Ratpunzel Read online

  “Army of giant Venus flytraps?” said Harriet. “Mushrooms with exploding spores that blind your enemies? That’s just off the top of my head.”

  Gothel paused. “Hey, that’s pretty good.”

  Harriet shook her head in disgust. Some people had no imagination.

  She tried to back away, and discovered that she couldn’t. Green bands were snaking up her legs and were holding her in place. She swatted at the plants with her hands, and they whipped out and twined around her wrists.

  “I admit,” said Gothel, “the vine ropes aren’t as impressive as an army of Venus flytraps. I’m going to have to give that some serious thought. But they’re good enough for egg thieves!”

  “. . . um,” said Harriet.

  “You’re right, though,” said Gothel. “If I want to do real magic, I need the tears. Even trapping people in trees is hard. That’s why we have Sad Story Time. Pretty soon I’ll have enough tears to live forever!”

  Harriet rolled her eyes. Villains always wanted to live forever. They never seemed to think about how boring it would eventually get.

  She tried squirming. It didn’t help much. The vines were extremely strong.

  “But I’m willing to waste a vial trapping you in a tree,” said Gothel. “I’ll even put you near your little friend.”

  She leaned in, very close to Harriet.

  Harriet wondered if she was going to be able to gnaw through the vines before Gothel got back from the tower. It didn’t seem all that likely.

  “Or,” said Gothel, sneering, “I could just leave you here for the weasel-wolves. I’m sure they’d love the taste of hamster—”

  Gothel’s expression changed.

  It became, very briefly, surprised.

  And then she slumped over into the grass, knocked out cold.

  Ratpunzel stood over her, clutching the broken half of the hydra eggshell in both hands.

  “Was . . . was that useful?” she asked.

  Harriet let out a long sigh. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, it was.”

  CHAPTER 22

  In the end, Ratpunzel had to fetch the ax that they’d used to chop the thorns and then hack the vines loose from around Harriet. Harriet tried not to flinch. Ratpunzel had clearly never taken a class in ax safety.

  Still, she’d just brained Gothel with an eggshell, so Harriet was inclined to cut her some slack.

  “You did good,” she said quietly, shaking the last vines off her arms. “Like, really good.” She patted the young rat awkwardly on the shoulder.

  Ratpunzel glanced toward Wilbur’s tree. “Not good enough,” she said.

  They used the bungee cords left over from the egg to tie Gothel’s hands together.

  Hyacinth emerged from the trees. “Qwerk,” she said. “Qwerk-erk, qwerk,” which is Quail for “Mumfrey’s about a mile down the road. Should I get him?”

  “Yeah,” said Harriet. “Um. Please do that . . .”

  She hoped the baby hydra wasn’t too frightened.

  Hyacinth set off shlopping down the path. She didn’t seem to have noticed that Wilbur was stuck in the tree. Harriet let out a sigh of relief.

  Ratpunzel looked at her hopefully. “What do we do now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Harriet admitted. She stared at Wilbur’s wooden form.

  “They aren’t carvings, are they?” asked Ratpunzel.

  “No,” said Harriet. She felt very tired.

  “Yeah,” said Harriet. She was tired and grumpy and would have said something sarcastic, like “Are you only now figuring that out?” but Wilbur wouldn’t have wanted that. Wilbur would have been nice about it. Wilbur would have told her to be kind to Ratpunzel. And Ratpunzel had just saved her life, and that was pretty darn good for somebody who had been trapped in a tower all her life.

  Think, Harriet! she thought, racking her brain. Think! You’re a hero! Use your brain!

  What had the book in Gothel’s study said?

  The tree shall hold them fast, and none shall be freed, even unto the end of the world . . .

  Harriet slumped against the tree trunk.

  “None shall be freed, even unto the end of the world . . .” she muttered out loud.

  “No!” shouted Ratpunzel, practically in her ear. “No! I won’t let that happen! This isn’t Sad Story Time! There’s got to be a happy ending!”

  She flung her arms around the wooden statue of Wilbur and burst into tears.

  Harriet winced. She hated it when other people cried. She never knew what to say so they’d feel better. She wished Wilbur were here, and not a tree, so that he could deal with it. Wilbur could have patted Ratpunzel on the shoulder and said “There, there,” and it would have meant something, because it was Wilbur saying it. When Harriet tried to say something comforting, it always came out wrong.

  For some reason, “Don’t cry! You’ve still got all your arms and legs! And nobody’s on fire! That’s something!” never went over well.

  She felt, though she would never admit it, like crying herself.

  And then, very faintly, Harriet heard a sound.

  It sounded like ice breaking up on a river a long way away. It sounded like wood creaking in the wind.

  It sounded a little bit like a hydra tapping at an eggshell.

  CRACK!

  Harriet looked up.

  Ratpunzel was sobbing her heart out, and the tears were pouring over her fur and falling, one by one, onto the bark of the tree.

  Had there been something else written in the book?

  . . . none shall be freed, even unto the end of the world, except by the essence itself.

  The essence in the tears! That’s it! Gothel was making magic with the vials of tears, and she used them to lock all those people into trees, but Ratpunzel’s crying tears now, real ones, onto the tree, and that’s the essence.

  Harriet held her breath. She didn’t dare say a word, because if she was right and Ratpunzel stopped crying, Wilbur wouldn’t be freed after all.

  “You tried to save me!” wept Ratpunzel. “You were so n-nice and you listened and you told me about how y-y-you lived with your m-m-mom and you s-said I could come s-stay with you and . . .”

  CRACK! CRACK!

  It was louder now. Ratpunzel didn’t seem to notice. Harriet watched as a bit of bark flaked off Wilbur’s arm and warm, living fur showed underneath.

  “And . . . and . . . I’m s-sorry . . . you should have left me . . . if you hadn’t c-c-come to get me out of the tower, you w-would have gotten away . . .”

  CRACK! CRACK!

  Just a little more, thought Harriet, leaning forward. Just a little bit more . . .

  “You were so brave!” cried Ratpunzel. “And I know you’re a prince and when I grow up I want to marry you—”

  Oh, ew, thought Harriet.

  The tree split apart.

  Wilbur fell out of the tree and into Harriet’s arms.

  CHAPTER 23

  They handed the still-groggy Gothel over to the authorities in the Kingdom of Sunshine. The guards had been very firm but very cheerful.

  “And there will be Happy Story Time!” added another guard. “Stories where everyone holds hands and is the best person they can possibly be and everything is made of rainbows!”

  Harriet almost felt a little sorry for Gothel. Almost.

  When Mumfrey had finally returned, with the baby hydra strapped to his back, the hydra had promptly burst into tiny reptile tears. Harriet had been very worried, until they worked out that the hydra had loved going fast on quail-back, and was sad because the ride had stopped.

  It took them nearly a week, using all the vials of tears stored up in Gothel’s study, to free all the people trapped in trees. All the princes and warriors and strange beasts had been very happy to be freed.

  A few swore alleg
iance to Harriet, which was sort of embarrassing. “No, no,” she said. “I don’t need your undying gratitude. No, nor eternal service either. No, I will not marry you! Definitely not! I’m twelve!”

  Harriet saved the weasel-wolves for last, but when they saw Mumfrey and Harriet standing in front of the tree, with identical no-nonsense expressions, they weaseled hastily away into the forest.

  • • •

  Almost all the prisoners of the trees went home immediately to tell their families that they weren’t dead, just . . . stuck. Only one stayed behind.

  He was a handsome young rat prince, and Ratpunzel was very glad to see him.

  Ratpunzel blushed. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, dear. It’s just . . . well . . . oh, I’ve promised to marry Wilbur, you see!” Her tail curled in embarrassment.

  The rat prince frowned at Wilbur. “Must we fight a duel for the hand of fair Ratpunzel, then?”

  To Harriet, he whispered, “Help me!”

  Harriet sighed. “Sorry,” she said to Ratpunzel. “Wilbur’s already betrothed.”

  “To you?!” asked Ratpunzel.

  “No! Jeez, you’re as bad as my mother! No, to—uh—a very powerful—uh—warrior queen—from a different kingdom—”

  “We’ve never met,” put in Wilbur hastily. “It was arranged by our parents while we were still babies.”

  “Oh,” said Ratpunzel. She sighed, partly with sadness, but also, Harriet thought, with relief.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to meet some other princes first?” asked Harriet. As much as she wanted to save Wilbur from untimely matrimony, she felt obligated to say something. “I mean, it’s a big world, and you don’t have to marry the first prince that comes to your tower . . . even if he’s got a cast-iron stomach . . .”

  Ratpunzel frowned, but the rat prince nodded to Harriet.

  “I agree,” he said. “This hamster is very wise. You should go with your friends. I shall come for you in a year, and if you still wish to marry me, then and only then shall we be wed!”

  And he rode off in a cloud of dust, while Ratpunzel sighed after him.

  Harriet rolled her eyes.

  “Sure,” she said. “If you like that sort of thing. Wilbur, why don’t we take Ratpunzel to meet your mother—and our little hydra to meet its mother? I caught it trying to make a soufflé out of pine needles yesterday. It needs Heady to teach it what to do.”

  “That’s a great plan,” said Wilbur. “That is your best plan yet. And it doesn’t even involve bungee cords.”

  “Well,” said Harriet. “Not yet.”

  Ratpunzel climbed onto Mumfrey’s back, behind Harriet. The hamster princess lifted the reins and clucked her tongue. “C’mon, Mumfrey. Let’s go home.”

  “Move over, Babymouse, there’s a new rodent in town!”

  —School Library Journal, starred review

  “Harriet is her own hamster, but she takes her place proudly alongside both Danny Dragonbreath and Babymouse. Creatively fresh and feminist, with laughs on every single page.”

  —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

  “A book with all the makings of a hit. Readers will be laughing themselves silly.”

  —Publishers Weekly, starred review

  “A joy to read, and we can only hope that Harriet—long may she reign—will return in later installments.”

  —Booklist, starred review

  “Maintaining a keen balance between silly and sly, this sequel will have readers snickering.”

  —Kirkus Reviews, starred review

  “A quick and satisfying read that is as hilarious as it is fun. Make room on the shelves for this not so frilly princess.”

  —School Library Journal, starred review

  “Spunky Harriet is just as wonderful as she was in her debut . . . Fans of twisted feminist fairy tales will be delighted, and Harriet’s existing followers won’t be disappointed with this second installment. Bring on book three!”

  —Booklist

  ABOUT the AUTHOR

  Ursula Vernon (www.ursulavernon.com) is an award-winning author and illustrator whose work has won a Hugo Award and a Nebula Award, and been nominated for the World Fantasy Award and an Eisner. She loves birding, gardening, and spunky heroines. She is the first to admit that she would make a terrible princess.