Once Upon a Time: The Villains (15 page)

That goose did wander.

I couldn’t wait. I went in search for her outside. I spent all day looking high and low, but no goose. I was distraught. Worry caused me a headache. When I went inside, I found Essie whispering to herself.

And then I smelled it again. Leeks and thyme. An image of an Englishman sprang to me mind. I snuffled and stomped.

“Fee, fie, foe, fum.

I smell the blood of—”

“Will you stop that?” Essie snapped, pulling me out of me fit. “It’s the gravy for the mutton you smell.”

What were wrong wit me? I sat down and put me head in me hands. “She’s gone, Essie. Our little goose is gone.”

“My poor, poor husband. Don’t fret. I’m sure she’s nearby. For the time being, you have more than enough golden eggs.”

“I was almost at two thousand.”

She hefted a whole roasted sheep onto me plate — me Essie, she’s a strong woman — and ladled a healthy portion of the leek and thyme gravy atop it. “Eat. You’re plumb weary from looking.”

I did as she bade and after taking me fill, went to the hall. It were cold and me feet ached. I dug into the pouch at me waist and drew out a pinch of faery dust. Throwing it into the fireplace, I said, “Burn,” and a roaring blaze burst to life.

First me gold, now me goose. What would disappear next? I picked up the wee harp and held it loosely in me hand. “Me heart is troubled. Sing me a sweet song.”

The harp shimmered to life and soothed me mind. I fought the vapor of sleep, but in no time I lost. How long I sat dozing, I don’t know, but somefin peculiar woke me. A scent invaded me nostrils and I snuffled violently.

A prickle of fear pinched me brow. I looked to me harp for comfort, but me hand were empty. Me harp was gone? I straightened and looked to the floor. Had I dropped it? But no. It weren’t there.

The sun were setting and the hall had slipped into the gray that comes just before shadows. The hearth sat cold and dark. I needed light to see where me harp had gone. Me hand went to me waist and I patted for the pouch. It were gone! No gold. No goose. No harp. No magic. I jumped to me feet and growled with rage. Someone had stolen me treasures!

I raced to the kitchen. The pot were bubbling over, the bread rose to triple its size, and there were no sign of me Essie. She had to be here; she were bound to the kitchen. “Essie!” I cried, looking through the cabinets and under the table. But she were gone, too.

Somefin terrible were brewing. I could feel it in me gut and it weren’t hunger…though I was a bit peckish. I always was when I awoke. Nay, this feeling were somefin different. A poke of fear. A tumble of worry.

I burst through the door and out into the courtyard. I yelled again, and me words bounced around like a child’s ball coming back to hit me in the face. Nofin and nobody were about. I raised meself up on me tippy toes and peered over the castle wall and there, just beyond the woods and to the cliffs, I sees two people, a boy and a women, running like a mad dog were nipping at their heels. Me chest swelled until it ached as I drew in a deep breath, and then I bellowed, “Essie!”

The woman stopped and turned. Her shawl slipped from her head to reveal a wild mass of bright red hair. It
were
Essie. And she were running…from me. She turned and pushed the boy forward. He dropped somefin. I squinted hard to see. It looked like a harp. That be a odd thing to be lugging about round here.

Wait. Were that me harp? And was that one of me bags of gold Essie had hitched up on her shoulder? Did that mean she’d helped him steal me treasures? Me own wife? A roar of anger ripped from me throat.

Me legs ate up the distance between me and the two. A cloud slipped across the ground, hiding them from me. I took in a deep breath and blew, scattering the gray wisps and revealing a boy no bigger than me little toe, struggling toward what looked like a thick vine at the edge of the cliff.

“Steal me treasures, steal me wife.

Steal from me never, for I’ll steal your life.”

The boy stumbled. I reached for him, and then he dove over the edge of the cliff. I looked and saw a trail of faery dust and him flying, as light as a feather to the ground far below. I see Essie climbing down the beanstalk as if her life were in danger.

Why would she run from me? “Essie, come back,” I cried.

She didn’t even look up, but kept climbing down the monstrous sprout. I slipped meself onto the beanstalk and climbed ever-so-slowly down after her and me treasure.

Not yet half way, the stalk began to shake. I hear Essie scream. The stalk tilted, then snapped. The bloody fingers of the sun stretched out, blinding me. The wind whistled mournfully in me ears. The ground rose up beneath me and I slammed into the earth, cracking its surface a mile in each direction.

I climbed out of the great fissure and called fer me Essie. Instead of seeing her, I were met by a host of villagers, who screamed, “Giant!” and clutched their children to their chests. The men quickly armed themselves wit all manner of weapons. I didn’t like the way them Englishmen were looking at me.

The boy who’d stolen me treasures leapt unto the remnants of the beanstalk and pointed at me while addressing the villagers. “Behold a giant. His crimes are numerous and vile. He has no right to the castle from whence he came. By right it is mine. If not for a goodly servant woman, my mother and I would be dead these ten years past along with my father, the king.”

Gasps ricocheted amid the crowd and the boy turned to me. “You have abused the rights of men, have taken what is not yours, and have killed for the pleasure of human flesh. What say you, Giant?”

Did I do that? Were I wrong to do what Essie told me? Essie were the only one who loved me. I searched the area for me wife. She’d know what to do. “Essie?” I cried. “Essie? Where are you, love? What do I do, Essie? Essie?”

The boy stepped aside and there beneath the beanstalk laid me Essie. She were dead as dead could be. There weren’t so much as a toe twitch coming from her. Me heart just stopped. I couldn’t live witout me sweet girl. I fell to me knees.

The villagers jumped back, their eyes gone round and twice the size of blueberries.

“Essie,” I said and pushed the beanstalk aside to scoop her up in me hand. She were so still, so peaceful. I stood and gazed down at the people scattered like pebbles on a beach. “I’ll be leaving now.”

Me feet were heavy as I left, me ears clogged wit the cheers of the Englishmen. I took Essie home and buried her on the island near our house. I laid down by her grave, blocking the wind for me Essie with me hand, and closed me eyes for good. Wind lashed me body and rain soaked me clothes. Moss grew on me skin and small animals made their nests in me hair. Over the years, the earth accepted me and covered me with wild flowers. Englishmen were no longer afraid of me, but scampered up the steep lump of earth known as the Sleeping Giant.

I was as close to home as I would ever get. Me and Essie. We were finally at peace.

Queen of All

A Tale of Vanity

There are times in life when humility is warranted. I have never had to use the virtue. Not because I don’t see its value; its use has never applied to me. You see, I am special. I am very beautiful. I am not wrong in saying I am the most beautiful woman ever…or who will ever be. I have always been beautiful. From the moment of my birth, people were enchanted by my comeliness. Skin the color of finest cream; hair silky and dark red; lips full and pink; a nose pert and petite; and large expressive eyes tipped with thick, long lashes. The villagers crowded around me, wanting to hold me, to coo at me and make me smile, for when I smiled, magic happened. The world grew light and gay. Hearts swelled with happiness. Loneliness disappeared and heartache vanished.

Is it any wonder my smile is so praised? It only added to my beauty. And because of it, I learned early on to use my smile to gain what I wanted.

My father — a peasant known for being big, rough and loud — was easy to manipulate. If a toy was my want, I would pleasantly ask for it. I was never rude. Rudeness is ugly. Occasionally, my desire was denied me, and on those rare occasions, I never scowled. Nay, never. I was too beautiful for such ordinary face pulling. My plan was simple. I refused to smile. I did not laugh. I stayed behind a stony mask of indifference until, with pleading and moaning, my father would beg me to smile. “Whatever you want, Poppet. Please, just give me one smile. Even a half of one will do.”

So easy. I have always gotten what I wanted.

But my mother…if I was the most beautiful woman ever, my mother was near the homely end of the spectrum — petite, quiet and completely forgettable. Even I would forget she lived in the house with Father and me. How I came to be from such average stock, I shall never understand. But unlike Father, Mother was not so easily persuaded. Of all the people in my life, she was the only one unaffected by my beauty. I think I remember a time when she used to smile lovingly at me. Of course, that was long ago, before I turned three, and the memory is so faded I can only guess at its authenticity.

Somewhere near the time I learned to walk and talk, Mother stopped smiling. That was fine by me. No one cared whether she smiled or not. I certainly didn’t. Yellow, chipped teeth are hardly attractive, and in my opinion, best kept covered by one’s lips.

Aye, my mother wilted into the shadows while I blossomed in the light of everyone’s love and affection. My birthdays were an extravagant affair. The whole village would come and wish me well. Gifts would pour in and I would be content — for a while. Every year the gifts grew more elaborate, more expensive. On my twelfth birthday, the toymaker made me a funny little box inlaid with gold and silver and precious stones. When I turned the crank, a funny, slightly ugly man popped out. I laughed, as did Father. Mother only frowned and watched the exchange through the window as she continued to scrub the table.

On my thirteenth birthday, I was given a magnificent horse by the stablemaster. While Father pumped the man’s arm with energetic thanks, Mother bit her lip and stared at me from a distance as I stroked my new pet’s glossy coat.

Aye, the gifts kept growing, my smiles grew brighter. Everyone was happy.

Then, near my sixteenth birthday, my father stood before me, wringing his hands and shuffling his feet nervously and asked, “What do you wish, me girl? Ask anything of me for no gift is too great.”

I cocked my head and gave him a long look. It was no secret the villagers pitied him. He could not afford to give me, his own daughter, half of what the cobbler gave me each year.

You heard him yourself. I did not make him say the words, and therefore I had no qualms in holding him to them. One should never promise what one cannot deliver. So, I demanded a gown more beautiful than any ever seen. “It must be made of ice-blue satin with a yoke that shows off my waist, and it must have a train. A long train. And I want diamonds sewn about the neck and cuffs. Tiny ones and large ones. I want to sparkle whenever I move.”

“You already do, Poppet,” Father said. “You don’t need diamonds.

My face darkened. “It’s what I want.”

“But Poppet…”

“You said anything.”

“I did.” The catch of sorrow in his voice didn’t affect me.

“I shall never smile again until I have that dress”

“No, no, Poppet. Do not say that. I will find a dress that sparkles as beautifully as your smile. You wait and see.”

Two months later, my birthday dawned bright and clear. Excitement bubbled within me as I sat up, rubbed the sleep from my eyes and saw an ice blue dress draped over the arm of a dressmaker I had never seen before. She curtseyed, and smiled brightly when I squealed my delight. Leaping from the bed, I quickly slipped into the dress. One glance in the mirror showed me I wore the most beautiful creation ever made with needle and thread. I lifted my arm to admire the diamond encrusted cuffs and froze.

“Nay.” It was not possible. “Nay!” I screamed louder. The dressmaker stepped back, confusion coloring her features. I glared at her. “Thief!” With one swipe, I ripped the offending sleeve from the dress. “These are not diamonds. They are glass!”

“Please.” She clutched the fabric to her bosom as if it would shield her from my wrath. “I only used what your father gave me.”

Heavy footsteps pounded against the stairs and my door flew open. My father stood in the threshold huffing for breath. “What is the matter? Why the yelling?”

I tore the other sleeve from the gown. My father gasped. I threw the rag at his face. “I said diamonds!”

“What?”

“Diamonds!” I growled. “Not glass.”

A terrible anger seized me. “
I
.” Rip. “
Will
.” Rip. “
Not
.” Rip. “
Wear
.” Rip, rip, rip. “
Glass
!”

Soon the dress lay at my feet in long jagged strips. Stooping, I collected them all and threw them out the window. The silky fabric floated gaily to the cobblestones until the wind captured the ragged pieces, and happily sent them fluttering down the street like tiny rivulets of water.

I twirled around and glared at my pitiful excuse for a father. “Get me my dress.”

Shock let his mouth agape for I had never shown such anger before. “B-but you’ve destroyed it.”

“Make me another. This time, do it right.”

The dressmaker scurried past my father as he nodded, his fleshy jowls wobbling in his eagerness to please. “Diamonds. A dress with diamonds. You shall have it.” The next day, he packed his bags and left, promising Mother he would not fail his little poppet again.

A week passed and then two. Mother hovered by the door, watching and waiting for my father’s return. Alas, when he finally returned it was in a pine box. The guards who delivered the casket told us how he was caught stealing a cache of precious stones from the king’s jeweler.

I pressed a single tear from between my thick lashes and gazed sorrowfully up at the guard. “Were they diamonds?”

The guard blinked, stunned as most were by my beauty. “Aye. Diamonds. I’m terribly sorry.”

I gave him a gentle, sad smile. “As am I.”