Stiltskin (Andrew Buckley) (25 page)

The entity who now knew himself to be the Cat, who was once again incorporeal, was shocked at how weak he’d become. Floating through what could only be the nether regions of space and time, due to his surroundings being warm and squishy, he now maintained only a small strand of connection to the world. He’d appeared as a kitten and had funnelled his entire being into the creature to the point where he almost felt whole again, but it seemed that he could not anchor himself to the world he once occupied. There just wasn’t enough magic left there anymore to sustain his arrival. So for the moment, he dedicated himself to doing what he had done for centuries and simply floated lost in his own thoughts and occasionally plucked on the single strand that held him to the world of Thiside. Mainly because he liked the twangy sound it made.

The Historian quickly flipped through the pages, stopping every now and then to read.

“Hmm,” said the Historian, and then, “harrumph.”

The firelight danced shadows across the wall. The Pixie had long since vanished from the room after fetching the Historian an ancient map of Thiside. Lily and Robert stood on the opposite side of the table from the old man.

Robert was taking the time to reflect on everything that had happened today, from the cat disappearing, the fight in the forest, the voice in his head, the revelation that he’d not only met a werewolf but had been travelling with one for the last day and a half. The same question still kept nagging at him:
Why me?
He was afraid he knew the answer. He must have been born here and crossed over at some point. And from the hushed conversations he’d heard today, his father was here. Maybe his mother, too. But why had they given him up?

“All right, I think I have it all together now,” said the Historian, looking up from the book.

“So what was Rumpelstiltskin doing before he was caught?” asked Lily.

The Historian paused, shook his head a little as if something was buzzing inside his head. He looked toward the ceiling for a moment. A broad grin cracked his old face and he looked back to Robert and Lily.

“Sorry,” said the Historian, “dizzy spell.” He flipped back through a few of the pages. “It’s strange that you, Lily, as an Agent don’t already know this as he was caught and transported to the Tower the same day. Although Jack is possibly the worst Agent I’ve ever encountered for his record keeping, he did file the report and eventually it ended up here.”

“Jack was the Agent who caught him?”

“No, but he was his interrogator at the Tower. Like I said, strange that you didn’t know that.”

“This was fifty years ago; I was on sabbatical.”

“Ah yes, your voyage across the seas. I recall hearing about it. Strange, though, that he’d send you here to find out what he himself already knew, as it was he that filled out the report.”

“But what about the Dwarf?” asked Robert, who was growing more and more anxious to get out of the Archives. Something didn’t feel right, and he had a severe dislike of the Historian. He’d been waiting for the voice in his head to say something but it had been quiet since the werewolf revelation.

“The Dwarf known as Rumpelstiltskin is not like a normal Dwarf. He’s a wish granter.”

“Like a genie?”

“Robert…” said Lily.

“I know, I know, there’s no such thing as genies.”

The Historian shook his head. “Similar concept as a genie, but there are no limitations to wish granters. They can grant or deny any wish that’s made in their presence, so it always pays to watch what you say.”

“We already know this,” said Lily.

“I didn’t know,” said Robert.

“Regardless,” said the Historian, “his power is relevant. Jack’s interrogation notes are sparse, at best, but they do indicate that Rumpelstiltskin was trading wishes for different objects of varying value before he was caught. What’s interesting is that wasn’t the reason he was arrested. He was arrested for attempted murder in Othaside.”

“How did he obtain the passport to get through to Othaside?”

“The notes say he threatened a farmer who wished him to see a particular person, the one he tried to murder, in Othaside.”

“Who was the victim?”

“Her name was Elise Marie Palmer.”

“What was so special about Ms Palmer?” asked Lily.

“Her birth name was Elise Bastinda.”

“Oh,” said Lily.

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Can you two just pretend I’m actually here in the room and know nothing about what’s going on?” asked Robert.

Lily sighed. “The Bastindas were a family of witches. Evil witches. The main members of the Bastinda family were wiped out during the Munchkin Wars almost three hundred years ago, but it was rumoured that a few escaped and were granted asylum by the Wizards’ Council, although they continued to be hated for their past transgressions.”

The Historian lifted a separate piece of paper and squinted at the scrawled lettering. “The records here show that Elise’s mother died during childbirth, leaving Elise as the last living Bastinda. They changed her name and sent her to Othaside to give her a chance at a normal life and to get rid of the last of the Bastindas.”

“Why would Rumpelstiltskin need the last living Bastinda?” thought Lily out loud.

“The list of objects he was acquiring…,” said the Historian.

“Yes?”

“Well, they’re strange to begin with: horn of a bolgroc, scale of a dragon, urine of a dying Munchkin; it goes on and on. It seems like he was going to perform a ritual.”

“Or a spell,” said Lily, “but he’s not a wizard; I wouldn’t imagine he’d know where to start.”

“Actually, he knew a wizard by the name of Niggle who now sits on the Wizards’ Council. Maybe he was helping him. In fact, according to Jack’s notes it was the wizard Niggle who performed the finding spell that allowed Rumpelstiltskin to find the girl in the first place.”

“Why was he doing all that?” asked Robert.

“He must have been preparing to do something. Something big,” said Lily.

“It certainly makes sense,” agreed the Historian. “What you have to understand about Rumpelstiltskin is that he has immense power inside of him, but he can’t access any of it for himself. He can grant someone any wish, to be famous, to be strong, to be rich, to be a bloody giraffe if that’s your deepest desire. But he can never use his own magic on himself.”

“Must be frustrating,” Robert thought out loud.

“Veszico said that he was heading for the City of Oz. He might be going for the wizard.”

The Historian sat himself down. “It’s getting late, and if you’ve got all you wanted, I think it’s time for you both to leave.”

Lily quickly grabbed the list of objects that Rumpelstiltskin had been collecting and pocketed it while the Historian stared intently at the fire.

“Goodbye, Bzou.”

“Nice to meet you, uh, sir,” said Robert and half bowed awkwardly, realized he looked ridiculous, and stood up.

The Historian kept his eyes on the fire. “Feel free to visit again. And Lillian, enjoy the night air.”

A foul-looking shadow danced above the door as Robert and Lily entered the hallway that would take them to the staircase.

“What did that mean?” asked Robert.

“He likes to play mind games. It doesn’t matter; we got what we came for.”

Robert couldn’t tell in the dim light but it almost looked like Lily’s skin was growing darker.

he Historian waited until his guests had ascended the stairway before leaving his chair. He ran with great speed down the hallway toward the Archives, moving with such precision and force that he looked like a star athlete and not a nine-hundred-year-old werewolf. He turned down one hallway, then another, ascended a stairway, then bolted into a room with a large steel door. He pushed open the door with great effort, slipped inside, then slammed it shut and listened as the locks automatically slid into place on the outside of the door, locking him in. The room was narrow, high, empty, and made of thick stone. The only window was a large opening, with bars welded across it, set into the wall. The moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the narrow cell and spilling over the large body of the Historian as he ripped the clothes from his old body, felt his blood boil, his muscles tense. He began to feel the change flood through him.