Once upon a time, in the infinite land of dreams, there was a little fisherman named Jacko. Jacko fished mostly in the great lake in front of his house. A lake that, in the morning, looked like a mirror.

Jacko also loved the strong winds that made the waves rise, as though the breath of the sky were drawing them upward. And once he had pulled in his nets, he would rest while gazing at the castle on the other side of the lake. Recently, it had been nicknamed “the castle of the unreachable people.”

The castle owed this reputation to Rostre the sorcerer and his voracious wolf, who blocked access to it. No one went in. No one came out.

When he returned home, Jacko divided the catch into three parts. One for the market, one for his meal, and the third went into a mixture made with secret herbs.

The recipe was perfect! Large or small, no stomach could resist pamplito. What a strange name Jacko had chosen for this fish-based mixture!

Jacko never ate pamplito. He prepared it to catch seagulls.

Whenever a seagull found itself trapped in the cage, Jacko would talk to it. For a few minutes, it became his forced confidante.

He would begin by talking about fishing, poetry and a little of everything. Then he would invent stories about those unreachable people living in the castle. Once the session was over, before releasing the bird, he would reward it with a piece of bread spread with honey.

But one day, he caught a seagull that seemed more hostile than the others.

For this one, he made an exception and told only fanciful stories about the people in the castle. That was all the fierce bird inspired him to tell.

The seagull, which had been struggling fiercely, stopped gnawing at the bars of the cage. Jacko had never had a more attentive listener. But the fisherman overlooked that detail and ended the series of stories by releasing the bird.

The next day, the wild seagull was back. Chasing the other birds away with a sweep of her wing, she cried out to attract attention. The seagull wanted to make her own capture easier!

Jacko smiled, for he could already imagine training the animal. So he offered the seagull a little pamplito and even some bread spread with honey.

Then he invented new tales for the daring little creature.

No longer trying to escape, the seagull hung on every word spoken by her jailer. That evening, Jacko felt inspired. He invented thirty-six stories. That was probably too many. The little fisherman, exhausted, went home to bed and forgot to release the bird.

In the middle of the night, moans and sobs troubled Jacko. He remained lying down, thinking it was a bad dream.

At daybreak, he noticed that the bird was still imprisoned in the cage. He opened the door and let the seagull out. She looked at Jacko without fleeing. Then, with her beak, she wrote these words in the sand.

— “Lock me up! Keep watch with me through the coming night.”

Somewhat surprised, he obeyed the bird and put her back in the cage.

The fishing was poor. He was thinking too much about the bird that knew how to write. Jacko returned with only one fish, for himself and for the seagull waiting for him.

Jacko prepared to spend the night. He lit a fire and invented thirty-six more stories about those unreachable people.

— “How absurd, spending the night with a bird that knows how to write!” he would remark from time to time between his tales.

Night had just fallen when an extraordinary metamorphosis took place. The seagull turned into a ravishing young woman.

— “Please open the cage door. It is much too cramped, and I am hurting myself in here,” said the nobly dressed young woman in a firm voice.

He opened it for her. A thousand questions crossed Jacko’s mind. Too dazzled, he found nothing to say.

— “I am Marie-Anne, and I live in the castle on the other side of the lake,” she continued as she stepped out of the narrow cell.

— I’m Jacko, and I’m of no interest if you really live there.

— Of no interest? Oh no! Your talent as a storyteller has soothed my saddened soul.

— You are as beautiful as the daytime sky. By what magic do you fly through it as a seagull?

— “Rostre, that old sorcerer! It is his witchcraft! Rostre wanted my father, the king, to give him my two sisters and me as apprentices and as wives. My father categorically refused. So Rostre cast a spell on us.

Every morning, we turn into birds, each of us a different kind. He feared that we might share the same call! When night falls and we regain our human bodies, he turns into a huge wolf and prevents us from leaving the castle to seek help.

Even in bird form, escape is impossible, because our instinct brings us back to the castle, our nest,” Marie-Anne concluded.

Then she added, watching the firelight play across the fisherman’s face: “I knew that, by writing in the sand, you would not try to sell me to a travelling showman.”

Because this confession sounded a little like one of his tales, Jacko quickly found a solution.

— “I must go to bed if I want a good catch tomorrow,” he said with a smile to Marie-Anne. “...and I invite you into my humble home, hoping that, as a seagull, you will not be afraid. My little house is the largest cage I have.”

A few hours later, Jacko was singing under the sun as he hauled in his first nets. Never had he been more skilful or luckier. He had fished so well throughout the day that he struggled to bring his boat back to shore.

Marie-Anne would have helped the fisherman, but as expected, the feathers had returned... Princess Marie-Anne would not become human again until nightfall.

He had brought back so many fish that he prepared the pamplito directly in the boat. Then he shaped the entire mixture into human silhouettes. It looked like a giant platter of little people.

Jacko had just enough room left to navigate. Only two bags, both filled with the same mixture, lay beside him.

With his sail raised, Jacko moved fearlessly through the night: he knew the lake well. The wind blew just as he had hoped. No obstacle hindered the crossing.

Once moored not far from the castle, he grabbed the two bags. He took a few steps, then stopped to take out some pamplito. He shaped it into a little seated man.

A little farther on, he did the same. Each portion now looked like a tiny human being; together they resembled a line of little elves gazing at the stars.

— “What fine cakes to help the castle,” Jacko thought.

When he came near the ramparts, he smeared himself with pamplito. He covered himself so thoroughly that the wolf, who had just spotted him, suddenly found him very appetising.

— “How good you smell, little man!” said the wolf to Jacko. “I think I am going to eat you!”

— “Eat me?” Jacko added. “I hope you will spare me, my little brothers and those down in the boat.”

The wolf, already lunging forward, was surprised to see his prey flee so quickly. Jacko, alert and prepared, ran before the beast’s claws could seize him.

Whenever the wolf drew closer, there was always an irresistible pamplito cake to slow him down. Like the seagulls and the men, the wolf could not resist the smell and flavour of Jacko’s delectable trap.

The more the wolf stopped to gorge himself on pamplito, the farther Jacko got away. Jacko fled, and the beast could see nothing but the appetising feast filling the boat! Jacko waited for the trap to close.

The wolf devoured everything in one go.

Just as Jacko had expected, the wolf ate too much, and the boat became a bed for the glutton. In no time, the silence of the night was broken by loud snoring.

Taking advantage of the wolf’s sleep, Jacko guided his boat to the middle of the lake, where it was deepest.

He took a spike and pierced the hull. Water quickly entered the boat. It sank rapidly, dragging the wolf—too groggy to struggle—to the bottom of the lake.

Jacko swam towards a light coming towards him. It was Marie-Anne, struggling to row a small boat.

They both hurried home before dawn. Jacko feared that, if Marie-Anne took bird form again, she would fly back to the castle.

The sun appeared, making the lake shine and lighting Marie-Anne’s ravishing face as she remained fully human.

Without delay, they set off again towards the castle. This time, Jacko rowed the entire way.

Halfway there, at the place where the wolf had drowned, something astonishing caught their attention. Rostre the sorcerer’s clothes were floating where Jacko had sunk his boat.

Noticing stains on the clothes, Jacko leaned in to smell them. Then he began to laugh.

— “Why are you laughing?” Marie-Anne asked.

— “By day you became a seagull; by night Rostre became a wolf. And I laugh with pride, because no one can resist my pamplito. Not even wicked sorcerers!”

Upon arriving at the castle, Marie-Anne saw her family again, running in every direction looking for her. They were no longer victims of the sorcerer, now that he had drowned. Marie-Anne introduced Jacko and explained how he had helped her.

A few days later, the king and his loved ones invited everyone to a grand celebration. On the menu: a wedding, delicious pamplito, and tales told by Prince Jacko about the castle and its welcoming inhabitants.