by implying that Rapunzel escaped on her own—Zaubera was more determined than ever to prove her wickedness to the world. She also now had a vendetta against heroes and bards.
The witch spent weeks concocting her Supreme Scheme for Infamy. Instead of kidnapping one prisoner this time, she was going to kidnap five. And she was going after captives that people would actually miss and want back, prisoners that the world’s heroes would be climbing over one another for the chance to rescue: She was going to snatch the bards themselves.
And that’s exactly what she had spent the past few weeks doing. She didn’t worry about anybody getting wise to her plan before she was ready—there was no communication between kingdoms. And without bards, who was going to tell the people that the bards were missing?
Sturmhagen, Harmonia, Erinthia, Avondell, and Sylvaria: When the heroes of these five kingdoms hear that I’ve got their beloved lute-pluckers, they’ll come running, the witch thought. And when they arrive, they’ll bear witness to the grandest display of evil power this world has ever seen. No one will ever ignore Zaubera again.
Of course, Gustav didn’t tell any of that to Frederic—Gustav didn’t know any of that. What Gustav said to Frederic was: “She’s an old lady. End of story.”
Gustav strolled cockily out into the clearing, with Frederic quivering behind him. As it turned out, someone had heard Gustav’s shout after all. A girl’s head popped out of the tower’s lone window, some sixty feet above the ground.
“Who’s out there?” Ella shouted, as she looked down. She was stunned to see her fiancé. “Frederic, is that you? What are you doing here?”
“Ella!” Frederic squealed with delight. “Oh, my goodness. It’s you! I, uh, I came to find you.”
“You did?” Ella said. “Wow. You did. You’re really here.”
Okay, this is it, Frederic thought. Time to show her what you’ve got. “It’s the all-new me, Ella. I’ve slept on dirt. I’m ready for adventure now.”
Frederic couldn’t see Gustav behind him, but he could feel his eyes rolling.
“How’d you get up there?” Frederic called.
“It’s a long story,” Ella said.
It’s not really a long story. Here it is:
Ella rode into Sturmhagen (it took her two days to cover the distance Frederic traveled in a week) and visited a village where she hoped to gather some information about Rapunzel.
“Do any of you happen to know Rapunzel?” she asked a group of townsfolk strolling down the street, and then tried (unnecessarily) to jog their memories by singing a few bars. “Listen, dear hearts, to the tale I must share; the tale of a girl with very long hair. . . .”
Zaubera, out on the prowl, slunk by just at that moment, pondering a cleverly theatrical way to spread news of the bards’ kidnappings. It might be a poetic touch, she thought, to snatch a passing minstrel and use him or her to sing about the crime.
And when Zaubera saw some loudmouth in a dress singing to a crowd on a street corner, she figured she’d found her minstrel. Only it was really Ella. As soon as the crowd dispersed, the witch sidled up to her.
“Get your facts straight, you chuckleheaded throat-warbler!” Zaubera spat. She then trapped Ella—who was utterly baffled—in a binding spell and took her back to the tower.
See, it wasn’t that long.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Ella said. “Please, go get help before the witch comes back.”
“No, we’re not leaving without you!” Frederic yelled.
“Who’s that with you?” Ella asked.
“Oh, this is Rapunzel’s prince. He helped me find you. And he can get you down. He’s got experience with this.” He turned to Gustav and asked him quietly, “How do we get her down?”
Gustav walked to the base of the tower, looked to the window above, and yelled, “Cinderella, let down your hair!”
Ella looked perplexed. “But it only comes to my shoulders!”
Gustav walked back to Frederic and shrugged. “That’s all I’ve got. I’m out of ideas.”
Frederic was befuddled. “Well, there must be some way up there. I mean, she got up there.” He called up to Ella, “How did you get up there?”
Ella glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye. “Run! She’s coming!”
Frederic and Gustav darted under the cover of the nearby trees. They saw a tall, thin woman draped in red and gray rags emerge into the clearing. Her pale skin was creased and lined, and tufts of white hair shot from her head in random directions.
“Zaubera?” Frederic asked.
Gustav nodded. “Let’s watch and see how she gets up there.”
With a voice like broken bagpipes, the witch yelled up to Ella in the tower. “I could have sworn I heard you talking to someone, dearie. When I get up there, I had better find you alone.” Then she turned toward the woods and called out, “Reese!”
Soon there was a loud rumble. Branches shook and leaves fell as a man taller than the tower itself muscled his way through the trees and stomped into the clearing. The giant reached Zaubera in one enormous step, then knelt and placed his hand on the ground, palm up, for the witch to climb onto. He easily lifted the old woman up to the tower window, and she stepped inside.
“Well,” said Frederic. “We can’t get in that way.”
That was when Gustav went berserk. He whipped out his big, double-bladed ax and ran into the clearing with a long, thundering shout of “Stuuuuuuuurm-haaaaaay-gennnnnnn!” The giant, dumbfounded, simply stood and stared. So did Frederic.
Gustav slammed his ax into Reese’s humongous shin. With a bellow of pain, the giant grabbed his injured right leg and began hopping up and down on his left foot. The ground trembled with every hop, causing Gustav to tumble over himself. He dropped his weapon as he fell, and the heavy ax blade plunked down into the loamy soil. From the trees, Frederic watched in horror as his companion crawled to retrieve the weapon, unaware that he was directly in the shadow of the giant’s enormous right foot. Gustav was about to be squashed like a bug.
Think! Frederic told himself. What would Sir Bertram the Dainty do? The answer came to him. In The Case of the Ill-Mannered Milkmaid, Sir Bertram had to get the attention of a governess who was about to use the wrong kind of wineglass. Frederic could use the same tactic here. Eight years of yodeling lessons were about to pay off. Frederic cupped his hands to his mouth and let out a long: “Yodel-odel-odel-odel-ay-hee-hooooooo!”
It worked. Nothing annoyed Gustav more than yodeling. As soon as he heard the trilly alpine melody, he glanced angrily at Frederic—who was frantically gesturing upward. Gustav dove out of the way just as the giant’s big bare foot smashed down—and landed directly on the lost battle-ax.
