Free Spun by Emma Barron Page B

released him.
    Once again, Gregor sat and blinked, looking confused. “But how…”
    “I am the rumpelstilzchen ,” Tillz said with a wry shake of his head, “of course I have given her gold and procured her safety. Of course I know of Werner’s plan to release her and will enforce it. I can acquire any object, defeat any nefarious plot, rescue any damsel … or not, as I see fit.”
    Gregor nodded in agreement, as if what Tillz had said was the most logical thing he had ever heard. Tillz realized the rumpelstilzchen nonsense actually had its attractions, that he could use it to his advantage. He should have realized this years ago.
    “So there is no need for you to go to the manor,” Tillz said. “I will keep an eye on Anja and make sure she remains safe. You will stay here and wait for her return. Agreed?”
    “Agreed,” Gregor said, obviously relieved that Anja would be safe without him having to confront Werner. He refilled his glass, slumped back in his chair, and took a long draught.
    Tillz watched Gregor for a few more minutes until he was properly convinced Gregor had no more desire to wage his foolhardy rescue mission. Soon the miller would be too drunk to attempt it, anyway, even should the impulse strike him again.
    Tillz left the cottage. He had a few hours yet until it would be fully dark and he could sneak into Anja’s cottage unnoticed. He would go to the tavern. Roulf would surely be there—he seemed to never miss a night—and Tillz hoped to glean information from him that he couldn’t get from spying on the cottage: what was Werner’s mood? Did he still plan to release Anja? Had anything changed?
    * * * *
    The evening was clear and calm, warmer than it had been in weeks, and the good weather brought the village men out to the tavern in larger numbers than Tillz was comfortable with. He didn’t want to go in. Every impulse screamed at him to keep walking, to not stop until he was at his home in the forest. He would go in, though. He would override ever instinct and desire to leave the village for the simple fact that he must know what information Roulf had about Werner and Anja.
    He pulled the brim of his hat low and the collar of his coat up high and slipped into the tavern in the unobtrusive way he had. He avoided notice through sheer force of will it seemed, because by rights a man as large and unusual looking as he should gain attention wherever he went. He moved to the back of the tavern where a small knot of men were engaged in a heated discussion. Strangely, Roulf was nowhere to be seen.
    Tillz ordered a glass of brandy, downed it, and asked for another, then another. The warmness of it just settled into his limbs when the group of men finally caught his full attention.
    “I tell you, I’ve seen ’im!” the tallest of the men said. “I’ve seen the rumpelstilzchen right here in the village!”
    Some of the men shook their heads, muttering at the impossibility of it, scoffing at the idea of the very existence of the creature. Others, however, nodded, swearing they too had seen the man.
    “I saw him last night, ’round midnight, walking my fenceline,” said another man.
    “Me too!” cried another. “And two of my lambs have gone missing this week. It’s ’im that took ’em!” he shouted.
    Tillz grimaced. The group was working itself into a frenzy, blaming Tillz—or rather, the rumpelstilzchen —for everything from missing livestock, to curdled milk, to a lightning strike on an old man’s barn. The men had seen him everywhere: in their pastures, cottages, in bed with their wives. None of it was true. Tillz hadn’t been in any of those places.
    “And I’ve seen him up at the rittergut ,” a young man said.
    Tillz froze, his brandy glass halfway to his mouth. That was true. He wondered how the man had noticed him. He had been sloppy apparently, distracted by Anja and what he was doing with her. Verflucht und zugenäht! he muttered, admonishing himself.
    Tillz gulped the