by Ruth Nickle
Edited by Sarah Blake Johnson
Cover and Interior Art by Ruth Nickle
Additional Editing by Jeanna Mason Stay, Sarah Chow, Katherine Cowley, Brian Kenison, Marianne Von Bracht, and Anika Arrington
Heart of a Thief © 2018 by Chris Cutler
Rumpelstiltskin’s Daughter © 2018 by Ruth Nickle
Tsar Vislav, Tsarina Vislav, and the Firebird © 2018 by Sarah Chow
Tatterhood and the Prince’s Hand © 2018 by Katherine Cowley
The Little Mermaid © 2018 by PJ Switzer
Ásthildur and the Yule Cat © 2018 by Sarah Blake Johnson
Perfectly Real © 2018 by Robin Prehn
The Pied Piper’s Revenge © 2018 by Scott Cowley
Ethical Will © 2018 by Kathryn Olsen
Breadcrumbs © 2018 by Jeanna Mason Stay
Spring’s Revenge © 2018 by Anika Arrington
Cover and Illustrations © 2018 by Ruth Nickle
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in this work are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.
After Ever After Publishing
Ruth Nickle and Katherine Cowley, Editors-in-chief
1st Edition: April 2018
Published in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Heart of a Thief by Chris Cutler
The man who sold Jack the magic beans must find his own way to the sky.
Rumpelstiltskin’s Daughter by Ruth Nickle
A girl raised as a princess tries to discover her true heritage.
Tsar Vislav, Tsarina Vislav, and the Firebird by Sarah Chow
Neighboring kingdoms demand the return of their stolen treasures.
Tatterhood and the Prince’s Hand by Katherine Cowley
An ugly, magical princess is not certain she wants to find her missing husband.
The Little Mermaid by PJ Switzer
The mermaid embraces the possibilities of being sea foam.
Ásthildur and the Yule Cat by Sarah Blake Johnson
The Yule Cat searches for a child to eat on Christmas Eve.
Perfectly Real by Robin Prehn
After sleeping on a pea, a princess finds herself in a gilded cage.
The Pied Piper’s Revenge by Scott Cowley
Kidnapping young children may not have been the pied piper’s brightest idea.
Ethical Will by Kaki Olsen
Generations later, the Nutcracker still maintains a connection with our world, but so does the Mouse King.
Breadcrumbs by Jeanna Mason Stay
Gretel confronts her past by returning to the gingerbread house in the woods.
Spring’s Revenge by Anika Arrington
As Snow White’s son prepares to take the throne, he discovers there is more to his mother’s story than an evil queen and true love’s kiss.
The Original Tales
About the Authors
“Sometimes what you think is an end is only a beginning.”
—Agatha Christie
Heart of a Thief
by Chris Cutler
The crowd was overflowing with thieves. They might think themselves hidden, but from his seat on the inn’s roof, Gerund could see them all. One good eye was more than enough to spot their greedy grasping. They stood at stalls around the edge of the crowd, selling roasted nuts and chilled melon and watered beer. Charging three times what their wares were worth, robbing buyers of even more than they would have at a festival market. Taking because people let them.
Other thieves lurked nearby, hungry fingered, ready to snatch any wares left unattended or within reach. Taking because they wanted to.
Still more thieves mingled through the crowd, picking pockets, jostling and smiling and lifting. Taking because they could.
But the master thieves congregated in the center, claiming pride of place. Climbing greedily over the giant’s corpse, arranging riches pulled from his pockets, arguing over the enormous brass belt buckle. There was a competition of sorts underway to see which faction of thieves could convey the most self-importance: the swaggering men in bright soldiers’ helms, the mincing women in white scholars’ caps, or the drifting figures in peaked magicians’ hats. Gerund rather thought the scholars were winning.
In their center was the chief thief, the man everyone was celebrating. Jack. The youth still stood in his ridiculous triumphant pose on the giant’s chest. Axe over one shoulder, goose at his feet, golden egg held so that it glinted in the sun with every gesture.
Gerund scowled and spat over the side of the roof. This was a complication. Jack should have been on the run with that goose, leading the giant away. The people, drawn to this threadbare village by Jack’s recent fortune, should have been cowering or fleeing. That would have given Gerund the opening he needed to climb the beanstalk and rescue Meena. Instead, a thousand people were standing in his way, robbing him of that chance.
Chance to do what, though? Jack had cut down the blasted beanstalk. There was no leafy ladder to climb, no way up. The crowd couldn’t be in his way if he had nowhere to go. And it wasn’t as if he could grow another one. That had been the last of the beans.
Gerund shaded his good eye—the left one—and scanned the scene again. Jack had the goose and the axe. His other prizes, stolen earlier in the month, would be guarded somewhere nearby. The harp would be no help to Gerund, but the coins might be of use. The magicians had scavenged a dozen items from the giant’s body. Those were bound to be magical, and some might be useful, but Gerund had no way of knowing which. He wouldn’t test himself against the magicians’ wards for an unknown tool. The soldiers had claimed a small pile of baubles and jewels for the treasury. Not what he needed. The scholars had gathered some oversized items for the university: a large nail file, a spade, a belt, a . . .
Gerund shook his head. None of those possessions would help him. Then again, the corpse itself meant that he was no longer racing against the giant’s return. He had time to make a new plan. That meant he had time to rest his old bones. With a sigh, Gerund made his careful descent down the ladder into the inn’s yard, then climbed slowly up the inside stairs to his pallet on the upper floor.
* * *
The words might as well have been magic. A simple incantation of “I’ve come to settle my bill” conjured such an enthusiastic smile onto the innkeeper’s face that Gerund knew he was about to be robbed.
“Master Gerund! Moving on so soon?” Silas was the tallest, lankiest brownie Gerund had ever seen, which meant that with Gerund’s geriatric stoop they saw nearly eye to eye.
“I’m afraid it’s getting a bit too exciting for me around here, Silas.”
“Well, I suppose that could be so,” Silas said. He lifted a plate of sausages onto the sideboard and wiped his hands on his apron. “That business with the giant is for our grandchildren to sort out, one might say.”
Gerund grunted. A grunt could mean anything.
“How did you mean to pay?”
Silas asked. “I don’t suppose you’ve come into coin after the festivities? Hedge wizard like yourself could be mighty popular at a time like this, even with those university folk hanging about with their flashy spells. Fireballs may be good for pleasing a crowd, but your skills are useful. Affordable, too.”
Gerund scowled. Silas knew he’d studied briefly at the university before everything went wrong. He couldn’t tell if Silas was trying to mock him or commiserate.
“Find myself suddenly rich like young Jack?” he finally said, deciding not to take offense. “I can’t say I have. Services would suit better, if you’ll accept them.”
“Of course, of course.” Silas waved him toward the cellar door and followed down the steps. Halfway down, Gerund stopped. A new cask of wine sat in the center of the floor, and the table beside it was covered with cheese wheels. At least twenty cheeses, each wider than a plate.
“Surely you’re joking. I only stayed a month!”
From behind, Silas laughed. “Just as you say, good man. Lead with the high bid and all that. I rather expected to haggle over the number of cheeses.”
Gerund spluttered. “That’s ridiculous. The wine alone is worth twice what you charged me the first time I came through.”
“Mmm, perhaps. But last summer you ate your own food. And with the growing crowds since Jack started showing off that harp a month ago, I’m sure you can understand that there’s been a shortage of rooms. Had to raise my prices with demand.”
“If that’s the case, my services should be worth more, too.” Gerund waved at the table. “You clearly need this spread to keep up with the meals you’re selling. With the giant’s death yesterday, the crowds will just keep growing. I’ll bet you’re nearly out of ripened cheese.”
Silas nodded. “A fair point, to be sure. But I’ve also been stabling your cow, as requested. I could have been renting that space to a fine horse for more than I charge my lodgers. Seems to me you could have grazed her on the common with the rest, for a lot less trouble all around. But I don’t cast out paying guests.” He didn’t bother to emphasize paying.
Gerund didn’t say anything. He’d needed that cow out of sight.
“Half the cheeses,” Silas proposed, “and a year on the wine.”
Gerund shook his head, but took another step down into the cellar. It was inevitable, no matter how much he haggled. Taking advantage, that’s what Silas was doing! The thief. Even if he’d had coins, there was no way Gerund could afford these higher prices.
Gerund capitulated after two quick counteroffers and sat tiredly on the bottom step while Silas whistled his way up out of the cellar. All twenty-seven cheeses for six weeks, and eight months on the wine. He shuddered.
Well, there was no point in waiting.
He waited anyway. Why should the innkeeper get what he wanted right away?
The wood step was hard beneath him. His left hip ached the longer he sat. But it was the crick in his neck that finally convinced him to end his pointless petulance. He pushed himself up and, creaking a bit, moved to lay his left hand on one of the cheese wheels. He took a breath.
Spots of white mold began to appear on each cheese, slowly at first, then spreading as fast as broken dreams to cover them completely. The wheels shrank a bit as moisture left them, the cheeses ripening two weeks in the space of a song.
Gerund lifted his hand away and inspected the wheels. One had bubbled and cracked, a hollow forming inside; this he set aside to discard. Three of the wheels had an odd orange mold mixed with the usual white. He cut away the orange bits and rubbed those wheels down with brine from the tub on the corner of the table. Oh, yes, Silas had been prepared for him. He placed his hand on top of the pile again, watching as the cheeses continued to cure. When they were six weeks old, he stopped.
He cradled his hand as he returned to the steps, then sat flexing it for some minutes. He pulled out his belt knife and set to trimming his nails, which had grown unmanageably long. It was easy enough to push things forward through time, but some piece of you had to stay in contact, had to travel with it. Early on he’d made the mistake of channeling everything through his right thumb. In hardly more than a month the nail had blackened and fallen off completely, and the knuckle had seized up to the point he couldn’t grip anything. He flexed it now, to test the range of movement. Slow care had brought some of its strength back, but the bones still felt brittle. He knew better now, knew how to spread the damage of years across himself, and how to preserve the parts of himself that needed to stay young. Teeth were especially important, and his remaining eye.
Yes, time magic was considered first-term drudgery. Gerund thought of the university-trained magicians who had come to loot the giant’s corpse. That life had been stolen from him, along with everything else. But the magic he had could still do remarkable things. Important things.
And profitable things, of course. He took off his boots and socks, then stood and walked to the wine cask. Eight months. This was going to be unpleasant.
* * *
His cow’s rope was disgustingly mildewed. As Gerund watched, the senile beast drooled an oozing stream of cud onto the coil under her head. Was that still the same rope that Jack had tied around her neck? Silas hadn’t cared for her properly after all, the cheat! Just stuck her in the stable and forgotten about her. It was a wonder she was still alive! Gerund should have come to check earlier that their bargain was being met. Had he seen this neglect he would never have agreed to age the wine. If it were possible to undo his work, remove the weight of time he had settled on the food in that cellar, he would have done so. But time cannot be turned back. He had learned that lesson well.
Gerund regarded the rope for a moment. No. He wouldn’t touch the thing. He pulled a knife from his pack and found a section behind the cow’s neck that was dry enough to hold so he could saw through the fibers. He left the ruined rope where it fell and collected a new one from the tack hanging across from the horse in the next stall over.
Holding the new, much cleaner rope, Gerund led his cow past the rear of the inn. He grimaced at a mild stench; then he grinned. It only took a few moments to find the cat’s body in the tall grass nearby. It was an old village stray with mange across its back, and kind Providence had struck it down in the night so that Gerund could exact some measure of justice. He carried it to one corner of the inn where a burrowing creature had made its home. Kneeling as quickly as he dared (not very quickly, with his knees in the state they were), he shoved the cat as far back into the hole as he could reach. Then he pushed it through time. Just a day. Just enough for the rot and the stink to take full hold and for the juices to seep into the ground so that the smell would linger after the cat was discovered and disposed of.
He wiped his hand in the grass and led his cow out of the yard, away from one corpse and toward another.
The walk was longer than it would have been the night before. With substantial effort, the villagers and visitors had dragged the giant’s body several hundred yards closer to the forest. It wasn’t wise to leave eighty feet of carrion lying beside the road, even ignoring the imminent swift decay under the summer sun. Already there had been signs of foxes, wild dogs, and a bear, and it would only get worse.
In contrast, the downed beanstalk wasn’t as destructive as he had expected for something so large. Rather than toppling like a felled tree, it had mostly collapsed onto itself, spilling over several crushed fields in a huge pile with only a few stray vines looping away. As Gerund made his way around it, he shuffled past a lone farmer staring blankly at his ruined grain. A bit farther on, two scholars were examining a partially open bud. That killed his last hopes for a simple solution. Of the few buds he had seen, only this one had begun to open into a blossom. He’d already known there wouldn’t be bean pods, but he had still hoped the plant might be induced to grow at least one. It would have been tricky to entice beans from a plant that knew it
was dying, but he could have done it if it had been just a little closer to seed. He was very practiced at pushing things through time. But if none of the flowers had even opened, it was hopeless.
So. The giant.
The dregs of a crowd clung around the body. Faces here and there looked rested and alert, but most of these people had clearly stood vigil through the night. It couldn’t have been on the giant’s account. They had to have been guarding their stake, their take. Which meant he needed to be careful of what they saw him touch. Best to start with the body itself, see if they had missed anything.
As Gerund had expected, Jack and his mother were nowhere to be seen. The “hero” was doubtless sleeping off his celebrations, and Jack’s mother wouldn’t have let him too far out of her sight. No one else was likely to recognize his cow, so Gerund let her loose to graze while he approached the body alone.
The corpse had not been moved until after it stiffened, and death rigor held it in an unnatural pose. The giant had landed on Jack’s house and barn, then lain arched over the ruin. Here, with a small hillock under his right leg and a gray boulder stabbing into his shoulder blades, the giant appeared to be straining for the sky, pushing himself away from the ground that had killed him. His face was turned to the side and glassy eyes stared. There were no cartwheel-sized pennies to hold them closed—or if there were, someone had claimed a better use for them—so those eyes stared at Gerund. No, past him. Toward the ruins of Jack’s house. Gerund stepped farther to the side, and the eyes did not follow him.
Gerund walked a slow circuit, one hand on the body for balance. Most in the crowd were civil, or at least distracted by something else, and moved aside for him to pass. Other than a bit of residue in the giant’s left pocket, the only magic he sensed came from the magicians and scholars around him. Everything useful had already been removed.
Well, everything useful to Gerund. A team was working to cut through the seams of the giant’s overshirt and load the huge panels of cloth onto carts to haul away. With the giant’s back arched like that, they were able to salvage nearly all of it. It had been green once, but most of the color was hidden by blue and brown soil.