The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures)

by P. W. Catanese

  Nick sat in the corner of his cage and stared sullenly back at the ogre.

  “Well, let’s find out,” Gnasher said, and he tossed Finch’s cage high into the air. Finch screamed as the cage tumbled and splashed into the pool of water nearby. He pulled himself to the top to snatch a final breath of air, and then the cage sank under the surface. The ripples spread to the sides, returning to meet again in the middle. Nick’s mouth fell open.

  Gnasher pulled up a stool and slowly brushed dust off the seat. He sat at the table, leaning on one elbow.

  “Don’t do this,” Nick said quietly.

  “Don’t fret, boy. This is another opportunity to be helpful. I’ll fish him out as soon as you answer me: Where is the beanstalk?” The ogre folded his arms and smiled, waiting for the answer and savoring the moment.

  Nick froze. How could he answer that question and bring swift and certain doom to the innocents below?

  But how could he not answer the question? He looked at the pool of water and saw bubbles gurgle up and burst at the surface.

  Nick needed a lie. A convincing lie. And he needed it fast. But nothing came to him. All he could think of was Finch in his cage at the bottom of that pool.

  “The beanstalk is gone,” Nick blurted. It was the first thing that popped into his head. He hoped he could find the right words to say next, the untruth that would convince the ogre not to seek out the mighty plant.

  “So there was a beanstalk,” Gnasher said, looking pleased with himself. “That is what brought you here, like the boy before you. Jack was his name, was it not?” Gnasher leaned back and casually examined his sharp fingernails, and waited for Nick to continue.

  “Yes! We came up a beanstalk! But they must have cut it down.”

  “Who, morsel? Who cut the beanstalk down?”

  Another cluster of bubbles, larger ones, floated from the depths of the pool. Nick pointed to the water. “Get him out. You said you would if I told you where the beanstalk was. And I told you—it’s not here anymore. If you want to hear the rest, get him out now!”

  Gnasher laughed. “Such a brazen child! Yes, I’ll get him out, but only because I have questions for him as well.” The ogre walked to the pool. He stuck his arm in, nearly to the shoulder. “Can’t seem to find him,” he teased, swishing his arm about. “Ah, here he is.”

  The ogre brought the dripping cage up, with Finch sputtering and coughing inside. Gnasher set it beside Nicks once more. Finch rolled onto his side and took great gasping breaths.

  Nick trembled with fury as he saw the amused look on Gnasher’s face.

  “Now, morsel. Continue with your story”

  “My name is Nick.” He was stalling for time. A lie was forming in his head, and his mind raced as he tried to resolve it.

  “Your name is not significant,” Gnasher said, with a wave of his hand. “Only the beanstalk matters—where it came from, and what happened to it. Tell me now”

  Nick was ready Like the best lies, this one had just enough truth in it. “That man and I are thieves,” Nick said. “A while ago, we robbed a fellow wed never seen before, and got these beans he said were magic. Now, wed all heard of this island in the clouds and the giants who live here. We thought people might come to cut down the beanstalk if we grew it, but we decided to take our chances. We wanted the treasure.”

  Gnasher sat with his head cocked to one side, absorbing every word. Nick realized with some alarm that Finch had recovered from his near drowning and was listening as well. The frightened man’s eyes darted back and forth between him and the ogre. Finch clearly did not want to say anything to draw the ogres attention. Nick hoped he’d stay that way.

  “So we grew the beanstalk,” Nick continued. “We just planted the beans and stood back, and up it went. The two of us climbed it and found this castle. My job was to slip under the door to the treasure room. I saw all the treasure you’ve got in there. I even touched that golden figurine. I guess you have too.” Nick was pleased to see the smirk disappear from Gnasher’s face at the mention of the figurine.

  “So I brought out some treasure and gave it to this man, Finch. He carried it to the edge. But when he got there, the beanstalk was gone! Chopped down, while we weren’t looking. We were trapped.

  “So we came back and struck a bargain with your mother. We told her we’d help her escape if she would help us get back to our land.”

  Gnasher leaned back and folded his arms. “And how did she mean to return you to your land?”

  “She said there was a narrow strand of the rope that shed made, and shed use it to lower us.” Nick hoped the lie made sense.

  Finch was watching uneasily to see how the ogre would react. He glanced at Nick, and Nick flicked his eyebrows up. Don’t ruin it, Finch, he willed. Play along.

  Nick saw Gnasher’s nose begin to twitch. Something seemed to be troubling the ogre as he considered the story Nick had told. And that was when Nick remembered the flaw in his lie: the sun. A steady beam of late afternoon light was shining through the windows at the top of the tower. But if the cloud was not held fast by the beanstalk, that shaft of light should be wandering. The shadows should be dancing, as Gullinda put it.

  Like a chess player who suddenly realized he’d left himself vulnerable to checkmate, Nick hoped that his opponent would not detect the weakness.

  He decided to distract the ogre. “Why do you want to invade our world? You have everything you need right here.”

  A wicked light twinkled in Gnasher’s eyes. “Do I really?” He got up from the stool and strutted around the room, making sweeping gestures. “What do you see here, morsel? What lies all about you in this room?”

  Nick looked around him, “Lots of stuff”

  “Lots of stuff, indeed,” Gnasher sniffed, “Everything here is a testament! A testament to my genius. There is nothing I can’t conceive, nothing I can’t create.

  “I have the wits of an emperor. But I lack an empire to rule. What is in this forlorn place, but my brother, weak of mind, and mother, weak of heart? What sort of kingdom is that for one so clever as me?

  “That is why I was so intrigued by the story of the land of little people. There’s a place worth conquering, I thought. And here I am, about to begin my invasion, and who should turn up but a lovely pair of specimens of the breed that shall soon bow down to me. How convenient—almost as if it was meant to be. Now I shall know what to expect when my brother and I arrive.

  “You, obviously, are only a child. But you,” Gnasher said, turning to address Finch directly, “look like a little warrior. Tell me how your people will defend themselves when we arrive.”

  Finch pressed himself against the back of the cage. He tried to speak but only stammered. Gnasher slapped at the top of the cage and Finch cringed.

  “Speak up, vermin,” Gnasher snapped. “You’ve spent some time in my pool. You’ll bathe in the furnace next if you don’t answer me now: How will your people defend themselves?”

  “They’ll … they’ll run away at f-f-first,” Finch said, “b-but then they’ll g-gather into armies. They’ll try to t-take shelter behind fortress walls.”

  “How high are these walls?”

  “The b-biggest are as tall as you. None higher”

  “How many are in these armies?”

  “Hundreds. They m-might gather thousands for a great battle.”

  “All will die who confront us. Now tell me what weapons they will use.”

  The questions went on and on. Gnasher made Finch describe in detail the swords, spears, bows, and arrows that men would wield, the catapults that could launch heavy stones, and the methods that men employed to defend their fortresses from attack. The ogre inquired about the dwellings of common people and the livestock they kept. He asked where the wealth was stored. He asked about the nature of the world below, and was fascinated to hear that it was in fact a larger place than his own island in the clouds, and that endless bodies of salty water surrounded the land.

  The inq
uisition ended at last when Gnasher heard the panicked cries of his brother. “Now what?” he muttered. He hurried up the stairs of the tower room and leaned his head out of a narrow window at the top.

  “What are you screaming about?” Gnasher called. Basher was still standing guard by the rope, but he was hopping about nervously and pointing at the center of the castle. Dark smoke streamed out of the cracks in the decaying roof over the great hall. “Fire? Stay where you are, brother! I’ll see to the fire!” Gnasher came running down the steps.

  “If this is her doing, you will suffer greatly before you die,” the ogre said to Nick and Finch as he ran past. He opened the door to his room, then closed and locked it from the other side. They heard his footsteps drumming down the hall.

  “See what your meddling has done!” Finch snapped. But Nick was in no mood to argue. Something had occurred to him.

  “Listen, Finch, this is our chance to escape—maybe the only one well get,” said Nick. “I watched you pick the lock on that trunk we stole—could you pick the locks on these cages as well?”

  Finch stared back at Nick for a moment. Then he stood to examine the door. “Perhaps I can,” he said quietly. He leaned over and reached under the bottom of his pant leg. He withdrew a smaller dagger, previously hidden, that was strapped to his ankle.

  The keyhole on the door was set in the middle of a wide iron plate. Finch reached across the plate from one side, trying to use his dagger as a pick. He strained mightily for the dark rectangular opening, but only the tip of his knife could reach it.

  “It’s no use. It’s too far. Curse it all, we re going to die!” he screamed. Then he turned his back to the bars and slid down to sit on the bottom of the cage.

  “Finch!” called Nick excitedly “Pick the lock on my door instead!”

  Finch turned and looked at the distance between the two cages—four yards or more. He laughed grimly. “Oh, that’s a fine idea, boy But you’re re over there, and I’m over here. How do we bring these cages together?”

  Nick stuck his hand in his pocket and produced the ball of string he’d collected when talking to Gullinda. “This is made from the same fiber as the beanstalk. It’s strong enough to pull my cage to yours, and I think it’s long enough.” Without waiting for Finch’s reply, Nick knelt at the side of his cage. Holding on to one loose end of the string, he lobbed the ball toward Finch’s cage. It spanned the distance between them with many feet to spare, “See?”

  Finch plucked up the end of the string and looked at it. The strand was so narrow it would have sliced into his flesh if he tried to grab it and pull. He picked up a bone and wound the string around it, while Nick secured the other end of the string to his own cage.

  Bracing his feet against the bars, and gripping the bone on either side of the string, Finch pulled backward in a rowing motion, grunting loudly. Nick’s cage did not budge.

  “Wait! I can help,” said Nick. He went to the opposite side of his cage and stuck his legs between the bars, ready to push with his feet as Finch pulled.

  As Nick got into position, he happened to glance toward the door. Something familiar crept underneath into Gnasher’s room. It was one of the baby spider-heads. The creature saw him and smiled broadly With a squeal of delight, it turned around on its knobby legs and scooted under the door again.

  “Uh-oh,” said Nick.

  “What is it.” said Finch.

  “Never mind. Just pull!”

  The smoke grew thicker as Gnasher approached the great hall, where small fires had been lit in several places. The ancient tapestries on the walls were ablaze, and the smashed pieces of furniture had been piled together and set aflame as well. Smoke rose to the ceiling, and twinkling cinders fell like snow.

  “Mother!” snarled Gnasher.

  The castle was built of stone, so the fire would burn out eventually. But still, Gnasher knew he must contain it before smoke filled every room and drove him from the castle. He pulled a tattered rug off the floor and used it to beat and smother the fires, one by one.

  As Finch hauled on the strand and Nick pushed off. the table surface with his feet, the cage slid forward several inches. Finch turned the bone in his hands, winding the string to take up the slack Nick counted aloud, “one, two, three,” again and again, and the cages inched closer with every pull. The color was back in Finch’s complexion. In fact his face was bright red from the effort, and thick veins were embossed on his neck. At last the cages stood side by side, with the lock on Nick’s cage within arm’s reach of Finch.

  Nick glanced at the door again. Dozens of little spider-heads had flooded underneath it into Gnasher’s room. They came across the floor, heading directly for the table.

  Finch gasped. “I saw those things—what are they?” A hint of hysteria was creeping back into his voice.

  “Just pick the lock before they get here!” yelled Nick.

  Finch stuck his hand into the keyhole first and probed with his fingers for a moment. A look of hope flashed across his face. “It’s a simple lock—hardly a lock at all! A child could do it!” He looked over nervously as the spider-heads went out of sight under the tabletop. They were racing toward the corners of the table. The table legs, made from whole trunks of trees with the rough bark still on them, would be easy for them to climb.

  “What are they going to do to us.” Finch shrieked.

  “Forget the stupid spiders and open the stupid door!”

  Finch slid the dagger into the hole. His hand was trembling, so he steadied it with the other hand. He probed inside the keyhole, and found the thing he was looking for—a pin that, when raised, would unbolt the door.

  Nick could hear the scritch-scratch of spider feet on the legs of the table. He tried to ignore the sound and watched Finch carefully, knowing it would be his turn to unlock Finchs cage nce he was free.

  Finch wedged the blade against the edge of the keyhole for leverage, and twisted the blade to raise the pin. As frightened as Finch was, he still had the deft touch of a thief Nick heard a click in the lock. He pushed on his door and it swung open, rusty hinges protesting, and struck the side of Finch’s cage, leaving a gap just wide enough for him to slide through sideways.

  “You did it!” cried Nick.

  Finch was not celebrating. He stared aghast at the distant end of the long table and pointed with the knife. “Look!”

  A single dark twiggy leg hooked over the corner of the tabletop, then two more, and the first spider-head hauled itself up. It stood there, propped on all eight limbs, with the bald baby head bobbing up and down in the center. The hideous thing was tuckered out from the climb. It panted, with its too-long tongue hanging from its fanged mouth and dribbling drool. It stared quizzically at Nick and Finch, unsure if it should approach them alone.

  “Get me out!” screamed Finch, his words blurring together. “Get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out!”

  “Give me your knife. Now!” said Nick Finch slapped the handle of the dagger into Nick’s hand. He ran around Finch’s cage to the side with the door. But instead of picking the lock immediately, he stepped back out of arm’s reach.

  “What? What are you waiting for?” Finch screamed, in a voice hoarse from shouting.

  “Promise you won’t hurt me,” Nick said.

  “I promise! I swear! Now get me out! I’m begging you!”

  “All right. Watch that thing for me, though.” He put the tip of the knife inside the keyhole.

  Finch shouted frantic instructions at him. “No, not there, the other side! Feel around for the little pin—it’s like a lever you have to lift—and get the knife under it! Have you got it? Now push down on the handle to force it up, and turn the blade as you push—that’s right! Look out behind you!”

  Gnasher snuffed out the last of the fires in the great hall. Only a few harmless piles of embers were left. Those would die on the stone before long.

  But why was the smoke still growing thicker? Gnasher raised his nose and sniffed. He saw sm
oke running like an upside-down river along the ceiling of the corridor to the rope-weaving room. If that room was on fire, full as it was with the dry shreds and husks of the vines, there would be no putting it out. He would be lucky to retrieve his armor and weapons from the end of the corridor.

  Gnasher threw back his head and howled, rapping his fists against his skull.

  Enough of this. It was time to leave this place. Just one more trip back to his room to collect the prisoners—he would still have his revenge on them for releasing his mother. And then, let the conquest begin.

  Nick whirled around to see the spider-head rushing at him, its legs clattering across the surface of the table. Its fangs were bared and its gaze was fixed on his ankle. He drew back his foot and kicked savagely at the thing as it went for his other leg. There was a satisfying thud as he struck it hard, right under the chin. The creature didn’t weigh much—the head felt as light and hollow as a dry gourd—and it flew up and tumbled in the air before landing on its back a good distance away. The spider-head howled and its skinny legs went wild, scratching at air as it scrambled to right itself. It limped in a circle with its eyes crossing and rolling. Then it wandered too near the edge and blundered off. A second later there came a sickening sound, like the splat of rotten fruit on the stone floor below.

  “The lock! Get the lock before more—” began Finch, and then he cut off his own words with a strangled, frightened screech. Nick looked to the end of the table. Dozens more of the disgusting things had mounted the tabletop. Now they waited quietly at the far corners, their numbers amassing as the slower members of the brood reached the top. The early arrivers stood high on their legs, bobbing in place to separate rhythms, whispering to each other in shrill voices that made Nick’s flesh crawl With every passing second, another one or two climbed over the side and joined the swarm.

  There were at least fifty now, enough to overwhelm the man and the boy. They advanced cautiously, fanning out across the width of the table as if following some unspoken battle plan.

  “The lock!” screamed Finch. “Open the lock, the lock, the lock, the lock, the lock!”