Straw into Gold

  Contents

  Introduction

  The Tower and the Bird

  or Rapunzel

  Straw into Gold

  or Rumpelstiltskin

  The Roses Round the Palace

  or Cinderella

  The Fountain in the Market Square

  or The Pied Piper of Hamelin

  Chicken Pox and Crystal

  or Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

  The Prince and the Problem

  or The Princess and the Pea

  Over the Hills and Far Away

  or Red Riding Hood and the Piper’s Son

  Things Were Different in Those Days

  or The Twelve Dancing Princesses

  What I Did in the Holidays and Why Hansel’s Jacket Is So Tight (by Gretel, aged 10)

  or Hansel and Gretel

  Sweet William by Rushlight

  or The Swan Brothers

  About the Author

  Bibliography/Further Reading

  To Ron and Mary Damms

  My father, who told me my first fairy tales, and my mother, who once (this is true), when she was twelve years old, spent an afternoon in a magic place that could only have been fairyland.

  Because when she went back to visit again, it had vanished, except for the memory that she treasures to this day.

  Introduction

  These are everyone’s fairy tales, and have been for many years. Hundreds in the case of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” and thousands in the case of “Rumpelstiltskin.” They are our living heritage, true fairy gold, except these stories do not disappear at sunset. Their day still shines. The best of them are well and flourishing, in schools and libraries, homes and playgrounds, just as much as they are with historians and universities.

  They live because they are so strong. They have withstood the years. Countries and rulers have come and gone, revolutions and wars have redrawn the old lines across Europe and beyond, forests have been felled, the wolves have all but vanished . . . and yet still their magic holds. Whoever has walked through a shadowy landscape, listening for the footsteps behind, has traveled with Red Riding Hood through the forest. Those far from home know the exile of the Swan Brothers. And I do not suppose there are many people reading this who have not speculated on the hazards of glass slippers, gingerbread houses, shiny red apples, and the problems of being caught out after midnight when you have been well warned that at the stroke of twelve, with no second chances, the party will be over.

  With the help of friends and family, I chose ten stories out of dozens. Here is lovely Rapunzel, free from her tower, although perhaps not so free from her fears; Rumpelstiltskin, because all my life I have been troubled by the injustice with which he was treated; brave, loyal Elsa, who wove the nettles in silence for seven long years; Cinderella, who so much deserved her fairy godmother; and the twelve dancing princesses, who drove the old king to distraction by wearing through their slippers every night. (Which sounds like something he could have made less fuss about, until you do the math: well over four thousand pairs of slippers a year. Satin slippers too!) And, of course, there are still many questions. What did Hansel and Gretel say to their father when they finally made it home? What happened in Hamelin after the children vanished? Why did the Piper’s son steal the pig? And how could Snow White have left those seven kind dwarves? Perhaps she never quite did.

  It was exhausting and wonderful to write this book. I walked miles through forests. I watched swans and skies. I read and read. I studied maps and silks and brocades. I visited salt marshes and windmills. And now, here at last is the finished collection, and I hope it works. Because if ever I wrote a book with love, it is this one!

  Hilary McKay

  The Tower and the Bird

  or

  Rapunzel

  The tower stood on a small rise in the middle of the forest. It looked a little like a squat, dark windmill without its sails, or the monstrous chimney of some cold furnace. It was built of dark stone; reddish black and smelling of iron. Even on the brightest of days it was a menacing presence. And at night it loomed like a deliberate insult inked against the stars.

  Grass and thornbushes grew at the base of the tower, but the deer from the forest did not graze there. Nothing ever moved on the tower mound except for the scuttling witch.

  The forest lapped all around, a green ocean of trees. Great carved oaks and airy maples. Tall, sweet-scented pines. Rust-red streaks of hurrying squirrels. Many bright birds.

  Jess and Leo always noticed birds because their mother loved them so much. “They are so brave,” she said, “and so fragile, and so quick and bright.”

  Jess and Leo preferred dogs for company. Dogs who would come on adventures all day, and sleep on your bed all night. Their father, the Prince, loved his old white horse.

  “But birds suit Mother,” Jess and Leo agreed, and so they looked out for the first swallow and counted the storks’ nests on the rooftops in the village, and they saw the bird in the cottage window.

  It was a small thing, green with a yellow head, hunched on its perch in a miniature cage. Three cats sat underneath, watching. The sight made Jess boil with indignation.

  “We should steal it,” she said, “and set it free. It’s cruel!”

  “We don’t have to steal it,” said Leo, reasonably. “There’s other ways of getting things. Perhaps they would sell it.”

  “We haven’t any spare money. I suppose we could ask at home.”

  “They haven’t any spare either,” said Leo. And it was true that at the palace there was just enough money to manage very carefully and not one penny extra for anything else. “But it doesn’t matter because I’ve still got my silver coin.”

  Leo’s silver coin had been a birthday present two years before, too rare and special to spend. Jess looked at him in admiration as he pulled it out of his pocket. Never could she have kept it for two days, never mind two years. “We could ask,” she said. But asking wasn’t easy. No one answered their knocks on the cottage door.

  “We’ll keep trying,” said Leo. And they did, for days and days, taking turns to go and knock and wait.

  The bird hardly moved, and neither did the cats.

  It was Jess who finally got a reply.

  “Three silver coins!” she said, arriving breathless at the palace one evening. “Three! We’ll have to steal it!”

  “Who told you three?” demanded Leo.

  “The old man at the door, and the old woman behind him. ‘You’re from the palace!’ they said when they saw me. ‘Three’s nothing to you!’ ”

  “They must think we’re rich.”

  “I offered them one silver coin, and they laughed. ‘And your father a prince!’ they said.”

  “He’s a poor prince! He’s a writer. You should have told them that.”

  “I did. They just shrugged. What can we do, Leo?”

  “We’ve got one silver coin; we can earn some more. We’ve earned money before.”

  They earned a second silver coin, one copper penny at a time, running errands for the sellers at the marketplace. It took a week, such a long week that at the end of it Jess sold the green-and-gold bangle that was her most precious thing. That made three silver coins, and they brought the bird home in triumph and carried it to their mother.

  “It’s a yellowhammer,” said their mother. “A poor little yellowhammer, half frightened to death.”

  “Well, he needn’t be frightened any longer,” said Jess jubilantly. “We’re going to open the door of the cage now!”

  But the open door made no difference to the small hunched bird, and when they reached in to try and lift him, he panicked and fluttered away from their hands, beating his green wings against the bars
of the cage until they thought he might break them. And he was no better the next day, or the next.

  “All that work we did for him,” said Leo. “And Jess’s bangle and my silver coin! What a waste!”

  “He’s been in the cage so long, it’s all the world he knows,” said the children’s mother.

  “Be patient,” agreed their father.

  “We have been patient!” said Jess. “We’ve been patient for nearly three days! How long can a person be patient for?”

  “Much longer than that,” said her father.

  The dark tower in the forest was a prison. There was a girl in the room at the top. It was a small round room, one window, no door. No light at night. No fire in winter. Nothing that might shine from the window and show a sign of life. A small bed, a wooden chair, and an empty table.

  The girl had been there for as long as she could remember. Her name was Rapunzel.

  Time passed very slowly.

  The tower was held together by the witch’s spells, and it was she who kept Rapunzel captive there. She was the only person in Rapunzel’s life, and Rapunzel was the only person in hers. Once a day, sometimes less often, the witch arrived with food. Rapunzel had never been so hungry nor so lonely that she did not dread those visits.

  First the voice below:

  “Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

  For the witch climbed the tower by means of a rope hung from the window, and that rope was Rapunzel’s long, long, soft golden hair.

  The witch’s hands as she climbed, clawing and groping; her weight like a swinging stone; her panting breath as she clambered over the sill.

  “Smile, girl,” she would say. And Rapunzel would smile, because what else could she do?

  There were hardly any words between them. The witch would grumble, “Here you sit. Idle as a princess. A fine life, dreaming. Dreaming while I work!”

  Rapunzel would smile again. No use to reply. All the replies had been given years and years ago.

  “Since you were a baby, waited on hand and foot. If you could see where I brought you from. Your father gave you up for a handful of herbs. Stolen herbs! Stolen from my garden! Have you nothing to say?”

  Rapunzel shook her head.

  “Your mother sent him thieving. A fine pair! But they gave you to me. Eighteen years ago. Lucky for you they did. Dead and gone and forgotten now. Dead and gone.”

  “Yes,” whispered Rapunzel.

  “There’s bread, there’s cheese, there’s radishes. An apple and an egg.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Tomorrow, then; I’ll be back tomorrow. Stand steady while I climb down.”

  Then it was over.

  That was how it was in the tower when the witch came.

  But the moment the witch left, a robin alighted on the windowsill. Then swallows from under the eaves. Glossy jackdaws with silver eyes. A rainbow of finches. All that had frozen inside Rapunzel at the arrival of the witch melted when the birds came back. They were her company; the only living things that could reach her. They made her laugh out loud, and she learned to whistle back to them, repeating their calls, and then she learned to sing. Rapunzel sang often, and her voice was clear and sweet, like a silver flute over the treetops.

  Rapunzel was singing at the tower window when the Prince came riding through the forest.

  That first time he passed by without seeing the tower, and although he heard Rapunzel’s song, he did not search for the singer. But at night Rapunzel’s voice echoed through his dreams, and the next day he went again, and this time he followed the sound until he saw the tower rising through the trees, and a glint of brightness at the window that was Rapunzel’s hair. He would have hurried forward, but at that moment there was a movement at the base of the tower, a dark figure and the rasping voice of the witch.

  “Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

  And then, to the Prince’s astonishment, a silky golden braid fell from the high window, and the dark figure grasped it and began to scrabble and heave herself upward, with her basket on her back.

  The Prince stepped back into the shadow of the trees, and held his horse’s head to keep it quiet, and waited, wondering.

  Presently the golden hair was lowered again, and the witch reappeared at the window. A minute later and she was back on the ground. The Prince stood motionless while she gathered herself together and shuffled out of sight, and then he stepped out from between the trees and called, “Rapunzel! Rapunzel!”

  “Oh!” he heard a soft voice exclaim, and then Rapunzel looked out of the window.

  This was the first time that she and the Prince saw each other. The Prince did not climb the tower that day, nor the next, nor the next. But one day he did, and then he stood gazing around the bare little room, and at Rapunzel’s pale face and frightened eyes, and he said, “Rapunzel, let me help you out of here.”

  “Oh no!” said Rapunzel. “Oh no! How could I leave?”

  “Easily, I’ll bring a rope.”

  “A rope?”

  “A ladder, then. Or I’ll wrap you in my cloak and lower you down.”

  Rapunzel shook her head, half smiling, half bewildered. The little room was her only world. The ground looked impossibly distant. And even if she reached it, what then? To step away from the tower, to venture under the huge trees, exposed beneath the enormous sky, out into an empty world where she knew not one single friendly person.

  “You know me,” said the Prince.

  “The witch would be so angry.”

  “Let her be.”

  “She would rage,” said Rapunzel, trembling.

  “I’d keep you safe.”

  “She loves me too. She would weep.”

  “Loves you!” exploded the Prince angrily. “She has you prisoner here!”

  “I should have to leave the birds.”

  “Rapunzel! Dear, gentle, lovely Rapunzel, the birds aren’t bound to this tower. They’re free to go where they please. The birds will come with you.”

  But still Rapunzel shook her head, and gazed out of the window and said, “I can’t. You’d better go now.”

  “I’ll go,” said the Prince, “but I’ll be back. Every day until you change your mind. Don’t you know I love you, Rapunzel? Come with me! Come with me now!”

  But she shook her head, and could not speak.

  He rode away as the sun was setting, and Rapunzel watched as the trees closed around him, and she cried aloud, “Oh my Prince!”

  But she also said, “I daren’t. Down there. Out there. Under that sky. And the witch. I couldn’t. I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”

  “Can’t what?” demanded a voice from below, so suddenly that Rapunzel jumped and looked down from the window and gasped, “Oh, it’s you!”

  “Let down your hair, Rapunzel!” ordered the witch, and it seemed to Rapunzel that she grasped even more fiercely than usual as she climbed and climbed faster than ever before, and panted more hotly and heavily as she lurched through the window. And the moment she stood on the floor, she said, “Yes, it’s me! Who else would it be? And what can’t you do? Tell me what you’ve been up to, miss!”

  “N-n-n-nothing,” stammered Rapunzel.

  “Nothing? Then why are you blushing so red?”

  “I’m not; it’s just that the sun has grown warm.”

  “Warm! Then why are you trembling, girl?”

  “It’s just that the wind is so cold.”

  “I don’t believe you! What are you hiding?” The witch glared around the bare little room, and then suddenly pounced and shrieked. “WHERE DID THIS CLOAK COME FROM?”

  Rapunzel stared in horror. The Prince’s cloak! The Prince’s green-and-gold riding cloak, thrown carelessly over the chair.

  “Who has been here?” screamed the witch. “Tell me! TELL ME!”

  “The Prince!” whispered Rapunzel. “The Prince.”

  “The Prince! A prince! A man has been in here!”

  “He . . . he . . . wanted to h
elp me.”

  “And how did he get here, girl? Tell me that!”

  “The only way,” whispered Rapunzel.

  “He climbed my rope? My golden rope?”

  “Not yours,” said Rapunzel. “Not yours!”

  “You dare say that!”

  Something flashed silver in the air, and the witch was holding a knife. She seized Rapunzel’s great shining braid, and even as Rapunzel begged, “No!” the witch tore and hacked with the blade until she held it in her hand.

  “Mine now!” she jeered, sludge-gray tears rolling down the ancient leather of her cheeks. “Mine forever! Mine!”

  “Why did you do that?” cried Rapunzel. “Why?”

  The witch did not reply. She was knotting the cut end of Rapunzel’s braid round the bed frame. When it was fast, she flung the length of it down the tower. Then she grasped the top in her hands, and swung herself over the sill.

  The window was empty. Rapunzel closed her eyes in despair and disbelief and leaned her forehead against the cold wall. But only for a moment. Even as she sighed, the witch reappeared, reached into the room, clutched her wrist in her iron-strong fingers, and dragged.

  Over the sill she hauled Rapunzel. Out of the window, bruising her on the stone. The hair rope jerked, but the witch’s knot held, and the witch’s grip held too. Down they went together, grazing and sliding, and at the foot of the tower the witch let go.

  “Run!” she ordered. “Run far! Run fast!”

  Rapunzel stood quite still.

  “Run!” screamed the witch. “Run, before I come after you! Run before I kill you! Run and never come back!”

  Stumbling, half stunned, Rapunzel ran. She ran until she could no longer hear the witch’s voice. Then she turned and looked back at the tower.

  Rapunzel had lived in the tower for eighteen years, and now, for the first time, she saw it. Black it stood, wreathed in witchcraft, terrible against the evening sky, her hair still falling from the window. It made Rapunzel sick and faint to see it there. She turned away then, and she did not look back again.

  But the witch climbed the golden rope back into the tower room, and she pulled it up after her and waited.