Pages and Co 2: Tilly and the Lost Fairytales

by Anna James

  Oskar came and joined her and they peered out of the window from underneath a corner of the lacy curtains. The wolf paced in front of the door, looking over his shoulder, presumably for Red.

  ‘Do you think he’ll give up and go away?’ Oskar asked hopefully.

  ‘I doubt it,’ Tilly said. ‘He looks pretty hungry. And eating these two is basically his whole motivation so I’m not sure what else he’d do. I’m trying to think of what happens in the other versions of the story.’

  ‘This version does mention woodcutters existing, so could we sneak out and try to find one?’

  ‘Maybe, although—’

  Their whispered planning was abruptly interrupted by a swish and a thwack and a howl. Oskar and Tilly looked out of the window to see a girl wielding an axe and standing over what looked to be a rather dead wolf. This girl didn’t look much older than them but was wearing black woollen trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots, with a sturdy tunic over the top. As well as the axe she was holding, she had a sword tucked into her belt. Her black hair was woven into tight braids keeping it away from her face, and round her shoulders was a burgundy red cloak.

  ‘If she wasn’t in here with us …’ Oskar said.

  ‘… you would say she looked like Red Riding Hood,’ Tilly said, and they turned to look at the girl in the cottage, who had gone to sit on her grandmother’s bed.

  ‘Grandmamma, what great arms you have got!’ she was saying.

  ‘All the better to hug thee, my dear,’ Grandmother said, gathering Red into an affectionate embrace.

  ‘And what great ears you have got!’

  ‘That is to hear the better, my child.’

  Tilly and Oskar looked at each other in disbelief.

  ‘She has totally normal-sized ears,’ Tilly called over. ‘And actually quite frail-looking arms.’

  She went over to the bed and waved her hand in between Red and Grandmamma.

  ‘Well, guys,’ she said. ‘It’s been … an experience meeting you both but the wolf situation seems to have been dealt with so we’re going to head home.’

  ‘Goodbye, now, dears!’ Grandmamma said, and Red didn’t even seem to notice them leaving.

  ‘What great teeth you have!’ she said merrily to her grandmother, who chortled along with her.

  Tilly and Oskar pushed open the door cautiously, aware there was a girl with an axe on the other side.

  ‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully, wiping wolf blood from the axe blade.

  ‘Hello,’ Tilly started. ‘Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘I’m Red,’ she said, holding out the non-axe-holding hand to shake. ‘I see you had a wolf problem.’

  illy looked at the dead wolf on the ground, feeling a little nauseous.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said nervously. ‘But …’

  ‘But there’s someone else who calls herself Red inside that house,’ Oskar took over. ‘Is that where you live too?’

  ‘Ugh, no,’ the other Red said, rolling her eyes. ‘I cannot stand that girl. Empty-headed child. Always getting herself into trouble – no sense of self-preservation at all.’

  ‘But you can’t both be Little Red Riding Hood!’ Oskar said.

  ‘Excuse me, I’ll ask you not to call me that,’ this Red said, staring daggers at Oskar. ‘A childhood nickname I’d rather leave behind.’

  ‘Yep, of course, sorry,’ Oskar said, eyeing the axe. ‘My mistake.’

  ‘Anyway, if you two can take it from here, I’ll be on my way,’ Red said. ‘There’s a local woodcutter I’m teaching some axe skills to – don’t want to be late.’ And with that she pulled her hood up over her hair, and stalked away into the forest.

  ‘That was very strange,’ Oskar said, watching her go.

  ‘It’s what Grandma and Grandad were talking about, though, isn’t it?’ Tilly said. ‘Fairy tales going wonky, characters being in the wrong place. We need to get back to the Faery Cabinet before anything weirder happens. We should be glad we’ve not stumbled across anything worse.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Oskar said, opening the book up and beginning to read. Moments later they found themselves standing off to one side of a very sorry-looking cottage with weather-beaten walls and several holes in its thatched roof.

  ‘Okay, well, this isn’t the bookshop,’ Tilly said. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I just read the last line of the story,’ Oskar said, showing Tilly the page.

  ‘Oh, but that’s just the last line of Red Riding Hood’s story,’ she said, pointing. ‘So I guess we’re now at the start of the next story, which is …’ She turned the page to look for the title but Oskar was already speaking.

  ‘Jack and the Beanstalk!’ he said.

  ‘Yes! How did you know?’ Tilly asked, looking up to see him pointing beyond the cottage. Behind it was one of the most bizarre things Tilly had ever seen, even in Wonderland. A huge green plant had sprung up so quickly that it had ruptured the ground around it. Cracks and huge furrows stretched out for metres and metres from the base, uprooting other trees and plants, and knocking over hedges and fences. The beanstalk was as thick as a London bus standing on one end, and was an unnaturally bright green, as though it had been coloured in with wax crayons by a child. Even stranger than all of that was how it looked as though it had grown in a way that made it designed to be climbed. A rough pattern spiralled round the stalk like a staircase, and branches grew out of it at regular intervals forming themselves into a makeshift set of railings and handholds. For a few moments, Tilly and Oskar simply stood and stared up at it, but their concentration was abruptly broken by a cacophony of curses and shouts of pain. Suddenly a boy slid down the final few metres of stalk-steps, bounced through the lower branches and landed at the bottom of the beanstalk in an ungraceful heap.

  ‘Should we go and help him?’ Oskar whispered. ‘That must be Jack, right?’

  ‘I guess so,’ Tilly said. ‘He’s a goody, isn’t he, so it can’t do any harm.’ They walked towards him and heard a squawk emanate from under him, just as he noticed them approaching. He waved merrily, and rolled over to reveal a disgruntled-looking hen, half squashed underneath him.

  ‘It’s really hard to climb down a giant beanstalk while carrying a hen,’ he said, picking a stray feather off his trousers. ‘She seems all right, though.’ The hen regarded him and let out an unimpressed cluck. ‘I’m Jack,’ he said, sticking out a slightly dirty-looking hand.

  ‘Tilly,’ Tilly said, shaking it.

  ‘I’m Oskar,’ Oskar said. ‘And you’re Jack. Jack and the Beanstalk.’

  ‘Well, my name is Jack, and I did grow this beanstalk – albeit accidentally – so yes, I suppose so,’ Jack said. ‘It’s quite catchy that, isn’t it? Jack and the Beanstalk,’ he swooped an open palm through the sky as if imagining his name in lights.

  ‘Are you guys hungry?’ Jack asked. ‘Do you want to come in for … Well, I’m not sure what we’ve got, it might just be water, but you’re very welcome to share. I need to tell my mother what I’ve found – it’s going to make our fortune!’ He held up the bedraggled hen. ‘Her eggs are going to make me rich!’

  ‘Are eggs … especially expensive here?’ Oskar said, confused.

  ‘Her eggs will be,’ Jack said smugly, and the penny dropped with Tilly.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ she said. ‘You stole the hen from the giant at the top of the beanstalk.’

  ‘Hey, how do you know about that?’ Jack said, looking nervously up the beanstalk, which disappeared into the clouds.

  ‘Just a hunch,’ Tilly tried to cover. ‘I’d heard there were giants around here, who had, you know, magical stuff.’

  Jack gave her an appraising look. ‘Well, don’t tell anyone,’ he said. ‘Otherwise everyone will be trying to get their hands on a hen like this. Anyway, are you coming? My mam’s face is going to be a picture when she hears!’

  Tilly and Oskar exchanged a look.

  ‘It can’t do any harm now we’re here!’ Oskar w
hispered. ‘And I’m starving. We’ll just have a quick snack and then head back.’

  ‘Fine,’ Tilly said, and they followed Jack towards the cottage.

  The door of the cottage looked like it had been blue at some point, but the paint had nearly all peeled off, and the whole door was hanging from one hinge.

  ‘It’s not much but it’s home,’ Jack said, pushing the door open. They followed him into a very dim, dank room with an empty fireplace against one wall. There was barely any furniture, but sitting at a rough wooden table was a woman who looked impatiently at Jack.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘And who are these children you’ve brought back with you? You know we don’t have anything to feed them with. I hope you’re not here begging!’ she said, narrowing her eyes at Tilly and Oskar. ‘And we’ve not got nothing to steal if that’s what you’re thinking!’

  ‘They’re friends, Mam,’ Jack said. ‘And wait until you see what I’ve brought home – it’s going to turn our fortunes right around.’

  His mother did not look convinced. ‘I’ve not much faith in your schemes, son,’ she said, before turning to the others. ‘You see that monstrosity sitting out there in our back garden?’

  ‘It’s quite hard to miss,’ Tilly said.

  ‘Exactly,’ his mother said. ‘And do you know where this beanstalk came from? I’ll tell you,’ she went on, not pausing to let them answer. ‘Yesterday, after eating the last few scraps of stale bread for our breakfast, I realised the time had finally come. If we had any hope of making it through another winter, the only thing to do was to send Jack off to market with our cow. Our only cow; you might even say our beloved cow.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Mam,’ Jack said. ‘You hated the sight of her.’

  ‘She may have been a grumpy old thing but she gave us milk, didn’t she?’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t have parted with her if we hadn’t been so desperate. Anyway, this one,’ she continued, nodding at Jack, ‘takes her down to the market, bright and early, and I say to him, make sure you get a good price. Don’t let no one take advantage of you and your soft-heartedness. So off he went, and before he’d even had time to get to the market, he was back here – no cow in sight. But do you know what he did have? Not coins. Oh no. He had beans. Beans! The boy had traded our last chance of a livelihood and sustenance for a handful of beans.’

  ‘They were magic beans!’ Jack said. ‘And you didn’t believe me. And look.’

  ‘I tell you, who wants the sort of magic that grows giant inedible plants in your garden?’ his mother said. ‘I’ll admit I didn’t believe there was any magic in them beans at all. I was all set to boil them up for dinner, before I realised they weren’t even any good for eating. So I chucked them out of that there window, and now look. A magic plant.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘How about a magic money tree, or some magic never-ending bread, or a magic cow, how about that?’

  ‘How about a magic hen?’ Jack asked, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Aye, I’m sure,’ his mother said. ‘And what would she do – lay magic eggs?’

  As if on cue the hen let out an almighty squawk, and stood up on spindly legs to reveal a golden egg.

  ‘How did you do that?’ Jack’s mother said. ‘Is it a trick?’

  ‘No!’ Jack said. ‘I went to see what was up the top of the beanstalk …’

  ‘You did what?’ she shrieked. ‘What would I have done if you’d fallen and broken your neck!’

  ‘Well, I did go up there, and I found her,’ Jack finished calmly.

  ‘You found her up there?’ she said. ‘What, just wandering around in the clouds?’

  ‘Basically, yes,’ Jack said.

  ‘And she was just wandering around up there on her own, you’re trying to tell me? Just you, the sky and this one hen?’ his mother pushed on.

  ‘There was only one hen if that’s what you’re asking,’ Jack said.

  ‘She didn’t belong to no one? I don’t want no angry farmers chasing me down trying to claim back their magic hen now.’

  ‘Not a farmer exactly,’ Jack said, choosing his words carefully. His mother tapped her foot and waited for him to tell her the whole truth. ‘More like a … giant.’

  ‘A giant!’ his mother shrieked. ‘You stole a magic hen from a giant? What possessed you, Jack? I tell you, it’ll be you answering the door when he comes knocking!’

  ‘He won’t,’ Jack said, sounding a little uncertain. ‘I don’t think he even saw me.’

  ‘He doesn’t think!’ she repeated sarcastically. ‘He can’t be sure but he doesn’t think the giant saw him steal his property! Let’s hope he’s a vegetarian giant!’

  ‘Actually, he was quite specific about eating meat,’ Jack said. ‘Had a whole song about it, in fact.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve got ourselves a carnivorous, musically talented giant, have we? That makes it all better.’

  ‘Calm down, Mam,’ Jack said. ‘He doesn’t know who I am.’

  ‘No, of course not, the plant leading right down into our back garden won’t give us away for sure,’ she said. ‘Let’s hope all his talents lie in music, and none in his sense of direction! And what have I told you about telling me to calm down!’

  Tilly had started flicking through the fairytale book to get her and Oskar out of there, but the rustling pages caught Jack’s mother’s attention and she advanced on them wielding a broom in one hand.

  ‘You two in your funny clothes,’ she said. ‘Did you put him up to this whole hen-stealing lark?’

  ‘No!’ Oskar said. ‘We weren’t even there, I promise!’

  She regarded them with deep suspicion.

  ‘He may be a soft-hearted lad, but he’s not stupid. Stealing from a giant, now, I don’t believe he’d do that of his own accord.’ She looked as though she was about to give someone a thwap with her broom when there was a sound like all the air being sucked out of the room. Tilly and Oskar held their hands to their heads as their ears popped, as though they were on a plane taking off. Once they recovered they realised, in alarm, that something very odd had happened to Jack and his mother. They looked like characters in a glitching video game, hovering and flickering as if they were barely present, although when Oskar went over to poke Jack he could still feel the rough wool of his clothes.

  ‘You’ve never seen this happen before, right?’ Oskar said, sounding nervous.

  ‘No,’ Tilly said.

  And then, all of a sudden, Jack went completely still before shattering into millions of tiny pieces, like a glass vase that had been dropped on the floor.

  Tilly’s face went white as she stepped over to look at where Jack had been standing.

  ‘That wasn’t there before, was it?’ she said, gingerly poking at a sticky black puddle on the floor with the toe of her boot.

  ‘What is it?’ Oskar said, coming over. ‘Melted book character?’

  ‘It looks like ink,’ Tilly said.

  ‘You’re right,’ Oskar said.

  Tilly got down on her knees to look more closely. Just as she stuck a finger out to touch it, though, the black liquid abruptly vanished, as though it had been instantaneously absorbed by the stone floor. At that same moment, the cottage door banged open and they all looked up to see Jack walking in smiling, a hen under his arm. As he entered the cottage, his mother came back into focus, broom still in hand, and mid-sentence, angrily shouting at the spot where Tilly and Oskar had been standing.

  ‘So, if you two …’ She stopped, realising she was talking to the air. She spun around, confused.

  ‘Mam!’ Jack said. ‘You’ll never guess what I have!’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said, suspiciously staring at Tilly and Oskar.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Jack said to them. ‘Are you friends of my mother’s?’

  ‘No, they’re rascals who wandered in off the road while I had my back turned, trying to keep this place clean and tidy,’ she said, coming for them with the broom. ‘Out! Out! Before I report you
!’ Tilly and Oskar let themselves be swept from the room, relieved to get out of the cottage, but Jack followed them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Mam can be a bit … protective.’

  ‘That’s one word for it,’ Oskar said under his breath.

  ‘Well, we should be going now,’ Tilly said politely. ‘Sorry to bother you!’

  ‘Now hang on,’ Jack said. ‘Don’t be dashing off so quickly, we only just met! What are your names? Are you from the village? I don’t recognise you at all.’

  ‘Haven’t we already done this?’ Oskar said.

  ‘Done what?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Nothing; he’s just a bit, er, jetlagged, I think,’ Tilly covered. ‘I’m Tilly – and he’s Oskar.’

  ‘Jetlagged?’ Jack repeated.

  ‘We’ve just been travelling for a while,’ Oskar said, trying to get back on track. ‘And we really do need to be getting home.’

  ‘Where’s home for you?’ Jack said, incorrigibly friendly. ‘I can walk with you?’

  ‘We’re fine by ourselves, honestly,’ Tilly said. She went to take a step backwards, and felt the gravel of the road crunch under her shoes. ‘Although it’s very nice of you to offer.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Jack said, coming closer.

  ‘No, honestly, we’re fine!’ she said, walking backwards into the middle of the road.

  ‘No, I just meant—’ he said, but at that moment there was a whoosh of hooves and a horse flew round the corner, causing Tilly to jump to one side, falling to the ground as she did so. ‘… that you need to be careful of riders,’ Jack finished lamely, before rushing over to make sure she was okay.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said breathlessly, shocked but unhurt except for a grazed knee and a rip in her tights. ‘It didn’t hit me.’

  The rider was pulling to a stop and backing the horse round.

  ‘Hey there, mistress, what are you doing in my way?’ the rider asked. He was absurdly handsome with a perfectly straight nose and chocolatey-brown eyes. He wore layers of obviously expensive velvet clothes, and his hat was topped with an extravagantly large collection of feathers.