybe he would have grown squirrel teeth.” Red stuck out her teeth and wiggled her nose.

  I laughed. Red dropped her squirrel face so she looked grave and grim. “For your food, Kessler takes the risk. But one day it will catch up to him. He might not even get to eat that food before the mice do.”

  I felt annoyed. What made her think she knew everything about magic? “Well, I thought it was brilliant. I should have paid him more,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “He got rid of all the mice in The Village!”

  Red stared at me, then shook her head and walked away.

  If I could, I would do magic. I would change lots of things, for good, like make myself grow, or turn fuzz into food. I’d put more gold in The Mountain.

  That bit of magic made me hungry for more. More magic, more transformation—and not from Kessler. I wanted magic all my own. How bad could the consequences be?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Gold! Gold! Gold!

  That night I jerked awake to a shrill hum. A swarm of pixies hovered over me. One was on the tip of my nose, another on my ear, and two were walking down my chest. Several danced on my hands and chirped excitedly.

  I held very still. I didn’t want another attack like in The Woods. If only I had set a bucket of dirt by my bed. They tugged at my fingers, and with their combined efforts I felt an actual pull to get up.

  It was still dark. Only a faint glow of moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating my bed and the spinning wheel. Across the room, Gran’s snores were deep and even, undisturbed by the chattering and screeching of the pixies. Suddenly they were right in my ears, and their shrieks and chirps went straight to the center of my brain and shook in my skull. They were saying something. I had to strain to listen but they were chanting excitedly. I didn’t know pixies could say real words.

  “Gold! Gold! Gold!” it sounded like. The pixies tugged at my hair and ears and clothes. Dozens were wrapped around my fingers, furiously beating their wings in an effort to lift me from my bed. They were pulling me toward the spinning wheel.

  And in that moment, an idea cracked open in my brain. It was like an egg had been sitting there quietly for a long time, and suddenly the egg hatched and out came the idea, and it was flying all around in my brain and would not stop flapping and chirping until it was let out. I had to let it out.

  What if pixies couldn’t just sense gold inside The Mountain? What if they could also sense it in a person, in someone who might possess the magic to take one thing—a piece of fluff or wool or straw—and turn it into …

  “Gold! Gold! Gold!”

  I rose from my bed and moved toward the spinning wheel. The pixies squeaked and flitted back and forth between me and the wheel. I placed my hands on the wheel and felt a vibration run through me. I spun it with my hand and listened to the whirring as if it had something to say that I needed to hear. Destiny. That’s what this was.

  I had no wool. The pixies had taken it all the last time I tried to spin. I looked around the cottage. There were chicken bones and chicken feathers and bits of yarn. There were quilts and dishes and the big empty kettle in the hearth. I looked down at my feet. Destiny. It’s right under your feet. Just dirt and … “Straw.” I said it out loud.

  “Gold! Gold! Gold!” the pixies sang in response.

  I gathered the straw from the ground until I had a handful. I sat at the wheel. A few pixies fluttered around my hands and the straw and the bobbin.

  “Gold! Gold! Gold!”

  I fed the straw into the wheel.

  Whir, whir, whir.

  I spun the straw.

  My breath caught in my chest. I stopped, unable to believe what I was seeing. In my hand were bits of straw, but around the bobbin were glowing, shimmering threads. I brushed my fingers over the threads, smooth and warm. Gold. I had just spun straw into gold.

  I let my breath out and my whole chest swelled. Straw! More straw! I scrounged for more straw on the ground, all the little bits I could pick up. I fed them through the wheel. More gold! I ripped open my mattress and pulled out the straw. Who needed a straw mattress when you could sleep on gold?

  I laughed and chanted rhymes as I spun.

  One gold thread

  Will buy me bread

  A pile of thread

  Makes a crown for my head

  Whir, whir, whir.

  I fed the straw into the wheel, rhythmically pulling and twisting it, and it made the most beautiful sound as it transformed into gold. A tinkling song, soft yet vibrant. More pixies burst from the crevices, and they all danced on the gold, twittering and screeching, “Gold, gold, gold!”

  I laughed. I loved the pixies! I slid the silky gold off the bobbin and onto the floor to make room for more. I spun all the straw in my mattress. I spun until morning broke through the little window and sunlight made the gold glimmer. I stood and admired the fruits of my labo
r. A fortune lay at my feet. Enough to feed me and Gran for the rest of our lives!

  Gran was still sound asleep, though the sky was lightening. Lately she slept until after I left for the mines, but I was so excited, I wanted to wake her and show her our fortune. This was my destiny, to be rich and fat and happy!

  A shadowy movement caught the corner of my eye. I jerked around and saw a figure ducking beneath the window. I ran to the door and stepped outside. Two people were running down the street. Against the rising sun they were just two black shapes, but I knew those hulking outlines well. Frederick and Bruno.

  I started to shake. All the excitement drained from me. I didn’t care why they had come here or what trick they had been waiting to play. I was only worried about one thing.

  Had they seen the gold?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Gold Means Food

  I tucked the gold beneath my blankets. The warm happiness I had felt at seeing all that gold fizzled as fast as snow on a hot griddle. Now I had a weighty, guilty, heart-pounding, sick-to-my-stomach dread.

  I didn’t leave for the mines when I should have. I sat on top of the gold and thought of all the things that could happen. Frederick and Bruno might think I stole the gold. If they told, I could be arrested. I could go to the dungeons for the rest of my life, or even lose my life.

  I had to tell Gran. Gran would know what to do. But when she rose from her bed, she looked so old and tired, so pale and stooped. I couldn’t tell her. Any more weight on those shoulders and Gran would crumple to the ground. And I remembered the way she had reacted when I first found the spinning wheel. She did not want me to spin, and now I realized it wasn’t because I couldn’t do it, but because I could spin more than thread or yarn. I could spin straw into gold. And Gran had tried to keep me from doing it. What kind of magic was this?

  No, I could not tell Gran. But I needed to tell someone because I felt heavy with worry, and I wouldn’t know whether my worry was real or not until I said it out loud to someone. The only person I could think of to tell was Red.