by Joan Holub
Still no answer. But if the principal was here being kept prisoner, he might be bound and gagged and wouldn’t be able to answer. Or he could be asleep, or under a spell, or … well … any number of things, really. There was no way around it. She had to get inside. Her mind made up, she slid her gleaming pearl-flower hairpin from her golden hair and picked the front door lock.
Once over the doorstep, she called Principal R’s name again. Still no answer. “Rumpelstiltskin?” she tried. If he was inside, hearing her call out his full name would be bound to send him into a tantrum, right? And that would create enough noise that she’d certainly hear him. But the only sound she heard was the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen faucet.
She moved farther into the cottage, holding her breath. It seemed to have only one room, which was sparsely furnished with just a round table and three chairs, all of different sizes. No Principal R hidden here. How disappointing!
Still, the bears might’ve left some helpful clues about his whereabouts if they knew where he was or if he had been here. They seemed to have taken off for their meeting at GA in a hurry, she noticed as she crept around the kitchen. They hadn’t eaten their supper. There were still three bowls on the table, each full of porridge. Mmm. Porridge.
It was her dinnertime by now, and she was hungry. And this porridge smelled delicious. But she was determined not to eat the guards’ food, since that reminded her too much of her tale.
“Besides,” she muttered aloud, “I am not a thief!” So no way would she eat that porridge. Absolutely not. Nuh-uh. Still, she was so very hungry. She sniffed at the porridge in one of the bowls and her stomach growled. “Mmm. Cinnamon,” she murmured. Just how she liked it.
The bears would probably only throw out the porridge when they returned home, so would it really hurt anything if she ate some of it? No, of course not.
“It would actually be wasteful just to leave it,” Goldie said to herself. “I’ll only have a little.” She found a clean spoon and dipped it into the biggest bowl. But when she tried the porridge in the big bowl, she nearly burned her tongue. “Yikes!” she said, fanning her mouth. “Too hot!”
She tried the porridge in the medium-size bowl next. “Yuck. Too cold,” she murmured. Which was odd when she thought about it, since you’d expect the porridge in both bowls to be nearly the same temperature. But whatever!
Luckily, the porridge in the smallest bowl was neither too hot nor too cold, but just the right temperature. And with exactly the right amount of brown-sugar sweetness, too. “Yum,” she sighed. And before she knew it, she’d eaten it all up.
“Oh, no,” she said, staring into the empty bowl in dismay. “I can’t believe I did that! Well, surely Ms. Wicked will serve food to the guards at their meeting like she did at my E.V.I.L. interview, so they won’t go hungry.”
Still, to make up for what she’d done, or maybe in hopes the bears might forget they’d left porridge waiting, she decided to wash the dishes. First, she gathered up the bowls and spoons and carried them over to the counter. She had to stand on tiptoe to lift them over her head and set them down in the sink. Short as she was and as tall as bears were, she couldn’t quite reach well enough to wash them.
“No problem,” she said to herself. “I’ll just drag over a chair to stand on.” The largest chair in the room proved too heavy for her to budge even an inch from its place at the table. And she could see at a glance that the generously cushioned medium-size chair would be too soft and lumpy for standing on. But the smallest chair — a simple straight-backed wooden chair with a woven seat — seemed like it would work just right.
She dragged it to the sink and climbed up to stand on it. She’d only just filled up the sink with hot water and soap and begun to scrub the dishes, however, when … rrrip! Her feet crashed through the woven seat!
How grimmawful! she thought as she freed herself from the chair. Nothing about this search is going at all well.
No sooner had she pulled herself out of the chair than she heard a scratching noise. It seemed to be coming from behind a door at the back of the cottage. She’d thought at first that the door must lead outside, but it flashed on her now that it probably opened into a bedroom since the bears would surely need a place to sleep.
“Ha! Maybe Principal R is here after all!” Goldie whispered to herself. Leaving the dishes in the sink, she dashed over to investigate. When she opened the door, which did indeed lead to a bedroom, a mouse scampered past her. Being unafraid of mice, she did not scream. She did feel like sighing, however. Because she could see at a glance that Principal R was nowhere around. It was only the mouse she’d heard.
Hey! Could he be under one of the beds? There were three of them. But before she could check, she noticed something on the bedside table. A book! Not just any book, though. One of the Grimm fairy tale books from the GA library. The very one she’d been looking for all this time. The one containing Principal R’s tale! What was it doing here? Was it only a coincidence that the bears had it?
Taking the book with her, she lay on her stomach upon the biggest bed and opened the book to read. Unfortunately, the bed’s wide, stiff mattress was so uncomfortable it made her squirm. So she picked up the book and moved to the medium-size bed. Its mattress was as soft and lumpy as the medium-size chair in the other room. Which was no good for reading, either. The smallest bed, however, was not too hard, not too soft, but just right.
She kicked off her shoes and turned to the beginning of Principal R’s tale. Would this book yield clues as to where he could be? She hoped so. She was determined to find him. Because how else was she going to become the hero of the school?
However, before she could finish even a single paragraph, she heard voices outside the cottage. Oh, no! It sounded like the three bears had returned!
“Well, herrre we are, home again,” growled a low voice she recognized as the biggest of the three bears, code name Papa Bear.
As she leaped from the small bed, she heard an impatient voice say, “Well, hurry up. Who’s got the keys?” That was Ms. Wicked! What was she doing here?
“Just a sec. I hid them under the doormat,” said the squeaky voice of Baby Bear.
“You did what? What kind of security guards are you? That’s the first place a burglar would look, you know,” said Ms. Wicked. Which started an argument among the bears about who should be in charge of the keys from then on.
Meanwhile, Goldie set the book back where she’d found it and looked around wildly for a way to escape. But the bedroom had no outside door. No window, either. Its only source of light shone through the door that opened to the main room of the cottage. Quickly, she shut it almost all the way, leaving a small gap so she could still hear what was going on out there. Then she dropped to the floor, grabbed her shoes, and rolled under the small bed to hide. As she lay there on her back, trying to get comfortable, her arm brushed against something crumpled and soft.
She reached for it and held it before her face, trying to focus. A hat? A tall one that looked exactly like the one Principal R wore! Did this mean he had been here at some point but then escaped? Or maybe the guards had moved him somewhere else? Either way, maybe he’d left this hat behind on purpose, as a clue to show that he’d been here. A thrill swept over her. She’d found a clue to the mystery of his disappearance! Quickly, she folded the hat as small as she could and rammed it into the pocket of her cloak.
Just then, she heard the key clink in the outside lock. “What? We didn’t even need the key,” the Baby Bear guard squeaked in surprise. “The door was already open!”
“Are you sure you didn’t just forget to lock it?” growled the voice of the medium-size bear. Code name Mama Bear, Goldie recalled.
“Sure, I’m sure. I’m always careful to check,” Baby Bear replied.
Goldie’s heart leaped into her throat as footsteps sounded inside the cottage. Immediately, Papa Bear let out a roar. “We left bowls of porrridge sitting on the table,” he growled. “Someone’s stole
n them!”
“And my chair!” howled Baby Bear. “Someone broke it!”
“I think I can guess who,” said Ms. Wicked. “Didn’t you wonder who brought over the swan boat we saw at the dock? One of the Academy students. Luckily, I’ve been tracking her movements, something you imbeciles should have thought of.” Her high heels clicked as she moved around in the cottage’s main room.
Goldie gulped. Had Ms. Wicked guessed she was the student who’d brought the boat? Was she the one whose movements the teacher had been tracking? If so, how? And why?
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Baby Bear. “Two sisters — members of E.V.I.L. — reported seeing a girl head off in a boat for the island this afternoon.”
“And you’re just now reporting it?” said Mama Bear.
Goldie sucked in her breath. Those figures she thought she’d glimpsed in the tower window must have been Malorette and Odette. They had to be the sisters the bear meant. And they’d ratted her out. Those … rats!
“I am surrounded by nincompoops,” groaned Ms. Wicked. Her voice was close now. Right outside the bedroom! “If you’d been quicker about alerting us, maybe your precious chair would still be intact.” Click. Click. Click. “What’s this?” she said suddenly. And then she exclaimed, “Ow! It’s that awful hairpin.”
Huh? Goldie reached up to pat her hair, but her special hairpin — which might even be her magic charm — was gone. It must have fallen out of her hair before she came into the bedroom! And, ha-ha, it had shocked Ms. Wicked. Again.
“I’ve seen this pin before,” Ms. Wicked said. “It’s hers. That Goldie girl.” Then to one of the bears, she said, “Fetch a wooden spoon to pick it up with, please. Then put it in this little pouch and hand it to me.”
A moment later, there was a scraping sound and then Mama Bear’s voice said, “Here.”
“Let’s check the bedrrroom,” suggested Papa Bear. “If she’s in here, that’s the only other place she could be.”
Goldie froze beneath the small bed, holding her breath as the bedroom door opened. She heard the bears pad into the room and the click, click, click of Ms. Wicked’s high heels on the wooden floor. From under the bed, she could see the bears’ clawed feet and Ms. Wicked’s pointy-toed shoes.
“Nope,” said Mama Bear.
“Not herrre,” said Papa Bear.
“Empty,” said Baby Bear.
“Don’t be idiots,” Ms. Wicked snarled. “What kind of guards are you, anyway? Search the room. She’s still carrying the tracking device, and it indicates she’s in here. She must be hiding!”
Tracking device? What tracking device? Hardly daring to breathe, Goldie listened to the creak of wardrobe doors swinging open and drawers sliding out. “Nothing herrre,” reported Papa Bear in his low, growly voice.
More wardrobe doors opened and more drawers slid out. “Not here, either,” said Mama Bear.
“There’s nowhere else she could hide,” said Baby Bear, “unless …” Suddenly, the hem of the bedspread lifted and the smallest bear, who was crouched on the floor, peered into Goldie’s eyes. “She’s here!” he squeaked in surprise. “It’s her! The girl who ate my porridge!”
Here we go again, she thought.
“Goldilocks! Come out from under there right this minute,” Ms. Wicked commanded.
Trapped, Goldie had no choice. She wriggled out from under the bed. “I–I’m sorry,” she spluttered as she got to her feet. She clutched her shoes to her chest, one in each hand. Her mind raced to come up with a believable excuse for being inside the cottage. Or on Heart Island, for that matter.
“Why did you have to eat my food?” Baby Bear asked peevishly.
Goldie started to explain, but Ms. Wicked interrupted. “Your porridge is not what’s important here, you twit,” the evil teacher-principal said, pushing Baby Bear aside. Glaring at Goldie, Ms. Wicked tapped the pointy toe of one high-heeled foot impatiently. “Explain yourself!” she demanded.
Goldie’s aunt had often barked the same order when she’d caught Goldie doing something she didn’t like (which was often), so Goldie had grown adept at coming up with excuses to get herself off the hook for various offenses. But right now, she was stumped.
“Well?” said Ms. Wicked when she didn’t reply immediately.
Yikes. She’d better come up with something fast if she didn’t want to wind up in the Academy dungeon! Finally, a good story popped into her head. She launched into it. “It’s like this. I heard a rumor about a group plotting against E.V.I.L. The group was called … um … Against E.V.I.L.”
Ms. Wicked arched an eyebrow. “Against E.V.I.L.,” she repeated. Did she believe the fib? Goldie couldn’t tell, but the three bears certainly looked alarmed.
Goldie nodded. “Or maybe it was called Anti-E.V.I.L. Something like that, anyway.” Before Ms. Wicked could ask her about the source of the rumor, she rushed on. “I also heard that the Society had a meetinghouse on Heart Island and that the Just Say No to E.V.I.L. group knew that and was coming out here to spy. So, hoping to be of service to E.V.I.L., I decided to investigate the rumors.”
Ms. Wicked cocked her head. “Is that so?” she said, sounding somewhat skeptical. “Nice of you to make a stab at tidying up the dishes while you were investigating, though you did break a chair in the process.”
Goldie spread her arms wide in what she hoped was an open and innocent gesture. “I’m a bit of a clean freak, I guess. And I know it sounds kind of crazy. I didn’t believe the rumors at first, either. But then I saw this cottage —”
“Which was locked,” Ms. Wicked interrupted her. “Just like Ms. Goose’s safe.” She shook the hairpin from the pouch she was holding so that it fell onto the bed Goldie had been hiding under. “I’ve read your tale. Putting two and two together, I figured out that you must have a talent for opening locks. I gather you used this to pick both the safe and the cottage door locks?” she said, motioning toward the pin.
“Well, yes,” Goldie admitted, unsure where this was going.
To her surprise, Ms. Wicked actually laughed. “Lock picking. Now that’s a skill the E.V.I.L. Society could put to use,” she said. And this time she definitely sounded amused.
“Awesome! Can I have my hairpin back?” Goldie felt bold enough to ask. She made a move for her pin, but when Baby Bear blocked her, she rambled on. “I didn’t realize I’d lost it till I heard voices at the door a few minutes ago and had to find a place to hide. I wasn’t sure who it would be.” Sudden inspiration struck. “In fact, it might’ve been those Down With E.V.I.L. organizers. Naturally, I thought it could be a good opportunity to spy on them, on E.V.I.L.’s behalf.”
“Oh, naturally,” said Ms. Wicked. She motioned to Papa Bear to use the spoon again to scoop up the pin and put it back in the pouch she held. But before he could move, the pin surprised everyone by leaping from the bed and sliding itself back into Goldie’s hair.
“Well, well. Besides being useful for picking locks, that pin of yours appears to have some magic in it,” Ms. Wicked observed. “What else can it do besides leap into your hair and shock others who try to take it?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Goldie admitted with a shrug. She started sidling toward the door.
“But you did use it to unlock Ms. Goose’s safe?”
Goldie nodded.
“Only the four keys I asked you to get weren’t inside?” Ms. Wicked asked casually.
“Four? But there were only —” Goldie began.
When Ms. Wicked smiled coldly, she realized her mistake. Ms. Wicked had never told her what was inside the safe. And the only way she could have known that four keys was incorrect was if she had actually seen the ring of keys. Caught in a lie, Goldie made a break for the door.
“Seize her!” Ms. Wicked shouted to the bears.
Baby Bear nabbed Goldie, but he came away only with her cloak. When she whirled around and snatched it back, Ms. Wicked’s sharp eyes fastened on it. “What’s that?” she demanded.
Goldie looked down to see that the top of Principal R’s tall hat had worked its way out of her cloak pocket in the struggle. “I … um … I found it under the bed,” she said truthfully. Then she added a fib. “Thought it might keep my ears warm on the boat ride back to the Academy. So I’ll just be going …”
Lickety-split, the bears surrounded her. As they held on to Goldie’s arms, Ms. Wicked darted forward and snatched the hat, blanching when she saw whose it was. “You fools!” she exclaimed, shaking the hat at the bears. “How could you have missed seeing this under that bed? If this magic cha … I mean hat had fallen into the wrong hands.” She broke off to glance at Goldie. “Like hers.”
“Who, me?” said Goldie. She wriggled against her captors, eyeing the door.
“Here’s the thing,” Ms. Wicked told her frostily. “You’re not nearly as good a liar as you think you are. You obviously lied about the safe being empty. And there is no Against E.V.I.L. Or Anti-E.V.I.L. Society or whatever. If there were, I’d know about it, believe me.”
“Yeah, those little marrrble trrracking devices of hers would have —” Papa Bear began.
“Shut up, you blabbearmouth!” Ms. Wicked commanded. Then she whirled on Goldie again. “Besides, that pin of yours is clearly a magic charm. And magic charms only come to those who are good of heart.” She said this last with a sneer, as if being “good of heart” was a character defect.
Seeing that the jig was up, Goldie blurted out, “What have you done with Principal R? He was here at the cottage. I know he was!”
For a second, Ms. Wicked looked startled. Then she laughed. “So you were lying about that, too,” she said, holding up the crumpled hat. “You knew this was Rumpelstiltskin’s hat all along.”
Goldie and the three bears gasped when she said his name, but though Goldie thought she heard the wind pick up outside and rustle the trees, nothing else happened. Sadly, the true and rightful principal of Grimm Academy wasn’t around to throw his usual tantrum.
