Read Online Tatterhood by Margrete Lamond - Free Book Online Page B

whitebear?’
    â€˜Maybe it was you who should have had him?’
    â€˜That is certainly so.’
    â€˜He came by here yesterday evening,’ said the woman, ‘with a gift for the baby. But he went on too fast for you to be catching him.’
    Meanwhile, the little girl was crawling about and tangling with a cloth which, when told, would spread itself flat and produce all manner of good food.
    â€˜Poor, poor princess,’ sang the child, ‘travelling such wide and weary ways. Surely she could make better use of this cloth than I.’
    So the king’s daughter was given the cloth as well and she travelled on, far and further than far – following her nose through the darkness of the same dank forest.
    At last she came to a mountain, as steep as a wall, and so high and wide that the princess could see no end to it. There was a hut nearby and when she went in, the first thing she said was, ‘Have you seen the whitebear travelling this way?’
    â€˜Perhaps it is you who should have had him?’ said the woman.
    â€˜It certainly is.’
    â€˜He went up the mountain here, three days ago. But, short of flying, you’ll never get up there yourself.’
    Well, this cottage was full of children, with toddlers hanging from their mother’s skirt, and the mother herself stood there stirring a pot full of pebbles bubbling on the stove.
    â€˜What might those be good for?’ the king’s daughter asked.
    â€˜It’s so painful to hear the children shrieking for food,’ the woman said, ‘when I’ve nothing to give them. So I set this to bubbling and tell them it’s apples and that they’ll soon be cooked. It keeps them content for a while.’
    Well, the princess brought out her cloth and her flask, and when the children were fed and content, she set to making clothes for them – snipping and snapping them out of the air with her golden shears.
    â€˜It would be a sorry shame,’ said the woman, ‘if we didn’t help you in return. My husband is a blacksmith, and I’ll have him make a set of claws to help you climb the mountain.’
    When the smith came home he set to work at once, and by morning the claws were ready – strong and sharp and curved – a set for each hand, and a set for each foot as well. The princess wasted no time, but strapped them on, hooked herself onto the rock-face and began to climb. She crept and crawled and clambered, hauling herself up the rugged cliff – clanking and rasping and scraping – until her muscles cramped and she could barely lift her arms for weariness.
    But just as she thought she’d rather die than creep a millimetre further, her clawed hands grasped the top of the cliff, and she scrambled onto a plateau.
    Ahead of her lay a jumble of plains and gorges – gorges filled with boulders, sharp as teeth, and crossed by crooked bridges – while nearby, gnarled and lumpy, there towered a troll-castle.
    The castle swarmed with workers. They streamed in and out, up and down, back and forth, striving like ants in an antheap.

    â€˜What’s going on?’ the princess asked.
    â€˜There’s going to be a wedding,’ said one, ‘between the troll-hag and the whitebear prince.’
    â€˜Because,’ explained another, ‘the king’s daughter couldn’t free him from the curse.’
    â€˜Can I speak with the troll-hag?’ the king’s daughter asked.
    â€˜No!’ they all agreed. ‘That would be impossible.’
    But the princess wouldn’t take impossible for an answer.
    Instead, she sat herself beneath the shutters of the troll-hag’s window and set to snipping and snapping at the air with her golden shears. It wasn’t long before silk and velvet were whirling about her like a snowstorm and, when the troll-hag looked out, she wanted the scissors right away.
    â€˜I won’t sell them for gold,’ said the