Andrew Buckley - Stiltskin

“And the… er… sex?”

“It’s a trait of their species to be sex obsessed. They’re rarely a problem, as they always travel in pairs. It’s rare to find a Jubjub bird that travels alone, and frankly, you don’t want to meet one.”

“Why not?”

“Because if they can’t find another Jubjub bird to mate with they’ll try and mate with pretty much anything.”

“I used to have a friend at school who was very much like that,” said Robert.

Lily laughed a shrill laugh. “I think most of the male gender, no matter what their species, are very much like that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say all of us are that way.”

“Oh yes, all of you.”

“Well, then.”

“In fact, if the male species all got together, I mean all of you in one place, I bet the IQ level would probably jump over fifty.”

“I don’t think there’s any need for―”

“Although that much testosterone in one place would probably cause some sort of ecological explosion.”

“So, who’s this Historian we’re going to see?” said Robert.

Lily threw him a dirty look. “He’s a record keeper. In the same way that the Rabbit was appointed to be the Regulator, the Wolf was appointed Historian.”

“He’s a wolf?”

“Mostly wolf. He served many years in the Tower before he was deemed too old and decrepit to be a threat any longer, and due to several hundred years of good behaviour and an interest in the histories, he was appointed to be a record keeper; the Historian.”

“What’s the Tower?”

“It’s the prison, you moron!” said General Gnarly.

Robert looked back to see the Gnomes had caught up and were only a few steps behind. He ignored the two little men.

“And how is the Historian going to help us?”

“Rumpelstiltskin escaped from the Tower last night. Since then, the only notable things he’s done are visit you and break into the Exchange. We need to find out what he was doing before he was sentenced to the Tower.”

Robert had been meandering around the intricacies of conversation in the fond hope of asking Lily where she fit into this world, and he felt the pathway of revelation opening up ahead of him.

“Lily,” began Robert.

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“No.”

It appeared to Robert that a tall tree had fallen onto the pathway of revelation, blocking his approach, and he found that he was completely lacking a chainsaw and would have to find a way to meander around it. Unfortunately, meandering wasn’t really Robert’s strong point. In fact, now he thought about it, he really didn’t have any strong points.

The bleeding had almost stopped but Rumpelstiltskin still felt lightheaded. He had expected that it would be difficult to get what he wanted from the White Rabbit, which was why attacking him directly seemed to be the better option rather than trying to convince the annoying beast verbally that he should simply give up his blood voluntarily. What he didn’t consider were the obvious dangers of attacking a three-hundred-pound giant rabbit. Despite the Regulator being a pompous, over-articulate ass, he could also pack a hell of a punch.

When he had attacked, the Rabbit had moved with the distinct speed of, well, a rabbit. What Rumpelstiltskin had thought to be a stealthy attack had turned into a fight to keep the Rabbit’s claws from getting close enough to rearrange his insides. It’d been more luck than anything that had allowed the Dwarf to leave with only a minor head wound and a limp.

The blood-soaked cloth he’d used to clean his knife was safely tucked away in his pocket. His only regret was leaving the knife behind; it was well balanced, freshly sharpened, and if Rumpelstiltskin appreciated anything, it was a well-balanced, sharp knife. His desire to continue his plan had been thwarted for the last half an hour as he searched in vain for a weapon. The Agency wouldn’t be too far behind and even the White Rabbit might seek retribution. It wouldn’t be long before he was in the City of Oz and he’d feel a whole lot safer if he had a good knife with which to defend himself or, alternatively, murder without remorse. The Dwarf giggled at the thought.

He’d followed the Eastern Yellow Brick Road, which was overgrown and broken to the point of being all but invisible. He’d passed through Miller’s Forest without encountering any inhabitants or travellers. Most forest dwellers were nocturnal, and the sun was only now beginning its dramatic dive toward the horizon.

The sun completed this complex manoeuvre every day and had done so since the beginning of time. In Othaside, the sun rose and set in a continuous arc that rarely changed. In Thiside, the sun had a creative sense of purpose that sometimes gave it the inclination not only to rise and set but to rise and set with a style and panache that would make a French Olympic figure skater blush. On this particular day, the sun planned to complete a complex triple axel jump with a twist before sinking below the horizon.

Rumpelstiltskin now stood on the edge of Miller’s Forest which opened out onto a steep rocky hill that led down to a small settlement a hundred yards below. The settlement contained four large houses with thatched roofs built around a ten-foot wooden statue. The statue was a female figure with long, flowing hair made out of braided straw. The statue’s hair flowed down to the ground and spread out in all directions.

A shrill scream echoed in the back of the Dwarf’s mind; a memory of his time in the Tower, and one inmate in particular crept to the forefront. The witch, Rapunzel, had been locked in the Tower for several thousand years. Even as a prisoner, he’d heard rumours of an uprising of followers who believed Rapunzel was some sort of wrongfully imprisoned goddess. They worshipped her, believed her hair to be magical, longed for her release, and had petitioned to the courts of Oz several hundred times for them to do just that. After the appeal was turned down for the six hundred and thirty-second, time the followers disbanded to create settlements to help grow their numbers until such time as they had enough manpower to storm the Tower and release their deity. The only drawback was that most normal people believed that the followers were insane and the concept of following a witch that was responsible for killing hundreds was a little on the strange side. As a result, their numbers grew slowly.

Smoke rose slowly from all four stone chimneys in the settlement, suggesting that occupants were more than likely inside. Rumpelstiltskin wanted to avoid confrontation but had no desire to continue his journey without some sort of weapon. His answer lay beneath him, at the bottom of the rocky hill. As the sun completed its triple axel, its rays glinted off the metal of a hatchet stuck in a stump used as a platform for splitting wood.

Perfect! The Dwarf began to look for safe passage down the hill. The last thing he wanted to do was get any more beat up or bloodied before the day was done.

No sooner had he finished the thought than a fiery something flew like a bullet out of Miller’s Forest and slammed into the back of the Dwarf. The little man was not simply pushed over the edge, but was rather flung without the slightest bit of grace. The jagged rocks of the steep hill were horribly inconvenienced in the course of their stony lives as a surprised and enraged Dwarf bounced across them.

Rumpelstiltskin landed in an uncomfortable heap at the bottom of the hill, his clothes shredded, blood seeping from various gashes, and although he wasn’t a doctor, he was pretty certain that several of his ribs were broken. He rolled himself onto his back and began scanning the skies for whatever it was that had struck him from behind. The darkening sky revealed nothing out of the ordinary. At the moment, this was perfectly fine as he was quite content to just lie still and bleed quietly. He felt coldness seep into his bones and the fear of losing consciousness edged into his mind.