Before the ogress could leave, Jack jumped onto the table and dove behind the candlestick.
When the ogress came back, he peeked around. She looked flustered, but she brought the giant a bag and a great stack of gold.
“Count yourself!” the greedy giant commanded. And the coins called out their numbers and filled the bag with more money than Jack had ever seen.
Now, Jack was poor, and his mother was poor as well. If they had that money, they could summon the Clockmaster, and he could give his mother anything she wanted.
Jack waited until the giant fell asleep, balanced the heavy bag on his head and sneaked it to the beanstalk. Using vines, he lowered the bag and climbed down below the dark clouds.
Mother was there waiting for him, “Oh dear, Jack. I’m so glad to see you in one piece. I thought the greedy giant had caught you.”
“No, Mother. Not at all. But I’ve brought something back for you.”
“Will it fill your heart’s desire?”
“It probably will,” Jack told her. “But first, answer me this. If you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?”
Mother looked at Jack and then at the bag. “Well, I’d wish for an antique clock just like my mother’s…”
Jack did not let her finish. He pulled open the bag and revealed more coins than his mother could count. He says, “Mother, it’s all the money you could ever spend. Perhaps we can find another clock, but this is enough to summon the Clockmaster.”
“Oh, Jack. You’ve done well, son. We will take what we need and then find someone to summon the Clockmaster. The rest we’ll give to the townspeople, so that everyone will be rich and won’t have to work like slaves for next to nothing.”
Mother celebrated as Jack sent off for the Clockmaster and gave away his riches.
***
The golden coins were a great boon for the townspeople. They built better homes and wore warm clothes in the winter. It didn’t take too long before people forgot what it was like to be without.
Jack loved the adventure and was pleased the coins helped to restore their town. Everyone had enough to eat and wear, the homes were spacious and warm, and the people didn’t have to work as much. But still the town was dark and gloomy. And Jack worried about his mother’s poor heart.
As they waited for the Clockmaster, Jack also remembered the salesman told him he needed to recapture the house as his own. Doing so would bring immortal life and save his mother’s heart. Feeling obligated to finish his task, Jack decided to try the beanstalk again.
Late that night, Jack tiptoed to the beanstalk, but his mother must have been waiting. She called from the window. “Jack, we have more than enough food to live on and more money than we can spend. What else could there be that would be worth the danger of the greedy giant?”
“It is true, Mother. There is plenty for all, but there is something more. It’s as if something vital is missing—my heart’s desire. I’m hoping I find it at the giant’s castle. Besides, we aren’t yet immortal.”
Mother sighed, though she dared not stop him. But this time, she bid him to wait. She exited the house and reached deep in her pocket and pulled out an old pocketknife. “This knife is not worth any money, but is worth more than a treasure full of gold. It’s your old father’s favorite hunting knife, and it is time for you to have it.”
Jack took the knife and wiped a tear from his mother’s eyes. “Thank you. Just one more trip to see what the giant has in store.”
Mother didn’t argue, because Jack was now a man.
He climbed up and made his way to the same small back door he used before. He slid in, and he could see a room full of riches and delicate foods. Yet, there was nothing he wanted.
He was about to leave when the ogress swept him up and said, “What might ya be? Never mind. You’ll make a might fine supper.”
She put him in her pocket, then thought better of it, dropping him in a hot pot of water. Jack was quick to escape, and he crawled onto the ribbon of the ogress’s long apron.
By the time Jack settled, a bellowing voice proclaimed, “Tick, Tock. I hear a clock. A human’s heart is beating.”
“You hear only the boiling pot, rattling on the stove,” she sighed.
Looking up, Jack saw the giant standing there, broad and ugly, with a snarled brow and wart upon his chin. He called to the ogress, “Bring me my joy.”
Now, Jack had never heard of joy, but it sounded precious. So, before the ogress could leave the room, Jack jumped out and hid behind the dinner bell.
When the ogress came back, he peeked around. She looked livid, but she brought in a clock with golden gears that resemble the shiny gear the salesman once had given him.
“Sing to me!” the greedy giant told his clock, and he set the time.
Jack waited for the chime and when it came, out popped a gilded cuckoo bird with the most enchanting melody Jack had ever heard. As the music took wing, he understood what joy was. This is what he’d been missing after years of oppression. The joy of being alive, the joy of the cuckoo released.
As the cuckoo bird continued its beautiful song, the greedy giant put his hands on his fat belly and slept.
Jack’s town now had plenty to eat and money to spend, but this joy would lift them all. So, Jack crept up to the sleeping giant and balanced the cuckoo on his head. But the cuckoo grew scared and cried out when Jack took him away. The greedy old giant awakened as Jack ran out the big front door and down to the beanstalk.
The giant’s heavy footfall pounded behind him. And with no time to let the cuckoo down, Jack set the golden bird free among the clouds to make its song forever.
Jack rushed down the beanstalk, but before he got to the pendulum, he pulled out his father’s knife and clipped the vine so he could swing up to the clock. Jumping among the clock’s gears, Jack found one missing. From his pack, Jack took the gear the salesman had given him. Jack slid it into place, swung the pendulum back, and the clock started.
Above, the greedy giant was close behind. He put his mighty foot on the top of the beanstalk, but his weight made the stalk bend until the pendulum swung and knocked the giant to the ground where he landed on his big greedy head with a big thud.
The townspeople, who heard the mighty crash, came to see the giant on the ground, but he was not dead. Jack ripped out the clockworks with his father’s knife and threw it down on the giant’s chest.
“Jump on it!” Jack screamed as he used the pendulum to slide down. At the bottom, he helped the townspeople jump until the clock wedged deep in the giant’s chest. Jack set the timer for one second, and as it sounded the greedy giant’s eyes grew big and his clock stopped forever and the giant disappeared as the large clock chimed. The clouds lifted, and the sun shined over the land.
Jack looked toward his mother’s timer and then his own. Gone. Not only theirs, but all the townspeople were free of the timers. The people stood in awe, all except for one.
Mother ran toward Jack. “Oh, son. I’m so glad to see you in one piece. You should have seen it! I thought the greedy giant crushed you.”
“No, Mother. Not at all. But I’ve finally found my heart’s desire. Listen!”
Just then, the cuckoo flew down and sang its beautiful song. The townspeople began to sing, too, and so the birds returned to the town and mimicked the cuckoo’s song.
When the song was over, the cuckoo flew back into the clouds, leaving the other birds to continue.
“That song!” Mother smiled. “It’s as if I know it from long before. It makes me feel… Well, I don’t know a word for it, son.”
“Oh, Mother dear, it’s a magical feeling called joy, and we all shall know it now the clouds are gone, and we are as free as the bird who sings.”
The townspeople shouted and sang, and Jack wanted to join them, but his mother held him back.
“Oh, Jack. You’ve done well, son. Very well, indeed. And now, you can safely go on your adventure!”
The thought made
Jack laugh. “Oh, no. No more adventure for me! Now you are safe, I am ready to start a family of my own.”
Jack hugged his mother and turned her around in a great circle. But when he set her down, the salesman appeared. Pulling along a cart with his mother’s antique clock, he wore a bright smile.
“Wait, Jack! Your good fortune is just beginning!” He tapped the antique clock on its side as he set it down. “This is for your mother, but there is much more for you.”
“What more could I possibly ask for?” Jack quizzed him.
The salesman smiled and said, “I’ve told you there are no coincidences, my friend. You may call me the Clockmaster.”
Jack’s mouth fell open. This was the Clockmaster, but now his mother had no timer to be fixed.
“Don’t worry about your mother.” The Clockmaster raised his index finger. “Since the giant is dead, and the ogress ran away, you can take back your family’s mansion in the sky. You and your mother will live there for as long as you so shall wish. The timers are all gone, and now your people are immortal.”
Jack didn’t know what to say. All that he could manage was, “How?”
The Clockmaster winked. “Why, happily ever after, of course!”
J Lynn Hicks, author of The Daughter of Rebellion trilogy, writes young-adult dystopian fiction that empowers teen girls to change the world and fight for justice in the face of adversity.
After ten years of teaching language arts to teens, J Lynn sat down to write and hasn't stopped since. When she isn't writing, she loves theater, fine dining, and riding shotgun. You are likely to find her geeking out on craft books, scrolling through YouTube, and sharing memes and gifs on social media.
All of her books are available through Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. Follow the link for a free story:
http://mailchi.mp/f0be97e8e2ae/facebook
THE PIPER
By Christine French
They say that when you call the Piper he will come, but you’d better be prepared to pay the price. I can’t help but feel that whatever the price is, it can’t be worse than the one we are paying now.
***
For decades the Ratgebers have been the only thing standing between us and death. When the rains stopped, and the River Wesser dried up, those of us who remained in the town were slowly starving to death. Our once plentiful export grains stopped growing, as did much of the food we grew to eat. Our population was slowly dwindling; not only were people leaving in search of refuge, but people were also dying, and fewer and fewer children were being born. And then, one day, we were summoned to Rathaus by our new rulers, the Ratgebers. They were offering to save us all and they wanted only one thing in return: our children.
We had never heard of these Ratgebers and we weren’t sure where they came from. Far upstream somewhere, we supposed, where the River Wesser still flowed and the rains still came. We also weren’t sure why they wanted to help us. But they did, and we were too desperate to refuse. They told us our children would be used as guarantees of our good behaviour, as hostages, and even knowing this it was an easy decision to make. It was worth risking those who weren’t born yet to save the living, especially since without this agreement we were all going to die anyway. Without the Ratgebers help there wouldn’t be future children. And so the deal was made.
They say that the first time the Ratgebers came to take a child, they were ripped from their mother’s arms as she fought against them, against an arrangement about which her opinion had never been sought. That first mother had to be sedated. Years later, she still never was never quite right. This did not deter the Ratgebers though. They still come time and time again to collect their payment.
Now when they come, it is expected and it is quiet and it is startlingly inhuman. The Ratgebers take only our firstborn children because there is no guarantee that any of us will have another. Despite this, our small town is flourishing with children, all second and third and fourth born, and we watch them thrive while pain twists behind our smiles because we know that somewhere there are other children locked away that we cannot see. Children who are the price of our freedom. And, besides, the Ratgebers remind us pointedly, even if no one is ever quite really happy, at least we are not all dying on the streets.
But after all these years, we have had enough. We are no longer willing to pay the price that our ancestors agreed to so long ago. All this pain has led to this moment, to now, when we stand huddled deep underground where we hope that the Ratgebers have no spies, no bugs, no drones. Where we hide and plot to overthrow them. There’s an old joke about not telling secrets in a field of corn because there are ears everywhere. There is a truth in that. We make sure that secrets are told deep underground where we hope the ears cannot follow.
“Is this safe?” someone asks in the crowd where they stand with fearful eyes that flick between the entrances to the room. “What about the Ratgebers?”
“Pah, the rats,” my father, the Mayor, exclaims, spitting in disgust. “We will no longer need to fear them. Not once we hire the Piper.” Though he is leading this rebellion, not everyone trusts him. Some fear he is in the pocket of the Ratgebers and will betray us, others resent the benefits his status affords him. They resent him because of me.
I am a first born, the only first born to roam these streets. The Ratgebers let my family keep me as payment for my father’s services, services that he is no longer willing to provide. And even though we did not make the rules, even though we are now fighting against them, that resentment still simmers amongst the others. Even now, here, they all avoid looking at me, as if somehow it is my fault. But it doesn’t bother me because I get it. I am a constant reminder of the children they have lost.
“Who is this Piper?” a voice calls from the corner. It is Markus. He stands in the dimness, his arm wrapped around his child. She is fourteen. Some of the older townsfolk claimed that she was too young to be here, but Markus argued with them. It was her future that was being decided in this moment. We could not make decisions for future generations without their say, not the way that it had been done to us. It was hard to argue with that, and so she stayed.
His question surprises me though. I thought everyone had heard of the Piper, but perhaps my father’s position also grants me a level of knowledge and privilege that I had not considered before.
“The Piper is an assassin,” replies my father. “Though it is usually put more euphemistically than that. ‘Problem solver’ is the preferred title, I believe.” There are nods of recognition around the room. Many who gather here know this, but not everyone.
“And how do we contact him?” It is a different person asking this time, Klaus, a man so old and grey that he claims to remember some of the first takings. I don’t find it hard to believe him.
My father is more evasive in his answer this time, but perhaps it is only obvious to me because I know him so well. I wonder what he is hiding and why. “We have contacts that will send a message through.”
“What if the Piper says no?” It is another voice, but I do not recognise it and the shadows make it too hard to see them.
“We will make it worth his while to assist us,” he says. A titter pulses around the room; a sea of voices, all with a common response.
“With what money?” It is impossible to know who asked this question; it is the question of everyone here, except perhaps my father. While our city has prospered again under the rule of the Ratgebers, we receive our payment in food and water and medicine, while they gather the riches amongst themselves.
“Once the rats are gone, we will have plenty of money,” asserts my father. “All the money they have stolen from us.” This time the murmurs are of agreement, and with this I know that he has convinced all the people standing here that an uprising is worth it. Recover our children, and take back our wealth? What have we got to lose?
***
Days pass and to the outside eye nothing much changes, but behind closed doors there is a hive of activity. We are me
eting in another dimly lit cavern that is deep underground. A hooded figure stands in the corner, and even in the wavering light I can see that they wear a cape of dully dyed cloth in a cacophony of colours. My father moves to stand before the crowd and raises his hands for silence. The voices ebb and die away, but before my father can speak the Piper moves forward.
“You have heard my terms?” her voice calls out calm and low.
The Piper is a female? I think to myself. I do not know why it should come as such a surprise, but it does. Here all the women stand docilely by while the world happens around them, numbed by the loss of their firstborn. They take care of their household and the children they were permitted to keep. It had never occurred to me that a woman could change the world around her, around us.
My father glances to the corner where the Piper stands shrouded in shadows with a slightly displeased look on his face, but then he smooths it over and steps to the side, angling his body towards her and inviting her into the space at the front of the room. Either she does not notice, or she does not wish for such honour. She stays where she is.
“We have heard your terms,” my father agrees, smiling reassuringly at the people before him. A murmur of voices ripples quickly through the room, and I wonder how many of them would agree with his statement since the rest of us are unaware of the specifics.
“And do you accept them?” she asks almost challengingly.
“We do,” my father agrees, his reassuring smile never fading. Beneath her hood, the Piper nods.
“Very well,” replies the Piper. “I will take care of your problem. I will be in contact.” She gathers her robes around her and disappears further into the shadows. I didn’t know there was another entry point to this space. I wonder how she did.
I am trying to see where she went in the darkness and I do not notice the rising voices until one of the people surging towards my father shoves into me. They are all demanding answers, more information. My father has no intention of sharing anything with these people. Information is currency, is power, and he knows it.
Once Upon A Dystopia: An Anthology of Twisted Fairy Tales and Fractured Folklore Page 27