“But I don’t—”
Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside of Indira’s room. Indira sat up, stopping mid sentence. Her father was coming. Quickly, she closed the copy of Rumplestiltskin and shoved it back into her waistband, concealing it just in time.
Bang! The door opened forcefully, crashing into the wall. Dad stood in the doorway, glowering. A ray of sun coming through her bedroom window lit up the patch of floor upon which he stood.
“I’ve come,” he said, pausing for emphasis, “so that you may beg for my forgiveness.”
“May I inquire what I have done that requires forgiveness from Your Most Royal Highness?” Indira spoke his self-assigned royal title with a large amount of sarcasm, causing Dad’s expression to grow darker.
“You’ve been reading fairytales. That is strictly forbidden in this household.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
Indira sighed dramatically. “Why is it forbidden?”
“B—because,” Dad spluttered, “it just is! Because I said so!” He waved his hands around, frustrated. Something glinted in the sunlight.
Indira stared at Dad’s hands like she’d never seen them before. Noticing her intent stare, Dad stopped throwing his arms around.
“What?” he demanded.
Hair. Lots and lots of it. Dark, thick, shaggy, nasty hair. How come she’d never noticed that before? And that thing on his finger, glinting in the sunlight. A ruby ring.
Indira narrowed her eyes, mind churning. This man—who was he, really?
Suddenly, she screamed—a very short, very high-pitched scream.
A hairy, ratlike thing dropped to the floor beside her father. Dad stood frozen, as if beneath a spell. Then he shook himself, like a dog just out of the water and dove for the rat thing—his ear!—and stuck it firmly back onto the side of his head.
Just as she’d feared. Indira ripped Rumplestiltskin from her waistband and lunged for this man she’d once called her father. Never again. She opened the book, closing it around his arm. There. That should send him hurtling back to the Black Space.
Dad snatched the book and shoved her, sending her tumbling across the room towards the bed. She fell, slamming her wrist into a bedpost.
Indira’s eyes burned, but she refused to cry. Cradling her wrist against her chest, she scrambled to her feet, leaning heavily against the bed. “I know who you are,” she said, gritting her teeth, wondering if her wrist was broken. “I know what you’ve done, and no matter what you do to me, I will never, never stop trying to send you back where you belong.” Indira’s gaze bored deep into this man—this goblin—this horrible creature.
The goblin took a step backwards. “How dare you touch me!” he shouted, angry, but Indira could see fear creeping into those wild, dangerous eyes of his. He was scared. She smiled in spite of the pain in her rapidly swelling wrist.
“Rumplestiltskin.” Indira spat the name out at him, relishing the look of horror that came over his face.
“Lies!” Rumplestiltskin roared, “Lies! You don’t know what you are talking about, child. I am your father. Tell me who gave you this book.” He stormed up in front of her, waving Rumplestiltskin beneath her nose.
“Grandfather kept it in his library, so I suppose that you could say he gave it to me.” Indira refused the urge to lower her gaze. She would not back down.
“You were expressly forbidden to read this book. It is full of lies, and look what it has done to you,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed, “Why, you really believe that I am Rumplestiltskin? Ridiculous!” Even as he tried to laugh off the whole situation as absurd, Indira could see him trying not to panic.
“Rumplestiltskin,” she spat again, “You are not my father. Grandpa told me my father was dead, and he was right. You are a yellow-bellied, black hearted, good for nothing weasel of a creature!”
“No one will believe you,” said Rumplestiltskin, eyes darting about the room. “No one believes that goblins are real.”
“So you admit it!” Indira stabbed an accusing finger at him. “You are a goblin, and a villain besides.”
“Yes,” said Rumplestiltskin, his expression changing. It was Indira’s turn to be frightened, although she hid it well.
“Yes,” said Rumplestiltskin craftily, “I am a goblin. I am surprised that you have figured that much out. You couldn’t have done it alone. Tell me who helped you.”
“I will not tell you,” Indira replied defiantly, determined to protect the dear book that had helped her see the truth.
Rumplestiltskin’s eyes darkened. “Tell me. Now.”
“No.”
Rumplestiltskin grabbed her injured wrist and squeezed. Indira cried out. “Let me go!”
Rumplestiltskin’s lips curled into a cold smile, as though it gave him pleasure to see her pain. “Tell me who helped you.” he squeezed her wrist tighter.
“It was the book!” Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. If she thought her wrist had hurt before, it was nothing compared to this.
Rumplestiltskin released her, lowering his hand. Indira sucked her breathe in sharply. “Why? Why are you so cruel?”
“Cruel?” Rumplestiltskin repeated, “Cruel? I much prefer the word encouraging. I am simply encouraging you to tell me who helped you.” He smiled again, and it was anything but encouraging. “A book? Oh, please.” Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes. “The book couldn’t have told you that much—unless it can talk,” he added sarcastically.
“Who really helped you?” Rumple reached for her wrist again.
“No!” she jerked away. “No. Please.” She hated herself for begging this way, hated being at the mercy of this wicked character. What had she done to deserve this? “When I read that story, and the descriptions of Rumplestiltskin, they matched up with you and how you act. That’s all. No one helped me.” Which was half the truth. She couldn’t tell him that the book really did talk, for who knew what he would do with it then?
“You’d have to go and put those clues together,” Rumple said. “Now I’ve got to figure out what I shall do with you,” he said disgustedly. He looked at the copy of Rumplestiltskin in his hand. Without warning, he strode over to the fire that burned merrily on the hearth. He dangled the book in the flames.
“No!” Indira cried, cringing. The fire would surely hurt the book horribly.
“Argh!” The book hollered, as flames licked its pages, catching it on fire. Rumple pulled the book from the fire, beating it to put out the fire that was devouring one of the innocent book’s pages. The book let out another yell, obviously in great pain.
“Why,” said Rumple, “if you’d just told me that this book was magical, I would not have had to thrust it in the fire to test the theory.” Rumple laughed cruelly. “This book is the reason I came to the human world in the first place. It originally belonged to Snow White’s stepmother, the Evil Queen. Like the magical mirror, it can speak.”
Indira eyed him incredulously.
“Many years ago,” he continued, “I was the Evil Queen’s lover. We were going to marry, but she was sucked into the Black Space before the wedding could take place. I took the book to remember her by. Imagine my surprise when I learned what it could do!
“When Isabelle was taken to the king’s palace and locked in that first roomful of straw, I made the book tell me how to accomplish the feat of spinning straw into gold. Turns out, it is impossible, but whisking away the straw and replacing it with gold thread is not. This book had it all cleverly planned out for me.” Rumple patted the book a bit too roughly, for the poor, blackened thing let out a yelp.
“You’re lying,” Indira accused him. “That book would never help someone so vile as you or the Evil Queen!”
“With the right kind of encouragement, you will find that most people will do anything you ask of them. The same goes for magical books.”
Indira thought of all the things one could do to a magical book in order to make it comply: you could threaten to throw it in the fire; drop it in water; tear its pages to shreds one tiny, agonizing rip at a time; pull pieces of the book’s cover off in little bits until it was in tatters—Indira shuddered. The poor book. It must be so afraid of being in Rumplestiltskin’s clutches once more.
“I see you understand what I mean by encouragement.” Rumple smiled his cold, ruthless smile.
“How did the book end up here in the human world?” Indira asked, hoping to extract more information from this heartless, though fascinating, creature. The more he talked, the more likely it was that she would learn something she could use against him.
“I had it with me when I was sucked into the Black Space. At the time, it was titled The Golden Bird or something. When I was sucked into the Black Space, I lost my grip on the book, and it somehow ended up in your Grandfather’s library, where it story-shifted itself into Rumplestiltskin. I suppose it was hoping that since you and your grandfather are Story Wardens, you would protect it from me, but you have failed. Your grandfather couldn’t even protect himself. It was too easy to trick him into trading places with me. But that’s enough chit-chat. Come along.” Rumple turned and headed for the door, magical book in hand.
“Come along where?” Indira asked suspiciously.
“This room would be too easy for you to escape from. I am going to put you in another one that is much more secure. Smaller windows, stronger locks. Now hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”
Indira didn’t budge from where she leaned against the bed. This guy wasn’t going to order her around anywhere she didn’t wish to go.
“Indira.” He’d slipped back into that poisonous voice that he loved so much. “Indira, darlin’, you are going to come right along with me, aren’t you?” he asked sweetly, “You won’t cause any trouble, will you? Because if you need a bit of encouragement, I truly don’t mind. You know how encouraging I can be.” He took a step towards her. “There’s a good girl,” Rumple said as she walked towards him. What else could she do? If she disobeyed, he would only hurt her or that dear old book that he was clutching.
Rumple grabbed her good wrist, clearly enjoying the way she flinched when he reached for her. “Come,” he said. “Let’s get you settled in your new room.”
Gripping her good wrist tightly, Rumplestiltskin pulled her along behind him.
At the opposite end of the house was a room that Rumple had claimed for his own. It was similar to the one they had just come from, but decorated in more masculine colours. Rumple led her into this room—perhaps it used to be Grandpa’s?—and over to a closet. Indira wrinkled her forehead. Surely he wasn’t going to keep her tucked away in his closet, was he?
Setting the copy of Rumplestiltskin down on a nearby table, Rumple opened the closet. At the back of it, there was a heavy wooden door. A window was cut out of it, and iron bars had been installed. A large key hung on a nail nearby. It obviously went with the door, for there was a keyhole of just the right size in it. Rumple seized the key from the hook and used it to unlock the door. He pulled the door open just wide enough to push Indira into the small room. Releasing her wrist, he shoved the door closed, extracting the key from the lock and promptly pocketing it.
“There,” he said. Indira couldn’t see him through the door, because he was too short to look in the cell window. She heard something drag across the floor and into the closet, and Rumple’s head appeared in the window. He must have gotten a stool.
“Convenient of your Grandfather to have a jail cell built into his bedroom closet. Not sure what he wanted it for, but it serves my purposes rather well, don’t you think? It’s the perfect place for you to stay while I decide what to do with you now that you know who I really am. Let’s go over the rules again, shall we?” He peered at her expectantly. “Rule number one?” he prompted.
Perhaps she should play along for now. “Always be submissive,” she said, feeling anything but that, “Making eye contact is a sign of boldness that no young lady should express.” Indira rolled her eyes, careful to make sure Rumple did not see. Making eye contact was a sign of confidence in herself that a young lady should express, if you asked her, but she kept that opinion to herself.
“Correct.” Rumple nodded his head. “Now, tell me rule number two.”
“Always address you as Your Most Royal Highness.”
“Correct. Have you been following these rules?”
“No, Your Most Royal Highness.”
“Also correct. Breaking my rules comes with consequences.” Rumple feigned a thoughtful look. “Hmm…what do you think those consequences should be?”
Indira knew he was playing with her and that he didn’t expect or want an answer, so she kept her mouth shut.
Rumple’s face brightened. “I do love playacting, and I just had the most marvellous idea. For the next few days, let’s play that I am the jailer, and you are my prisoner. I’ve yet to impersonate a real jailer, so this pretending will have to do for now. Let’s see…you have to commit a crime to be put in jail…we’ll say that you are a cleaning maid in the castle, and I caught you trying to run away. You are lucky that the lord of the castle didn’t have you put in the stocks in the town square. Instead, he ordered me to place you in his private jail as an example to his other slaves and servants.” Rumple face was animated, and he was getting very excited about the ridiculous tale he was spinning. “Yes, oh yes. This game is going to be so much fun!” Rumple’s head disappeared from the barred window, and Indira heard him leaving, closing the closet door behind him.
Indira’s wrist throbbed, reminding her that it was injured. She looked down at it. It was quite swollen, but with very little bruising. If it was broken, it would be black and blue. She remembered that from a medical book she’d read once. Thankful that her wrist seemed to be only sprained, she looked about her, hoping to see something she could use as a sling to provide some support.
This new room was a far cry from the lushly furnished one she’d been in just a few moments before. The only furnishings were a straight-backed wooden chair and an old cot. Nothing she could use for a sling.
Just then, she heard the closet door slide open, and Rumple’s face appeared again.
“I’m not completely heartless,” he said, “I’ve brought you a sling and some ice for your wrist. I didn’t really mean for that to happen when I pushed you.” He pushed the things through the bars. Then his head disappeared again, and he was gone.
You might not have meant for it to happen, Indira thought, but once it had, you sure used it to your own evil advantage. Whatever his motives, she was grateful for the sling and the ice. She set to work making good use of the things he’d brought.
***
Indira didn’t remember lying down on the cot and falling asleep, but she evidently had because she’d just awakened to Rumple’s hollering.
“Get up!” Rumple shouted, “It’s morning. Lord Kilroy hates lazy prisoners!”
Good grief. He’s actually named the imaginary lord who is employing him as an imaginary jailer? Ridiculous. This guy belongs in the loony bin, Indira thought. Better yet, he belongs permanently trapped in the Black Space.
The key clicked in the lock, and the door swung inwards. Rumple stood in the closet, and beside him was a dog. A very, very large dog. On all fours, it was nearly as tall as Rumple himself, and it looked nasty. “This,” said Rumple, “is Cuddles.” Rumple stroked the dog’s ear. Cuddles growled a warning deep in his throat. Rumple snatched his hand away, giving a nervous laugh. “Cuddles will be your personal escort. You may go in the backyard and anywhere in the house you like, except my office. If you try to go in there or anywhere outside, save for the backyard, Cuddles has orders to prevent you from doing so. There is no telling how he might choose to restrain you.” Rumplestiltskin smiled. “But if you’re a good girl, you shouldn’t have any trouble with this ferocious beast.” Rumple patted the dog tentatively on the muzzle.
Indira looked at Rumple, confused. Last night, he’d said he was going to keep her in the jail cell for a few days. Now he sounded as though he was going to let her out, with this sketchy looking dog to guard her. She eyed Cuddles nervously. “Where did you get him?”
“From a guy in town,” said Rumple cheerfully. “He said that Cuddles was too dangerous to keep around so many people. You should be fine, though. I hope. I think I’ll let you out of this room today, with Cuddles to guard you.” Rumple paused. “On second thought, never mind—I’d like to play jailer a bit longer. It’s not every day a fellow gets to make use of his own private jail cell.”
That was so like him. Bringing her hopes up, then dashing them down. He liked to keep her guessing, never sure of what he’d do next.
“I’ll go get your prisoner rations. That means breakfast, in case you didn’t know.” Rumple turned to leave.
“Your Most Royal Highness?” Maybe if she went along with him, pretending that the night in the gaol cell had transformed her back into the submissive, frightened creature she used to be, maybe then he would let her out of the cell.
“What is it?” Rumple asked, turning back. “Have you learned your lesson yet? Are you ready to behave the way I have taught you?”
“Yes, Your Most Royal Highness. I am very sorry for the way I have been acting. Perhaps we could just forget about it all and go back to the way things were?” Indira did her best to appear meek and frightened. Pretending to be afraid wasn’t hard, for she truly was.
“Ha!” Rumple laughed. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. You know too much. I am still deciding what to do with you. For now, I think I’ll keep you hidden away in my closet where you can’t cause any trouble. Now, I must really see to getting your rations.”
“Your Most Royal Highness?”
“What now?” he barked.
“I really need to use the washroom, Your Most Royal Highness.”
“Erm…I never thought of that,” Rumple grumbled. “Come on, then. Cuddles will escort you to the privy. You’d better be back in here by the time I am back from the kitchen or there will be serious consequences for you, young lady.”
“Yes, Your Most Royal Highness.”
***
Prisoner rations turned out to be bread and water. Unsurprising, really. Rumple was taking his role as jailer very seriously. At least someone was enjoying the role they had to play. Oh, how she wished their roles could be reversed!
Indira spent the day taking frequent trips to the outhouse (more than necessary, just to annoy Rumple), staring at the walls of her cell, and stewing over her failed attempt at sending Rumple back to the Black Space. It had been foolish, she realized, and it had cost her the element of surprise. It had been stupid, too. She’d obviously had the wrong book. What was it that the magical book had said?
“Your grandfather owns the copy of Rumplestiltskin that Rumple is using as his portal.”
If that was true, it must have been the wrong copy of Rumplestiltskin. Grandpa must have another copy somewhere. Indira thought hard. She didn’t recall seeing another copy of Rumplestiltskin except for the one Dad—Rumplestiltskin—had ripped from her hand ten years ago.
It all clicked. That copy was the only fairytale that Rumple kept in his office, which meant it must be the portal. Why else would it be in Rumple’s book collection? The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together.
How to get her hands on the portal book and how to force Rumple back into it were two things that still stumped her. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to think that clapping the book around his arm would do the trick. What if it wouldn’t? Once she got her hands on that book, she’d likely get only one chance to send Rumple back. If she failed, she would probably never get another chance. Rumple might lock her up forever. He seemed to enjoy playing the part of jailer.
Indira needed answers, and who better to get them from than Rumplestiltskin himself? He wouldn’t give them voluntarily, but something her eccentric old Grandpa taught her a long time ago had just come to mind. She’d gone on a walk through the garden with him once. He’d shown her all of his herbs and medicinal plants, explaining what each was for. One in particular had fascinated her.
“Veritas Ligare,” Grandpa had said, “is a very special plant, Indira. It is magical. One leaf will make you answer any questions that you are asked for five minutes after consuming it. You won’t remember anything said while under the plant’s influence. Veritas Ligare can be dangerous. It is not a plant to play with. You are too young to understand when it might be appropriate to use it, so I don’t want you touching it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandpa,” Indira had replied gravely, not sure why he was being so serious. It was just a plant, wasn’t it?
***
“Your Most Royal Highness!” Indira hollered, hoping Rumple would hear her and come to investigate.
Footsteps sounded in the room outside of her cell, and Rumple’s face soon appeared on the other side of the bars.
Indira cast her gaze to the floor, still feigning submissiveness. In order for her plan to work, Rumple needed to believe that she was truly sorry for what she had done.
“Your Most Royal Highness,” she said, “I am very sorry for all of the trouble I have caused you, and I would like to make up for it.”
“I should think you would,” said Rumple agreeably.
“Yes, Your Royal Highness. I should very much like to make up for my misbehaviour. I have a suggestion to make that I think you will quite like. It would make your playacting ever so much more fun.”
“Oh?” asked Rumple, intrigued.
“I wish to play the part of the repentant maidservant making afternoon tea for Lord Kilroy as a sign of my repentance. You, of course, would play the part of Lord Kilroy. Will you allow me to do this small thing for you, Your Most Royal Highness?” Please say yes, Indira begged silently. If I can get some of that Veritas Ligare into your tea, I can get answers.
“Brilliant!” Rumple cried. “Only, I have an even more splendid idea. If you were really imprisoned in Lord Kilroy’s dungeon, he would force you to work harder after your release. Not only will you make me tea, I shall fire the current cook, and you shall take her place. I am tired of paying the old woman to serve me half-burnt food. Surely you couldn’t cook any worse than her. One moment. I shall go fire the cook, and then we shall begin our playacting!”
This whole thing was escalating much more than Indira had expected. She should have anticipated that Rumple would expand it dramatically. Suggesting more playacting may not have been so wise, but it was too late to turn back now. Besides, if things went according to plan, she wouldn’t be in that kitchen very long at all.
***
“Up with you, insubordinate maidservant,” Rumple demanded, slipping into the role of nasty jailer. “Lord Kilroy has demanded that you cook from him from now on. You are fortunate he isn’t sending you to work alongside the field slaves.” Rumple swung the cell door open, beckoning for Indira to follow him. He and the huge dog, Cuddles, fell in step on either side of her, escorting her to the kitchen.
“Lord Kilroy will soon be awaiting his tea in the Great Hall. If you try to run away, this minacious beast may not leave you in one piece.” Rumple gestured at Cuddles, who stood at attention, all of his focus trained on Indira. “I must go attend to my other prisoners,” Rumple declared, exiting the kitchen.
Indira eyed Cuddles nervously, wondering what minacious meant and why such a supposedly dangerous mutt was named Cuddles. Was that someone’s misguided idea of a joke? Tentatively, she held out her good hand. “Here, Cuddles. C’mere, boy. I won’t hurt you.” To her surprise, Cuddles obediently came over to sniff her hand. She stroked his muzzle with one finger, and he leaned into it. Then he dropped onto the floor and rolled over to expose his belly. His big brown eyes watched her expectantly. She got down on her knees and began rubbing his belly. “You’re not so nasty after all, are you buddy?” she crooned, smiling. Cuddles’ tongue hung out, and he panted happily, pleased to have made a new friend.
After a minute, Indira rose to her feet. “Alright, Cuddles. It’s time to go out to the herb garden. We need to find some things to make into a tea.” She went out a door that led into the kitchen garden, Cuddles close on her heels.
The herb beds were wild and unkempt, having been left to themselves for ten long years. Some of the herbs and medicinal plants had been choked out of existence by weeds, but others had gone rampant, taking over entire beds. Indira found a bed of chamomile flowers and picked a handful of them. They would do nicely for tea. Now all she needed was Veritas Ligare. Worried that it might have died off long ago, she went to the farthest bed in the garden, where she remembered it being. Gently, she brushed away the long trailing vines coming from a weeping willow Grandpa had planted nearby. Its branches fell like a veil around the bed. When she brushed them out of the way, all she saw were weeds. Then, she spotted an unusual leaf poking through the tall grass that had taken over the bed.
The leaf was pale, struggling to survive in all of that grass, but it still had that otherworldly shimmer to it that Indira remembered so vividly. ‘It is magical…’ She hadn’t believed that at the time, but now? Now she wasn’t so sure. She plucked the leaf, hoping Grandpa would approve of the way she was using it.
***
Mixing up biscuits with one hand had proved to be tricky, but she’d managed. The biscuits were done now, toasty golden on the bottom. She loaded them onto a fancy plate and tossed one to Cuddles. He gulped it down and then plopped onto his butt, watching her with hopeful eyes. Indira smiled. “That’s all you get, buddy,” she said, setting the plate of biscuits on a cart alongside the teapot filled with Chamomile Tea à la Veritas Ligare. She added a teacup and saucer, milk, a sugar bowl and silver spoon, butter, and strawberry jam onto the cart. She wheeled it out to the dining room, or the ‘Great Hall,’ as Rumple called it. Cuddles followed just behind, no doubt hoping she would drop another biscuit.
Rumple was seated at the head of the grand old table. “It’s about time my tea arrived!” he said in what he must have imagined was a majestic, booming voice.
“I am sorry for the delay, Lord Kilroy.” Indira curtsied, determined to play her part well. “I will ready your tea more quickly on the morrow.” She moved the tea items off of the cart and onto the table. She picked up the teapot and poured his tea. Then she started arranging the food items on the table just so, lining them all up neatly, hoping that Rumple would taste his tea so that she could begin quizzing him. How fast-acting was the Veritas Ligare plant, anyway?
“Go on,” said Rumple, waving his hand impatiently. “You are upsetting my delicate appetite with all of your fidgeting. Go on back to the kitchen. I will call you if I want anything.”
“Yes, m’lord. As you wish.” Indira curtsied and hurried out of the room. She stopped just out of sight and counted to sixty.
Finished counting, Indira crossed her fingers. Surely by this time, Rumple had tasted his tea. She took a deep breath and entered the Great Hall. She boldly approached her ‘lord’.
“Anything else I may get for you, Lord Kilroy?” Indira asked, darting a quick glance at his teacup. It was half empty. Perfect.
“No, no,” said Rumple, waving his hand. He seemed strangely relaxed, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Quite the opposite from the intense, uptight way he typically carried himself.
“My lord?”
“Hmm?” Rumple asked, his mouth full of biscuit.
“I’ve been wondering why, if you originally came to the human world to retrieve the Evil Queen’s book, you didn’t return immediately to the place you came from once that deed was accomplished.”
Indira’s heart thumped. She really hoped that the Veritas Ligare was working.
Rumple took a swig of his tea, washing the biscuit down. “That’s a doozy of a story. You sure you wish to hear it, servant girl?”
“If I may, m’lord.”
That short sentence was all it took to open Rumplestiltskin’s mouth. “When I assisted the miller’s daughter, Isabelle, in outwitting the king that third time, she promised me her firstborn. She and the prince became proud parents not long after their marriage. But when I showed up to collect the baby girl, Isabelle broke down and wept. Believe it or not, I have a soft spot for the princess. Curse that softness. It caused me to lose the babe. I’ve always wanted a girl child of my own. So when I fooled your grandfather into changing places with me and discovered that you existed, I found my chance to finally have my own daughter, free and clear.”
Indira’s mind spun. Rumplestiltskin sounded like he really had cared for Isabelle in his own strange way. He was a twisted, evil man, that was certain. But it seemed that there was a small, strange affection for the fairytale princess buried somewhere deep in his black old heart.
“Free and clear?” Indira forced her voice to remain calm and even. “You call stealing a girl from her Grandpa getting a daughter free and clear? And what do you mean you fooled my grandfather into switching places with you?”
“There was this Voice in the Black Space that told me I would be able to stay in the human world for just five minutes, unless I could get a human to switch places with me. ‘How do I do that?’ I asked the Voice.
“‘Take something valuable from the first human you meet. It must be something very special to the human, and something that can fit in the book that you will pop out of into the human world. Close the thing inside your portal book, and it will suck the human in after it.’
“That didn’t seem like too hard of a task for a clever goblin like me, so I took the route I had discovered out of the Black Space, and it delivered me to your Grandfather’s library. I made up some reason as to why I was in his house and struck up a conversation, the five minutes ticking away quickly. Your grandpa had on a dainty golden watch that looked more like one that a woman would wear, rather than a man. I smelled a story behind that watch, and I was right. Sure enough, there was.”
Hurry up, Indira urged silently. I only have five minutes to hear this story! Her heart beat quickly, ticking down the seconds.
“That watch used to belong to your grandma,” Rumple continued. “I got the whole story of how your grandma had passed away many years earlier, and how this had been her favourite watch, so your grandpa wore it to remind him of her. That watch was perfect for my purposes. Small, and very important to the first human I encountered. I snatched it from your grandpa and thrust it into the book. Kerbang! Just like that, I was alone in the library. Your grandfather was nowhere to be seen. Then you showed up in the library, hunting for your Grandpa. Life got a lot more complicated from there. You asked where your Grandpa had gone, and I—”
The effects of the Veritas Ligare would only last so long, so Indira cut him off, asking another question. “Can you be sent back to the Black Space using the same method you used on Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
This was too simple. Like extracting information from an innocent child. “What is something extremely special to you that would pull you back into the Black Space?”
“That’s easy,” said Rumple, “I’ve got a ring on my finger that used to belong to Isa—hey, wait a minute!” Rumple’s voice sharpened. “You tricked me!” Rumple stood, his chair crashing to the floor behind him.
To be continued Monday, July 22, 2024...