Bedknobs and beanstalks, p.14
Bedknobs and Beanstalks, page 14
"He's away with the fairies, dear sisters, just like all the rest!” came the voice of the eldest princess. There was a soft, rippling sound, as of a stream that trickled merrily down the mountain to bring freshness and life to the plains below, and Reuben knew it must be laughter. He wondered at how these princesses, outwardly so gentle, could be so hardhearted as to condemn him and many others to death for the sake of a night's jollity.
But one dissenting voice was heard, and from the wistful, childish sound of it, Reuben guessed that it was the king's youngest daughter who spoke. “But he is such a fine young man! Truly, it seems a shame he should die for our pleasure."
But the other princesses mocked her. “Sifster! You are too soft! Remember, his blood is not on our hands, but on those of the king, our father."
Their voices moved away, and Reuben heard a great rustling of dresses and good-natured squabbling over the looking glass as the princesses decked themselves in their finery and prepared for their frolics.
As soon as he was sure he was no longer observed, Reuben sprang up. Always mindful of the little mouse nestled in his pocket, more dear to him than anything in this world or the next, he flung on the cloak the old woman had given him. After he had done so, he made his way softly to the looking glass that hung upon the wall to see if Corin's grandmother had spoke truth, and indeed, it was as if he were no more than a shadow cast by the light of the candles flickering upon the dresser.
Stealthily, Reuben crept out of his chamber. The last of the princesses laced her dancing shoe, and the others impatiently whispered to her to make haste. At length she was ready, and the eldest princess took a candle from the dresser and walked three times around the room, chanting:
"The sun is set;
The moon doth rise.
Take us where our pleasure lies."
As she spoke the last word, a trap door appeared in the center of the room. The princesses laughed and clapped as their eldest sister opened the door and stepped carefully down the staircase that lay beneath.
Reuben hurried to follow, fearful he might be left behind. In his haste, he brushed against the shoulder of the youngest daughter. She let out a little cry. “Sisters! Something touched me!"
But they paid her no mind. “You silly goose! It was only the spiders’ webs catching your dress."
And so they carried on down the stairs and emerged in a most wondrous place where the trees were made of silver and their leaves sparkled in the light of the moon. As Reuben came through the grove, the youngest daughter turned, and caught sight of a flicker of motion as he passed between the trees. “Sisters!” she cried. “I fear we are followed, for I saw something move!"
"You simpleton!” they mocked her. “See, it is nothing but your own shadow!” For although they all looked directly at Reuben, the old woman's cloak hid him well, and he seemed to them no more substantial than a shadow cast by the moonlight.
They walked on, arriving at a grove where the trees were all of gold, leaves shining like stars. Wishing to take something to prove where he had been, Reuben snapped off a branch. The noise of it startled the youngest princess. “Sisters!” she cried again. “I heard a noise and I am sure we are followed!"
And this time, they began to take her fears seriously, and Reuben worried he might be discovered —but the little mouse that was Corin jumped out of his pocket and ran about the feet of the youngest princess, squeaking loudly. At this her sisters began to mock her once more. “You foolish child! You are frightened of every thing that moves."
Reuben breathed easily again as the little mouse ran back up his leg and into his pocket.
They walked on and soon came to the shores of a great lake. The moon shone brightly upon the water, and on the opposite side of the lake lay a magnificent castle. Twelve little boats were moored at the water's edge, and in each boat sat a handsome prince. Each of the princesses ran joyfully to a boat, where her prince greeted her with a kiss. Fearing to be left behind, Reuben jumped into the boat which held the youngest princess.
They rowed across the lake, the prince complaining all the while he had no strength tonight, for his brother princes easily outpaced him and the boat seemed far heavier than it ought. When they reached the other side, each prince swung his fair passenger out of the boat and they all proceeded to the castle.
Music played: a wild, wanton song that stirred the blood and teased the soul. Reuben was glad once more his love was with him, for this sort of music steals the heart away. The princesses skipped and spun in their lovers’ arms, their feet seeming barely to touch the floor. As the night drew on the tempo rose, until Reuben could scarce distinguish one couple from another in their feverish whirl. The scent of candle smoke and perfume filled the air, and his eyes were assaulted by the rainbow of silks and satins worn by the dancers. Drunk upon it all, Reuben at length sought sanctuary outside, where Corin jumped from his pocket and, spitting out the medal, became human once more.
Reuben clung to him, fearing to let go of the one solid thing in this reeling palace of the senses.
Corin smiled fondly, and traced Reuben's lips with a finger. “I think his grace the king is right to fear the consequences of his daughters’ actions. Yet, I cannot help but feel this trouble is of his own making."
Reuben returned the smile, but it had a rueful edge. “Aye, my heart. There's no pleasure so dear as one which is forbidden."
"What will he do, do you think, when you tell him of these revels? For tell him you must, or your life shall be forfeit."
Reuben looked away from his love, and his soul ached with the emptiness that lies between the stars that call out to one another, regal yet alone. “I cannot think it will end well,” he said at last. “Yet perhaps it is right, so. For these fair maidens—if such they yet be—have caused the death of many a young man."
"And caused other young men to fear for those more dear to them than their own lives,” Corin's hand brushed softly across Reuben's face. Suddenly he shook his head. “But come, lover, let us not be melancholy, for there is music and moonlight, and ‘twere a sin not to dance!"
So dance they did, alone and free in the gentle light of the moon, while the waters of the lake lapped gently at the shores and the strains of the music wafted out to them on the breeze. And if truth be told, they did more than dance to show their love for one another.
At length the princesses emerged from the castle, their shoes now torn and tattered from their revels. Quickly Corin popped the medal back into his mouth and became a mouse once more, and Reuben donned the cloak and jumped into a boat, and they and the princesses were rowed back across the lake.
* * * *
In the morning, Reuben was summoned to the king's presence. He walked proudly into the great hall where the king sat in state, his courtiers clustered around the throne. Behind Reuben tiptoed the princesses, and he wondered if their stony hearts felt joy or compassion as they anticipated what would befall him. In his pocket sat Corin, once more in the guise of a mouse, and Reuben's heart sighed with love and tenderness as he felt his little companion tremble. He knew that Corin, though he would not confess it, worried Reuben might yet be tempted by the thought of marrying a princess, living in the castle, and being king hereafter.
The king leaned forward with an eager gaze. “Well, man? What can you tell me?"
The eyes of his advisors seemed hungry as they waited for him to confess his failure.
"Sire,” Reuben began, his back as straight as ever and his tone of one equal to another, “I have learned where your daughters go at night."
The king's expression betrayed his eagerness, but the courtiers muttered scornfully and behind him, Reuben heard one of the princesses laugh merrily. Undaunted, he recounted the story of the staircase, and the groves—bringing out the golden branch he had taken—and the lake, and the princes, and the castle. As he spoke, the king's smile grew broader and more terrible, and the princesses wept and trembled to hear their secret had been discovered.
At length Reuben finished his tale, and the king rose from his throne. “You have done well, young man, and you shall have your reward. You shall marry one of my daughters, and live in the castle, and be king when I am gone."
But Reuben stood boldly before the king. “I thank you, Sire, but I'll tell you straight: had I any desire for a wife, which I have not, I'd still have no use for a woman who values her own pleasure above the lives of a dozen young men. I'll tell you this also: a man reaps what he sows, and for all your fine talk of your family's honor, the truth is there is none. You're a man without honor, Sire, and you've raised your daughters to be the same."
Here the king half rose from his throne, and his face was as white as the may-bells that bloomed upon the plains, and his whole frame quivered like monkshood in the wind. But when he opened his mouth, it seemed that he had lost the power of speech, so great was his agitation, and so Reuben continued.
"I am the son of your own sister, whom you had walled up alive in the name of that honor. A goatherd heard her piteous cries and rescued her. He took her home, and when I was born he raised me as his own.” Here Reuben had to raise his voice, for all around him were shocked murmurings and cries of “The princess!” and “Murder!"
"A full and happy life they lived together, she more comfortable there in his humble cottage than ever she had been in this gilded cage of yours. But they are both dead now, buried side by side in the shadow of the mountain they both loved so well, and so I had a mind to come here and see this place where she lived her early life.
"I came dressed as a soldier, ready to do battle and take back all that was stolen from her. But I find I've no stomach for the fight, now that I've seen what it is like to live in a castle, and to be king. For truly she missed it not, and indeed, I fear ‘twould leech all the honor and the joy out of me to bide with a man who'd kill his only sister and her blameless child."
There was a great clamor as Reuben finished his speech. As one, the people, who had listened in amazement and horror, rose up against their king. He was executed that very day in the shadow of the tallest tower, on the same spot where so many fine young men had met their death.
"But what of his daughters?” the highest-ranked of all the courtiers asked Reuben. “Will you marry one, and be our king, now?"
"Let their princes marry them, if they will,” Reuben answered. “And let one of them come here and be king. For I find I've no desire, after all, to live in a castle and be king, and I'd rather go back to my simple life now my task is done."
So he left the castle, taking his beloved with him, and they returned to the forest. They took back the gifts to Corin's grandmother, who cackled with glee once more when she saw Reuben's head indeed still rested upon his shoulders.
* * * *
And as for the princesses, eleven of them found, to their sorrow, their princes, so attentive at their revels, had no desire to marry them. For it is a sad fact many a woman, when taking a lover, seeks out a man in the image of her father, whether she knows it or not.
But the youngest daughter, the only tenderhearted one of all of them, found her prince loved her truly—or, at least, well enough to marry her and gain a kingdom by it. And so the kingdom once more had a king, and, mindful of his own wife's past, he paid no heed to foolish notions of honor, and proved a wise and lenient ruler.
* * * *
And Reuben and Corin lived together in the forest in the simple manner they both had been raised to love, caring for one another and for the old woman whose wise ways had helped them. And they never ceased to love one another throughout their long and happy lives.
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Swan Made
by Mina Kelly
The air around the lake was purple-blue with shadows and damp air, and dry orange sunshine interrupting where places had been laid for fishermen to sit at weekends. Joseph picked his way past the pockmarks of camping stools and organic detritus, and back into the cool shade under the willows. Midges swarmed around him; occasionally he'd lift a hand to bat away the larger clouds, but he was one of those blessed with bad-tasting blood and didn't put too much effort in.
He followed with unfocused eyes the lazy path of a dragonfly to a storm cloud of insects. They were a few paces back from the lake, circling something hidden by a rotten branch. Joseph walked over for a closer look, mud sucking at his boots.
Something had been deliberately hidden under the log; the realization was unpleasant and set his stomach churning. Pushing the wood aside, his fingers dug into something a different kind of soft. Bright white feathers, now fingerprinted with green slime, shimmered in the dappled light.
Joseph rocked back on his heels. It must have died very recently, since to his nose the body didn't even smell, though something must have attracted the buzzing carrion eaters. Why someone had hidden it? To stop kids seeing it? To stop dogs getting at it? Or—no, was it illegal to kill swans, or just to eat them?
He swallowed, throat dry despite the humid air. He reached down to run the back of a finger across the snowy wing. There weren't any swans out on the lake today. He hadn't realized until now, though the mob of ducks had followed his every footstep from the water, pursuing him around the lake's circumference. The geese were there, mobbing a young woman with a pushchair on the opposite side of the lake. Moorhens and coots circled each other in the marshy reeds. Even a heron whooped somewhere in the distance. But there were no swans.
Joseph tugged on the wing, extending it and letting it fall back. There was no stiffness in the body yet, but it was no longer warm to the touch. Though he knew birds were by nature light, muscle memory from last Sunday's chicken insisted it ought to be heavier as he rolled it over. There was a large, flat stone beneath the body, keeping it clean and dry. He felt around, burying his fingers deep among the feathers, looking for head or feet or air-rifle wound. Nothing.
His first thought brought bile to the back of his throat, and he dropped the bird again before his fingers could encounter the wounds he thought he'd find. The feathers spread across the mud, flattening themselves into a shape with no resemblance to a living bird. There was little to suggest it ever had been, Joseph realized, apart from those magnificent wings woven into it. It appeared to be some kind of coat.
He picked it up again, standing to relieve the cramp in his thighs. Holding it up now it was obvious that it was a cloak; he felt foolish for thinking it had been the body of a swan. The wings rested on the shoulders, the whole thing long enough to reach his calves. It had a high, downy collar, but that was all the neck this bird had.
His first thought was that someone had abandoned it in order to swim, but he could see from where he stood that there was no one in the lake. He couldn't imagine any sane person would want to be in the lake this time of year. If a person had taken it off because they were too hot, they'd left it in a strange place. Such careful positioning meant it hadn't been merely dropped. Had someone stolen it and hidden it to retrieve later?
Whatever had happened, Joseph felt certain the owner wasn't nearby. Best to take it home and give the police a call. It had to be worth something, a jacket like this. If it was even legal to have a jacket like this; after all, if only the queen could eat swans, it was a fair bet only she could wear them.
He meant to call the police as soon as he got home, but good intentions got lost among the paving stones. His cats hissed and spat as he approached the front door, and stalked backwards on stiff legs, backs arched and fur on end. On the other side of the garden wall waterfowl responded by hissing back. Joseph wondered if it was another swan, pained by the skinning of its sibling. He put the coat in the closet under the stairs—out of the cats’ reach—and decided feeding them was the best way back into their hearts. After their dinner came his, while he watched a DVD with his feet on the coffee table and no memory at all of the strange coat.
* * * *
Joseph woke to the blinking blue light of the unset DVD player clock. He stared at it, trying to work out how he had come so abruptly out of sleep. He pondered, stretching, his vertebrae popping back into place one at a time. It wasn't the slight pains from falling asleep on the sofa that had woken him. He wasn't thirsty, or too hot, or too cold. The distant roar of traffic offered no clues, and most of the in-house noises could be attributed to the still-disgruntled cats.
The bolt on the kitchen door squealed. He knew that noise: someone had drawn back the bolt.
Joseph half sat up, trying to keep below the back of the couch and stay out of sight of whoever had just entered. He pulled his legs to his chest and eased them to the floor, socked feet whispering on the polished floorboards. Behind him, the hinges of his back door creaked. Stopped. Creaked again. The intruder must have been hoping he or she wouldn't be heard. There was the crunch of feet on broken glass and a sharp breath. Joseph realized the intruder breaking the window that woke him. There would be blood on the kitchen floor tomorrow.
The cats’ hissing made him jump. The intruder hissed back—harsher, higher and almost inhuman. The cats yowled, sending shivers down Joseph's spine, and their claws clattered as they fled across the stone floor. At least they hadn't run towards Joseph, revealing his hiding place.
They were pursued by the faint smack of bare feet. It was enough to bring Joseph curling around the edge of the couch, squinting through the unlit room. There was no door between the living room and the kitchen and he had a clear view all the way to the back door if he craned his neck a little.
The silhouette in his kitchen was outlined by the full moon: completely smooth, not a line or crease to even hint at clothing. The man looked around him and flexed long fingers, clenching them into fists and pulling them up to his chest where they were hidden by his torso. The action made the muscles on his arms stand out, but his body was lean in comparison. His hair feathered around his head, silver in the moonlight. It moved to a breeze Joseph couldn't feel, and he realized with a jolt the man was turning. He jerked back behind the couch, his hip hitting the coffee table. It shuddered.
