“Have you been for the tax?” said the giant. “Yes, that I have, master,” said the Prince.
“Where have you put it then?” said the giant again.
“The bag of gold is standing there on the bench,” said the Prince.
“I will see about that,” said the giant, and went away to the bench, but the bag was standing there, and it was so full that gold and silver dropped out when the giant untied the string.
“You have certainly been talking with my Master-maid!” said the giant, “and if you have I will wring your neck.”
Always with the neck-wringing …
“Master-maid?” said the Prince, “yesterday my master talked about this Master-maid, and today he is talking about her again, and the first day of all it was talk of the same kind. I do wish I could see the thing myself,” said he.
“Yes, yes, wait till tomorrow,” said the giant, “and then I myself will take you to her.”
“Ah! master, I thank you — but you are only mocking me,” said the King’s son.
Next day the giant took him to the Master-maid. “Now you shall kill him, and boil him in the great big cauldron you know of, and when you have got the broth ready give me a call,” said the giant, then he lay down on the bench to sleep, and almost immediately began to snore so that it sounded like thunder among the hills.
Sooner or later all fairy tales descend into cannibalism.
The interesting thing here is that the giant obviously trusts the Master-maid to carry this out, despite the fact that he knows she’s been giving the prince advice. Has he got something on her? She can’t be under a geas, as we’ll shortly see. Does he think she’s too scared to defy him? Does he still believe, despite evidence to the contrary, that she’s on his side?
… were they a thing? They might have been a thing. That’s unsettling. Might explain a few things, though.
We also note that he has absolutely no doubts that the Master-maid is capable of overpowering this young man without any help. This is the sort of thing that makes you go, “Whoa. The Master-maid is clearly a badass.”
So the Master-maid took a knife, and cut the Prince’s little finger, and dropped three drops of blood upon a wooden stool then she took all the old rags, and shoe soles, and all the rubbish she could lay hands on, and put them in the cauldron, and then she filled a chest with gold dust, and a lump of salt, and a water-flask which was hanging by the door, and she also took with her a golden apple, and two gold chickens, and then she and the Prince went away with all the speed they could.
You kinda get the impression that the Master-maid has thought her escape attempt through. Most fairy tales like this, the princess receives a series of magical items and they become useful in unexpected ways, sort of like the plot of Paycheck. The Master-maid, on the other hand, clearly has a checklist. “Golden chickens … check … lump of salt … check … ”
And when they had gone a little way they came to the sea, and then they sailed, but where they got the ship from I have never been able to learn.
I am so explaining away my next plot-hole with this one. “And where they got the tactical nuke from, I have never been able to learn.”
Now, when the giant had slept a good long time, he began to stretch himself on the bench on which he was lying. “Will it soon boil?” said he.
“It is just beginning,” said the first drop of blood on the stool.
For whatever weird reason, there’s a long history of talking blood-drops in fairy tales. You get them in “The Goose-girl” too (and I may have to talk about that one sometime, because whenever the heroine spends her days talking to a decapitated talking horse-head, you’ve got somethin’ weird going on.)
So the giant lay down to sleep again, and slept for a long, long time. Then he began to move about a little again. “Will it soon be ready now?” said he, but he did not look up this time any more than he had done the first time, for he was still half asleep.
“Half done!” said the second drop of blood, and the giant believed it was the Master-maid again, and turned himself on the bench, and lay down to sleep once more.
Sadly, hemo ventriloquism is a mostly vanished art.
When he had slept again for many hours, he began to move and stretch himself. “Is it not done yet?” said he.
“It is quite ready,” said the third drop of blood. Then the giant began to sit up and rub his eyes, but he could not see who it was who had spoken to him, so he asked for the Master-maid, and called her. But there was no one to give him an answer.
“Ah! well, she has just stolen out for a little,” thought the giant, and he took a spoon, and went off to the cauldron to have a taste, but there was nothing in it but shoe-soles, and rags, and such trumpery as that, and all was boiled up together, so that he could not tell whether it was porridge or milk pottage. When he saw this, he understood what had happened, and fell into such a rage that he hardly knew what he was doing. Away he went after the Prince and the
