By lunchtime, Red, Anansi, Jack and Betsy were on board Tale Town’s most luxurious cruise liner – the Silver Spoon . Because Rapunzel’s parents were the King and Queen, she could get tickets for anything – being a princess was pretty handy sometimes.

‘WHAaAT?’ squawked Betsy loudly, flapping a wing towards the horizon.

‘Well, it’s called Squirrel-Nose Island because that big mountain looks like a squirrel’s nose,’ replied Jack.

‘Whaaaat?’

‘You’re right,’ said Jack. ‘Maybe it does look a bit more like a fox’s nose, but you couldn’t call it “Fox-Nose Island”, could you? That would just be silly!’

Betsy rolled her eyes.

‘We’re nearly there!’ interrupted Anansi. ‘Let’s go on deck.’

The cabin crew looked on in surprise as two scruffy boys, an even scruffier chicken, the royal princess and a girl in a bright red hood dashed out of the Royal Cabin. Still, they all had valid tickets (even the chicken), so the captain bowed as low as he could, although he did feel that standards were definitely slipping.

They scrambled off the boat as quickly as they could and were soon running through the thick woodland.

‘Hurry up!’ shouted Anansi as Jack, Rapunzel and Red puffed and panted behind him. The path had narrowed to a single track winding upward through the trees with a steep drop down to the valley below.

Even Betsy was doing the fastest jump–hop–wing-flap–glide that she could, but she didn’t look happy about it. Hens aren’t known for their athletic ability, even magical ones.

There was a stone in Red’s shoe and it was getting really annoying. She stopped for a moment to shake it out, but just as she was retying her shoe the lace snapped. ‘Typical!’ Red muttered as she fished around in her pockets for some string. But by the time she had fixed her laces, everyone else had gone.

‘Hello?’ she called.

There was no reply.

Desperate not to be left behind, Red started running as fast as she could. Suddenly her foot slipped on a stone and she skidded towards the edge of the path. For a moment her arms spun wildly, before she completely lost her balance and went tumbling down to the valley below.

‘. . . Aaarggggghhhhh aaarggggghhhhh aaarggggghhhhh!’ yelled Red. She’d been yelling for quite some time now. The world seemed to have stopped spinning though, so she stopped screaming and opened one eye.

She squinted up at a man with more than his fair share of battle scars, less than his fair share of teeth, and half the usual number of eyes.

‘You all right?’ asked the man gruffly. ‘I thought you was never going to stop screaming!’

‘Well, I did just fall down a cliff!’ replied Red. ‘Or at least –’ she squinted up at the path – ‘down a really steep hill. I bet you’d have screamed too!’

‘Not me, missy. I’m a huntsman, see. All that screaming sort of thing is drilled out of you at Huntsmen’s College – can’t go around being all soft when you do this job.’

‘No, I suppose not . . .’ said Red cautiously. Everyone knew that in Tale Town, huntsmen had to do all sorts of horrible things, usually for the most wicked of wicked witches. It was just the way it had always been.

‘So, er, what are you doing here?’ Red asked, trying to sound casual. ‘Not, you know, looking for people to kidnap or anything?’

The huntsman grinned. ‘Goodness me, no! Well, not right now – it’s my lunch break. I was just having a picnic. At least, I was till you showed up!’ He tugged at the corner of a pretty gingham blanket that Red was sprawled on top of, covered in crumpled paper plates and squashed sandwiches.

‘Oh, right . . . sorry about that,’ said Red.

‘Can’t be helped,’ the huntsman said. He looked up at the path that Red had just tumbled down from. ‘There’s a quicker way up to Squirrel-Nose Mountain from down here, if that’s where you’re heading,’ he added. ‘Want me to show you the way?’

Red mulled this over. On the one hand this man was a stranger and a huntsman, which meant that he almost certainly worked for a wicked witch. On the other hand, he was on his lunch break, and she did need to find her friends as quickly as possible. ‘OK,’ she replied, and after helping the huntsman to pack up his squashed sandwiches, they set off.

‘So . . . what brings you to this here island?’ asked the huntsman.

‘It’s kind of a funny story,’ said Red. ‘You see, me and my friends are meeting a troll at the bottom of the mountain.’

‘A troll?’ replied the huntsman eagerly. ‘Not many of them on Squirrel-Nose Island – and I should know!’

‘Oh? And why’s that?’

‘Um . . . no reason,’ replied the huntsman quickly.

There was a long silence.

‘So . . . you like picnics?’ asked Red, changing the subject.

‘Only in the woods,’ replied the huntsman, ‘I love woods, forests, thickets, coppices, dingles . . . well, trees in general. See, I always wanted to be a woodsman when I was a kid.’

‘My dad’s a woodsman!’ said Red proudly. ‘There’s nothing that he can’t do with a felled tree. Cupboards, benches, you name it, he makes it – although his wooden balloons weren’t all that great, and sometimes it would be nice to shower in water rather than wood chippings . . .’

The huntsman smiled at her. ‘Best job in the world!’ he replied, going all misty-eyed. ‘None of this “ collectin’ hearts in boxes”, or “lockin’ up all the girls what’s prettier than the wicked witch”, like I have to do! But I don’t have any choice.’ He paused for a moment, looking incredibly sad.

‘Why not?’ asked Red.

‘Well, there was just one place at the local woodcutting school when I was little, and my brother, well, he cut down his first tree aged three and carved it into a boat by the time he was four – so of course, he got the place. And I got packed off to Huntsmen’s College.’

‘That’s so sad!’ said Red. ‘But surely, you don’t have to be a huntsman, there must be lots of other jobs you could do?’

‘P’raps,’ replied the huntsman thoughtfully. ‘I always liked the idea of dragon conversation.’

‘Don’t you mean “conservation”?’ asked Red. ‘As in, looking after dragons?’

The huntsman shook his head. ‘Nah. I mean “conversation”. You know, helping dragons get better at small talk. Chatting to folk at parties, that sort of thing. Poor souls. Everyone thinks they’re all confident just because they can breathe fire. But it’s tough being all big and scary-looking, nobody gives you the time of day . . .’ He sighed heavily, then glanced down at his watch. ‘Crikey! Lunch is almost over – you’d best get going. I ain’t allowed to be nice while I’m on duty. Truth be told, I don’t think I’m ever meant to be nice. So come on, get a move on – just up that way and on your left.’

Red scrambled up on to the path. She turned to thank the huntsman – but he’d vanished.