The king must have seen something in my carefully guarded face, because suddenly his gaze caught mine and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Something amiss?” he asked into the hush that fell as soon as he spoke.
I tried not to glance around, tried not to search out a friendly, more rational face in the crowd on either side of the carpet. I tried to hold the king’s gaze with humility, to stand with confidence but without threat. I tried not to make a run for it, hoping if an arrow went through my back it would be quick enough for me not to feel any pain. I probably shouldn’t have answered anything, but my next words would prove to be my wisest.
“I-I d-d-do not w-wo-work when others w-watch, Your M-Majesty,” I said, my stutter returning with my nerves. “S-S-S-Surely the k-k-king understands the n-necessity for s-s-se-seclusion considering this u-u-unique… ability.”
The king studied me a moment. “Very well then,” he agreed. He spoke slowly, deliberately, never taking his eyes from me. “You will have your seclusion, in a small room with a spindle and six bales of wheat straw. I expect the gold by morning.”
I tried to hide my gulp. “Y-Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”
With a wave of his hand, the king signaled the captain. “Arrange it accordingly, then lock her up against intrusion,” he instructed. “No one is allowed in nor may she come out until I say so.”
The captain bowed crisply. “As you wish.”
With a light rap against my arm, he spun me around and escorted me from the room with the pair of soldiers who’d accompanied us. It wasn’t until after I left that the excited buzz of conversation started up again in the throne room.
Another maze of hallways, then a staircase leading up a turret to a small room snuggled below a spire. The room was just the right size to exactly hold what the king ordered. The captain led me in and I made a show of running my hands over the spindle, as if I really thought to determine if it would be satisfactory for the type of work I was supposed to do.
The captain left me there with a grunt, which I took to either mean, “The door is guarded,” “Nothing funny now,” or “Good luck.”
Then he was out the door and the unmistakable jingle of metal told me that multiple locks were being secured.
I stood in shock, hardly able to decipher in my dazed, disbelieving mind how any of this was real. That I was in the palace, that I had met the king, that I was expected to spin my father’s lie into truth, an endeavor less likely than turning straw into gold. Were it not my life on the line, I may have just sat there and let my father receive his just punishment for the mess he’d started. However, as I had too much time to think, I soon came to realize that by now I was as much at fault as he. He had started the lie, but I had perpetuated it. Perhaps I’d only thought to do so to save my father and the mill, but I had lied nonetheless. Was I on my way to becoming my father? Or was this a one-time occurrence, not least because I may very soon be dead?
I was hungry, lonely, and, overall, disappointed in so many things as I despondently watched the sun beautifully set over the kingdom through a window. Although it was quite small, I could clearly see the blanket of bright pinks and soft blues unfurling across the gloaming sky. At least I was able to see something so wonderful on my last night alive.
I set Merlin’s anemone on the seat of the unused spindle, then sat myself on a bale of straw across from it. I remained there, thinking, watching how first the dying rays of the sun and then the glow of the moon traced the deep purple petals. A candelabra had been left somewhere near the door, but I didn’t bother to light it. The room was more peaceful this way, and peaceful was how I wanted it before I died. I did briefly contemplate using the candles to set the door on fire, but soon decided against it. How would I get out in time? Burning didn’t seem like a quick way to go anyway. And if I burned the six bales, would they not simply be replaced, and then some?
“I could really use your help now,” I said to the anemone, as if Merlin could hear me through it.
And then, with a flutter of wings, there he was. I had Merlin wrapped in a tight hug before he had a chance to find his feet again.
“Thank Heaven you’re here!”
Merlin hugged me back fiercely. “We’ve been worried sick about you,” he told me.
“I’ve been waiting for you!” I said, then glanced meaningfully at the anemone and asked, “Is that how you knew?”
Merlin shook his head. “I’ve been tracking you since you left, but waited for dark to come in.”
I leaned into him, allowing myself to feel safe, and maybe even saved, in his strong embrace.
“You would not believe what the king wants me to do,” I started to say.
Merlin, being much taller than me, could easily look about the room, as I wasn’t yet ready to let go. He raised his eyebrows at what was assembled. “I can imagine,” he assured me.
Only then did I pull away from him. “You have to help me,” I cried. “There must be some spell you can cast to get me out of this.”
Merlin’s lips pressed tightly together. He shook his head. “I do not know of any spell that could help you,” he squeezed out.
“I know of one,” I proclaimed.
“Really?”
“Yes. Turn me into a bird again and we’ll fly away from here,” I demanded.
Merlin shook his head again. “And what will be when the door is unlocked and the straw is here but the girl is not? Millie, you need to think of what they will do to find you again, especially because of how the king values magic. And if they cannot, who knows what he might do to those suspected of hiding or helping you. Blood could flow.”
“It seems like a lot of effort for such a silly thing,” I said sourly. “Couldn’t you just change my appearance or turn me invisible so they would never find me?”
Merlin looked at me sadly. “The kind of magic that would take…that’s years down the line. Millie, denying the king’s request is always serious, no matter what it’s for.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I nearly shrieked. “How do I escape this tangle of lies?”
I collapsed against the bales of straw and heaved huge sobs of despair. Maybe my life hadn’t been anything grand, and maybe there were only long years at the mill awaiting me, but that didn’t mean I wanted to give up. I still had a life to live, no matter how simple, no matter how small it would be.
It was but seconds before I felt Merlin wrap his arms around me again and pull me toward him, rocking me as I wept and wept. He held me, stroked my hair, said my name—his name for me—over and over again. As if that would be enough to give me the magic for what I had to do. I have no idea how much time passed like that, but it didn’t matter to me. What were these last few hours locked away in a tower, so far from home?
When the tears finally petered to a trickle, Merlin took my face in his warm hands and wiped away the salty trails with his thumbs.
He forced me to hold his gaze as he told me, “There are places, hidden taverns and such, where wizards, mages, and other magicals can be found. I will go there and see what I can dig up. All right?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“Whether or not I find anything, I will be back by morning,” he continued. “You will not face this alone.”
I nodded again to show that I agreed and understood. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against mine, perhaps taking a turn to gather courage for the long night ahead. He pressed his lips against my forehead, then, in one stride, turned toward the window, transforming into the starling even before he reached the sill.
I hated to see him go, but it was really the only option. I dropped to the floor and waited for him to return, my mind blank, my heart empty. But as I sat, my thoughts began to fill as I thought about my life and focused on memories that meant the most to me.
I thought of my home. The little cottage rooms I cleaned every day, the tumble of flowers I had tended to keep my mother alive in her garden, the time Father had shyly
presented me with a packet of plumeria seeds as a contribution to my mother’s memory. I had planted them along the side of the house facing the stairs leading down to the mill so he could see them every day when he went to and from work. The flowers had blossomed in shades of pink and white, both with yellow centers.
I thought of the mill, of the loud but reassuring grind of the stones as wheat was powdered to flour, the farmers and the villagers, the people who hired my father, the people we traded with. I thought of the schoolhouse, the boys who used to tease me, the dancing, and, of course, how so many moments led back to Merlin.
Thoughts of Merlin brought me back to that very first day when the teacher had asked me my name and he had given me one. I skimmed through the years from there, watching and reliving moments that were so indelibly pressed into my mind they were parts of my very soul. Where would I be, who would I be without Merlin? And was I the only one who noticed how each year only served to deepen the care and affection between us?
I regretted that I would not have more years with him. That I would not have any more chances to sit beside him on a log that bridged the river between the world of the mill and the worlds we created, to become a bird and soar through the sky, our wings beating to the cadence of our hearts.
Hours passed in waiting and reminiscing, allowing a false calm to descend to keep my final night tranquil.
Eventually, sensing dawn was near, I stepped over to the window and looked into the still-dark sky, searching for purple wings, for a sign, anything. But there was nothing, absolutely nothing. A few tears slid quickly from my eyes and I hastened to wipe them away.
“Why do you cry, Mistress Miller?”
I spun at the sound of a foreign voice and almost stumbled out the window in shock. Nonchalantly leaning against the door, impudently chewing on a piece of straw, was a little white bearded man with a mismatched gaze, one eye purple, the other green.
“W-W-W-Who are you?” I stammered.
“Uh-uh,” he cautioned, “no names, dearie.”
“W-W-What are you? What are you doing here?” I corrected.
“A lass was in trouble, and I wanted to help,” he replied easily.
The way he said it sounded much the same as a moneylender with exorbitant rates wanting to help a man in financial distress.
“H-H-Help?” I questioned. “There’s n-n-nothing you c-can do.”
The man sniggered. “Oh, I beg to differ.”
That brought me up short. I really wished Merlin was back. I didn’t know if I could trust the man, let alone what he was doing here with me.
“How did you get in?” I asked suspiciously.
The little man smiled, a smile too charming for someone of such questionable motives. “I have my ways.”
“Bribes,” I stated. Frankly, if that had been it, I would have been sorely disappointed.
The little man laughed dismissively. He snapped his fingers and lit the candelabra with the flame that sparked between his fingers. I suppose I should have expected as much considering his purple eye, but I hadn’t because of his green one. Despite his white beard, the man’s face looked to be rather young; his body was the size of a child’s, but his wrinkles reflected the years of a man. Here was a being of contradictions and that was only from the outside. Knowing more of him didn’t make him any less confusing.
However, I had nothing better to do then, so figured I may as well play along.
“How do you wish to help, good sir?” I asked in the politest tone I could muster.
“By spinning this straw into gold,” the man replied, leaping up effortlessly to stand on the bales.
I couldn’t keep the short laugh, more of a bark, from escaping me. “Even I know that isn’t possible,” I said.
“Isn’t it?” the man questioned with a mischievous smile.
“Prove it,” I challenged.
“Uh-uh,” the man cautioned, “not so fast. I only work for a price.”
“Then spin some gold for yourself.”
The man shook his head. “Surely you don’t think I have need for that? I deal in other goods,” here he paused and I should have felt the ominous cloud he’d ushered in. “I deal in things more precious, things precious to their owner.”
I looked down at my simple dress, the bright shamrock-green out of place in this sorry room. “I have nothing to give you,” I told the strange man. “I can tell you where I live, and surely my Father will repay you for your work tonight.”
The man shook his head. “That will never do,” he said. “This offers stands now, only.”
“But I don’t have anything!” I protested.
“Best be sure of that before you send me away, miss,” the man cautioned.
So I actually took the time to peek down at my boots, to take them off and shake them for unsuspecting items of worth. I worked from the ground up, studying every inch of my body in an insane prayer that maybe I would find something to satisfy the old man. Finally, my gaze landed on my mother’s ring and instinctively my hand shot forward to take hold of my necklace. The mysterious man must have been watching, because as soon as he saw the gesture he nodded emphatically.
“Yes, yes, that will do.”
“But it’s my mother’s necklace!” I exclaimed.
At least that’s what my father had told me. Granted, he was also the one who’d claimed I could spin straw into gold.
The man smirked. “Yes, that’ll do just fine.”
“She’s not alive anymore,” I carried on, “it’s all I have left of her.”
“You’ll be seeing her soon if you won’t give it up,” the man retorted. He paused, then continued, “Of course, it is just a necklace, hardly an appropriate substitute for the strain of magic needed to save a person’s life.”
With my hand already clutching the necklace around my neck, it wasn’t hard to imagine my rapidly-beating pulse stopping forever. The necklace would do me little good if I couldn’t make it past morning.
The man quirked an eyebrow at me, waiting, but he wouldn’t wait forever. Against my better judgement, against the irrational part of me that hated to unclasp the necklace because it would feel like I was giving away a piece of my unknown mother, I unhooked the pearls my father claimed to have stood in freezing cold water for and held them out to the little man. I had to look away when he snatched it eagerly from me, already humming to himself as he moved the purple anemone from the spindle’s seat and preparing to work.
“Well?” He looked at me expectantly.
“Well what?” I asked. He’d already taken the necklace, wasn’t that enough?
“You don’t expect me to do all the work?”
Well, yes, I did. That’s what the necklace was payment for.
The little man’s foot worked the treadles, pressing hard so the drive wheel was a whirring blur. An unusual magical green mist hovered over the spindle, sending out sporadic bursts of green lightning bolts as the little man worked. I sighed and began to pull apart the bales of hay, handing him straw, and muttering to myself about what nonsense all this was. The situation was so ludicrous really: here I was, the daughter of a simple miller, stuck in a palace room with an odd little man with mismatched eyes, striking a deal to turn straw into gold while my best friend flew around as a bird so he could scour the kingdom for help.
Would it all be over if I could just wake up?
It wasn’t a dream, of course, and the little man proved his worth when the ends of straw zooming out of the orifice to wrap around the first bobbin glittered in the candlelight. Looking closer, I was most certain it was gold. The little man cackled over the thrumming of the machine.
“It’s quite real, dearie, I assure you!” he cried.
I nodded dumbly.
Seeing, though still disbelieving, that this little man was actually spinning gold pushed my body into action. I tore into the bales of straw, bringing the man as much as my arms could carry. Then I went back for more, and more, not slowing until I heard th
e hiss of the break stopping the drive wheel.
A line of bobbins with thick golden belts winked at me along the floor. All that was left of the straw were the strings that held the bales together and the dust they had left behind. It was, in one word, surreal.
“Well, then,” the little man cut into my awed silence, “that’s the end of that. I wish you good night, Mistress Miller. We shall see each other again soon.”
“Soon?” was all I could think to say.
The mischievous imp smiled widely. “You don’t really think the king will take one look and decide he’s had enough?”
“Well—”
“Maybe he never had much need to turn straw into gold,” and here the man gave me a confident wink, “but I can assure you now that it’s been done, he’ll need more. A man who has one wants two. A man who has two wants four. A man who has four wants eight, and so on, until all his days are done.”
Frankly, I didn’t know what he was going on about, but I didn’t want to either. I didn’t want to fathom an option where I would be stuck here another night, and another after that. Of course, the palace was a lovely, lovely place, but it was difficult to focus on that considering my circumstances.
“I hope the work satisfies!” the man called, disappearing as suddenly as he’d come, leaving behind an echo of laughter and a touch of green-tinted magic.
With the work done, and having no way to contact Merlin, there was nothing else for me to do. I sat with my back to the door, relieved and frightened, and watched morning dawn through the little window.
The king took his time ordering the door unlocked the next morning, or perhaps it simply seemed longer because I was so anxious to get out. Having spent the night riding a range of human emotions, from despair to confusion, euphoria to defeat, the only thing I could think of was a hot bath and a bed. The king could be rid of me afterward if he so pleased, but I wanted a few good hours of undisturbed sleep to strengthen my body for the final blow.
Lies of Golden Straw Page 7