THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES
Emperor Thomas had heard about
Po and
Ho long
before he met
them. Not that
he begrudged two scam
artists a
living. He
liked the Salt
Dodge and
the False
Gumdrop as
much as
anyone and
had a
good laugh on
how they
had modified the
Glam and
took everything the
Widow Stein owned, right
down to
her porcelain teeth. But
all good
things come
to an
end and
their end
was in
sight when
the local
magistrate hauled them up in
front of
the Emperor.
When Ho
and Po
suggested they
had something in
mind that
the good
Emperor might
be interested in,
Thomas was intrigued and kept
a close eye on
his wallet. The
thought of
the two
of them
as master tailors amused him and
he let
them go
ahead for
a month
— expecting he
must bid
them a sad
but final farewell at
the month’s end.
The non-existent clothes exceeded his expectations. An
early summer heat
wave made
the ruffles and brocade hot as
hell. A little naked parading was
just the
right prescription. Everyone saw
through it instantly (heh)
of course
but who was going
to say
anything?
As the
naked emperor wandered in
the yard
outside, feeling
the gentle wind tickle him
in places unexposed for
decades, Thomas
thought: I could get used
to this.
A young
boy on
the wall called
out: “He’s naked!”
The Emperor didn’t even have to
raise an
eyebrow. His Minister of
Personal Security had
the boy
silenced before his
next breath. The
boy was
immediately and
publicly dismembered as
philosophical instruction to
the populace and
— more importantly — to members of the court. The
Emperor was clearly the final arbiter of
fashion.
As Thomas retired back
inside — it
did look
like rain —
he considered the possibilities. There were a number of
Ladies and
daughters of
Ladies who could
benefit from the gift of
Imperial clothing. At
least, it
would benefit Thomas. And
by declaring this
gift Imperial, Thomas could insure the quality of
the court
landscape since
no one would
be wearing the
ephemeral clothing but by
his Imperial decree.
The more
he thought about it,
the less
necessary Ho
and Po
appeared. But by
the time
Thomas sent
his Minister of
Personal Security to
pay a visit
to the two tailors, they
were already gone.
SNOW WHITE
The kingdoms of
Althamea and
Gerk were side by side
on the
coast, far
enough from
the seat
of Thomas’s empire not
to worry overmuch but
close enough to
smell it if
things got
too close.
Gerk had enjoyed a regular involuntary infusion of Viking DNA
resulting in a population that
was big, blue-eyed and blond, heavily muscled and ready for action. Althamea’s people, denied these
advantages, were short,
thin, splay-footed, pigeon-chested, buck-toothed, and myopic. Every
few years,
the Gerks would convince themselves to
attack. The Kings
of Althamea would sigh
and reluctantly annex
another hectare
or two. It
was a
shame, really. The poor
sods just didn’t seem
to learn.
It was no surprise, therefore, when
King Richard of Gerk
had a handsome son, Charles. The beauty of
King Alfred of
Althamea’s daughter, Snow White,
was a shock.
Snow White’s name
had a double
meaning. On the one hand,
it signified an
innocent lack of
guile and a
symbol of
purity. On the other, like a flat, featureless snowfall, no
one could
tell what was underneath. She was as
smart as
they come.
Her stepmother, Queen
Rose, had
been her
father’s mistress for
four years before
she bore
him a
sickly son.
At that
point, King
Alfred had
Snow White’s mother killed and married Rose. Snow White
was fifteen.
It didn’t
surprise her
at all
when Ho,
Rose’s huntsman, took
her out
into the
forest. But
Snow White’s
mother had
been one
example of
how to manage a
man and
Queen Rose
had been
another. The huntsman, having been instructed to
kill Snow White and
bring her
wet beating heart
back to the castle, was reluctant to fulfill his instructions after a couple
of hours’ romp
with her. It’s just tough
to slaughter a beautiful naked woman.
Instead, he sent
Snow White (and
her clothes) deeper into
the forest. Ho killed a
boar, took
out the
heart, and
presented that
to the
Queen. But
figuring that
fooling the Queen
was likely only temporary, he
left town.
Chance plays a big role in most
lives and Snow White’s was no exception. It
wasn’t chance that
Rose sent
her away.
Nor was it
chance Snow White
lived to
tell the
tale — that
was pure
skill and
single-minded determination. But it
was chance
that brought her to the Trollback Mine
successfully operated by
seven brothers named,
unsurprisingly,
Trollback
Whether it
was the contaminated water, persistent parasites or
inbreeding, all
seven brothers were afflicted with
achondroplasia. They
were dwarves.
The number seven has
special significance in
fairy tales: seven swans, seven dwarves, seven
deadly sins, seven cardinal virtues. It
could have
been worse. This
fairy tale could
have been about
the seven
lepers.
Regardless, not all
of the Trollback brothers were equally afflicted. Pedro, for
example, was
mentally retarded and
referred to
as Dopey. Karl was consumptive and called Sneezy. You
get the idea.
Rupert (Grumpy) was the oldest
of the Trollback brothers and had achieved the neat
trick of
both managing a
successful jewel mine
and defending the Trollback claim
from King Alfred and King Richard,
the Emperor Thomas being just too far
away to
worry about.
Snow White’s appearance out of the forest
struck the Trollback brothers like a pickaxe. If
she had been the shy, virginal girl her face suggested, she
would still
have been
the only
woman available. And
since she was not, her effect was even more
devastating. Pedro and Karl
died more from
neglect than
anything else.
The remaining brothers competed, fought, and
ultimately murdered for
sexual favors that
before they’d never known existed. Finally, it
was Rupert and the humorless Guillermo (Happy) who beat each other
with oaken
staves in
front of
the mine,
the others having died under
mysterious (or not so mysterious) circum stances. Rupert
struck Guillermo’s eye
with his axe
but didn’t kill him. Guillermo ran
screaming into
the forest. But
before Rupert could take
full possession of
Snow White, there
rode onto
the scene
one Prince Charles, son of
King Richard, to
negotiate the year’s taxes.
Charles, also
called “Charming” as
a joke,
was a
bona fide
prince with a kingdom nearly his own just going to waste. Snow White
seduced Charles and Charles returned to his father with
her. Rupert followed, hating himself but still in
thrall.
King Richard, a
widower with
his wife
safely beyond harm,
died the
following spring of a lingering illness. Prince Charles became King Charles.
With a kingdom of
her own and
a constant revenue stream of
jewels, Snow White
hired every mercenary she
could find
and drafted the population without mercy. She
smiled to
herself. When
she was
done, Queen Rose would
be dancing on
red hot iron plates. She
wouldn’t be
dancing alone. King
Alfred would
be dancing with
her.
JACK AND THE
BEANSTALK
There’s an old joke that
Saint Peter, bored with his job
admitting souls
to heaven, began to
guess the IQs
and occupations of
the entrants as
they passed the Pearly Gates. 150:
surgeon. 135:
attorney. The
joke’s obligatory third
guy showed up.
Peter gave
him a once-over and,
too polite to give
a number, said: “Get
your deer this year?”
That’s Jack.
He lived in
a Gerklander hovel
with his
mother in
the town
of Grunt hanging out in
the village square on
a soap
box yelling about
the impending menace from Althamea. The Althameans had weakened Gerk
by introducing regulations on
swordbearing — the real reason
Gerk hadn’t won a war with
Althamea in two hundred years. They
had introduced foreign substances into
the water to
turn Gerks
stupid. (The
Gerks in
the square, observing Jack,
were almost persuaded.) They
were corrupting our
schools by
introducing secular humanism and
teaching that
the earth was
neither the center
of the universe nor flat.
Mostly, the Gerks
ignored Jack, though
some of
the more
gullible invited him
to speak
at the enormous church they
were building just
outside of town. Jack
distributed pamphlets on
the Althamean menace, abstinence family
planning, and God’s plan for
Gerk.
Jack would have eventually died of tuberculosis, unknown and nameless, but for
the draft. When
the new Queen
started building her army, each town
was tasked with
gathering up
as many
able-bodied men
(meaning still
warm, able to walk
and possessing neither money
nor strong ties to anyone
important) as
possible. The current mayor
didn’t want to
have anything to
do with
it, nor
his ministers. But,
since it came from the
Queen, it was
a dirty job
somebody had
to do.
Jack was
standing in the square
yelling at
the populace when
the Mayor hooked his
thumb out the window and said, “Let’s get
him to
do it.”
Jack was appointed Chairman and Sole
Responsible Member
of the
Grunt Draft
Board directly by the Queen
herself, since
nobody in the Mayor’s office wanted their
fingerprints on
the deal.
Jack took
the office
as a
sign from heaven. He
gave talks
to hulking, nineteen-year-old eighth graders in the local schools using maps he devised to
show the
true size
of Gerk
— that is,
the size
Gerk would
have been if
it hadn’t lost all
those territories to
Althamea over
the last couple of centuries. The only indication on
the map that
the territories were no longer under
Gerk control were little dotted lines
of asterisks and
a note at the bottom in
print so
fine it
looked like a smudge
saying these
were “disputed” lands. Jack didn’t
just distribute these
maps to potential recruits but to
all the students, thinking wisely for
perhaps the first time in his life, that
this war could
go on for
a long, long time.
Forty young children who didn’t know any better grew up with
these maps
and eventually settled in
the “disputed” lands
only to find themselves loyal Althamean citizens.
So
equilibrium was
established. Jack
sent off
troublemakers, squints, boys trying to
avoid incarceration, and
boys already incarcerated. Nobody meaningful was tagged. Everyone was happy.
Trouble rolled
up when
Jack drafted Edward Serk the Younger. Edward Serk
the Younger was
the son
of Edward Serk
the Elder
who, himself, was brother to
Simon Serk the Mayor.
Clearly, Jack’s usefulness had come
to an
end.
But now
came a dilemma. Jack,
for all
his faults (and
they were
many) had been appointed to
an office by
the Queen. The Queen
had not shown herself to
be forgiving. It
was probable that
Mayor Serk,
Serk the
Elder and
Serk the
Younger would
all serve
in the
front lines
if removing Jack
could be traced to
them.
As chance and
fairy tales
would have
it, a
transient named Ho
was just
at that moment passing
hurriedly through town, backtracking to
Althamea given the
regime change. As
he was
obviously on
the lam,
the Mayor made Ho an
offer: if
he would
take care
of their problem, he
could continue south without interference. Alternatively, he
could be
sent to
the Queen dressed in the very best ferrous finery the town
of Grunt
could afford.
Ho agreed to
the arrangement. Ever
brave, Ho
decided the method of
choice should be
poison.
Ho found
Jack sitting outside his
mother’s hovel drinking from a
jug of spiced wine.
(Gerks always spice their
wine since their
unspiced wine tastes like pig
urine.)
Casting about for
some basis
of conversation, Ho
remarked on
the fine
qualities of
the family
cow.
Jack realized that
anyone who
thought the
sunken-hipped, fly-bitten, half-dead Bess
had any qualities at
all, fine or
otherwise, had to
be more
drunk, stupid or
shifty than
he was.
Jack put
down the
jug. He
would need both his wits
for this contest.
“I’d love to
purchase this
cow,” said Ho. “Sure. Make
an offer.”
“I have these
magic beans.” Ho
opened his
(thickly gloved) hand
and showed Jack.
“They don’t look like beans,”
said Jack. “They
look like mush rooms.”
“Like I said. They’re magic.”
Jack took
the beans and
peered closely at
them. “I
like mushrooms.”
“You — “ began Ho.
Jack chewed them
up and
swallowed them.
“Don’t have
much taste.”
“ — cook them,” Ho
finished.
“What?”
“Or eat them
rather,” said Ho
hurriedly. “Whatever. Use them
any way you like.”
“How are
they magic?”
“That depends on the person.
After all, everybody has their
own dreams, desires, and destinies. Also, size makes
a difference in the dosage.”
“All those words
begin with
the letter ‘d,’” said Jack, dreamily, showing off
his education.
“Indeed,” said Ho,
starting to
leave. Cooking these
particular mush
rooms was
considered necessary for
their effectiveness. He’d
have to
come back and try something else.
“Don’t forget Bess.”
“Right.” Ho
dubiously untied
the cow
and started laboriously leading (dragging) the cow down
the road.
Jack sat
back down
with his
jug, wondering how
long the
magic would take to
have an
effect.
Ho returned to
Grunt mysteriously sans
Bess — no
one ever
solved the
mystery of
Bess. But then
nobody much
noticed. After assuring Mayor
Serk that
his problem would be
solved as
soon as
the mushrooms worked their way into Jack’s
bloodstream, Ho
expected no
further interference. Imagine his surprise to be volunteered for active service
by the new Chairman and Sole Responsible Member of the Grunt Draft
Board, Edward Serk the Younger. He
was never
seen in
Grunt again.
Later that
day, all
three Serks
found Jack
lying in
a small impact crater at the base of
a great tree. Ho
estimate of
the mushrooms’ efficacy was correct and they
had, in fact, not killed Jack. It was completely clear, however, that
Jack was indeed dead. The Serks surmised
he had fallen from a great height
(likely the adjacent tall tree) but no
one could
figure out why he
had climbed it
in the first place. The jug
next to
said adjacent tree suggested a
cause but,
as none
of the Serks had ever climbed a
tree while drunk, they
thought it
insufficient. Jack’s death
remained a
mystery and fodder for
multiple tales told
by those who
were not
required to
serve in the Queen’s army
but supported the soldiers passionately over
a stein of ale
and a rack of
lamb.
RUMPELSTILTSKIN
When Mary’s father was caught
trying to
evade King Alfred’s draft, he claimed
his daughter could spin straw into
gold.
Po, Alfred’s
guardsman, didn’t believe him
but had been given instructions that
any source of
funds should
be reported immediately to his superiors. Thus,
the outlandish claim
reached King
Alfred just as
he was desperately trying
to make
a brand
new son with Queen Rose,
the previous model
having shown itself to
be defective since it had recently died.
Alfred was desperate and
for more
than just another son. He
needed money in
the worst way. His
kingdom had
never been wealthy except in
comparison to Gerk.
But now his traitorous bitch
of a
daughter had an army of
two thousand men.
How had
she gotten control of
the Trollback Mine?
No. Scratch that.
He knew
how she
had done
it. The
black-haired slut
upstairs had taught him
a great deal about
how such
things were done.
So what
did he
have to
lose? Try
the girl.
If she
doesn’t make
gold from
straw, hang
the father in
the yard.
He fingered his
beard as
he watched her
from his throne. Not
bad-looking, either.
Mary ended up in a stable with a couple
of bales of hay. Gold tomorrow equals
life. No gold
tomorrow — but let us
be polite.
Being a young
girl and
rather dim,
she, of
course, had
no idea
how to accomplish anything of
the sort. In
her life, if
she was lucky
enough to
avoid until her
wedding day
being beaten and
raped by
her father, she
might live to
have the privilege of
being beaten and raped by
her husband. Thus, while her
situation had
not improved it
had also
not gotten worse by
much.
From the shadows came
a dwarf with only one
eye. “I
know how to turn straw
into gold.”
“How?”
“You couldn’t possibly understand.”
True enough, thought Mary. “For what
in return?”
“Your first child.”
Mary stared at
him. “You’re kidding.”
The dwarf stared
back at
her and it
was clear he
had never
made or
understood a joke in
his entire life.
Hm. Possible life
tomorrow weighed against future
brat versus
certain death. Mary didn’t
have to
know calculus to
make that
calculation. “It’s a deal.”
The dwarf
piled the
two bales
of hay
together and
brought out
curious instruments: ring magnets and coils of
copper wire,
round cylinders of
glass with glowing
filaments inside, an
icy flask of
colorless liquid
that seemed to
smoke though Mary
could smell no
fire. From
these materials, he constructed a
framework around
the hay, then
handed her a
pair of thick, smoked-glass goggles. “Better wear these,” he
said, donning a pair
himself. A moment later
came a
flash brighter than
the sun and forty pounds of straw became
ten pounds of gold dust,
the thirty-pound difference being used up
by the energy of
the transaction.
Since Po had been watching the whole
thing (fortunately staring at
Mary’s full bodice
at the critical moment) King
Alfred showed
up a
few minutes later
while the dwarf was still
putting away his apparatus.
“You have an uncommon skill,
master dwarf,” said King Alfred. “What’s your name?”
“Rumpelstiltskin.”
“That’s a curious name.”
“Because of
my eye.
Rumply. Skin. You
get the idea.”
“I see.”
Crazy as
a loon,
thought Alfred. “What did
you promise him, girl?”
“My firstborn child,” said Mary.
“Ah,” said
King Alfred. “May
I surmise, then, that
the going
rate for ten pounds
of gold
is the future promissory note
of a
child?”
Rumpelstiltskin nodded.
“Perhaps we can work
something out.
I don’t have a few hundred babies immediately on hand.
Is there
some economy of
scale we can determine? Why do
you need a
baby, anyway?”
Rumpelstiltskin pointed to
the empty
socket of
his eye.
“Stem cells.” It dawned on
King Alfred that
this was no
common dwarf. “Do you know anything about
fertility problems?”
“I do.” Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. “Stem
cells.”
“I believe we
can do
business.” He
put his
arm around the dwarf and led him
toward the castle. When
he passed Po
he whispered: “Take
care of the girl,
won’t you? And her father.”
Po nodded. Deciding he
had full
discretion regarding the
girl, and
the father, Po
hanged the father the following day
and married the girl.
Mary got a
much better deal
than she
expected. Rumpelstiltskin never
claimed her
firstborn child
and Po
surprised her
by neither beating nor
raping her.
CINDERELLA
The called Charles “Charming” for
the single- minded determination with
which he
pursued sex.
Sex with women, mostly, but there
were other
tales that
could not be
easily dismissed.
Cinderella’s father
had been born a peasant but managed to accrue enough wealth
to come
to the notice of
a noble
but poor family — said stepmother — who married him
for his
money. Dad
was happy with
the deal — he
was marrying up —
but promptly died
before he
could get
any title for
himself. The stepsisters came
from a previous marriage and
had noble blood. Cinderella, sired from the loins
of a peasant and
being born of a
peasant mother, had
none. It
was no
accident, therefore, that
she was
not invited to
the ball
King Richard threw
to find
someone, anyone, who
might keep his son in check. There
was more than
one bastard in the kingdom that
looked suspiciously like Charles.
“Be careful what
you wish
for” are
the watchwords of
kings. Cinderella sewed
up a
little dress
and crashed the
ball. She
didn’t have
as much
material to
work with
as she
would have liked
and what
should have been
ruffles and
folds instead form
fitted to
her décolletage. She
had a very pretty
face but that
didn’t matter much
as Charles hadn’t seen a woman’s eyes since
he was thirteen.
After a number
of clumsy
grabs, Cinderella escaped. As
stimulating as it
is to
be pawed by
a member of
the royal
family, the
excitement palls. Besides, she
had to
get back before her
stepmother and
stepsisters. If
the ball hadn’t
been masked, she wouldn’t have dared go
at all.
Determination being Charles’s most
prominent, and perhaps only,
talent, he
found her
footprint and
had glass
shoes made.
He reasoned that although he
didn’t know
her face
(big surprise) and
her endowment would no doubt
be hidden, she couldn’t hide her feet.
In due
time, Cinderella was
discovered — something she
might have
had a hand
in, tales
of princely true
love and
wedding bells being popular with teenage girls
back then.
Regardless, neither came
up. Charles bought her a nice house
and visited her as
often as
King Richard would
let him. Marriage was
out of
the question, of
course, but
that didn’t stop
him from
siring a child
on her. Cinderella named
the girl Charlena in hopes
the prince would
remember his daughter. Charles didn’t so
much but King Richard did and sent
Charles on a
tax mission to the Trollback Mines
while he
figured out what
to do.
Charles returned with
that woman.
Cinderella brought Charlena to the public
square when Charles presented Snow White
to the kingdom. After seeing that
beautiful, pale
sociopath, it
didn’t surprise her when
Charles came
no more.
Cinderella didn’t miss
the bump
and grind but her stipend dried up, too. It
was hard to maintain even a small
house and daughter without visible means of
support and Cinderella had no
marketable skills.
Then, just
when things
were about
to become truly
desperate, a
knock came on
the door. She
opened it
and saw a
sour-faced dwarf.
“I’ve brought you
this. From
Charming.” He
spat the
name as
he gave
her a small
bag of
coins.
“Come in,
please.” Cinderella led
him in
and made
tea for
him. “I’m
Cinderella.”
“I know
who you are.”
“And I don’t know
who you are.”
She eyed
him expectantly, the hot teakettle poised somewhat dangerously over his head.
The dwarf eyed her, and the kettle, sourly. “My name
is Rupert. Rupert Trollback.”
“Welcome to
my house, Rupert Trollback.” Charlena, a
child of
three by this
point, came
in and hugged her mother while
looking at the stranger. “My daughter and I
thank you.”
Cinderella knew
the coins
did not
come from
Charles — not
only was
Cinderella for the moment entirely forgotten by the Prince
but that woman would not
have allowed it.
Rupert was
supporting her
for reasons of his
own. Cinderella thought she
knew what
they were
but after
several more visits, more
coins, and no suggestion of the implied
improper behavior, she decided she was wrong.
They found
they had things
in common. Rupert had a
dry sense
of humor and
a bitter
wit. Cinderella had
dealt with
worse and
knew what
was bitter and
what was
wit and
when to
tell the
difference. It
wasn’t hard
for the two castoff exiles to
become friends.
When Charles was
murdered, Rupert came
to Cinderella before dawn. “Charming is
dead.” Rupert stood
in the doorway staring up
at her.
“Did you kill him?”
“I did
not,” he
said indignantly. “But
I’ll be
blamed for
it. I’m
getting out while
I can
and before the
war starts. I
don’t know
where I’ll
be going.”
“I see.”
Cinderella was
not surprised by
his leaving. She
was surprised at
how it
made her sad.
“Come with me.” Rupert started to
say more, closed his
mouth, and
waited.
Go with him?
Travel with a little girl
and a
dwarf? It
was likely Rupert had
enough means to
take care
of them
for at
least a little while. She
guessed she
knew that
much about him. She
liked him
well enough. Besides, no
doubt that woman would
eventually come
around to get rid of any possible claimant to
the throne. Charlena’s ancestry was well known.
“I have to
pack.”
Between the
two of
them, they
made small
bundles of
needful things that either could carry. As
they set out,
Cinderella carrying the sleeping Charlena and following a grim and silent Rupert, she found
herself smiling. Rupert
was a dwarf, grumpy, and obviously still
obsessed with
that woman. At
the same
time, he
had come
to save
them at
great risk to himself; a
woman and a
child were additional burdens on
top of
being a dwarf
on the
run. Maybe he
would leave
if things got
too tough. Maybe
he wanted her
to sleep
with him.
Maybe she
should. Maybe
she would. There were worse
fates.
But for
the moment it
seemed a good
friend was
helping her
escape to
the hope of
a new life.
That was
about as
good as
it got.
Copyright © 2010 by Steven
Popkes.
http://www.stevenpopkes.com/
First published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science
Fiction, January-February 2010
