Stiltskin (Andrew Buckley) (20 page)

As construction of the city was already a year behind schedule, the Wizards of Oz agreed to use magic to help move the construction of the City of Oz along quickly. The three architects drew up plans, masonry was shipped in, the Wizards garnered the necessary magic, and construction of the city was completed in just under two weeks. The River Oz separated the city itself into two halves. It was a sad fact that, although steeped in magic, the Wizards of Oz had the creative capacity of a brick. When it came to naming the city, its landmarks, and other important elements, all the names ended up having
Oz
in the title somewhere. On the north side of the river lived the downtown and industrial areas and the south comprised the residential end of the city. The roads were all cobblestoned and narrow to maintain the look and feel of the old Emerald City. The buildings were tightly packed and stacked high and the High Castle of Oz that housed the City Guard and the Council of Wizards was built out of emerald stone quarried from the ruins of the Emerald City.

It was the tall green towers, sparkling despite the overcast sky, which Rumpelstiltskin observed from his hiding spot in a nearby alleyway. He needed to talk to someone in those towers, one wizard in particular; an old acquaintance. The Dwarf guessed that the wizard probably wasn’t going to be happy to see him but Rumpelstiltskin needed a favor; a favor that only a wizard could do.

He pulled on the ragged cloak he’d found in the alleyway and kicked the old man he’d found wearing it as he groaned on the alley floor. The Dwarf slipped from the alley, quickly crossed the street, and scrambled up and over the emerald wall, then dropped heavily into the Castle gardens.

The gardens were created by a colour-blind wizard horticulturist by the name of Eric. He didn’t want to be a wizard; he just wanted to grow pretty flowers. It’d been Eric’s parents who had forced him into wizardry, although really no one was forced into wizardry, it just naturally found them. No one really understood how, but it had something to do with magic accidentally penetrating the womb not long after conception. The wizarding community experimented with forcing magic into the wombs of several pregnant women, but the result was a group of children who came in a variety of interesting and unique shades of purple. Magic accidentally had to intrude upon the foetus for it to produce a wizard, concluding with a certain amount of finality that even magic likes to have a little fun now and then.

Eric was found to have the wizard’s gift at a young age when he blew up his aunty Flo’s pet borogove. His love of gardening always intruded upon his magical training but he was overjoyed to find that he could blend his necessity for magic with his love of horticulture by creating and growing fabulously strange plants and shrubs. The other wizards avoided the Castle Gardens at all costs, as they often failed to perceive the beauty that Eric saw in his beloved creations.

It was these horrifically multi-coloured creations that now stared at the Dwarf with looks ranging from bewilderment that someone was actually in their garden to anger that someone had the audacity to intrude upon their garden. A horrible side effect of creating plants using magic was that they were often not only self-aware, but also aware of everything that was going on around them. Many of them also had the capacity to move and in some cases to talk, although not always in an understandable language. Magic being an ancient force, it was sometimes associated with the language of the Jabberwockies which was simply called
Jabberwocky
. Some believed it to be a grand language full of wisdom and the hidden meaning of the creation of all things. Others believed it to be a load of crap.

“What you doin’ ere ya lil blanderskite?” said a particularly offensive orange and purple fern.

Rumpelstiltskin had heard of the garden and understood the best thing to do was ignore the plants altogether.

“Wargen you baraganth mankdweller?” intruded a group of tulips who were a sharp shade of grey.

“You,” began a giant pink-leaved grassy sort of bush, “are intruding on private property. I suggest you leave.”

Rumpelstiltskin waved a dismissive hand toward the grassy bush and walked on.

The grass whipped out a long tendril and wrapped itself around the Dwarf’s wrist.

“It’s very rude not to answer when you’re being spoken to,” said the bush.

“Kigan landagger dagga doo,” said the tulips.

“Feed him to the bandersnooter!” shouted the fern.

“Get off me, you damned plants!” said Rumpelstiltskin.

“Ahh, so you
can
talk,” said the bush.

“Bandersnooter!” shouted the fern again.

“Easy, my orange friend. Let’s hear what he’s doing here. Maybe he’s simply come to converse with us.”

“No one ever talks with us, yer manky little shrub!” shouted the fern.

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” said the bush to the Dwarf. “Any company is good company when you’re rooted to the spot but they’re all such Neanderthals that a fresh conversation is always welcome. So how about it? Care to stay a while?” The bush nonchalantly wrapped a few more tendrils around Rumpelstiltskin’s mid-section.

The hatchet he’d stolen from the settlement hung at his side under his cloak.

“Well, I suppose if you’d care to loosen your grip, I could stay for a little while,” smiled the Dwarf.

“Splendid! Fetch our guest a seat.”

A large ornamental boulder sprouted spider-like legs and half walked, half scrambled its way over to where the Dwarf stood. The bush released him and he sat down on the rock as the legs disappeared beneath it.

He made himself comfortable, adjusted his weight, and slipped his hand under the cloak, gripped the handle of the hatchet, and waited.

“So…” said the bush. It was as far as he got. The Dwarf hurled himself toward the bush, swinging the hatchet directly at its roots.

“Eekk!” screamed the bush.

“Ee’s got a blade ee has! Kill him! Kill him!” screamed the fern, helplessly swaying from side to side.

“Cardoosh!” shouted the tulips.

The garden seemed to lean in toward the action as the Dwarf hacked mercilessly at the bush, which was lashing out with every strand of grass at its disposal. A long length of climbing ivy with a crazed look in its chlorophyll joined the fight, wrapping itself firmly around Rumpelstiltskin’s head, blinding him. Anything that could move, or at the very least lean, closed in on the struggling Dwarf and began to attack him by any means possible until he was completely lost from view. All that could be seen was a violently shaking group of psychotically coloured plants and shrubs accompanied by the rustling of foliage.

A few moments later, the garden was quiet once more.

Robert left Gnick by the scene of the fight and went to look for Lily and the General. Gnick was happily sharpening his knives with a small piece of stone. The other two had been gone for only a few minutes but something about the way the conversation abruptly ended and that the pair felt the need to move away out of earshot wasn’t sitting comfortably with Robert. He didn’t like to intrude but he had to assume they weren’t talking about Gnick, which left only one subject of conversation.

The brush became denser away from the path, and Robert crouched low and moved as quietly as possible until he could make out Lily and General Gnarly’s voices not far away. He stopped and listened intently. The voices had a distinct sense of urgency about them.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” accused Gnarly.

“As a member of the Agency―”

“Ahh, don’t feed me the Agency line. I’m too old to care. You told me he came from Othaside but there’s something very strange about him and I think you know more than you’re telling. First the fire at the halfway house and then the cat he may or may not have seen and just now―”

“All right, all right!”

“He was talking to himself, wasn’t he?”

“Well, not exactly.”

It sounded like General Gnarly was pacing. “I know you think I don’t know much of the goings-on of the world outside of my mountains.”

“That’s not true, General.”

“But we receive reports from everywhere.”

“Well, I’m sure―”

“Reports about you, for example,” stated the Gnome with the obvious maximum effect, as there followed an uncomfortable pause. “If what I’ve heard is correct, and what I saw today leads me to believe that I am, then you may as well come clean and tell all of us the truth before it’s too late.”

“It’s not easy to talk about,” growled Lily.

“Aye, but I’ll wager that the Historian has a loose tongue.”

“As far as Robert is concerned,” said Lily changing the subject, “he was born here in Thiside but his mother was an Othasider.”

General Gnarly sighed. “The man I assume is his father was well-known, wasn’t he?”

Robert guessed that Lily must have nodded as Gnarly continued, “I encountered him around forty years ago. We were hunting food through the Southern edge of the Dark Forest and all of a sudden, he was there. Standing as if he was expecting us. He’s a strange character and I can only assume by his long life that he’s not human?”

“It’s hard to explain, and even I don’t fully understand it. He’s a sort of human but something to do with the way his mind works causes a discontinuity in his life cycle.”

“You’re right, that doesn’t make much sense.”

“It does to him, and that’s all that matters, I suppose.”

“So Robert is his son. And very much his father’s boy, from what I saw today.”

“We’ve watched him for some time. He’s survived in Othaside for all this time even through all the strange events that come naturally to him.”

“Why watch him? He’s not the first kid to be born here and grow up in Othaside.”

“You know where his father currently resides. There was always the concern that he would go the same way, but his personality turned out to be quite boring. All the weirdness surrounded him and affected people and the environment around him but never actually touched him.”

“Until he came here,” said General Gnarly.

“Wow, this is interesting stuff, isn’t it!” shouted the voice in Robert’s head.

Robert made a sound of surprise, something of a
bwehar
kind of sound, jumped to his feet, tripped over a tree root, and fell backward.

“Robert!” said Lily and stared sternly.

Robert struggled to his feet. “What the hell is going on?”

“Don’t get hysterical, Darkly,” said General Gnarly.

“Hysterical? Why would I be hysterical? Because you know something about me that I don’t know? That there’s something weird about you too? And you, well, you’re a Gnome, aren’t you? ‘Nuff said about that. And don’t mention your short stature, although it’s plainly obvious.” Robert was breathing heavily.

“Robert,” said Lily, “you’re hyperventilating. Try and calm down.”

Robert sat himself down and tried to control his breathing.

General Gnarly shook his head and headed back to where they had left Gnick. “We should be going soon; don’t take too long.”

Lily crouched down next to Robert and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Why can’t you tell me about my father?” asked Robert.

“I’ve been ordered not to. And to be honest, it’s not important as far as our current mission is concerned.”

“And what about your secret?”

“Even less important. Come on, we need to get to the Archives and speak to the Historian, otherwise Rumpelstiltskin’s trail will be too cold to follow.”

And with that, she stood and walked away, leaving Robert sitting on the forest floor more confused than he felt he had any right to be.

A little-known fact about Dwarves is that they’re short. And not just short in the terms of stature but they are also short-tempered, short on patience, and constantly short of deodorant, thus coining the well-known phrase, “It smells like a Dwarf in here.” Dwarves didn’t believe in body odour and chose to ignore any such way of remedying that which they didn’t believe in and had no reason to acknowledge. Another little-known fact about Dwarves is that they have a tremendous lung capacity, which makes them amazing miners. They require very little oxygen to function as almost everything about them is anatomically smaller than that of a human.