In a Glass Grimmly

by Adam Gidwitz

  Jack ducked as if something were about to strike him in the head.

  “What did she just say we were going to do?” demanded another raven.

  Jack’s eyes were spread wide. Jill’s head tilted wonderingly off to one side.

  “They said we were going to eat their corpses,” the third raven replied.

  “That is the most repulsive thing I have heard in many, many years,” declared the first.

  “Did that raven just talk?” Jill hissed at Jack.

  “I think they all did,” he whispered back.

  “Why are you whispering?” whispered the second raven. “We can hear, too, you know.”

  Jack and Jill silently wondered if they were hallucinating.

  “Really, I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” said the third raven. “You travel with a talking frog.”

  “Speaking of whom . . .” said the second. The frog was still trying to fit in the crevice between the rock and the ground. Really, he was not slim enough and just didn’t seem to want to admit it.

  “What is he doing?” asked the third.

  “I imagine he’s afraid of us,” said the first. “We do eat frogs.”

  The frog’s three legs kicked and scrabbled with renewed energy at the dirt beneath the stone. Jack reached out and scooped him up and put him in his pocket.

  “You can’t eat him,” he said, glaring at the ravens.

  “Don’t even think about it!” added Jill fiercely. And then, a little less fiercely, she said, “And how did you know he can talk?”

  “We know things,” said the first raven.

  “Yes,” said the second, “It’s sort of what we do.”

  Jill, crinkling up her nose, asked, “Like what kinds of things?”

  “We know that you are Jack and Jill,” said the third raven.

  “And that you are hungry and thirsty and lost,” said the second.

  “And that you seek the Seeing Glass,” finished the first.

  The frog poked a single eye out of Jack’s pocket. “Do they know where it is?” he hissed.

  “Do you know where it is?” Jack relayed to the ravens.

  “Yeah, we heard him,” said the second raven.

  “We know where it is—” began the first.

  “Where?”

  “But we’re not telling,” concluded the third.

  “What?!” Jack shouted. “Why not?”

  “Because the Seeing Glass,” said the second raven, “is not really what you seek.”

  No one spoke for a moment. The wind howled over the slick rocks and gray hills.

  And then Jill said, “Yes it is. If we don’t find it, we die.”

  The wind howled for another moment, and then the second raven said, “Right. I suppose that’s true.”

  “But, dear children, you are con-fused,” said the third raven.

  “Absolutely,” said the second.

  “Totally,” said the first.

  Jill said, “If you’d just met three talking ravens, wouldn’t you be?”

  “Not really,” said the third talking raven.

  But the first raven said, “Not confused. You are con-fused.”

  Jack furrowed his brow. “What’s the difference?”

  “We’re glad you asked,” replied the second raven.

  And the third added, “Though we knew you would.”

  “When you’re confused,” said the second raven, “you’re mixed up, right?”

  “Right,” said Jack.

  “Well, con-fuse means fused together, mixed with something—or someone—else.” The second raven paused significantly.

  After a moment, Jill said, “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The first raven took over: “You, dear children, are con-fused. What you want, what you think, what you believe, all get mixed up with what other people want for you, or think you should want, or believe about you. Do you see?”

  Both Jack and Jill nodded their heads and said, “No.”

  The third raven took over. “Jill, you are con-fused with your mother. You think she is perfect, and that everything she does is good, and that you should be just like her and do just what she wants you to do. Right?”

  Jill’s mouth grew tight and small. She shrugged.

  “Did you see the silk?”

  Shrug.

  “Did you really think you’d look beautiful in it? Before your mother said you would?”

  Shrug.

  The third raven turned to Jack. “Jack, why did you trade your cow for a bean?”

  Jack looked up at the raven heavily. He, too, shrugged.

  “Did you think it was a good deal before Marie said it was?”

  Shrug.

  “When is the last time you disagreed with something the boys from the village said or did?”

  Shrug.

  “Children!” the third raven exclaimed, exasperated now, “You are con-fused. Totally, utterly con-fused. As long as you are, you will never find what you seek. Even though it’s right here.”

  Jack scrunched up his face and looked all around him.

  Jill looked down at herself and then back up the ravens.

  “When you do what you want, not what you wish . . .” said the first raven.

  “When you no longer seek your reflection in others’ eyes . . .” said the second.

  “When you see yourselves face to face . . .” said the third.

  “Then,” the ravens intoned in unison, “you will have found what you truly seek.”

  Jack and Jill glanced at each other.

  Jill said, “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

  “No idea,” Jack replied.

  They turned to ask for further explanation, but the three black forms were already whirling high into the air. The two children, and the frog, watched as the ravens shrank and shrank against the immense gray sky, until, finally, three black specks disappeared into the clouds.

  “That was weird,” said Jill.

  “Yeah,” said Jack.

  After a moment, the frog asked, “What should we do now?”

  Jill said, “I don’t know, but I am thirsting to death.”

  Jack agreed. “And I’m about to die of starve.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Goblin Market

  Once upon a time, a boy and a girl and a frog stood at the peak of a mountain, looking out over a great valley. Two broad roads wound from the distance into the bowl of the valley, forming a crossroads right at its center. All around the crossroads, and spreading out over what must have been a hundred acres, was something that hit the two children like a punch to all their senses at once. If you can imagine what a punch to your senses might feel like.

  Once they got over the shock of it, they recognized it for what it was. It was a market. The most fantastic market that has ever been. Fragrances rose to their nostrils and beckoned them. Sweet music floated on the air and called to them. Bright flags and fabrics flapped gently in the suddenly warm wind.

  Jack and Jill threw themselves down the scree slope, slipping and laughing and sliding on their bottoms, until they reached the foot of the mountain. They began to cross the flat floor of the valley. Soon they came to a stone buried in the earth. Inscribed upon the stone were words. They read:

  Come in, come in, we’ll make you a buyer.

  Jack and Jill, not knowing what to make of it, walked on. After a few yards they came to another stone. This one said:

  We have everything anyone’s ever desired.

  They looked up at the market. It seemed bigger than it had just a moment ago. It smelled better, too.

  Ten feet on, they came to another stone. It read:

  You’ll feel like you’re floating higher and higher.

  The market looked even bigger now. They walked on and came to another stone.

  When you finally get what you’ve always desired,

  * * *

  They glanced up again, and the market had burgeoned ou
t to the horizon, its poles and flags piercing the sky. Soon, they came to yet another stone:

  Your life seems to sink into deepening mire—

  Jack and Jill were pretty sure they knew what “mire” was going to rhyme with. Sure enough, the next stone said,

  Why do you let it? Take what you desire!

  They weren’t far from the edge of the market now. It thrummed before them like the great ocean itself, beckoning them, calling them.

  They plunged in.

  * * *

  Jack and Jill found themselves in the midst of the most magnificent market you can possibly imagine.

  Go ahead, try to imagine the most magnificent market you possibly can.

  Have you?

  All right. Not good enough. Not even close.

  First of all, was the market you were imagining filled with goblins?

  Oh, it was?

  Okay.

  But did it have stalls selling gemstones and gold ingots the size of your head?

  Did it have stacks of coins, bronze and silver and gold, crazily stretching far above the merchant men?

  Were there carpets that levitated, tapestries that danced, and silks that appeared and disappeared depending on the angle of the light?

  Was there food of every shape and size and smell and taste and color, from buttery star-shaped cakes to spits of meat that dripped golden oil?

  Was there a mechanical menagerie, where tigers and peacocks and crocodiles, all made from gears and pistons but covered in real fur or feathers or skin moved around and growled and squawked and grunted?

  Did the market you imagined have all that?

  It did?

  Oh.

  Fine.

  Well, what do you need me for? Go ahead and imagine the rest of the chapter yourself.

  * * *

  Okay, I’m done pouting.

  * * *

  So Jack and Jill walked through this magnificent market, marveling at the gemstones and the gold, the dancing tapestries, the succulent food, the mechanical beasts.

  But mostly, they marveled at the goblins.

  The goblins, you see, were all grown men, and yet none was taller than either Jack or Jill. They had deep black eyes with no whites at all. And lank black hair. But their skin was the strangest thing about them. It was a pale green—not so green that you would confuse it with key lime pie; nor so pale that you’d think they were just seasick. About halfway in between key lime pie and seasick. That was the color of the goblins’ skin.

  * * *

  Now if you’ve ever read books with goblins, or seen movies with goblins, or even played video games with goblins, you will want to tell me that I am wrong, and that goblins, in fact, do not look at all as I have described them. You will want to tell me that goblins have hunched backs, red eyes, pointy ears and chins, sharp teeth, and skin that is very very very green.

  You must know that this image you have of goblins is a terrible lie. It was first circulated by a powerful and ubiquitous crayon company who shall here remain nameless, when they discovered that, try as they might, they could not make a shade of green that matched the tone of a goblin’s skin. They made it too light, and the goblins looked seasick; they made it too dark, and they looked like slices of key lime pie. “Goblin green?” they said. “Impossible!” So they started telling kids that, really, that bright green that already came in the box was just the right color, and, as an added bonus, the bright red was the perfect color for the eyes. And you know what? All the kids believed them. I bet you did, too.

  Well, now you know better. Pale green skin. And, as I said, deep black eyes, with no whites at all, and lank black hair that they treat in all different kinds of ways—side part, ponytail, comb-over to hide balding, and so on. Their faces were all different, but every one looked like a man of about fifty or fifty-five—some fat, some thin, but all tired, overworked.

  And hungry. For something.

  * * *

  Jack and Jill moved deeper and deeper into the Goblin Market. It seemed to go on forever. The children walked as if in a daze, their eyes passing limply over wonders too wonderful even to describe. As they walked, the eyes of the goblins followed them. From behind signs, from under awnings, from within brightly colored pavilions, the goblins watched the two human children, their dark eyes following them, step by innocent step.

  Suddenly, Jack heard a clanging sound. It rose from a ramp that seemed to lead down into the earth. At the very same moment, Jill heard a chanting, pulsing cry:

  Come buy our orchard fruits,

  Come buy! Come buy!

  The calls came from a section of the market filled with fruits stalls. Tables were stacked high with pyramids of big black grapes, domes of blood oranges, tangles of ruby cherries. Behind or beside each table, goblins called out their song:

  Apples and quinces! Melons and raspberries!

  All ripe together

  In summer weather!

  Jill’s mouth began to water. “Jack!” she cried. “We have to go to the fruit market!”

  But Jack was already wandering in the direction of the ramp that led down into the earth.

  Jill didn’t notice. She started toward the fruit sellers. They called out, their goblin voices straining:

  Grapes fresh from the vine,

  Pomegranates full and fine!

  Jill entered the fruit stalls. The goblin men watched her from beneath heavy brows. Their tables were loaded with sweet smelling fruit. Jill passed her hand over glossy apples and delicately fingered puckered raspberries. The goblin men smiled at her from their dark, hungry eyes. Their calls became louder, more insistent:

  Figs to fill your mouth,

  Citrons from the South,

  Sweet to tongue and sound to eye!

  Come buy!

  Come buy!

  The goblin men watched Jill’s hand trail across their fruits. They whispered to one another, pointed, smiled.

  Suddenly, a goblin called out: “Hello, my pretty!”

  Then another said, “Good day, my lovely!”

  “Hello there, beauty.”

  “Darling girl, have a peach! Eat my peaches!”

  “Or my pears, sweet one!”

  “Red cherries for a beautiful girl!”

  Young Jill looked up at the strange, leering men. Her heart beat an uncertain pattern in her chest.

  “My lovely!”

  “Pretty one!”

  “Come eat my fruits!”

  “Eat mine!”

  “Eat mine!”

  And then one goblin slid out from behind his stall, an apple in his hand. Jill stopped. He came toward her, closer and closer, until his body was brushing against hers, and his face was inches from her own. She could smell him. She felt strange.

  “A lovely apple for a lovely girl?” he asked. And he raised its red flesh to her nose. Jill closed her eyes and drew the scent in. It was rich and tempting.

  “Sweet, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Her eyes still shut, Jill nodded.

  The goblin said, “Take a bite.”

  Jill opened her eyes. She saw the old goblin face, his skin so close to hers, his dark eyes drinking her in. And in those eyes, she saw her own reflection. She suddenly thought of other reflections she had seen—in her mother’s mirror, in the sea.

  Something felt wrong.

  “No,” she said, and she pushed the apple away.

  But more goblins had come out from behind their stalls. They were moving closer and closer, watching the fruit seller and Jill. They began crowding in on her, with their heat and their smell. Soon they were pressing in upon her, jostling her, pushing her, holding her.

  “Pretty girl! Eat my fruit!”

  “No, mine!”

  “Mine, my beauty! Mine!”

  She felt confused. They were saying nice things, and yet . . .

  “My lovely one!”

  “My darling!”

  “Eat! Eat!”

  They licked their dry lips with
muscular tongues and pushed in closer to Jill, and closer.

  “Stop!” she cried suddenly. “Get away!” The goblins’ sweat clouded Jill’s nostrils. She could feel their thick, rough hands on her hair. “Get away from me!”

  But they would not. They pressed closer and closer and closer.

  “Jack!” Jill cried. “JACK!”

  Jack stood in front of one of the dark entrances that led underground. He heard his name. He turned. A mountain of goblins seethed in the center of what appeared to be a fruit market.

  “JACK!”

  He squinted his eyes and took a step toward it.

  “JACK!”

  He saw one of Jill’s thin hands appear above the goblins’ heads.

  He began to run.

  Inside the scrum of goblins, Jill pushed and kicked and shouted.

  “Pretty girl!” they cried.

  “Beautiful one!”

  “Come with us!”

  “Be with us!”

  “NO!” she shouted. “GET AWAY!” She turned her head this way and that as the goblins tried to push peaches and pears and plums past her lips. “JACK!” she screamed.

  And just as she did, a muscular goblin with a vicious face shoved an apple into her mouth. She tried to tear her face away, but as she moved, her teeth pierced the apple’s flesh.

  And Jill collapsed.

  * * *

  Jack pushed at the backs of the thronging goblins frantically, trying to shove his way to his cousin. But the goblins were surprisingly strong. An arm thrust Jack backward. He pushed into the scrum of goblins again. “Jill!” he shouted. “JILL!”

  And then he saw Jill, lifted up by a dozen goblin arms, being borne aloft and carried away. She looked dead.

  “JILL!” he cried. He tried to follow her. But he could not penetrate the iron cord of goblin arms. Jack watched, helplessly, as Jill was swept into one of the dark openings in the earth, and out of sight.

  “We’ve got to follow her!” the frog screamed. “We’ve got to save her!”

  The dust of the ground mingled with the acrid-sweet smells of the fruit market.