The Wilful Eye by Isobelle Carmody

we must speak swiftly, for it is not long until dusk and then the little man will come to hear what you have found out and this is the last day.’
    â€˜How do you know he will come at dusk?’
    â€˜The bees told me,’ he said. ‘They told me all that you had whispered to them, and what they did not tell me, I learned from my father. The rest I figured out for myself, since I am a clever fellow.’
    Moth stared at him. ‘You can understand the bees?’
    â€˜I can understand all beasts when I am in the shape of a beast.’
    â€˜You are a shape-changer?’ asked Moth, distracted from her grief.
    The young man bowed. ‘I am only in human shape in the daytime. I hope that does not shock you. It is common enough in the mountains and even in Oranda, though there, the shape-changers prefer the forms of sea creatures. But it is not hereditary. My father and mother were not shape-changers, though my father’s brother is. Which brings me to the words I began to say when we met. I wanted to thank you for saving my father’s life.’
    Moth stared at him. Her mind leapt like a cat on a beetle. ‘The panther was your father!’
    He nodded. ‘The bats carried him as far as they could, but the further they went from the castle, the heavier his pelt became. Finally the pelt began to move and they realised with a shock that they were carrying a live panther. Luckily by that time they were flying very low, for they dropped him and fluttered away.’
    â€˜But . . . he was . . . he said he had been killed and that it was enchantment that bound his spirit to his pelt,’ Moth cried.
    â€˜So he believed, but in fact the enchantment was an illusion and when my father was far enough away from the king, the spell weakened and broke, so that he took on his true form.’
    â€˜But why would the king create such an illusion?’
    â€˜Because his appetite is for pain and my father suffered far more in that form than if he had simply been killed,’ said the young man. ‘He sent a cat to find me, for he had found out that I had come looking for him in the Middle Kingdom. He did not dare return for fear of being ensnared by the spell again. He told me you had saved him and bade me help you to escape the king. He did not trust the little man who had appeared twice to save you. I was coming to the palace when I heard that you had left it, and were going home to your parents. There was much gossip about the news that the king would wed you. It was not until the bees sang your secrets to me that I understood. I went back to consult with my father and then last night I went to the castle after I had transformed and I learned the king’s secret.’
    Moth noticed all at once that the sun had set and the moon was rising. There was a red flash and the little man stood before her, but the dark-haired young man was gone.
    â€˜Tell me my name,’ the little man invited.
    Moth swallowed and spoke the names on her last list, one at a time, her mind racing. Then she felt a tickle in her ear and she heard a name whispered. She thought she must have misheard. She said to the little man, ‘Is your name Orabald?’ No. ‘Is your name Hedilbart?’ No. ‘Is your name Baltazar?’ No. The little man’s smile grew broader with each denial.
    Again the voice whispered a name. She shook her head, for it was impossible that this was the name of the little man, but the voice whispered it for a third time.
    Moth took a deep breath and said, ‘Is your name Rumpelstiltskin?’
    The little man uttered a shriek of rage and his cheeks grew red and redder as he danced from one foot to the other in fury. Then, just like that, spectacularly, horribly, he burst.
    â€˜How did you know?’ asked Moth as they stared at the small burned patch on the great green meadow beside the village, that had once been the black stone palace of the king. It was