Rapunzel, the One With All the Hair (11 page)

My oil lamp now useless, all I have left are a few matches that managed to escape the ravages of the spilled ink and oil. I light one of them and hold the small mirror up to my face. The glass has shattered, but I can still see into it. My reflection is all jumbled and shadowy. Who is this girl now? Who is Rapunzel? I stare hard into my grass-colored eyes, now splintered in the mirror, and ask the question again: WHO AM I??

I take a deep breath. Out loud, I reply, “I am me. I am a singer of songs. I am my parents' only daughter. I am a friend to my schoolmates and to Steven. I am mother and protector to Sir Kitty. I am not a child anymore.” A wave of determination passes through me like a hot wind and even with my empty belly, I feel my strength returning. I am NOT going to let the witch destroy what is inside me. It is all I have left.

When we get out of the forest and back onto the castle grounds, the men slow their horses to a trot. Father hangs back and pulls up alongside us.

“How did you do, boys?” he asks, his face flushed with the thrill of the hunt. There is a stag tied to the rump of his horse. “I see you have used all your arrows. Excellent!”

“Er, thank you, Father,” I say uncertainly. “We, uh, did not catch anything, though.”

Elkin adds, “Benjamin did a fine job, uncle. He missed a fox by barely an inch!”

Father clasps me on the shoulder. “Fine job, just fine.”

I smile weakly. “Er, thanks?” My cheeks are burning, but Father doesn't notice.

“In fact,” Elkin continues, “we worked so well together as a pair that I was hoping we could go back tomorrow to try again.”

“I don't see why not,” Father says, clasping Elkin on the
shoulder this time. “Benjamin's mother will be very pleased that he is finally taking an interest in a sport.”

When Father leaves us to bid good-bye to his hunting party, I turn to Elkin and say, “I thought I was supposed to find the singing girl on my own. How shall I do that if you're with me?”

“Do not worry — I won't be with you. I'll have the groom saddle me up and then leave you once we enter the forest. Perhaps I'll visit the hermit again. I kind of liked him.”

“I liked him, too,” I say.

Elkin adds, “Although he could use a good bathing!”

I laugh as we pull our horses into the stable and dismount. Andrew comes running out to greet us, the empty satchel in his hand. We pull him into the private courtyard and fill him in on what happened. He shakes his head the whole time, repeatedly saying, “I do not believe it! I simply do not believe it!” When we get to the part about hitting the hermit with the tomatoes, his hands fly over his mouth. When we are finished, he says, “What if you found the wrong cave and the real one, with the treasure, and the troll, is still out there?”

“Huh,” Elkin and I say together. I hadn't considered that. Then I shake my head. “No, the hermit told us he had started the rumor about the troll and the treasure to be left in peace. We have to face facts. The legend was a lie.”

Andrew sinks his head into his hands. “I am so sorry, sire. Forgive me for sending you on a wild-goose chase.”

“No, no, Andrew,” I tell him, patting him on the back. “It was truly a grand adventure. I have never had one its equal.”

“Nor I,” Elkin says.

“Besides,” I continue, beginning to pace, “the adventure is not over. I have a singing girl to find!”

Father says that when it rains, the gods are crying. We used to try to make up reasons for their tears. “One of them stubbed his toe!” or “One of them pushed the other off a cloud!” or “One of them proposed marriage to another but she turned him down!” Whatever the reason, there must be a lot of crying going on up there, because it is pouring like the heavens themselves have opened up.

This is the first rain since my imprisonment, and in a way, the pounding on the treetops and the tower walls is soothing. Plus, it offers an endless supply of water. All I need do is stick my head out, lean back, and open my mouth.

I fear the witch will not come because of the rain. I hate the fact that I need her for food. Steven's whole kitchen is right above me, but it might as well be in another country. But come she does, and this time the bowl really contains red berries, with nuts and raisins, too. She scowls at me as I grab for it, but leaves me and Sir Kitty to eat in peace. When we are through (it does not take long, due to the fact that
we gobble it down like we have never tasted food before) I continue my singing. Sometimes I make up a new verse about a girl with a dream of freedom. I am quite a talented songwriter, if I do say so myself. Perhaps I will have a new career ahead of me when I leave here.

IF I leave here.

It is barely dawn when Elkin and I saddle up the horses. Mum is overjoyed that I have taken an interest in a sport, and she made sure that I had the first bite of Father's stag last night at supper. I am still surprised that she is so quick to let us go into the forest by ourselves, but I am certainly not going to press the issue and risk her changing her mind.

We have to make a pretense of packing our bow and arrows, although we will dump the arrows as soon as we enter the forest. Andrew has agreed to go in after us and collect them so no one else will find them first and get suspicious. He also convinced the royal painter to give him a jar filled with yellow ochre so that I can mark the trees as I venture into parts unknown.

Just as the stable boy swings open the gates, the first drop of water hits the ground, followed in quick succession by the second, third, and fourth drops. By the time Elkin and I have led the horses a foot from the gate, it is full-on pouring.
A peal of thunder rumbles overhead and the horses whinny in response. My heart sinks. The groom approaches and says, “I am sorry, sires. I must bring the horses back into the stables. They are not to be ridden in a storm.”

I reach down and put my hand on Snowflake's flank. I can feel him shaking slightly. “He'll be fine,” I say weakly, not even convincing myself.

“I am sorry, sire, truly,” the groom says, holding out his hands for the reins. With a sigh, I hand them over. Elkin does the same. Having no choice, we dismount and run back toward the castle, hunching our shoulders against the rain.

“She'll still be there tomorrow,” Elkin assures me as we run across the field.

“You don't know that for sure,” I reply. A bolt of lightning shoots across the sky and we pick up our pace.

“That is a chance you will have to take,” he calls out from behind. His short legs can't carry him as fast as mine and I slow down to let him catch up. We run together into the main courtyard, which is sheltered from the rain by wooden slats overhead.

“You must cheer up,” Elkin says, shaking the water from his hair. “Let me beat you at a game of chess to take your mind off your worries.”

It didn't exactly take my mind off my worries, but it
was
fun beating Elkin three times in a row until Mum said I was being rude to our houseguest and I had to let him win one game.

 

NEXT DAY, 17
^TH
OF AUGUSTUS

Thankfully, it is bright and sunny this morning and we have gotten an early start. My heart is thudding against my tunic. What if I do not hear the singing again? Perhaps the girl was only out with her family for a day of riding and is long gone. Will my search be in vain?

“Are you certain you'll be all right?” Elkin asks as we reach the area of the forest where we are to part ways. “You are mumbling to yourself in a particularly odd way.”

“Your concern is touching,” I tell him. “But I'll be fine.” I pat the back of Snowflake's head for comfort.

“Just in case,” he says, “take this horn and use it if you need help.”

“Where did you get this?” I ask, admiring the brass-and-leather horn. It is heavier than I would have thought.

“I borrowed it from the hunt master,” Elkin says with a wink as he turns to follow the path to the hermit's cave.

“You
borrowed
it?” I call after him.

“Okay, so I stole it,” he calls over his shoulder. “But he won't need it today and you'll make sure I give it back.” He
laughs as he disappears into the trees. Perhaps Elkin has not totally changed his ways … but I
did
notice a big satchel of clothes tied to the back of Dusty Rose's saddle. I have a feeling the hermit will be dressing better soon.

By following Elkin's arrows, which thankfully were not felled by the heavy rains, I easily find the spot where I first heard the singing. With a deep breath, I close my eyes. For a few minutes I do not hear anything but the beating of my heart and the occasional squawk of a bird. Then the wind picks up a bit and I hear the singing, ever so faintly. I am tempted to gallop off in the direction I think it's coming from, but I force myself to do as the hermit said and just listen. Snowflake whinnies, almost like he is trying to tell me something. Can he hear the girl, too? What if I drop his reins and let him find her? Could that possibly work? Well, it wouldn't be any more surprising than all the other things that have happened in the last few days. I drop the reins.

“Okay, Snowflake, let's go find that girl!”

And off he goes! We weave in and out of trees, sometimes hitting an old bridle path, sometimes climbing over logs and under low branches. I break off a thin twig and use the tip to paint a slash of yellow on the tree trunks as we pass. The song is getting louder and louder until I can finally hear the words.

As we round the final bend, the song suddenly cuts off. Snowflake comes to a halt just as suddenly and I am thrust forward in my saddle. I strain to listen. Nothing. My chest is tightening up. Have we come this far for nothing? I move Snowflake forward a few feet and see past the trees into a clearing. In the middle is the last thing I thought I would see — a tower as tall as our castle watchtower! Until now, the treetops have restricted it from view. Just below the top of the tower is a small window. I peer closer and see that inside the window stands a girl. I have found the singing girl! She lives in a tower? How strange. I am about to charge forward when a stooped old woman approaches the bottom of the tower. In a cackling voice she says, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.”

A few seconds later, a thick golden braid is lowered from the window all the way down to the grass below. My jaw falls open. How could one girl's hair be that long? Why did the strange woman want her to hang it out the window? Then the most bizarre thing of all happens — the old woman
starts CLIMBING UP THE GIRL'S HAIR!!! Hand over hand, she shinnies up at a steady pace. When she reaches the window ledge, the girl backs up and the old woman climbs inside. I rub my eyes. Did I just see what I think I saw? Snowflake paws the ground with his hoof, and whinnies. I back us up a few paces, fearing the woman might not like having company.

I dismount from Snowflake's back, give him some hay to nosh on, and sit on a nearby tree stump to wait. What I am waiting for, I do not know, but I keep my eyes focused solely on that window. After about ten minutes, the girl steps to the window again and I jump to my feet. I'm about to run to the tower when the old lady climbs out onto the ledge and starts sliding down the braid. I shrink back again and hide behind a tree until the woman disappears around the back of the tower.

The girl pulls her hair back inside and does not return to her singing. I wait by Snowflake for a long time, until I am certain the witch is not returning. Then I pace back and forth beneath the tower, unsure what to do. Should I toss a rock in her window to get her attention? That's probably not a great idea, considering my history with anything that requires aim. No doubt I would strike her in the head by mistake. I circle the perimeter of the tower, looking for any
way in. On the opposite side from the window I see a door, but it has been sealed up tight with cement. Does the girl never leave the tower? Is she a prisoner there?

I see no other alternative but to climb up the same way as the old woman. I stand under the window, clear my voice, and call out, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” Truth be told, since my voice hasn't completely changed yet, I don't sound all that very different from the old lady. It works! She lets down her hair! I grab hold of the end of it and pray I am not so heavy that she comes flying out the window. My ascent is not as smooth as the old woman's, and I occasionally bang a knee or elbow against the hard stone wall. When I finally get to the ledge, I swing my leg over and hop in. That is the last thing I remember before waking up some time later on the hard stone floor. The girl with the hair is standing over me, a heavy pewter bowl held firmly in her hands. My head is throbbing and — unless I am going crazy — a cat is licking my ear.