Rapunzel, the One With All the Hair (4 page)

I wake up still full from supper, which is a good thing because, for the first time, no breakfast plate awaits me. As much as it pains me to admit it, last night's meal was delicious down to the last pea. Better than Mother makes, for sure, and Mother has a fresh garden and a magical herb to work with. I do not see any garden from my window here, only treetops and birds. Where did the vegetables come from, then? And the pig! Surely no pigs are running wild in the forest.

Sir Kitty slept in the crook of my arm all night, and I was grateful for her warmth. Whenever I woke up in the night — which was often — I heard the rhythmic breathing again … but it wasn't coming from her. Each time I heard it, I sat straight up, frantically lit a candle, and searched the room. Nobody was ever there. I feel pretty stupid now because I have used up all my candles. I had five and managed to use them up in three nights. I am not looking forward to the coming sunset, when I will be plunged into
darkness with only the faint light of the moon to see by. And what if it is a cloudy night and I hear the breathing again and the moon sheds no light? I shiver at the thought of it.

But night seems far off now. The whole day stretches ahead of me like a big empty void. If I were at home, WHERE I SHOULD BE, I would be helping Mother in the kitchen, practicing my harmonica, mending my clothes, reading stories about princes and princesses and damsels in distress, playing jacks with the neighborhood children, tending the garden with Father, or perhaps getting a jump on next year's lessons. Okay, I probably wouldn't be doing the last one. But I cannot do
any
of those things here.

It hits me that
I
am one of those damsels in distress. What damsel could be in more distress than I? I rack my brain to think of what someone would do in one of those stories. I'll tell you what she WOULDN'T do. She wouldn't just sit here wondering what to do. She would be thinking of a way to escape! I have already tried pushing on the stone walls and none of the stones budge.

As far as I can tell, the only way in or out is through that window. That'll have to be it, then. I shall climb out the window and make my way down the side of the tower. As Father used to say, the simplest solution is often the best.

If I think about it too long, I shall chicken out. So I put on my shoes, slip Sir Kitty into the deep pocket of my dress,
and prepare for my descent. Before I climb up onto the ledge, I wrap my braid around the back of my head and use every one of my pins to secure it. I know it's impossible, but it seems like my hair has grown another FOOT since yesterday. It actually drags on the FLOOR when I walk!

Once the braid is as out of the way as it's ever going to be, I back up to the window and hoist myself up a few inches until I am sitting on the ledge. Then I swivel around and let my feet dangle outside. Both hands grip the inside walls on either side of the window. I make the mistake of glancing down and wind up gripping the walls even harder.

DO NOT LOOK DOWN.

I sit still for a few minutes, gathering my strength. It is actually quite pleasant to be outdoors again, after a fashion. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh air. Then I move my hands to the ledge on either side of me and, in one fell swoop, manage to flip my body around so I am now facing the tower and dangling from the ledge by my hands. I am careful to stay far enough away from the wall so Sir Kitty doesn't get squashed. My feet search frantically for stones to perch on, but they just keep slipping. How could there be no footholds? This tower must be ancient; surely the weather has worn down the smooth edges.

While I am contemplating what to do next, my left shoe simply FALLS RIGHT OFF MY FOOT. I watch in horror
as it bumps the side of the tower a few times and lands in the bushes with a soft
woomph.
Did the witch hear that? Is she anywhere around? I don't dare move. Or breathe. Okay, I have to move. And breathe. My hands are about to give out. Maybe losing the shoe wasn't such a bad thing. I'd probably have better luck getting a toehold with an actual toe. I slide my bare foot against the wall, feeling for cracks. But it is for naught. Perhaps the simplest idea only appears to be the best. Using the last of my strength, I heave myself up and back through the window. I place Sir Kitty on the “bed” and she looks at me accusingly and starts washing again. That cat is very clean.

So much for my great escape. At least I tried. If I can't leave on my own, perhaps I can get someone's attention. A hunter, or a knight, or a traveling merchant. I'd even settle for a wayward bandit. But how? I don't dare scream — the witch would probably hear it before any rescuer did — and even if I still had candles left, they wouldn't give off enough smoke to make smoke signals. Nor would my matches. I look around the small room for ideas and find myself turning in circles. So I keep turning. Faster and faster I whirl, my dress swirling around my legs, my head spinning. I do not stop twirling until I am so dizzy that I fall into a heap on the rug.

Well, that was mildly entertaining. Not, you know, HUGELY, but somewhat. I wipe the sweat from my brow
with my forearm and lie there panting. Perhaps spinning isn't a very productive use of my time, but it took my mind off my situation by scrambling my brains for a few seconds. I shall have to try it again. I stand up and am about to begin again when an unfamiliar odor wafts by. It smells like … rotten eggs?? I had no breakfast, and the witch did not leave eggs last night, I am sure of it. I quickly get to my feet and search the room. No eggs anywhere, but I still smell them. Odd. Gradually it dawns on me that the smell is coming from me! From my ARMPITS!

Mother always laid out my clothes each morn. Without her to do that, it hadn't occurred to me to change out of my birthday dress. How pathetic am I! I need my mother to tell me when to change my clothes? For the first time, it truly sinks in that I am on my own here. Possibly forever. Sir Kitty has moved from the table to the window ledge. I hope she isn't planning on trying that means of escape. Has she learned nothing from my failure? I pick her up and hug her close to my chest.

I am sure no one will blame me if a few teardrops land on her head.

While she purrs in my arms, I watch out the window as the birds swoop above the trees, darting in and out as though playing hide-and-seek with each other. They are so free and don't even realize it. I didn't realize how free
I
was
until this happened to me. Perhaps no one does until it is taken away. After a few minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I take a deep breath, put the cat back on top of the little table, and head over to my trunk. I am NOT going to let this evil witch break me. She may be able to rob me of my family and my childhood, but she CANNOT make me smell!

I pull out the five dresses I brought with me and choose my favorite. Mother bought me this dress for my first day of school last year. It was the first dress she ever purchased from a merchant at the market rather than sewing herself. It has blue ruffles on the collar and also at the ends of the short sleeves. The white skirt falls in pleats to just above my knees. I pull my birthday dress over my head and go to stuff it back in the trunk when I realize that it will just make everything else smell. The yellow stripes are now gray with the dust and dirt of the tower. But I have nothing to wash it with.

I slip on the new dress, which smells nice and fresh like the lavender that Mother mixes with sheep's fat and ashes to make her special soaps. Sometimes Father will leave his shirts outside in the wind to air them out; perhaps that would work for me, too. On the left side of the window are some iron hinges that must once have held a swinging windowpane. It takes me a few tries, but I finally manage to secure the dress to one of the hinges by wrapping the sash tightly around it. The rest of the dress is now hanging out
the window, blowing in the breeze. The forest smells of pine and cedar, and I am pleased with my innovative solution. I am sure by tomorrow morning the dress will smell like new.

I hear a little
plop
behind me and figure Sir Kitty has jumped off the table to the floor. But when I turn around, I see she is still lying on the table, cleaning her foot with her tongue. So what was the plop? I glance around and catch sight of an oval-shaped object sitting in the middle of the rug. I bend over it. It is an oil lamp made of copper and glass! And it is filled with oil! I bet there is enough oil in there to last for weeks. Is it possible that the witch is kinder than I thought? Why else would she leave this for me? I put it away, deciding to take it out only at night. For the first time since my arrival, I feel a tiny surge of hope, quickly followed by gratitude that she hadn't arrived just a little bit earlier. She would have found me hanging from the window ledge!

Elkin is back! I cannot believe it! His parents have determined he would get better training at becoming a “responsible adult worthy of marrying a princess” at our castle than their own. Mum says this is because there is no discipline at Elkin's home and he was never taught things like:

1. Boys his age do not pass gas at the table just to get a laugh out of the younger children present (meaning Annabelle and me). For the record, I do not actually laugh when Elkin passes gas; I gag and it comes out as a laugh. Annabelle, I cannot vouch for.
   
2. Good grooming is important. It is not a joke to cut off all of one's hair with the gardener's shears before the eleventh birthday of your cousin (me again), thereby ruining the family portrait that the castle artisan had been painting all day.
   
3. Do not disobey other people's fathers (especially when
   they are the king) and lure younger cousins (again, me) into trouble by hiding behind couches.
   

The list goes on. I can see Mum's point. Elkin truly is rough around the edges. Mum has given me the choice to attend Elkin's training classes. Or, I should say, she has made it appear that she is giving me the choice, when we all know full well that no such choice exists. What she doesn't know is that I would have asked to participate even if I had not been invited. Now that I have learned of the fifty (50!!) other Benjamins looking up to me, I realize that I, too, would benefit from some studies in Future Kingness. Our lessons begin tomorrow. I have practiced holding out my hand so that Andrew can kiss my (imaginary) ring, but he did not appreciate the gesture and I think he is a bit miffed at me.

I have thought of a way to escape! It is so obvious. All I have to do is pretend to be asleep when the witch comes with my next meal and watch how she is getting in and out. That's even simpler than my old plan! Since I have had no food yet today, and she left none when she brought the oil lamp, I expect her arrival before nightfall. I am lying on my “bed” with my eyes mostly — but not totally — closed. Time is passing ridiculously slowly. My belly is grumbling. WHERE IS SHE?

WHY IS MY HAIR GROWING SO FAST? What IS she putting in my food?? If I think too much about it, I shall surely go mad.

What is that smell? Herrings? Warm bread? Surely I must be imagining it, because I did not close my eyes so there is no way the witch got by me. Then I hear a slurping sound. I quickly sit up to find Sir Kitty sipping from a bowl of goat's milk on a tray next to BOILED HERRINGS AND STEAMING BLACK BREAD! I also notice that I have to
squint to see the food because the sun has nearly set! I cannot BELIEVE I fell asleep! I am the worst spy ever!

I hurry to the table and join Sir Kitty in our evening meal. How could the witch be so cruel to me when I see her and then be kind enough to leave a bowl of milk for the cat? There is more here than meets the eye. I am going to figure it out.

After all, what else have I got to do?

 

NEXT MORNING, 9
^TH
OF AUGUSTUS

I quickly fall asleep again, and wake to find the sunlight streaming in the window and the witch STANDING OVER MY BED waving my birthday dress in one hand and my fallen shoe in the other. Her face is purple with rage. This can't be good. I scramble to my feet and instinctively back away. I guess this isn't the best time to thank her for the lamp and the bowl of milk. She holds up the items and waves them at me.

“Would you care to offer an explanation for why I found these in the bushes?” she asks through gritted teeth.

I hurry to explain that the dress must have slipped from the window hinge as it was airing out. The shoe is harder to explain. “Er, I thought I saw a dragon last night and I threw my shoe at it?” Okay, so I'm not the world's best liar.

She stares into my eyes with her beady black ones, and I force myself not to look away. Father always says, if you're going to lie, you have to commit to the lie.

“Silly girl,” she hisses. “There are no dragons anymore.”

“I did not think there were witches, either,” I mutter under my breath.

“Do I need to board that window up?”

“Please, no!” I beg, horrified at the thought of losing my one connection to the outside world. “It won't happen again, I promise.”

“See that it does not,” she says, throwing my dress and shoe on top of my trunk. “I do not give second warnings. Now stand by the window and hold your cheeky tongue.”

As I hurry to the window, I feel the weight of something in my pocket. My mirror! I must have stuck it in there last night. My mind races. Keeping my back slightly hunched, I slip my hand into my dress pocket and slowly lift out the mirror and hold it facing me at waist level. Then I tilt it so that I can look down at it and see behind me. If it is possible for a heart to explode by beating fast, surely mine would right now.

It is working! I can see the “bed” and the table. But I do not see the witch. My heart sinks. Then I catch sight of something in the corner of the mirror and tilt it up a smidge
more. I can just make out what looks like a rope being pulled into the ceiling! I tilt the mirror even more and see the rope disappear and a trapdoor soundlessly being pulled closed. THERE IS A TRAPDOOR IN THE CEILING! I can barely contain myself. I want to sing. To do a jig. To laugh and laugh. I have found my way out!