Stiltskin, page 14
“Lily?”
“Yes, Robert,” said Lily, still stalking back and forth.
“Are the authorities in Othaside aware of the existence of Thiside?”
Gnick raised an eyebrow and leaned over to Gnarly. “That was almost a smart question.”
Gnarly nodded in agreement.
Lily stopped stalking. “They used to be,” she said thoughtfully. “I imagine that somewhere in Othaside, some sort of government agency is aware of us. When the Agency was first established, it decided that we should reveal ourselves to the authorities of Othaside. With so many of our geographical locations coinciding with areas of England or Europe, we first spoke with the Director of the British Secret Service. As you can imagine, he was sceptical. The liaison finally had to bring the Director across to Thiside to make him believe.”
“And what happened?”
“He took one look at the White Rabbit and lost control of his mental faculties. After that, it was decided that it was best just to pretend none of it ever happened. I’m sure he reported it somewhere and it’s filed away in an obscure filing cabinet in a forgotten basement.”
“Are there many crossovers from Thiside to Othaside?”
“Not really; we police both sides. It’s easier and more common for an Othasider to trip into Thiside. With the requirement for a passport to go from here to there it’s rare that someone gets across whom we don’t know about.”
Robert wondered who was at the head of the Agency but before he had a chance to ask, the Pixie returned.
“Soz ta keep ya waiting.”
“No, you’re not,” said Gnick.
“No is not,” agreed the Pixie. “Istorian wills see ya now.”
The Pixie waved an oversized hand toward the large wooden door, which slowly creaked open to reveal an overgrown and cracked courtyard, steeped in shadows and hovering Pixies.
Lily walked through the door, followed by Robert. As the Gnomes approached the archway, the Pixie buzzed in front of them and waved a stubby finger.
“Ah, ah, ahhh, no Gnomesez. Youz stay ere.”
General Gnarly waved his hand and produced a dagger from nowhere, causing the Pixies within the courtyard to hiss.
“It’s okay, General,” said Lily, “we won’t be long. And if we’re not out before sunset, feel free to kill the Pixies and storm the castle.”
General Gnarly smiled a half-smile and bowed slightly before hiding his dagger back in his sleeve. The door creaked closed and Lily continued walking. The Pixies, and there must have been at least two hundred, hovered out of the way to allow them through. Robert wondered how they could tell each other apart, as they all looked the same.
The courtyard looked like it used to circle the entire castle but as parts of the castle and wall had fallen to ruin. It was now blocked on either side and overgrown with grass and climbing ivy.
Two large, wooden, double doors rose up before them nestled into the dark stone of the castle wall. As they came closer, several Pixies flew against the door and with great difficulty pushed it open. It was dark within, but Lily walked with purpose as if she could see just fine. Robert stumbled with less purpose and not an ounce of grace, as he couldn’t see anything. There were slits cut into the rock wall high above them but the sun was no longer at the right angle to allow the light to enter.
As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out a large stone room with no doors and a long, stone staircase that went down. The only reason he could make out that the staircase went down was because a light was slowly making its way up the steps. The silhouette holding the light was short but stocky, walked with a slight limp, and grunted every third step.
The figure held a candlestick, and as he reached the top of the stairs, Robert could see that he was a lot bigger than originally thought. His limp and stooped frame made him look small but Robert could clearly see that the Historian was not a small person, although it seemed as if his nine hundred years were taking their toll.
The man stopped short of Lily and Robert, raised his candlestick, and squinted at them.
“Hello, Lillian,” he said in a gruff voice that sounded harsh and cold. His face was hard and chiselled, with shaggy grey stubble that was separated down one side of his face by a long scar that ran from his temple to beneath his chin. One eye was white with cataracts, while the other eye was bright amber.
“Hello, Bzou,” said Lily.
Robert noted that she seemed tense all over. If she had hackles, they’d be up.
“I never thought I’d see you again. It’s been a very long time. You’ve grown some,” said the Historian.
“I didn’t want to come.”
The Historian barked a laugh. “I’ll bet you didn’t. Who’s your friend?”
“This is Robert. He’s an Othasider and he’s helping with an investigation.”
Robert opened his mouth to say hi but other than a quick once-over, the Historian continued speaking to Lily.
“And why did you come here? I know it must have been difficult, so it must be important.”
“We need access to any records you have pertaining to the Dwarf, Rumpelstiltskin.”
The Historian looked hard at Lily.
“Come with me.” The old man turned and started to head back down the stairs.
Lily reached out for Robert’s hand and led him down the stairs. Robert was taken aback by the contact and thought maybe she was just assuming it was too dark for him, but her grip was so tight that he knew she was actually looking to him for support. This worried Robert for several different reasons as, for one, he wasn’t very good at supporting people, even himself, and two, his feelings for Lily seemed to be on a yo-yo depending on her mood. She was weird and quirky, mysterious and beautiful, ridiculously strong…
“Beautiful,” added the voice in Robert’s head.
Got that already.
“Oh, sorry, wasn’t fully listening,” said the voice.
Over the last twenty-four hours, he’d definitely developed a feeling for her, maybe multiple feelings. But he’d felt extremely let down when she hadn’t believed him about the cat and then again when she and Gnarly had been speaking behind his back in the forest.
His thought process jarred when they reached the bottom of the staircase, which he now realized had been very long. They must be quite a ways beneath the surface, which made sense if, as Lily said, the archives stretched back into the mountain.
The staircase opened out into a long hallway that led to a doorway at the far end. A bright light shone from the door and from the flickering, Robert assumed that the room was lit by firelight. The farther they walked, the harder Lily gripped his hand. He began wondering how long before he lost feeling in his fingers.
Despite the limp and his age, the Historian had no problem taking long strides ahead of them. Robert could now see that his grey hair was shabby and hung just beneath his shoulders. He wore a red robe, dark pants, and black boots.
When they reached the doorway, the cold feeling of the castle changed considerably. The room was large and warm and looked like it belonged in a stately home. A hearth burned brightly in the centre of the far wall. The furniture looked like it was covered with velvet, and all the tables and chairs were carved from wood and featured clawed feet. Bookshelves surrounded the rooms from floor to ceiling. Papers and scrolls spread across numerous tables. Another large door was set into the wall to the far right and Robert could see that the hallway beyond was lit by wall-mounted candles that stretched far into the distance, out of sight.
The Historian motioned to the chairs by the fire.
“Please, have a seat.” He sat down in a large chair covered with red velvet. As he did so, he pulled a tiny silver bell from the pocket of his robe and rang it once.
Lily didn’t move to sit down or let go of Robert’s hand, so he stood awkwardly, not really sure what to do.
A Pixie flew into the room and hovered by the Historian.
“Fetch me the file on Rumpelstiltskin. It’ll be in the Eastern wing on one of the upper levels.”
“Yez zir,” said the Pixie and flew off down the candlelit hallway.
“They’re not the smartest or most articulate creatures but they make good servants. Really, why don’t you both sit down, it’s perfectly safe.”
Lily pulled Robert with her to a loveseat and they both sat down, facing the old man.
The Historian eyed them both and sniffed the air.
“It’ll take him a few minutes to find the right section. You probably both need the rest; you smell like you’ve been doing a lot of walking. You smell like dead rabbits, goats, and fire, and…”
He sniffed the air again and looked directly at Robert. His eyes grew wide. He moved from his chair so fast that Robert barely had chance to notice the movement until the old man was inches from his face and sniffing him.
Lily had completely tensed and paled a little but she made no move to help.
“Uh, look, I know I don’t smell that good, it’s been a while since I’ve had a bath, but would you mind not doing that?” asked Robert.
The Historian stopped and looked him in the eyes. “There’s something special about you, isn’t there, boy?”
“Well, I suppose so.”
“You have a very strange smell.”
“I’m sorry about that. I haven’t had any access to deodorant for the last twenty-four hours.”
“I’m surprised you can’t smell it, Lillian.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time with him. I’m sure whatever it is, I’ve become immune,” said Lily.
The Historian barked a short laugh again and retook his seat.
“So what’s this all about?” said the Historian.
“Rumpelstiltskin escaped the Tower yesterday morning. We’re searching for him.”
The Historian smiled.
“You mean you’re hunting him,” he said matter-of-factly.
“No, we’re searching for him, and when we catch him we’ll arrest him.”
“You still try so hard to hide your true nature, Lillian; it must be exhausting.”
“And you wear your true nature so openly, that must be irritating to everyone around you.”
There followed the kind of pregnant pause which wasn’t just pregnant but had quickly ventured through the third trimester and was imminently about to give birth to triplets.
“So,” said Robert, “you’re a werewolf?” It was all he could think of to say.
The Historian fixed his old eye, the good one, on Robert in much the same way that a lion fixes its gaze on a three-legged, blind, deaf gazelle with a bell around its neck.
“Well,” continued Robert, “it’s just that I’ve never met a werewolf before today, you see. And, uhh…” The Historian’s stare was getting to him. “Are you going to blink anytime soon?”
“Probably best not to provoke the creature responsible for a great many deaths,” said the voice in Robert’s head.
“Right,” said Robert.
The Historian looked from Robert to Lily and his face broke in a whimsical smile.
“He doesn’t know, does he, Lily?” growled the Historian.
“Know what?” asked Robert.
Lily turned to Robert and there were actually tears in those amber eyes. Although he didn’t know why she was so upset, Robert felt a rush of anger that something had dared upset her like this.
“Amber eyes,” said the voice in Robert’s head.
“Amber eyes,” said Robert out loud.
Lily closed her eyes, and then opened them again.
“I don’t underst―”
“They both have amber eyes,” said the voice.
“Oh,” said Robert. “Oh shit, you’re a werewolf too.”
As if it was the simplest statement in the world. He turned to the Historian. “Bloody hell, you’re not her dad, are you?”
The Historian laughed and the sound of it bounced around the chamber. The firelight flickered, casting his shadow against the far wall and for a moment, Robert thought he saw his true shape silhouetted there.
Lily took both of Robert’s hands in hers.
“This isn’t easy for me to talk about.” Lily’s eyes were moist as she looked past Robert into the fire.
He felt a pang of sadness override the anger. Then he realized he was holding hands with a werewolf. Then he realized that he was currently sitting in a room with two werewolves.
“You’re over-thinking this,” said the voice in Robert’s head.
Lily seemed to collect herself, and shifted her gaze to Robert.
“I was born to a family of Lords over three hundred years ago. My father’s name was Randolph Redcloak. He owned a great amount of farmland along the Southern edge of the Enchanted Forest. When I was twenty years old, I spent the summer at my grandmother’s estate not far north of here. I spent the summer hunting and fishing, learning how to run the family business, and enjoying the time with my grandmother. At the end of summer, I set out with two friends to hunt for Jingraz, a sort of deer, but the day drew to an end far too quickly. It was a horrible day of hunting, we didn’t catch anything, and it wasn’t until we were a couple of miles from home that we realized why we hadn’t caught anything. We came across a field filled with half-eaten Jingraz. And at the centre of the field sat a giant, wolf-like creature.”
Lily glanced at the Historian, whose face was unreadable. “The creature attacked us, violently, and killed my two companions before we even had a chance to run. I was carrying my father’s hunting blade and it was pure luck that saved my life that night.”
The Historian snorted.
“The creature stood over me while I sobbed and struggled. Blood dripped from its jaws and its amber eyes shone in the moonlight. It sank its teeth into my shoulder and it felt like it would tear me in two, so I lashed out with the blade, a silver blade, giving him the scar he now wears so proudly. I ran like I’d never run before but the change was already upon me. It hurt like nothing I’d ever felt before and I stood and screamed. But all I heard was a howl.”
“Lily, I don’t know what to say.”
“I change with the moon, and at will, if I so choose. I can heal from any injury but silver, and you’ve seen how strong this curse has made me.”
“It’s not a damn curse, you ungrateful whelp,” growled the Historian. “What I gave you was a gift.”
“You would’ve murdered me!”
“That’s why you joined the hunting party to cross over to Othaside to catch the Beast of Gévaudan,” said Robert.
“Because he infected me, we were… are… commonly bound. Even when we’re miles apart, we can still sense each other. I can smell him infinitely clearer than anything else. I was the best person to hunt him down.”
“I don’t think your sense of smell is that good, my dear Lillian,” said the Historian. “If it was, you’d be able to smell the distinct feline scent on your companion.”
Lily looked at Robert, who felt embarrassed although he couldn’t figure out why.
“You can smell the cat on me?”
“It’s as plain as day.”
“But there was no cat,” said Lily. “It was all in Robert’s head.”
“I highly doubt that,” said the Historian.
“I knew it was real!” said Robert.
“No you didn’t,” said the voice.
“Well, I did start to question myself after none of you believed me,” agreed Robert.
The Pixie was suddenly hovering in between them, holding a massively thick book with the name Rumpelstiltskin inscribed in gold on the black leather cover.
“Ah, good,” said the Historian and pointed to one of the large reading tables. The Pixie flew over to the table and dropped the book with a thud. The Historian was already making his way over to the table, as if the conversation regarding his murderous intentions and consequential infection of Lily was over. But Robert couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Lily was still looking at Robert, maybe trying to gauge his reaction.
“I’m sorry, Robert; as my travelling companion, you should have known. I endangered you. Are you… okay?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose. It’s just another weird thing to get used to really. How come you couldn’t smell the cat on me?”
“Oh sure, completely ignore her inner turmoil and focus on your own preservation of sanity. She’s not going to like that you’re not being sensitive,” said the voice in Robert’s head.
“I think it’s because I’ve been with you the whole time, I’m somewhat desensitized to your scent. Thank you for understanding.”
“Or maybe not,” said the voice.
“Uh yeah, no problem. Not like we can change it, I suppose.”
The Historian coughed loudly. “If you two are finished being ridiculous maybe you’d like to tell me what it is you’re looking for?”
There it was again! As Lily moved over to the table along with Robert, she felt the same wave of admiration for her new travelling companion. It was warm and fuzzy and entirely unfamiliar to her. He didn’t seem to mind that she had a vicious killing machine hidden inside of her. Over the years, Lily had confided in very few people. Those who knew her secret had never acted the same around her again. Robert didn’t seem to mind. She couldn’t help but find that an admirable trait.
Outside the castle, General Gnarly and Gnick sat with their backs against the castle wall. They were making themselves look busy and keeping the Pixies at bay by sharpening various pointy kinds of weaponry.
The Pixies hovered above the castle wall, staring down at the Gnomes and chattering amongst themselves. Pixies hated Gnomes and Gnomes hated Pixies. This point was proven when a brave Pixie had chosen to spit on General Gnarly. The spit had barely touched his red pointy hat when he’d flung a blade, cleaving the Pixie’s wings from its back and causing it to plummet to Earth. Pixies, being the cannibalistic carnivores that they were, swooped down to tear the injured creature to shreds. After that, the Pixies kept out of what they hoped was throwing distance.
