"The blaze started when we'd left and walked away-we forgot to damp down the fire in the oven. It spread quickly . . . "

"Ever so quickly," interrupted Gretel.

" . . . before we could get any water."

"But you managed to find the jewels before that happened?"

"There were chests full of them-we didn't have to look very hard," snapped Hansel.

The judge snarled, "Don't get sharp with me, young man, or I'll hang you for contempt if nothing else."

Hansel flinched and looked, for the first time, toward the north corner of the square. There stood the permanent gallows, with enough room to accommodate three tenants at any one dropping. Near to the gallows, hanging by a chain from a stone arch over one of the streets off the square, was the iron gibbet. The gibbet cage, only one as iron was more expensive than wood, still contained the rag-covered bones of a nine-year-old thief. The birds had not yet picked them clean of meat.

Gretel said, "He doesn't mean anything by it, your honor. He was beaten by the witch, after he tricked her with a knucklebone. He's angry at all grown-ups. That's why he hit the constable-not because of anything but being so angry-at grown-ups."

"Well, here's one adult who doesn't like being the target of a snotty youth's anger; understand, boy?"

"Yes, your honor," said Hansel, quietly, and with a studied lowering of his eyes.

"Good," said the judge, still feeling ruffled, but remaining keenly interested in the children's story.

There was no possibility of letting the children go-it was necessary that they hang, and, fortunately for the judge, the crowd expected it-but still the whole account, which might have been fabricated by a traveling storyteller, was so ingenious, it was worth plumbing to its very depths.

The clerk's quill scratched on, distracting the judge, who required a peaceful interlude in which to think. He held up his hand, and the clerk dutifully paused in his scrivenings, allowing the judge the quiet he needed. The crowd, used to the judge's idiosyncrasies, knew better than to breathe during such a time.

The judge considered the father of the children.

Clearly the father was a weak man, ruled by his second common-law wife, given to killing off his children when food in the hovel was in short supply. These two had implied as much. All very familiar, yet with an underlying intrigue the source of which still remained to be discovered.

The woodcutter's offspring themselves did not, by all accounts, command a great deal of learning. It was doubtful they received any kind of schooling from their fishwife stepmother, or their forest-worker father, or any neighbor. Yet, there was in their demeanor an intrinsic kind of cunning, the sort of craftiness and guile which might be found in certain peasants versed in the black arts.

"Now," said the judge, "we come to a part of your account on which you were a little vague."

The crowd leaned forward expectantly, some wearing the aprons of their trade-cobblers, butchers, carpenters, masons-others the hats by which they might be recognized-town crier, watchman, coachman-and still others by their general dress-landladies, goose girls, clog sellers. They all knew to what the judge was referring, and they were all eager to hear what kind of answer was to be had from either Hansel or Gretel.

"You say," said the judge, "that when you left the 'enchanted wood' you came to a great stretch of water, which you would not have been able to cross without the help of something-what was that something? Speak up now."

For the first time in the trial the children exchanged looks in which it appeared there was an element of panic. If left to his common sense, the judge might have decided there and then that the children had been rehearsed in their tale and that their memories were at fault: they had forgotten a vital piece of information at the end of the story. However, common sense had gone out of the window with the first telling of the narrative: the judge wanted to know the answer to his question.

"Well?" he boomed. "Answer, one of you. You, Gretel-you gave us the tale in the first place. What was it that took you over this lake or river-this 'wide stretch of water'?"

Gretel seemed to snatch something out of the air. "A duck," she said, triumphantly.

The crowd gasped almost as a single body.

The clerk looked up from his book for the first time and frowned at the girl.

The judge leaned back on his throne and toyed with the edge of his scarlet robe.

"A duck?" he said.

"Yes," cried Gretel. "I-I used a rhyme to make it come to us."

"And this duck carried both of you-two great lumps of lard weighing I don't know how much-across the water on its back?"

Gretel shot another look at the frightened Hansel, then said, "Not-not both at once, your honor. One at a time."

"Oh," said the judge, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm, "only one at a time. Well, that makes all the difference doesn't it?" He leaned forward quickly. "What about the sacks of precious stones and pearls?"

"The-the duck carried those as well-it was an enchanted duck."

"Another witch's familiar? But you'd killed the witch." Gretel stammered, "I-I-I think . . . "

The judge interrupted sharply with, "I think that we can deduce from this statement that it is you who are the witch, not the little blind old lady? You're the one claiming to be able to command a duck and ride on its back over a lake. It might be a good idea to let the mob take you down to the pond now and put this theory of mine to the test . . . "

There was a spontaneous cheer from the crowd, and they moved toward the cart.

Gretel, faced with drowning, now screamed, "It wasn't me. I wasn't the witch. It was her-my stepmother. She changed herself into a duck, to get us across. She told us what to do. She told us what to say . . . "

At that moment someone with a loud, booming voice cried, "Wait!"

The judge stared out into the citizens of the town. "Who said that?" he demanded. "Who interferes with the due process of the law?"

At that moment a huge, bearded man began to move forward. In his hands was an axe. The crowd parted, giving him space, those nearest keeping their eyes on the axe.

The bearded man spoke. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, your honor, but I'm the father of the two children. What my girl Gretel meant to say was 'a boat'-not a duck-a boat. She gets mixed up-it's since their terrible ordeal with the witch, you see. It makes her say things she don't mean."

All the while the father of the children was talking he was glancing nervously at the Rathaus clock.

The children, too, were staring at the face of the town's great timepiece.

The judge looked up at the time himself.

It was almost noon.

"A boat," said the judge. "Not a duck, but a boat?"

Gretel cried sharply, "Yes-I meant a boat."

"It-it was shaped like a duck," said the woodcutter. "That's probably why my little girl called it so."

"A boat shaped like a duck?" said the judge flatly, feeling the situation was now becoming ludicrous rather than entertaining. It was obvious to him now that the whole family was lying, fabricating this fascinating but clearly false story to cover up the murder of a rich and eccentric old woman. It was time to hang them all.

"I think we've heard enough . . . " he began, but was stopped by the clanging of the great clock. DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG . . . The chimes were too loud to pronounce sentence over, so the judge had to wait until the last note died away.

Just as that had occurred and the judge was about to open his mouth another person pushed her way through the crowd, having just alighted from a carriage that had entered the square while the clock had been chiming. The intruder was a thin, reedy-looking woman. She held a rolled parchment in her hand, which she held up for the judge to see. The royal seal, attached to the parchment, glittered in the noonday sun.

"Before you say any more, judge," said the woman, "I think you should offer congratulations to your new lord."

The judge was becoming irritated, but that parchment held his attention for the moment.

"My new . . . ?"

"My husband, the former woodcutter, has purchased the baronetcy of these lands, which includes this town. Purchased them from the king this very morning. I went there myself to collect the king's proclamation to this effect."

The woman handed the parchment to the town clerk, who broke the seal and read the document quickly. He then looked up at the judge and nodded. The judge stared at the woman. There was the feeling that he had been but a pawn in this fish-gutter's hands. It was well-known that he enjoyed a good puzzle, that he liked thinking through an enigma and finding the answer. It was one of the reasons he carried the office of judge, as well as Burgermeister, because of his ability to see through tall tales and get at the truth. Given time, he could get to the bottom of any mystery. Given enough time.

"You are the fish-gutter?"

The woman lifted her head. "I worked in the fish market before I was married, yes-but my father was a peddler, but not in pots and pans-he sold riddles."

"Ah," nodded the judge, "that explains a lot. Riddles are very time-consuming puzzles, are they not?"

She said, "Once you hear one, it's difficult to let it go without solving it."

"Precisely. And you are not a witch, I take it? Your stepdaughter . . . "

"She gets confused, poor child, she's not very bright. No, the wife of a baronet, a witch? Why that would be coming to something, wouldn't it? Who would dare strip naked and search the body of the lady of the manor for marks? Who would bind and throw their lord's mistress into the pond? I wonder at such things, judge."

"I see what you mean."

She smiled thinly, and said to him, "The trial is over, I think?"

There was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles at the back of the square and the judge glanced in that direction to see a squadron of horse soldiers waiting by the carriage.

The judge cleared his throat.

"The trial-is over," he said. "The children are found-not guilty."

The crowd groaned in disappointment, but once they saw that no more excitement was to be had, they began to drift away.

The judge rose and took off his robes and became the Burgermeister once more. The woodcutter lifted his children down from the cart, where the constable was engaged sheepishly, and wisely, in tying one of the straps of his own boots. The woman was looking triumphant, still staring at the Burgermeister.

"So," said the man in question, ignoring the woman and speaking directly to the new baronet, "congratulations, my-er-lord. I take it the children were mistaken about your wife's death?"

"They must have misheard me."

"Yes, quite-and the money, for the baronetcy?"

"Came from a witch," said the wife, determined not to be ignored. "The witch who tried to kill our children."

The square was quiet now except for the sound of magpies rattling the gibbet.

"Ah," he said, "of course-that witch."

The expression on the Burgermeister's face as he spoke registered his thoughts: he was not prepared to let a woodcutter and his slattern wife get away with a fortune which might be his. The baroness watched with narrowed eyes as he turned and began to cross the square, now empty except for her and her family.

By the time the Burgermeister reached the water trough his appearance began to alter perceptibly.

His shoes became floppy on his feet, his hat was now too small for his head, and his clothes were tight in some places and hung loosely in others.

When he had passed the gibbet his ears had begun to grow coarse hair and developed points; something squirmed and pushed at the seat of his pants trying to get out; his skin had thickened and taken on a pinkish hue.

Not that he seemed aware of any of this, nor had he paused in his stride.

However, as he reached the steps of the Rathaus, he found them difficult to negotiate in an upright stance. He finally kicked the shoes off his hind trotters, went down onto all fours, gave a snort, and scampered up the stone stairs. During the climb he began to shed split clothing, until finally he was completely naked, his big belly hanging low, sweeping the flags, his snout twitching as he sniffed for the scent of food.

ANNE BISHOP.

Anne Bishop is a newcomer to the fantasy and horror fields, but already her stories have appeared in Ruby Slippers, Golden Tears, A Horror Story a Day: 365 Scary Stories, and in small press magazines including 2AM, Figment, and The Tome. Bishop lives in western New York, where, in addition to writing, she is involved in a variety of arts and crafts, oral storytelling, and music, particularly Celtic folk music played on the hammered dulcimer.

This tale, too, is a story of peasants and greed and sorcery. It is based on the classic tale of "Rapunzel."

RAPUNZEL.

by Anne Bishop.

I've always craved what I couldn't have. At first, I craved the blacksmith's son because, in our village, a good blacksmith was a respected man. Then I craved the miller's son because he was handsome, and his father was prosperous. Then I craved the merchant's son because he was educated, and his father was wealthy.

Instead I got Amery, because after the others had gotten what they craved from me, they had continued to speak flowery words of love but never spoke of marriage.

A simple, hardworking man, Amery knew-after the wedding night, anyway-that he hadn't been my first choice, but he did everything in his power to show me how much he loved me.

When I craved the fancy lace and expensive silk some of the ladies in the village wore, Amery worked extra hours for weeks to buy them for me. He even paid the village seamstress to make the dress so that I would have one fine garment to wear on special occasions, one fancy dress that wasn't put together with my indifferent stitches.

I wore it twice before I became ashamed of it.

When I craved a garden like the other women had, bright with flowers and bursting with fresh vegetables, Amery got up early for a full week and prepared the soil. When the ground remained empty, he paid good money for seedlings instead of buying seeds and planted the garden on his rest day while I was out visiting.

I was delighted to see my young garden appear like magic, but I lost interest in a week or two when the weeding and watering became a chore. After that, Amery cared for it whenever he had time.

There were so many things I craved, so many things that always seemed just out of reach, but what I craved most of all was a child. It shamed me to stand on the outside of the circle of women who would gather on market days and exchange stories and boasts and sorrows about their children. It shamed me that I had neither helpful hints to pass along nor reason to ask the older women's advice about childhood troubles. I was never in the center of that circle, being praised or soothed for no more reason than being a mother.

Amery failed me for years, but finally, miraculously, the day came when I knew I carried a child.

Overjoyed, Amery couldn't do enough for me. He worked harder than ever, more hours than ever to put aside a little money for whatever the child would need. On his rest days, he built a fine, sturdy cradle. He bought special brews and herb bags from the village granny to ease my sickness. If I felt too ill or weak to do my housework, he would do it when he got home. If I hadn't done any cooking or baking, he would heat the soup, set out the day-old bread, then encourage me to eat, waiting until I'd had my fill before easing his own hunger with whatever was left.