“It’s easier if you jump in all at once,” Jack called.
She glared at the grass wall that hid him. “No it isn’t.”
“Fine, don’t believe me,” came Jack’s reply. “Suffer.”
Rapunzel had no wish to suffer. She dropped into the water, and icy cold consumed her. She jumped up, sputtering, and shrieked when the air lashed her skin. She dropped down into the water again and shivered, hugging herself.
“Better, right?” called Jack.
Rapunzel looked up to see that he had already swum out to the middle of the lake. Curious, she took a step toward him. She floated in her bathtub all the time, and she had read about swimming. It couldn’t be too hard. She took another step, but when she put her foot down again, she found nothing. The lake floor sloped steeply into deeper water.
Quickly, she tried to take a step back, but lost her balance. The water covered her mouth. When her toes touched mud again, she curled them into it to anchor herself and managed to bob above the surface. Her lungs burned, her nose stung, and she coughed until her throat was raw. Shaken and hacking, she inched up the muddy incline until she stood in the shallows.
Trompe hovered before her, just out of reach, laughing so hard she had to hold her belly in both hands.
Rapunzel looked away, exhausted. Her eyes itched with tears. She splashed water on her face to make them go away, but she could not wash off the heavy, awful feeling that came with them. She cleaned her skin and hair as best she could without soap or a cloth, and walked out of the lake, covered in gooseflesh. She pulled her nightgown, robe, and slippers back on. They were uncomfortable against her damp skin, but there was nothing she could do about it.
It took a long time to pile her loose, wet hair into the skirt of her nightgown. When she was done, Rapunzel pushed the grass wall apart. Trompe waited on the other side, fluttering very close to Jack. His shirt was untucked, his knapsack and belt were slung over his arm, and his black hair was plastered to his head.
“Good swim, huh?” he asked, glancing at Rapunzel.
Rapunzel didn’t answer. Her skirtful of hair was heavy and tangled, and it hurt her arms to lug it along as she trudged behind Jack and Trompe. They reached a stone globe that hovered alone overhead, and Trompe held up a little ball of clay. This she lowered slowly, and as she did, the globe came floating down. It flattened the grass as it came to rest on the clay, and Trompe dropped her hands, looking drained. Rapunzel noted the change in her with pleasure.
Jack climbed into the globe and Rapunzel followed. “Wow,” said Jack, staring around. “This is amazing.”
The furnishings were plain: a flat floor, two beds, and a tiny table set with a full meal and two plates. But the inner walls of the round room were painted to look like the fairy glade: The sky graced the rounded ceiling, the grasses and the lake surrounded them on the walls, and the floor beneath their feet looked like rich, red clay. The painting was so real that it seemed as if they were still outside.
“Beautiful,” murmured Rapunzel in spite of herself.
“I painted it,” said Trompe, who hovered in the doorway, smirking at Rapunzel for a moment. “Sleep well, Beanstalker,” she said sweetly as she fluttered into the globe. “If Glyph wants you later on, I’ll fetch you.” She brushed the tip of her nose against Jack’s, and color rose in his cheeks.
“Sounds good,” he said. “See you then.”
Trompe flitted out of the painted globe, closing the door with a flick of her wing as she went.
The silence that followed was a welcome one. Jack went about eating his meal as Rapunzel crawled onto one of the beds, which had a window beside it. The room was big enough for two, but her hair made a definite third. Since there was nowhere else to put it, and since she had no way of untangling it, she pushed the whole wet mass out the window and watched it drop into the red grasses outside. She sat uncomfortably against the curving wall, stuck her legs out on the bed, and shut her eyes.
“Owoodoin’?” asked Jack after several minutes. He had plunked down on the other bed and continued shoveling in the food the fairies had left for them. He swallowed. “How you doing?” he repeated. “You all right?”
“No thanks to you,” Rapunzel said bitterly, opening her eyes. “You brought me here.”
Jack wiped his mouth. “I had to,” he said. “But I swear, I had no idea they’d be so rough on you. Aren’t you eating anything?”
Rapunzel pushed herself to the edge of the bed and looked at the fairy food that sat on the little bedside table between them. Her stomach rumbled. Tentatively, she sniffed a spoonful of what looked like mealy mush. It smelled strange, but not bad, and Rapunzel was too hungry to be suspicious of it for long. She dug ravenously into it, shoving as much into her mouth as she could fit.
Moments later, her stomach lurched, and she dropped to her knees between the beds. Her mouth opened, her whole body heaved, and the food she had eaten flooded onto the floor at Jack’s feet, spattering across his boots. He cried out and jumped up.
“You can’t eat fairy stuff,” he said. “Great.” He lifted one boot and then the other, his lip curling. “These’ll stink for days,” he complained. “You couldn’t aim the other way?”
Rapunzel remained limp on the floor, unable to answer. She had never lost a meal before. Tears slid from her eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that day.
“Don’t cry,” said Jack. “You’re sick, that’s all.”
Rapunzel’s tears continued. “It’s m-my b-birthday” was all she said. It was all she could think of. She should have been at home, with Witch, eating a birthday feast and opening her presents. Instead she was wet with sick, surrounded by fairies who hated her.
“It’s your birthday?” Jack sounded surprised. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I th-thought I’d be h-home by now.”
Jack said nothing. He grabbed her under the armpits, helped her to her feet, and sat her on the bed.
“I’ll get that,” he said, glancing at the sick. “Lie down.”
Rapunzel obeyed. The bed was harder than she was used to, and there was no canopy overhead except Trompe’s painting. She turned on her side and closed her eyes.
She heard the little door of the globe open and shut a couple of times. Jack muttered to himself while he cleaned up the floor, and then everything was silent. Rapunzel had drifted halfway into sleep by the time the door opened once more. Jack tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped, unready for the touch.
“Want your present?” Jack asked.
Rapunzel rolled onto her back and looked up at him. “Present?” she said uncertainly. “But you didn’t even know it was my birthday.”
Jack held out Rapunzel’s pink handkerchief, which he’d tied into a parcel.
“You’re giving me something that’s already mine?” She sighed a little. “Well, thank you,” she said. “I suppose.”
“No, stupid,” said Jack. “Open it.” He thrust the parcel closer, and it quivered and shook. There was something inside the handkerchief — something dark and jumpy.
“I don’t want to open that!”
“I’ll do it.” Jack untied the bundle, and Rapunzel pushed herself up onto her elbows. When the handkerchief was open, she stared at the thing in Jack’s hand.
In the middle of his palm sat a squat, moist, green little creature with darker green splotches on its skin. On each of its two front feet were four funny, gelatinous little toes with knobby ends; its knees stuck out to its sides; the line of its mouth was long and uncertain; its chin was a round yellow gut; and its golden eyes were wide and round and shiny, with bright black pupils.
“Ribbit,” it said.
Rapunzel drew back.
“It won’t hurt you,” said Jack, offering the little creature to Rapunzel once more.
The creature gave a hop and looked imploringly at Rapunzel. It hopped again and again, pausing only to look up at her with big, mooning eyes.
“What does it want me to do?
” asked Rapunzel in a whisper. She didn’t want to startle it. “It looks like it wants me to do something.”
“Sure. Pet him.”
“It’ll probably bite me, or poison me, or —”
“If it did those things, would I be holding it?”
Rapunzel bit her lip. With one finger, she reached out to touch the creature, which sat still and let her prod it. “Ooh,” she squealed, touching it again. “It’s clammy.” And yet it didn’t bother her. The texture was interesting, different from anything she’d ever felt. “Where did you get it?”
“Outside,” said Jack. “It jumped up on my leg and tried to get in my pocket. Never seen a frog do that before.”
“Frog?”
“That’s what it’s called,” Jack said. “You like it?”
“Frog,” Rapunzel repeated. Even the word was squat and moist and green. “Frog frog.”
“Ribbit,” said Frog.
“Ribbit,” said Rapunzel, and she giggled.
Jack laughed too. “Take him,” he said. “I think he likes you.”
“Does he?” Rapunzel sat up straighter. It would be a nice change if someone around here liked her. “All right, then … Come here, Frog.” She cupped her palms together and, to her delight, Frog hopped into her hands. His gelatinous toes curled against her skin. His moist belly beat against her fingers.
“Do you like me?” Rapunzel asked Frog. “Or are you with the fairies?”
Frog’s eyes bulged. He hopped a frantic pattern in her palm. Rapunzel wasn’t sure what it meant. “If you like me, hop right now,” she said.
Frog hopped in place, his eyes wide above the uncertain line of his mouth. Behind Rapunzel, Jack was laughing.
“You can’t tell anything from that,” he said. “Frogs hop all the time. You know he likes you because he isn’t hopping away.”
But Rapunzel had a feeling that Frog understood her, and it was good to have an ally, however small. She held Frog near her mouth and whispered, “I like you too.”
Frog’s yellow gut-chin expanded.
“He must be tiny if he’s a normal-size frog to us,” said Jack. “You should name him.”
“His name is Frog. There’s no other right word.”
“You used to think the only right word for me was prince.”
Rapunzel looked up at Jack and laughed before she could help it. It seemed ages ago that she had called Jack “Prince.” “Then I’ll call him Prince Frog,” she said.
“You would,” said Jack.
With tender hands, Rapunzel settled Prince Frog onto a corner of her pillow. She rested her head beside him. Wakefulness gave way to a heavy, drowsy sensation in all her limbs, and if she hadn’t felt queasy, she would have been quite comfortable. She looked across at Jack.
“The world feels like it’s spinning,” she said.
Prince Frog gave a sympathetic croak and hopped onto her forehead. His cool, damp weight gave Rapunzel immediate, if not complete, relief.
“Thank you,” she sighed, and closed her eyes. She heard Jack climb into his bed, followed by the sound of his long, loud yawn.
“Happy birthday,” he said.
It was too late for that, she thought; it had been a miserable birthday. Still, with Jack being kind and Prince Frog sitting on her brow, things felt less dire than they had just an hour ago. Rapunzel wished that she were falling asleep at home, in her own bed. At home, she always said good night to the blue fire, and the starry canopy, and the silver harp. It was a happy ritual.
“Good night, Jack,” she said instead. “Good night, Prince Frog.”
“Night.”
“Ribbit.”
That was different. The things in her tower never answered back.
Then there was nothing left to think about. Or, if there was, it didn’t matter. She was fast asleep.
RAPUNZEL slumbered for a day and a night. She woke disturbed and disoriented, and when she rolled over in bed, her hand hit a wall, and her stomach bunched. There was no wall beside her bed — or there shouldn’t have been. Not if she was at home.
She opened her eyes, and Trompe’s painted ceiling came into focus. Rapunzel moaned softly. Never had she woken in an unfamiliar place. She sat up and flattened her back as much as possible against the curving wall, nervous that Rune or Trompe might have crept in while she slept, but there were no fairies present. There was only Jack, snoring in the other bed, and the little green lump of Prince Frog asleep in a puddle of water on the bedside table, where a goblet had been knocked over.
And her nightgown was clean. Rapunzel gazed down at her white lace cuffs in surprise. Her robe was clean too, and had been folded and hung over the end of the bed. Rapunzel wondered how the fairies had managed it and why they had done something kind for her. Perhaps they had cleaned her braid too. She turned to the window through which she had dumped the wet mass of her hair — and she froze.
Her hair was gone.
Rapunzel stared at the windowsill where her braid should have been and waited for it to appear. Her hair could not be gone. It could not.
“Jack!” she shouted.
Jack made an unintelligible noise but remained otherwise motionless. Prince Frog, however, woke with a start and sprang across the bed and onto the windowsill. Rapunzel jumped up and stubbed her toes on something cold and hard. She shrieked, and Jack opened one bleary eye.
“My hair!” screamed Rapunzel. “It’s gone, it’s gone, the fairies took it!”
Jack rubbed his eyes. “Good,” he said, and slumped into his pillow again.
Rapunzel grabbed his arm and shook him as hard as she could. “Good?” she cried. “Good?”
“I’M SLEEPING!” Jack bellowed. He flung his pillow at her, missed, and flopped back onto his bed with a groan.
Rapunzel grabbed her head with both hands. The hair on her scalp had been smoothed back and bound at the nape of her neck. Frantic, she reached behind her neck to find the rest of it, and to her immense relief, she grabbed a thick cord of braid, which hung between her shoulder blades. She reached behind her waist and felt the plait continue.
But that was only a small portion of her hair. Fearing the worst, Rapunzel looked at her feet. Propped against the bed was the thing she’d stubbed her toes on: a circular contraption somewhat smaller than her window wheel at home. It was made of shining bronze, with two thick fabric straps on its back. Coiled around the spool on its front was what appeared to be the rest of her braid — all of which was still attached to her head.
“My hair,” cried Rapunzel, and she dropped to her knees beside the circular object and wrapped her arms around it. She buried her face in the coiled braid.
“Insane,” Jack muttered. “You got tied up with it, and you still don’t want to cut it off?”
“I want to see all of it!”
No sooner had Rapunzel said this than the fairies’ wheel whirred and the end of her braid shot off the spool, straight into her hands. Rapunzel tugged to unwind it further, and as she piled it into her lap, she relaxed. It was still there. Moreover, it was clean.
“All right,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Wind back up, please.”
The fairies’ wheel spun again, and the braid flew out of her hands. In seconds, the entire thing was wound. Rapunzel gave the wheel a grateful pat.
Jack glanced at the wheel first and then at Rapunzel. “How did you know it would do that?”
“Witch makes things like this for me,” she said. “I wonder why fairy and witch magic won’t mix. They aren’t very different.” She lugged the fairies’ hair wheel into her arms and was happy to find it lighter than she expected. The braid was still heavy, but the bronze wheel itself didn’t seem to weigh very much.
Jack watched her, looking pensive. “Eldest Glyph’s waiting for us,” he said. “She sent for me last night while you were sleeping, and she … talked to me. I’m supposed to bring you to her when you wake up.”
Rapunzel hugged her hair wheel. “What did she tell y
ou?” she asked in a small voice.
Jack shook his head. “She’s letting you go,” he said. But something in his voice suggested that this was not quite the truth.
“What’s wrong?” Rapunzel demanded. “Is she going to make me stay tiny, like a fairy?”
“No, she’s making us both big again,” said Jack.
Rapunzel’s heart leapt — once she was big again, she could get home to Witch without being eaten or crushed. Or so she hoped. She pulled on her robe and tied it shut, then grabbed the braid wheel by the straps and hefted it into her arms. “All right,” she said. “I’m ready.”
“No you’re not,” said Jack. “The wheel goes on your back, see? Stick your arms through those straps.”
Feeling silly for not having realized their use, Rapunzel worked her arms into the straps. They were wide and padded against her shoulders, and the braid wheel rested comfortably against her back, as though it had been designed to fit her shape. She set Prince Frog upon her shoulder and followed Jack out of their sleeping globe.
Outside, the fairy glade looked different. Fewer roses pushed through the dome today, and sunlight poured through several of the cracks.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Rapunzel said, squinting up at one of the roses.
Jack glanced at her. “What?”
“Why did you have to get dew from my rose? There are thousands of roses right here.”
“They’re not the same.” Jack bent over to pluck something out of the dirt. It was leafy and dark, and he held it carefully by one large petal. “Take a look,” he said as he laid it in her palm.
It was a rose, Rapunzel realized, but like no rose she knew. Needle-sharp thorns crusted the stem, leaving nowhere for fingers to hold it, and the oversize petals were tough, thick, and leathery. At the rose’s heart was a small ring of what looked like sharp white teeth, which seemed to pulse as though it breathed. Thick, pungent sap leaked from the center of the ring, making the teeth glisten.
“Ever seen a rose like that?” asked Jack.
“No.” Rapunzel tipped it into the dirt. “To think I thought they were Witch’s.”
Grounded: The Adventures of Rapunzel Page 7
