Rump: The True Story of Rumpelstiltskin by Liesl Shurtliff

seemed so interesting to them. Lord So-and-So is to marry Lady Such-and-Such. A maid spilled a glass of wine on somebody. Baron Something-or-Other is raving again about trolls in The Eastern Woods.
    “Come help me with the straw. The king wants it all in the west tower.” A pitchfork plunged into my pile of straw.
    “What for? We just put new straw in the beds.”
    “Don’t know. He wanted a pile of it in there last night,and now he wants all the straw from the stables up in the west tower, every last bit.” Their pitchforks jabbed into the straw one after the other, and I had to shift and twitch so I wouldn’t be stabbed.
    “Is the king weaving baskets?”
    The servants laughed. They filled a cart full of straw and left. Luckily, they didn’t notice my head sticking above the rest of the pile.
    I hid behind some large pails until it was dark and quiet. I was shaking. I couldn’t go home. Not now that I knew Opal was still in trouble. Oh, I almost wished I hadn’t overheard them talking! But why was I surprised? Why hadn’t I thought of this? Last night was merely a test. Of course King Barf would order more straw, all the straw he had, and make Opal spin him more gold. But even then, would he be satisfied? Would he ever stop demanding more?
    I didn’t want to answer these questions about the future. I had to think about now. Opal was still in trouble, and it was more my fault than ever. I couldn’t just leave her.
    It was back up the tower for me.
    When I plopped through the window this time, Opal seemed expectant. “Oh, I knew you would come, Robert!”
    Robert? “It’s Rump,” I said.
    “Oh, never mind that. I know Frederick and Bruno call you silly names. But I won’t. I shall call you Robert. A proper name.” She smiled as if that were the kindest thing in the world, but I couldn’t smile back. I was gazing openmouthed at all the straw. There was twice, no, threetimes as much straw as before, all piled along the walls and halfway up to the ceiling.
    “Troll’s breath,” I muttered.
    “Oh, it’s not so bad, is it?” said Opal. “You can spin this in a wink, you’re so clever.”
    I felt ill and must have looked it. Opal’s eyes brimmed with tears and her chin quivered as she spoke. “You must! The king says if every last straw isn’t gold by morning, I’m going to die! They’re going to k-kill me!” And she wailed, though I didn’t think it was quite as sincere as the night before. There wasn’t any snot. But sincere or not, what choice did I have?
    “What will you give me?” I asked.
    Opal folded her lower lip down so that she looked like a large toddler on the verge of a tantrum. “I already gave you my necklace. That was made of pure gold, you half-wit! Do you realize how much that’s worth?”
    “That was for last night. You have to give me something for tonight, and besides, I’m making you a mountain of pure gold,” I said impatiently. Who was the half-wit here?
    Opal looked around desperately. It made me nervous to watch her think. She looked so blank and mystified. She brushed her hands down her hair, licked her lips again, fiddled with her dress, and finally fumbled with her fingers.
    “I will give you my ring,” she said as she pulled a little ring off her finger. It was not gold or silver, probably cheap tin, but it had a small stone in the middle, shiny white with swirls of purple and blue. An opal.
    “My mother gave it to me,” she said, “before she died.” She dropped it in my hand, and I felt a stab of guilt. I didn’t think there was anything she could give or promise me that would be worth more than a hulking pile of gold, but I could see this was probably close, a priceless token. I was starting to really dislike this whole binding bargains and promises thing. Still, it wasn’t anything horrible.
    “Close the windows,” I said, and started to spin. My limbs still ached from the previous night’s work. My leg pulsed with pain every time it pushed