Stiltskin, page 4
“Thanks but I’ll pass.”
“I can start slapping you again, if you like?”
Robert’s shoulders sagged dejectedly. “I’ll go get dressed.”
Against its better judgment, the rain had become a light drizzle and the sky grew darker as Robert Darkly, dressed in jeans and a sweater, stepped out of his apartment building with Lily close behind.
“So where are you taking me?” asked Robert.
“We need to go to the Exchange. It’s the first place the Dwarf will head, and maybe we’ll get lucky and arrive there before he does. We’ll need to get you a passport while we’re there, too.”
“Ya know, it’s bizarre but I understood maybe ten percent of what you just said,” replied Robert.
“You’re an accountant, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Only accountants speak in percentages.”
“In my defence, I’m not a very good accountant.”
Lily crossed the street and Robert obediently followed.
“We’re going to need a cab.”
“Why don’t we just take your car?” asked Robert.
“Don’t know how to drive.” Lily stopped at the corner and whistled for a cab parked across the street.
Robert looked at Lily, really for the first time since he put on some clothes. It’s amazing, the way perception shifts from when you’re wearing clothes as opposed to being stark naked and getting hit with your own frying pan. When Lily had kicked open his door she had been, well, beautiful. Now as she stood in the pouring rain she looked like the most beautiful and strange thing he’d ever seen. Her hair had seemed black at first but now he could see streaks of auburn, and her eyes had been dark brown but in the natural light outside they seemed almost amber and twinkled ominously. She was at least a foot shorter than Robert was, but if someone was to look at the pair they would instantly recognize who was in charge, and it wasn’t Robert.
Possibly the strangest thing about Lily was the way that the rain didn’t seem to touch her. Robert’s sweater was already covered with a thin sheen of classic London rain. London rain was the sort of water that even if someone found themselves stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert on the hottest day of the year with no clothes and a sunburn with their camel lying dead next to them, even then they wouldn’t even consider drinking it for fear of illness and instantaneous diarrhea.
Lily was almost completely dry. It wasn’t that the rain wasn’t falling on her but rather it chose to ignore her completely.
“Stop staring at me, it’s creepy,” said Lily suddenly and fixed him with those amber eyes.
Yes, definitely amber. “Sorry, it’s just… how come you aren’t wet?”
The cab pulled up and Lily opened the door.
“Your world doesn’t believe I exist,” she said with such a matter of fact tone as if to convey her answer should explain everything.
“Right, then,” said Robert agreeably and got into the cab.
The Royal Exchange had existed in one form or another since the mid-sixteenth century and was still considered to be the hub of London commerce, although where once it was used for trading, it now stood as more of a mall for rich people. The current Royal Exchange building was built in 1844 and sported some lovely columns that gave it a somewhat Roman feel, as if an escaped lion from the Coliseum could suddenly pounce from its doors at any moment.
In 2001, it was remodelled to accommodate the sale of some of the finest and most prestigious brands in the world, including Gucci and Tiffany, not to mention a restaurant and a coffee shop.
Patrons of the Exchange, located on the corner of Cornhill and Threadneedle Streets, didn’t notice as a small figure dressed in a long waxed jacket, recently stolen from a now emotionally and mentally incapacitated member of the North London Association of Khuzdophobia Sufferers, made his way past the entrance and headed down the side of the building on Cornhill Street. He walked around the right-hand back corner of the Exchange and stopped in front of a large, old, wooden door that had been painted red.
The door didn’t look like it should have been a part of the Exchange, and at closer inspection, the doorway itself looked like it had been carved away by hundreds of rabbits scratching at it. This was, of course, entirely inaccurate as there had been only ninety-three rabbits.
He knocked on the door three times and stepped back. The sound of ancient bolts being unbolted could be heard, followed by rusted hinges protesting as the large door swung open to reveal a crudely carved staircase. Only ninety-two rabbits had the opportunity to work on the stairway, as Floopsie, as he had been affectionately known by his friends, had been crushed in a tragic accident earlier in the day. Thankfully, Thiside Rabbits were notoriously unemotional and the accident didn’t halt construction in the slightest.
It appeared that the door had opened of its own accord. The staircase was lit by light bulbs hanging from the ceiling with bits of chain. Rumpelstiltskin entered and began down the stairs as the door swung itself shut behind him.
Unbeknownst to the tourists and London residents milling around the Exchange, the lower regions of the building were untouched by time, ignored by everyone for hundreds of years. The last resident of Othaside to fall upon the Lower Exchange was Sir Thomas Gresham in 1565, the original architect of the building.
After the Royal Exchange was complete, Sir Thomas spent many hours inspecting every facet of the structure. During the last several months of construction the doorway was built, the red door moved into place, and the Lower Exchange had been excavated. Thiside magic ensured the doorway would never be noticed by any Othaside resident, but as it turned out, Sir Thomas happened upon the door before the magic could fully take effect.
He couldn’t open the door, as it only opened for the right people, with the right knock. He’d berated the construction council for the eyesore and horrible workmanship that had been put into the door and questioned why it had been built in the first place, as it could not be found anywhere in the plans. He dragged the lead foreman at the time around the back to show him the door, by which time the magic was in full effect and Sir Thomas was told he’d been working too hard and should go home, have a nice bath, and maybe a strong nightcap.
As Rumpelstiltskin descended, he went over his plan that was nestled in the tiny inner workings of his devious little mind. It all stemmed from his frustration, of course: limitless power within his little Dwarf body but a complete inability to do anything with it unless someone made a wish. His original plan was reaching the pinnacle when those damn Agents threw him in the Tower. But now he’d have his revenge; all he needed was the key. He cackled and the noise bounced around the stairwell as the dim light from the bulbs skittered shadows hither and thither.
He reached the bottom of the stairs that opened up into an antechamber. The little room contained nothing but a small table with a thick, black, leather-bound book and a writing quill. The wall directly facing the stairs didn’t have the same look as the rest of the tunnel. Rather than looking like the antechamber, which definitely looked as if it had been tunnelled out by ninety-two rabbits, the adjacent wall looked smooth, with a silvery quality to it so that when looked at from the right angle it seemed to shimmer slightly, and at a second glance, it just looked like a regular wall.
The Dwarf flipped open the leather-bound book and took up the quill. He jabbed the point of the quill into his hand, drawing blood, and then, with the utmost calligraphic skill, wrote his name in the book. The name faded away into the page as if it had never been written.
The shimmer in the wall rippled, giving it a liquid-like quality. Rumpelstiltskin licked his bleeding hand and cast off his disguise. He walked up to the wall and placed the palm of his hand up against it. There was a sucking sound, much like a five-year-old makes when he’s trying to get the last bit of milkshake through a straw. And with that, the Dwarf was sucked into the wall. For a while there was nothing but silence, but there then followed a screeching sound that only rabbits can make when they’re extremely excited or extremely distressed. The reason for the screeching in this instance was the latter.
Rupert was the name of the taxi driver who was haphazardly driving Lily and Robert in the general direction of the Royal Exchange building. The taxi smelled faintly of hotel soap which, as Rupert enjoyed explaining at length, was due to his hobby of collecting different kinds of soap that he stole from hotels around England. Rupert’s interjection was making normal conversation difficult but the day was hardly turning out normal.
“Back there at your apartment you seemed not to care what was going on. Doesn’t it bother you that there was a Dwarf in your bathtub? That a Fairy knocked you unconscious? Aren’t you even curious about where we’re going?” asked Lily impatiently.
“Of course I’m curious but weird things have always happened to me; I suppose they just don’t make the same impact that they used to,” explained Robert.
“You see, it’s not just the smell of the soap that’s appealing, there’s also texture, the amount of oil they contain, the class of hotel, there’s a lot of things to take into consideration,” explained Rupert.
“Look,” said Lily, “for argument’s sake can you at least appear to be concerned?”
“Fair enough. How about you start with telling me who you are?”
“No,” said Lily.
“Okay then, how about explaining what that Dwarf said about my father?”
“No.”
“How about you just tell me what you’d like me to ask you? It might speed up the conversation.”
“The funny thing about hotel soaps,” explained Rupert, “is that a lot of them are switching to that liquid stuff. I don’t stand for that kind of thing myself.”
Lily sighed. “You can ask me about the Agency.”
“All right, what’s this Agency all about?”
“The Agency was formed hundreds of years ago for the sole purpose of policing the border between Thiside and Othaside.”
Robert’s right eyebrow rose of its own accord. “This side of what?”
“What?”
“You said this side and the other side. What sides are we talking about?”
“Ya see,” carried on Rupert, “it’s a security measure so that people can’t steal the soap, no one wants to steal liquid soap. It really takes the fun out of it all.”
“There is no side, it’s the name of the realities,” explained Lily.
“So there are two realities?”
“Yes. Thiside and Othaside.”
“So this reality is Thiside?”
“Other way around, this is Othaside.”
“Of course nothing can beat those little seaside resorts up in Blackpool, they have custom made soaps in their very own little boxes.”
“Will you shut up!” said Lily. “We don’t care about your bloody soaps.”
“I was just trying to make polite conversation,” said Rupert.
“Well, make it with someone else. Look, Robert, it’s all very simple, I’m part of an Agency that makes sure no one from Othaside goes to Thiside and that the residents of Thiside don’t cause any trouble in Othaside.”
Robert stared at her blankly in much the same way that cats stare at pretty much everything. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
“I’ll leave that for Jack to explain; he’s going to meet us at the Exchange.”
“Okay, so what’s the Exchange all about?”
“We’re here,” said Rupert in a sulky voice.
“I’ll explain once we’re inside.”
“The Royal Exchange?” said Robert as they stepped out onto the soggy sidewalk. “What are we going to do, shop for shoes?”
“No, we’re here for blood.”
Lily led Robert down the right-hand side of the large building.
“What do you mean, blood?”
“The two realities have always been separate but thousands of years ago there were doors, like a hole in reality, and they were everywhere so residents of both sides could cross over whenever they liked. This caused more problems than you could ever imagine. Some people simply fell through the doors by accident, others abused the fact that they could skip between two worlds. It caused a great deal of chaos. Ever heard of the Dark Ages?”
“Of course.”
“That whole time period came about because of the doors. In the end, the Four Witches and the Wizards of Oz banded together to create a Regulator for the doors. One being who could control the passage of anyone between Thiside and Othaside. Now all the doors in Othaside are hidden unless you’re carrying a passport. The Wizards did that to protect your world. The central office for the Regulator was built into the basement of the exchange in 1844. Now if you want a passport to cross between the two worlds, this is where you come.”
“Did you just say the wizards of Oz?” asked Robert.
“Shush, we’re here,” said Lily.
Lily and Robert reached the doorway at the back of the Exchange and Lily knocked three times. The door swung open and the pair entered.
“It smells like rabbit droppings in here,” said Robert.
“They’re actually very clean creatures once you get to know them.”
They walked down the stairs into the antechamber. Lily took up the quill pen, jabbed herself in the back of her hand and scrawled her name in the leather-bound book. She held the quill out to Robert.
“Your turn.”
“My turn to what? I’m not jabbing myself with a pointy feather.”
“You need to sign your name so we can enter the Exchange.”
“I’m pretty sure I have a pen here somewhere.”
“Doesn’t work, the ledger needs your blood to let you through the wall.”
Robert started backing up against the wall as Lily advanced with the feather. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve told me, it’s all very interesting and practically believable, probably more so after a few drinks, but you know I just don’t think I’m cut out for all this. I like living on this side. I mean Othaside. Whatever the hell side this is. I’m happy with it.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“You keep asking me that but you refuse to tell me anything!”
“It’ll be so much easier to explain all of this once we’re in Thiside but we can’t waste any more time. The Dwarf may have come and gone already.”
“Forget it, I’m not jabbing myself with that thing.”
“Fine.” Lily turned to walk back to the table with the ledger but quickly spun around and lashed out with the quill, cutting Robert across his cheek, instantly drawing blood.
“What the hell?”
She quickly wrote Robert’s name in the ledger and placed the quill back in its place.
Robert held a hand over his cheek.
“It’s just a scratch, Robert. Don’t be a baby.”
“What now? Why does everything feel different down here? I feel misplaced and yet right at home.”
“The Exchange is the only place on the entire planet that exists in your world and mine. Think of it as a border crossing.”
“So it’s here in Othaside but also in Thiside? And who the hell named these places?”
“Maybe you should calm down, count to ten?”
“Do you have any idea how confusing this all is?”
“Look, you’re getting a little frantic.”
“Frantic!” Robert’s voice notched up an octave. “Who’s getting frantic? I lost my girlfriend last night, lost my job this morning, was almost attacked by a Dwarf in my bathtub, was knocked out by a Fairy, dragged across town by you who won’t tell me anything other than there’s two worlds with ridiculous names, you attack me with a feather―”
Lily slapped Robert. There was a momentary pause, during which Lily’s cool exterior was thawed ever so slightly by the smile that crept onto her face, and Robert’s blood pressure dropped back to its usual level.
“Thank you,” he said, “I think I needed that.” The light from the hanging bulbs reflected off her eyes, causing the amber colours within them to dance.
“It’s a lot to take in but let’s go inside and talk to the White Rabbit.”
“The White Rabbit? From Alice in Wonderland?”
“Don’t mention that to him, it’s an unfavourable subject. Come on.”
Lily pushed through the wall and vanished, leaving Robert alone in the antechamber.
Come on, Robert, pull yourself together. Your life has never made much sense, too many unexplained things and now this whole situation makes even less sense. Maybe somewhere along the line, all this nonsensical stuff will suddenly end up making sense. Or at the very least, there’s no harm in trying, it’s not like life can get any worse.
And with that rather stupid and presumptuous thought Robert closed his eyes and pushed against the wall that Lily had vanished through.
The wall was cold and felt like a gooey sort of liquid that for a moment enveloped his entire body, slid across his skin, into his ears, through his fingers and then all of a sudden there was a rush of warm air as he came out on the other side. The first thing he noticed was that the room wasn’t much bigger than the one he had left, although it looked more like a professional interior designer had a hand in its creation. The second thing he noticed was that the colour had completely drained from Lily’s face. The final, and possibly most prominent, thing he noticed was the presence of several dead rabbits littering the floor immediately in front of them.
he Warrior Gnomes of the Grimm Mountains watched the Dwarf as he emerged from the Exchange in Thiside. He was limping, favouring his right leg, and clutched a bloody rag to the left side of his forehead.
“He’s injured,” said General Gnarly.
Gnomes were exceptionally strange creatures. Their creation had occurred thousands of years ago when an extremely inexperienced witch had cast a spell to create a new breed of Dwarf that would serve only her. She had measured out the right ingredients, had dug up the bones of an ancient Dwarf, mixed everything in a cauldron, lit the right kind of fire, using the right kind of wood, and then completely skipped the last page entitled When and Where because she got bored. The explosion it caused was seen for miles, mostly due to the pretty colours it created.
“I can start slapping you again, if you like?”
Robert’s shoulders sagged dejectedly. “I’ll go get dressed.”
Against its better judgment, the rain had become a light drizzle and the sky grew darker as Robert Darkly, dressed in jeans and a sweater, stepped out of his apartment building with Lily close behind.
“So where are you taking me?” asked Robert.
“We need to go to the Exchange. It’s the first place the Dwarf will head, and maybe we’ll get lucky and arrive there before he does. We’ll need to get you a passport while we’re there, too.”
“Ya know, it’s bizarre but I understood maybe ten percent of what you just said,” replied Robert.
“You’re an accountant, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Only accountants speak in percentages.”
“In my defence, I’m not a very good accountant.”
Lily crossed the street and Robert obediently followed.
“We’re going to need a cab.”
“Why don’t we just take your car?” asked Robert.
“Don’t know how to drive.” Lily stopped at the corner and whistled for a cab parked across the street.
Robert looked at Lily, really for the first time since he put on some clothes. It’s amazing, the way perception shifts from when you’re wearing clothes as opposed to being stark naked and getting hit with your own frying pan. When Lily had kicked open his door she had been, well, beautiful. Now as she stood in the pouring rain she looked like the most beautiful and strange thing he’d ever seen. Her hair had seemed black at first but now he could see streaks of auburn, and her eyes had been dark brown but in the natural light outside they seemed almost amber and twinkled ominously. She was at least a foot shorter than Robert was, but if someone was to look at the pair they would instantly recognize who was in charge, and it wasn’t Robert.
Possibly the strangest thing about Lily was the way that the rain didn’t seem to touch her. Robert’s sweater was already covered with a thin sheen of classic London rain. London rain was the sort of water that even if someone found themselves stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert on the hottest day of the year with no clothes and a sunburn with their camel lying dead next to them, even then they wouldn’t even consider drinking it for fear of illness and instantaneous diarrhea.
Lily was almost completely dry. It wasn’t that the rain wasn’t falling on her but rather it chose to ignore her completely.
“Stop staring at me, it’s creepy,” said Lily suddenly and fixed him with those amber eyes.
Yes, definitely amber. “Sorry, it’s just… how come you aren’t wet?”
The cab pulled up and Lily opened the door.
“Your world doesn’t believe I exist,” she said with such a matter of fact tone as if to convey her answer should explain everything.
“Right, then,” said Robert agreeably and got into the cab.
The Royal Exchange had existed in one form or another since the mid-sixteenth century and was still considered to be the hub of London commerce, although where once it was used for trading, it now stood as more of a mall for rich people. The current Royal Exchange building was built in 1844 and sported some lovely columns that gave it a somewhat Roman feel, as if an escaped lion from the Coliseum could suddenly pounce from its doors at any moment.
In 2001, it was remodelled to accommodate the sale of some of the finest and most prestigious brands in the world, including Gucci and Tiffany, not to mention a restaurant and a coffee shop.
Patrons of the Exchange, located on the corner of Cornhill and Threadneedle Streets, didn’t notice as a small figure dressed in a long waxed jacket, recently stolen from a now emotionally and mentally incapacitated member of the North London Association of Khuzdophobia Sufferers, made his way past the entrance and headed down the side of the building on Cornhill Street. He walked around the right-hand back corner of the Exchange and stopped in front of a large, old, wooden door that had been painted red.
The door didn’t look like it should have been a part of the Exchange, and at closer inspection, the doorway itself looked like it had been carved away by hundreds of rabbits scratching at it. This was, of course, entirely inaccurate as there had been only ninety-three rabbits.
He knocked on the door three times and stepped back. The sound of ancient bolts being unbolted could be heard, followed by rusted hinges protesting as the large door swung open to reveal a crudely carved staircase. Only ninety-two rabbits had the opportunity to work on the stairway, as Floopsie, as he had been affectionately known by his friends, had been crushed in a tragic accident earlier in the day. Thankfully, Thiside Rabbits were notoriously unemotional and the accident didn’t halt construction in the slightest.
It appeared that the door had opened of its own accord. The staircase was lit by light bulbs hanging from the ceiling with bits of chain. Rumpelstiltskin entered and began down the stairs as the door swung itself shut behind him.
Unbeknownst to the tourists and London residents milling around the Exchange, the lower regions of the building were untouched by time, ignored by everyone for hundreds of years. The last resident of Othaside to fall upon the Lower Exchange was Sir Thomas Gresham in 1565, the original architect of the building.
After the Royal Exchange was complete, Sir Thomas spent many hours inspecting every facet of the structure. During the last several months of construction the doorway was built, the red door moved into place, and the Lower Exchange had been excavated. Thiside magic ensured the doorway would never be noticed by any Othaside resident, but as it turned out, Sir Thomas happened upon the door before the magic could fully take effect.
He couldn’t open the door, as it only opened for the right people, with the right knock. He’d berated the construction council for the eyesore and horrible workmanship that had been put into the door and questioned why it had been built in the first place, as it could not be found anywhere in the plans. He dragged the lead foreman at the time around the back to show him the door, by which time the magic was in full effect and Sir Thomas was told he’d been working too hard and should go home, have a nice bath, and maybe a strong nightcap.
As Rumpelstiltskin descended, he went over his plan that was nestled in the tiny inner workings of his devious little mind. It all stemmed from his frustration, of course: limitless power within his little Dwarf body but a complete inability to do anything with it unless someone made a wish. His original plan was reaching the pinnacle when those damn Agents threw him in the Tower. But now he’d have his revenge; all he needed was the key. He cackled and the noise bounced around the stairwell as the dim light from the bulbs skittered shadows hither and thither.
He reached the bottom of the stairs that opened up into an antechamber. The little room contained nothing but a small table with a thick, black, leather-bound book and a writing quill. The wall directly facing the stairs didn’t have the same look as the rest of the tunnel. Rather than looking like the antechamber, which definitely looked as if it had been tunnelled out by ninety-two rabbits, the adjacent wall looked smooth, with a silvery quality to it so that when looked at from the right angle it seemed to shimmer slightly, and at a second glance, it just looked like a regular wall.
The Dwarf flipped open the leather-bound book and took up the quill. He jabbed the point of the quill into his hand, drawing blood, and then, with the utmost calligraphic skill, wrote his name in the book. The name faded away into the page as if it had never been written.
The shimmer in the wall rippled, giving it a liquid-like quality. Rumpelstiltskin licked his bleeding hand and cast off his disguise. He walked up to the wall and placed the palm of his hand up against it. There was a sucking sound, much like a five-year-old makes when he’s trying to get the last bit of milkshake through a straw. And with that, the Dwarf was sucked into the wall. For a while there was nothing but silence, but there then followed a screeching sound that only rabbits can make when they’re extremely excited or extremely distressed. The reason for the screeching in this instance was the latter.
Rupert was the name of the taxi driver who was haphazardly driving Lily and Robert in the general direction of the Royal Exchange building. The taxi smelled faintly of hotel soap which, as Rupert enjoyed explaining at length, was due to his hobby of collecting different kinds of soap that he stole from hotels around England. Rupert’s interjection was making normal conversation difficult but the day was hardly turning out normal.
“Back there at your apartment you seemed not to care what was going on. Doesn’t it bother you that there was a Dwarf in your bathtub? That a Fairy knocked you unconscious? Aren’t you even curious about where we’re going?” asked Lily impatiently.
“Of course I’m curious but weird things have always happened to me; I suppose they just don’t make the same impact that they used to,” explained Robert.
“You see, it’s not just the smell of the soap that’s appealing, there’s also texture, the amount of oil they contain, the class of hotel, there’s a lot of things to take into consideration,” explained Rupert.
“Look,” said Lily, “for argument’s sake can you at least appear to be concerned?”
“Fair enough. How about you start with telling me who you are?”
“No,” said Lily.
“Okay then, how about explaining what that Dwarf said about my father?”
“No.”
“How about you just tell me what you’d like me to ask you? It might speed up the conversation.”
“The funny thing about hotel soaps,” explained Rupert, “is that a lot of them are switching to that liquid stuff. I don’t stand for that kind of thing myself.”
Lily sighed. “You can ask me about the Agency.”
“All right, what’s this Agency all about?”
“The Agency was formed hundreds of years ago for the sole purpose of policing the border between Thiside and Othaside.”
Robert’s right eyebrow rose of its own accord. “This side of what?”
“What?”
“You said this side and the other side. What sides are we talking about?”
“Ya see,” carried on Rupert, “it’s a security measure so that people can’t steal the soap, no one wants to steal liquid soap. It really takes the fun out of it all.”
“There is no side, it’s the name of the realities,” explained Lily.
“So there are two realities?”
“Yes. Thiside and Othaside.”
“So this reality is Thiside?”
“Other way around, this is Othaside.”
“Of course nothing can beat those little seaside resorts up in Blackpool, they have custom made soaps in their very own little boxes.”
“Will you shut up!” said Lily. “We don’t care about your bloody soaps.”
“I was just trying to make polite conversation,” said Rupert.
“Well, make it with someone else. Look, Robert, it’s all very simple, I’m part of an Agency that makes sure no one from Othaside goes to Thiside and that the residents of Thiside don’t cause any trouble in Othaside.”
Robert stared at her blankly in much the same way that cats stare at pretty much everything. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
“I’ll leave that for Jack to explain; he’s going to meet us at the Exchange.”
“Okay, so what’s the Exchange all about?”
“We’re here,” said Rupert in a sulky voice.
“I’ll explain once we’re inside.”
“The Royal Exchange?” said Robert as they stepped out onto the soggy sidewalk. “What are we going to do, shop for shoes?”
“No, we’re here for blood.”
Lily led Robert down the right-hand side of the large building.
“What do you mean, blood?”
“The two realities have always been separate but thousands of years ago there were doors, like a hole in reality, and they were everywhere so residents of both sides could cross over whenever they liked. This caused more problems than you could ever imagine. Some people simply fell through the doors by accident, others abused the fact that they could skip between two worlds. It caused a great deal of chaos. Ever heard of the Dark Ages?”
“Of course.”
“That whole time period came about because of the doors. In the end, the Four Witches and the Wizards of Oz banded together to create a Regulator for the doors. One being who could control the passage of anyone between Thiside and Othaside. Now all the doors in Othaside are hidden unless you’re carrying a passport. The Wizards did that to protect your world. The central office for the Regulator was built into the basement of the exchange in 1844. Now if you want a passport to cross between the two worlds, this is where you come.”
“Did you just say the wizards of Oz?” asked Robert.
“Shush, we’re here,” said Lily.
Lily and Robert reached the doorway at the back of the Exchange and Lily knocked three times. The door swung open and the pair entered.
“It smells like rabbit droppings in here,” said Robert.
“They’re actually very clean creatures once you get to know them.”
They walked down the stairs into the antechamber. Lily took up the quill pen, jabbed herself in the back of her hand and scrawled her name in the leather-bound book. She held the quill out to Robert.
“Your turn.”
“My turn to what? I’m not jabbing myself with a pointy feather.”
“You need to sign your name so we can enter the Exchange.”
“I’m pretty sure I have a pen here somewhere.”
“Doesn’t work, the ledger needs your blood to let you through the wall.”
Robert started backing up against the wall as Lily advanced with the feather. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve told me, it’s all very interesting and practically believable, probably more so after a few drinks, but you know I just don’t think I’m cut out for all this. I like living on this side. I mean Othaside. Whatever the hell side this is. I’m happy with it.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“You keep asking me that but you refuse to tell me anything!”
“It’ll be so much easier to explain all of this once we’re in Thiside but we can’t waste any more time. The Dwarf may have come and gone already.”
“Forget it, I’m not jabbing myself with that thing.”
“Fine.” Lily turned to walk back to the table with the ledger but quickly spun around and lashed out with the quill, cutting Robert across his cheek, instantly drawing blood.
“What the hell?”
She quickly wrote Robert’s name in the ledger and placed the quill back in its place.
Robert held a hand over his cheek.
“It’s just a scratch, Robert. Don’t be a baby.”
“What now? Why does everything feel different down here? I feel misplaced and yet right at home.”
“The Exchange is the only place on the entire planet that exists in your world and mine. Think of it as a border crossing.”
“So it’s here in Othaside but also in Thiside? And who the hell named these places?”
“Maybe you should calm down, count to ten?”
“Do you have any idea how confusing this all is?”
“Look, you’re getting a little frantic.”
“Frantic!” Robert’s voice notched up an octave. “Who’s getting frantic? I lost my girlfriend last night, lost my job this morning, was almost attacked by a Dwarf in my bathtub, was knocked out by a Fairy, dragged across town by you who won’t tell me anything other than there’s two worlds with ridiculous names, you attack me with a feather―”
Lily slapped Robert. There was a momentary pause, during which Lily’s cool exterior was thawed ever so slightly by the smile that crept onto her face, and Robert’s blood pressure dropped back to its usual level.
“Thank you,” he said, “I think I needed that.” The light from the hanging bulbs reflected off her eyes, causing the amber colours within them to dance.
“It’s a lot to take in but let’s go inside and talk to the White Rabbit.”
“The White Rabbit? From Alice in Wonderland?”
“Don’t mention that to him, it’s an unfavourable subject. Come on.”
Lily pushed through the wall and vanished, leaving Robert alone in the antechamber.
Come on, Robert, pull yourself together. Your life has never made much sense, too many unexplained things and now this whole situation makes even less sense. Maybe somewhere along the line, all this nonsensical stuff will suddenly end up making sense. Or at the very least, there’s no harm in trying, it’s not like life can get any worse.
And with that rather stupid and presumptuous thought Robert closed his eyes and pushed against the wall that Lily had vanished through.
The wall was cold and felt like a gooey sort of liquid that for a moment enveloped his entire body, slid across his skin, into his ears, through his fingers and then all of a sudden there was a rush of warm air as he came out on the other side. The first thing he noticed was that the room wasn’t much bigger than the one he had left, although it looked more like a professional interior designer had a hand in its creation. The second thing he noticed was that the colour had completely drained from Lily’s face. The final, and possibly most prominent, thing he noticed was the presence of several dead rabbits littering the floor immediately in front of them.
he Warrior Gnomes of the Grimm Mountains watched the Dwarf as he emerged from the Exchange in Thiside. He was limping, favouring his right leg, and clutched a bloody rag to the left side of his forehead.
“He’s injured,” said General Gnarly.
Gnomes were exceptionally strange creatures. Their creation had occurred thousands of years ago when an extremely inexperienced witch had cast a spell to create a new breed of Dwarf that would serve only her. She had measured out the right ingredients, had dug up the bones of an ancient Dwarf, mixed everything in a cauldron, lit the right kind of fire, using the right kind of wood, and then completely skipped the last page entitled When and Where because she got bored. The explosion it caused was seen for miles, mostly due to the pretty colours it created.
