The Adventures of King Midas

When he opened his eyes, things were apparently back to normal. The little man was yawning.

“That’s it,” he said. “Where’s my rose?”

Feeling rather dazed, the king pointed out to him the special rose bush. Not that you could miss it. The roses on it were double the size of any other rose in the garden. They glowed with a special, deep red which seemed to hold all other reds within it. For several yards around the bush the perfume wafted and played in the air, so delicious you could almost see it.

“Ah! Ah!” exclaimed Nandan. “A treasure from the far side of magic! And this is to be mine alone!”

Reverently, he plucked one of the huge roses, attached it to his leather waistcoat, drew in a deep breath of its scent, and gave Midas one long look of – what? Admiration? Gratitude? Whatever it was, Midas felt that for the first time since the magician had appeared, they were equals.

Suddenly the little man made a grasping pass with his hand.

The whole rose bush, covered with Midas roses, vanished.

In another split second, the bush, now a tiny miniature, complete with its roots, reappeared in the little man’s hand. He was taking it with him! The Midas rose was no more for this world. The magician gave a high-pitched laugh.

“I’ve had the best of our bargain,” he cried. “Goodbye, King Midas!”

He disappeared into the air, and the roses with him. But after a second, he came back.

“If I were less pleased with my fee, I would not bother to say this,” he said. “But if you should ever want to see me again, come to this spot where my rose once grew and say, ‘Red Rose, bloom again’. But make sure it’s not raining!”

He let out another eldritch chuckle and vanished once more.

Chapter Two Gold! (#ulink_04dc1c58-890f-51f6-957d-ad84e7bd5b0d)

The King looked around him.

He wondered if he had been dreaming. He definitely felt dizzy. So he put out his hand and leant against a tree to steady himself.

The rough, warm bark changed instantly under his hand to something hard and smooth and cold. The King took his hand away quickly and looked up at the tree.

At first he couldn’t credit what his eyes told him. From its roots to its topmost branches, the tree was made of shining gold. Every tiny leaf was like a golden mirror that shone so brightly it dazzled the King’s eyes.

He broke off a leaf and stared at it. He broke off some more, until he had a whole handful. On a sudden impulse, he flung them into the air. Sending out sparks of dancing light, they fell heavily, scattering around his feet.

“It’s true,” he breathed, gazing at the tree in a befuddlement that trembled on the brink of absolute happiness. “It’s TRUE!” he shouted, jumping into the air, grasping a low-hanging golden bough in both hands and swinging on it like a schoolboy. “IT’S TRUE IT’S TRUE IT’S TRUE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, dropping from the branch and capering around the base of the tree.

“I have it! It’s mine! The golden touch is mine!”

He couldn’t stay still. He left the heavy shade of the tree and ran to another, and another. Each one froze to his touch into brilliant, solid, flawless gold. The branches stopped swaying and the leaves stopped whispering. The birds that had been resting in the trees flew away in chirping, frightened clouds. Squirrels fled down the trunks, slipping and sliding. Though they couldn’t be seen, a myriad of insects also made their escape, or tried to, though many were trapped inside and could no longer gnaw their way out.

But King Midas noticed nothing but that his magic touch worked perfectly, and had already made him the most gold-rich person in the world.

At last he had to stop dashing about. He came, puffing, to rest by a rose bush. Not a Midas bush, of course, that was gone for ever, but a beautiful bush all the same. He was so happy he felt he must pick a rose to put in his button hole; but as he broke the flower off, the petals became stiff and shiny, and the King found he was holding a perfect golden rose.

His face broke into a grin. “This takes some getting used to!” he exclaimed. And then he did another silly thing. Without thinking, he bent his head to smell the flower.

Of course it had no scent. That had disappeared as soon as the rose became gold.

The King became very still for a moment. Roses were his great love … But then he pushed away the tiny regret that had come into his mind. He threw away the golden rose and, with his magic hands firmly out of the way, smelt some others to make himself feel all right again.

The next thing he thought of was some cash that was in his pocket – common coins of the realm, made of copper and bronze and nickel. He would change those into gold at once – gold like the pirates in his old storybooks used to have – doubloons! And he reached into the pocket of his jacket.

Instantly a heavy weight fell onto his shoulders so that he was almost pressed to the ground.

“Good heavens! The jacket’s turned into gold now! I keep forgetting!”

He had to break the buttons away to get the jacket off, and as it lay all stiff and cold in the grass, gleaming like a suit of armour, the King almost thought for a moment that it had been nicer before.

He shook himself, feeling the chill breeze without his dear old tweed jacket, his favourite gardening one that he’d had since his wife’s time, and exclaimed aloud, “But how absurd! Now I have all the gold I want, I can buy a new jacket for every day of the year! But of course,” he added thoughtfully, “I shall have to get someone to dress me. H’m. Wonder what old Biffpot’s going to think about all this?”

It was the first time he had considered what anybody else might think, and his thoughts flew to Delia.

“Now she’ll see! Now she’ll understand!” he thought gleefully, and looked around for something to turn into gold as a special present for her.

In the next section of the garden was a fountain with a statue in the middle of it, of a little girl holding a fish. It was made of marble.

“I’ll turn that statue into a golden doll for my little girl,” he thought. As he reached his hand through the spray to touch the statue, all the drops of water turned into gold too, and fell with little splashes into the pool, where they sank to the bottom and lay among the pebbles.

Somehow this thrilled the King. “It works for little things, too!” he thought. “Little, ordinary things!” For pure fun, he touched a stone and saw it glitter among its dull fellows on the path, and then turned a humble garden spade into a magnificent artifact of gold that any museum would give its eye-teeth to own.

“Hooray!” the King cried. “I love this! This is even more fun than the trees! If that old spade were only alive, how proud it would be in the tool-shed among all the other plain ones!” It was a funny thought, and he laughed aloud.

He was just reaching for the golden statue when a small bird alighted on the rim of the fountain for a drink. It was bright yellow and the king recognised it as one of the palace canaries that must have escaped. Delia was very fond of her birds and the King knew that recapturing this one would please her, so he chirruped to the canary, and held out his finger for the little tame thing to hop onto.

It was clearly tired of being free. Trustingly, it hopped.

Hardly had its feet touched Midas’s finger before it fell like a stone into his hand, turned to gold, right to its tipmost wing-feather. It was a very unpleasant feeling, like witnessing sudden death.

The King was dismayed. “Poor little thing!” he cried. “I didn’t mean it! – Oh, please come back to life – what will Delia say?”

But the bird lay stiffly in the King’s hand and stared at him with its sightless golden eyes.

“I really must be a bit more careful,” thought the King. “I can’t just go on doing everything the way I did before. Habit. Everything is habit… Well, I must break some habits, that’s all, it’s a small enough price to pay.”

He tried to lift the golden statue, but soon realised it would be too heavy for Delia. The touch of it on his fingers gave him a sudden shiver, and he let go of it.

He was feeling hungry as well as chilly; the sun was going down and it was time for supper. He thought about the lovely lamb chops and fruit and cake and red wine that he’d ordered for his meal, and after just touching another thing or two to cheer himself up again, he headed for the palace.

“There’s nothing like an afternoon of turning things into gold for giving you an appetite!” he joked to himself, rubbing his magic hands together.

He hurried to the palace dining-room. The first thing he saw as he walked in was a bowl of beautiful fruits on the table. There were apples and pears and peaches and plums, and even a few late figs. Midas licked his lips and imagined his teeth sinking into one of the figs and crunching on the seeds. Or would one of his hot-house peaches be nicer?

Unable to make up his mind, he closed his eyes, picked up a piece of fruit, opened his mouth, and took a big bite.

The next moment the King was shouting and roaring at the top of his voice like an angry lion.

“Ow! Ow!” he bawled, dancing round the dining-room holding his mouth. “I’ve broken my teeth! I’ve cracked my jaw! OW!”