Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin

by Liesl Shurtliff

  “But it keeps them away. Mostly.”

  “Away?”

  “Away from us,” said Mard. “Humans are trouble dressed up pretty. Especially that greedy idiot King Barf-a-hew or whatever his silly name is.”

  “What kind of trouble?” I asked. “Humans, I mean ‘we,’ always thought it was trolls who were trouble.”

  “And that’s the way we like it,” said Bork. The other trolls gagged and spit in agreement. “If those greedy humans didn’t think we’d gobble them up, they’d try and make slaves out of us.”

  “Slaves? But why?” I asked. All the trolls looked in different directions and shifted uncomfortably.

  “Never mind why,” said Mard. “The humans take one look at any living creature and think only of how they can use it.”

  “So we’ve made ourselves out to be villains,” said Bork. “Isn’t that smart?”

  “It’s not smart if you’re going to tell him,” said a troll wearing a helmet with deer horns. “He’s a human too, you know.”

  “He’s not like the rest. Can’t you smell it on him?” asked Bork.

  “I can,” said Deer Horns.

  “Smell what on me?” I tried to sniff myself. I was pretty dirty, but I couldn’t smell anything over the rancid odor of the trolls and their sludge.

  The trolls looked at each other cautiously. “Never mind that,” said Mard. “We’re not going to eat you.”

  I was still a little suspicious sitting here in the midst of all these trolls who kept saying that I smelled. “What were you trying to catch by the apple tree if you don’t eat humans?”

  “Bork’s trying to catch a pet,” said Mard. “He’s always wanted a pet.”

  “I wanted a goat,” said Bork forlornly. “Not a boy.”

  “Drink your sludge,” said Mard.

  I looked down at the cup full of mystery mud. My stomach grumbled, but I wasn’t sure I was hungry enough to drink this. I wished I had the meat pie, which was back by the road with Nothing. I thought about those red, juicy apples just sitting on the tree. Maybe trolls didn’t like apples. Maybe they thought they tasted like mud and mud tasted like sweet fruit. Maybe they didn’t know humans would rather eat apples than mud.

  “What’s wrong with the apples?” I asked.

  “What’s wrong with the apples?” said Deer Horns. “Did you ever see an apple tree full of ripe apples this early in the year?”

  I thought for a moment. “Actually, I’ve never seen an apple tree at all. They don’t grow on The Mountain, where I’m from. I’ve only seen apples off the tree.”

  “Well, that’s no ordinary apple tree,” said Mard.

  Bork leaned over the fire to speak to me. He had as much hair on his arms as I did on my head. “It’s poisoned,” he said. “You could have died … or worse. You should thank us.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “To sludge!” said Bork, lifting his cup. “And no poison apples!” The rest of the trolls grunted, “To sludge!” and they slurped down their drinks. Then they all watched me expectantly. I guess I had to drink it or be considered impolite. What did trolls do with impolite guests? I put it to my mouth and took a sip. It tasted like rotten vegetables, and it was slimy, and I think I swallowed a worm. The trolls all smiled and nodded.

  “Ah! That’s the stuff!”

  “Sets you up for life!”

  “Makes you big and strong!”

  I wanted to ask more questions, partly because I was curious, but mostly so I wouldn’t have to drink more of the sludge. “How do you know the apples are poisoned?” One poisoned apple seemed believable, but an entire tree of them was strange.

  “Oh, the apples again,” said Deer Horns. “We’d best tell him the story, shouldn’t we? You tell it, Bork.”

  “Why me? You tell it, Slop.”

  “You found the boy,” said Deer Horns, or Slop, “and you make the story sound so pretty.”

  Bork grumbled under his breath, but when he started speaking, his voice was low and dramatic.

  “A long time ago, there was a witch, see? She was the queen of some other kingdom far from here—beyond Yonder—beyond Beyond even! She tried to kill her stepdaughter ’cause she was jealous of her beauty.”

  Gran used to tell me this story, and it was one of my favorites. The girl ran away and lived with dwarves, but the witch-queen found her out and fed her a poisoned apple—one that would make her fall asleep forever. But it didn’t work because a prince woke her with true love’s first kiss and all that, and she lived happily ever after with her prince. That was where Gran’s story ended, but Bork kept going and told a story I didn’t know.

  “But the witch’s poison apple didn’t die. The dwarves (careless creatures) threw it down the mountain and it fell in the dirt. Soon that apple was dirt itself, but the seeds didn’t turn to dirt. Those seeds took root and grew into an apple tree. A magical poison apple tree.”

  “Magic?” I said. “How do you know it’s magic?”

  The trolls shifted and looked around.

  “Because,” said Slop as he scratched at his horns, “the fruit is ripe year-round. What but magic could make it ripe all year long?”

  They all nodded and grunted in agreement, but I sensed there was something they weren’t telling me.

  “So if I ate the apples, I would have fallen asleep forever?” I asked.

  “Until true love’s first kiss, maybe.”

  That sounded as good as dead to me. True love was for fair princesses and maidens and knights in shining armor. The only girl I was even friends with was Red, and I think she’d rather hit me in the face than kiss me. Maybe she could punch me awake.

  “Have you ever seen someone eat those apples?”

  “No,” said Bork.

  “Then how do you know they’re poison?” Something about the apples intrigued me.

  “A deer ate those apples once,” said Slop. “I saw him, and the next day we found him dead.” He rubbed the horns on his helmet.

  “Wolves got him, Slop,” said Bork.

  “Those weren’t wolves. Those apples ate him from the inside out!”

  “Enough about death and fruit!” said Mard. “Eat your sludge.” The trolls all got busy slurping and snorting, and so I did my best to blend in by holding my cup to my lips. Every now and then, I spilled a little behind me until my cup was empty.

  But unluckily for me, trolls are very hospitable, and Mard took my cup and plunged it into the pot of sludge. She handed it back to me with sludge dripping down the sides. “You need more meat on you. Eat.” I ate another worm. It wriggled down my throat.

  “So,” said another troll as he slurped the last of his sludge. This one looked very old. All the trolls had wrinkles, but this one’s skin had wrinkles inside of wrinkles and his tangled hair was streaked with white. “I heard the king got married.”

  “King Barth-a-hew married?” said Bork. “Who would marry such an ugly thing?”

  “I heard the girl can make things gold.”

  “Straw,” I said. “She makes straw into gold.”

  “A witch,” said Slop, the horned troll. “The king married a witch.”

  “I can smell the trouble from here. I wouldn’t get within ten steps of that witch,” said Bork.

  “Well, people don’t come within ten steps of us and we’re not bad,” said another troll.

  “The witch who made that apple was bad,” said Bork. Others grunted their agreements.

  I wondered if my mother’s family in Yonder were all witches. Were they nice witches or mean witches? Maybe Mother was really running from them.

  “But they’re not all bad, are they?” I asked. “Some witches try to help.”

  “Witches don’t help,” said Mard. “They just make more trouble.”

  “You would know,” said a big troll, and Mard whacked him on the back of the head with her clublike arm. He whacked her back. Then all the trolls started whacking each other, and they rolled and wrestled on the ground. I
stood quickly, spilling sludge all down my shirt. A couple of trolls came very near the fire, and sparks flew up in the air before they rolled away laughing in their grunty, snorty way. It seemed this was common troll after-dinner play.

  I looked on as the trolls wrestled and snorted and punched each other, almost enjoying the scene, until one troll suddenly sank down into the ground beneath some leaves. All the trolls gasped. Quickly they hauled the troll out and began shoveling leaves over the place where he had fallen. Mard waddled over to me and tried to turn me around, but then another troll slipped on the edge. Soon the entire mass of leaves was scattered, revealing something the trolls did not want me to see. I broke away from Mard.

  Beneath the leaves was a hole and in the hole was a huge stash of curious objects: a boot, a mirror, lots of little boxes and trinkets that looked old and valuable, a coil of golden rope that looked oddly like hair, a shimmering cloak, and a golden harp. The harp was playing all by itself.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Trolls Smell, but They Also SMELL

  The trolls and I stood still and silent for a moment, transfixed by the pile of treasures below. The only sound was the soft tinkling of the harp. “What is all that?” I asked. My words broke the spell.

  “Nothing!” they all shouted, and a wall of trolls formed in front of the hole, shuffling me back out of the way.

  “The harp is playing by itself,” I said, wide-eyed.

  “No it isn’t. That’s the wind.”

  “The harp is very sensitive to a breeze,” said Bork.

  All the trolls nodded and grunted their agreement.

  “Oh, stop,” said Mard. “You might as well explain it to him.”

  “But … our secret,” said Bork.

  “He is the secret,” said Mard. “You can smell it all over him.”

  “Smell what on me?” I was getting tired of them saying I smelled. All I could smell was the rancid reek of trolls.

  “Magic,” said Mard. “You smell like magic.”

  “Magic? You can smell … magic?” I asked.

  “It smells sweet,” said Bork, “but also kind of … bitter, like a tart berry. It’s hard to describe, but the smell is unmistakable and it’s all over you.”

  “Oh,” I said, furtively trying to sniff myself to see if I could detect sweetness or bitterness or berries.

  “So that means all that stuff in that hole is—”

  “Yes,” said Bork.

  “But you can’t have it,” said Slop. “You can’t even touch it. We’re protecting it.”

  “From what?”

  “Humans!” said Mard. “Nasty, meddlesome creatures! They always cause mischief no matter what, but with magic, they cause the most mischief of all. Curses, famines, destruction, madness, and death. One of these days, they’re going to turn the whole world into a magical mess.”

  All the trolls snorted in agreement. “Humans used to make us find it for them,” continued Mard. “Slaves, we were—or our ancestors were—kept on chains and sniffing like dogs to find magic things for humans.”

  “So we started making people believe that we ate humans so they’d leave us alone,” said Bork. “My great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Bork is the troll who is hailed for starting it all.”

  “Says you,” said Slop. “For all we know, it was my great-great-great-great-great-great-GREAT-grandmother.”

  Bork snorted and continued with his story. “Bork the Brave he was called. One day as he was sniffing for magic, his master commanded him to eat a magic bean to see what it would do.”

  “I bet it was poison like those apples,” said Slop.

  “Don’t interrupt,” said Bork, and he continued. “Bork wasn’t stupid. Trolls may be able to smell the magic, but we don’t use it and we certainly don’t eat it. Well, I suppose something just snapped in Bork that day. He snatched his own master and said he would eat him instead if the master didn’t set him free. Legend has it that he actually did bite him, and the master was so terrified he let Bork go. Soon other trolls learned of Bork’s successful escape and they did the same, threatening to eat their masters or their wives and children. One troll even bought his freedom by threatening to eat his master’s beloved pet goat.

  “Then all sorts of tales were spread about trolls eating their human masters or their wives and children, and soon the trolls were driven from The Kingdom and Yonder and Beyond and anywhere else near humans. Now if we ever come across a human, we pretend we’re going to eat them and then we allow them to escape, so they can tell everyone how they were nearly eaten by trolls. It keeps them away, all right.”

  “But you still look for magic?” I asked.

  “Only so we can keep it safe from the humans,” said Mard.

  “Oh,” I said. The trolls were coming closer to me now.

  “The smell is strong on you,” said Slop. “Even witches don’t smell like that. You reek of magic.”

  “Oh,” I said again. The trolls all huddled tight around me, sniffing. Would they throw me into their hoard and guard me too? “Um … maybe I should go now? I need to travel to Yonder. To find my family.”

  “Stay with us tonight,” said Mard. “It’s too late for travel.”

  “Yes,” said Slop. “And, besides, it’s dangerous. You can’t be too careful.” They pulled me back to their campground like a lost pet.

  When it was time to sleep, I learned that the trolls didn’t have houses or sleep under any kind of covering. I asked them what they did in the rain and snow. Slop looked at me funny and said, “We let it fall.”

  Mard piled dry grass on the ground for me and then covered me with giant leaves that had soft fuzz on them, so they were quite cozy. “You’ll be safe here,” she said.

  Exhausted as I was, it was impossible to sleep. The trolls snored like thunder, and their stench only got worse through the night. Troll farts, I discovered, are a hundred times smellier than the human kind.

  But it wasn’t really the snores or smells that kept me awake. I kept thinking of that pile of magical objects and how the trolls could smell magic. They could smell it on me. And they kept a hoard of magical things hidden away from humans. Could it be that my stiltskin was right here, amongst the trolls?

  Silently, I slipped from beneath my bed of leaves and tiptoed over to the hole. It was covered again. I shoved aside some of the leaves and reached inside. My hand fell on the harp first, but I quickly put that down. If I brought it out, the music might wake the trolls. I didn’t see how it could help me anyhow. Of course it was magical, but was it a stiltskin? Did it grow from magic? I touched the boot and brought it out. It was old and worn, with patches and holes. Just a boot. I wondered what would happen if I put it on. I almost stuck my foot inside when I heard a loud grumble and snort. Slop was sitting in a tree right above the hoard.

  “A seven-league boot,” he said. “Made by a witch in Beyond. Take one step in that and you’ll be over the mountains.”

  “Oh. That would be useful.” I could get to Yonder in a blink with this boot, and I could run away if more trouble came along.

  “Useful,” snorted Slop. “For each step, you’ll get a horrible itch that will last for seven years. The last chap who wore that boot has been itching for twenty years. We only got the one boot off of him. He’s still wearing the other and still itching.”

  I held the boot cautiously away from me. Seven years of itching would surely drive a person mad.

  “Do all these objects cause bad things?”

  “All of them,” said Slop. “That mirror, for instance. It will tell you or show you whatever you want.”

  My heart leapt. I could ask the mirror my name! It could show me where I could find a stiltskin!

  “But it will enslave you more and more,” said Slop. “Until all you care about is yourself and the mirror. It makes humans twisted and evil.”

  My heart sank. I did not wish to be twisted and evil. Just whole.

  Carefully, I slid the boot back beneath the leave
s, and for a moment I thought I caught the smell of the magic, as the trolls had said. It did smell sweet, but also slightly rotten, like spoiled fruit. My mind turned back to the apple tree. Those apples never spoiled. They grew from magic. More than anything in this magical hoard, it was the apple tree that sounded like a stiltskin.

  I turned to Slop. “So, then, that apple tree, have you ever really seen what its magic does?” I asked.

  “Of course,” he said. “And it’s a terrible magic.” He knocked on his helmet.

  “Bork said that deer was killed by wolves.”

  “Well, I never saw wolves. I found the deer dead right by the tree.”

  “But you didn’t actually see the deer eat the apples. Have you ever known a person to eat them?”

  Slop’s face curdled up like sour milk, and he pointed a fat, hairy finger down at me. “Now, listen here, you. I know there’s something strange about you. You got a funny smell, different from most humans, but those apples got a funny smell too. Trouble. We trolls know it when we smell it. Those apples aren’t meant to be eaten, so you just stay away. Understand?”

  I nodded and backed away from Slop and the hoard. I told him good night and pretended to go back to the camp, but when he was out of sight, I slipped into the darkness of the trees.

  I wandered until I found the apple tree. The apples glowed in the darkness, like sparkling jewels growing on the branches. This was absolutely magic—and judging by what the witch had told me, not just any magic. A stiltskin. I could almost smell it, feel it in my bones. But according to the trolls, it was a stiltskin that grew from poison.

  I walked around the tree. I took a stick and threw it against the trunk. I reached out and touched one of the branches and then quickly drew back, as though the leaves might burn me. They didn’t. Finally, I walked up close and put my hand on the trunk. The tree was so warm I almost thought I could feel it pulsing with life. I swung up and hoisted myself into the branches. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, the magic would rub off on me and make everything better. I waited for a long time, maybe an hour. I felt nothing.

  Finally, I reached out and picked an apple. I brought it up to my face. So perfectly smooth. So red. I wondered what Red would say of these apples. She would probably knock the apple from my hand and tell me to leave the magic alone. It would only cause trouble, maybe even death, if the apple was really poison. I didn’t want to die. I let the apple fall to the ground, then swung down from the branches and leaned against the trunk. I listened to the deep thrum of the apple tree, which echoed my own heart. Sleep came just as the sky was growing light.