The Halcyon Fairy Book

by T. Kingfisher

And when they had gone a little way they came to the sea, and then they sailed, but where they got the ship from I have never been able to learn.

  I am so explaining away my next plot-hole with this one. “And where they got the tactical nuke from, I have never been able to learn.”

  Now, when the giant had slept a good long time, he began to stretch himself on the bench on which he was lying. “Will it soon boil?” said he.

  “It is just beginning,” said the first drop of blood on the stool.

  For whatever weird reason, there’s a long history of talking blood-drops in fairy tales. You get them in “The Goose-girl” too (and I may have to talk about that one sometime, because whenever the heroine spends her days talking to a decapitated talking horse-head, you’ve got somethin’ weird going on.)

  So the giant lay down to sleep again, and slept for a long, long time. Then he began to move about a little again. “Will it soon be ready now?” said he, but he did not look up this time any more than he had done the first time, for he was still half asleep.

  “Half done!” said the second drop of blood, and the giant believed it was the Master-maid again, and turned himself on the bench, and lay down to sleep once more.

  Sadly, hemo ventriloquism is a mostly vanished art.

  When he had slept again for many hours, he began to move and stretch himself. “Is it not done yet?” said he.

  “It is quite ready,” said the third drop of blood. Then the giant began to sit up and rub his eyes, but he could not see who it was who had spoken to him, so he asked for the Master-maid, and called her. But there was no one to give him an answer.

  “Ah! well, she has just stolen out for a little,” thought the giant, and he took a spoon, and went off to the cauldron to have a taste, but there was nothing in it but shoe-soles, and rags, and such trumpery as that, and all was boiled up together, so that he could not tell whether it was porridge or milk pottage. When he saw this, he understood what had happened, and fell into such a rage that he hardly knew what he was doing. Away he went after the Prince and the Master-maid so fast that the wind whistled behind him, and it was not long before he came to the water, but he could not get over it.

  “Well, well, I will soon find a cure for that; I have only to call my river-sucker,” said the giant, and he did call him. So his river-sucker came and lay down, and drank one, two, three draughts, and with that the water in the sea fell so low that the giant saw the Master-maid and the Prince out on the sea in their ship.

  Okay, forget the rest of the story, what the heck is a river--sucker? And how is it so completely common that the storyteller doesn’t even bother to explain — “You know, a river-sucker, jeez, what’re you, dumb?” — as if they’re as common as horses, stables, and porridge.

  I’m seeing a giant plecostomus, myself. Perhaps kept in a duffel bag for just such occasion.

  “Now you must throw out the lump of salt,” said the Master-maid, and the Prince did so, and it grew up into such a great high mountain right across the sea that the giant could not come over it, and the river-sucker could not drink any more water.

  “Bleah!” said the giant plecostomus. “It’s all salty! I can feel my arteries clanging shut!”

  “Well, well, I will soon find a cure for that,” said the giant, so he called to his hill-borer to come and bore through the mountain so that the river-sucker might be able to drink up the water again.

  The hill-borer is kept in a different colored duffel bag. There was a mix-up once, and it ended with a hillside with a giant hickey, and it was just awkward for everyone. (Giant mole, you think?)

  But just as the hole was made, and the river-sucker was beginning to drink, the Master-maid told the Prince to throw one or two drops out of the flask, and when he did this the sea instantly became full of water again, and before the river sucker could take one drink they reached the land and were in safety.

  On a more serious note, we’re getting some parallels to Medea and Jason here, with the throwing things off the boat to confound pursuit, although this is very much sanitized for your protection.

  So they determined to go home to the Prince’s father, but the Prince would on no account permit the Master-maid to walk there, for he thought that it was unbecoming either for her or for him to go on foot.

  You were shoveling stables three days ago. This is an unexpected bit of snobbery.

  “Wait here the least little bit of time, while I go home for the seven horses which stand in my father’s stable,” said he, “it is not far off, and I shall not be long away, but I will not let my betrothed bride go on foot to the palace.”

  “Oh! no, do not go, for if you go home to the King’s palace you will forget me, I foresee that.”

  “How could I forget you? We have suffered so much evil together, and love each other so much,” said the Prince, and he insisted on going home for the coach with the seven horses, and she was to wait for him there, by the sea shore. So at last the Master-maid had to yield, for he was so absolutely determined to do it. “But when you get there you must not even give yourself time to greet anyone, but go straight into the stable, and take the horses, and put them in the coach, and drive back as quickly as you can. For they will all come round about you, but you must behave just as if you did not see them, and on no account must you taste anything, for if you do it will cause great misery both to you and to me,” said she, and this he promised.

  All those who think that the prince will have learned to listen to the absurdly competent Master-maid and will be very sure not to break his promise, raise your hand!

  Okay, if your hand is raised, you have failed Fairy Tales 101. Please report to the office for our remedial class, entitled “Why We Do Not Insult Old Women At Wells And Other Vital Lessons.”

  But when he got home to the King’s palace one of his brothers was just going to be married, and the bride and all her kith and kin had come to the palace, so they all thronged round him, and questioned him about this and that, and wanted him to go in with them, but he behaved as if he did not see them, and went straight to the stable, and got out the horses and began to harness them. When they saw that they could not by any means prevail on him to go in with them, they came out to him with meat and drink, and the best of everything that they had prepared for the wedding, but the Prince refused to touch anything, and would do nothing but put the horses in as quickly as he could.

  He’s making a noble effort, anyhow. I give the prince in this story credit for that, even if everybody comes off badly in comparison to the Master-maid.

  At last, however, the bride’s sister rolled an apple across the yard to him, and said: “As you won’t eat anything else, you may like to take a bite of that, for you must be both hungry and thirsty after your long journey.” And he took up the apple and bit a piece out of it.

  Oh, surprise, surprise.

  But no sooner had he got the piece of apple in his mouth than he forgot the Master-maid and that he was to go back in the coach to fetch her.

  “I think I must be mad! what do I want with this coach and horses?” said he, and then he put the horses back into the stable, and went into the King’s palace, and there it was settled that he should marry the bride’s sister, who had rolled the apple to him.

  Is that an enchanted apple in your pocket, or are you the woman of my dreams?

  The Master-maid sat by the sea shore for a long, long time, waiting for the Prince, but no Prince came.

  No word if she sold seashells during this period.

  So she went away, and when she had walked a short distance she came to a little hut which stood all alone in a small wood, hard by the King’s palace. She entered it and asked if she might be allowed to stay there. The hut belonged to an old crone, who was also an ill-tempered and malicious troll. At first she would not let the Master-maid remain with her, but at last, after a long time, by means of good words and good payment, she obtained leave. But the hut was as dirty and black inside as a pigsty, so the Master-ma
id said that she would smarten it up a little, that it might look a little more like what other people’s houses looked inside. The old crone did not like this either. She scowled, and was very cross, but the Master-maid did not trouble herself about that.

  She slices! She dices! She redecorates people’s houses against their will!

  She took out her chest of gold, and flung a handful of it or so into the fire, and the gold boiled up and poured out over the whole of the hut, until every part of it both inside and out was gilded. But when the gold began to bubble up the old hag grew so terrified that she fled as if the Evil One himself were pursuing her, and she did not remember to stoop down as she went through the doorway, and so she split her head and died.

  This whole sequence is just deeply bizarre. Mind you, I’d try to avoid wildly spewing molten gold myself, so I can’t argue with the crone. But seriously, if the house was filthy and she gilded it, wouldn’t that still be pretty nasty? Have you ever seen when people paint over a surface without cleaning it first, and you get weird dust lumps and gunk? I’m seeing an episode of Hoarders with every surface gilded. Rotten fruit? Gild it! Back issues of Hag Quarterly? Gild ’em! Dress you wore to the troll-prom twenty-seven years ago? Gild it! Cockroaches? Gild them and use them as festive napkin rings!

  Next morning the sheriff came traveling by there. He was greatly astonished when he saw the gold hut shining and glittering there in the copse, and he was still more astonished when he went in and caught sight of the beautiful young maiden who was sitting there, he fell in love with her at once, and straightway on the spot he begged her, both prettily and kindly, to marry him.

  “Well, but have you a great deal of money?” said the Master-maid.

  Can you still be a gold-digger when you are technically living in a gold house? Or does she just want to be sure that he’s not marrying her for her fabulous freaky gilded trash-heap?

  “Oh! yes, so far as that is concerned, I am not ill off,” said the sheriff. So now he had to go home to get the money, and in the evening he came back, bringing with him a bag with two bushels in it, which he set down on the bench. Well, as he had such a fine lot of money, the Master-maid said she would have him, so they sat down to talk.

  Hey, the prince betrayed her. I can see the Master-maid deciding that she was only marrying for money from here on out, and anyway he did beg her both prettily and kindly. There’s something to be said about that.

  But scarcely had they sat down together before the Master-maid wanted to jump up again. “I have forgotten to see to the fire,” she said.

  “Why should you jump up to do that?” said the sheriff, “I will do that!” So he jumped up, and went to the chimney in one bound.

  “Just tell me when you have got hold of the shovel,” said the Master-maid. “Well, I have hold of it now,” said the sheriff.

  “Then you may hold the shovel, and the shovel you, and pour red-hot coals over you, till day dawns,” said the Master-maid. So the sheriff had to stand there the whole night and pour red-hot coals over himself, and, no matter how much he cried and begged and entreated, the red-hot coals did not grow the colder for that.

  This was really quite unwarranted behavior by the Master-maid. You’re not interested, fine, but you don’t need to leave him with burns over 90% of his body. If he had been aggressively pressing his suit, that would be one thing, but they specified that he was really quite nice about the wooing, and you did agree to marry him.

  On the other hand, maybe after the giant and the amnesiac prince, she’s just really, really bitter.

  When the day began to dawn, and he had power to throw down the shovel, he did not stay long where he was, but ran away as fast as he possibly could, and everyone who met him stared and looked after him, for he was flying as if he were mad, and he could not have looked worse if he had been both flayed and tanned, and everyone wondered where he had been, but for very shame he would tell nothing.

  Sweetie, you don’t need to be ashamed! The Master-maid is the one at fault here! Also, you might want to run to the hospital!

  The next day the attorney came riding by the place where the Master-maid dwelt. He saw how brightly the hut shone and gleamed through the wood, and he too went into it to see who lived there, and when he entered and saw the beautiful young maiden he fell even more in love with her than the sheriff had done, and began to woo her at once. So the Master-maid asked him, as she had asked the sheriff, if he had a great deal of money, and the attorney said he was not ill off for that, and would at once go home to get it, and at night he came with a great big sack of money — this time it was a four-bushel sack — and set it on the bench by the Master-maid. So she promised to have him, and he sat down on the bench by her to arrange about it, but suddenly she said that she had forgotten to lock the door of the porch that night, and must do it.

  “Why should you do that?” said the attorney, “sit still, I will do it.” So he was on his feet in a moment, and out in the porch.

  “Tell me when you have got hold of the door-latch,” said the Master-maid. “I have hold of it now,” cried the attorney.

  “Then you may hold the door, and the door you, and may you go between wall and wall till day dawns.”

  What a dance the attorney had that night! He had never had such a waltz before, and he never wished to have such a dance again. Sometimes he was in front of the door, and sometimes the door was in front of him, and it went from one side of the porch to the other, till the attorney was well-nigh beaten to death. At first he began to abuse the Master-maid, and then to beg and pray, but the door did not care for anything but keeping him where he was till break of day.

  Good god, this woman is out of control.

  Also, is it just me, or is it pretty obvious by now that the Master-maid is one heck of a witch? She’s like a magical MacGyver! Give her a coal-shovel or a door handle and she’ll beat you senseless! If you give her a paperclip and a handgun, she can perform brain surgery AND start a supernova!

  As soon as the door let go its hold of him, off went the attorney. He forgot who ought to be paid off for what he had suffered, he forgot both his sack of money and his wooing, for he was so afraid lest the house-door should come dancing after him. Everyone who met him stared and looked after him, for he was flying like a madman, and he could not have looked worse if a herd of rams had been butting at him all night long.

  You beat an attorney until he forgot to sue? Daaaaamn.

  On the third day the bailiff came by, and he too saw the gold house in the little wood, and he too felt that he must go and see who lived there, and when he caught sight of the Master-maid he became so much in love with her that he wooed her almost before he greeted her.

  The Master-maid answered him as she had answered the other two, that if he had a great deal of money, she would have him. “So far as that is concerned, I am not ill off,” said the bailiff so he was at once told to go home and fetch it, and this he did. At night he came back, and he had a still larger sack of money with him than the attorney had brought, it must have been at least six bushels, and he set it down on the bench. So it was settled that he was to have the Master-maid. But hardly had they sat down together before she said that she had forgotten to bring in the calf, and must go out to put it in the byre.

  “No, indeed, you shall not do that,” said the bailiff, “I am the one to do that.” And, big and fat as he was, he went out as briskly as a boy.

  “Tell me when you have got hold of the calf’s tail,” said the Master-maid. “I have hold of it now,” cried the bailiff.

  “Then may you hold the calf’s tail, and the calf’s tail hold you, and may you go round the world together till day dawns!” said the Master-maid. So the bailiff had to bestir himself, for the calf went over rough and smooth, over hill and dale, and, the more the bailiff cried and screamed, the faster the calf went. When daylight began to appear, the bailiff was half dead, and so glad was he to leave loose of the calf’s tail, that he forgot the sack of money and
all else. He walked now slowly — more slowly than the sheriff and the attorney had done, but, the slower he went, the more time had everyone to stare and look at him, and they used it too, and no one can imagine how tired out and ragged he looked after his dance with the calf.

  If someone who wasn’t a beautiful princess was doing all this, we’d be sending a hero out to have her killed. This is prime crazy-witch behavior.

  I am told, however, that the bailiff, sheriff, and attorney were traditionally the three least popular people in the village, so this is actually like an extended lawyer joke. The audience would have been on the side of the Master-maid.

  On the following day the wedding was to take place in the King’s palace, and the elder brother was to drive to church with his bride, and the brother who had been with the giant with her sister. But when they had seated themselves in the coach and were about to drive off from the palace one of the trace-pins broke, and, though they made one, two, and three to put in its place, that did not help them, for each broke in turn, no matter what kind of wood they used to make them of. This went on for a long time, and they could not get away from the palace, so they were all in great trouble. Then the sheriff said (for he too had been bidden to the wedding at Court):

  Fresh off the burn ward, and so high on morphine he could say this without screaming!

  “Yonder away in the thicket dwells a maiden, and if you can get her to lend you the handle of the shovel that she uses to make up her fire I know very well that it will hold fast.” So they sent off a messenger to the thicket, and begged so prettily that they might have the loan of her shovel-handle of which the sheriff had spoken that they were not refused, so now they had a trace-pin which would not snap in two.

  Yeah, the last person who begged her prettily for something didn’t do so well ...

  But all at once, just as they were starting, the bottom of the coach fell in pieces. They made a new bottom as fast as they could, but, no matter how they nailed it together, or what kind of wood they used, no sooner had they got the new bottom into the coach and were about to drive off than it broke again, so that they were still worse off than when they had broken the trace-pin. Then the attorney said, for he too was at the wedding in the palace: “Away there in the thicket dwells a maiden, and if you could but get her to lend you one-half of her porch door I am certain that it will hold together.”