The Halcyon Fairy Book

castle. “You will not have to wait for long, for it will soon be evening.”
… I see that we’ll be making up for the restraint of the previous king here. “It’s okay, honey! The monster will eat you at any moment! Isn’t that an ego boost?”
Log and his companions watched the king’s party disappear and then Three Bottles solemnly drank down the three bottles of strong waters with which his own King had equipped him.
*glug glug glug*
“I’m goodsh. Lemme at ’im. What’re you lookin’ at, anyway? Think you’re so speshul ’cos you’re a damn LOG. Well, you’re not. You’re not speshul. You’re not better’n me. You’re just a damn … piece of … wood … *sniff*
I din’t mean it, man. I love you. You know I do. You’re … like … my besht friend, man. Log. Wha’ever.”
As he was ready to mount his horse, he handed Log the leash to which his dog was attached.
“If I need help,” he said, “I’ll throw back my shoe and then you then release my dog.”
Both shoes are for wussies. Real men fight drunk, with one shoe, and their dog. Sort of like Rocky III meets Old Yeller.
With that he rode boldly down to the beach, dismounted, and climbed up the rock where the unfortunate princess lay in a sack. With one slash of the sword he ripped open the sack and dragged the princess out. She supposed of course that he was the three-headed serpent and at first was so frightened that she kept her eyes tightly shut not daring to look at him. She expected every minute to have him take a first bite and, when minutes and more minutes and more minutes still went by and he did not, she opened her eyes a little crack to see what was the matter.
“Oh!” the princess said. She was so surprised that for a long time she did not dare to take another peep.
“You thought I was the three-headed serpent, did not you?” a pleasant voice asked. “But I’m not. I’m only a young man who has come to rescue you.”
Fortunately he had time to sober up while she was peeping.
The princess murmured, “Oh!” again, but this time the “Oh!” expressed happy relief.
The third “Oh!” expresses something else again, but we got that out of our systems early on.
“Yes,” repeated the young man, “I am the hero who has come to rescue you. My comrades call me Three Bottles. And while we are waiting for the serpent to come in from the sea I wish you would scratch my head.”
… ah …. is he still drunk?
The princess was not in the least surprised at this request. Heroes and monsters and fathers seemed always to want their heads scratched.
I … wait … what? Um …
Is this a euphemism for… no, she said fathers, and he doesn’t seem like that kind of king, with the sobbing and the bad bedside manner and whatnot. Dumb, but well-meaning. So … uh … huh. How ’bout that?
So Three Bottles stretched himself at the princess’ feet and put his head in her lap. He settled himself comfortably and she scratched his head while he gazed out over the dark sea waiting for the serpent to appear.
Is Three Bottles a large dog or a unicorn or something? “The Unicorn With The Iron Liver!” Man, that’d be a helluva furry kung-fu flick.
At first there was nothing to break the glassy surface of the water. They waited, and at last far out they saw three swirling masses rolling landward.
“Quick, princess!” Three Bottles cried. “There comes the monster now! Get down behind the rock and hide there while I meet the creature and chop off his ugly heads!”
I am fortified with head-scratches … apparently …
The princess, quivering with fright, crouched down behind the rock and Three Bottles, mounting his horse, rode boldly down to the water’s edge awaiting the serpent’s coming.
It came nearer and nearer in long easy swirls, slowly lifting its three scaly heads one after another. As it approached shore it sniffed the air hungrily. “Fee, fi, fo, fum!” it muttered in a deep voice, repeating the magic rime it had learned from its evil mother, Suyettar:
“Fee, fi, fo, fum!
I smell some yum, yum!
I’ll fall on him with a thud!
I’ll pick his bones and drink his blood!
Fee, fi, fo, fum! Yum! Yum!”
I can only guess that “Fee fi fo fum” is the monster equivalent of one of those old traditional tunes that everybody keeps putting new lyrics to. Or maybe it’s like how Emily Dickenson all scans to “The Yellow Rose of Texas.”
“Stop boasting, son of Suyettar!” Three Bottles cried. “You’ll have time enough to boast after you fight.”
“Fight?” repeated the serpent as if in surprise. “Shall we fight, pretty boy, you and I? Very well! Blow then with your sweet breath, blow out a long level platform of red copper whereon we can meet and try our strength each with the other!”
“Nay,” answered Three Bottles. “You blow, and instead of red copper we shall have a platform of black iron.”
Oh, this is marvelous fairy tale detail. Head-scratches … little off, but blowing the platforms is just the thing.
So the serpent blew and on the iron platform that came of his breath, Three Bottles met him in combat. Back and forth they raged, Three Bottles striking right and left with his mighty sword, the serpent hitting at Three Bottles with all his scaly heads and belching forth fire and smoke from all his mouths. Three Bottles whacked off one scaly head and at last a second one, but he was unable to touch the third.
“I shall have to have help,” he acknowledged to himself finally, and reaching down he took one of his shoes and threw it over his shoulder back to his comrades who were awaiting the outcome of the struggle. At once they loosed the dog which bounded forward to its master’s assistance, and soon with the dog’s help