WARNING! Fairy Tales 2

By Robert Thier

DISCLAIMER: Wicked Witches Inc. and Evil Stepmother Enterprises are not responsible for wolf bites, vampirism or witch curses incurred during the reading of this book.
The second volume of Robert Thier’s WARNING! Fairy Tales series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Thier
• Release date: Dec 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9783962601645

Robert Thier

Robert Thier is a German Historian and writer of Historical Fiction. His particular mix of history, romance and adventure, always with a good deal of humor thrown in, has gained him a diverse readership ranging from teenagers to retired grandmothers. For the way he manages to make history come alive, as if he himself had lived as a medieval knight, his fans all over the world have given him the nickname “Sir Rob”.For him, Robert says, becoming a writer has followed naturally from his interest in history. “In Germany,” he says, “we use the same word for story and history. And I've always loved the one as much as the other. Becoming a storyteller, a writer, is what I've always wanted.”Besides writing and researching in dusty old archives, on the lookout for a mystery to put into his next story, Robert enjoys classical music and long walks in the country. The helmet you see on the picture he does not wear because he is a cycling enthusiast, but to protect his literary skull in which a bone has been missing from birth. Robert lives in the south of Germany in a small village between the three Emperor's Mountains.

Book preview

WARNING!

Fairy Tales

2

By Robert Thier

Copyright © 2017 Robert Thier

All rights reserved.

Distributed by Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

John Henry Xmirxfirdlhumphjigjagfnstlgdrg Timothy Absalombomb Necktickle Nonpsychological Logorrhea Succedaneum Blockhead Krktirriliminau Tarofalostesimikalidoraefastingo Junior

The Yellow Dwarf Parenting Handbook

Pinocchio & Co

Prince Charming and Princess Roasted

Little Red Riding Blood

Fishy Freedom

The Crappy Bird

The Handygirl’s Revenge

The Magic of Love

Goose Girl Revolution

Afterword: And Zeus Lived Happily Ever After…

Dedication

About the Author

Other Books by Robert Thier

Upcoming Titles

John Henry Xmirxfirdlhumphjigjagfnstlgdrg Timothy Absalombomb Necktickle Nonpsychological Logorrhea Succedaneum Blockhead Krktirriliminau Tarofalostesimikalidoraefastingo Junior

Once upon a time in an enchanted kingdom, there lived a huntsman with a beautiful daughter and a drinking problem. The problem was not the fact that he drank—no, that he enjoyed very much, cheers!—but the fact that, when drunk, he tended to get a little inventive. For example, he’d tell the story about how he once slew three dragons using an earthworm and a knitting needle as his only weapons, or the story about how he flew to the moon on one of his own arrows and ate its entire population.

Usually, the huntsman just drank in the village inn, so nobody minded his tall tales. But then, one day, he was invited to join a royal hunting party. When he came home, he was clutching his head and looking extremely furtive.

Drank a bit too much, did we? asked his daughter with a raised eyebrow. She was just doing the wash and hardly looked up, so she didn’t see the rather guilty expression on her father’s face.

Um… yes, dear. Since you mention it, the hunting party got a bit festive at the end.

More party and less hunting, eh?

You could say that.

And? What tall tales did you tell this time? she laughed. Did you tell them you had been to hell to drink tea with the devil?

Um… not exactly, no.

The daughter looked up. This was interesting. Her father was not usually reticent about sharing his crazy stories. Well? What did you tell them then?

The huntsman cleared his throat. That, err… that you could spin gold out of straw.

The daughter laughed. And did the other hunters have a good laugh at that one?

Not really. The huntsman cleared his throat again. The daughter noticed for the first time that his face was unusually red. The king was interested, though.

Really? So he had a good laugh?

Um…not exactly. He said he wanted you at the castle tomorrow morning at eight o’clock sharp, and he would have a spinning wheel and a room full of straw ready for you.

The daughter’s hand stopped halfway to the washing tub. A pair of her dirty socks dangled from her fingers, forgotten.

"What did you say?"

The huntsman raised his hands. Um, now, my dear, I know what you’re thinking, and—

Really? Hands on hips, the daughter took a step towards him. What am I thinking?

You are probably a bit upset with me and—

"Upset? Upset? No, dad, when I find a cockroach in the larder I’m upset! Right now, I’m spitting-fire-mad-as-hell-angry!"

Err…well… Slowly, the huntsman began to retreat. He had been face-to-face with a lioness once or twice in his life and knew when it was best to retreat.

You did tell him it was a joke, right? A stupid story? You told the king that you just made it all up?

Well…not exactly.

• • • • •

Early the next morning, a beautiful golden coach arrived, driven by a coachman in golden livery and escorted by guards in golden uniforms with long, golden hair, and the Huntsman’s daughter was driven down the golden brick road towards the golden palace with all the pomp and ceremony due to a queen. She couldn’t really appreciate the sight of all that gold as much as she probably should have.

The king awaited her in the golden entry hall, wearing a golden crown.

Greetings, oh fair maiden, he said.

Um…hi there, she said. Then she remembered that, since this was a king, she probably ought to curtsy. So she did just that.

Your father has told you the reason why we commanded you to come hither? the king asked.

Err…yeah, he did.

Very well. You shall now hear our royal commands.

A herald in golden livery stepped out of niche next to the king. Raising a golden trumpet to his lips, he blew a short fanfare and announced in a booming voice: People low and people high, people far and people nigh, listen to your overlord’s mighty and commanding words!

The king cleared his throat. We hereby ordain and command by the power vested in us by God that thou, huntsman’s daughter, shalt be locked into a dungeon wherein thou shalt attempt to spin straw into gold. We give thee from this hour until sunrise on the morrow to achieve this mighty miracle. If thou accomplishest it, and thy father hath spoken the truth, thou shalt be richly rewarded. If thou, however, doth not accomplish it, thy pate shall be severed from thine shoulders and thou shalt die a most horrid death.

The herald sidled closer, and, lowering his voice, whispered: He means either you turn straw into gold for him or he’s going to chop your head off, kid.

Thanks. I think I got that.

Can you do that? Make straw into gold?

Err…well, no. Not really.

Oh. Tough luck, kid.

Clapping her on the shoulder, the herald stepped back again. The king, who hadn’t noticed the exchange, gestured to a couple of his guards in golden uniforms.

Our loyal defenders shall conduct thee to thy quarters, he proclaimed.

The guards are going to chuck you in the dungeon now, the herald translated.

A few minutes later, the huntsman’s daughter was being half-pushed, half carried along a dark passageway, deep, deep underground. So far, the girl hadn’t been able to think of a brilliant plan for escape, but it was still early in the day. She still had plenty of time before she was to be decapitated, right? She just had to figure out how to outwit the king and his entire army and escape the most secure fortress in the whole kingdom. Easy-peasy.

I’m dead. I’m so dead.

Here we are.

The guards stopped in front of a thick, dark wooden door reinforced with thick strips of metal. It didn’t look as if it was amenable to brilliant escapes.

One of the men opened the door and shoved the girl forward. Inside, there was barely enough light to see, but she could just make out a giant heap of straw in the corner and a spinning wheel against one wall.

Get going, girl! one of the guards ordered. Then the door slammed shut, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she heard laughter from outside.

Dad, she murmured, trying to calm her breathing, If I ever get out of here, I’m going to kill you! Kill you very dead with a big, rusty sword!

Her gaze wandered to the spinning wheel, and she sighed.

Okay. Let’s try this. Straw into gold. Straw into gold. Simple, right? But first I have to remember how to spin…! She gazed at the spinning wheel, racking her mind, trying to remember. First put the leading thread on the flyer…then slip the bobbin on the shaft of the flyer…then put the whirl on the flier…or was it the other way round? Crap! Line it up with the orifa…orifidi…what was that part called again? Crap, crap, crap!

Cursing, the girl gave the half-assembled spinning wheel a kick.

To hell with it! How am I supposed to know how to spin gold when I don’t even know how to spin? That’s the sort of thing my grandmother did! Who uses a spinning wheel nowadays anyway? Anybody with an ounce of sense just buys their shirts and dresses at the shop! You know what, Dad? The sword isn’t just going to be big and rusty! It’s going to be poisoned, too!

The girl kicked the spinning wheel a few more times for good measure. Then, when her anger had subsided a little and she remembered that if she did not do as the king had commanded, her head would be chopped off in the morning, she reluctantly took up some straw from the floor and twisted it around the leading thread.

It can’t be that difficult, right? she told herself. It simply can’t be. The king is just. He has to be, that’s what kings are for! So he wouldn’t just set me an impossible task just to get the opportunity to watch me have my head chopped off, right? I’ll just have to try, and I’ll succeed.

She did try. After about five minutes, she was hopelessly entangled in straw that, unsurprisingly, had not turned into gold.

Bloody freaking Hell!

She tried her best to untangle herself from the straw, and started all over again—and again, and again, each time with pretty much the same result. After an hour or so, the huntsman’s daughter rather resembled a ravaged scarecrow.

This is stupid! Picking up a handful of straw, she hurled it against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Ehem, ehem.

What? Had someone just cleared his throat? But there was no one here, was there?

Excuse me, young lady?

The girl whirled around, and indeed, there was someone there! A small, wiry, long-nosed, green-skinned someone!

My apologies for interrupting, said the goblin, taking off his feathered cap and bowing deeply, but you are going about this all wrong. The position of your hand, the speed of the spindle… What are you trying to spin the straw into? Lead? Spaghetti?

The girl snorted. Oh, and I suppose you know how to do it better, do you?

I most certainly do.

Bah! You don’t even know what I’m trying to do here!

I beg to differ, young lady. You are attempting to spin straw into gold to prevent getting your head chopped off.

The girl’s mouth fell open in amazement. How did you know that?

The goblin waved his hand. Oh, please! Those kings are all the same. Whenever they imprison some girl in the dungeon, it’s because they want them to spit diamonds, or spin gold out of straw, or do cartwheels in a giant pink hamster wheel. Well, the last one was a bit of an oddity, but you get my meaning. He glanced around the room. And judging by the lack of giant pink hamster wheels, I’d say it’s highly unlikely he brought you here for the latter.

The girl raised her chin. He could have abducted me because he finds me attractive!

The goblin just grinned.

Hey, watch it, little guy! I’ll have you know that I am considered the prettiest girl in my village.

The goblin’s grin widened. And how many girls live in that village of yours?

Three, the huntsman’s daughter admitted reluctantly. If you count my grandma and old one-eyed Meg.

The goblin’s grin widened again, until it nearly split his head in two.

But that’s beside the point, the hunter’s daughter hurriedly continued, her cheeks reddening. Let’s get back to spinning straw into gold, alright? You say you can actually do that?

Certainly. It is among the most popular services provided by my employer.

And what’s the cost? she asked suspiciously. I know that when you goblins offer something, there’s always a cost!

Not true, young lady! My offer is completely free for a thirty day trial-period. After that, you can end your relations with GoblinMagic-Services™, or opt for a complete premium gold-spinning agreement for one year.

The huntsman’s daughter perked up. Really? Well, if that’s the case, spin away!

The goblin bowed, and stepped up to the spinning wheel. Allow me.

And he went to work, his little green fingers flying so fast that they blurred in front of the girl’s eyes.

When the king, accompanied by his guards and his herald, opened the door to the dungeon the next morning, he found the huntsman’s daughter smiling smugly, surrounded by heaps of glowing golden thread.

S’truth! the