“Trapped inside?” With trembling hands, Indira opened the book that she held, confused and afraid of what she might find. How could her grandfather be in here?
On the flyleaf, Grandpa had scrawled in his untidy handwriting,
No matter what happens, Indira,
no matter what anyone tells you,
always believe that books are magical.
Never underestimate their power to change the world,
and never underestimate their power to change you.
I will always love you, Indira.
XOXO,
Grandpa
Indira flipped past the introductory pages to the beginning of the story.
“Just so you know,” said the book, “my cover says that this is the story of Rumplestiltskin, which it is at first glance, but there is so much more to the story. The story hasn’t ended, and it won’t end until Rumplestiltskin is back where he belongs. You are a Story Warden. You must figure out how to fix this.”
“But—I don’t understand.” The story of Rumplestiltskin wasn’t ended? Rumplestiltskin wasn’t where he belonged? She was a Story Warden? What did that mean?
“Just read the story. I can’t help you any more until you do.”
“Can’t you at least tell me what it means to be a Story Warden?”
“After you read the story.”
Indira frowned. “Fine.” Some actual explanations would be helpful, but the book didn’t seem inclined to give any until after she read the story, so she flipped to the first page.
***
RUMPLESTILTSKIN
***
One day, as a king and some of his noblemen were hunting in the forest, they came upon a mill. It was built on the edge of a brook they’d stopped at to let their horses get a drink of cool water. An old miller came out to greet them. His daughter followed him, standing in the background and smiling shyly.
Boldly, one of the men approached the girl. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, lifting her hand and kissing it.
Isabelle drew back, startled, “It is a p—pleasure t—to meet y—you as w—well,” she said, a bad stutter causing her to trip over her words.
“Excuse my daughter,” the miller said hastily, “she may have a serious stutter, but she is very smart.” The miller searched for an impressive example to share. His eyes landed on Isabelle’s beautiful hair, the colour of gold.
“Why, she is so smart that I’ll bet if anyone could spin straw into gold, she could! Yes, that’s right,” the miller continued, “my Isabelle can spin straw into gold!”
“N—no, f—f—father, do n—not exag—“
“Hush, my child,” the miller said, waving his hand in dismissal.
The king pushed forward to the front of the hunting party, impressed. He had never met anyone who could spin straw into gold. What a useful skill!
“You say your daughter can spin straw into gold?”
The miller’s eyes bulged. “Your Majesty,” he exclaimed, bowing his head and going down on his knees. “I did not know you were here.”
The king looked down at the miller kneeling in front of him. He wrinkled his nose. The man smelled as though he had not bathed in years. “Rise,” the king commanded. “Tell your daughter to go pack her bags. I am taking her with me.”
The miller, in awe of the king, did as he was told. Isabelle obeyed as well, ever the submissive daughter. Besides, defying her father would also mean defying the king. Isabelle didn't have much experience with kings. She did not know what the king would do if she disobeyed him, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
When Isabelle had gotten her things, the king bade one of his men to share his horse with her, and off they rode, leaving her hapless father alone in the forest.
As they rode, the king spoke to Isabelle. “Tonight, you will spin a roomful of straw into gold if you value your life. In the morning, I will come and see if you have done as I have commanded.”
Isabelle’s face went deathly pale. “I—I cannot s—“
“Silence!” The king waved a hand at her. “My head hurts. None of you have permission to speak. Your chatter hurts my brain!”
What chatter? Isabelle wanted to ask, but she stayed silent.
Back at the castle, the king led Isabelle to the dungeon. They passed cell after cell containing dangerous looking criminals who gave her equally dangerous looking grins. At the end of the row of cells, there was a small room. It was filled to the ceiling with straw, save for a little space in the corner, where stood a spinning wheel.
The king pushed her into the room, eager for her to begin making him richer. “I shall see you in the morning,” he said, smiling greedily.
Isabelle tried again to tell him that he was mistaken, that she could not spin straw into gold, but the man would not listen. He slammed the heavy door shut and locked it with a giant key. She ran to the door, pleading with him through the barred window on the door, watching him stride further and further away, ignoring her distress. Isabelle sank to the floor, head in her hands, the tears starting to flow. She would surely die on the morrow, for she simply could not turn straw into gold.
Someone tapped Isabelle’s shoulder. She screamed, jerking her head up.
“Ouch!”
A very short, very ugly, very hairy little man stood before her, grimacing. “My, your screams have a high frequency. You broke one of my ears off!” The little man picked something up off the floor that seemed to resemble a rat and stuck it onto the side of his head, where his ear should have been. Isabelle gasped. Revolting.
“Wh—what are you?”
“A goblin.” The extremely hairy creature looked offended. “Don’t you know a goblin when you see one?”
“N—no. A—apparently n—not.”
“Man, that’s some stutter you’ve got there. Want me to fix it?” The little fellow didn’t wait for an answer. He began chanting and performing all kinds of acrobatics. Isabelle watched, slightly in shock. What on earth was this mad creature doing?
A minute later, just as abruptly as he had begun, he stopped. “There,” he said, looking very self-satisfied. “Say something.”
“What should I say?” Isabelle stopped, confused. She had just made it through a whole sentence without stuttering. “Did you really just make my stutter disappear?”
“Yep!” The furry creature danced a jig, laughing. Did the guy ever stop moving?
The goblin’s face turned serious. “That’s the only thing I will ever help you with for free, mark my words.”
“Um…Thank you?” Could she truly be free of her stutter, just like that, in the blink of an eye?
“I will get out of your way now,” the goblin announced.
“Wait—do you know how to spin straw into gold?”
“Yes.”
“Will you?” Isabelle asked.
“What'll you gimme?” The goblin demanded.
“Oh. I—what do you want?”
Dangerous question, thought the goblin, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead of saying what he really wanted, he pretended to ponder for a moment. “I know!” The goblin pointed a knobby, gnarled, disgusting finger at her. “That necklace will do nicely.”
“You—want this? Oh, I don’t know. It was my mother’s, and she gave it to me before…” Isabelle’s voice trailed off. She clutched the dainty pearl necklace that was clasped around her perfect throat.
“Make up your mind.” The goblin stamped his foot impatiently. “Would you rather lose the necklace or your life?”
“Here,” said Isabelle, unclasping the necklace before she could think too much about what she was doing. “take it. Only pray spin that straw into gold before morn.” She swallowed hard as she watched the goblin’s nasty hands close over the precious necklace. What could he want with such a thing?
The goblin began humming and dancing frantically about the room. It was almost hypnotizing to watch, and it wasn’t long before Isabelle, suddenly very drowsy, dropped off to sleep.
***
The clanking of a key in the door woke Isabelle, startling her. She sat up quickly, disoriented.
The king shoved open the heavy wooden door and entered, a guard following a respectful distance behind.
The king took in the huge pile of bobbins filled with golden thread. His mouth hung open.
Isabelle stood hurriedly when the king entered, sinking into a deep curtsy, head bent.
It was from this position that she heard some peculiar noises. “Ouagh—elop ee!” said the king. Isabelle risked a peek just in time to see the guard grab the king’s jaw and close it for him. It made a strange noise. Isabelle’s eyes widened. She quickly ducked her head again, not wishing to be caught watching. It wasn’t every day you saw someone assist the king in closing his mouth. Disturbing.
The king cleared his throat. “You may rise.”
Isabelle straightened, lifting her head, checking to see if the goblin was still present. He was nowhere to be seen. How did he get out of the room unnoticed? Now that she thought about it, how had he gotten into the room in the first place?
“I must say, I didn’t really think you could spin straw into gold!” The king’s gaze shifted from Isabelle to the pile of golden thread, a greedy look on his face. “Perhaps this was just beginner’s luck?” The king turned his eyes on her again.
Isabelle’s mind was racing—what could she say to clear up this misunderstanding without landing herself in deeper trouble?
“Yes,” said the king, “it must have been beginner’s luck. I shall generously allow you to spend today with your father, but tonight you must return to the palace, where more straw shall be waiting. You shall return if you value your life and the life of your father.” The king’s eyes were sharp. There was no doubt that he meant what he said.
The king had the guard escort Isabelle out of the dungeon. He gave her a donkey to ride home upon. Isabelle mounted it numbly, unsure of what she ought to do next.
Upon reaching the mill, Isabelle told her father all that had transpired, hoping he had a plan to get her out of this scrape.
Her father thought hard all day, but he couldn’t seem to come up with any good ideas. “You must return to the palace, or the king may have us both beheaded. Godspeed, my darling!” The miller boosted his daughter onto the borrowed donkey and slapped the beast’s rump, sending Isabelle on her way.
The guard who had been with the king that morning was waiting for Isabelle at the palace gates. He helped her off the donkey, which he promptly handed off to a stableboy. Speaking not a word, the man led her to the dungeon below ground.
The burly guard unlocked and effortlessly shoved open the door that led into the room Isabelle had been imprisoned in the previous night. He strode into the room, crossing to the opposite wall and stopping in front of another thick wooden door that Isabelle had failed to notice in her anxious state the night before. The guard fumbled with the iron ring of keys he had borrowed from the gaoler, trying each key in the door until finally one clicked, opening the door.
The guard turned, impatiently motioning Isabelle to him. He gestured towards this new room. Isabelle stepped cautiously into it, her eyes widening. This room was twice the size of the one before it, and it held double the amount of straw.
The door closed behind her with much shrieking of the hinges.
“Wait!” Isabelle cried, spinning around and grabbing the door handle, desperately trying to open it. The guard was too fast for her. He’d already locked it securely. Isabelle grasped the bars on the window cut out of the wooden door. “You don’t understand,” she cried. “I can’t really spin straw into gold. You must let me speak to the king!”
“You did all right last night.” The guard shrugged. “If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut and get busy spinning. The king said to tell you that just like last night, this straw must all be spun by morning. If it isn’t, you and your father shall both lose your heads.”
Isabelle felt the blood draining from her face. She gulped, reaching for her throat.
“Look on the bright side,” the guard said, turning to leave, “if you can pull off what you did last night, the king said he’d give your father a position in the palace.” With that, he left, locking the outer room behind him as he went. Did he really think she was going to escape through two solid wooden doors with iron bars over the windows?
As she had done the previous night, Isabelle sank to the floor, her eyes misting over. She would surely die on the morrow, for she simply could not turn straw into gold.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. This time, Isabelle managed to keep from screaming, letting out a surprised squeak instead.
The ugly little goblin was back.
“The king locked you up again, did he?” asked the goblin, looking around the room, mainly at the enormous pile of straw. “What’ll you give me this time?”
“You mean you can spin this much straw into gold in a single night?” Isabelle was incredulous.
“Duh,” said the goblin, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m a goblin. Of course I can. It’d be easy.” He shook his head, obviously still disappointed at how little she knew of goblins. “So—what do you have to bargain with?”
Isabelle stared at her hands. She’d have to give him the ruby ring on her finger. It had been her grandmother’s, once upon a time. Grandma Marian’s sweetheart—Robin somebody—had given it to her many years ago as a promise of his love. The two had gotten married not long after.
“Here,” said Isabelle, pulling the ring gently off her finger. “This is all I have.”
The goblin’s eyes lit up. He snatched the ring, shoving it onto one of his wizened, gnarled fingers. One could hardly tell it was there, he had so much hair sprouting from his hands. Isabelle winced. It didn’t seem right to give him her family heirlooms, but what else could she do?
Satisfied with the ring, the goblin began humming and dancing about the room as he had the night before. It occurred to Isabelle that she hadn’t actually seen the goblin spin anything the other evening. Tonight, she would stay awake and watch how he did it, she thought drowsily.
A few minutes later, she was fast asleep on the cold stone floor.
***
“Wake up!” A voice commanded, penetrating into Isabelle’s dream. Someone’s boot nudged her side roughly, bringing her all the way out of dreamland. The gaoler was glaring down at her. “The king sent me to fetch you,” he declared.
Isabelle stood, smoothing her skirt as best she could. She scanned the room on her way out of the door, following closely behind the gaoler. The goblin had done his job well—not a single wisp of straw was to be seen, only a neat pile of bobbins filled with golden thread, larger than the pile the previous night.
“The gaoler tells me you’ve done it again,” the king said, looking pleased. “Take the day off,” said the king, “and go tell your father that there is a position for him here at the castle if he wishes it. Tonight, you shall come and spin for me one last time. If you can accomplish the deed a third time, you shall become my son’s wife. If not, well—“ with his hand, the king made a slicing motion across his neck. He watched Isabelle for a reaction. She forced a weak smile, unsure of how to respond.
***
Isabelle approached the palace gates once more. She took a deep breath. It was time. What happened in the dungeon room tonight would determine her fate: tomorrow she would either become wife to the prince, or she would lose her head. Probably the latter.
The guard was waiting for her again. He passed off the donkey and led her to the dungeon.
Once down there, he unlocked the first door and passed through the room. He unlocked the second door and passed through that room as well. He went straight to another door in the back of the second room. The key for it was larger than the other two keys he’d already made use of. That didn’t bode well. Did the size of the key indicate that this room was bigger as well?
Apparently, yes.
The third room was huge. It was the size of the other two rooms combined, and the straw pile was monstrous. It was the size of the other two piles combined, plus some. This time, Isabelle didn’t even try to reason with the guard. She just slid down the wall and sat there, hoping that the goblin would appear to save her skin for a third and final time.
An hour passed, and still no goblin had appeared. Isabelle was getting worried.
“Mr. Goblin?” she called.
No response.
“I bet you can’t really spin all of this straw into gold,” she muttered. “That must be why you won’t show up!”
Snap! The goblin stood in the middle of the room, eyes blazing. “What did you just say?” he demanded.
“Uh—I said I didn’t think you could spin all of this straw into gold.” Isabelle didn’t like the way the goblin was looking at her. The level of fury in his eyes was alarming.
“Take that back!” the goblin snapped, raising a hand as though he might strike her.
“Alright, alright.” Isabelle held up her hands. “I wasn’t trying to offend you, honest! My apologies.”
The fire went out of the goblin’s eyes, and he lowered his hand. Isabelle sighed with relief.
“What’ll you gimme if I spin this straw into gold for you?”
Uh-oh. What could she give him? She hadn’t any jewelry left.
“Shoes?” she offered hopefully.
“Nah. You got any more jewelry on you?”
“No sir,” she replied, “but I have a pretty hair ribbon.” She crossed her fingers behind her back. Please choose the hair ribbon!
“No can do,” the goblin said, almost as if he’d read her mind. Had he?
“Those are the only things I can offer you,” Isabelle said, feeling desperate. “Won’t you please take the shoes and the ribbon in exchange for spinning?”
“No can do,” the goblin said again, looking stubborn.
“Do you have a better idea?” Isabelle asked, feeling as though the situation were quite hopeless.
Gotcha now, the goblin thought. Out loud, he said, “I will spin the straw if you will agree to this condition: after you marry the prince, you must give me your firstborn child. I will raise it as my own.”
Isabelle, certain that the ancient looking goblin would be dead by the time she had her first child, hastily agreed. Anything to keep her head where it belonged—firmly and securely attached to her body.
Having successfully tricked Isabelle into promising him her firstborn child, the goblin began humming and dancing about the room as he had the two nights previous. Once again, Isabelle tried to keep her eyes open in an effort to learn how he transformed ordinary straw to fine golden thread, but to no avail. Her eyelids felt heavy, and soon she could no longer hold them open. She leaned into the stone wall, falling into a deep, deep sleep.
***
“Up with you!” It was the gaoler again. His boot made contact with Isabelle’s ankle this morning.
“Ow!” Isabelle complained, getting up off of the floor, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
“The king wishes to see you again,” the gaoler said, ignoring her complaint. “Follow me, an’ hurry up ‘bout it. I don’t ‘ave all day!”
***
True to his word, the king married Isabelle to his son, and she wasn’t forced to spin any more straw into gold, a relief to her, since she couldn’t truly do so in the first place.
The two newlyweds lived happily until their first child was born. Isabelle had forgotten about the ugly goblin who had assisted her in her time of need. Having him appear suddenly in front of her when she was alone with her baby in the royal nursery nearly made her heart stop.
“You!” she exclaimed, “I thought you were dead! What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come for the child,” he explained matter-of-factly, holding out his arms.
“No—please!” Princess Isabelle hugged her baby girl close. “I am a princess now, and I can give you almost anything you want. Just don’t take my baby. Please, I beg you. Have mercy on me!” The princess was on her knees in front of the goblin now, crying, her heart breaking at the mere thought of being separated from her precious child.
The goblin frowned at the woman on her knees before him. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I will give you three days to guess my name. I will wait for you in the dungeon each evening. If, in the next three days, you can guess my name, you may keep the child.”
“Thank you.” The princess’ sobs lessened, and she rose to her feet. “Thank you ever so much!”
“Three days.” With those parting words, the goblin left the nursery.
Isabelle hurried to her husband and poured out the whole story. She told him absolutely everything, beginning with when the king had stumbled upon her home in the forest, and ending with what had just transpired. Immediately, the prince sent messengers throughout the kingdom, searching for names. He too loved their child dearly, and the thought of handing her over to the wretched goblin was painful. The mere idea of giving up his baby girl tore at his tender heart.
***
The first evening came, and Isabelle went down to the dungeons, armed with a list of names that the messengers had collected. She read the names off, all five hundred of them, and to each one, the goblin simply shook his head, his gleeful smile growing larger and larger.
“You’ll never guess it in time,” he said, grinning. “I’ll see you tomorrow night!”
The princess hurried anxiously back to her husband. “No luck,” she reported, hating the way his face fell at her words.
The prince tried to reassure Isabelle, wrapping his arms around her. “I have sent out more messengers, my dear. Surely they will find the name we seek.”
Another day passed, another list of names was compiled, and Princess Isabelle made another trip to the dungeon.
“Tonight, I have seven hundred names,” Isabelle announced to the goblin, certain that tonight she would be successful. The goblin just smiled secretively and told her to start listing off names.
An hour later, the princess emerged from the dungeon, tears in her eyes.
“We only have one more evening to try,” Isabelle told her husband, collapsing on his shoulder. “If we cannot guess his name, I don’t think we will ever see our baby girl again.”
The prince held Isabelle tight, wishing he knew how to fix this horrible mess. Wishing the miller hadn’t lied to his father, the king. Wishing the goblin hadn’t tricked his wife into promising away her firstborn child. Wishing his wife had known that goblins live for thousands of years. Wishing he knew the name of this horrible, horrible goblin that was actively trying to ruin his life.
“I’ve made up my mind,” the prince said suddenly. He grasped his wife’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length, looking deeply into her eyes. “I want to help search for the name. Will you be alright if I go?”
Isabelle sniffed, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “Yes,” she said, “I will be okay. Maybe it would be good for you to search.”
The prince pulled her close, kissing her. “I shall leave right now. Give father my love, and tell him I will soon return.”
“Godspeed,” Isabelle whispered, releasing him from the hug, knowing he was anxious to be off.
***
It was the third and final evening. The goblin was waiting. Isabelle started slowly down the dungeon stairs, heart sinking lower with every step.
Footsteps thundered in the corridor above. A knight appeared at the top of the stairs. “Princess Isabelle! Wait!” The knight hurried down the stairs to where she stood. “I’m so glad I caught you in time! As I was riding back to the palace, I came upon this funny little creature in the woods. He was doing a weird dance and singing about how the princess would never guess his name. I think this guy must be the goblin you have been meeting with. I crept away and rode hard for the palace as soon as I heard his name—Rumplestiltskin!”
Princess Isabelle let out a cry of relief. She swayed, and the knight grabbed her arm to keep her from falling down the stairs.
“May I assist you down the steps, Princess Isabelle?”
“Yes please,” she said, leaning heavily on the knight’s arm. “I am afraid I feel rather unsteady.”
The knight helped the princess down the stairs and to the room where the goblin waited.
“I know your name!” Isabelle cried as soon as she saw the goblin. “Your name is….RUMPLESTILTSKIN!”
The goblin stood stock still. His face turned white, then purple, then red. Isabelle thought he might literally explode with rage.
“How did you find that out?” The goblin’s voice was sharp, like a knife, and laced with anger. He began jumping around the room, shouting unintelligible things at Isabelle and the knight. Suddenly, his body levitated into the air. “Help!” he cried, alarmed. The creature had worked himself into an awful fit and lost control. The goblin smacked into the hard stone wall and disappeared.
“Wh—what just happened?” It was the knight’s turn to feel shaky. He’d never seen a goblin disappear into thin air in such a fashion.
“I’m not really sure what happened to him, but you just saved my baby.” Isabelle turned to the knight. “My husband shall certainly reward you for your service. Allow me to thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
***
There was a great celebration in the kingdom on the following day, for the royal child was safe, and the goblin was thought to be vanquished. The people debated about what had truly happened to him. Some said the goblin was so angry at losing to the princess that he simply exploded into tiny particles invisible to the human eye. Others told their children that the fearsome goblin was still roaming the dungeons, invisible, and that if they didn’t behave, the goblin would come and steal them from their beds as they slept. No one really knew for certain what had become of the goblin, but there was a sudden change in the way the children of the kingdom behaved. They were perfect little angels, or as close to perfect as small children can get.
***
Years went by, and with each passing generation, the story of the goblin and the miller’s daughter turned princess became less and less reality and more and more a legend, a fantastic tale told to wide-eyed children by the fireside on cold winter evenings.
THE END.
“But that isn’t the end,” the book said as soon as Indira finished reading the story.
“You said you would tell me what a Story Warden was,” Indira reminded the talking book.
“You are a Story Warden, as is your grandfather. His father was a Story Warden, his father’s father was a Story Warden, and so on and so forth. All through history, each Story Warden’s firstborn has become the next Story Warden. They have all been boys—until now, that is. Now there is you. Historically, a Story Warden’s job is to keep fairytale creatures where the belong—in their respective storybooks, not mixing from tale to tale.
“Story Wardens have not had much to do until ten years ago—you were six then, and that is when your grandfather disappeared, you will remember. That is also when Rumplestiltskin lost to Princess Isabelle. When he threw that fit in the dungeon, he got sucked into the Black Space. The Black Space is found inside the cover of every fairytale book. It is an abyss that separates the world of Magic from the world you live in. While other extremely evil fairytale characters have, in the past, unintentionally shoved themselves into the Black Space, they have never done what Rumplestiltskin did. He found a way out of the Black Space into the human world. And he discovered how to use the Black Space to travel between the two worlds. ”
“So…my job is to find Rumplestiltskin and get him back into the Black Space?” Indira stared at the book in her hands. “But even if I succeed in that, won’t he just come back?”
“Essentially.” The book sighed. “It is quite complicated, I am afraid. You must find the copy of Rumplestiltskin that Rumple uses as his portal. Then, you must find Rumple and get him back into the book. I cannot tell you how that is done, I am afraid. You must solve that part yourself. Once Rumple is safely back in the book, you must destroy it. That is the only portal that he can use to transport himself between the two worlds. Once you destroy it, Rumple should be stuck in the Black Space forever.”
“But what about Grandpa? I thought you said he was inside you!”
“He is. Your grandfather owns the copy of Rumplestiltskin that Rumple is using as his portal. When Rumple got out of the book and into the human world, he discovered that he could only stay in the human world if a human took his place in the Black Space, and he took the human’s place in your world. He has trapped your grandfather in the Black Space. The only way to get him back is to find Rumple and return him to the Black Space. Then your grandfather will come back to the human world.”
“Can you tell me how to find Rumple?”
“Read the story again. See if you know anyone who acts like Rumple. He is closer to you than you might think.”