The Dragon of Krakow

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by Richard Monte


  The lid knocked the little Plaice flat. When she looked up, Neptune was sitting beside her. He wore a silver helmet with horns, big black boots and had a bearded face. His eyes were buried under his bushy brows and flashed like lightning. His voice bellowed like thunder.

  “So I have caught you trying to steal treasure which does not belong to you!” he roared. “Look at yourself in the lid of that silver chest.”

  The little Plaice glanced at her reflection. She was now completely flat and her body was covered with reddish-brown spots where the rubies had pressed against her sides.

  “Now I will be noticed – even if it isn’t quite how I expected to look!” she exclaimed.

  “Oh yes you’ll be noticed, all right! And one day you will sit nicely on a fisherman’s plate, along with your flat friends the Halibut, the Sole and the Turbot,” sneered Neptune.

  ***

  When the little Plaice returned to her family, she found that they were also flat with orange spots. “What have you done?” they complained. “Our lives have changed – now everyone is interested in us!”

  “Watch out!” shouted her granddad. But it was too late. A fisherman’s net swept through the sea and the little Plaice disappeared inside it…

  The King who was eaten by Mice

  In a castle in the middle of a little wooden town there lived a fat king called Popiel. His belly was so round, it looked like a balloon, and when he stood upright he could barely see his feet! King Popiel loved eating so much that while the people of his kingdom often went without supper, he wined and dined every day. Chickens, ducks, geese, turkeys, rich sauces, freshly-baked bread, cabbages, potatoes, carrots… he guzzled up everything. He often stood in his bedroom looking out of a window at the little wooden houses of the town, watching the people scurrying around like mice, busy working for him. He would put his arm around his wife, whom everyone feared even more than him, stroking her long dark hair, and smile at the thought of his great power.

  “Now that my uncles are dead, who can challenge me, Kunegunda, my dear?”

  Now, everyone knew that King Popiel had rowed out across the lake one dark night, after a banquet, and, with the queen’s help, had thrown some heavy sacks overboard. Furthermore, it was rumoured that these sacks contained the bodies of his uncles, the knights of Gniezno, who had not been seen since they had attended a feast at the castle.

  All over the town, people threw up their hands in despair.

  “He’s murdered his own uncles! What shall we do? It won’t be long before he starts murdering us!” cried the miller.

  “We’ve got to do something, or we’ll all die of starvation!” shouted the blacksmith.

  “I bake bread all day long, and yet I haven’t got a crust left to eat,” added a baker. “Where does it all go? Up there, to the castle. Just see how round Popiel’s belly is. It’s full of my freshly-baked baps!”

  So the townsmen and women secretly met and wondered what to do. Heads shook as plans to besiege the castle were unveiled.

  “The castle’s a fortress. We’ll be shot before we even reach the walls.”

  But no one could agree on what to do, until a wrinkled old woman put up her hand.

  “I have an idea. We could have a word with the mice in this town. They could get into the castle.”

  “Speak to the mice?” Everyone fell about laughing. “Don’t be daft, you mad old crab!”

  But when a little brown mouse hopped out of her pocket, they all realised the old crab wasn’t quite so mad after all. Before anyone had a chance to scream or climb on to a chair, it scurried into the middle of their table and squeaked, “I am so small, I could get into the castle.”

  The shocked citizens thought for a moment, and then smiled.

  “Of course, little mouse, but when you are in the castle, how do you propose to attack the giant Popiel?”

  The mouse wiggled its tail and brushed its whiskers.

  “I have thousands and thousands of brothers and sisters, all of them armed with sharp claws and pointed teeth, and every one of them is hungry, because that fat giant is eating all their cheese. Now, think about that!”

  “It’s true,” said the baker. “I’ve seen your brothers and sisters nibbling at the bread in my bakery!”

  “And they’re in my house, eating the vegetable peelings I throw away!” shouted a washerwoman.

  The town councillor waved his hands and called for calm.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, think about it! Popiel would never expect to be attacked by an army of mice!”

  They whispered for a while, then the councillor looked at the little mouse with the long twitching whiskers and leaning forward, said, “It’s a deal. We’ll do anything we can to help you train and equip your army, as long as you will fight the king. What do you need?”

  The little brown mouse stood up on its hind legs and bowed.

  “Enough grain to feed ten thousand of my relatives.”

  “I suppose I can spare a few sacks,” grumbled the miller.

  “Enough cheese to feed twenty thousand.”

  “We might have a few rounds knocking about somewhere,” growled a farmer.

  “Five thousand of your sharpest needles.”

  “Five thousand! Good gracious, you don’t mean… Oh good gracious me, I’ll give you ten thousand…” said the seamstress, unable to contain her laughter at the thought of the king and queen each with five thousand needles in their backsides. “Serve ’em right, I say,” she added.

  Now everyone could see what the mouse intended, people began thinking how they could help the army.

  “I’ll make ten thousand mouse-sized coats of armour!” cried the blacksmith.

  “I’ll pass a law making it illegal to kill any recruit belonging to the Mouse Army,” said a councillor, much to the annoyance of the miller’s black cat.

  “No mousetraps, either!” the mouse squeaked as loudly as it could.

  “Absolutely!” cried everyone.

  “And no poison!”

  “Just as you say, little mouse!”

  Then the brown mouse hopped back into the wrinkled old woman’s pocket, and the people went back to their work.

  ***

  In the blacksmith’s workshop, tiny suits of armour were forged, slowing production of horseshoes for the king’s horses. In the miller’s yard, five sacks of grain were put aside. In the seamstress’s house, thousands of needles were gathered together.

  The mice ate their grain, pulled on their suits of armour, took up their needles and headed for the castle. They squeezed unnoticed through a gap in the drawbridge and with their claws made tiny holes in the castle walls for the rest of the army to use. They made their way to the king’s pantry and gouged out holes in his rounds of cheese with their sharp little teeth.

  The fat king was too busy ordering his servants about to notice anything amiss. Besides, from his windows, it appeared as if everything was normal.

  “My soup’s too cold. Bring me another pot!” he bellowed.

  “My chicken’s too hot. Find me a cold chicken!” he roared.

  Then one morning, the king jumped up in a terrible rage.

  “My cheese has holes in it!”

  All the kitchen servants rushed up to the royal chamber to examine the cheese. There was no doubt about it. King Popiel’s finest Cheddar, brought by a merchant all the way from England, was riddled with holes.

  “There can only be one explanation,” yelled the king. “There must be mice in the castle! Get rid of them at once!”

  The queen jumped up on a chair at the very mention of the word ‘mice’, looked out of the window – and immediately fainted. The king caught her in his arms and shouted to his servants for assistance, but they were all gathered at the castle windows, staring out at the most extraordinary sight.

  In front of the castle gates stood an army of mice, all dressed in suits of armour and carrying needles in their paws. There were thousands and thousands of them, and they opened
their mouths gnashing their sharp little teeth and squealing so loudly that the king was forced to drop his wife, in order to put his fingers in his ears!

  When the king surveyed the scene beyond the castle walls and realised what sort of enemy he faced, he laughed.

  “I’m not scared of a ridiculous army of mice. Order my knights to get rid of them,” he sneered.

  But there were no knights left to defend the castle, for King Popiel had murdered them all, and the army of mice was already making its way into the castle grounds.

  The sound of tiny feet could be heard scratching at the castle door. Soon a little nose and whiskers, squeezed under the gap between the door and the floor, and a mouse planted itself at the feet of the queen and squeaked. The queen regained her voice and started screaming.

  “Oh Popiel! Help! Help!” she shouted, as more and more mice began appearing under the door and out of the floorboards and walls. There were tails and whiskers everywhere. Little paws scampered across the wooden floor and teeth began gnawing at the chairs and tables.

  The king and queen tried to think of a place to hide, but the mice followed them everywhere. They climbed on to chairs and into the bed. They filled cupboards and pantries. They chased them all over the castle. The king’s round belly wobbled as he struggled up stairways. The queen tried to keep up, but lost her balance and ripped her long dress up to her waist.

  “We could try giving them cheese!” she panted, picking herself up from the floor.

  So back down the stairs they went to the cellar, where the cheese was kept. The king opened cupboard after cupboard, pulling out great rounds of his favourite cheeses.

  “Here – have my finest Cheddar, my best Gorgonzola, my most expensive Stilton!” he yelled, breaking off pieces and throwing chunks at the mice. But nothing worked. The mice weren’t interested in cheese any more. They wanted King Popiel and Queen Kunegunda.

  “Quick, Kunegunda, we must flee the castle,” the king shouted in desperation, pulling the breathless queen with him. They found horses and galloped towards the lake where they had rowed out and thrown the cloth sacks overboard. Neither of them dared look back – and if they had, what a sight would have greeted them! For the mice had gathered together and were marching in unison. King Popiel rowed across the lake like a madman to a tall wooden tower which stood in the middle of an island.

  “We’ll be safe in there, Kunegunda, my dear. The mice can’t swim across water,” he said, panting.

  But the little creatures were in hot pursuit – thousands and thousands of them brandishing their needles and baring their little teeth. They weren’t scared of the water and, as the king and queen climbed out of the boat and scrambled on to the island, the mice were already swimming across the lake.

  When they reached the island, they halted and, before going any further, began gnawing at the king’s boat so that he could not use it again.

  The king and queen quickly climbed the tower and, when they looked down from the parapet, what a sight they saw!

  “Oh Popiel, there are mice all over the island! It’s horrible. We’re trapped.”

  “I’ll never see any of my cheese again, with or without holes,” lamented the king.

  “How can you think of your belly at a time like this?” screamed the queen.

  But they didn’t have time to say another word, for the mice were climbing the tower. When the tiny army reached the parapets, the king and queen pulled off their shoes and began frantically trying to beat off the enemy. They leapt up and down waving their shoes in the air. But it was no use. Nothing could stop the mice.

  First they began biting the queen’s toes and scratching her gold-painted nails. Then they climbed up her legs and stuck needles in her bottom so that she leapt into the air. They ate the king’s trousers and stuck their needles into his fat rump, until he wished he had never been born. They nibbled at his fingers and at his nose. They nibbled and nibbled until all that was left of the royal pair was their expensive Italian shoes.

  ***

  A loud cheer went up from the people when the army of mice returned. From that day onwards, the mice were allowed to live in peace, away from cats, mousetraps and poison. They were given the tower on the island, which they called ‘Mouse Tower’, and when the wrinkled old woman died, the little brown mouse who had organised the army swam across the lake and was given a grace and favour home in one of King Popiel’s shoes.

  About the stories

  My wife, Malgorzata Hoscilowicz, has told me many, many Polish stories, including those in this collection. I have also referred to the following:

  The Dragon of Krakow

  O Kraku, smoku wawelskim i o krolewnie Wandzie, Jozef Ignacy Kraszewski (1812-87).

  The Amber Queen

  Krolowa Baltyku, Lucjan Siemienski (1807-77).

  Amber, which is found all over the Baltic sea coast, is the fossilised sap of coniferous trees.

  Mountain Man and Oak Tree Man

  Waligora i Wyrwidab, Kazimierz Wladyslaw Wojcicki (1807-79).

  The Gingerbread Bees

  Adapted from the story ‘Torunskie Pierniki’ by Maria Kruger, Klechdy Domowe Podania i Legendy Polskie, edited by Hanna Kostyrko, (published by Nasza Ksiegarnia, Warszawa 1967).

  Visit The Gingerbread Museum of Torun at www.muzeumpiernika.pl.

  Neptune and the Naughty Fish

  Basnie Kaszubskie, from a collection published by M. Arct, 1925.

  The Golden Duck of Warsaw

  Zlota kaczka, Artur Oppman (1867-1931)

  The King who was eaten by Mice

  Podanie o Popielu, Cecylia Niewiadomska (1855-1925)

  Richard Monte read History at London University. He worked as a newspaper journalist before taking up bookselling and freelance writing. His first novel for children, The Flood Tales, was published by Pavilion Books in 2000. He has travelled extensively in Poland, not only to the major cities but also on the Baltic Coast and in the Tatra Mountain region. He has contributed articles on aspects of Poland to the BBC History Magazine and History Today, and has reviewed children’s books for the Times Educational Supplement and Carousel. He works as a manager in a branch of Borders Books and lives in St Albans with his Polish wife and two children.

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