Rapunzel: The One With All the Hair Read online

  I can’t help but lean over and hug him. He may be bony, but I can feel the strength in his arms as well. He had to be strong — and flexible — to get up and down that rope so quickly. I would not like to be the prisoner trying to run past him. Perhaps I won’t have to be.

  “So you will let me go?”

  “Sorry, dear child, but I cannot.”

  “Yes, you could,” I insist. “You could just lift me up on that rope, and I can climb down the staircase from your attic room. You could come WITH me! We would be far from here before she would even notice!”

  He shakes his head adamantly. “I am in her service until my debt is paid off. I must fulfill the terms of my job.”

  “How long is your service, then?”

  His brows furrow. He picks a piece of lint off the rug before answering. “As long as I live. Or else young Stevie will die.”

  I swallow. This witch is surely the most horrid creature in this kingdom or any other. “Then why do you risk her wrath by bringing me gifts?”

  His expression lifts a bit at the mention of the gifts. “The witch shows up so rarely, I figure she will not notice. I could not bear to see you so unhappy.”

  Poor, brave Steven. Risking so much for someone he doesn’t even know. I doubt I would be brave enough to do something like that.

  Sir Kitty walks up and, as if she understands the situation, rubs her face against Steven’s leg and purrs loudly. Steven smiles and picks her up.

  “I was so pleased when I saw how much you liked the cat,” he says, scratching her belly. “I worried she might make you sneeze.”

  My eyes widen. “Sir Kitty was a gift from you? I thought she was here before I arrived.”

  Steven shakes his head. “I found her in the bushes beneath the tower and knew you could use the company.”

  “But the witch saw her! You could have gotten caught.”

  “Don’t worry,” he says, placing Sir Kitty back on the rug. “Your quick thinking saved me. The witch probably believes the kitten got carried in along with the straw for your bed.”

  “As did I,” I tell him, smiling. “You are very sneaky, Master Steven.”

  “Stop,” he says, “you are making me blush.”

  I cannot help wondering what color blushing cheeks would be on someone who is the color of a lima bean, but I do not want to be rude and peer too closely. “So what do we do? Just stay the witch’s prisoners forever?”

  “But I am not her prisoner,” he reminds me. “Although I can see how it would appear that way. I shall continue to bring you things to make your life here more bearable. And even while you sleep, I am protecting you, although you are unaware.”

  “But I was aware,” I tell him, suddenly realizing what I should have figured out before. “The breathing that lulls me to sleep — that comes from you.”

  “You can hear my breathing?”

  I nod. “I thought it must be a ghost.”

  He smiles. “My dear wife, Katherine, always tells me I am a heavy breather. Worse than the fluttering of a noble lady’s fan, she used to say.” His smile slowly fades and he looks sad.

  I hope he isn’t going to cry again! To cheer him up, I suggest we play a game. I am quite good at chess but, of course, we do not have a set.

  “I must decline your kind offer,” Steven says, springing up from the rug, looping his arm around the rope, and grasping it with both hands.

  Truly, the man (I cannot call him a creature now that we are friends) moves like the acrobat I saw perform once in Market Square.

  Steven twists his legs around the end of the rope and says, “It is almost morn, and one never knows when the witch will darken my door.”

  “When shall I see you again?” I call after him as he slithers up the rope at a speed I would have previously thought quite impossible. By the time I finish my question, he is already closing the trapdoor.

  “I am always here when you need me,” he calls down as he pulls the door shut. Those hinges certainly are greased with magic oil, because they do not make even a whisper. The tower seems smaller, somehow, now that I am alone again. With a sigh, I blow out the wick and climb onto the “bed.” I strain my ears until I can hear Steven’s rhythmic, steady breathing. I feel myself drifting off to that place where everything is fuzzy but you know you are not yet asleep. Something is nagging at me. It is as though the answer to a riddle is right around the corner of my brain, yet I cannot reach it. I am not even sure what the riddle is, but I know it is vital that I figure it out.

  Father has called Elkin and me down to the sitting room to go over the rules for the hunt. It is cool for a summer eve, and the three of us are seated in high-back leather chairs in front of the fireplace. Mum and Annabelle are here, too. Mum is busy embroidering gems onto a new dress. (Although she has a large staff to assemble her considerable wardrobe, she says sewing relaxes her. I think Mum and I have more in common in terms of our artistic creativity then she will admit). Annabelle is pretending to play with her collection of tiny wooden dolls, but whenever Mum isn’t looking, she throws one of them into the fire. I worry about that child.

  Father begins the lecture by talking about the virtues of the longbow versus the crossbow, how one can fire off many more arrows per minute with the longbow, thereby increasing one’s chances of successfully reaching one’s target. When he moves on to how to keep an animal in your line of sight, I stop listening. I will not be shooting any arrows. Well, unless my tomato assault fails. Even then, I do not think one can vanquish a troll with a bow and arrow. Certainly I cannot. While Father speaks, I go over Andrew’s map in my head. I figure the better I know the path ahead of time, the swifter I will reach the cave without being missed by the hunting party.

  “Benjamin,” Father rumbles, “are you listening to me?”

  The forest vanishes and I’m back in front of the fire. Elkin is smirking. He’d better be careful or his face will have a permanent smirk and then his soon-to-be wife will not like him (although chances are high that she won’t, anyway). “Er, yes, Father,” I say, glaring at Elkin.

  “Now, due to your recent head-bobbing injury —”

  Elkin chuckles and Father does not reprimand him. Nice to stand up for one’s own son! His ONLY son and heir, I might add. Although if I fail to vanquish the troll and the troll vanquishes me instead, perhaps Father will decide to adopt Elkin. The horror of it!

  “As I was saying, due to your, er, accident, you missed practicing with the royal archers yesterday. Elkin did very well and hit all his targets. He is being given a chance to prove he can indeed be a good influence on you, and he will be your guide in the hunt. I want you to stick closely by him. The rest of us will be too busy to watch over you.”

  Father’s words sink in. My plans are ruined! I cannot let this happen. I jump to my feet in protest. “I’ll be fine on my own, Father. You know I am a strong rider. Elkin doesn’t need me to shadow him. I would just be in his way.”

  Elkin adds, “Truly he would, uncle. I cannot wait to bag my supper, and what if Benjamin scares the animal off?”

  Father shakes his head. “On a young man’s first hunt, it is traditional for an older brother or cousin to ride with a younger. In this case, Elkin, you are the elder, so you two shall ride together. I will hear no more about it.”

  I look pleadingly at Mum. She is engrossed in her sewing and shows no signs of even following the conversation. I slump back into my seat and stare at the fire. I refuse even to glance at Elkin, who I can tell is pouting in that special way of his where he sticks out his lower lip and turns down the corners of his mouth.

  “Burn burn burn!” Annabelle squeals gleefully and tosses the last of her dolls into the flames. Mum finally notices what Annabelle has been doing for the past half hour and lunges out of her chair. The dress slips to the floor and the tiny gems fly off her lap and scatter. They appear very bright against the white stone. We all watch in horror as Mum actually reaches her hand into the fire and snatches out the closest