Chapter 1

A soldier marched along the dusty high road, a heavy canvas knapsack slung over his shoulders and a stout broadsword clacking against his thigh. He was returning home from the war, his long campaigns finally at an end.

By the wayside, he encountered an ancient, hideously withered crone.

“Good day, soldier,” the crone cackled, her yellowed teeth bared in a grotesque grin. “What a fine, sharp blade you carry, and what a splendid knapsack. A true soldier indeed! How would you like to have all the money your heart desires?”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind that, old witch,” the soldier replied, halting his march.

“Do you see that towering oak?” she asked, pointing a crooked, dirt-caked finger toward a colossal tree standing at the side of the road.

“The trunk is entirely hollow,” the witch explained. “Climb to the very top, and you will find a yawning knot-hole. Slip through it and let yourself slide deep down into the roots. I shall tie a stout rope about your waist, and when you call out, I will haul you back up into the light.”

“And what exactly am I to do down in the dark?” the soldier asked.

“Why, gather gold, of course!” she cackled. “Once you touch bottom, you will find yourself in a vast hall, illuminated by the glow of over a hundred burning lamps. There, you will see three doors.

“Unlock the first door, and you will find a great wooden chest. Perched upon its lid sits a dog with eyes as wide as teacups. Do not let that dismay you. Take this blue-checked apron of mine, spread it upon the cold stone floor, seize the beast, and set him gently down upon it. Once he is there, lift the lid and scoop out as many copper coins as your pockets can hold.

“Should you prefer silver, pass into the second chamber. There sits a dog with eyes as massive as mill wheels. Place him upon my apron, open the chest, and carry off all the silver you desire.

“But if you seek true wealth—pure gold—then venture into the third chamber. The dog guarding that chest possesses eyes as immense as round towers. Yet, fear him not. Set him upon my apron, and he will not harm a hair on your head. Then, take all the gold your strength can bear.”

“That sounds remarkably easy,” the soldier remarked, eyeing her with growing suspicion. He crossed his arms. “But what is your price, old woman? For I doubt you are offering me such riches out of sheer generosity.”

“Not a copper do I ask for myself,” she replied. “I seek only one small thing. My grandmother forgot her old tinderbox down there the last time she descended. Bring that back to me, and you may keep every coin you find.”

“A fair bargain,” the soldier said. “Lasso the rope around my waist, then, and let us begin.”

“Here it is,” she muttered, knotting the hemp cord securely. “And do not forget the apron.”

The soldier scaled the massive trunk, slipped through the dark hollow, and slid down into the depths. Just as the witch had promised, he emerged into a cavernous hall where hundreds of lamps flickered, casting eerie shadows across the stone floor.

Thrusting open the first door, he confronted the guardian. Sure enough, a great dog crouched atop a chest, staring at him with eyes as round and wide as teacups.

“Good boy,” the soldier muttered, keeping his voice steady.

He snatched the beast up, placed him upon the blue apron, and flung open the chest. Grinning at the copper hoard, he crammed his pockets until they bulged. He shut the lid, returned the dog to his perch, and moved on to the next door.

Inside the second chamber, a dog loomed with eyes as broad as spinning mill wheels.

Undeterred, the soldier swept the dog onto the apron. When he lifted the lid and beheld the gleaming sea of silver, he emptied his pockets of the cheap copper, throwing the coins to the floor. In their place, he packed both his pockets and his knapsack to the brim with silver.

He then entered the third chamber. The sight inside nearly froze the blood in his veins; the third dog was monstrous, its eyes rolling in its head like great, round fortress towers.

“Good evening to you,” the soldier stammered, raising his hand in a tentative salute.

His heart hammered, but mastering his fear, he lifted the gargantuan beast and deposited it upon the apron. He pried open the heavy lid. To his utter amazement, the chest overflowed with gold, shining with a blinding luster.

Instantly, he dumped every silver coin onto the floor and stuffed his pockets and knapsack with the precious gold. Not satisfied with that alone, he filled his boots, his deep pockets, and even his military cap, until he could barely walk under the staggering weight.

Burdened with immense wealth, he returned the monstrous dog to its chest, secured the door, and shouted up into the hollow tree trunk.

“Pull me up now, old witch!”

“Have you got the tinderbox?” her hollow voice echoed from above.

Blast, I completely forgot! the soldier muttered.

He trudged back, retrieved the simple brass tinderbox from the chamber floor, and secured it. With a great heave, the witch hauled him back up through the hollow trunk.

He tumbled out onto the grass, heavily weighed down, gold clinking in his boots, pockets, knapsack, and cap.

“Now tell me,” the soldier demanded, dusting himself off, “what do you want with this old tinderbox?”

“That is none of your concern!” she hissed, reaching out a claw-like hand. “You have your riches. Hand over the tinderbox!”

“Tell me what you intend to do with it,” the soldier warned, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, “or I will shear your head from your shoulders this very instant.”

“Never!” she shrieked.

SWIPE

With a swift, clean stroke, the soldier decapitated the witch. Her head rolled into the grass. Waste not, want not: he tied his vast treasure into her blue apron, slung the bundle over his shoulder, slipped the tinderbox into his breast pocket, and marched toward the nearest city.

Upon arriving, he took up residence in the grandest inn, demanding the finest rooms and ordering the most extravagant delicacies.

Flattered by his sudden affluence, local high society welcomed him as a wealthy gentleman. His new companions regaled him with tales of the city, eventually speaking of the king’s daughter, a princess of unparalleled beauty.

“And how might one catch a glimpse of this princess?” the soldier inquired over a goblet of fine wine.

“She is entirely locked away,” one of the gentlemen explained. “She dwells in a massive copper castle, surrounded by high walls and formidable towers. The king permits no one to see her because a prophecy foretells she will marry a common soldier—a fate he is determined to prevent.”

The soldier longed to see her, but there was no hope of breaching the copper fortress. Instead, he drowned his curiosity in merriment, spending his gold lavishly on theater, carriage rides, and feasts. His circle of friends grew by the day, all praising his generosity.

Yet, such profligacy could not last.

Since he only spent and never earned, his mountain of gold dwindled to nothing. Within months, he was forced to vacate his luxury suite and move into a drafty, miserable attic room. Instantly, his fair-weather friends vanished, leaving him to starve in solitude.

One bitter, dark evening, without even a copper to purchase a single candle, he remembered the old brass tinderbox he had retrieved from the hollow tree. Inside lay a tiny stub of a candle.

CLICK

He retrieved the tinderbox and struck the flint. The moment the sparks showered the dark room, the door flew open. Standing before him was the very dog he had met in the first chamber—the beast with eyes as large as teacups.

“What are your commands, master?” the dog asked, its voice vibrating through the cramped room.

Incredible! the soldier breathed. “A magic tinderbox! If you are mine to command, then fetch me some coin.”

The hound vanished in the blink of an eye, returning mere moments later with a heavy leather pouch of copper coins clamped in its jaws.

The soldier soon mastered the secrets of his wonderful treasure. A single strike summoned the dog of the copper chest; two strikes brought forth the beast of the silver chamber; and three strikes conjured the monster of the gold.

Wealthy once more, the soldier moved back into a lavish estate. Naturally, his old friends quickly returned, swearing their eternal loyalty as if they had never left.

One midnight, the soldier found himself consumed by thoughts of the princess. Though rumors heralded her legendary beauty, such grace seemed wasted, shuttered away in a copper castle barricaded by imposing towers. He pondered the impossibility of access before his mind snagged on a singular, forgotten detail. His hand fumbled for his tinderbox.

CLICK.

The soldier struck the flint, and the dog with eyes as wide as teacups materialized before him. ‘I want to see the princess,’ he commanded.

The beast obliged with terrifying speed. When the dog returned, the princess lay slumped against its fur, fast asleep. Even in slumber, her ethereal beauty confirmed her royal lineage. Unable to restrain his impulse, the soldier leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek before the dog vanished, spiraling back into the night to return her to her fortress.

The following morning, during the royal breakfast, the princess recounted a bizarre dream. She spoke of riding upon the back of a giant dog to meet a soldier who had kissed her.

‘What a truly peculiar dream,’ the queen remarked, her brow furrowed with suspicion.

Determined to uncover the truth, the queen installed an aging lady-in-waiting to keep a vigil by the princess’s bed. That night, the soldier—still aching for another glimpse of his love—summoned the dog once more. The lady-in-waiting trailed the beast, witnessing it vanish into a nondescript house. She marked the door with a strategic cross and retreated, unaware that the dog had doubled back.

When the dog discovered the telltale mark upon the soldier’s door, it scoured the town, daubing identical crosses onto every single portal to confound the pursuers. By morning, the king, the queen, and their retinue emerged to hunt for the elusive house.

‘This is the one,’ the king insisted, gesturing toward the first marked house.

‘No, you are mistaken, it is surely this one,’ the queen countered, pointing to the second.

The confusion turned to dismay as they realized every door in the district bore a cross. The king’s frustration mounted, but the queen remained composed. She retrieved her golden scissors, fashioned a pouch from silk, and filled it with buckwheat flour. After piercing a tiny hole in the bottom, she fastened the pouch securely around the princess’s neck.

When darkness descended, the dog reclaimed the princess.

Oblivious to the trail of white dust leaking from the pouch, the creature sprinted back to the soldier. The soldier, captivated by her presence, dared to dream of marriage and royalty. By dawn, however, the king’s search party had traced the flour-strewn path directly to the soldier’s lodgings. He was seized and cast into a lightless, filth-ridden dungeon.

‘You shall hang at dawn,’ the guards sneered as they locked him away.

The soldier sat in the crushing silence of his cell, crippled by the knowledge that he had left his tinderbox at his former lodging. Through the iron-barred window of his prison, he watched the grisly preparations. Drums thundered, and soldiers marched in formation as the town gathered for the execution. A shoemaker’s apprentice, stumbling in the throng, lost a shoe and paused directly outside the prison wall.

‘Boy,’ the soldier called out, his voice raspy. ‘There is no reason to hurry. The spectacle will not begin until I emerge. Run to my old house and fetch my tinderbox. I shall pay you well for your trouble.’

Enticed by the promise of coin, the boy raced to the house and returned with the box. The soldier clutched it, waiting for the final act.

Outside the town walls, the gallows loomed over a sea of spectators. The king and queen presided from their golden thrones, flanked by their judges. As the soldier ascended the ladder, he paused, requesting the grace of one final pipe before his end. The king granted it.

The soldier withdrew the tinderbox and struck the flint.

SCRAPE. SCRAPE. SCRAPE.

The air shivered as all three dogs materialized—the teacup-eyed, the wheel-eyed, and the tower-eyed behemoths.

‘Save me!’ the soldier roared. ‘Do not let me die!’

The hounds lunged.

The king shrieked, ‘Do not touch me,’ but the largest dog seized the monarchs and tossed them aside like refuse. Terrified, the crowd and the soldiers scrambled to appease him.

‘Soldier, please—marry the princess and become our king,’ they pleaded.

He ascended the throne to the cheers of the three dogs, the shrill whistles of the boys, and the crisp salutes of the military. The princess emerged from the copper castle, radiant, to join him as queen.

The wedding celebration raged for a week, with the three dogs seated at the banquet table, eyes fixed wide upon the festivities.

The Tinder Box
by Hans christian Andersen