"Who is this person blocking the road?" demanded the king. "I thought I told you not to slow down for anything smaller than a horse."
    The miller was groveling in the dust.
    "Sire," oozed the miller in his most servile tone, "I do not wish to disturb Your Majesty, but I have tidings that may impact Your Majesty's treasury in a positive manner."
    "Kill him," said the king.
    "Gold!" screeched the miller.
    "Wait!" said the king.
    "My daughter," fawned the miller, "has the ability to weave straw into gold."
    The king's good sense wrestled with his greed. It was no contest.
    "Ok," said the king to his guards. "Bring the girl to me. We'll put her in a barn full of straw and see what she can do. If she can really spin straw into gold, I'll marry her. If she can't, hang her.In the meantime, put this bozo in the dungeon. If he's lying, boil him in oil. Not good oil. The cheap stuff. If he's not lying, he'll be my father-in-law, and maybe I'll let him live."
    The miller realized that he had not thought the Great Scam out very well. That night he bribed a guard to let him loose and fled the kingdom forever. This illustrates the old saw about crime:

Moral #1: Petty crime does not pay, and small-timers should never take on the big boys.

    "Spin what into what?" the miller's daughter asked. She stared uncomprehendingly at the six large goons who had been sent to escort her to the barn. "Oh," she laughed. "I get it. Gwendolyn sent you, didn't she? She's such a card. Come on, tell the truth now. I've guessed it, haven't I?"
    She hadn't. Furthermore, the goons had no sense of humor. No one who had one was allowed to work for the king. In short order, she found herself locked in a barn with enough straw to choke a herd of horses.
    "Right," said the head goon. "You have till daybreak tomorrow to spin all of this into gold. If you don't, you'll hang. Have a pleasant evening. Can't stay around to chat. Got to set up the gallows, you know."

    When the enormity of her predicament settled in, the young woman began to cry.
    "Can't bear to see a lady cry," said a voice at her elbow. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
    The miller's daughter, who had every reason to believe that she was alone in the barn, was startled to see that she was not. A bright-eyed dwarf in a smartly-cut business suit had appeared, seemingly from nowhere. The miller's daughter opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't think of a thing to say.
    "Since you seem to be at a loss for word," said the dwarf, "I'll do the talking. Time is short, so we'll skip introductions for now. I'm aware of your predicament, and I can help. I'm a business man, so I will require some compensation."
    "If you can help me, I'll give you anything I possess," blubbered the poor woman. "But I'm afraid I don't have much to offer."
    "How about that necklace you're wearing?" suggested the dwarf helpfully.
    "It isn't very valuable, but it has sentimental value. It belonged to my mother," said the miller's daughter. "But under the circumstances, sure!"
    "Ah," said the dwarf. "That explains it! I knew your father wouldn't have given you anything that good."
    The necklace changed hands, and the dwarf took off his jacket, loosened his necktie, and set to work. The miller's daughter was amazed and delighted to see that he was indeed able to spin the straw into gold. By the time the job was done, however, her eyes were burning, and she felt a bit nauseous. She asked the dwarf why. "It's a new technology," he replied smoothly. "There are a few minor bugs in the process. But it will pass. Nothing to worry about. Wait till the king sees the gold! It'll knock his socks off!"

    The dwarf was right in every respect. The discomfort passed, and the king was in raptures.
    Forsooth," said he, "I have never met a maiden like you. I think I'm falling in love."
    The miller's daughter blushed modestly.
    "Does this mean we won't have a hanging?" asked the head goon.
    "All you have to do is spin me another barnful, my dear, and we can start talking marriage," said the king. "Keep the gallows ready."

    The barn was packed even more tightly before with straw. This time, the miller's daughter looked hopefully for the dwarf. She was not disappointed.
    "Thank goodness you're here," she said. "I was afraid you wouldn't be able to squeeze in past the straw."
    "So," said the dwarf, "the last batch wasn't good enough for His Majesty? Very well. If you've got the dime, I've got the time. What do you have for me this time?"
    "Nothing but this ring," said the miller's daughter hesitantly. "It's my last memento of my mother."
    "That'll do," said the dwarf, examining the ring briefly with a jeweler's glass. "Here. You might want to put these on. Seems like you had a little trouble last time." He handed her a pair of goggles and a surgical mask.
    With that, he was off to his spinning. Once again, the job was done by morning, and the dwarf disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared. The miller's daughter was not as nauseous as she had been the first time, but her skin was a bit blotchy.

    The king was even more excited than before.
    "I am dazzled, my sweet," said he.
    "What? Again, no hanging?" complained the goon.
    "Would you do me the honor of being my royal bride?" gushed the king with all the charm he could muster.
    "Oh, My Liege!" blushed the prospective bride.
    "After doing one more teeny barnful, of course," continued the king. "Keep the gallows ready."

    There was scarcely room for air in the barn, so full was it with straw. This time, the miller's daughter was not at all surprised when the dwarf appeared, but she had another cause for alarm.
    "I have nothing left to pay you with," she said.
    "Tut, tut," said the dwarf. "I'll do it anyway."
    "You're not going to take my first-born, are you? Do I have to guess your name?"
    "Oh, pish tosh! This is a freebie. Just consider it a wedding present. Allow me to introduce myself properly," said the dwarf, handing her a business card. The card read:

                                                Rumpelstiltskin
                    Magic-Aided Conversion Technologies (MACT)
                                                Straw into Gold
                                        Horse Manure into Silver
                                                Many Others

    "Rumpelstiltskin's my name, conversions are my game," continued the dwarf. "But you can call me 'Rump.' Those are my fax number and e-mail address in the corner of the card. Just do me one favor: Keep the card, and keep me in mind for any, ah, future needs."
    "Gee, that's great," said the miller's daughter. "Ah, you wouldn't happen to have any full-body protective gear, would you?"

    She needn't have worried. The adverse effects of the conversion process wore off quickly. The king was transported by the sight of the gold.
    "Prepare the nuptials!" he said grandly. "But don't spend too much. My dear, as my queen-elect, I grant you any wish you desire, as long as it doesn't require the expenditure of gold."
    The queen-to-be shot a look at the head goon.
    "Hang him!" she said.

Moral #2: Be careful whom you offend. You never know which peasant will pop up as queen tomorrow.

    "Thought I might be hearing from you," said Rumpelstiltskin. "What seems to be the problem?"
    "I thought he would have had enough of that straw-into-gold business by now," complained the queen. "But no! He wants another barnful of gold to get in the mood for sex. This could get very expensive."
    "Well," said the dwarf, "marriage is give and take. The king is more accustomed to the 'take' part. He can't help it. It's his greedy, avaricious nature. But I digress. Let's get down to our business relationship."
    For some reason, the queen felt a chill.
    "What did you have in mind?" she asked.
    Rumpelstiltskin grinned toothily. "You look tense," he said. "Relax. Because I like you, I have a really sweet deal to propose. I will spin the king all the gold he wants. I only want two things from you: an office at the palace and your recommendation to other customers. MACT is still pretty new. Your recommendation will give me an in with other kingdoms."
    "What about the, uh, by-products?" asked the queen, wincing at the memories of nausea and itching.
    "That has all been taken care of," said the dwarf. "I have found appropriate disposal sites. Rest assured that nothing will ever leak into your kingdom and that no one of any consequence will ever complain."
    And so the deal was struck.

    The years passed. The abundance of gold put the kingdom's economy on a solid footing. Many neighboring kingdoms, taking advantage of Rumpelstiltskin's Magic-Aided Conversion Technologies, also prospered. The dwarf himself seemed fat and happy. And they all lived happily ever ...
    But the queen wasn't happy. At first, it was hard for her to put her finger on. Just one or two things out of place in an otherwise perfect picture. Just a few discordant notes in an otherwise perfect symphony. There seemed to be a few more beggars on the streets. There was the odd report of a missing child. Some peasants were complaining about polluted water.
    Then came the Plague. It wasn't a bad plague. It only seemed to affect poor people, and it only happened in distant places. So far. Before dying, victims suffered from severe vomiting, burning eyes, and itchy, blotchy skin. No one knew what caused the Plague or where it came from.

    "Rump," said the queen. "I don't think you've been telling me everything."
    "Nonsense," said the dwarf. "I've told you everything you needed to know. Certainly, everything you wanted to know."
    "You have to stop doing your straw-to-gold conversions. People are dying from the waste. You said you had fixed the process."
    "No. I said I had taken care of it so it wouldn't affect you. And I told you the truth. It's just a few peasants in a neighboring kingdom. What's that to you?"
    "What about the beggars in this kingdom?" continued the queen. "I think we've become so dependent on spun gold, that our industries are withering."
    "So what?" asked the dwarf. "The poor will always be with us. The economy's booming. All the important people are happy. Anyway, they've gotten used to the easy gold. They won't be able to live without it anymore."
    "One other thing," said the queen uneasily. "You can make gold out of straw. What are you getting out of all this?"
    The dwarf eyed her quizzically.
    "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked.
    The queen nodded. The blood had drained from her face.
    "Ok," said the dwarf. "The others pay me in a commodity I can't manufacture myself: children."
    "What do you do with them?" The words escaped involuntarily.
    Rumpelstiltskin smiled toothily. "I don't think I have to answer that," he said. "Oh, come on, now! I never asked you for one of yours, did I? Now, there's gratitude for you!"

    "Dear," said the queen to the king, "we have plenty of gold. Let's stop spinning more. Enough is enough, don't you think?"
    The king's face was a study in incomprehension.
    "Plenty?" he said. "Enough?"
    She could see that she was not getting through. Perhaps an appeal to practicality would work.
    "Dear, our reliance on spun gold is dangerous. Our industry is dying. People are being thrown out of work. All of the wealth is being concentrated at the top."
    The king looked thoughtful.
    "Yes, I understand most of that," he said. "After all, I am the one with most of the wealth. Great, isn't it? But what's this 'dangerous' nonsense?"
    "But what if it were hurting people? I think the waste from the spinning process is causing the Plague."
    "Oh, is that all? Well, nothing's perfect, you know. It's just a few peasants. Put that up against the welfare of the majority. We couldn't exist without your spun gold. What would replace it?"
    "How about work?" the queen ventured. "We did fine before the gold spinning started, you know."
    "No, no, no," said the king. "We can't live without the gold."
    The queen tried a different tack.
    "Dear, do you remember Rumpelstiltskin?"
    "You mean the funny little dwarf with the office in the tower?"
    "Yes," said the queen. "You must help me get rid of him."
    "You wanna evict him? Be my guest."
    "I'm afraid that won't be enough. I want you to hang him. But gag him first. Gag him and hang him."

    A large crowd had gathered for the execution. As the gagged and manacled dwarf was led to the scaffold, his eyes met the queen's. For a brief moment, an unmistakable look of pity broke through Rumpelstiltskin's usual manic twinkle. The hangman placed the noose around his neck. Even the gag could not hide the dwarf's signature grin.
    "Why are you hanging this person?"
    The voice seemed to come from far back in the crowd, but it sounded strangely familiar.
    "Why not?" asked the king stupidly.
    "Are you sure you understand what you're doing?" asked the voice.
    The queen knew that it was time to speak up.
    "He's an evil little twerp," she said.
    "Is he?" asked the king.
    "His magic is causing the Plague."
    "You don't say?"
    "He eats little children."
    "Despicable!"
    "He's the one who's been spinning straw into gold," said the voice.
    "So, he's the one I should have been in bed with all along!"

    After the queen was hanged, the king and Rumpelstiltskin lived happily ever after.

Moral #3: If he's a greedy thug when you meet him, marrying him won't make him anything but a greedy thug.

May we all be thankful to live in a country where our leaders are not as grasping, callous, and short-sighted as the king in this story.