“Fairy godmothers start stories,” said the old woman. “I end them. It’s not a popular job, but fortunately I’m the only me they ever made.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, love, if you want, I can get you out of this dungeon right now and back home by morning.”
The dungeon went deathly silent. Through the high ceiling of stone and steel, she could hear the sound of the goblins marching.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“But the chains—”
There was a silken hiss like falling sand. All that was left of the shackle was the angry, red welt around her ankle.
She stared. She said: “They have my sister—”
“Not to worry, dear,” said the old woman. “I can get her on our way out.”
“But the goblins—”
“Can’t do a thing about it. I do whatever I want – they all hate it, but they can’t stop me.”
“I signed a contract—”
“Oh, love, listen to me: I don’t care about contracts. I don’t care about quests or bargains or deals or wishes or riddles. If you want me to get you out of this story, then you’re out, no strings attached.”
There was a trickle of rainwater somewhere in the dungeon. Every drip echoed through the gloom.
She narrowed her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
“You’re very wise.”
“What do you get out of this?”
The old woman sighed and shuffled back to sit against the stone wall. “Peace of mind, maybe,” she said. “A story is a terrible thing to bear for some.”
“How many people have you done this for?”
“Hundreds.”
“That’s a lot.”
“No, dear. Not nearly enough.”
“No strings attached?”
She heard the rainwater again, a distant, dark and echoing drip… drip…
And then – “Only one,” said the old woman. “There is a chance that someday, you’ll look back and realize that you’ll never know if you could’ve done it.”
She nearly laughed. “That’s all?” she said – and then she caught the look in the old woman’s eye.
There was something there that chilled her.
Drip… drip…
She pulled her knees up to her chest. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” she said quietly.
“And for some it isn’t,” said the old woman. It sounded like a very careful answer.
Drip… drip…
“If,” she said. “If I say no – what happens?”
“Then you save your sister and defeat the goblins,” said the old woman. “You become an unlikely heroine, and your story becomes the stuff of legends – or you die and your sister is lost forever. But no matter what, for the rest of your life, no matter how long that may be, you will know exactly how you did.
“It’s up to you, dear,” the old woman said. She rose stiffly and brushed the dirt from her gown. “Have you made up your mind?”
