The Punishment for Greed: A Tale of the Trickster Water-Spirit
The door creaked open almost as soon as he pressed the bell. On the threshold stood an elderly woman, about eighty years old, with bright, mocking eyes.
“Good day,” the young man said politely.
“And good day to you, young sir,” she replied. “But you didn’t warn me you were coming! Didn’t even ask ‘who’s there’—aren’t you afraid, granny?”
“Oh, dearie, I’ve lived through all the frights life can throw at me,” the old woman chuckled. “These days, I’m the one telling the ghost stories. Come in, then—are you from the council or some such?”
“No, granny, I’m from a company that makes miracle devices. Hook this up, and your tap water turns pure as a spring—no chemicals, just like the old days when you could drink straight from the brook.”
“Well now, if it isn’t the water-sprite himself come calling,” the old woman mused. “That’s a fine thing. Come in, then.”
The young man made a show of wiping his boots on the mat.
“Mind if I keep my shoes on?” he asked, eyeing the rug.
“Oh, leave it. My daughter will mop later—she’s young yet, not like me, an old crow.”
“Don’t say that! You’re lively, lovely, cheeks rosy—ready for a dance right now,” he murmured with a feigned smile. “Where’s your kitchen? I’d like to show you the goods…”
“Flatterer,” she snorted. “Haven’t looked in a mirror in years, so I’ll take your word for it. Come on, then.”
Once in the kitchen, the young man glanced around and suddenly asked,
“Why don’t you see your reflection? Are you a vampire, then?”
“No, no,” the old woman laughed. “Daughter hung the mirrors too high, and I’m short. Can’t reach, even if I jump.”
He set about installing the filter, twisting knobs, showing her the murky water before and the crystal-clear after. The old woman listened intently, nodding.
“I’ll take it,” she said abruptly. “But first, have a cuppa with me. Don’t like drinking alone. Just five minutes—no more. My tea’s good, steeped with herbs.”
She filled the kettle, brewed a fragrant blend. The room filled with the scent of mint and elderflower.
“Family, then?” she asked casually. “Children?”
“No, just me for now.”
“Right you are. Too soon for children. How’s the tea?”
“Marvellous, granny. Where do you get it?”
“Oh, I don’t. The fairies bring it for my birthday.”
He laughed, thinking she was joking. But soon his smile faded.
“Tell me, lad, why d’you go door to door? For clean water? I don’t buy it.”
Suddenly, against his will, the words spilled out:
“No, of course not. I buy cheap filters, sell them twenty times dearer. Sometimes I add a pinch of something to the water—makes it taste grand. Folk fall for it, and I turn a profit.”
“There it is,” she nodded calmly. “I warned you—my tea’s enchanted. Drink it, and you can’t lie. Fairies, you say? Aye. They brewed this blend. For your deceit, you’ll pay a price.”
He tried to speak, but his body dissolved into a wisp of mist, settling into the copper basin she held ready.
“Wanted to be a water-sprite, did you? Now you’ll be one. Our river’s been asking for help. Ten years’ service, then we’ll see.”
She tipped the basin into the sink.
“Aye, ‘why no reflection, granny?’ Because I’m three hundred years old. Daughter hung the mirrors high so folks wouldn’t fret.”
She chuckled to herself.
“First one came to fix the meter—now he guides the lightning in storms. Air’s his domain. Yours is water. You’ll meet. Next time it rains.”
The old woman passed the mirror, where no reflection showed. Only a shadow slid across the floor and faded into the quiet of the ancient flat.
