My Unfair Godmother (15 page)

“What does it look like?” One thing I’d already noticed about the Middle Ages was that there were way more plants than people.

Hudson held his hands a basketball’s width apart. “It’s a small, spindly plant with tiny leaves. I’ve already searched the grounds and most of the castle. It’s probably in one of King John’s private rooms. I was hoping I would eventually guard those rooms …” His words faded off and he smiled. “But in three days you’ll be queen, and you’ll be able to go wherever you want. It will be easy for you to get it.” The word “queen” landed on my ears with a jarring clank. Other things would also happen when I was queen. Things I didn’t want to think about.

I stepped away from Hudson. “You can’t ask me to marry some horrible old crazy guy. Why don’t you just wait until King John’s eating dinner and tell the other guards he asked you to get something from his room.”

Hudson shot me a look to let me know I was being unreasonable.

“Do you know what would happen if I got caught snooping around the king’s rooms? And besides, since when did you get picky about men? I thought you liked the horrible type.”

“Just because I dated Bo doesn’t make me an idiot.”

“Yeah, technically it does.”

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“No,” I said, my hand clenched. “It makes me a person who made a mistake.”

“And Robin Hood?”

“I never wanted him as a boyfriend.”

“That’s not what he says. He says you had a crush on him, and when he spurned you, you sent him back.”

“Well, he’s not the most reliable source, is he?” I turned away from Hudson and looked out the window again.
Fine.
If he wouldn’t help me escape, I’d find a way to do it myself. Before morning, this room would be filled with spools of golden thread. I could braid some of it together and make a rope. After all, it worked with Rapunzel’s hair.

That’s how you know you’re really desperate—when you start making escape plans based on what worked for Rapunzel. Thinking out loud, I said, “How thick would a golden rope have to be to support my weight?”

I shouldn’t have thought out loud. Hudson put his hand in front of the windowsill. “Don’t you dare escape on my watch, Tansy.” I was about three stories up. The cobblestones on the ground seemed so far away, but what choice did I have? “I’m not doing anything that’ll result in me marrying King John and having his baby.”

“Okay. Don’t.” Hudson moved in front of me, blocking the window so I couldn’t see past his crimson surcoat. “But don’t mess up my plans or do anything that will send me to the stockades. I’m going to make sure there’s a guard underneath your window. Don’t even think about climbing down it.”

“If you escaped with me, they couldn’t punish you.”

“And if I escaped with you, I couldn’t get the Gilead.”

“Chrissy will fix things.”

He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m placing my bets on the wizard.” 136/356

I stomped my foot in frustration. “You’re trapping me in here?”

“No, you did that with your wish. I’m trying to get us home. If you want to escape, do it sometime when I’m not guarding you.” Hudson moved away from the window. “I’d better go so Rumpelstiltskin can come.”

Hudson’s casual tone irked me even more. “Don’t say his name.”

“What?”

In a voice so low it was barely more than a hiss, I said, “If he knows that I know his name, he won’t ask me for it in a year, will he?

That’s how I save my baby.”

“The baby you’re refusing to have?”

“Yes.”

“If things go well, neither of us will be here in a year, but fine, my lips are sealed. I’d better go before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named comes.” Hudson strode back to the door, opened it, then turned and cast me one last glance. My hands were still balled into fists.

“I think you’re supposed to be crying,” he said and closed the door.

I didn’t cry. I took off my shoe and threw it at the door.

• • •

I didn’t stay barefoot for long. The stone floor was cold, and it’s hard to pace with only one shoe. As I walked around the room, I thought of my family’s situation. Hudson was young, strong, and tall even by twenty-first-century standards. Here in the twelfth century where people were naturally shorter, he wasn’t having any trouble taking care of himself. But Dad and Sandra were librarians, and Nick was an underweight computer nerd.

These were not stunning recommendations for life in the Middle Ages.

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I hoped my family had enough sense to stay barricaded in our house and barter off a few belongings when they needed more food.

As I paced, I sent irritated looks at the door. It was just like Hudson to end up guarding me. He probably thought my stint as the miller’s daughter was some sort of divine justice for accidentally sending him here.

I purposely stayed far away from the spindle that sat on the stool.

I had the vague fear that Chrissy might have mixed up my wish even more than I’d realized, and if I pricked my finger on the spindle, I would fall into an enchanted hundred-year sleep.

Every once in a while, I went to the window and looked out. Just as Hudson had said, another guard was posted down below.

I wouldn’t make the mistake of telling him my plans again. We weren’t working together. Even though he told me he wasn’t forcing me to marry King John, he might as well have been, since he wouldn’t let me escape. See if I helped him find his stupid plant.

I watched the guard below me for a while. Occasionally he glanced up at the window, but mostly he leaned against the castle wall. When the room was full of gold, I could drop a wad of it on his helmet. That ought to knock him out for a while. Then I could climb down a braided rope, bribe a stable-hand into giving me a horse, and sneak out of the courtyard. After I returned to my family, we could hide in the forest until Chrissy showed up to set things right. I would tell her about Hudson. She’d probably be so apologetic for Clover’s mistake that she’d grant him a wish before she sent him back home.

I considered what he might wish for and realized I might find myself poofed to some remote spot in the Arctic. I decided to tell Chrissy not to grant him any wishes.

As the day progressed, people came and went in the courtyard.

The smell of something cooking reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since 138/356

a few bites at breakfast. Long shadows encompassed most of the room, until only a pale ribbon of light streamed through the window and a chill crept across the floor.

Before it went completely dark, Hudson came in and lit the torch by the door. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” he asked.

I had wrapped the blankets around me and was sitting on the pile of straw. “I haven’t escaped. You still have job security.” He walked to the window and pulled the shutters closed. “It’s best to keep out as much of the night air as you can.” He came toward me and it was only then that I noticed he was carrying something. He held out a large chunk of dark bread, torn in half. “Prisoners don’t get dinner, but guards do. I thought you might be hungry.”

Part of me wanted to refuse. He was, after all, keeping me prisoner. But I was hungry, and there was no point in turning down his gift.

Especially when he was offering me part of his own dinner.

“Thanks.” I took the bread from him and bit into it. The bitter taste of rye filled my mouth. I didn’t like rye bread, but I was hungry enough that I ate it anyway.

While I ate, a rat came out from the straw and peered at me, perhaps waiting to see if I dropped any crumbs. I gasped and jerked backward. Hudson drew his sword and turned to see what had startled me.

When he noticed the rat, he laughed and sheathed his sword. “If you don’t like vermin, you chose the wrong place to vacation. They’re everywhere.” He took a stone from his pocket and tossed it at the rat.

The animal darted across the floor and disappeared through a crack in the wall.

I ate quicker, watching the corners of the room for more rats to appear.

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Hudson took another rock from his pocket, tossed it casually up in the air, and then caught it. “Any sign of you-know-who?”

“No,” I said.

“I told you that you needed to cry. That’s part of the story.”

“It’s hard to get all teary about my impending death when I know someone will come rescue me.”

Hudson’s voice turned soft, almost lulling. “So what are your new escape plans?”

“I don’t have any.”

As soon as I said the words, I felt the sparklers flickering around my head. The room instantly became brighter, lit up by my liar’s hat.

I shot off of the straw. Some of the sparks landed on the blankets.

They were orange embers at first, then darkened into tiny black spots.

Luckily none fell on the straw. I took backward steps away from the pile, and sparks streamed around my shoulders onto the stone floor.

Hudson surveyed me calmly. “You shouldn’t lie near flammable things.”

“I don’t have any escape plans.” Which was true. I only had some thoughts on the matter. The hat apparently didn’t agree. The flames grew stronger.

Hudson squinted at my head, reading the words I knew were lit up and marching across my forehead. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the truth.”

The sparks kept dropping around my feet. I couldn’t stand here all night like a human candle. “Okay, maybe I
thought
about escaping. It occurred to me I could drop gold on the guard’s head and knock him out.”

The hat vanished and the room instantly darkened. In the dimmer torchlight, Hudson smiled. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll let the guard know 140/356

he needs to watch out for heavy, falling objects.” He walked to the door. “You’re the easiest prisoner I’ve had to guard yet.”

“I’m not speaking to you again. Ever.” He opened the door and stepped outside. “I think you will when you want to go home.” Then he shut the door with a final-sounding thud.

He was awful. This whole place was awful. And I was stuck here.

Even though I said I couldn’t cry, I sat back down on the straw and did just that. I cried in frustration because I was tired, hungry, worried, and apparently not smart enough to remember that when I lied, my head ignited. And now I had no way to escape.

Straw pieces stuck to the blankets and they scratched, but it was too cold not to wrap up. Between my tears and the cold air, I had the sniffles. I needed some tissues, which of course hadn’t been invented yet.

A puff of light went off by my side, and I turned, hoping to see Chrissy.

Instead a man stood in front of me.

Chapter 10

Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t short and dwarfish like I had expected. He was tall and so painfully thin that if his picture had been on a poster, people would have sent relief money to his country. His stringy brown hair had an unusual tint to it, almost burgundy, and his eyes were deep-set and intense. He wore a golden vest over a flowing white shirt, copper-colored breeches that ended at his knee, and white silk stockings. It was the outfit of the wealthy—but the wealthy of a later time period. I wondered if he knew what century we were in.

He walked toward me, his long legs scissoring across the room.

“There, there, don’t weep.” He held out a handkerchief in his spindly fingers. They reminded me of spiders, of things that scurried off to dark corners.

I took the handkerchief from him. “Thank you.” I wiped my nose, then realized I didn’t know what to do with the handkerchief. Certainly Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t want a mucky handkerchief back. But maybe he did. I didn’t know what people did before tissues. My history teacher had never covered that sort of thing.

When he didn’t reach for it, I kept it in my lap.

“Tell me what distresses you, Mistress Miller.” His voice had a deep whispering quality to it, like wind rushing through trees.

I didn’t answer. I knew what I should say, but I couldn’t speak.

Once I did, I would be following the script of this story—sliding toward a destiny I didn’t want.

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, which made his cheekbones jut out in sharp contrast to the sunken valleys of his cheeks. “Don’t be alarmed at my appearance here. I am your fairy godfather.” 142/356

“Fairy godfather?” I repeated.

“Aye. No doubt you’ve heard stories of how fairies sometimes appear to worthy young maidens in their time of need.” He leaned over and wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “You’ve been unjustly imprisoned to save your father’s life, and you’ll forfeit your own unless this straw is changed to gold by morning.” I nodded and shivered.

“I can spin the straw into gold for you if you’ll but give me a small token of your trust.”

“What do you want?” I asked. In the story, Rumpelstiltskin asked for both a necklace and a ring, but this no longer felt like a children’s story. This fairy—the way his eyes hungrily followed my move-ments—set my nerves on edge. He was dangerous. I could feel it.

Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze ran over me and stopped at my neck. He ran one of his fingers along my throat. I tried not to flinch. His finger was cold and smooth. The way snakes feel. “Give me your necklace,” he said.

It was a simple gold chain with a heart that my best friend in New York had given to me before I left. I took it off slowly. I didn’t have many mementos from my friends and knew I’d never see this one again. “Why does a fairy who can spin straw into gold want a gold necklace?”

He smiled at me with grayish white teeth and plucked the necklace from my hand. “It’s merely a token that proves you’ve agreed to do business with me. The Unified Magical Alliance is particular about such things.”

“The Unified Magical Alliance?” Chrissy had talked about them too, but it didn’t seem like they should be part of the fairy tale. Did he know I wasn’t the real miller’s daughter and that this was part of a wish?

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Rumpelstiltskin tucked my necklace into his vest pocket. “You need not worry your pretty little head about the Alliance. Rest and let me do the work.”

He picked up the spindle from the stool and tossed it aside like it was trash. When he sat down, the largest spinning wheel I had ever seen materialized in front of him.