FSF, January-February 2010 (25 page)

As chance and fairy tales would have it, a transient named Ho was just at that moment passing hurriedly through town, backtracking to Althamea given the regime change. As he was obviously on the lam, the Mayor made Ho an offer: if he would take care of their problem, he could continue south without interference. Alternatively, he could be sent to the Queen dressed in the very best ferrous finery the town of Grunt could afford.

Ho agreed to the arrangement. Ever brave, Ho decided the method of choice should be poison.

Ho found Jack sitting outside his mother's hovel drinking from a jug of spiced wine. (Gerks always spice their wine since their unspiced wine tastes like pig urine.)

Casting about for some basis of conversation, Ho remarked on the fine qualities of the family cow.

Jack realized that anyone who thought the sunken-hipped, fly-bitten, half-dead Bess had any qualities at all, fine or otherwise, had to be more drunk, stupid or shifty than he was. Jack put down the jug. He would need both his wits for this contest.

"I'd love to purchase this cow,” said Ho.

"Sure. Make an offer."

"I have these magic beans.” Ho opened his (thickly gloved) hand and showed Jack.

"They don't look like beans,” said Jack. “They look like mushrooms."

"Like I said. They're magic."

Jack took the beans and peered closely at them. “I like mushrooms."

"You—” began Ho.

Jack chewed them up and swallowed them. “Don't have much taste."

"—cook them,” Ho finished.

"What?"

"Or eat them rather,” said Ho hurriedly. “Whatever. Use them any way you like."

"How are they magic?"

"That depends on the person. After all, everyone has their own dreams, desires, and destinies. Also, size makes a difference in the dosage."

"All those words begin with the letter ‘d,'” said Jack, dreamily, showing off his education.

"Indeed,” said Ho, starting to leave. Cooking these particular mushrooms was considered necessary for their effectiveness. He'd have to come back and try something else.

"Don't forget Bess."

"Right.” Ho dubiously untied the cow and started laboriously leading (dragging) the cow down the road.

Jack sat back down with his jug, wondering how long the magic would take to have an effect.

Ho returned to Grunt mysteriously sans Bess—no one ever solved the mystery of Bess. But then nobody much noticed. After assuring Mayor Serk that his problem would be solved as soon as the mushrooms worked their way into Jack's bloodstream, Ho expected no further interference. Imagine his surprise to be volunteered for active service by the new Chairman and Sole Responsible Member of the Grunt Draft Board, Edward Serk the Younger. He was never seen in Grunt again.

Later that day, all three Serks found Jack lying in a small impact crater at the base of a great tree. Ho's estimate of the mushrooms’ efficacy was correct and they had, in fact, not killed Jack. It was completely clear, however, that Jack was indeed dead. The Serks surmised he had fallen from a great height (likely the adjacent tall tree) but no one could figure out why he had climbed it in the first place. The jug next to said adjacent tree suggested a cause but, as none of the Serks had ever climbed a tree while drunk, they thought it insufficient. Jack's death remained a mystery and fodder for multiple tales told by those who were not required to serve in the Queen's army but supported the soldiers passionately over a stein of ale and a rack of lamb.

When Mary's father was caught trying to evade King Alfred's draft, he claimed his daughter could spin straw into gold.

Po, Alfred's guardsman, didn't believe him but had been given instructions that any source of funds should be reported immediately to his superiors. Thus, the outlandish claim reached King Alfred just as he was desperately trying to make a brand new son with Queen Rose, the previous model having shown itself to be defective since it had recently died.

Alfred was desperate and for more than just another son. He needed money in the worst way. His kingdom had never been wealthy except in comparison to Gerk. But now his traitorous bitch of a daughter had an army of two thousand men. How had she gotten control of the Trollback Mine? No. Scratch that. He
knew
how she had done it. The black-haired slut upstairs had taught him a great deal about how such things were done.

So what did he have to lose? Try the girl. If she doesn't make gold from straw, hang the father in the yard. He fingered his beard as he watched her from his throne. Not bad-looking, either.

Mary ended up in a stable with a couple of bales of hay. Gold tomorrow equals life. No gold tomorrow—but let us be polite.

Being a young girl and rather dim, she, of course, had no idea how to accomplish anything of the sort. In her life, if she was lucky enough to avoid until her wedding day being beaten and raped by her father, she might live to have the privilege of being beaten and raped by her husband. Thus, while her situation had not improved it had also not gotten worse by much.

From the shadows came a dwarf with only one eye. “I know how to turn straw into gold."

"How?"

"You couldn't possibly understand."

True enough
, thought Mary. “For what in return?"

"Your first child."

Mary stared at him. “You're kidding."

The dwarf stared back at her and it was clear he had never made or understood a joke in his entire life.

Hm. Possible life tomorrow weighed against future brat versus certain death. Mary didn't have to know calculus to make that calculation. “It's a deal."

The dwarf piled the two bales of hay together and brought out curious instruments: ring magnets and coils of copper wire, round cylinders of glass with glowing filaments inside, an icy flask of colorless liquid that seemed to smoke though Mary could smell no fire. From these materials, he constructed a framework around the hay, then handed her a pair of thick, smoked-glass goggles. “Better wear these,” he said, donning a pair himself. A moment later came a flash brighter than the sun and forty pounds of straw became ten pounds of gold dust, the thirty-pound difference being used up by the energy of the transaction.

Since Po had been watching the whole thing (fortunately staring at Mary's full bodice at the critical moment) King Alfred showed up a few minutes later while the dwarf was still putting away his apparatus.

"You have an uncommon skill, master dwarf,” said King Alfred. “What's your name?"

"Rumpelstiltskin."

"That's a curious name."

"Because of my eye. Rumply. Skin. You get the idea."

"I see.”
Crazy as a loon
, thought Alfred. “What did you promise him, girl?"

"My firstborn child,” said Mary.

"Ah,” said King Alfred. “May I surmise, then, that the going rate for ten pounds of gold is the future promissory note of a child?"

Rumpelstiltskin nodded.

"Perhaps we can work something out. I don't have a few hundred babies immediately on hand. Is there some economy of scale we can determine? Why do you need a baby, anyway?"

Rumpelstiltskin pointed to the empty socket of his eye. “Stem cells."

It dawned on King Alfred that this was no common dwarf. “Do you know anything about fertility problems?"

"I do.” Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “Stem cells."

"I believe we can do business.” He put his arm around the dwarf and led him toward the castle. When he passed Po he whispered: “Take care of the girl, won't you? And her father."

Po nodded. Deciding he had full discretion regarding the girl, and the father, Po hanged the father the following day and married the girl. Mary got a much better deal than she expected. Rumpelstiltskin never claimed her firstborn child and Po surprised her by neither beating nor raping her.

They called Charles “Charming” for the single-minded determination with which he pursued sex. Sex with women, mostly, but there were other tales that could not be easily dismissed.

Cinderella's father had been born a peasant but managed to accrue enough wealth to come to the notice of a noble but poor family—said stepmother—who married him for his money. Dad was happy with the deal—he was marrying up—but promptly died before he could get any title for himself. The stepsisters came from a previous marriage and had noble blood. Cinderella, sired from the loins of a peasant and being born of a peasant mother, had none. It was no accident, therefore, that she was not invited to the ball King Richard threw to find someone, anyone, who might keep his son in check. There was more than one bastard in the kingdom that looked suspiciously like Charles.

"Be careful what you wish for” are the watchwords of kings.

Cinderella sewed up a little dress and crashed the ball. She didn't have as much material to work with as she would have liked and what should have been ruffles and folds instead form fitted her décolletage. She had a very pretty face but that didn't matter much as Charles hadn't seen a woman's eyes since he was thirteen.

After a number of clumsy grabs, Cinderella escaped. As stimulating as it is to be pawed by a member of the royal family, the excitement palls. Besides, she had to get back before her stepmother and stepsisters. If the ball hadn't been masked, she wouldn't have dared go at all.

Determination being Charles's most prominent, and perhaps only, talent, he found her footprint and had glass shoes made. He reasoned that although he didn't know her face (big surprise) and her endowment would no doubt be hidden, she couldn't hide her feet.

In due time, Cinderella was discovered—something she might have had a hand in, tales of princely true love and wedding bells being popular with teenage girls back then. Regardless, neither came up. Charles bought her a nice house and visited her as often as King Richard would let him. Marriage was out of the question, of course, but that didn't stop him from siring a child on her. Cinderella named the girl Charlena in hopes the prince would remember his daughter. Charles didn't so much but King Richard did and sent Charles on a tax mission to the Trollback Mines while he figured out what to do.

Charles returned with
that woman
.

Cinderella brought Charlena to the public square when Charles presented Snow White to the kingdom. After seeing that beautiful, pale sociopath, it didn't surprise her when Charles came no more.

Cinderella didn't miss the bump and grind but her stipend dried up, too. It was hard to maintain even a small house and daughter without visible means of support and Cinderella had no marketable skills.

Then, just when things were about to become truly desperate, a knock came on the door. She opened it and saw a sour-faced dwarf.

"I've brought you this. From Charming.” He spat the name as he gave her a small bag of coins.

"Come in, please.” Cinderella led him in and made tea for him. “I'm Cinderella."

"I know who you are."

"And I don't know who
you
are.” She eyed him expectantly, the hot teakettle poised somewhat dangerously over his head.

The dwarf eyed her, and the kettle, sourly. “My name is Rupert. Rupert Trollback."

"Welcome to my house, Rupert Trollback.” Charlena, a child of three by this point, came in and hugged her mother while looking at the stranger. “My daughter and I thank you."

Cinderella knew the coins did not come from Charles—not only was Cinderella for the moment entirely forgotten by the Prince but
that woman
would not have allowed it. Rupert was supporting her for reasons of his own. Cinderella thought she knew what they were but after several more visits, more coins, and no suggestion of the implied improper behavior, she decided she was wrong.

They found they had things in common. Rupert had a dry sense of humor and a bitter wit. Cinderella had dealt with worse and knew what was bitter and what was wit and when to tell the difference. It wasn't hard for the two cast-off exiles to become friends.

When Charles was murdered, Rupert came to Cinderella before dawn.

"Charming is dead.” Rupert stood in the doorway staring up at her.

"Did you kill him?"

"I did not,” he said indignantly. “But I'll be blamed for it. I'm getting out while I can and before the war starts. I don't know where I'll be going."

"I see.” Cinderella was not surprised by his leaving. She was surprised at how it made her sad.

"Come with me.” Rupert started to say more, closed his mouth, and waited.

Go with him? Travel with a little girl and a dwarf? It was likely Rupert had enough means to take care of them for at least a little while. She guessed she knew that much about him. She liked him well enough. Besides, no doubt
that woman
would eventually come around to get rid of any possible claimant to the throne. Charlena's ancestry was well known.

"I have to pack."

Between the two of them, they made small bundles of needful things that either could carry. As they set out, Cinderella carrying the sleeping Charlena and following a grim and silent Rupert, she found herself smiling. Rupert was a dwarf, grumpy, and obviously still obsessed with
that woman
. At the same time, he had come to save them at great risk to himself: a woman and a child were additional burdens on top of being a dwarf on the run. Maybe he would leave if things got too tough. Maybe he wanted her to sleep with him. Maybe she should. Maybe she
would
. There were worse fates.

But for the moment it seemed a good friend was helping her escape to the hope of a new life.

That's about as good as it gets.

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In our sixtieth anniversary issue, Kate Wilhelm explored some family relations in “Shadows on the Wall of the Cave.” Her new story follows suit with a very dark examination of matters both familial and fantastic.

I am sitting at the kitchen table in my parents’ house with an open book, but I am not even trying to read the words. It is too cold in my upstairs room to take refuge there. I never gave a thought to how small the house is when I was growing up in it. Four downstairs rooms: kitchen, dining room, living room, a short hall with the bath and staircase on one side and my dad's room on the other. And two unheated bedrooms upstairs. My sister and I shared one of them, my brother had the other. It seemed room enough then.