[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

you about the hair. When it grows as long as all that, it gets pretty
hefty. Here. I've swept enough of it aside so that you can crawl
free." He waved for Wuntvor to follow him.
41
42
The lad crawled through the opening, then stood and turned to see
what had befallen him. He whistled softly. The Brownie was correct.
There was more hair here than he had ever seen in one place before.
The entire side of the tower was covered with it; cascading golden
blond strands that reached all the way to the window high above. And
the hair was so long that it gathered in great masses upon the
ground, forming valleys and tiny hillocks all its own, so that it
looked like some miniature and yet strangely hirsute landscape spread
out before him.
"Well," the woman's voice called to him. "Are you going to climb up
or not?"
"Oh, most assuredly he shall!" the Brownie shouted. The little fellow
nudged Wuntvor's ankle. "Well, you want your damsel, don't you?"
Wuntvor nodded, a touch troubled by these proceedings. Shouldn't
there be some way to meet a fair maiden without having to climb up
her hair? Still, in a way he supposed it was his fault. He knew from
his childhood reading that whenever you got involved in wish stories
you had to be incredibly specific, or this sort of thing always
happened.
He stepped forward and gathered enough hair in his hands to make a
thick rope. He gripped the strands as best he could and hoisted
himself aloft.
"Ouch!" came a cry from far overhead.
Wuntvor looked down doubtfully at the Brownie.
"Hey," the little fellow shrugged. "You want your maiden, you've got
to do what she asks. That's the way this wish stuff works. No pain,
no gain."
Wuntvor grabbed a hank of hair above him and pulled himself up again.
"Ooooh!" This time, the noise from the window was more of a moan than
a sharp cry.
Wuntvor looked up to the window far overhead. "Are you sure you want
me to do this?"
And the melodious voice called down:
"Would you just hurry and get up here before you pull out all my
hair?"
Well, Wuntvor thought, one should never argue with a fair maiden. If
climbing was what she desired, Wuntvor would ascend.
43
"Yow!" the cry came from the tower, and "Oof! Eeee! Erk! Yorp!" and
other exclamations of a similar stripe, every time Wuntvor pulled
himself farther up the rope of hair. The lad redoubled his efforts,
for he wished to put an end to the maiden's suffering as soon as
possible.
At last his hand grasped the stone window sill. He grabbed the sill
with his other hand as well, and hoisted himself up so that he could
throw his leg across the ledge.
"Well," the maiden remarked upon seeing him. " Tis about time." She
wrinkled her brow and rubbed her head. "Next time, I may choose to be
rescued by a lighter hero."
Wuntvor began to stammer an apology.
"Oh, nevermind," the damsel replied." Twas not your fault, after all.
I was the one who asked you here. Now, if you would give me a hand,
we need to haul up my hair."
So Wuntvor helped the maiden to gather her hair from the tower wall
and return it to her sitting room. As they were involved in this
procedure, which was quite time consuming, the lad thought to make
polite conversation. Thus he commented upon the length and lustre of
her hair, and wondered how she kept it so.
"You don't know the half of it!" The damsel, who was quite attractive
when she had her hair pushed away from her face, rolled her eyes
heavenward. "Nobody ever told me having long hair would be like this.
Brushing it a hundred strokes takes all day! And when it gets
snarled"--she laughed ruefully--"it's murder!"
Suddenly, the rumbling began again, deep within the tower, so loud
that Wuntvor had to cover his ears for a moment until it passed.
"What was that?" he asked with some trepidation.
"Oh, nothing." The fair damsel shrugged. "Only the dragon."
A dragon? The Brownie had never said there was going to be a dragon!
Wuntvor walked back to the window and scowled down at the little
fellow.
"You'd better get up here!" the lad warned.
"Is that a wish?" the Brownie hollered.
Wuntvor wanted to scream. He could see it happening; one way or
another, the Brownie would make him squander all his
44
wishes. But perhaps there was another way. Maybe Wuntvor could help
the maiden escape without ever having to confront the dragon.
"Wait there!" he called to the Brownie, then turned about and walked
back to the sitting room, where the fair damsel was trying to find
enough nooks and crannies in which to stuff her tremendous locks so
that she might have room to breathe. Before he did any rescuing, the
lad decided, he should ask the maiden's opinion on the matter. He
briefly outlined what he considered the options to be, then asked
what she desired most.
"What do I want most?" the damsel replied, fluttering her long and
copious lashes. "I want to sing!"
"Sing?" the lad repeated, somewhat surprised.
The damsel nodded, cheerful at last. "When you've been trapped in a
tower as long as I have, you can't imagine how much you long to do a
musical number for an audience. Even an audience of one." She flashed
her lovely smile. "It was so nice of you to ask me. I'll do a little
ditty that's always been one of my favorites."
She cleared her throat, and, to the lad's astonishment, began to belt
out a song:
"Am I afraid of dungeon towers? Oh no, not little me. My locks can
unlock any door; My curls will set me free."
She grabbed a mass of hair and stared at it, enraptured, as she sang
again:
"Men can come and go; I really couldn't care. But I'm in love, I'm so
fond of, My glorious, glorious hair."
The damsel curtsied, apparently finished with her performance. The
rumbling returned, somehow more rhythmic than before.
"Oh, thank you, Hubert!" the maiden called. "Thank you
45 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

ssaver.htw.pl