a new take on Rumplestiltskin

 

The Tale of Rumplestiltskin – with other choices.

 

Once there was a woodcutter, who had a beautiful daughter, who was also good, and kind, and sweet natured, and what’s more, she was even a good cook and a fine manager, able to make even the most meagre of foods taste as if they made a meal fit for a king. And she could spin finer wool and flax than any other girl in the village, for her fingers were so nimble.

Naturally, her father boasted of her abilities.

“My lovely Rose could even spin straw into gold!” he said.

Rosa sighed when she heard that.

This was a foolish thing to say, even if his neighbours knew it was nothing but boasting, for foolish boasts have a way of coming to the ears of those best left in ignorance of pretty girls who have no very great protectors. It was bad enough that Rosa’s suitors heard of it.

“So, you can spin me gold, when we are wed, can you?” asked Willem.

“We aren’t getting wed; I don’t like you,” said Rosa, who thought Willem an overbearing bullying boor.

“I don’t suppose it is true, but if it were, we would never have to do another day’s work,” sighed Conrad.

“How would anyone notice the difference?” asked Rosa, who thought Conrad lazy and feckless. “It was a foolish thing for Papa to say, and I wish he had not.”

She was right to wish this, for it came to the ears of the king, since the woodcutter and Rosa lived in the very shadow of his castle. Now the king wanted to get married, and he wanted to marry a suitable bride, a princess, perhaps, because he loved his self-image; but he loved gold more. And he said to himself, “This is a ridiculous boast, but on the other hand... magic exists. Yes, indeed. And if she can spin straw into gold, she would make a suitable wife, and if she cannot, I can have my way with her, as she is very pretty, and then put her and her father to death.”

His name was Andreas Cakeburg-Whosis.

Consequently, he sent his men to bring Rosa and her father to him, on the orders of his equerry, Jeffrey of Ebostone.

“I hear your daughter can spin straw into gold,” he said, with a cruel smile.

“It... it was a figure of speech, your mightiness!” cried the woodcutter.

“I don’t deal with figures of speech, I deal with counting-houses,” said the king. “Your daughter will stay here with me, and a room full of straw, and if she can spin it into gold, I will marry her. If not? Well, telling lies is a sin and you will be punished.”

He took poor Rosa by the arm, and dragged her to a turret room filled with straw, and with a spindle and whorl, and a very basic bed. He was most improper in how he handled her, too.

“Oh, now, your majesty, how can I spin anything if my back is sore from a broken bed and cold for a lack of decent quilts?” cried Rosa, apparently indignant. “I will spin nothing unless I have comfortable accommodation, and not a draughty, smelly turret room.” After all, if she was going to die, she might as well have a few days’ luxury.

“You are very nice for a woodcutter’s daughter,” said the king, disconcerted. Surely she would not make demands if she was a fraud? As well to humour her. He gave orders for the spindle and the straw to be taken to guest quarters, where Rosa might have a fire, and a soft bed with wonderful coverings and curtains all round it. He stood and waited.

Rosa glared at him.

“I’m not going to do a thing with you watching,” she said.

He went out and slammed the door behind him, in a naughty temper. Some plaster fell from the ceiling. This was not unusual, as Andreas was often in a naughty temper, and door slamming and plaster-falling was a cause for regular hasty repairs by the palace repair-gnomes.

Meanwhile, her father went into the woods, sobbing, where he was met by an ugly, red-haired dwarf, who asked what was wrong. Rosa’s father spilled out his woe, and the dwarf laughed.

“I can help,” he said, and promptly vanished.

He reappeared in Rosa’s room. Rosa squeaked.

“I told the king, I would do nothing while anyone watched,” she said, her voice trembling, for she had given way to weeping.

“Fear not, pretty maid,” said the dwarf. “I can spin straw into gold for the king.”

“But... but why would you?” asked Rosa. “I would be tremendously grateful not to die, but I cannot see what benefit you would gain, although I do believe in altruistic people, I’ve never met any.”

“Oh, good, you are a sensible girl as well as plainly kind enough yourself to believe in altruism.”

“I do try, because I can’t believe in what I don’t practise. But it usually only causes trouble with people expecting more and more,” she sighed.

“Well, that’s because people are greedy,” said the dwarf.

“Sadly, yes; or I wouldn’t be here for my father’s foolish boast,” sighed Rosa. “So, what do you get out of helping me?”

“Because at the end of three days, when you have shown him all the gold, and he asks to marry you, I want you to promise that if you cannot find my name before your firstborn son is weaned, I will take him as my payment.”

“Oh, good sir! I do not want to marry the king!” said Rosa. “Why, as you have offered your aid, I would rather flee with you and marry you, and give you a son of your own, for you have shown me kindness.”

The dwarf froze.

“Do you speak the truth?” he asked, in a whisper. “I want a son, but no woman will look on me and submit to be my wife.”

“Good dwarf, I do not care how you look, if you are kind to me,” said Rosa. “And I like ginger whiskers more than a smooth face whose smiles are poisonous.” And she leaned forward, and kissed his forehead.

He fell to his knees and kissed her hands.

“I fear I am under no enchantment, to change into a handsome prince as all the stories would have might happen,” he sighed.

“I do not care,” said Rosa. “You look on me with honest eyes. The king’s eyes make me feel dirty.”

“Well, then!” said the dwarf. “My name is  Rumplestiltskin and I make you free with it, my lady; but let us get this straw spun to gold, for I have an idea.”

He sang as he spun, and Rosa joined in, handing him straw to add to the spindle as the rock dragged gold thread from it. And when food was brought, she gave the greater share to him, as he was working, but he made it double in size anyway. And after three days, the king was due to come.

Rumplestiltskin and Rosa had spoken during the time he was spinning, and she helped him by passing straw; and she knew he was also a magician and a herbalist, and he knew she liked cooking and sewing, and liked to embroider, but the spinning of wool and flax made her fingers too tired.

“You will not have to spin all the time when we are married, Rosebud,” said Rumplestiltskin.

“Oh, but I must help you all I can!” said Rosa.

“If you can cook, and tend to repairs, that will be all that I ask,” he said. “For magic does not cook well, and sewing does not last, any more than this gold will last.”

“I must scrub and clean....”

He laughed.

“Nay, lass, that is one thing magic is good at; once dirt is banished, it is gone forever,” he said. “I will take care of cleaning, and raising the money with herbs and simples for us to live well, and snare rabbits in the forest, and so on; we will be a partnership.”

 

Then they heard the sounds of the impatient feet of Andreas on the stairs. Rumplestiltskin, or Rumpy, as he let Rosa call him, made a curious little gesture, and all the golden straw twinkled.

“Do not touch any of the gold, Rosa, my precious flower,” he said.

“No, Rumplestiltskin, my lord,” said Rosa.

The king came in and he could scarcely believe his greedy eyes.

“Gold!” he cried. “Wench, you did it, and I will marry you!” he seized up handfuls of the gold threads... which attached themselves to his head, and grew into golden hair, as his body changed and became a beautiful golden-haired girl. Rumplestiltskin took Rosa by the hand, and they vanished, and so did not hear the screams when Jeffrey of Ebostone came and found an unattended wench who was tangled in her own hair. Of course, when he touched the gold, much later, and gloated on it, he changed as well, and found that attitudes come from the top, and he and the former king were eventually sold into slavery and when their looks went they spent the rest of their sorry lives in a sweat shop sewing clothes for aspiring merchants. But Rosa knew nothing of that, for she went to Rumplestiltskin’s cottage, and mended all his clothes, and cooked proper meals for him, so that by the time their first child was born, her husband was healthy and had filled out, and took the time to trim his whiskers and take pride in his appearance, and looked as fine as any other goodman. And they and their children lived happily ever after.

snow white and Ice Lily

 a twist or two on Snow White, with touches from Donkeyskin and Sleeping Beauty and a nod to the odd Italian fairy tale with dragons

Snow White and Ice Lily.

 

Once upon a time there was a king, whose proud boast it was that he was married to the most beautiful woman in the land. He had had a magic mirror made, and every morning he made his wife look in it, and say, ‘Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?’ and whilst it said ‘Why, you are, dear queen,’ he was quite happy. They had a baby girl who was growing up as lovely as her mother, with black hair, pale skin touched with roses at her cheeks, and big beautiful dark blue eyes. But the mother, Queen White Rose, was starting to age, and one day, the mirror said, ‘The fairest of them all is Ice Lily.’ White Rose gasped, but she did not tell her husband. She did not know that her husband had a duplicate mirror which told him; and before long, the child, Snow White was informed by her nurse that her mother had died, and that she was to have a stepmother.

Ice Lily was terrified to be consort to the king, whose standards in all things were exacting. But she had no choice.  She concealed, however, that she was a witch, and knew a few potions to keep her husband happy. She remained distant from the child, to ensure the little girl did not get too fond of her, for when her own end inevitably came, for Ice Lily quickly worked out how things worked. She took to asking the mirror very early in the day, so that she had time before King Strong Horse awoke. If she had been able to give him a son, she might have rested more easily, but alas! It appeared that she was barren.

Some seven years passed, and Snow White was becoming a beautiful young woman; and one day, when Ice Lily asked the question, the mirror returned the answer, ‘Snow White.’  At first, Ice Lily was relieved, thinking that Strong Horse would not consider marrying his own daughter; but then she recalled that he had sworn an oath only to be married to the loveliest woman in the land.

She summoned a loyal servant, and Snow White.

“You must go away, and try to reach another land before your father wakes up,” said Ice Lily. “Brand here will go with you and serve you. I will keep him asleep for another day, but I cannot do so for longer.”

“But why, Stepmama?” asked Snow White.

“You know his oath,” said Ice Lily, harshly. “And the mirror informed me that you are the fairest in all the land.”

“But... but he is my father!” cried Snow White.

“Yes, and he does not care,” said Ice Lily.  “But if you wear this cloak made of donkey skin, it will make you look very ordinary, but you cannot take it off until you are far enough away to be safe.”

“I see,” said Snow White. “What will you tell my father?”

“I will tell him that I killed you in jealousy,” said Ice Lily. “With your beauty concealed, and then far away, he will believe me, and will laugh that I am so desperate to keep my life and my position.”

“Did he kill my Mama?” asked Snow White.

“I believe so,” said Ice Lily. “I was summoned to get married.”

“Oh, take care, Stepmama!” said Snow White, kissing the older woman on the forehead. She and Brand set off on the long walk to the next land, with a few gifts from the queen. Snow White felt safe with Brand; he was a man she trusted, as he had been her servant for many years, and looked after her. He was a handsome man, too, she thought, well-built, tanned without being weatherbeaten, and with merry blue eyes, though his hair was dark.

 

“We’re nearly over the border, Miss,” said Brand. “Once we cross those mountains. There’s a road through.”

“Oh, thank you, Brand,” said Snow White, who was very tired of walking so far.

They moved into a wooded valley, and suddenly came face to face with seven dwarves carrying mining tools. Brand thrust Snow White behind him, and confronted them.

“We’re just passing through,” he said to the angry looking little men.

“Nobody passes through our valley!” said the leader.

“But it’s the main road out of the kingdom!” argued Brand.

“What do we care?” said another, hitting Brand with his pick. Snow White screamed. Brand fell, bleeding.

“What about the wench?” said another of the bent little men.

“Anyone as ugly as her will be glad to be our servant,” said the leader. They dragged Snow White, who clung closely to her donkey skin, to their cottage, which was frankly filthy.

“You can clean up, and wash and mend our clothing, and cook for us,” said the leader. “Our names are Eendy, Meendy, Mony, Mite, Balico, Halico, and Mo.”

They rigged up a couple of curtains in the corner for Snow White to sleep behind, and pegged a bed frame into the walls, stretching rope to put a mattress on for her to sleep. By the time it was done, Snow White had cooked a meal for them, which they ate, giving her the leftovers. She crept into bed, and cried herself to sleep; though at least it was more comfortable than sleeping on a makeshift bed of bracken made by Brand on the forest floor.

Mo kicked the side of the bed to wake her up in the morning.

“Breakfast, wench,” he said. “Hurry up, we have to be at work in the mine.  Balico and Halico are putting an enchantment on the fence about our garden so you can’t leave. The vegetables need tending and you can scrub the floor, and wash all our bed linen, and wash and mend our clothes which are in the corner over there.”

Snow White milked the cow, collected eggs, and made porridge and eggs for them all, fed the chickens, and the cow, and had enough in the bottom of the porridge pot for a small bowl for herself.  The dwarves headed off for the day, and Snow White decided to test whether Mo was telling the truth about spells. As she tried to go out of the gate, she felt a stinging pain as if she had been struck with a whip. She tried climbing the fence, and the same thing happened.

Snow White limped back to the house. She knew how to do household chores because her mother believed that even a princess should understand what the servants did; and Ice Lily had taught her more. Snow White dragged all the furniture outside, to clear the floor, and let the air in.  Then she did all the washing, to try to give the washing time to dry, on the bushes, and she used the dirty water to give the floor a first rinse as it was so dirty. She took off her gown to scrub, so that she did not dirty it, and belted up her shift. But she kept an eye on where the sun was, to make sure she had her donkeyskin back on before the dwarves came home. Somehow, she got the floor scrubbed before they came back, but it wasn’t dry.

“You lazy wench!” cried Eendy. “Lying around all day while we work!”

“Oh! I have been scrubbing the floor and you have brought all your mud in and walked on it and messed it up again!” wept Snow White. Eendy sneered.

“Well, you’ll have to do it again, then,” he said. “Get our furniture back in.  And what is for supper?”

“I haven’t had time to think about that,” said Snow White. The blow to the side of her head knocked her to the floor.

“Go and wash; you’re filthy. And then get our supper,” snarled Eendy.

“Oh, oh! You will have to fetch the table and chairs in then,” sobbed Snow White. Poor thing, she was exhausted.

The days stretched one into another, and Snow White’s soft hands became callused and ingrained in dirt, listening every day for the song the dwarves sang going to and coming from the mine.

“Down down we go,

In the mines below,

To the dark of the deep sunk mine

But we gather the brightest gems that glow

In the crowns of the mighty shine

Whatever they need comes from our deed

Whatever they assert

Their jewels aglow the sweat of our brow

Is won from the deepest dirt.”

They worked hard; Snow White could not deny that, and if they had shown her basic gratitude, she might even have been prepared to work willingly, but all she received were blows and curses and it wore her down more than the hard work. She was so hungry all the time, and her cheeks furrowed with tears, when she caught sight of herself reflected in the well, she knew that she would no longer be the fairest in the land. 

“Oh, stepmama, if only I had a fraction of your magic!” she cried. “If I could escape the fence, I could be over the border before I regain my looks. But maybe I can; the magic line cannot extend far, can it? And it will hurt, but I will get over it.”

 

Meanwhile, Brand had been dealt a cruel blow, but he had survived it, for it had knocked him off his feet, and the force of the blow had been lost. His shoulder was broken, and he was giddy from pain and blood loss, but alive.

What nobody knew, save Ice Lily, was that Brand was Ice Lily’s brother, who had come with his sister to her wedding as her loyal servant. Her proper name was Lily, for it was an affectation of the nobility to add a second word to a name. Brand loved his sister very much, and he also loved the young girl his sister had set him to watch over, with a fierce intensity. Hence, he dragged himself to his feet to see what he might do to rescue Snow White. He made a sling for his broken shoulder and made his painful way to overlook the hut, watching the cruelty of the dwarves towards their young slave.  It angered him, but he did not know how to overcome their magic.

As Brand had managed, one-handed, to climb a tree to sleep and watch, he could see what the dwarves could not; which was a dragon, circling above. Brand was a brave man, and he knew more about the lore of dragons than most, as his sister was a witch. When the dwarves were away, he made his way to a clearing in front of a cave, whose location he had guessed by watching where it withdrew.

“Good dragon, your magnificence,” he called. “I may have a trade for you.”

Thirty two feet of head and neck thrust out of the cave entrance.

“Oho, little man who roosts in a tree; I have seen you, and you have seen me.”

“Are you interested in the jewels the dwarves dig?” asked Brand.

“Nasty little thieves stole from my gold, I want them punished until they are old,” said the dragon.

“They have taken the girl I love and made her their slave, but there is magic about their house,” said Brand. “Oh, and they have robbed her cheeks of their roses, and made her move like an old woman in pain from drudgery.”

The dragon smiled.

“She has an apple, her stepmother’s gift, tell her to her lips she should lift,

Take but a bite, and lie on her bed, and the sorry dwarves will think her dead.

Her beauty returns as in slumber deep she lies upon her bed in sleep;

They will place her into a crystal tomb, then you and I to capture them come.”

“Thank you, your magnificence,” said Brand. “And what then?”

“Lift her and give the true lover’s kiss, the enchantment will fall and allow your bliss.

And I will have seven miserable slaves to dig as much as they stole from my caves.”

“How suitable,” said Brand. “And then I will take her away to be safe from her father, and hope my sister is safe too.”

“The king is a fool and I have a hunch that he would go down with a toothsome crunch,” said the dragon.

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer chap,” said Brand, laconically.

The dragon sniggered, and smoke seeped out between his teeth.

 

Next day, a seeming old woman came to call at the cottage gate.

“I can draw you water, good mother, but if I give you food, I will be beaten, even if it is my share,” said Snow White.

“Snow White! It is I, Brand; I am recovering from that blow, and I have made a friend!” said Brand. “You must go into the hut, take off the donkey skin, and take a bite from the magical apple that Lily gave you! And then, leave the rest to me.”

“I trust you, Brand,” said Snow White. “I tried to run through the gate ignoring the feeling that I was being whipped, but I was dragged back, being whipped all the while.”

“I saw you dragged back,” whispered Brand, tears in his eyes. “You are so brave to try to push through the pain.”

“I can barely move, for it,” sobbed Snow White.

“Then try the plan my friend suggested,” said Brand.

“I will; but go, quickly, lest they return early, as sometimes one of them does, to spy on me,” said Snow White.

Brand took her hand and kissed the callused palm.

“A dear little hand, so badly used,” he said. His tears fell on the calluses, and they healed! He took the other hand and wept on that too. And then he left her.

Snow White had half wondered if the apple would prove to be poison, but as it was, she hardly cared. She laid aside the donkey skin, laid herself down on her bed, and bit into the apple. And suddenly it was as if she was in a dream, half aware of what was going on, but as if it happened to someone else.

 

The dwarves came home, singing, and growled in anger to see the garden untended, and the door standing open.

“Slave! Slave! Where are you?” yelled Eendy.

“Brother! There is someone on her bed!” cried Meendy.

“It is not her, this girl is beautiful!” said Mo.

“She is dead, quite dead,” mourned Balico.

“But who is she?” asked Halico.

“And where is our slave?” asked Mony.

“Is she fresh enough to....” Mite put a hand on Snow White’s body, and Eendy hit him hard enough to send him rolling end over end.

“This is our slave,” said Eendy. “She must have been under an enchantment to hide her true looks, and was freed from it in death.  Quick, brothers! We must use our magic to make a crystal casket to keep her from decay, just outside our fence, and we can work then on spells to animate her body.”

They made a crystal tomb for Snow White, and Brand, who could see the cottage, sat on the dragon’s neck, allowing the dragon to see through his eyes as there were spells of dragon gaze repelling on the cottage. Sniggering, the dragon dove through the air, through the bubble of enchantment, his very nature enough to destroy all the magic. The dwarves tried to scatter but the dragon blew smoke rings which lassoed them, and tightened on their arms painfully. And when he had gathered them all, he made a delicate and singular mark on their foreheads with one claw.

“Now you’re punished as my slaves and work until you’re in your graves!” he bellowed. “In your mines for me you’ll work, and heaven help you if you shirk!”

Brand slithered down, and, heart hammering, went to the crystal tomb. He pushed aside the lid, and lifted Snow White out, and kissed her on the lips.

She coughed, and spat out the bit of apple, to the side of him.

“Oh, Brand!” she cried, and kissed him properly.

The dragon cleared his throat.

“Let’s leave these miserable fools to feed themselves and clean their tools,

And to the castle let us fly, it’s time for King Strong Horse to die.”

 

The flight was thrilling, and King Strong Horse, convinced that he was wearing a suit of invisible but invulnerable armour his wife had given him, strode out of the castle naked to confront the dragon.

“How thoughtful of the kindly witch to send him out without a stitch,

For armour plate is hard, in sooth, I shall not have to crack a tooth,” said the dragon.

Liking his food cooked, he sent forth a burst of flame to grill Strong Horse nicely, and promptly ate him.

Brand was crowned King Fire Brand, and married his beloved Snow White, and the dowager queen went off with the dragon to share knowledge. And they all lived happily ever after. Except the dwarves.

 

 

 

 

The fan

 A short story engendered by a friend's picture on Night Cafe; Thetis, this is for you 

The Fan

 

“So, what is your name?”

She was a beautiful woman with eyes that held a hint of amber in their dark depths.

“Taro,” he told her. “Where is your entourage, lady? Or are you looking to hire a bodyguard?”

“Bodyguard! I never considered that. Are you a ‘Big Boy’ like your name? and do you have another?”

“You can call me Taro Kaze-ni-ha,” he said.

“Leaf in the wind? So, nowhere to go, associated with nobody?”

“At the moment,” said Taro.

She fluttered her fan. Taro found himself staring at it, and quickly, politely, looked away. It bore a scene of countryside, distant mountains, nothing more, nothing which should draw the eye so much.

“Sake?” she asked, summoning the waiter.

He drank rice wine with her, and nibbled the sweet rice balls served with it. And she waved her fan, slowly.

Taro found himself drifting off to sleep. He tried to fight the sensation, but the gently waving fan lulled him, and soothed his fears of sleeping in a public place.

 

 

Taro awoke. He was in a narrow room, with open shoji on each side. One side was… it seemed to be the original of the scene on the fan…. But it was as painted as the fan, and he could not reach it, it was as if it were a painted shoji, but when he went to the edge of his narrow room, he could go no further, as if it were both next to him and a gulf away.

On the other side, her face, smiling at him, filling the open shoji screen. He ran, and bounced from an invisible barrier.

“What, my little big boy, are you angry with Hana?” she asked. “Don’t be. If you behave, not only will I call you out when I need a bodyguard, I might let you out to pleasure me. You are in my fan, a silhouette upon it, against the eternal sunset.”

He called her the sort of names which would have had him beaten by his parents. She laughed.

“Naughty boy, Taro!” she said. “Discipline time!”

She tapped her sharp nails on the silhouette samurai on her fan. Taro fell, each tap like a stinging blow. He tried to get up, but in the end sank into a swoon from the pain.

“Don’t cross me again,” said Hana.

He knew now she was a shugenja, a magic person; and she had ensorcelled him.

“Why?” he begged. “I would have worked for you, for very little pay.”

“Because I prefer to own you than to hire you. I know your name, you know. Taro Kurita, I know who you are. Rebelling against a marriage not of your choosing. Such is the way in your family. Once, I was married to your uncle, Hoshi. I went to take a job as household shugenja; but he forced me into marriage when I was young, and less able. ‘I prefer to own you than to hire you,’ he said, and own me he did, and forced himself upon me, for I was young, innocent, and easy to cow. But I learned more, and after a while, he let his guard down.  It was an improper trapping in the fan that I did to him. Do you remember him vanishing?”

“Yes, my father said that his widow, if widow she was, was inconsolable.”

“Oh, I wept. I wept that I had got the spells wrong, so I could not touch or torture him as he had touched and tortured me,” said Hana. “So, I burned that fan, and burned him with it. I pleasured myself to his screams.  And then, I was free. But by chance, into the inn you came, looking like Hoshi, arrogant, like Hoshi. So you, you will fight for me when I tell you to, and I will make you beg to come to my arms and have a few hours of being human.”

“Never! I will never beg!”

“You will,” said Hana.

 

His first bout of freedom was to act as her bodyguard against a pair of thieves who thought a lady travelling alone was a nice bonus.

He had no will save his understanding of how to fight; and he cut both brigands in half. And then found himself back in the fan.

“Impressive,” said Hana. “You are lithe. If you ask nicely, you may share my futon tonight.”

“Go to hell,” snarled Taro.

He soon discovered that for a fan to be opened and closed at speed so that he was folded back and forth was extremely uncomfortable, as was being waved angrily. But it was her fingernails that beat him to the ground.

He drew his sword and tried to plunge it into his belly, to commit seppuku; but it was as if it was made of paper, and folded without cutting him.

She shut the fan with him folded in darkness for what seemed like an age before unfurling it again.

This time, he asked, a trifle churlishly, to be allowed out, to do her bidding.

He satisfied her, and, as she slept, tried to leave her sleeping chamber.

And he was back in the fan.

“Naughty boy, Taro,” she mocked him. “You are a silhouette. You cannot die. You do not need to eat, so you cannot starve. You cannot leave the room where you are as but a projection. You are mine. Forever.”

Taro bowed his head.

There was one way he could die. It would be an agonising death, but he would endure it to escape her. He bided his time, fought brigands, the goblins called oni, even a Dai-oni, a goblin lord, whose treasure the shugenja took concealed as embroideries on her kimono.  He put up with her caresses, when she would keep hold of the fan, using it to beat him, or run down his body, so that he could feel his connection to it, making him feel violated. It was silk, with ivory sticks, a delicate, yet strong thing. And she could hurt without damaging it, run needles in and out of him, until he was reduced to screaming in agony.

And one day, he satisfied her well enough to fall asleep. He would not make the mistake of trying to flee again; but she had called for tea in this little inn, and the teapot was kept hot on charcoals. The fan had fallen from her hand as she slept, and he picked it up, his belly squirming in disgust at the way it made him feel. And then, he was laying it on top of the charcoals and blowing the embers into life, ignoring the burning across his skin as the painted silk smouldered and burned.

The shugenja woke with a start, feeling her spell come unravelled, and Taro, burning, drew his sword from its scabbard to strike in one movement, the perfect iajutsu draw; and Hana’s head fell from her body.

The burning stopped. Taro, naked but for his sword, found himself alone with a dead woman, whose clothes were suddenly plain, with chests of treasure lying about beside them. Taro put back on the simple hakama and yukata he had been wearing when she had trapped him, belted on his swords, and called for the innkeeper.

“This witch slew my uncle; I am avenged,” said Taro. “See her body is burned so she cannot return as a vampire.  And I want some pack ponies for my goods.”

His clothes were simple, but rich; and he wore the two swords as one born to them and used to them.

Taro walked away from his slavery a rich man, most of which he gave to nuns raising orphans, and went on his way having adventures.

 

Will I write more? Maybe. Maybe not. Equally, I might, or might not expand this.