The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures) (16 page)

“Then I will stay, and bring you food and water.”

“What a boy you are. Would you save one old woman instead of warning all your people? Go back down your beanstalk, Nick. Tell them the sons of Ramos are coming.”

“I won’t leave you here!” Nick kicked the pile of beanstalks and cried out in frustration. Then he turned to Gullinda with a strange look on his face. He started nodding to himself.

“He can read, can’t he,” said Nick. “You taught him to read.”

“I did,” agreed the giantess.

“Is there something to write with in this castle? And parchment, something to write on?” asked Nick, his voice quickening.

“Gnasher keeps those things in his room, so he can draw his inventions.” The giantess wrinkled her brow, not understanding what the boy was getting at.

“Tell me where his room is,” said Nick. “I know how to get you out of here!”

Nick crept forward as quickly as he dared, picking his way over the junk that was strewn all over the floor of the great hall. As he passed the arching entrance to the kitchen, he looked inside. Basher was still asleep by the table. Nick paused briefly to take a closer look at the monster.

Basher had dozed off at first with his head on the table. But now he leaned back in his chair, chin to chest,
head lolled to one side. The ogre smelled like spoiled meat. His mouth hung open as he snored. A stream of pinkish drool oozed out of his mouth and snaked down his chest. A thousand flies swarmed over the bloody remains of the boar, and hundreds more flew around the ogre’s face. Every time Basher drew in a great breath, a few unlucky bugs were sucked down his throat and up his nose. They didn’t come out again.

Looking at the ogre made Nick queasy. He moved on through the great hall, into the corridor on the other side, toward the room that the giantess described. He knew he was running out of time. Gnasher would return from his errands soon.

The corridor twisted and turned like a creek. Along the way, Nick found a few dead rats on the floor. They were as flat as parchment, their bones crunched into dust, their legs splayed in odd directions. The ogres must have stepped on them with as little regard as Nick would have for an ant.

A broken chair was lying on its side against one wall. As Nick approached it, he glimpsed another large spider web, like the one he encountered in the crevice outside the castle. The spokes and spirals of the web were sewn between the chair’s splintered legs. Behind that, a dark tunnel of silk curled back out of sight. Nick circled widely around the chair, hugging the opposite wall. He couldn’t resist a closer peek at the web as he passed. Then he wished he hadn’t looked.

This spider-head was female, with the face and the tangled gray hair of a hag. She sat high in the web, holding four dangling threads that dropped nearly to the floor, as if operating some invisible marionette. When she saw Nick, her eyes twinkled and she mewled to him in a chilling singsong voice. She lifted one leg and gestured with a tiny finger to come closer.

“No, thanks,” said Nick. He looked at the floor beneath the web. The parched body of a male spider-head lay on its back there. Its eyes were rotted away, and its legs were curled above it.

A rat of ordinary size darted out from a crack in the wall in front of Nick. It was startled to see him and scampered to the other side of the corridor, too close to the dangling threads. The spider-head gave one thread a skillful snap, and it whipped into the rat and stuck fast. The rodent twisted and squealed as the drooling spider-head reeled it up to her perch. She nipped it on the back, and the rat went limp.

Nick was filled with loathing. He found a little stone and flung it at the spider-head. It missed to one side and stuck in the silky funnel. The spider-head glared at him, then laughed shrilly. Then she turned and called into the dark recesses of the web.

Within seconds, dozens of smaller forms crawled out of the shadows: baby spider-heads. They scuttled to their mother, and the first to arrive swarmed over the rat. The rest gathered around and bawled when they
could not get their share. A few of them saw Nick standing on the other side of the hall. They cooed like infants and began to crawl down the web to the floor.

Nick decided it was time to move on.

Up ahead on the right, a second corridor branched off from the main passage.

“
Don’t go that way
,” the giantess had warned him. “
Basher’s room is there. The smell alone would kill you.
”

The giantess was hardly exaggerating. Even though he’d grown used to the awful odor that permeated the castle, Nick was not prepared for the tidal wave of stench that surged from that corridor. He put the crook of his elbow across his nose and ran past it, his eyes stinging. As he went by, he heard a low hum: the sound of a million buzzing flies.

Not far beyond that the corridor ended at the door to Gnasher’s room. A lock hung from it as Gullinda predicted. Gnasher allowed no one in his room, not even his brother. Nick slipped like a mouse through the crack under the door, into the awesome tower room that Gnasher claimed for his own.

Standing there was like being inside a volcano. It was oppressively hot. Gnasher had built his forge here, where he hammered and molded the metal parts for his contraptions. A fire smoldered inside, casting red-black shadows that flickered on the walls. This was the source of the thin black smoke that Nick saw when he approached the castle. Giant hammers, tongs, and other
smith’s tools leaned against the walls of the forge, and a great black anvil stood nearby.

A wide staircase spiraled along the walls to the top of the tower. High overhead, Nick saw the inner workings of the wind machine. Through a window he could see the sails in motion outside, driven by the breeze. They turned a shaft that came into the tower through a hole in the wall and drove an assortment of meshing gears and rods. Ropes and chains were attached to the machinery in various places. Some disappeared into holes, on their way to power inventions throughout the castle. Others came straight down to drive ingenious devices inside the tower.

The power of the wind machine worked the bellows that blew into the furnace. The bellows moved up and down like an accordion, filling the tower with a living sound like deep, rhythmic breathing.

Elsewhere the power of the wind machine piped water up from a stone well in the center of the room. Inside the pipe, a screw turned, and water was drawn along its threads and trickled out of the top. The trickle fed a deep pool of water, where Gnasher could cool his newly forged metal creations.

Near the pool stood a table. On its top were several cages, filled only with chalky bones draped with ragged pelts. A long bench against the wall was covered with the tools of experimentation: crucibles and scales, and cups and spoons for measuring.

Hanging on the walls were sketches of inventions, drawn with black chalk on huge sheets of tan parchment. The largest drawing, twenty feet wide, showed how the rope would lower the ogres to the world below.

In the picture, the cart was parked at the edge of the cloud island and secured by stakes and chains. Gnasher was sitting in the harness and had just been lowered over the edge. Basher was watching Gnasher go.

Gnasher was a skilled artist, Nick had to admit. With a few simple strokes, he’d captured the ugly essence of Basher. Even the self-portrait was accurate.

Nick admired Gnasher’s ingenuity until he saw another picture that reminded him of the ogre’s demon nature. On the upper half of that parchment was the design for a weapon. It looked like the scythes that farmers used to harvest grain, with a long crescent blade that would sweep low across the ground. In the bottom half of the parchment, Gnasher had illustrated the weapon in use. A crowd of people was running from Basher. He was using the scythe to cut a bloody swath through the crowd.

The brutal drawing shook Nick out of his reverie. He quickly found the items he needed. A stub of chalk had fallen to the floor where Gnasher did his sketching. Nick grabbed it, blessing his luck that he did not have to climb onto the table.

One of Gnasher’s smaller sketches hung close to the floor. Nick jumped and caught the bottom of the parchment. It tore away from the thin nails that held it to the
wall and came off in his hands. Nick rolled it up so it would be easier to carry.

He shoved the chalk and the parchment under the doorway, then slid himself under. With the chalk in one hand and the parchment tucked under the other arm, he ran back down the hall.

Nick stopped abruptly as he came to the web of the spider-head. Her children, one hundred or more, littered the floor of the hallway, scrambling in every direction, crying in their tiny baby voices. The smallest had heads the size of apples, and some were several times that size. The skin on their hairless heads had a sickly complexion, a mottle of pinks, grays and purple bruises. Not all had eight legs—some had as few as three, and some scrabbled on too many limbs to count easily.

One of the swarm saw Nick and gave a happy squeal. The little thing seemed delighted to see him, but Nick was thoroughly revolted. As it scuttled close to his feet, he jumped over the outstretched arms. The baby spider-head cried out in frustration, and the rest of the brood turned to see what had happened. When they saw Nick coming, they all began to run toward him on their stilt legs. Staying close to the far wall, Nick raced ahead of the main pack, but at least seven more were between him and the way out. He kept running, darting left and right to avoid them. As disgusting as these creatures were, he didn’t want to step on one of those heads. He could not stomach the thought of a skull cracking under
his foot like an egg. The mother screeched at Nick from the web overhead in some shrill language he could not understand.

The babies were enjoying the chase. They giggled as they tried to catch him. The larger ones could spring to alarming heights, and Nick batted one away with the roll of parchment before it could latch onto his shirt.

Finally Nick sprinted past the last of the creatures. When they realized that their quarry had gotten away, the whole brood began to bawl. They ran back to the web and crawled up to the mother. She shooed the wailing babies back into the shadowy depths of the silk tunnel.

Nick continued on to the end of the hallway and saw Basher still snoring in the kitchen. The clever brother had not yet returned. Nick looked through the open front door to see if Gnasher was approaching, but another cloud was passing over the land and everything outside was smothered in fog. He ran across the great hall to the opposite corridor, to the prison room where the giantess waited.

Nick handed the giantess the rolled parchment. “Here. Rip it in half.”

The giantess unrolled the paper and looked at Gnasher’s sketch. It was the design for a weapon, a kind of crossbow that could sling a hundred arrows with a single shot. “It looks as if Gnasher has conjured up something special for his coming invasion. Such a waste
of the mind he was granted,” she said, shaking her head. She tore the parchment with gusto. “I’m glad to destroy this one. Let us hope he has not built it already.”

Nick shuddered at the thought of that weapon being used on his countrymen. It looked like it could wipe out half of an army in a matter of seconds.

“Quick,” he said. “Let me tell you what to write.”

Jack peered again over the crest of the hill at the abandoned farm below. It looked so much like the scrappy hut he shared with his mother long ago; it once sat on the same site where his fortress now sat.

Henry should have returned by now. Jack was growing anxious, hoping his faithful servant was not in danger.

Roland, the youngest of Jack’s servants, interrupted the silence. “Master Jack, I want to tell you something.”

“What, Roland?”

“Despite everything I’ve seen in the castle—the paintings, the hen, the golden eggs—part of me never really believed your story was true. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I have often wished it wasn’t true,” replied Jack.

“But I never knew … the reason for your sadness….” Roland stammered, unable to find the words. Jack understood what Roland was trying to say anyway. His servants must have been tempted to ask, but none ever
dared. But now all of them were humbled before the mighty beanstalk. It made them feel less like servant and master, and more like brothers, bonded by an extraordinary experience.

“Roland, you have a young man’s lust for adventure. And you can’t fathom why someone who has lived the greatest adventure of all, who climbed to a hidden world and won a fortune and killed a giant, cannot live happily for the rest of his days.”

Jack turned his face toward the cloud above.“I’ll tell you why. Her name was Gullinda,” he said. “She found me on her doorstep and took me in. She fed me—kept me hidden from the giant, Ramos. And all she wanted from me was friendship—someone to talk to besides that devil that ruled over her. And talk we did, for hours and hours.

“She loved me, I think, like a son. And how did I pay her back? By stealing from her house. Three times I went back, and three times I stole. First I took a sack of gold while Ramos slept. The next day I returned—and Gullinda forgave me, so desperate was she for a kind companion! And for the second time I betrayed her, this time stealing the hen.

“Soon, even though I had an endless source of wealth, greed sent me back once more. This time I crept in without letting her see me. I watched Gullinda from hiding. She was weeping, and I could see that her husband had lost his temper when his precious hen had vanished and she could offer no explanation.”

Jack was still staring at the vast black underbelly of the cloud. His voice dropped to a whisper, and Roland and Bill edged closer to hear him better.

“I should have turned around right then. Gone home and cut down that accursed plant. But I saw the harp at the sleeping giant’s feet. And I
wanted
it. I wanted the thrill of taking it.

“I was creeping toward the door with the prize when I saw Gullinda staring at me. Her mouth was open, as if she was about to call to her husband. But she couldn’t do it. Three times I had betrayed her, and she still wouldn’t do anything to harm me.