He shows her how to add in the binder a little at a time, grinding and coating every particle of pigment on the marble slab over and over again; then he turns the muller over to her. It is tedious work, and Rose crushes and scrapes until her arms ache, and still she keeps working, with a smile on her face, while Lan looks on with the hint of a laugh in his eye, waiting to see if her enthusiasm will wane. Finally, her face shining with slight perspiration and her cheeks beautifully flushed with exertion, she produces a smooth, buttery paint. He inspects it closely, then nods with real approval and stores it away in a corked clay pot.
Afterward, Rose unties the apron and looks at her hands. They are covered with ochre-colored spots suggesting some exotic disease, a fact that amuses her immensely. Lan, pleased by her sanguine attitude, shows her how to clean her hands with mineral spirits and soap until they are mostly restored to their naturally white state. There are only a few spots of paint on her sleeves, and they don’t show when she rolls the oversleeves back down.
Lady Beatrice, seeing that there is still paint under the girl’s fingernails, gives a derogatory snort. “Hmph! A fine pastime for the prettiest princess! Now she has the hands of a common laborer!”
Rose blushes with embarrassment, but she knows it is pointless to argue with Lady Beatrice, who has her own strict ideas as to how the “prettiest princess” should look at all times. The other ladies of the court too would doubtless give her trouble over her painter’s hands.
Master Olyver, who was working on another painting, turns to Lady Beatrice and says, “On the contrary, my lady, she has the hands of an artist! A grand and noble profession, sought after by kings!” On hearing this, Lan stands up a little straighter and puffs out his chest.
“Hmph!” Lady Beatrice repeats. Rose allows herself to be shepherded away, with only a backward glance at Lan.
* * *
After the evening meal, Briar and Rose find themselves at large, with nothing to do. Before anyone can discover them and assign them some unwanted activity, they head up the circular staircase to their attic room. Much to their annoyance, they realize they are being followed by Hilde’s imp. He hovers in the air just above their heads and makes little farts.
“Ugh! Go away!” commands Rose. But he does not go away. He bobs up ahead of them and stops, hovering in a shadowy corner and scratching at what looks like a slight crack in the wall. The girls know this place. It is the entrance to the secret passageway where they still sometimes try to listen in on castle business. Just then, they hear Rose’s name being called at the foot of the stairs. They look at each other in alarm, Rose’s face suffused with resentment.
“What do they want now?” she says disgustedly. “It’s always something!”
Then the girls look at the imp, who seems without words to beckon them onward. As if drawn by some force, they rush to the crack in the wall and push on it. The wall swings inward, and the secret passageway opens up. The imp leads them into the dank darkness, and Rose grabs a candle from a wall sconce and follows, with Briar coming along behind and closing the door.
“Oooh!” Rose says as she touches the damp, slimy walls and blunders through sticky cobwebs. The imp leads on. They climb the flight of uneven stairs and come to the place where the small peephole opens in the wall above them. Even though both girls have grown since last they visited the place, neither girl is quite tall enough to reach it on her own.
“It’s my turn to listen,” Rose whispers.
“But I never hear anything interesting. Either it’s just boring stuff or there’s no one there,” Briar whispers back. Briar always does her best to discourage Rose from listening, in case she hears something she shouldn’t.
“That’s not my fault. It’s still my turn,” Rose insists.
“Oh, all right then!” says Briar, bending down. “Get on.”
Rose sets down the candle and, hiking up her skirt, climbs onto Briar’s shoulders. Briar braces herself against the wall and straightens while the imp flutters above them.
Staring through the peephole, Rose quickly sees that her father and Bishop Simon are alone in the room next door. She turns her ear to the peephole to listen. For a while she hears nothing but dull castle business, but then she hears the bishop making a demand for new golden altar cups for the chapel.
The king answers with a plea. “You must know, Your Grace, that we’re running short of gold. What we have, we use to appease the giant.”
“Never forget,” responds the bishop, “it is only through my holy intercession that the giant is kept from destroying you utterly! And remember that it was I who placed the crown upon your head. I am the head of the church in this kingdom! Only through me can you save your immortal soul from the eternal flames!”
The king replies, “Of course, of course, Your Grace. You will have your golden altar cups. I will make the arrangements at once.” But there is an edge of resentment in his voice.
Listening, Rose hears the irritation in her father’s words. She thinks he’s been backed into a corner and unwillingly seeks to appease the bishop. She finds the whole exchange disturbing. Does Bishop Simon bully even the king then? Surely that is not the rightful role of the head of the church! She listens some more, but the men seem to have left the room.
Briar hisses, “Get down! I want to hear,” and the two of them accomplish this with practiced ease. “My turn,” Briar whispers.
“They’re gone now,” Rose replies, but she relates the conversation as accurately as she can, especially the end of it. “And then my father said, ‘of course,’ as if the bishop can always have his own way no matter what!”
“He’s a bad, nasty bishop,” Briar says. “He shouldn’t be a bishop at all!”
They hear a small giggle above their heads and look up at the little red imp. He flutters there, giggling, until Rose tells him “Hush!” Then he flies toward what appears to be the end of the passageway, turns, and disappears.
“What?” cries Briar, picking up the candle and following. “Where did he go?” The girls make their way to what has always looked, in the dim candlelight, like a dead end. The imp appears again out of the side of the passageway, and they finally see that it is not the end after all. It is just a sharp corner into an even narrower hallway.
“Come on!” says Briar, “Let’s see—”
“—where it goes!” Rose finishes her sentence.
The two girls trail after the imp through the narrow corridor for a long, long way, going around several more turns until they have lost all sense of direction. Finally, they follow him up another stairway, where he stops and hovers next to a spot on the wall. As Briar draws nearer, she holds the candle up and whispers, “Look! It’s another peephole. Quick, lift me up!”
Rose complies with a minimum of trouble, and Briar puts her eye to the hole and says, “This must be your parents’ room, but nobody’s here. You might as well put me down.”
When this is accomplished, Rose asks, “Do you suppose the imp led us here for some reason?”
“Only trying to cause trouble! I’m sure we’d be in a lot of trouble if we got caught listening in on the king and queen’s private conversations.”
“Who’s going to catch us in here? I’m sure nobody else uses these passageways, or there wouldn’t be all these cobwebs.”
“It’s a good thing, too! I think whoever built this passageway must have died and never told anybody about it.”
“Or maybe he was killed by some long-ago king in order to keep it a secret!” Rose holds up the candle and looks at the end of the passageway, which has been bricked over. “Or maybe he was walled in and left to die!”
“Oooh,” Briar breathes. “Maybe his bones are around here somewhere!”
Then the girls abruptly agree that it’s time to leave. On their way back to the entrance, they tell each other ghost stories until they are deliciously spooked. Then Briar asks, “What if the gray fairy lurks in these passageways?”
Rose squeals and says, �
��Don’t even think about it!” And they speed up, hurrying back the way they came, panicking somewhat when the door to their stairway won’t open. Finally, with Briar applying all her strength, it gives way, and much relieved, they and the imp go about their business.
* * *
The next morning, Briar swings a bag full of food back and forth jauntily as she makes her way through town to Jack’s cottage. She is keeping her solemn vow to Jack to provide for his mother in his absence, faithfully delivering a bag of food collected by the Giant Killers for this express purpose. Just now Briar is having difficulty with the local dogs, who smell something delicious in her bag. They leap and yap after it, but she holds it close and tells them, “Shoo!”
Ahead, she sees Mother Mudge leaning out over her half-door, calling to her. Briar smiles. She knows she is always welcome at Jack’s cottage, even if he’s not there. Over the last three years she has become a frequent visitor, like one of the family, and now that Jack is away, his mother looks to Briar to tell her where he has gone. Briar feels terrible having to tell Mother Mudge that she doesn’t know where Jack is. This is technically true, as she does not know his exact location, but in any case, knowing that he was stalking the giant would not make his mother feel any better. Briar promises to keep a lookout for him every day from the top of the high tower, and this comforts Mother Mudge somewhat.
Briar has also taken on the role of emissary to the village children, that other branch of the Giant Killers’ club, all of whom know of Jack’s mission and all of whom keep it quiet. Jack had long ago introduced Briar to his neighbors, Arley and Bridget, and they introduced her to Dudley and Jarrett, Bertha and Quentin, Maddox and Emma and Marian, and a host of others. None of them tease her anymore about her looks or call her names, for she has become a friend. And she holds no grudges. As she passes, they flash the secret signal for the Giant Killers, the circle with the thumb and forefinger, and she flashes it back. The village children also take turns looking out for Jack at the edge of the far field, anxiously awaiting his return.
Today Briar walks out to the far field and meets with Arley and Bridget, who are keeping watch for Jack.
“What do you suppose he’ll find up there?” Arley asks, staring hard at the cloud-topped mountain.
“Well, if he finds the giant’s house,” Briar responds, “it would have to be pretty big. Maybe as big as the whole mountaintop! Or maybe it’s a cave—a huge cave—or even a palace. With all the gold the old villain has stolen from the treasury, he probably eats off golden plates and drinks from a golden cup!”
Little Bridget’s eyes grow wide. “Really? And does he get enough to eat and everythin’? I wish we could get enough to eat! Food has been awful scarce since our pa got sick.”
Briar feels a pang of guilt over the breakfast she just enjoyed. She thinks she should bring an apple for Bridget the next time she sees her, but then she thinks that she should bring one for Arley too, and one for Dudley and Jarrett, and Bertha and Quentin, and Maddox and Emma and Marian, and all the others, and suddenly she is overwhelmed because she knows she cannot feed them all. For a moment Briar wishes that Hilde had some medicine that would make her aching heart as numb as her green-and-warty back. She looks into Bridget’s big brown eyes, thinking she could at least bring a basket of food for her suffering family, and she silently vows that on the day they kill the giant, things will be different.
Chapter Three
JACK IS HALFWAY UP THE GREAT MOUNTAIN. The trees are thinning out, and he notices the stumps of some that have been cut down. Finally, he comes to a clear stream and stops for a rest, leading Baxter to drink, then dunking his own head in the cold water. The going has been rough and is becoming even more so; the land is getting steeper now, and he and Baxter are tiring more easily. Still, the giant’s footprints make a plain path up the slope, and Jack is eager to see what there is to see above the clouds that encircle the mountaintop. He shakes the water from his head like a wet dog does and decides to proceed on foot, leading the horse by his bridle. It will be slower, but Baxter will be more sure-footed without the added weight.
Several hours later, they reach the misty underside of the clouds. Baxter seems nervous, prancing and whinnying in the white vapor. Jack stops again, tying the horse to a tall standing rock. He makes up his mind to go forward by himself. He fixes the knot for Baxter’s reins so that if he doesn’t come back, the horse can eventually pull himself free. “Goodbye, Baxter, old friend,” he says, giving him a carrot. “You’re a good horse.”
Not knowing what lies ahead, Jack feels that it’s wise to put on the appalling skunk oil that Briar gave him to disguise his human odor. It makes it almost impossible to breathe, but it may save his life, so he rubs it into his skin and clothes until he positively reeks with it. Squaring his shoulders, he goes on his way.
As he continues upward, the cloud closes in around him until he can see only a few yards ahead. He can still hear Baxter whinnying nervously, the sound eerily muffled in the thick mist. Finally, the cloud becomes so thick that Jack can no longer see where he’s putting his own feet. Everything around him is white, and he has lost all sense of direction. He proceeds blindly until the surface he’s walking on begins to feel soft and spongy, and he sees a hint of blue sky ahead. In another minute he emerges from the cloud and a cold wind whips his hair over his eyes. When he brushes the hair away, he is amazed to see that he has strayed far from the side of the mountain onto the cloud itself, which seems to be the only thing holding him up!
He stomps a few times to be sure of the terrain and finds that it’s much like walking in snow, only squishing slightly with each step. He looks about. Behind him is the mountaintop and the afternoon sun. All around him is the azure sky and, stretching away as far as he can see, the white, fluffy top of the cloud that he has just climbed through. And there in the east, away in the distance, is a big, grand giant’s house—sitting right on the cloud! Jack wonders if there is some kind of powerful enchantment here to make a cloud hold up a house, but he knows nothing of clouds and even less about enchantments. All that matters is that this cloud holds him up.
Considering what to do next, he swallows hard as he reluctantly concludes that he will have to get closer to scout the place out. His skunk-scented disguise does not give him much confidence, as he doubts that many skunks come up here. Nevertheless, there is still a light mist about chest high, which hides him somewhat. If need be, he can go belly down and crawl. He turns to look at the mountaintop and chooses a certain rock formation in the west, directly under the sun, to mark his place for the trip back. Then, crouching until he is almost covered by the fog, he proceeds awkwardly due east toward the house.
After a long trudge through the spongy terrain he can see a little better, and he notices a great pile of something near the house. It looks like a stack of cut trees lying on their sides. He moves closer again, then stops suddenly at the sight of a large figure coming out of the door. Even at this distance he can make out the dissolute form of the giant, potbellied and lumbering. Frantically Jack stoops down into the mist, hoping he has not been noticed. It looks as if luck is on his side, though, for the prevailing wind blows his odor away from the giant, who is grumbling under his breath and seems not to have sensed anyone’s presence. The giant, still muttering, separates one large tree from the pile, and, picking up an enormous ax, he begins to chop the tree into pieces.
While the giant is busy, Jack thinks he might be able to look around and discover if there is a way to get into the house without being seen—not that he plans on attempting it, but for future reference. Cautiously, he begins to make a wide circle around the structure, taking note of all the ground-floor windows and doors from a healthy distance, listening intently in case the chopping should stop. All in all, he counts ten windows on the ground floor of the side facing him, the ledge of the lowest one at least a dozen feet higher than he could possibly reach. With nothing nearby to climb on, it looks to him as if there is no hope of
getting in that way.
In back of the house he spots another door, tightly shut, and counts five windows on one side of it and four windows on the other. He debates whether to circle to the far side of the house, as that would bring him upwind of the giant. Jack goes just far enough around the corner to see that this side also has ten windows, like the first, and one of them is open. He judges that it is not so high that a good, long ladder wouldn’t reach it, but where would he get one? There might be enough lumber in the giant’s woodpile, but there would never be enough time to make one, even if he had the tools, and it would be impossible to drag one here from home. His heart sinks as he realizes that there is no way to sneak in. He is about to turn and retrace his path when he hears the giant’s voice calling out from the front of the house. Instantly, Jack hides himself in the mist and listens.
“Woman!” the giant bellows. “Cook my supper! And make it quick!”
Jack can’t see the giant from his hiding place, and he dares not go any closer, but at least now he has some useful information: there is someone else within the house—the giant’s servant, or perhaps his wife? Is she a giant too? Realizing that she may see him through a window, he continues to make his way arduously back around the house, slinking along the foundation. This time he observes one window, much smaller than the others, down at ground level, nearly obscured by the mist. It has bars over it, like a dungeon. Jack goes right up to it and peers in. He makes out a small, dark room and notices with some frustration that the bars are too close together for him to fit through them. He makes a careful mental note of the location of the window, then follows his own route back. After some time, he returns to approximately where he started.
Briar and Rose and Jack Page 14