Andrew Buckley - Stiltskin

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.”