Andrew Buckley - Stiltskin

Robert, Lily, and the Gnomes had been waiting for almost thirty minutes. The Gnomes were carefully eyeing the Pixies, who continued to line the castle walls and chatter and giggle amongst themselves while pointing at the visitors. Lily hadn’t stopped moving since the Pixie had left. She stalked back and forth in front of the door, alternating between glancing at the door and up at the setting sun. Incidentally, the sun was feeling adventurous and was attempting a triple salchow, which most considered impossible without ice skates, but the sun could not be deterred.

Robert slouched against the castle wall, preparing himself for the monster that Lily had described the Historian to be. A werewolf, of all things! He vaguely remembered the tale of the Beast of Gévaudan from Ms Windle’s History class. It was one of the few things any adolescent British schoolboy would remember, as it involved a mysterious creature that was never caught plus the violent murder of many French people. He began to wonder how many other crossovers there had been that simply melted into Othaside’s history books.

“Lily?”

“Yes, Robert,” said Lily, still stalking back and forth.

“Are the authorities in Othaside aware of the existence of Thiside?”

Gnick raised an eyebrow and leaned over to Gnarly. “That was almost a smart question.”

Gnarly nodded in agreement.

Lily stopped stalking. “They used to be,” she said thoughtfully. “I imagine that somewhere in Othaside, some sort of government agency is aware of us. When the Agency was first established, it decided that we should reveal ourselves to the authorities of Othaside. With so many of our geographical locations coinciding with areas of England or Europe, we first spoke with the Director of the British Secret Service. As you can imagine, he was sceptical. The liaison finally had to bring the Director across to Thiside to make him believe.”

“And what happened?”

“He took one look at the White Rabbit and lost control of his mental faculties. After that, it was decided that it was best just to pretend none of it ever happened. I’m sure he reported it somewhere and it’s filed away in an obscure filing cabinet in a forgotten basement.”

“Are there many crossovers from Thiside to Othaside?”

“Not really; we police both sides. It’s easier and more common for an Othasider to trip into Thiside. With the requirement for a passport to go from here to there it’s rare that someone gets across whom we don’t know about.”

Robert wondered who was at the head of the Agency but before he had a chance to ask, the Pixie returned.

“Soz ta keep ya waiting.”

“No, you’re not,” said Gnick.

“No is not,” agreed the Pixie. “Istorian wills see ya now.”

The Pixie waved an oversized hand toward the large wooden door, which slowly creaked open to reveal an overgrown and cracked courtyard, steeped in shadows and hovering Pixies.

Lily walked through the door, followed by Robert. As the Gnomes approached the archway, the Pixie buzzed in front of them and waved a stubby finger.

“Ah, ah, ahhh, no Gnomesez. Youz stay ere.”

General Gnarly waved his hand and produced a dagger from nowhere, causing the Pixies within the courtyard to hiss.

“It’s okay, General,” said Lily, “we won’t be long. And if we’re not out before sunset, feel free to kill the Pixies and storm the castle.”

General Gnarly smiled a half-smile and bowed slightly before hiding his dagger back in his sleeve. The door creaked closed and Lily continued walking. The Pixies, and there must have been at least two hundred, hovered out of the way to allow them through. Robert wondered how they could tell each other apart, as they all looked the same.

The courtyard looked like it used to circle the entire castle but as parts of the castle and wall had fallen to ruin. It was now blocked on either side and overgrown with grass and climbing ivy.

Two large, wooden, double doors rose up before them nestled into the dark stone of the castle wall. As they came closer, several Pixies flew against the door and with great difficulty pushed it open. It was dark within, but Lily walked with purpose as if she could see just fine. Robert stumbled with less purpose and not an ounce of grace, as he couldn’t see anything. There were slits cut into the rock wall high above them but the sun was no longer at the right angle to allow the light to enter.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out a large stone room with no doors and a long, stone staircase that went down. The only reason he could make out that the staircase went down was because a light was slowly making its way up the steps. The silhouette holding the light was short but stocky, walked with a slight limp, and grunted every third step.

The figure held a candlestick, and as he reached the top of the stairs, Robert could see that he was a lot bigger than originally thought. His limp and stooped frame made him look small but Robert could clearly see that the Historian was not a small person, although it seemed as if his nine hundred years were taking their toll.

The man stopped short of Lily and Robert, raised his candlestick, and squinted at them.

“Hello, Lillian,” he said in a gruff voice that sounded harsh and cold. His face was hard and chiselled, with shaggy grey stubble that was separated down one side of his face by a long scar that ran from his temple to beneath his chin. One eye was white with cataracts, while the other eye was bright amber.

“Hello, Bzou,” said Lily.

Robert noted that she seemed tense all over. If she had hackles, they’d be up.

“I never thought I’d see you again. It’s been a very long time. You’ve grown some,” said the Historian.

“I didn’t want to come.”

The Historian barked a laugh. “I’ll bet you didn’t. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Robert. He’s an Othasider and he’s helping with an investigation.”

Robert opened his mouth to say hi but other than a quick once-over, the Historian continued speaking to Lily.

“And why did you come here? I know it must have been difficult, so it must be important.”

“We need access to any records you have pertaining to the Dwarf, Rumpelstiltskin.”

The Historian looked hard at Lily.

“Come with me.” The old man turned and started to head back down the stairs.

Lily reached out for Robert’s hand and led him down the stairs. Robert was taken aback by the contact and thought maybe she was just assuming it was too dark for him, but her grip was so tight that he knew she was actually looking to him for support. This worried Robert for several different reasons as, for one, he wasn’t very good at supporting people, even himself, and two, his feelings for Lily seemed to be on a yo-yo depending on her mood. She was weird and quirky, mysterious and beautiful, ridiculously strong…

“Beautiful,” added the voice in Robert’s head.

Got that already.

“Oh, sorry, wasn’t fully listening,” said the voice.

Over the last twenty-four hours, he’d definitely developed a feeling for her, maybe multiple feelings. But he’d felt extremely let down when she hadn’t believed him about the cat and then again when she and Gnarly had been speaking behind his back in the forest.

His thought process jarred when they reached the bottom of the staircase, which he now realized had been very long. They must be quite a ways beneath the surface, which made sense if, as Lily said, the archives stretched back into the mountain.

The staircase opened out into a long hallway that led to a doorway at the far end. A bright light shone from the door and from the flickering, Robert assumed that the room was lit by firelight. The farther they walked, the harder Lily gripped his hand. He began wondering how long before he lost feeling in his fingers.