Read Online Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin by Liesl Shurtliff - Free Book Online
Authors: Liesl Shurtliff
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slowly. I was so small, no one would notice me—as long as I didn’t panic. I passed the village square and approached the mill, where the miller stood outside with his nine sons and Opal. Three soldiers were about to go inside, but the miller didn’t look nervous. Maybe he’d already traded all the gold. But when he caught sight of me creeping toward the trees with my suspicious little bundle, his eyes went wide with horror. I shook my head and tried to point in the direction of The Woods. I could slip by. If he kept the soldiers’ attention, they wouldn’t notice me.
But the pixies noticed me. All the gold in my bundle was just too much to hide from them. They flew to me one by one, and the sound grew. It started as a soft twitter, like the distant chirping of birds, and then built to a high, steady hum.
Then there was silence.
It was the kind of silence that lasts only a moment or two, but feels like a hundred hours because you’re just waiting for something awful to happen.
I remember when I had this idea that I could fly. I built myself wings out of sticks and chicken feathers, and I climbed a high rock and jumped. I didn’t fly. I broke my arm. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was just the moment before, when I went from the exhilaration of soaring through the air to the horror of plummeting toward the hard earth. I knew I was going to hit the ground and feel pain.
This was like that moment. The moment before everything went bad.
When the pixies attacked, I flung my arms up and swatted at them. I swung my bundle of gold. I clawed at the ground, flinging mud and dirt and snow in all directions. Finally, the pixies were gone and everything was quiet again. Even quieter than before.
I took stock of myself. I still had my bundle of gold tight in my hand. I turned around. The miller and his nine ugly sons and his one pretty daughter and the three soldiers all stared at me, and then at something on the ground. I followed their eyes, and my stomach twisted. There on the ground was a spool of gold, unraveling toward the soldiers.
The spool rolled again and again and my life unraveled before my eyes, one roll for every year. I snatched up the gold, clutching it to my chest, then I turned and ran for The Woods. I don’t know why I thought I could run, but I was going to, until a giant horse blocked my path and there were shiny black boots right in my face. Boots with giant gold buckles.
King Barf looked down at me, and his piggy eyes narrowed on the gold I still clutched in my hands. He sniffed, as if he could smell the rest of the gold in my bundle.
“Well, well,” he said. “The pixies seem to find you even more enchanting than they do me. How fascinating.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Miller’s Lie
“Give me the gold in your hands,” said King Barf.
The miller stepped in front of me and gave me a warning look. “The gold is mine, Your Majesty,” he blurted.
“Yours?” said the king and I in unison, but nobody seemed to notice me just then.
“I asked the boy to bring it. He’s my servant. Come here, boy, quick. Bring the rest!” he snapped.
I didn’t move. What trick was he playing? He would certainly be punished for hiding gold. Why would he risk his neck for me?
“Move, boy! Excuse him, Your Majesty. He’s a half-wit. Doesn’t know his own name!” The miller laughed and his big belly jiggled.
“No,” said the king. “Give the gold to me. All of it.”
I tried to move but my legs grew roots into the ground.My tongue swelled and my brain fuzzed. I don’t know why I said it, but the words just spilled out.
“What will you give me?” I covered my mouth, and everyone gasped. The air grew still and cold. King Barf moved his horse so close to me that the tip of his sword was level with my nose.
“Give me the gold and I will spare your life,” said the king, his nasal voice now quiet and dangerous.
Slowly, trembling, I held out the gold to King Barf and he snatched it
But the pixies noticed me. All the gold in my bundle was just too much to hide from them. They flew to me one by one, and the sound grew. It started as a soft twitter, like the distant chirping of birds, and then built to a high, steady hum.
Then there was silence.
It was the kind of silence that lasts only a moment or two, but feels like a hundred hours because you’re just waiting for something awful to happen.
I remember when I had this idea that I could fly. I built myself wings out of sticks and chicken feathers, and I climbed a high rock and jumped. I didn’t fly. I broke my arm. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was just the moment before, when I went from the exhilaration of soaring through the air to the horror of plummeting toward the hard earth. I knew I was going to hit the ground and feel pain.
This was like that moment. The moment before everything went bad.
When the pixies attacked, I flung my arms up and swatted at them. I swung my bundle of gold. I clawed at the ground, flinging mud and dirt and snow in all directions. Finally, the pixies were gone and everything was quiet again. Even quieter than before.
I took stock of myself. I still had my bundle of gold tight in my hand. I turned around. The miller and his nine ugly sons and his one pretty daughter and the three soldiers all stared at me, and then at something on the ground. I followed their eyes, and my stomach twisted. There on the ground was a spool of gold, unraveling toward the soldiers.
The spool rolled again and again and my life unraveled before my eyes, one roll for every year. I snatched up the gold, clutching it to my chest, then I turned and ran for The Woods. I don’t know why I thought I could run, but I was going to, until a giant horse blocked my path and there were shiny black boots right in my face. Boots with giant gold buckles.
King Barf looked down at me, and his piggy eyes narrowed on the gold I still clutched in my hands. He sniffed, as if he could smell the rest of the gold in my bundle.
“Well, well,” he said. “The pixies seem to find you even more enchanting than they do me. How fascinating.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Miller’s Lie
“Give me the gold in your hands,” said King Barf.
The miller stepped in front of me and gave me a warning look. “The gold is mine, Your Majesty,” he blurted.
“Yours?” said the king and I in unison, but nobody seemed to notice me just then.
“I asked the boy to bring it. He’s my servant. Come here, boy, quick. Bring the rest!” he snapped.
I didn’t move. What trick was he playing? He would certainly be punished for hiding gold. Why would he risk his neck for me?
“Move, boy! Excuse him, Your Majesty. He’s a half-wit. Doesn’t know his own name!” The miller laughed and his big belly jiggled.
“No,” said the king. “Give the gold to me. All of it.”
I tried to move but my legs grew roots into the ground.My tongue swelled and my brain fuzzed. I don’t know why I said it, but the words just spilled out.
“What will you give me?” I covered my mouth, and everyone gasped. The air grew still and cold. King Barf moved his horse so close to me that the tip of his sword was level with my nose.
“Give me the gold and I will spare your life,” said the king, his nasal voice now quiet and dangerous.
Slowly, trembling, I held out the gold to King Barf and he snatched it
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