When Petro was young, there had been a rope, anchored to a iron bar near the sill of his window. When he grew bored, he would climb down the rope and play in the forest. As he grew older, he stayed outside of the tower longer, wandering under the canopy of trees, following the specks of light as they swayed on the forest floor. Each time they led him farther, until he found himself standing at a clearing, facing what he assumed to be a massive stone tower. With a sense of awe, he approached it, resting his hand on its rough face. The stone was warm under the midday sun, and he leaned against it, pressing his face to the rock. He was so enchanted, that he didn’t see the soldier approaching him.
“Who goes there?” the soldier called out.
Petro jumped away from the wall, “I meant no harm. I was just admiring your tower.”
“Tower?” the soldier’s face was bemused, his right hand grasping the haft of his sword.
Petro pointed at the stones. They seemed to run on forever to either end of the horizon, and as high as tree straight up. They could not go lower than the ground, he figured, and if they went too high, then no one could climb up nor down. Before Petro could properly explain himself, he was dealt a heavy blow from behind. It was another soldier, and together the two men dragged a dazed Petro to the gate of the walled fiefdom.
“Take him to the Baron,” commanded the guard at the gate. Petro didn’t have to be forced to obey, so taken he was by city, that he followed the soldiers willingly. They passed through the center of commerce: smiths, tailors, coopers, cobblers, grocers, milliners; everywhere there were people, and Petro was amazed at their number and concentration.
Finally they approached a stone structure with a roof of clean thatch. One of the soldiers rapped on the door. “Come in,” said a familiar voice.
“Father,” Petro’s relief was palpable.
“You must be mistaken,” the Baron responded, “I’m pretty sure I don’t have another son.”
The soldiers laughed. “What do you want us to do with him?” asked one.
The Baron smiled wickedly, “I’ll give him what is due him.”
—
Another son. Another son. Another son. No matter how many times the words ran through Petro’s head, he still couldn’t figure their meaning. Could there be other sons in other towers? Other sons who escaped, only to be tied to a bar by their hair?
It was cruel thing to do, for he couldn’t lean far enough out the window to untangle it, not without falling; a fall that would surely scalp him. The rope itself was gone, cut free by his father. Petro himself had held the rope so he could climb down. He supposed he could have refused, but then what? Everything he knew of life revolved around the tower and every provision came from the hand of his father.
It was cruel thing to do, for he couldn’t lean far enough out the window to untangle it, not without falling; a fall that would surely scalp him. The rope itself was gone, cut free by his father. Petro himself had held the rope so he could climb down. He supposed he could have refused, but then what? Everything he knew of life revolved around the tower and every provision came from the hand of his father.
—
As the years passed, Petro’s hair grew longer and was plaited it into a thick braid. It grew on the inside of the tower, but his father adjusted it until it could be used as a rope without hampering his pacing in his small room. Bleached it to the color of tow, his hair was both the bond he felt towards his father and the bondage he felt physically.
Sometimes he would dream of going into the forest, motes of lights chasing him as he ran without tiring and without ceasing. The morning always brought disappointment; he was still prisoner, his only sin the desire to wander.
Petro had no idea that he was being watched. The watcher stood on the edge of the clearing, an earthen-colored hooded cloak providing camouflage and warmth. No idea, until one day, when an unfamiliar voice called up to him, “Petro,” then again, “Petro, let down your golden hair.”
Puzzled, Petro looked out his window. The hooded figure had a high, clear voice like a boy. Now more curious than afraid, he tossed the rope of hair out the window. As the figure scaled the side of the tower, the cloak hood slid down, revealing a mass of brown curls. Petro’s hands broke out into a sweat; that wasn’t a boy, it was a woman!
She clambered into his window, panting and sweating from the climb, “I’m here to rescue you, fair prince.”
“Re-re-rescue?” Petro sputtered.
Before he realized what she was doing, the woman had pulled a dagger from her cloak and stared sawing at his braid.
“Stop that!” Petro tried to push her away from his hair, but the braid simply moved with her.
“Do not fear, sweet prince, the Most Noble Dame Charlotte-Rose will save you.”
“Dame Roselotte, I mean Rose Dame . . . uh, why is your name so long?” Petro grabbed his own hair and yanked, only succeeding in ripping the last strands of hair free.
“I am a knight of the order of chivalry, the Most Noble Order of the Side-Saddle,” Charlotte-Rose curtsied delicately, “at your service, Majesty.”
Petro undid his braid carefully, then shook out his hair. All over his head there was a prickle as hairs moved from the positions they’d been in for years. “Ah,” he sighed, then began to rebraid his hair, “I am not royalty. My father is only a Baron.”
Charlotte-Rose sat on the window sill, “Let me guess, born to a mother other than the Baron’s betrothed. If anyone knows of your existence, it will challenge the inheritance and appointment of his legitimate son. So, he locked you in a tower instead of killing you . . . because his true love was your mother!”
“Oh, so that’s why,” Petro continued braiding, “But do you think it would be okay to take a walk in the forest?”
"No Lord, you’re coming with me to see His Royal Highness Friedrich Schulz IV.”
The climb out of the tower was a simple matter, for Petro’s hair remained tied to the metal bar by the window. It was only as he was mounting the horse behind Charlotte-Rose that it occurred to him. “What will my father think when he finds me missing?” Petro glanced at his braid on the tower swaying lazily in the breeze, then touched the shorter one still attached to his head.
“If I were you, I’d avoid him at all costs. Yah,” Charlotte-Rose urged the horse forward with her left leg and on the right, the whip. She guided the horse by holding the reins in her left hand, “Move to another fiefdom, or better yet, the royal empire. When he dies, go back and claim your land.”
Sometimes he would dream of going into the forest, motes of lights chasing him as he ran without tiring and without ceasing. The morning always brought disappointment; he was still prisoner, his only sin the desire to wander.
Petro had no idea that he was being watched. The watcher stood on the edge of the clearing, an earthen-colored hooded cloak providing camouflage and warmth. No idea, until one day, when an unfamiliar voice called up to him, “Petro,” then again, “Petro, let down your golden hair.”
Puzzled, Petro looked out his window. The hooded figure had a high, clear voice like a boy. Now more curious than afraid, he tossed the rope of hair out the window. As the figure scaled the side of the tower, the cloak hood slid down, revealing a mass of brown curls. Petro’s hands broke out into a sweat; that wasn’t a boy, it was a woman!
She clambered into his window, panting and sweating from the climb, “I’m here to rescue you, fair prince.”
“Re-re-rescue?” Petro sputtered.
Before he realized what she was doing, the woman had pulled a dagger from her cloak and stared sawing at his braid.
“Stop that!” Petro tried to push her away from his hair, but the braid simply moved with her.
“Do not fear, sweet prince, the Most Noble Dame Charlotte-Rose will save you.”
“Dame Roselotte, I mean Rose Dame . . . uh, why is your name so long?” Petro grabbed his own hair and yanked, only succeeding in ripping the last strands of hair free.
“I am a knight of the order of chivalry, the Most Noble Order of the Side-Saddle,” Charlotte-Rose curtsied delicately, “at your service, Majesty.”
Petro undid his braid carefully, then shook out his hair. All over his head there was a prickle as hairs moved from the positions they’d been in for years. “Ah,” he sighed, then began to rebraid his hair, “I am not royalty. My father is only a Baron.”
Charlotte-Rose sat on the window sill, “Let me guess, born to a mother other than the Baron’s betrothed. If anyone knows of your existence, it will challenge the inheritance and appointment of his legitimate son. So, he locked you in a tower instead of killing you . . . because his true love was your mother!”
“Oh, so that’s why,” Petro continued braiding, “But do you think it would be okay to take a walk in the forest?”
"No Lord, you’re coming with me to see His Royal Highness Friedrich Schulz IV.”
The climb out of the tower was a simple matter, for Petro’s hair remained tied to the metal bar by the window. It was only as he was mounting the horse behind Charlotte-Rose that it occurred to him. “What will my father think when he finds me missing?” Petro glanced at his braid on the tower swaying lazily in the breeze, then touched the shorter one still attached to his head.
“If I were you, I’d avoid him at all costs. Yah,” Charlotte-Rose urged the horse forward with her left leg and on the right, the whip. She guided the horse by holding the reins in her left hand, “Move to another fiefdom, or better yet, the royal empire. When he dies, go back and claim your land.”
—
The long ride on horseback was tiring to Petro. His whole body seemed to ache, especially his rear end. The sustained trotting of the horse made him feel the ground itself was trying to buck him off into the sky. “Perhaps I’ll move to a cloud,” Petro staggered behind Charlotte-Rose.
“Lord, are you quite well?” Charlotte-Rose led her horse to a stream. On the other bank, Petro could see a wall like the one that surrounded his father’s land. The horse wasted no time in drinking and Charlotte-Rose sat down in the grass next to it.
Petro joined her, cupping handfuls of water to his mouth, “My father told me the fairies live there. You know, when you see specks of light in the forest? They live in the sky like birds live in trees.”
“It’s best to stay away from fairies. They are tricksters,” Charlotte-Rose gave him a hard look, “Maybe that explains you.”
“Uh,” Petro tried to scoot away from her, but Charlotte-Rose was too fast. She pinned him to the ground, pushing his hair back from his pointed ears.
She sighed heavily, sitting up, all her weight on his stomach, “What am I going to do now? I didn’t rescue a prince or even a baron! Oh, noooooo, no! I set a half-fairy free. I wouldn’t be surprised if His Majesty puts me in the dungeon for such an atrocity.”
Petro saw a glint of light behind Charlotte-Rose. It landed on her shoulder, a bright spot on the brown fabric.
“I. am. such. an. idiot! That was an iron bar he was tied to! Iron! Bane of the fairies, spirits, and souls of the dead!” she stuck her fingers in her hair, “And what human has hair that grows that fa-” The lights were multiplying and Charlotte-Rose realizing her predicament, jumped off Petro. A hazy glow surrounded him, and suddenly, he was gone.
“Lord, are you quite well?” Charlotte-Rose led her horse to a stream. On the other bank, Petro could see a wall like the one that surrounded his father’s land. The horse wasted no time in drinking and Charlotte-Rose sat down in the grass next to it.
Petro joined her, cupping handfuls of water to his mouth, “My father told me the fairies live there. You know, when you see specks of light in the forest? They live in the sky like birds live in trees.”
“It’s best to stay away from fairies. They are tricksters,” Charlotte-Rose gave him a hard look, “Maybe that explains you.”
“Uh,” Petro tried to scoot away from her, but Charlotte-Rose was too fast. She pinned him to the ground, pushing his hair back from his pointed ears.
She sighed heavily, sitting up, all her weight on his stomach, “What am I going to do now? I didn’t rescue a prince or even a baron! Oh, noooooo, no! I set a half-fairy free. I wouldn’t be surprised if His Majesty puts me in the dungeon for such an atrocity.”
Petro saw a glint of light behind Charlotte-Rose. It landed on her shoulder, a bright spot on the brown fabric.
“I. am. such. an. idiot! That was an iron bar he was tied to! Iron! Bane of the fairies, spirits, and souls of the dead!” she stuck her fingers in her hair, “And what human has hair that grows that fa-” The lights were multiplying and Charlotte-Rose realizing her predicament, jumped off Petro. A hazy glow surrounded him, and suddenly, he was gone.
_______________________________________
Rapunzel is such a weird story that it only seemed natural to add fairies to it. The ending is a little deus ex mediocri, but I've always had issues with endings. (I also can't figure out if that will translate to God by fairy or God by mediocrity. Either way, I guess.)
Speaking of endings, I just recently finished Murder In the Ferns. It was a lot of fun writing a mystery, and I might try it again sometime.