Stiltskin (Andrew Buckley) (24 page)

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.

The tip of the sun could still be seen peeking over the tip of the Western mountains. Without any provocation whatsoever, the sun dropped beneath the mountain and darkness flooded the land. The sun kept to common rules of rising and setting in that it rose in the East and set in the West. But outside of that, it did whatever it damn well pleased. The moon shared this attitude of indifference and didn’t feel it needed to adhere to any such simplistic rules such as the so-called
lunar cycle
. The moon came out whenever it pleased. As if shot out of a cannon, the moon rose from behind the mountains and attached itself firmly in the sky over the mountains, throwing moonlight across the fields and against the castle walls of the Archives.

The Pixies all froze in unison and General Gnarly was on his feet.

“No!”

“Eh?” said Gnick.

“The moon’s full. There was no indication of a full moon tonight.”

The moon, although ignoring astrological law, usually appeared on the first night of its chosen lunar cycle as a crescent moon. The moon, being nonsensical and feeling in a smug sort of mood, had chosen to appear in the sky only once this lunar cycle and that appearance would be in its full glowing glory. Tomorrow, it might change its mind.

“Did we bring any rope?” asked Gnarly.

“Of course,” said Gnick, “why?”

“Because we’re going to need it.”

Gnick began to pull thin strands of rope from somewhere in his trousers. General Gnarly turned to look up at the castle to see that the Pixies now lined the castle walls. They were no longer watching the Gnomes. They were now watching expectantly, their gaze focused upon the courtyard inside the castle wall.