style="font-size:15px;"> 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 an Ivan or ...’
‘Wrong,’ gloated the gnome. It started on the side lacings of Paladin’s breeches.
‘Then I expect you must be,’ he consulted his forearm, ‘Rumplestiltskin. Sorry,’ he added, as the creature was forced back from him as by a sharp push. It screamed ‘Yes!’ as it was shoved to the wheel and the straw and started spinning so fast the wheel was a blur.
‘Tuatha,’ said Paladin firmly, standing up. ‘Come to me now. I am sure. I won’t stay in a world where a king can confine me and compel me to make bargains with monsters for my father’s life. I want you, I love you, I need you. I have called you thrice. Come.’
There was a shining silver mist laid over the tiny room, blanketing the swearing gnome and the spinning wheel. A voice called from the window, ‘Come,’ and Paladin, taking a bottle of wine, walked to the window, off the sill and along a silver pathway into the embrace of a silver man, hanging in mid air.
‘I am yours,’ said Paladin.
‘I am yours,’ said Tuatha. ‘We are together. Come, we must tell your sister what happened. And give her the wine. Then -’
‘Then?’ asked Paladin, nestling into the warmth and spicy, wild scent of the Fae.
‘Then you come with me,’ said the Fae. ‘And I will give you wild water to drink, headier than any wine, wild songs to sing, wild paths to walk, and my love forever.’
‘Oh, my love,’ sighed Paladin.
The king was quite cross when all his gold thread was found, on inspection in the morning, to have turned into string. Dirty string. And Paladin was nowhere to be found.
RED RIDING HOOD
The child looked cold and lost, so Hal leaned down and asked,‘Where are you going?’
‘To Grandma’s house,’ she piped. ‘With this basket.’
‘That would be Grandma Boone?’ he asked. ‘You’re Robin?’
‘Yes, who are you?’ asked the child,
