Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin

  “But every strength can become a weakness. Your mother foolishly abused her magic.”

  “My mother was not a fool—” I said.

  “An innocent fool,” the witch said, cutting me off, “but she didn’t understand the power of her transformations. She didn’t realize they would rob her of her life. When she came to this mountain, she was nearly at her end. I found it a miracle that she lived long enough to marry and give birth to you.”

  “But why? What was so wrong with her spinning?”

  “Well, surely you’ve guessed at the consequences of such magic,” said the witch.

  I thought for a moment. “Something to do with bargains?”

  “A fair guess. When you gave your gold to the miller, you made a bargain, no?”

  “A fool’s bargain,” said Red.

  “Hush, girl.”

  Red was silent.

  “He gave me food,” I said.

  “How much food?”

  I hesitated. “Enough for me.”

  “But an even trade?”

  I stood still. I knew it hadn’t been an even trade, but I didn’t want to believe our trades had been anything but normal. “The miller has never been fair. When has he ever made an even trade?”

  “Spinning straw to gold is a dramatic transformation,” said the witch. “It would take a lot out of a person, even their own control over their magic. You were unable to demand a fair bargain for your gold. You couldn’t even name a price.”

  A chill ran through me. But that couldn’t be true. “What about the king?” I said. “He took my gold and he didn’t give me anything.”

  “Didn’t he?”

  I thought back to when King Barf had demanded the gold from me. I hadn’t given it to him right away. I first asked him what he would give me. Give me the gold and I will spare your life. And I had given it to him.

  “So … they can offer me anything? What if they offer me dirt, or a slug, or … or … something really awful?”

  “Well, I suppose it could be awful. But so long as what they promise has some value and they are able to give it, then the bargain stands.”

  “What if I don’t want what they offer?”

  “Ah. That’s what makes this a dangerous business. Your mother never would have come to me had she been able to refuse a bargain. That is the reason she came to me. When an offer was made, she was bound. She had to give them the gold, and she had to take what they offered, even if she didn’t want it.”

  My will. My control. That was the price, the consequence, of this magic.

  I thought of all those times I had brought gold to the miller. “What will you give me?” I had asked, so desperately, as if I were offering rubbish instead of gold. I had never made demands or requests. I had never refused his offer, and I hadn’t even had the sense to question or wonder.

  The magic had been working on me all this time, wrapping me up in tight tangles, robbing me of my control. I thought of my mother, drowning in all that gold.

  “Couldn’t you have helped my mother at all?”

  “Well, I believe I did help her, though not in the way she expected.”

  “But she’s dead!” Anger flared inside me like a hot spark. “If you really helped her, she wouldn’t be dead!”

  “Her fate was sealed long before she came to me,” said the witch. “But while she was still alive, I told her of the one thing that could free her from her bindings.”

  “What?” I asked, feeling a speck of hope.

  “Have you ever heard of a stiltskin?”

  Stiltskin. It had a familiar sound, but I didn’t know what it meant or where I might have heard it.

  “A stiltskin is magic at its greatest. Pure magic, un-meddled-with and more powerful than any enchantment or spell.”

  “Where can I get one? What do they look like?”

  “Well … they could be anywhere, I suppose, and they can look like anything. It could be a tree or a rock or a mountain. A stiltskin’s magic grows with the object, becomes part of it. It’s a real deep-in-the-bones kind of magic. It can’t be taken away or undone or even abused. It’s stronger than even the strongest curse. I told your mother that was the only way to untangle her mess. But she never did find one. At least not until it was too late.”

  “Then she did find one? Where is it? Do you have it?”

  The witch looked startled, but then she smiled. “It is a good question, but the better question is, do you have one?”

  “How could I? I’ve never heard of a stiltskin until now.”

  “Well, then, a stiltskin is something that must be found on one’s own. It can’t be borrowed or stolen. It has to be yours.”

  “How do I get one that’s mine?”

  “Well …” The witch paused, and I waited, certain she was about to tell me some great mystery, a secret that would make everything clear. But all she said was, “You have to look.”

  Witches are absolutely no help at all.

  “What about her family? Did my mother tell you about her family in Yonder? Do they spin too?”

  “Likely they do. She mentioned some sisters but never went into any great detail, not even whether they knew of her troubles. She may have run away before they found out.”

  “But they could know,” I said. If I found my mother’s family, they might be able to help me.

  Help. I suddenly remembered the real reason I had come.

  “Opal,” I said. “The miller’s daughter. I have to help her.”

  Red snorted. “Help her? You mean spin all the straw into gold for her?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “Rump, don’t you understand what Granny was just explaining about the spinning and the bargains? What if Opal promises something really foolish?”

  “How bad can it be? She wouldn’t offer something too horrible.”

  “Strange promises can come out of the desperate,” said the witch. “Sometimes it’s best to leave others’ destinies alone.”

  “And what of my own destiny?” I asked.

  The witch’s bright gaze pierced me right through. “It’s yours to find, along with your name,” she said.

  “It’s getting dark,” said Red. “We have to go now. Mother will worry.”

  Gran would have been worried too. I wished she were here to worry over me.

  We made to leave until the witch said, “Wait.” I turned around. She came forward with her hand in a fist. “Hold out your hand.” She reached out, and for a moment, I thought she was going to give me something special, maybe something magical that would help me. She dropped a speck in my hand, and all my hope drained away.

  “Oh … Thank you.…” A seed. She had given me a tiny seed. What good would a seed do me in a mountain that refused to grow anything but pine trees and wild shrubs?

  “Little things can grow big,” she said.

  I put the seed in my pocket and nodded, too exhausted to argue.

  “One last thing,” the witch said. “Watch your step.”

  Red and I walked in the snow, the stones on either side the only sign of the path. We didn’t talk the whole way home. We were both thinking, though, and probably about the same things, but in different ways. I was thinking that I should help Opal. Red was thinking that I shouldn’t. I was thinking about bargains and death. Red was thinking I was an idiot.

  My thoughts turned again to my name and my destiny. Maybe there was more to it than I really knew. I felt it, as if it were hovering just above me but I couldn’t grasp it. I did have a whole name. My mother had whispered it in my ear, and somewhere in the world it existed or I wouldn’t be here. That’s what I thought, anyway. But for now I wondered if the destiny I was following was connected to my real name or only the bit of the name I knew.

  Just as we approached my cottage, I stepped into a ditch and went sprawling.

  So much for heeding good advice.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rump to the Rescue

  It was afternoon when we
reached my cottage. Red stood by me and finally spoke her mind.

  “You’re going to go, aren’t you? To help Opal.” It wasn’t a question, really, and the declaration cleared my own doubt. I had to go.

  Red let out a heavy sigh. Her brow was knit and her mouth curved down, but she didn’t look angry. Was she sad? I’d never seen Red sad. That’s when I realized that, even if she did call me an idiot, Red really cared what happened to me. She was my one true friend.

  “Will you take care of Milk for me? She gives some milk still.”

  She nodded. “What about your donkey?”

  “I’m taking him with me.” I didn’t want to burden Red too much, and even though Nothing was ornery and stubborn, he might be able to carry me or my things, if I could get him to move.

  “How will you find Opal?” Red asked.

  I shrugged.

  “What if she’s locked up?”

  I shrugged.

  “What if you get caught and shot with an arrow, or poisoned, or—”

  “Then I’ll be dead, Red.” I smiled because of the rhyme, even though it wasn’t a happy one.

  Red gave me one of her rare smiles. “You’re an idiot, Rump, but the smartest idiot I know.”

  I put my hands in my pockets, pulled out the seed Red’s granny had given me, and held it up to the sun. I thought how the odds were stacked against both the little seed and me, a boy all tangled in life and magic. We didn’t have a chance, really, but sometimes you still have to try.

  “Little things can grow big,” I said.

  “Under the right circumstances,” said Red, and she bent down and dug up some cold earth. I placed the little seed in the hole, and we covered it up.

  After Red left, I stuffed just a few things in a satchel: a dry loaf of bread, some biscuits, a skin of water, and my mother’s bobbin from her spinning wheel. I knew that it wasn’t the reason for the magic, but I wanted it with me. A little piece of Mother, a piece of home. I wished I could take a piece of Gran with me too, but there was nothing. I would have to carry a memory.

  It was late afternoon as I walked through The Village, toward the road that led down The Mountain. I stopped once and looked back on The Village. I had never seen it from this view. The houses were stacked in jumbled clusters up the mountainside, some so lopsided they looked like they might slide right down. Smoke rose from chimneys, and windows were lit with candles. The mill stood above all the houses, the biggest building by far. High above the village were the mines that I had worked in my whole life. I had never been anywhere but this village. Even though I knew there were other kingdoms and villages and probably mountains all over the world, this had always been my world. I imagined my mother leaving Yonder and feeling the same.

  In my mind I thought I would not be gone for very long, but in my heart I felt like I was leaving on a great expedition, and if I ever returned, I would be very different. I hoped I would be different.

  I was leaving The Mountain at last. True, my leaving might have sounded far grander if I were leaving a place with a real name, like Ochenleff or Asteria. But I left just the same.

  It all sounded so big and adventurous, but my lofty sentiments were squashed before I had gotten even halfway down The Mountain. Nothing didn’t carry a thing. Instead, I hauled him. It was about as fun as playing with pixies. When I tried to ride him, he either wouldn’t move or moved so fast I couldn’t hold on. Then he stumbled and I fell off. I ended up pulling him the whole way while he bellowed and spit in my ear.

  When I finally reached the bottom of The Mountain, it was night. Luckily, there was a little moonlight or I wouldn’t have been able to see at all. I met a man driving a wagon and asked him how far it was to The Kingdom and what direction.

  He pointed in the direction I was already going and said it was a good twelve miles. My heart sank. “I would gladly give you a ride in my cart,” said the man, “but your donkey doesn’t look like he’d keep up with the horse.”

  “No,” I said, “he wouldn’t.” I wanted to kick Nothing. Maybe I could just tie him up here and get a ride anyway, but then someone might steal him. Worthless as he was, he was the only company I had on this journey. I gave another tug and we plodded down the road.

  After an hour I was starving, so I ate all the biscuits in my sack. We found a stream to drink from and some early spring grass for Nothing. After that he settled right down in the grass and didn’t want to move. I pulled and pulled, but he just bellowed. I got on his back and kicked him as hard as I could with both legs. He still didn’t move. I pulled out my mother’s bobbin and poked his side with it. He bellowed and jumped right up and started trotting down the path, with me hanging on him sideways.

  Nothing carried me for only a few miles before I had to start pulling him again, and after another hour I wondered if the man with the cart had been mistaken and it was really twenty miles, or even thirty. I had no sense for distance. Maybe I wouldn’t get there by tonight and something really awful would happen in the morning. What would the king do to Opal and her family if she didn’t spin the straw into gold? How could I go back home if I failed?

  The road widened and small houses started to appear, their windows all dark and quiet. It must have been very late, but the houses gave me hope that I was close to The King’s City. The houses got closer together and smaller, then very close and stacked on top of each other. They looked like little towers made of rubble that a wind might blow over. Then they spread out a little and got bigger. A lot bigger. The road began to wind and curve up a steep hill, and at the top was a giant stone wall. Beyond that wall was King Barf’s castle. Opal was there.

  Nothing would not go up the hill. It was almost as steep as The Mountain, and no matter how much I poked and jerked and kicked, he wouldn’t budge. So I reasoned that if he wouldn’t budge for me, he wouldn’t budge for anyone else, either. I left him on the side of the road, by a tree. And I hoped a swarm of pixies would bite his bony stubborn rump!

  Halfway up the hill, my courage started to drain with my energy. In all the excitement of being a hero, I hadn’t thought any of this through. When I started my journey, it was as if all the obstacles in my way weren’t really obstacles at all—just minor annoyances. But when I reached the top of the hill, I realized that they were definitely obstacles—and big ones. The castle was surrounded by towering walls with closed gates, and soldiers guarding those gates with spears and bows and arrows.

  Would I be a coward if I went back down the hill? What would Gran do? It was a silly question. Gran would never have gotten into this mess in the first place. Oh, how I wished I could talk to her now!

  I needed to think.

  I thought about what was in my way, and what I had to do to get it out of my way. I needed to get to Opal in the castle, but in my way there were guards and spears and arrows and a stone wall and possibly more of that beyond the wall. What did I have?

  An ornery donkey stuck at the bottom of the hill, a dry loaf of bread, and an old bobbin. And one more thing. At that very moment, a miracle happened.

  A horse and cart came up the hill, and the driver hopped down to speak with the guards.

  “Straw deliveries go to the stables,” said one of the guards. “Other side of the castle.”

  “This ’ere straw ain’t for no stables. This is for a chamber. Had an order for it to be brought this way.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I’ve got a letter.”

  Straw for a chamber! That had to be for Opal! The guard looked down at the letter the man was holding out. While they spoke, I crept to the back of the cart, unseen by the guards or the driver. I pulled myself up and dug myself into the straw until I was completely hidden. In a moment I heard the gates squeak open and the cart rolled forward. I almost laughed.

  The cart ambled on for a minute but then stopped, and I heard the driver unhitch the mule. The driver spoke with probably more guards, and then I was pretty sure we were inside the castle because everything started to e
cho.

  The straw was scratching at my arms and neck and everywhere. I struggled to remain still, and the itching stirred up an uncomfortable memory also involving straw. It had happened a few years ago. I was hiding from Frederick and Bruno in a barn behind a huge stack of straw. They were mad at me because I had sneezed really loudly in the middle of their older brother’s wedding—right at the quiet part. So Frederick and Bruno were chasing after me, trying to light my pants on fire. I guess I should have realized that a haystack is not a smart place to hide when you’re running from fire. The whole barn burned down and I barely made it out alive. Needless to say, my pants did catch on fire. The memory made me shudder. I suddenly wondered that I’d jumped into this pile of straw so readily.

  Finally the cart stopped and the man knocked on a door. A few muffled exchanges. I heard a woman’s voice, Opal’s maybe. Suddenly I was tumbling out of the cart, rolling in the straw as it came down. The straw still covered me on the floor, and I heard the cart trundle away as the door shut.

  I was just about to peek when I felt hands digging into the straw, pulling out big clumps. I froze and then someone grabbed my hair and yanked. I yelped and flopped out of the straw, hitting my head on the floor with a loud crack.

  “Oh!” said a voice. I looked up and saw a woman standing over me. But it was not Opal.

  The woman had a feather duster and a rag tucked in her skirt. She was older but tried to hide it with lots of rouge on her cheeks and lips. She was holding a big piece of fabric in one hand and a fistful of straw in the other.

  This straw was to stuff a mattress. It wasn’t for spinning.

  The maid’s surprised face suddenly turned hard. She scooted back and reached for something behind her, a poker, and pointed it right at me. “Get out, you little rascal. There’s nothing in here for you to steal.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  She whacked me on the shoulder with the poker. “Get out!” She whacked me again. “You filthy mongrel, get out!” I scrambled to my feet, my satchel clutched to me. I tried to reach for the door, but the woman swung at me again and I rolled to the other side of the room.