The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) (14 page)

This place was even larger than the great hall, longer but narrower. There were windows here once, but stones blocked those openings now, perhaps to keep a prisoner
from escaping. There were holes in the ceiling here as in the great hall, and the sunlight that streamed through provided the only illumination.

In the center of the room, just ahead of where Nick was standing, were two heaps of those beanstalk plants. In one stack, the vines were whole. The other, larger pile consisted of the shredded remains of vines. Either pile would have made a good-size hill in the world below.

The cries were coming from behind one of the mounds. Nick could see a huge bare foot poking out. Its owner was sitting or lying on the other side. He took two steps sideways, trying to get a better look without revealing himself entirely.

Beyond the piles, Nick saw a strange contraption that occupied the length of the far wall. It looked like the work of the same inventor who devised the deadly trap in the forest and the wind machine on the castle roof. With its long series of wheels arranged around a single shaft that passed down the middle like a spine, and the spindly legs that supported them all, it looked like a strange mechanical centipede.

A heavy rope hung through a hole in the ceiling, just as in the kitchen. It dangled above the machinery and bobbed up and down, disengaged, driven by the same relentlessly turning wind machine that powered the device in the kitchen. Having seen the way the rope in the kitchen made the boar turn over the fire,
Nick reasoned that when this one was attached, it would turn the shaft that ran the length of the machine, causing the iron wheels to spin.

But why? He could not begin to guess the purpose of all that machinery. Nick was so fascinated by it, he didn’t notice that the mournful cries had ceased.

“Jack—is it really you?”

A massive head was leaning out from behind the pile of plants, looking directly at him. It was unmistakable: This was the giantess from Jack’s painting. But she was older now. There was white in her hair. It was not combed neatly back anymore; it framed her face wildly. She was far thinner than Jack had drawn her; her wrinkled skin sagged everywhere, ending in loose folds that dangled under her chin. The eyes were the same steely gray, but a haze covered one eye. Her cheeks were damp with tears.

The giantess squinted hard as she looked at Nick. At first she seemed surprised, curious, even happy to see him. Then a suspicious look came across her face.

“No. Not Jack. Then who might you be, little boy?”

Nick spun around, meaning to duck under the door again.

“Stop!” she yelled with a ferocity that froze Nick in his tracks. “I’ll call my sons if you take another step! If they know you’re here, you won’t get out alive.”

Nick knew she was right. In that long hallway, with
nowhere to hide, the ogres—
her sons
, she’d said!—would run him down with a few great strides. He stood there on legs that felt like they had turned to jelly.

“Come here and sit.” The giantess patted the ground beside her. “Now we will talk.”

Nick had no choice but to do what the giantess said. She didn’t seem murderous, like her sons. In fact she gave him an encouraging smile. She looked like a lonely soul who was glad to have some company. The best course of action, he decided, would be to win her confidence and wait for his chance to escape. Nick chose a spot just out of her reach and sat.

The giantess had been leaning on her elbow. She sat and crossed her legs, and her ancient bones creaked like a tall ship’s timbers. “You came from down there, didn’t you? From the land of little people.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Nick.

“Did a strange vine bring you—a beanstalk?”

Nick nodded. “How did you know?”

The giantess raised her hand, dipping into one of the shafts of sunlight that entered through the broken ceiling. She looked at the shadow of her hand on the floor.
“I should have guessed sooner—when the shadows stopped dancing”

Nick understood at once the strange behavior of the ogres—why they had stared at the ground and looked to the sun, apparently confused. This was a cloud they lived on, not the solid and stable earth, where the sun and the stars navigated fixed and predictable courses. In this unearthly land, the sun was a nomad, its position forever changing as the cloud drifted and spun before the wind. How strange and beautiful it must be, thought Nick, to sit outside at night and watch the stars swirling around overhead.

On the cloud island, the sun wandered and the shadows danced—until the beanstalk rose out of the ground and summoned the island, seizing it and mooring it to one place.

“But why are you here, little man? Have you come to steal our precious things?”

“No, ma’am,” Nick lied.

“Humph. That’s what Jack said.”

Judging from the tone of her voice, Nick thought it would be best not to mention his connection to Jack. He watched the giantess use one hand to rub the other, trying to soothe some ache, and noticed how damaged her hands seemed to be. The skin was cracked and dry, the joints badly swollen.

“Tell me your name, boy, and I’ll tell you mine.”

“My name is Nick.”

“Mine is Gullinda.”

A fat crow swooped over Gullinda’s head. With alarming speed, she snatched the bird from the air. She popped it into her mouth, crunched it between her teeth, and swallowed it with a grimace.

Gullinda looked down at Nick. His hands were over his mouth and his eyes were bulging.

“Sorry. Woeful manners,” she apologized. “I haven’t had much in the way of food lately. But don’t fear. I have no appetite for little people.” A little black feather flew out of her mouth as she spoke. Nick watched it flutter down and land at his feet.

He took his hand off his mouth to ask a question. “Are … are you a prisoner here?”

The giantess nodded. “A prisoner and a slave, I am afraid.”

“But who imprisoned you here? Not your own sons?”

Gullinda put her hands to her face, and nodded from behind them. Nick waited until, sniffling, she brought her hands down again.

“How … how long have they kept you here?”

“How long? I have lost track of the years. Thirty or more.”

Nick almost fell over. Thirty years locked in that room. It was unthinkable. He stared around the room, at the thick stone walls and the heavy door. “Why would they do this? I have to help you out of here!”

Gullinda shook her head. “It is easy for you to slip in
and out, tiny one, but there is no escape for me. I have searched all these years for a way. What would you do—tear the stones from the wall? Break down that door? My son wears the key around his neck. And not the stupid one you hear snoring in the kitchen—my wicked, wily son. Would you dare to steal it from him?”

Nick did not try to answer. A painful silence followed.

He wondered how old Gullinda was. It was obvious that this race of giants lived far longer than people. The fact that she was still alive after all this time was evidence enough of that. Nick noticed that Gullinda seemed to be bigger—taller, anyway—than either of her sons. If the two were born shortly after Jack’s adventure, that made them nearly sixty. But perhaps by ogre standards they were still young—hardly beyond boyhood.

Basher’s snores were still audible in this room, but barely. He glanced nervously at the door.

Gullinda sensed his concern. “Ah, you needn’t worry about Basher. If his belly is full, the lazy fool would sleep forever.”

Nick gave her a weak smile. “What’s the name of the rat—I mean, the other one?”

Gullinda’s eyes narrowed. “That one calls himself Gnasher. Such clever names my boys chose for themselves: Gnasher and Basher. And where is that evil one now?”

“He said he was going to check the traps—and something about clearing the road.” Nick blushed with guilt.
It was obvious he’d spied on the ogres. And why else would he spy except to steal?

“Then he will be gone for a long while. Now, little one, let us use this time wisely. You need to hear my tale. And when you have, you’ll understand why you must go back to your world as fast as you can.”

Nick scooted over, close to her side. “Go on,” he said. “Tell me your story. And I will keep thinking about how to help you escape.”

“My fate is sealed, young Nick. It is the fate of your world that you must concern yourself with now. And this is why” Gullinda looked over at the strange machinery. She plucked a piece of the plant from the pile and rolled it between her fingers. Then she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she opened them again, she wasn’t looking at Nick anymore. She was looking through him and beyond him, thinking about things that happened long before.

“I had a husband once. A cruel and angry one. His name was Ramos.”

Nick remembered the paintings of that awful giant in Jack’s gallery. So, Ramos was his name.

“But one day Ramos troubled me no more. It had something to do with a boy like you—a boy named Jack, who came to our door one day while Ramos was gone. I fed him from our table, and he told me about his sorry life, and his land of little folk like yourself. How good it felt to have someone to talk to.”

Gullinda waved her hand at the air. “Never mind—there is no time for that part of the tale now. All you must know is that Jack returned my kindness by stealing my husband’s treasures while he slept. Three times Jack stole—until Ramos caught him at it. He thought I was helping the boy. He threw me out of the way and kicked a chair in his rage, smashing his foot. And he swore he would kill me. Then he hobbled after the boy on his broken foot.

“I followed them in secret. I saw Jack climb down that strange beanstalk. And I watched my husband follow, off the misty edge of our land, where wed never dared to step before. And then …” Gullinda coughed, and rubbed her eyes. “I saw my chance to save myself. Ramos had frightened me so much that I tucked a knife into my apron. I used it to hack at the many green fingers that held the beanstalk to the brink of our world. The vine fought to hold on like an animal, but at last I severed it completely. I only hope the boy made it safely down before it fell.”

Nicks jaw hung open, and he almost laughed aloud.
While Jack was taking an ax to the bottom, the giantess really made it fall by cutting away the top!
He had a powerful urge to tell her everything he knew, but decided it would be wiser to stay quiet for the moment. “
The fate of your world
…” she’d said. What was that supposed to mean?

Gullinda sniffled. “After Ramos was gone, I knew peace for a while. But it did not last, because soon his
two sons were born. And my troubles began anew.

“I hoped those boys would turn out better-natured than their father, but my hopes were dashed. I raised them the best I could, but they grew up wild and evil-tempered.

“I gave them good, gentle names. One I called Gallinor. The other Bellidor. But as soon as they were able, they chose their own names and forbade me to use the ones I had given them. They called themselves Gnasher and Basher. Bellidor—that is, Basher—is the one you hear sleeping now.” Nick listened. Thankfully, the thunderous snoring continued.

“Basher is slow of wit and strong of body. He can pull deeply rooted trees right out of the ground. And his appetite matches his strength. A boy like you? Basher would finish off a score in one meal and still look for more.”

“But as horrible as Basher is, Gnasher is worse. He is a weakling next to his brother, but fiercely smart. I had hopes for him—that he would be wise enough to learn good from evil. I taught him to read and to write. He yearned to know
everything
. And when he wanted me to teach him something, he was as sweet as could be.” The giantess shook her head and smeared away some tears with the back of her wrinkled hand.

“It twisted my heart when I realized the truth: His sweetness was a fraud. He only was kind when he needed something. In truth Gnasher was just as wicked-hearted as his brother. Every bit of knowledge I gave
him, he would put to evil purpose. The lessons about love and kindness he discarded.

“Gnasher began to create things. Little devices out of wood and rock and rope and iron. The first were just toys to play with, carts on wheels, and other amusements. But soon he moved onto larger ideas. Some of his devices were marvelous and useful. But most were awful, devious things. Traps were his favorite—traps to kill or maim any poor animal that wandered into them.

“As time went on, my sons grew worse. They mocked me and grew furious when I refused to do their bidding. They ate like animals and threw down their empty bowls, shouting at me to get more. Once again, I was no better than a slave.

“They destroyed anything that gave me pleasure. I grew a garden of flowers. The day it began to blossom, I found it trampled.

“Something broke inside me that day, and I did something I promised myself I never would do: I told them about their father. I don’t know why I chose to do it at last. Maybe to make them think twice about treating me so cruelly. I never could have guessed what a mistake it would be to tell them, what pain and suffering it would cause.”

The giantess looked at her hands. The fingers were cracked and thick with calluses. There were scars upon scars.

“I told them of their awful father, the boy Jack, and
the world of little people that Jack came from. And I told them about the great beanstalk that connected our worlds, and how I’d destroyed it to rid myself of Ramos.

“You should have seen the look on Gnasher’s face. The wonder, the hunger, the wanting—I saw it all in his expression. ‘Mother, tell us about this world of the small,’ he said. He tried to sound kindly, but I knew sly Gnasher too well. I refused to say more. But I already had told him enough.

“For months after that, I did not see much of Gnasher. He would sit quietly in his room. Or he would wander off into the wild. Sometimes he would bring home a sack full of something and lock himself away.

“Whenever I saw Gnasher, he was deep in thought. You can tell when he’s thinking from the way he twitches that nose from side to side.