The Faerie Beggar
FromLady Blakeney’s Tales of Faerie: Stories for the Modern Traveler.Collected and edited by Lady Blakeney of London, England, with consultation by Lord Threadneedle of Raven Tower, Faerie, 1780.
Once, when the road between the mortal world and Faerie was clear, there lived an orphan girl who was indebted to her stepmother and stepsister.
The stepmother was cruel and thought that the orphan was prettier and smarter than her own daughter, so she sent the orphan out into the woods to collect strawberries. It was the dead of winter, and the orphan was given only a paper frock to wear, but she knew the game the stepmother played. She would not be let back into their humble cottage without the fruit.
The world was bitter and barren on either side of the road. The girl’s teeth chattered until she encountered an old man nestled against a twisted oak tree that split the path. Missing an eye and half his teeth, he asked the orphan if she had any food to spare.
“Of course,” she said.
The orphan took out the lump of stale bread she had to last herthe day. She snapped it in two, giving the beggar the larger half and keeping the smaller for herself.
“What are you doing out in the snow wearing such a thin frock?” the beggar asked.
The orphan explained her plight.
“I know that this is hopeless, but I fear what will happen to me if I go home without the strawberries.”
The beggar shifted, revealing a tangled nest of ripe red fruit at his feet. The orphan cried out in delight, and she collected the strawberries, putting some aside for the beggar. When she stood, she realized she was no longer as cold as she had been. Her paper frock had transformed into a thick fur coat that reached her ankles.
When she turned to thank him, the beggar was gone.
The stepmother was irate when the orphan arrived back at her home. Not only was the girl still alive, with the requested impossible strawberries, but she was draped in a stunning coat of the finest fur.
Furious, the stepmother pulled on the girl’s new coat and went back out into the forest herself.
The world was bitter and barren on either side of the road. The stepmother huffed and puffed until she encountered an old man nestled against a twisted oak tree that split the path. Missing an eye and half his teeth, he asked the stepmother if she had any food to spare.
“Not for you,” she said stiffly, clutching greedily at the fresh bread in her pocket. “I am looking for the rich man who gave a little wretched orphan girl a coat.”
The beggar’s eyes glinted.
This time, when the beggar shifted, there was another patch of strawberries. When the stepmother ducked down to pick them, the fruit dissolved, bursting into hundreds of tiny spiders. The woman screamed, stumbling away from the bush.
She was much colder than she had been before. When she looked down, the orphan’s coat had transformed back into a paper frock.
In the beggar’s place stood a Faerie with sharp blue eyes and a crown of ice. The stepmother begged for her life, offering the fresh bread. However, when she reached for the loaf, it was not in her paper pocket.
The Faerie cackled, and in a gust of cold wind he was gone. The stepmother shivered in the dark. Then, she felt the telltale prickle of spiders on her arms, moving up her shoulders to her face. She could not see them, but they were there, brushing over her skin with their little legs. She could not stay on the path all night with the creatures crawling over her. Perhaps she could get home, if she followed the road. So she started into the darkness, taking off bits of her paper frock as she went to loosen the spiders.
The next morning, the orphan and her stepsister found the fine cloak draped near the fireplace. An overflowing basket of strawberries decorated the table, and enough money for two long, happy lives was tucked into a leather pouch.
The stepmother was never seen again.
Threadneedle insists that this story is one of the best examples of Faerie gift-giving culture. A half a roll of stale bread is worth more than gold to the Faerie receiver if it is as valuable to the mortal giver.
When I pointed out the impenetrability of Faerie justice, he seemed confused, mentioning the gifts the girl gave again as a point for her loveliness and goodness. Did it matter that the Faerie King did not know either woman well? No. He could tell their goodness bytheir behavior. Very compelling, if you believe in the infallibility of Faeries, but Threadneedle himself has been known to make mistakes.
When I suggested that Faeries can be mistaken in their judgments, Threadneedle just grinned in his awful, knowing way.
He insisted we go and get strawberry pastries after discussing this tale, but frankly, I had lost my appetite.
22
She barely saw Thornwood the next day, or the next, or the next, but Thistlemarsh bore the marks of his power. Entire rooms gleamed, leaving Mouse with lungfuls of errant magic. Thornwood darted between rooms, his eyes flashing with what Mouse assumed was the hunger that his magic gave him to create and change. Around the house, old furniture was gone, replaced with fresh flowers and woven rugs so intricate they hurt Mouse’s eyes.
He redid the floors in the entry hall five times, using different patterns of wood and stone, before settling on the one he had chosen first. Often, Mouse caught Mickelwaithe watching Thornwood from the shadows. She could not read the servant’s expression.