Spin- Rumpelstiltskin Retold

by Demelza Carlton

  She heard the scrape of bolts being drawn, before the door swung open. "Truly?" the captain asked, looking relieved.

  He hadn't believed she could do it, Molina realised. Well, she'd proved him wrong, too.

  His face fell when he looked around. "But where is the gold?"

  "Gold?" Molina looked blank, then remembered what Lubos had told the king. "The gold comes from selling the extra linen made this way. You can't honestly believe I am a witch who spins flax into gold directly, surely!"

  "What I believe matters not. It is the king's command that you remain here until you have spun all the flax into gold thread, as you did yesterday." The captain held up one of yesterday's spindles, still full of the yellow thread that horrid man had touched.

  Realisation dawned on her. He hadn't tainted the thread – he'd turned it into gold, thinking it would persuade her to help him. Instead, it had landed her in terrible trouble.

  "But I can't…I didn't…" she began, then closed her mouth. She could not tell this guard captain that she'd been visited by a man who wasn't the prince in the prince's very chambers. The man's very presence placed her and her child in danger, for if the king had even the faintest suspicion that the child was not fathered by Lubos, there would be no marriage…instead, she'd be tried for treason. And likely die, along with her unborn child.

  "Did you lie to the king yesterday about spinning this thread?" the captain demanded.

  "No," she whispered forlornly. "I spun it, with that wheel."

  He shoved the golden thread at her. "Then spin the rest like this, and I can return you to the prince's chambers." He left, slamming the door behind him. This time, Molina heard the bolts shoot home, locking her in.

  Molina fell to her knees and wept. If the king intended to keep her here until she spun gold from flax, then she would die in this chamber, and never see Lubos again.

  Twenty-Six

  When the following day came, Abraham had to hunt for the girl. She was not in the tower chamber, nor the bedchamber below it. All day he peeped into rooms all over the sprawling castle, but she had hidden herself well.

  It wasn't until after dark that he spotted a light in the maidens' tower that hadn't been there last night. Abraham gazed up at the flickering light, and all the pieces fell into place. She'd been frightened, so she'd taken refuse in the highest, most defensible tower in the middle of the castle. It was heavily guarded, too – she was taking no chances. Guards at the door, in a chamber partway up the tower, and more outside the door to her chamber at the top. If it weren't for his magical shoes, Abraham would have no chance of reaching her.

  After making more holes in her tower walls than he'd find in a mountain cheese, finally he emerged in her chamber. Just as before, she was alone with her spinning table toy, and several baskets filled with spindles of spun thread.

  The girl herself sat on the floor, weeping.

  Abraham hesitated. He had little experience with weeping women, and he did not think this one wanted to be kissed as Maja had.

  "I have come for your answer, as I promised," he announced. "Will you help me?"

  She raised her red-rimmed eyes. "When you are responsible for all this? Why would I help you?"

  Perhaps he hadn't explained himself well enough yesterday. "Because both I and my son will die unless you break the curse that afflicts my family."

  "What about me?" she demanded, rising. "I will die because of what you did! If I do not turn all this thread into gold like you did yesterday, the king will have me killed. If you want my help, then fix the mess you have made!"

  "You wish me to transform this thread?" Abraham hardly dared to believe it could be so simple.

  She glared at him. "The king demands that it be done, after seeing the thread you transformed yesterday."

  This must be the danger the seer had spoken of.

  "So if I simply turn your thread into gold, you will agree to help me?"

  If anything, the fire in her eyes burned even more deadly than before. "If you work your magic on it, then perhaps the king will let me live long enough to consider helping you. For if you do not, he will execute me in the morning."

  He would have to save her.

  "Very well." Abraham peeled off his gloves, and plunged his bare hands into the nearest basket. Spindle after spindle he touched, until they were all transformed, and then he started on the next one.

  Behind him, he heard the girl tip out the basket he'd finished with. Checking his work, no doubt. But she would find no impurities in his gold. Its magical nature required no refinement.

  He reached for the third basket.

  "You've missed two." She held out the spindles, their pale thread seeming ghostly compared to the shimmering gold of their companions.

  Abraham didn't dare risk touching her, especially not without his gloves. "Set them there," he directed, pointing at the wheel table.

  "It makes much more sense to do them a few at a time, then place them in the basket once they're done. As I did, when I spun them," she said. "Then you won't miss any."

  "I didn't miss any. I just may not have touched them for long enough for the spell to work," Abraham said.

  "Well, the second basket had seven you didn't touch. That's ten you've missed. A systematic approach would be much more efficient. Yours isn't the only life depending on this being done right, you know."

  Growling, he reached for a fourth basket and dumped the contents on the stone floor. He seized two in each hand, transformed them, then tossed them in the empty basket. "Happy now?"

  "I won't be happy until the king releases me, and my husband returns. But at least now I might live another day."

  Just as Abraham would not be truly happy until he'd saved his son and could take Maja in his arms again.

  "What is this curse someone has cast on you?"

  Her question surprised him. Could she not see?

  "Someone cast it on one of my ancestors, and it follows his bloodline. So it was passed down to me, and my son. I did nothing to deserve it but be born into the wrong house."

  "But what does it do?" she persisted. "You said it will kill you, but…"

  "When my death is close, and I have less than a year to live, everything I touch turns to gold. Unless I wear these gloves." Abraham jerked his chin at the fur lined gloves on the table. "And then one day…or one night, in my father's case…it is over."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "So you are given a year to improve your family's fortunes before you die. It does not seem like such a curse to me. All men die, and at least you have more warning than most."

  Did she not understand? "We die young. In our prime. Leaving a young wife and child behind, who we cannot touch from the moment the curse takes hold. My family have called it the Touch, for that is the one thing we cannot do. Touch anyone we love. You cannot imagine what it is like!"

  "I cannot touch my husband, for the king has sent him on some quest, while he keeps me locked up here. I do not know how long it will be before I can touch him again, or even see him again, for I do not know when he will return. So I know very well what it is like, though my misfortune is the work of men, you and the king, not some mysterious witch casting a curse!"

  She was right, curse her, though he didn't dare say it. He set the last golden spindle in the now filled basket. "There. This one is done. On to the next."

  She reached for it. "I shall check it first."

  He sighed. He could not argue with that, either.

  Twenty-Seven

  Molina woke up on the floor, surrounded by gold-filled spindles. The strange man was gone, but he'd done his work well. True to his word, he'd turned all the thread into gold. The king would have to be satisfied now.

  She rose stiffly and made her way to the door and banged her fist on it. "Captain, I am done," she shouted.

  "I will fetch the captain, mistress," came a voice through the door. There was a pause, then a muffled, "It may take some time to find him."

  Molina
settled down to wait.

  By the time she could hear someone unbarring the door, the sun had reached the arrow slits that passed for windows and it streamed down on the artfully piled up spindles, setting the whole room aglow.

  The men in the doorway had to shield their eyes against the brightness, so it took them a moment to register her presence. "The king's work is done, Captain, and I would retire to my chamber now," Molina said pointedly.

  A man stepped through the door, blinking. The guard captain looked like he'd been woken from a sound sleep.

  "I…ah…yes, mistress. Two of my men will see you safely to your chambers. I must…must report this to the king."

  Her arms felt leaden after all the spinning she'd done yesterday, so she was relieved when the guardsmen didn't take her arms like they might a prisoner. Instead, they walked behind her, letting her lead the way. As though she truly was Lubos' wife, and not some girl who hoped the king would allow her to marry him. For the madman Lubos had introduced as his father, the king, was not a man she could trust to keep his promises. Unlike his son.

  Vowing to hide in Lubos' chambers until he returned, Molina sank into the prince's bed. She had only a moment to wish the prince lay beside her before sleep claimed her for its own.

  Twenty-Eight

  The following night, Abraham returned to the maiden's tower, where he found the girl sitting at the wheeled table, spinning flax into thread. The walls were stacked with baskets of the stuff, waiting to be spun.

  Before he could ask, she said, "The king is not satisfied with what I gave him this morning. He insists I must spin even more. He expects the impossible. No one could spin this much thread in a day, even with a spinning wheel."

  "If you merely break the curse, I will leave you to your work, and never disturb you again," Abraham said.

  She slammed her hands on the table and rose. "I know nothing of curses, unless you are one! Even if I can spin the fibres into thread, I cannot turn it into gold, no matter what the king thinks. Only you can do that. I wish you had never come to me at all, for you will surely get me killed!"

  "If I help you again, will you break the curse?" Abraham asked.

  "Why won't you listen to me? Why won't any of you stupid men listen to me? I do not know how to break curses, spin straw into gold, or work miracles! I understand waterwheels and spinning wheels and mills, but men's minds spin in such strange ways it is a wonder you can survive at all!" A tear trickled down her cheek. "Yet it is my life at stake, because none of you will listen."

  Abraham swallowed. The seer had been certain. Only she could break the curse, no one else. For she had been alone in that tower room until he arrived. "Please," he said simply. "I am sorry for whatever trouble I have caused you. If I make amends, if I help you, would you be willing to at least try to help me break the curse?"

  She stared at him for a long time before she said, "Once my work is done, maybe I will be of a mind to help you. Though this will take us all night and into the next day, I am certain."

  He wanted to shake her, to demand her word, but he could not bring himself to harm the girl. He had less than a year to live, but if she did not do this task the king had set her, he would outlive her. And any hope for his son.

  Her wheel whirred into life – she had no time to spare, waiting for his answer when there was work to be done.

  Sighing, Abraham set to work.

  Twenty-Nine

  A night and a day and half the next night it took before Molina finished spinning, as the strange man turned her work from linen to gold. She must have fallen asleep on the spinning wheel, for her back ached from sitting on the stool before it for so long.

  The door swung open – the sound of it unbolting must have woken her. The guard captain had returned.

  "Get her up. The king wants her moved. Bring the table, too."

  "And the stool, sir?"

  "All of it."

  Molina wished it were a dream, but as two guardsmen took her aching arms, she knew this was worse than any nightmare.

  They marched her out of the castle and down the cobbled streets to where she could hear the rushing water of the river. Did they mean to throw her in?

  Two men unbarred a massive set of doors, large enough to drive a cart through, which is what someone must have done, for the space she entered stretched for what seemed like miles in the light of the guttering torches. The vaulted ceilings told her she was in some vast storehouse or cellar, filled with baskets of flax.

  Distantly, she heard the sound of something being set down on the stone floor. Her spinning wheel and her stool.

  "By the king's order, you will stay here and spin, until his warehouse contains nothing but gold," the captain said.

  She folded her arms across her chest. "And what if I cannot?"

  "Then by the king's command, you shall be put to death." There was pity in the guard captain's eyes. "We all serve the king, mistress, and you must do your duty as I do mine. Set to work, and I will see that a good meal is sent up from the castle kitchens. The crown prince would not want you to starve." He hustled the other guards out, and the heavy bar on the door clanged as it dropped into place.

  Molina wanted to cry, but she had no tears left. So she did the only thing she could – sit down and spin, for such was her fate.

  Thirty

  Day blended into night, for there was no light down here, except that which came from the torches, which guardsmen replaced every day when they brought Molina's meals. The food was not so fine as the fare she'd enjoyed in Lubos' chambers, but it was no worse than some of the things she'd cooked on the nights Helga spent with her family.

  Until one morning, when the smell from the stewpot curdled the contents of her belly and she had to bring her dinner back up again.

  Too weak to work, she'd lay down on her straw pallet, pushing the food as far away from her as possible.

  If she did not work, she would die down here in the dark, she told herself, but the words were not enough to rouse her. Some illness had laid her low, and she did not know if she would survive it.

  Thirty-One

  The next night, the girl was not in the crown tower nor the maiden's one, and Abraham despaired of finding her. He searched the castle in vain for three days, until he stumbled across the guard captain carrying a meal out of the castle gates. Curious, he followed the man to the tithe barns by the river, and that was where he found the princess.

  Abraham hid in the shadows, waiting for the guard to leave before he stepped inside the barn.

  He didn't see her at first, for the place was stacked with baskets, much like her chamber in the maiden's tower. But what he'd seen in the maiden's tower was a mere millpond compared to the endless sea he saw here.

  She sat slumped over her wheeled table, with a half-full spindle beside her. The basket of filled spindles at her feet told Abraham she'd been labouring for the king again, until she fell asleep.

  "Princess?" he said, then repeated it, a little louder each time, until he managed to rouse her.

  She sat up, blinking. "You," she managed to say before she slumped over the wheel again with a groan. This was more than simple tiredness.

  She vomited into a bucket at her feet, then rose unsteadily. "Must…lie down…"

  Abraham caught her before she fell. "Are you ill?" he asked, dreading her response. For he might be able to save her from some foe, but illnesses were not something a man could fight with a sword. He laid her gingerly on the pallet she'd been headed toward and backed away.

  "Not ill. 'Tis just the baby. The sickness mothers get…" She coughed, and Abraham handed her the bucket just in time.

  Maja had been the same, he remembered now. Ill and swearing she was not, until she'd seen the seer and admitted she was carrying his son.

  Childbirth could kill a woman in more ways than a sword could. And that was without a king who'd threatened to execute her if she didn't spin straw into gold.

  So much for her breaking the curs
e quickly.

  And now he couldn't.

  Abraham stared around the barn, and the piled-up baskets of flax. Even if she could break the curse now, it would cost her her life, for without his curse turning the stuff to gold, the king would kill her.

  No wonder she didn't consider it a curse.

  If he wanted his son to live, he would have to do the work for her. Saving her, and his son.

  Abraham sat down on the stool she'd recently vacated, twisting the thread between his gloved fingers as he spun the wheel experimentally. Long ago, Maja had tried to teach him how to spin, but she had not done it with a wheel like this princess did. The thread broke, stuck between his fingers, and Abraham swore.

  Too late he remembered the princess was present, but she had fallen asleep and not noticed his foul language. Fortunately.

  He tried again, but every time, the thread caught on his gloves and broke. He would have to take them off.

  Perhaps it was a good thing the king wanted his thread spun into gold, for between Abraham's bare fingers, the thread glittered as it wound its way around the spinning spindle.

  The hours galloped past, but Abraham focussed only on his work. He rested occasionally, making up a second pallet in the shadows at the far end of the barn, where the guards would not see him when they brought the princess her meals.

  One day, he woke to find her at the spinning wheel, her nimble fingers working faster than his could, though her slumped shoulders said she did not wish to.

  "Let me do that, Princess," he implored. "You are in no state for such things. Return to your bed and rest."

  Her eyes seemed sunken, or perhaps it was a trick of the light. "I will rest when I am dead, which will be soon, if the king has his way. You said once you wished to save your son. Well, I wish I could save my daughter. It seems we will both fail at our respective quests." She stroked her belly wistfully.

  That's when it hit him. All the times she'd refused him, told him she could not break the curse. What if it was not the princess, but her daughter? Her daughter would be a princess, too.