The Thief and the Beanstalk (Further Tales Adventures)

by P. W. Catanese

  High above, on the cloud island, she found the machine that lowered the infernal rope. She watched it for a while as the line fed out a yard at a time, the teeth of the gears clicking mechanically away. There was still plenty left on the spool.

  Reaching into the mist, she felt about and found a loose rock of considerable size. She crammed it into the place where the gears meshed. The teeth bit into the rock, trying to shatter it. But the rock resisted, and the machine ground to a halt. She hoped she had not arrived too late.

  The giantess looked at her shadow and waited for it to dance.

  Nick saw the narrow band of sky at the horizon begin to widen and remembered how the cloud island had descended to meet the growing beanstalk. So now it was rising back to its normal height, taking the rope up as well as away, and pulling the ogre with it.

  Gnasher screamed and scratched and clawed at the slope below him. He rolled onto his back and fumbled at the three remaining buckles of the harness. The rope was gathering speed. His helmet popped off and clattered down the hillside, past Nick and the men.

  The ogre was approaching the top of the hill rapidly. He saw it coming and gave up on the buckles. Pulling out his knife, he hacked at the straps of the harness. He sliced through one quickly. He was halfway through the remaining one when he reached the crest of the hill.

  Gnasher gave a shrill cry as he soared out into space and the ground dropped away beneath him. The second strap began to weaken, and he grabbed the rope above just before it snapped.

  If Gnasher had let go in that instant, when he was not far above the ground, Nick thought he might have been able to land without serious injury. But he did not. The ogre hesitated, gaping down at the world he’d come to conquer. Then he was hundreds of feet aloft, and the opportunity was gone.

  Nick and Jack and Roland and Henry and Bill stood together and watched without speaking as the ogre was carried away, clinging to the rope and rising higher and higher. The cloud island flew out to the west, toward the open sea. At last the sun emerged above the retreating cloud island, and the shadows that had fallen across the land disappeared in a burst of golden radiance.

  Finally Henry turned to Nick.

  “Are there any more of those … things?”

  “No, I guess that’s all of them,” said Nick.

  “How long do you suppose he can hang on to that rope?” asked Bill.

  “I don’t know,” said Nick.

  “Think he can climb back up?” asked Roland.

  “It’s an awful long way,” said Nick.

  Jack kneeled beside him.

  “How’s your head, sir?” asked Nick.

  “I’ll be fine. Those two, Nick … were they who I think they were?”

  “Yes, sir. The sons of the giant. Her sons, too.”

  A thrill of hope ran through the old man’s bones. “Her sons! So she didn’t die that day!”

  “No, sir. And she’s still alive. Gullinda gave me a message for you. There are some things you ought to know.”

  Jack put his hands on Nick’s shoulders. “Tell me what she told you. Please.”

  Nick looked over at the others. “I’d kind of like to say it in private. I guess it’s personal.”

  Henry and Roland and Bill had been watching. They shrugged and smiled and went to the wagon.

  “Whisper,” said Jack. He turned his head to one side so Nick could speak quietly into his ear.

  Nick closed his eyes and whispered. He told Jack about the story the giantess told him. About the love she still had for Jack, despite everything he had done. Nick talked about what really happened the day the giant died. About the peace that Gullinda found, however brief, after that day. Nick told Jack about the new suffering that she endured. About how her suffering was over now, perhaps forever, because of what happened after Jack gave Nick the beans. And he gave Jack the message that the giantess had asked him to remember.

  “I have not forgotten, but I have forgiven. Waste not another day on sorrow, not another moment. Live happily, and be at peace”

  Jack felt a strange something inside as he listened to Nick’s quiet voice. It felt like shackles were corroding and falling away, and their leaden weight was releasing his heart and soul, and he was rising swiftly out of a cold and sunless place, and as he rose he could begin to see the light above him through the murky waters. Jack listened to the whispers like a child, with wide wondering eyes and open mouth. He laughed out loud when Nick told him who really killed the giant. And he cried tears of sympathy, of relief, of happiness, of peace. By the time Nick gave him Gullinda’s message, he felt like he had broken through to the surface at last, out of the deep, and the sun was shining on him again, and for the first time in sixty years, he could breathe and laugh and live.

  Jack gathered Nick up in a hug. Roland and Henry and Bill watched, enchanted, as the old man smiled a bright smile they had never seen before, a smile no living person had seen, and the old man and the boy laughed and danced and shouted with joy.

  Jack suddenly stopped and gave Nick a serious look.

  “But where’s the treasure? Surely you’ve brought back some treasure!”

  “I … I didn’t steal any,” said Nick.

  “Ha! What kind of thief are you!” Jack beamed down at him. “Do you know what you really are, Nick?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” said Nick, a little bewildered.

  Jack tousled his hair.

  “You’re a good lad.”

  Chapter 21

  Roland took Finch’s body out of the tree and dug a hole to bury him. They all gathered around the grave and Henry said a prayer.

  Jack thought it would be unwise to leave the ogre’s weapons lying about. His men loaded the cart with Gnasher’s helmet and as many weapons as the horses could pull. The old man said they would return the next day to gather the rest.

  There was food and drink in the wagon. Nick had not even considered how hungry he was during his frantic adventures on the cloud island. He wolfed down huge quantities of bread and cheese and salted meat, and guzzled mug after mug of cider.

  Exhaustion overcame Nick as he ate. He fell asleep with a piece of bread in one hand and a mug in the other. Jack took these away and lay the boy down on a blanket, adding another on top to protect him from the coming chill of night.

  Nick slept for a long time, dreaming about the cloud island. He sensed the wagon bouncing along the path, and woke up certain that he was back on the ogre’s cart. Then he opened his eyes and saw stars overhead, flanked by the dark shapes of trees on either side of the forest road, and he remembered where he was. He felt the sweet relief that sleepers feel when they find that nightmares are only nightmares.

  Nick wondered about Gullinda, and where she went after she escaped. Was she finding out now what lay beyond the mountain, what undiscovered mysteries? Then Nick slept again, deeper this time than the first, and far longer.

  Chapter 22

  What to do, Gullinda wondered, about the great rope and the cart that held it to the cloud island. She spent the night pondering the question. As the stars swirled overhead, she paced around the massive vehicle, squinting through the darkness.

  And what of Gnasher and Basher? Neither was there when she arrived. She had watched as the beanstalk toppled from the edge, its fingers tearing the boulder away as if to wield it as a weapon of destruction. Was that the end for one of her sons? For the sake of all the helpless, fragile folk who lived below, she hoped so.

  Gnasher must have taken the rope down, she thought. She knew him well enough. Gnasher would send his brother down the beanstalk—because that was the dangerous way, the path that destroyed their father. And he would make a triumphant descent on his own invention. His arrogance wouldn’t allow him to go any other way. When she put her hand on the heavy cord, she could almost feel Gnasher’s evil presence far below. For a moment she even thought she heard his voice.

  If all had gone well, if she had arrested his descent in time, Gnasher was trapped bet
ween worlds at the end of this rope. Too high to reach the world below. And too far down to climb back up—too far for Gnasher at least, who was powerful of mind but weak of body. It was a cruel end, but nothing compared to the punishment he was prepared to inflict on the little innocents.

  What to do about the rope? She thought about prying up the spikes at the end of the chains and sending the whole accursed creation—rope, spool, and cart—over the side. But those spikes were driven deep into the rock, and she doubted if she could free them. Besides, it seemed a reckless gesture. What if Nick or some unlucky stranger was standing below?

  Perhaps the best plan was to wait for several days, after Gnasher’s strength gave out for sure, and he had fallen, and then remove the stone she had jammed into the gears and wind the rope up again.

  The sun was rising. Its first modest light illuminated the horizon in the direction of the castle, but then the world spun lazily and the glow passed in front of her at the very spot where the rope disappeared over the edge.

  The edge. She had been close to it before, but never dared to go all the way to the very brink, not even on that day when she hacked the beanstalk away so many years before. As always, the mist made it impossible to tell where solid ground ended. But now the end of the rope, where it bent and disappeared, clearly marked the spot where land stopped and the void began. Perhaps if she went there and stuck her head out, she could see the fabled land of little people, far below. Just one time, she would like to see it, the home of Jack and Nick.

  She stood and walked cautiously through the mist, following the rope, testing each step before putting her weight down. When she was three steps away, she leaned out to look, but the fog still obscured her view.

  Afraid now to be so close to the end of her world, she turned and walked sideways, extending one foot gingerly across the ground and then sliding the other behind.

  She leaned as far as she dared. Out here, the wind was louder, whistling and moaning as it cut across the rocky shore. She looked into the mist that enshrouded the edge. Something was down there—not a faraway land, but a dark shape just below. A shape that moved.

  A bloody hand came out of the mist and seized her ankle. Gullinda fell backward and landed hard on the jagged stones, sending mist billowing in every direction. She heard the word “Motherrrr,” a barely audible croak. The hand tugged on her ankle, and she slid toward the edge. She would have been pulled farther, but the grip was weak.

  Gnasher’s face rose out of the mist. He was panting and his tongue hung out between his sharp teeth. His hair was matted with perspiration. He looked up at Gullinda and tried to smile. The expression seemed contrite at first, pleading and helpless. Then she looked past the smile and saw the truth that Gnasher could not mask.

  She drew her free foot back and held it poised above his face. “No, Gallinor. Never again. You can’t come back.”

  She did not have to strike him. The words were enough. Gnasher’s strength was spent, and his grip failed. His hand slid down her ankle and over her foot, and his face sank abruptly into the mist. There was no sound for a moment, and then a scream, far, far, far below.

  Chapter 23

  Nick opened his eyes to the morning light. He was in a soft bed with plump pillows all around, in a handsome room that looked somehow familiar. The sun was just beginning to shine through the window, breaking up rain clouds that gathered during the night.

  Nick leaned out the window and saw the white stone of Jack’s fortress. Below him, Bill was pulling the ivy down from the wall. When he saw Nick, he held up a piece of the vine in his fist and shook it. Then he laughed. Nick grinned back and waved.

  On a table next to the bed some fine new clothes were laid out for him. There was also a basin filled with water. Nick took off the black garments that the thieves had given him and left them in a pile. He splashed water on his face and tried to scrub off as much of the dirt as he could. When he was dressed, he opened the door and stepped out into the same hall he’d crept down two nights before. It all looked so different in the light.

  Nick found Jack downstairs in the kitchen. The old man was having breakfast with the little girl. The table was covered with fruits, toasted breads, cheese, meats, and something in a covered bowl that smelled wonderful.

  “Join us, Nick!” Jack said cheerfully. “I think you and Ann have met before.”

  Nick remembered too well the look the girl gave him the last time he saw her, the one that shamed him when he was caught stealing in Jack’s gallery. He knew she was watching him now, but he could barely muster the courage to return the glance. Slowly, shyly, he raised his eyes. And when he did, she graced him with a warm and welcome smile.

  “Breakfast first,” said Jack. “Let’s fill that belly of yours, and then I want to hear the whole story. Beginning to end, everything you saw and did. Tell me about that band of ruffians you were mixed up with, about that pair of monsters we saw, and especially about the giantess.”

  “That will take a while, sir,” said Nick.

  “It can take as long as you want, Nick. I had just about run out of things to paint.”

  Chapter 24

  The night after the beanstalk burned, clouds gathered overhead and a healing rain fell in the parched valley where the awesome plant had grown. The earth eagerly soaked up the moisture, as fast as the skies could deliver it, and the ground stopped smoldering at last.

  A tiny vine poked through the charred soil and wriggled into the moonlight. At its tip, a pure white flower blossomed with miraculous speed. Then a pod emerged from the flower. It hung like a beacon, fat with beans, glowing with a milky green light in the cool black night.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at The Brave Apprentice, the next adventure from P. W. Catanese.

  Available Summer 2005

  Look. There’s another one.”

  The tailor squinted at the grassy land on the other side of the river from the village of Crossfield. A lone sheep had wandered into view with no shepherd or dog in sight.

  “I don’t like it,” he said to the apprentice by his side. “I’m afraid something has happened to old Osbert. Stubborn fool. I told him he didn’t look well. Never should have gone out there with the herd.”

  “I’ll find him, master.”

  “You’re a good lad, Patch. Go on now—there’s not much daylight left. And cross the second bridge mind you, no sense taking chances at the Tumbles.” The tailor shouted the last few words because the boy was already running along the footpath by the river’s edge.

  Patch could run fast and forever, as everyone in town knew. He ran everywhere on those long colt legs, with his tangles of black hair flapping behind him like a pennant. Even when there was no cause to run, Patch ran. But there was a reason now. Earlier that afternoon, one of Osbert’s sheep had ambled into town unattended. And now this one appeared across the river. It seemed that neither Osbert nor his dog was minding the flock. Besides, by now the old shepherd should have been back at the little house next to the tailor’s home, with his herd safe in their pen.

  The river was running swiftly too, as it always did in spring when the snows melted in the hills of the Barren Gray. As Patch raced along the bank he tried to guess why Osbert had lost track of time and sheep. He hoped the old man had fallen asleep on a sun-warmed rock or was helping one of his flock give birth. But darker explanations tugged at the boy’s thoughts, and he dreaded coming at last upon his friend’s cold body somewhere on the other side of the river.

  The Tumbles were coming up. Here the banks of the river stood tall and close on each side, and the waters narrowed and hastened between them, frothing among the boulders that cluttered the riverbed. Aging willows lined the banks, and their roots reached into the swirling currents like long probing fingers. The Tumbles bridge, a simple construction with wide, sturdy planks nailed along the trunks of two trees that spanned the gap and no railing on either side, was here. Few dared to take it these days, even though it spared you a long walk to th
e next bridge much farther downstream. As for Patch, he crossed here often (at least when the sun was shining), sometimes just for the thrill of it.

  He took the bridge the same way as always, slowing only a little as he approached the first plank. Then he jumped high, a leap that carried him halfway across. He landed, took two more long steps, and then leapt again to soar over the far end, out of the reach of any large and ugly hand that might dart out, grasping from the shadowy place under the span.

  Patch stopped and turned to look back at the crossing. No such hand had appeared. But in a strange way, he almost wished that it had. As horrifying as it might be, Patch hoped that one day he might catch a glimpse of the troll that was rumored to live under that bridge.

  Between two enormous rocks on the far side was the dark space where the troll supposedly carved itself a cave just a few months before. No villager had yet gotten a good look at the creature. Once the farmer Dale came puffing white-faced into town, shouting that something snatched three of his geese as he crossed the Tumbles. People spoke of unearthly groans and a hulking shape glimpsed in the moonlight. And everyone could smell the foul, foul stench that poured from that hole like vapor from a hot spring, the scent of things rotten and dead.

  Patch ran to the first hilltop on the far side of the river and stopped to look about. Three times he shouted, “Osbert!” and held his breath to listen for a reply. None came from his old friend. But somewhere to the north, over the next hill, a dog barked.

  He ran with his fists clenched and his thin legs slicing through the knee-high weeds. When he crested the next hill he saw the shepherd.

  Osbert was sitting slumped with his back against a boulder, rocking gently. His head drooped and his chin rested on his chest. His dog, Pip, was standing next to him with her ears raised high, and she barked again when she saw Patch.

  “Osbert!”