Stiltskin, page 19
“Look, Troll, I am still an Agent and I order you to let me out, plus, it’d be the nice thing to do,” said Tweedle Dee and smiled through the bars.
“Or alternatively, you could come close enough and I’ll be happy to rip your spleen out through your nose!” said Tweedle Dum.
“Oh, don’t be like that, you silly little man,” said Tweedle Dee.
“Blow it out your ass!” said Tweedle Dum.
The Hatter’s pale face appeared in his own barred window.
“Gentleman, if you’re making a case for insanity, I think you’re doing a damn fine job, and I applaud you.” And then he applauded them.
“There really is nothing creepier than an English graveyard,” said Rumpelstiltskin to no one. It was over fifty years since he’d been here in Hebden Bridge, when the Agency had caught up with him and thrown him in the Tower to rot for all eternity. The night had grown dark quickly and the mist was so dense that the Dwarf was having trouble finding what he was looking for. He was so close to finishing what he started, so close to breaking down the doors that separated the two worlds. And then he’d have some fun! The Agency would be too busy herding people like sheep…
Smash!
“Bloody hell!” shouted the Dwarf. The shovel and flashlight he’d been carrying skittered off across a gravestone. He looked back to see what he’d tripped over and found a small sheep staring back at him.
“Ba-a-a-a!” said the sheep.
“Something you can say about Thiside, at least there’s no damn sheep.” He retrieved his flashlight to find the glass had cracked and the device wouldn’t turn on. He picked up his shovel and turned to take his anger out on the sheep, but it had already run off. He made a guttural sort of shout and kicked at a stone vase that was apparently permanently attached to the gravestone upon which it sat. The Dwarf yelped in pain and swore so colourfully as to make a rainbow blush. He grabbed the shovel and stomped through the graveyard, checking the names on gravestones as he went.
The village of Hebden Bridge sat comfortably amongst the mist and the rain in much the same way that it had for centuries. Hebden Bridge’s main attraction was the bridge close to the centre of town. It wasn’t an especially large or impressive bridge. There was nothing amazing about its architecture or engineering. However, it did have a faded sign that had been posted there at the end of the eighteenth century warning anyone who was caught desecrating or marking the bridge that they would be deported to Australia. Most British people who had more than a few brain cells immediately saw the advantage of leaving cold, dark, and damp England for sunny, warm, and beautiful Australia and immediately took to painting the bridge with bright and sordid colors. In the middle of the day. In front of local law enforcement.
The county of Yorkshire was famous for its sheep and its vast countryside. If any English person felt the need to see a sheep or to wander through a lush green countryside complete with little rock walls and piles of sheep poop, all he had to do was head to Yorkshire and breathe it all in. Literally. It also had one of the best fish and chip shops in all of the United Kingdom. It was this fish and chip shop that Frank Norberton, a forty-seven-year-old ex-naval officer, staggered out of at the same time Lily and Robert entered the village.
Frank had recently staggered out of The White Lion pub after enduring several hours of fascinating conversation about the state of Lancashire and asking questions like, “Why would anyone live here?” and “What happened to the North West of England anyway?”
Most Yorkshire people believed that Lancashire people were below the average class of common, hardworking Englishman. They were often puzzled as to why they didn’t just move to Yorkshire where people are generally better. Lancashire people held a similar point of view about Yorkshire people. And so the war raged on.
In his right hand, Frank held a bag of hot chips with gravy. His left hand was busy waving about trying to balance himself, as he was having trouble keeping his centre of gravity in the same place for more than a few seconds at a time. This was a common occurrence that happened every time he exited The White Lion.
Robert spotted Frank as he was trying to make it across the small cobbled street. A few other people ran here or there trying to get out of the rain, but Frank seemed not to care.
“We should ask directions,” said Robert to Lily. Lily nodded and they headed for Frank, who immediately guarded his chips as if Robert meant to steal them. The smell of them was enough to remind Robert that he hadn’t eaten since Mrs Goathead’s supper, and his stomach complained accordingly.
“Hello,” said Robert optimistically.
“Ello,” said Frank with apprehension.
“Good evening,” said Lily.
“Elloo,” said Frank with a little more enthusiasm.
“I was wondering if you could give us directions,” said Robert. “You see―”
“From London are ya?” said Frank and almost lost his balance.
“Well no, not really. But yes, I suppose I am. In a way. Or at least I was,” replied Robert.
“Well you either is or you’re not, lad, make up ya mind.”
“Well, I wasn’t born there. Although I thought I was until a couple of days ago but―”
“What my friend is trying to ask, rather inarticulately, is directions to―”
“Oh elloo,” said Frank, suddenly remembering that Lily was there. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t ya?”
Frank leaned far too close to Robert, and then looked back to Lily.
“What are you doing with the likes of this fellah? Ya could do betta ya know?”
“Now hang on a minute―” protested Robert.
“We’re not together,” said Lily.
“Now we’re not,” agreed Robert, “but we could be, not to say we should be or I want to be.” Lily and Frank both looked at him. “Well, it’s not that I don’t want to be, it’s, well, it’s complicated.”
“Anyway,” said Lily, “what we’re looking for is directions to the graveyard at Slack Top. Would you be so kind as to give us directions?”
It looked like Frank had finally found his centre of gravity, at least for the time being, but he seemed to be having trouble focusing.
“It’s night-time!” he said. “Why ya want t’ go t’ a graveyard at this time of night?”
“Not really any of your business,” said Robert.
“I wasn’t talkin t’ you, ya Southern pillock.”
“Now look here―” began Robert, but Lily placed a hand on his chest and smiled. Robert watched the true power of beautiful women everywhere unfold before his eyes. She arched her back ever so slightly to emphasize her bosom, smiled to show perfectly white teeth, flipped her dark hair back over one shoulder, and fixed her eyes on Frank.
“We have friends who live by the graveyard and it’s the only landmark we know. Could you be so kind as to point us in the right direction?” Lily flashed those amber eyes, smiled coyly, and gently touched Frank’s arm.
Frank dropped his chips.
“Please?” she added.
“Uh, yes, I uh, actually I’m just heading up there myself. You just head up Smithwell Lane over yonder.” Frank pointed across the intersection where they were standing to a street that curved up over one of the surrounding hills. “Walk up there and you’ll reach the graveyard on your right-hand side. Ya can’t miss it. Looks just like a graveyard.”
“Thank you so much,” smiled Lily and, grabbing Robert’s hand, took off at a fast walk toward Smithwell Lane.
Frank forgot he had feet and tripped over himself.
The Hatter hung one arm out through the bars set into his cell door and grinned and waved at Tweedle in his cell across the hallway.
“So, just to be clear,” began the Hatter, “you were sent here to interrogate me?”
“Yeah so what of it?” shouted Tweedle Dum.
“No need to be rude.”
“I do apologize,” said Tweedle Dee, “he’s very upset, as you can imagine.”
“Don’t apologize! He did this to us, you snivelling wretch,” sneered Tweedle Dum.
“Keep it down back there!” shouted the Troll from somewhere down the hallway.
“What I was wondering,” said the Hatter as he traced a finger along the wood of his cell door, “was what were you hoping to find out?”
Tweedle squinted suspiciously at the Hatter and in a brief moment of clarity said, “Well, it’s unusual, isn’t it? The Dwarf getting out like that. It would take a lot of planning. You’re both smart enough to do something like this, but there’s no gain for you. And then there’s the hole in the wall. How would you or the Dwarf know where the other is, when you never leave your cells? The Tower has all the magical protection it can hold; there’s no way you should have been able to put a hole through the wall to begin with.”
“All good questions.”
“You said you were keeping a secret.”
“It’s a doozy.”
“You’re going to tell us, aren’t you?” Tweedle grinned as his sanity slipped ever so slightly.
“Well, it’s far too big to keep to myself,” said the Hatter and smiled a ghastly wide grin.
Tweedle turned away from the door and stood in the middle of his cell while his personalities conversed.
“Um, Tweedle Dum,” whispered Tweedle Dee.
“What do you want?” said Tweedle Dum.
“I think there’s a possibility we can get out of here.”
“What are you going to do, snivel and whine your way out through the bars?”
“You obviously haven’t been paying attention; you’re always too busy being angry.”
“Do you have a point to make, little brother?”
“Yes, I do, but we’re going to need to work together. Now, listen carefully.”
Rumpelstiltskin was thankful for the light rain that fell over the graveyard at Slack Top; it seemed to be making the ground softer. He had been digging for thirty minutes and was already making good headway. He looked up at the gravestone that loomed up above him. The name Elise Marie Palmer was inscribed in the stone, along with the words Loving daughter, estranged mother, possibly a witch.
When Rumpelstiltskin had first come to Elise Bastinda over fifty years ago, she had been a young girl, very confused, and very lost. She had no friends and no understanding of why strange things happened to her. She was the last Bastinda! Rumpelstiltskin spit in the grave. One of the most powerful races of witches and she was condemned here to Othaside by the Agency. Meddling fools!
Rumpelstiltskin was sad to discover from the wizard Niggle that she was now dead. Not that it mattered for his own plans, but he had wanted to meet her before having to murder her. The Dwarf was evil, but he had his principles.
What he really needed were her bones, which was why he now stood in a wet hole in a dark graveyard in Northern England.
After another fifteen minutes, the Dwarf’s shovel hit something hard, and he scraped off the mud to reveal a simple casket. His glee and excitement almost overtook him; he was so happy, so close! He cleared off the rest of the casket and, using the shovel, pried open the lid.
He experienced a range of feelings before anger rose to the top and beat the crap out of all other feelings. Things were not as he had expected.
Robert was enjoying the night air as he and Lily walked up Smithwell Lane. Frank had begun to follow them and, every so often, he could be heard swearing somewhere far behind them.
“Do you like me, Robert?” said Lily.
“W-w-well,” said Robert taken aback. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“You suppose? So you’re not certain?” she said without taking her eyes off the road ahead.
“Well, it’s been a heavy couple of days. I think you’re an amazing person, you’re beautiful and mysterious. Admittedly somewhat less mysterious after last night.”
“So it’s the werewolf, then.”
“No, the werewolf doesn’t bother me.”
“Liar,” said the voice in Robert’s head.
“Well, okay, yes, it’s the werewolf. That’s a side of you that terrifies me.”
“I see.”
They walked on in an awkward silence for several minutes that felt like several lifetimes.
“So,” said Robert, venturing carefully, “you like me?”
Lily stopped walking and turned to face Robert. “To be honest, I don’t find you physically attractive, you’re not bred from the best of stock, you’re very gangly, you don’t often say the right thing, and taking into account all the evidence, it seems like you’re going mad.”
“Oh, well…”
“I’m not finished.”
“Right, sorry.”
“I’ve never had the chance to have a proper relationship and I never will be able to. There’s no cure for what I am. What you see now is what you’d have for the rest of your life. I don’t age, I don’t change, and every time there’s a full moon I’ll probably try to kill you. It’s not a life anyone would wish for.”
Robert thought about it for a second while Lily’s beautiful amber eyes drilled a hole through his head. “I am gangly. And I don’t often say the right thing. I’ve always felt out of place until yesterday morning, and by all rights, I might be going mad. That’s not normal.”
“No, it’s not,” said the voice.
“But what you see is what you’d have for the rest of your life. I probably won’t change; if anything, I might get worse. But I know where I belong now and it’s not here in this world. It’s in Thiside. I’m a good person, Lillian Redcloak. What I’m trying to say is that I’m perfectly willing to accept your flaws if you’re willing to accept mine. Although if you’re not attracted to me in the slightest I suppose―”
Robert stopped talking as Lily had clamped her lips to his.
“Kiss back!” hissed the voice.
And so he did. It was a magnificent moment that filled Robert with the kind of joy that can only normally be felt by children on Christmas morning just before they open their presents.
Lily detached herself and smiled a whimsical smile.
“I’ll think about it.” And with that she turned and carried on walking.
Good enough for me! Robert grinned and then chased after her. “So Elise Bastinda is dead, then?”
“I’m going to assume so as we were told we’d find her in a graveyard. I doubt she’s there for the fun of it.”
“What do you think we’re going to find there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what are we going to do if the Dwarf is still there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“So we don’t really have a plan?”
“No.”
“Oh good, as long as we’re on the same page.”
It was empty! She was gone! The body of the witch wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Rumpelstiltskin scrambled out of the grave, covered in mud, and was now in the foulest of moods. He paced back and forth trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t complete the spell without the final piece. He needed the bones!
Something moved behind him and he spun around to find nothing but a few hundred gravestones staring back at him.
“Who’s there?”
A sheep trotted out from behind a nearby stone and scowled at the Dwarf. Scowling was exceptionally hard for sheep. They sometimes managed a smile, but scowling took all the wrong muscles and they didn’t have the concentration to do it very often. The average sheep could only manage maybe two, possibly three good scowls in an entire lifetime.
“Oh, it’s just you,” said the Dwarf and turned back to the grave.
Jack was leaning casually against the gravestone, looking angry. He had a large garbage bag sitting on the ground next to him.
“You!” said the Dwarf.
“Me,” said Jack.
Lightning flashed as a storm began to organize itself in the skies above Hebden Bridge.
A similar storm, albeit with more personality, raged above the Valley of Storms. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain threw itself out of the sky toward the ground with the distinct intention of making everything wet.
Inside the Tower, rain dripped down through the hallways as it always did when the rain was heavy. The rain snuffed out some of the flaming torches that illuminated the interior of the Tower and the Troll was having a hard time keeping them all lit. He slouched his way up and down the hallway holding a stick with a candle on the end and relit the lamps every time one went out.
“You’re an ugly little bastard,” shouted Tweedle Dum.
“Sharrap,” said the Troll as another lamp fizzled out.
“He doesn’t really mean it,” yelled Tweedle Dee.
The Hatter clapped his hands enthusiastically.
“What are you so happy about?” said Tweedle Dum.
“I’m just so honoured to be in the presence of the pair of you. It’s been so long since you’ve been your true self. It’s glorious to behold!”
“We don’t talk to madmen!” shouted Tweedle Dum.
“Well, he doesn’t,” said Tweedle Dee, “I’ll talk to anyone.”
“And that’s why mother liked me best!” retorted Tweedle Dum.
“That’s ridiculous and you know it.”
“That’s why she always paid more attention to me and ignored your tubby, whining ass!”
“You’re lying!” shrieked Tweedle Dee.
“Gentleman, gentleman, no need to fight,” said the Hatter soothingly.
Tweedle was doing his best to scowl at himself.
