The Toymaker's Son
A fairytale told in traditional European folklore style
There was once a toymaker, who was of such great skill and imagination that he was appointed Royal Toymaker to the king, and tasked with making toys for all the king’s children, and later the king’s grandchildren, too.
The toymaker’s wife had died some years ago, but he had a son; the apprentice toymaker. The Toymaker's Son showed promise of being just as great, just as imaginative, and just as creative a toymaker as his father was, and was set to inherit the title of Toymaker by Royal Appointment to the King. But the Toymaker's Son was not content merely to make toys for all the little princes and princesses; he wanted to make toys for all children “Father, is it not unfair that we are blessed with these skills, but only the richest children may play with our toys while the children in the village – those sons and daughters of farmers and merchants and blacksmiths– may never own one of our creations? I wish to leave the business and set up a shop where I can sell our wares to all who wish to buy them”.
The father frowned. “Son, this is a good position! We are well-paid, and the king’s family is large and prolific! Here we have time to design and perfect wondrous creations that delight generations of royal children. We are provided with the best materials and tools and workshops for our craft. We have made toys that took years to design and months to build – no farmer could afford that! If you make toys for the village children you will be making nothing but hobby-horses and rag-dolls. Your talents would be wasted!”
But the son was stubborn. “If that is the case then so be it. But my hobby horses will be fine, proud beasts and my rag-dolls full of beauty”.
The Toymaker's Son knew that he could make many wondrous things and sell them to anyone, if only he had money for a shop. One morning he took a bundle of toys he had been working on – little dragons and monsters and animals that roared and waved their arms, and balls the turned into blossoming flowers and back to balls when you threw them, and metal birds that flew when you wound a spring and released them – and headed into village to sell his wares.
~~~~
There was once a girl whose father and mother were Lord and Lady of the village by the royal palace. She was well-bred and handsome and polite and everything a young lady ought to be. She could play piano and sing, dance a waltz and speak in seven languages, she could ride a horse and sword-fight and knew which mushrooms were good to eat and which were poisonous. Everyone in the village knew her and many were in love with her, though she showed no sign of being in love with any of them; preferring the company of her shaggy pony to any admirer.
One bright morning the girl was heading up to the palace where she had been invited for lunch. On the path she met the Toymaker's Son, who was struggling down the hill laden with bags and sacks and scrolls of parchment. “Can I help you with your burden?” she asked him, being the kind soul she was, but also being tall and strong of arm.
The Toymaker's Son was about to say “Thank you but I’m managing just fine” when he dropped a sack and several creations went bouncing and scattering and clunking off down the hill. “Actually, that would be extremely kind thank you” he replied instead, as the girl collected up the dropped items and several others that were about to fall from the Toymaker's Son’s over-burdened arms.
Together they walked down the hill (the girl deciding this was much more interesting than a stuffy lunch in the palace). As they walked, the Toymaker's Son told the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter about his plans. “I am fed up with only making toys for the richest family in the land. I know it will be hard work, and I shall no longer be able to live in the palace grounds with my father, but I wish to set up my own shop and make toys for all families. And maybe the princes and princesses and lords and ladies will still buy my toys, but hopefully so will the parents whose children play barefoot in the fields, and have mud on their faces and rips in their clothes. Even those poor children should have something fun and colourful in their lives, and I wish to provide it!”.
“I will be sure to speak with my father” replied the girl, stepping with ease down the paved road that wound into the village. “I am certain he has a shop you can rent. I for one would love to see your wonderful creations for sale in the market square. Now, wait here a moment” she instructed as they reached a large house just outside the village square. The Toymaker's Son waited, slightly baffled and still with arms full of his merchandise as the girl slipped inside the house and closed the door behind her.
A few minutes passed, during which nothing more exciting happened than a fly landing on the Toymaker's Son’s slightly-too-large nose, and then the girl reappeared. “Good news!” she announced with a bright smile and clasped hands. “My father will let you have a market stall in the morning, and you can pay the rent from your earnings for the day! You can store your wares in the hayloft and sleep in the stable-boy’s room if you help round the yard. Now I better leave you as I need to apologise to the Princess I was about to have lunch with for being ever-so late!”. And with that she was gone, leaving the Toymaker's Son standing a little bewildered, still holding all his wares outside the home of the Lord-and-Lady.
~~~~
The Toymaker's Son did as he was instructed; he put all his items in the hayloft, using bales of sweet-smelling hay to keep them in a neat order. He spent the day sweeping the yard and cleaning the stables and in return was given a silver coin, a hearty dinner and bed for the night in the stable-boy’s room.
As dawn broke the Toymaker's Son put his wares into a hand cart which he pushed to the market square, where he found other stallholders setting up for the day’s trading. His stall was a little burst of colour and noise and excitement, with fluttering flags, singing wooden birds, skipping ropes, hoops, balls, dolls, puppets and more. The other stalls selling bread, cheese, bacon, eggs, fruit, linen, and twine, seemed a little drab and colourless next to the Toymaker's Son’s wares. But everyone seemed to love seeing his creations, and before the sun had even risen above the roofs of the houses he had gathered a crowd of children and adults alike. The atmosphere of excitement and joy was catching, and all the traders did excellent business that day.
Come evening, the Toymaker's Son paid the Lord the fee for the market stall, and requested he stay to make more toys to sell the next market day. The Lord agreed a fee for a small workshop, and the toymaker settled into his new home to make more goods in readiness for the next market.
All week long he crafted more little kites and balls and birds and dolls, and while he worked he dreamed of a bigger workshop with a shop at the front, so he could sell all week long and not have to cart his goods to the market square. Somewhere in the dream he also had a sweetheart, who helped in the shop and ran up the till and carried some of the larger items to customers’ homes with her strong arms.
~~~~
Market day came again, and the Toymaker's Son loaded his cart once more. He had some items new and some items old, but they all sold just as well as the first week. He was careful to make sure that there were toys that were not too expensive as well as ones that were fine and detailed, and sure enough soon it seemed every boy and girl in the village was playing with something he had made. Whether it was a simple ribbon wand or a grand mechanical monster, children were seen clutching and throwing and hugging toys that the Toymaker's Son had made.
The Toymaker's Son was sure to put some money in a tin, to save up for the shop he was dreaming about. Maybe this time next year he would have enough, he thought happily. As he worked on more toys that week his dream got bigger – now he had children and a cat running about his shop. And the customers who came were rich and poor alike. Lords and Ladies on fine horses rode up and placed orders for wondrous creations, just as dusty farmers paid a few coppers for simple but beautiful toys.
~~~
Market day arrived once more, but unknown to the toymaker it was also the day of the Fairy Market. For every new moon, the village shared its market with the Fae Folk, who came to trade their own strange wares amongst the more mundane fare of the usual stallholders. As the Toymaker’s Son set up his little cart with its colourful wares, next door was a tall and lanky figure with a dark hood covering their face, selling mushrooms in jars. And just over the path, a badger walking on her hind legs was pushing a wagon laden with bread rolls and small cakes. The Toymaker’s Son tried not to stare, but couldn’t help but scratch his head in wonder at the unusual sights dotted amongst the more mundane traders.
Just as the sellers at the market were more varied than usual, so were the customers. Folk with long ears, animal tails or pretty-coloured wings tried to bargain with him for his toys. Some offered currency he had never seen before, or tried to trade in leaves and pebbles. One small bearded creature offered a box containing the souls of a thousand insects in payment for one of the Toymaker’s Son’s finer clockwork creations.
By midday, most folk had finished shopping and the market was packing up. Just as the Toymaker’s Son was starting to put his own goods back into the hand cart, a lady dressed in a long velvet dress the colour of moss approached and smiled warmly at him. “You are most talented” she complimented, brushing slender fingers over a bronze-coloured mechanical dragon. The Toymaker’s Son blushed and stuttered a thanks. The lady continued; “I have a proposition for you: how would you like to work for me? You will make the toys I request to entertain me and my court. In return I will provide you with whatever you require to do this; a workshop, the very finest tools, and whatsoever materials you require. You need not pay for your board, for you will stay with me at my residence. How does that sound?”
The Toymaker’s Son was rather taken aback. For a moment he did not know what to say, then replied “But my lady, I have a bed already in the stables over yonder, and I am saving up for my own shop here in the village”.
The lady laughed, picking up a small colourful ball and appearing to examine the stitching. “Do not worry yourself - you will only be in my employ until the next new moon. Then you shall be free to return here!”
The Toymaker’s Son found himself caught in the lady’s gaze; she had the most brilliantly purple eyes, he noticed. “Oh, umm, well in that case - that sounds fair. I would be honoured to work for you. When shall we…?”
He was about to ask about the arrangements for travelling to her residence; what should he bring, when and how would they travel, and he would just need to let his landlord know he was leaving. But the lady clapped her hands and all at once the Toymaker’s Son, his wares and cart were surrounded by a large number of small, unclothed, flying things who pushed and pulled and poked and pinched and whisked them all away before the Toymaker’s Son could blink twice.
~~~
That evening, when the Toymaker’s Son had not yet paid his market fee, the Lord presumed he had perhaps had done such good trade that he had gone to celebrate in the local tavern. Come morning, when the Toymaker’s Son had still not appeared, the Lord presumed he had perhaps celebrated a little too hard. Come midday, however, the Lord and Lady and their daughter were a little concerned. The Toymaker’s Son was not in the tavern, nor in the hayloft (though his tools and materials and other belongings still were). Nor had anyone seen him since the market day morning.
The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter was concerned, and did not believe her father when he said that the boy must have gone back to the royal palace to live with the Toymaker in his old dwelling. Instead she packed a bag of a few curious items (one single apple, a small silver knife, a scrap of paper, a ball of red wool and an old, rusty key), saddled up her shaggy pony and rode out of the village.
The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter rode for an hour, up a lane winding away from the village towards the edge of the forest. Here, next to an iron gate falling off its hinges, she stopped and dismounted. Taking the ball of red wool from her pack, she tied one end of it into her pony’s mane and the other round her own wrist so that they were connected (for the girl knew a little magic of her own); she then cut the thread with a deft sweep of the silver knife. She whispered something to the pony, who whickered and turned to trot off back towards the village, the little thread of wool bouncing in its grey mane.
“Right, just where have you taken him then?” the daughter asked of no one in particular, as she popped the rusty key into the lock of the rusty gate and swung it open, and stepped through into the realm of the Fae.
~~~
The Toymaker’s Son was not sure how it had happened, but he found himself sat on a wooden stool behind a workstation littered with tools and implements. Paints and brushes, knives and scalpels, clamps, cogs, wire, leather, screws and buttons were everywhere; some scattered liberally on tables, others stacked nearby in drawers and shelves. A warm light filtered through the dust motes from an opaque window behind him, setting the edges of every surface aglow. Distantly, the Toymaker's Son could hear chattering voices and quiet music.
With the absence of a knock, the door burst open and the lady in the green dress came in. She no longer smiled warmly, but narrowed her purple eyes and frowned at the Toymaker’s Son. “You have not yet started work” she stated with an air of disapproval. “Well, you must start soon. I have a list of requests here” she passed a scroll of paper to the Toymaker’s Son. “If you need anything, write it down and leave it on the door. Your needs will be met most efficiently”. And with a sweep of moss-coloured velvet she was gone.
The Toymaker’s Son studied the scroll. On it was written:
A ball that sings when thrown
A wand for sending sparks into the air
A dancing mouse
A ribbon that ties itself into a bow
A rainbow you can hold
“How am I supposed to make these?” he pondered. But not one to be defeated, he took a roll of paper and a quill and started designing ideas. By nightfall he had a list of requests, which were pinned to the door and collected by a tabby cat wearing an apron, who also brought the Toymaker’s Son some bread, cold meat, and pale wine for supper.
As he ate his meal, the Toymaker’s Son gazed out of the window at the courtyard below. It was lit with torches burning steadily, and a host of finely dressed people mingled, chatted, flirted and danced. Other creatures dressed in livery served wine and food from platters, and joyful music played from somewhere unseen.
“This truly is a magnificent place” he thought, settling down to sleep on an old but comfortable bed in the corner of the workshop.
~~~
Each day the Toymaker’s Son designed, built and painted the strange items that the lady had requested of him. The tabby cat wearing the apron brought him food and deliveries of materials. No one spoke to him, and he didn’t see the lady again except in glimpses out of the window. Each evening the crowds gathered in the courtyard below to dance and drink and laugh and flirt.
The Toymaker’s Son was not held prisoner; he could leave his room and walk the corridors. But all he found were dead ends, locked doors, or endless hallways with no exit. As soon as he gave up trying to find his way outside he would appear back by the door to his workshop once more which was just as he left it; tools neatly arranged, paint organised by colour, cloth and leather and paper in stacks and rolls and the bed tidily made.
~~~
After 7 days, the Toymaker’s son had made the items requested:
A little leather ball containing three silver bells inside a wire cage that tinkled sweetly when shaken.
A hollowed stick with a slot to place a little dry powder; ignited with a small flame it shot colourful sparks out of the end.
A little toy mouse puppet wearing a ballerina dress which danced when the wooden poles holding it up were moved.
A ribbon hanging from a circular frame with nearly invisible thread wound cleverly, so that pulling on the ends made the ribbon appear to tie itself into a bow.
Rainbow coloured ribbon on a wand that twirled when a small button was pressed in the base.
On this day, the lady appeared at his workshop once more, examining the creations with visible excitement. “You have done exactly as requested!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together and smiling her beguiling smile. “Tonight you must attend the court as my guest. I will arrange for some suitable attire for you. Everyone will be most impressed!”.
That evening the tabby cat brought a suit of midnight blue, dotted with silver stars. It was exquisitely cut and fitted the Toymaker’s Son perfectly, even though he was tall and skinny for his age. He dressed and was collected by one of the servants wearing livery, who escorted him out of his room, along the hall, down a spiral staircase and out into the courtyard (he could swear he had walked that hallway and never come to the spiral staircase before). Here the lady met him, slipping her arm through his and leading him out towards the crowds. She was warm and smelled of rose and oranges and the Toymaker’s Son flushed and tried not to stumble over his own feet.
All evening he was paraded around, admired and praised while the other members of the court laughed with delight as they explored each of his creations. Rarely was he given the opportunity to speak more than a word of thanks, and if he did try to converse with any of the guests they simply acted as if they could not hear him.
Up close, the Toymaker’s Son could see the members of the court were all elven creatures with long, pointed ears. They wore beautiful and elaborate clothing, and gossiped behind backs of hands as much as they spoke openly.
After a time, the novelty of the toys and their maker wore off and the Toymaker’s Son found himself ignored and abandoned at a corner of the courtyard, stood beneath a tree bearing sweet-smelling flowers, holding the rainbow wand with the ribbon dangling limply. A soft, furry paw slipped itself into his hand and a quiet voice murmured “Come now, sir, best get back to your workshop” and the tabby cat, wearing the elven lady’s livery, led the Toymaker’s Son away from the crowds and back to his room.
“Who are all these people that come every night?” he asked as they trod the hallways. The cat remained silent, still holding his hand.
“Will I have to make more toys, do you think?”. Again this question was met with silence.
The Toymaker’s Son sighed and followed the cat back to his workshop. Outside he could still hear the party; the music and laughter and merriment. As it had been every single night since he arrived.
~~~
Come morning a new list of requested items appeared pinned to the door. And so once more the Toymaker’s Son began the process of planning, designing, making and perfecting creations to meet the increasingly strange requests of his host.
~~~
The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter stood at the crossing between her world and the realm of the Fae. Where she stood, a pair of stone pillars rose from a meadow that stretched in all directions like a sea of wildflowers, gently rippling. The girl tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I wonder where you are?” she mused. Taking out the single apple from her pack, she cut it into quarters with the little silver knife and removed the pips. One pip she planted by her feet, where it sprang up instantly into a young sapling, leaves unfurling and flowers blooming. In moments the tree bore five juicy red apples. The girl picked the apples, placing them carefully into her pack so that she might have something to eat (for it is not wise to eat fairy food), then threw the remaining pips into the air where they turned into small birds and flew away.
Biting into the first apple quarter, the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter stepped purposefully after the birds, following their flitting path Westwards towards the afternoon sun.
~~~
It took some time, for the path was not always clear, but eventually the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter came across a grand palace sat atop a hill. It was bordered by high walls covered in twisted vines bearing plump fruit and bright little flowers, atop which sat the little apple-pip birds. They hopped along the high wall, leading the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter to a space where the bricks had crumbled and a nimble girl might clamber through. She thanked them, and crossed into the palace gardens beyond.
It was dawn, and all seemed quiet. No creatures could be seen or heard, just the gentle breeze whispering through blossom-laden trees and the soft tinkling of a water fountain nearby.
The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter stole through the garden and into the house, following one little apple-pip bird who hopped ahead of her. Across the lawn, up the grand stairs, into the entrance hallway, across the softly carpeted rooms, up the stone spiral staircase, through the upper hallways and to a small wooden door set into the cold stone wall. All the way she saw no one, heard no one.
At the door she paused and listened. Inside the room was a rasping sound, interrupted now and then by a sobbing sigh. She knocked.
A pause, quiet footsteps, and the door opened; cautiously at first, then flung wide. There stood the Toymaker’s Son, paint-splattered, eyes red, hair mussed and clothes ragged. Before he could say anything, the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter slipped in and closed the door.
“What are you…?” the Toymaker’s Son began.
“I’m here to rescue you, of course!” interrupted the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter. Arms folded, she surveyed the mess of a room; the scattered materials, half-finished projects and torn and scrumpled notes. This was not how he normally kept his workshop, she knew. “You do need rescuing, I understand?”
“Well yes… only I cannot leave. Not until the next new moon, the lady said. And the moon here doesn’t change - look”. He gestured out of the window at the moon which was setting in the early morning glow. It was a perfect crescent, large and clear. “The moon is always like that. Never waxing nor waning; it just rises and sets the same every night. I have no idea how long I have been here but it feels like months have passed!”
He may well have been here that long, the girl pondered - time was known to be tricky in the realm of the Fae. “I still intend to rescue you” she replied, tapping her chin thoughtfully in that manner of hers.
“And I would dearly like to leave, but I have tried and the house will not let me out! I have nothing to do but stay here, making stranger and stranger things for my captor, enduring the empty praise of her guests when they come to play with my creations, or face her anger if I do not comply. I have been doing nothing but this for months on end!” and he began crying again, sniffling and wiping his nose on a baggy and stained sleeve.
The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter started pacing in thought. “What exactly are the terms of your stay here?” she inquired, idly thumbing through a pile of abandoned design sheets.
The Toymaker’s Son sniffed. “The elven lady told me I was to work for her until the next new moon, then I would be free to return home”.
“Then I have a plan!” declared the girl, holding up one of the designs the boy had been working on. She explained what he had to do, and that she would return to the palace in three days time to take him back home.
~~~
Later that morning, when the tabby cat came to bring the Toymaker’s Son his meal and toymaking supplies for the day, the Toymaker’s Son handed the feline a folded note and requested to speak with the elven lady. The tabby cat nodded their understanding and exited with a brief but unmistakable smile at the boy.
When the elven lady arrived, full of curiosity at this change in routine, the Toymaker’s Son made his request. “If it would please you, I should like to make something different today. I have learned much in my time here and believe I could make you something unique - a gift of sorts”. Then, remembering how gifts are viewed with suspicion by the Fae he stammered on, “that is, um, I mean in payment for your generous employment and opportunity to make such things as I would not have been able to make back home”.
The lady considered this request, fingers laced and purple eyes narrowed. Then with a small tilt of her head she replied. “Very well. I am curious to see what you might produce. May you tell me what you intend to make?”.
“A music box - one that plays a fine tune and contains moving parts to display a scene”
The elven lady clapped her hands together and smiled broadly, her mood changing like the weather in Spring. “How wonderful! Please go ahead and make this music box!”.
~~~
For three days the Toymaker’s Son worked on the music box. From the outside it appeared to be an ornately decorated silver chest, but it opened like a book to display a model of the palace itself, with little figures that moved and danced in the miniature courtyard while music played, all wound up with a key shaped like a blossoming flower. It was a much more advanced creation than anything the Toymaker’s Son had made before, and he laboured over it from dawn until late night, anxious to have it finished in time for the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter to return.
On the evening of the third day, the box was finally finished, and sat on the workshop bench wrapped in a cloth of black velvet. When the elven lady arrived, the Toymaker’s Son requested he show her in person before the guests arrived for that night’s entertainment. She agreed, and led the boy out of his room, along the hall, down a spiral staircase and to the grand entrance hall. Here, the Toymaker’s Son placed the box on a table and removed the cloth. He tried to control the nervous shaking of his hands, concerned that he would give away the plan; but he needn’t have worried, for the elven lady only had eyes for the music box and stared at it greedily.
“Well, how does it work?” she demanded, not taking her eyes off the silver box and running her fingers longingly over its shining surface.
“You open it, here like this”. The Toymaker’s Son opened out the box to reveal the palace scene, and showed the lady how to wind it up.
Laughing delightedly, she turned the silver flower-shaped key and watched as the scene played out; the moon rose and little people came out from hidden spots to twirl round each other while a sweet tune played from inside. The moon arced over the sky then set, and the little people retreated back to their hiding places.
“How delightful!” she exclaimed, winding the box to make the scene play out a second time. She did not notice that the moon’s phase had changed; waning a little from full to gibbous. Each time the scene was played out the moon reduced in size until a thin crescent set and a new moon rose, a disc of black rising above the little dancing figures.
The elven lady realised what was happening; her face contorting into resentment. “You have tricked me!” she said angrily, turning to stare at the Toymaker’s Son.
Just then, the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter came out from her hiding spot beyond the doorway. “I have come to take my friend home, for I believe his employment with you has come to an end” she announced, arms folded defiantly.
The elven lady was furious, but knew she could do nothing. “Begone from my home, then, and know you will not be welcome here again should you return”. And with a sweep of moss-coloured velvet she was gone.
The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter took the Toymaker’s Son’s hand in her own, and they walked as quickly as they dared out of the house, across the lawns and away from the palace until they were safe outside the high stone walls.
They had barely taken three steps across the track that wound down the hill when a small tabby cat walking on its hind legs tugged on the Toymaker’s Son’s coat. “Please take me with you?” they whispered. Though they had not spoken before, the Toymaker’s Son had come to think of the tabby cat as a friend, so replied “Yes of course, but we are travelling back to our world and will be leaving the realm of the Fae behind”.
The cat nodded their understanding and patted alongside the Toymaker’s Son and Lord-and-Lady’s daughter as they followed the path down the hill. They had almost reached the bottom when a thundering was heard, and emerging from the palace was the elven lady galloping on an ink-black horse towards them, shouting furiously “You have taken something that belongs to me! Return it at once or I shall take swift revenge!”.
“She means me” squeaked the tabby cat, trembling, their tail puffed out in fear.
“Hold onto me!” commanded the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter. And as the Toymaker’s Son and the tabby cat took hold of her arm, she unwound the red wool from her wrist and, holding one end tightly, flicked the other end into the air as the elven lady thundered down the hill. The wool pulled all three of them Eastward at great speed, flying through forests and over meadows until they reached the apple tree that the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter had planted, now as tall as a barn and full of shining red apples.
Here they stopped, feet once more on the ground, and the length of red wool crumbled into dust and drifted away. The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter took a scrap of paper out of her pack and wrote on it:
In payment, for that which we took
and stuck the note to the apple tree with the little silver knife.
Each of them stepped between the stone pillars and out of the realm of the Fae, back to the winding path with the rusty old gate hanging off its hinges.
The Lord-and-Lady’s daughter took the rusty key and placed it into the rusty keyhole, locking the gate behind them. “Just in case!” she smiled.
~~~
Life soon returned to much as it was before. The Toymaker’s Son continued to make toys to sell at market (though they were perhaps rather more unusual than they used to be), the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter kept an eye on things - and on him - and the fairy market rolled round every new moon; though the elven lady was not seen again.
The Toymaker’s Son was afflicted with the curse of eating fairy food, as are all who taste something prepared in the realm of the Fae. Regular food always seemed bitter to him, no matter how it was seasoned, and he dreamed of meals of bread and meat and wine he was given in the workshop; for though they had seemed ordinary at the time, they had become buttery, succulent feasts in his memory. Nothing he ate now could compare. However, now and then he would return to the Fae crossing, unlock the rusty gate, step through and pick a few of those red apples - for they were not quite human and not quite fairy - and eating one would satisfy him for a while longer.
In time, the Toymaker’s Son and the Lord-and-Lady’s daughter fell in love, moved in together and agreed to be married. The tabby cat helped around their house; cooking and cleaning and fetching things. In payment they were provided with good food and a warm bed by the fire, and seemed more than content with life. A toy shop was opened, with a neat and tidy workshop at the back, and the three of them did indeed live happily for the rest of their days.