The Fairytale Trilogy. Valerie Gribben

You could buy and sell an entire goblin city twice for less than that,” said Robin, cupping Marianne’s shoulders.

      “Robin, you are my brother, and I cannot believe that any relative of mine could be so selfish,” Marianne said with her voice breaking.

      “Well, I’d split the gold with you,” offered Robin, weakly trying to win Marianne’s favor. She inhaled haltingly, holding back her tears. Robin looked regretfully at her, apparently perturbed by visions of lost riches floating past him. He checked the fading sky. “Okay. I’ll do what I can,” Robin offered with labored goodwill.

      Marianne crawled into the bush. “It’s all right. You’ll be fine. Where did you get hurt?” she asked. The goblin whimpered, and thumped his chest, across which there was a diagonal slash, oozing olive liquid. Marianne tried to conceal her revulsion. Thinking decisively, she ripped off the sash of her dress and bound the wound. As she did this, a shudder passed through the goblin, and he went limp.

      “I’m sorry, Marianne,” said Robin, putting a hand on her shoulder, “There was nothing more you could do.” Marianne stood up, aching. She wiped the green slime onto some leaves. Evening had settled on the hill; a few dying rays of sunlight allowed for limited vision.

      “He was so wretched, Robin. At least we tried to save him,” said Marianne. “Tomorrow I’ll seek the reward with you.”

      “Why not make the attempt tonight?” challenged a voice. The question made them both jump with fright. Robin had his sword out before Marianne could turn around. Before them stood a man no taller than their waists, but with bushels of green hair spiking from his head. He guffawed heartily at their baffled expressions and shook a stubby finger at them. “You know how many folks I’ve tried that wounded goblin routine on? As of today, you are the three hundredth and sixty-fifth. You know how many people have stopped to help?” Marianne and Robin were still too astounded to answer, so the dwarf proceeded, “None. Nobody. Neither rich princes nor poor beggars. Every man alike ignored my dismal calls for help.” The little man was encroaching on them as he spoke. Robin halfheartedly raised the sword. “Hogswaddle! I’m not going to kill you! I’m going to help you awaken the princess!”

      “Help us?” asked Robin, incredulously.

      “Yes, my good fellow. After all, no one knows the passageways of a castle like a dwarf!” He winked at them mischievously. “I’ve watched a whole assortment of men parade into Penelope’s chambers, and seen not a one come out. Powerful magic is within those walls.”

      “And how exactly does that help us?” asked Robin, arms crossed.

      “Your friend there needs a lesson in gentlemanly courtesy,” the dwarf remarked, tossing his head toward Robin.

      “My brother’s disappointed that we’ve missed our opportunity tonight,” explained Marianne. “We’ve been traveling all day and are really in need of money.”

      “Well, didn’t I say you could have a go tonight?” said the dwarf, clapping his hands once. Immediately, the sky became light again and the sun was again beginning its descent.

      “How on earth did you—” Marianne began, but the dwarf cut her off.

      “It’s not of this earth,” he said with a slight smile. “Now, as I was saying, tonight this mannerless young man will spend a vigil by Penelope’s side in an appointed chair. Something will happen—I don’t know what—but it will ensure that Robin will never see daylight again.” Robin threw up his arms at the unwelcome prediction. “However, I knew the witch who enchanted Penelope and once overheard her say that the only way to break the spell was to stay in the same chair until dawn breaks,” the dwarf finished.

      “What about me?” asked Marianne. “Don’t think that I’ll be able to wait outside the door to see if Robin’s going to live or not!”

      “Well, I have a special task for you,” said the dwarf, drawing Marianne close. “I personally don’t think your brother will be able to make it through the night without, shall we say, some sisterly guidance.” The dwarf glanced back at Robin, who was examining his sword once again. “There is a tunnel going by Penelope’s room. It was designed for cats to solve the castle’s rat problem.” Marianne blanched, but the dwarf continued urgently, “I advise you to crawl through there until you reach Penelope’s chambers. There is a grate that looks into the room, and you’ll be able to monitor what’s going on. I must admit that even I have never been daring enough to spend the night in that tunnel, but if you want to help your brother, though I have no idea why,” mumbled the dwarf, “it is your only chance.”

      Rats, rats, thought Marianne. “Thank you for all your assistance,” she said. “How do I get into the tunnel?” she asked nonchalantly as if she shimmied through rodent-infested passageways as a weekend hobby.

      “After you see your brother into the room, go down the stairway to your left. Take a right at the picture of the maidens dancing. Go down that hallway until it reaches the picture of a fairy procession. A fern under that picture conceals the doorway to the burrow. Crawl to the left until you see light from Penelope’s room. Then wait. Luck be with you,” ended the dwarf, giving Marianne’s arm a sympathetic pat.

      Chapter the Tenth

      The castle was perched atop a steep hill, and in the last speck of light Marianne could tell that it had looked upon finer days. On further inspection, Marianne saw that what had originally appeared to be a grand gateway was actually a tarnished and dilapidated heap of junk. After ringing the bell at the gate several times, Robin became impatient and, with a single kick, broke open the rusted lock. Inside the fortress walls, unkempt hedges blurred the once-neat rows of a shrubbery maze, heliotrope sagged from cracked urns, and weeds devoured the deformed and overgrown topiary. Swarms of ants were quarrying morsels from the neglected apple trees, heavy with rotting fruit.

      “Robin, I’m dizzy,” she began.

      “No, I’ve stopped for you once already,” he said, still searching for the castle’s entrance. “Ahh! There it is!” he cried, pointing to a door almost hidden by a wall of branches. Performing a small jig over the anthills, Robin knocked assertively on the door. A panel of wood rocked back and forth, until, with a crack, it slid back to frame a sunken face matted with wiry, gray hair. “You the last one?”

      “Beg your pardon?” asked Robin.

      “Are you the one they rounded up today for the watch?” she gurgled.

      “Well, I came on my own to revive the princess,” replied Robin.

      “And to receive the sizable reward,” interjected Marianne, sidling up to Robin. The housekeeper’s eyes raked over Marianne in her torn dress, still splattered with goblin juice. Well, you’re no paragon of beauty yourself, thought Marianne.

      “Tonight will be the final test. After this night, Princess Penelope will die. Come in,” said the crone in a monotone voice, opening the door with surprising ease. “Her chambers are down that hall. You will not be allowed to leave them until the sun rises. No one may accompany you. You will be given the reward if you are found in the chambers at daybreak. . . . alive!” she added, before hobbling away.

      Marianne shivered. “Robin, maybe we should rethink this.”

      “Hmmm,” said Robin, touching a finger to his chin, “Starve to death or be able to dive through piles of money. Death, richness, death, wealth, death, pro—”

      “Fine! I choose silence!” said Marianne, covering her ears. The sun had almost set, and she needed to get to the tunnel. “But Robin, do be careful,” choked out Marianne, facing Robin and trying to conceal the worry in her voice.

      “What could happen?” asked Robin facetiously. He laughed as Marianne enumerated the dreadful possibilities. “I like to say that because I feel it undoes the hex. Now Fate knows that I have a sense of humor about these things.”

      “You’ll be chuckling all the way to—”