LITMIR.BIZ

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the gnome looked disappointed. He put the necklace into his mouth, nevertheless.

      And then the wheel whirred into motion, the spindle rocked, the pile of straw diminished, and ells and ells of gold thread spooled off into Paladin’s hands.

      ‘By tomorrow,’ said the gnome very quietly, ‘the king will demand that you spin more straw, you won’t have anything to trade.’

      ‘And then your fee would be?’

      ‘To have you,’ said the gnome. ‘To taste you all over. And to bite three bites out of your flesh - wherever I choose.’

      ‘Well, I’ll just have to die then,’ said Paladin. He could imagine where those three bites of flesh would come from. He had no fancy to bleed to death, castrated, on this tower floor. He could always jump. That wouldn’t take anything like as long.

      ‘I’ll make you a wager,’ said the gnome.

      So close, it reeked of decaying leaves, stagnant water, and blood. Paladin tried not to breathe.

      ‘And that would be?’ Paladin was pleased that his voice sounded almost steady.

      ‘You have three tries,’ said the gnome. ‘You have to guess my name. Accept?’

      ‘All right,’ said Paladin. If he stood directly in the window embrasure, he would be able to leap, if he guessed wrongly, before the creature could lay a fang on him.

      The peppery smoke made him sneeze again. Sneezing, he called on the Tuatha. Soon an owl landed on the sill. It mantled, ordering its wings, then hopped down onto the arm of the chair.

      ‘Too far for a cat to climb, this tower’s higher,’ it remarked.

      ‘Tuatha, what is that gnome’s name?’ demanded Paladin.

      ‘I don’t know,’ said the owl. ‘They don’t usually have names. Why? Is it important?’

      ‘Very,’ said Paladin, and explained.

      ‘And I can’t help you,’ said the owl sorrowfully.

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Magical bargain, my own darling. I am forbidden to find out for you. But I can give you a hint,’ he said. The owl preened briefly.

      ‘Yes, give me the hint. And if I get out of this, you are turning me, no argument, all right?’ said Paladin, tearing at his hair.

      ‘Yes, oh, yes, my love,’ soothed the owl. ‘You can do this. Your mother gave you something when you were born, you’ve never used it. Not an object. A talent. Stand at the window and look. Look deep.’

      ‘Is that all?’ cried Paladin, dismayed.

      The owl flew up to his shoulder and ran its beak along his neck, fluttering its soft feathers against his cheek.

      ‘Soon,’ it said, ‘you will lie on my breast, and nothing will part us again.’

      Then it arrowed straight out of the window.

      Paladin drank the rest of the wine. And called for more.

      It was dark outside. Look deep, he thought. He ate the rest of the ragout de lapin au fines herbes and stood at the window opening. He leaned his hands on the sill. Too uncomfortable. He dragged his chair over to the space, sat down and wrapped his cloak around him.

      Then he looked. The stars were out, flowering as silver as his Tuatha’s eyes. He could see the vague shapes of trees, hear the murmur of the forest. He could hear men carousing in the great hall and a spill of torchlight as the door was opened to let the guests depart. Someone was playing a small pipe, very tunefully, in the kitchen, where they must have finished the washing up and be eating their own supper. He strained his eyes, but it was nearly too dark to see. His head hurt.

      Tears pricked, and he wiped them away. He sipped some water and leaned forward again. A bat flitted past, squeaking ‘look deep!’ almost too high for him to hear.

      His mother - she had died when he was only five. He didn’t recall her saying anything about looking, deeply or shallowly. He missed her suddenly. The only woman in his father’s house who wasn’t a servant was his sister Estelle, a fierce red headed woman, shortly to be married. Estelle would want him to try. He could practically feel her work-worn hand clipping lightly at his ear, saying ‘Try again!’

      So he tried again, pressing both hands on his temples, forcing his sight beyond vision, and suddenly he could see deeply. And a hot point of light directed his gaze to a small fire, around which someone was dancing. Someone squat, with short legs and a pink cap.

      ‘I’ve got him!’ cried the dancer. ‘I’ve got him! He can’t ask his Fae for help, and no one knows my name is Rumplestiltskin! And tomorrow I shall eat him all up! His blood will taste like wine, like wine!’

      Paladin shuddered, wrapped his cloak tighter, left the window, and wrote Rumplestiltskin on his forearm with pen and ink.

      Then he savoured the remaining wine, and fell asleep.

      The next day the king sent men to have him moved to a taller tower with even more hay. The soldiers were complaining about carrying bales of the stuff up so many stairs. Everyone was out of breath.

      ‘It’s all right for you,’ growled one to Paladin. ‘All you have to do is spin the straw. And the king has to let you go tomorrow.’

      ‘Why?’ asked the young man. The guards chuckled.

      ‘Mistress Estelle Miller, that’s why. She turned up with all your brothers and the townspeople and swore she’d burn down the mill if he didn’t release you tomorrow. And that’s the only mill for miles.’

      ‘Strong minded woman, that Estelle Miller,’ agreed his fellow guard.

      ‘Sent her father home with a flea in his ear, too,’ said the first guard, wincing slightly.

      ‘Here you are,’ said the guard, showing Paladin into a small tower room absolutely carpeted with straw. ‘Try to live through the night,’ said the guard, and patted Paladin on the shoulder. ‘Here’s your supper, and we brought you a couple of extra bottles of wine. The good stuff. Good luck, son,’ said the guard, and they tramped down the stairs again.

      A mouse ran onto his foot as he sat down on the spinning chair. It put both little paws on his bare ankle.

      ‘Tuatha?’ asked Paladin.

      ‘Of course,’ squeaked the mouse.

      ‘When this ends, come and get me? I don’t want to go down all those stairs again,’ said Paladin. The mouse giggled.

      ‘You’ve got it, then?’

      ‘I think so,’ said Paladin.

      The mouse vanished with a whisk of tail, and the peppery smoke announced the arrival of the gnome. He surveyed the quantity of straw and spat

      ‘Did I mention that the king is a greedy moron?’

      ‘You did,’ replied Paladin, sneezing.

      ‘This time our fee is different,’ said the gnome, approaching Paladin and breathing into his face. Stale water and old iron.

      ‘Yes,’ said Paladin. ‘Three guesses. Tell me, are you a Trevor?’

      ‘No,’ said the gnome.

      ‘Funny - it’s Old French for trés vor, very hungry, and you’re cruel, bloodthirsty, and ultimately unfair. Unkind. And really, really ugly. You absolutely look like a Trevor.’

      ‘I said, no,’ replied the gnome, leaning both sharp elbows on his knee.

      ‘All right, if you insist.’ The gnome showed all its teeth and started to unlace Paladin’s shirt. He shivered under the unclean touch.

      ‘Well then, what about John? Nice common name, everyone’s got a John or a Jean or an Ian or an Evan or

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