The tip of the sun could still be seen peeking over the tip of the Western mountains. Without any provocation whatsoever, the sun dropped beneath the mountain and darkness flooded the land. The sun kept to common rules of rising and setting in that it rose in the East and set in the West. But outside of that, it did whatever it damn well pleased. The moon shared this attitude of indifference and didn’t feel it needed to adhere to any such simplistic rules such as the so-called lunar cycle. The moon came out whenever it pleased. As if shot out of a cannon, the moon rose from behind the mountains and attached itself firmly in the sky over the mountains, throwing moonlight across the fields and against the castle walls of the Archives.
The Pixies all froze in unison and General Gnarly was on his feet.
“No!”
“Eh?” said Gnick.
“The moon’s full. There was no indication of a full moon tonight.”
The moon, although ignoring astrological law, usually appeared on the first night of its chosen lunar cycle as a crescent moon. The moon, being nonsensical and feeling in a smug sort of mood, had chosen to appear in the sky only once this lunar cycle and that appearance would be in its full glowing glory. Tomorrow, it might change its mind.
“Did we bring any rope?” asked Gnarly.
“Of course,” said Gnick, “why?”
“Because we’re going to need it.”
Gnick began to pull thin strands of rope from somewhere in his trousers. General Gnarly turned to look up at the castle to see that the Pixies now lined the castle walls. They were no longer watching the Gnomes. They were now watching expectantly, their gaze focused upon the courtyard inside the castle wall.
The entity who now knew himself to be the Cat, who was once again incorporeal, was shocked at how weak he’d become. Floating through what could only be the nether regions of space and time, due to his surroundings being warm and squishy, he now maintained only a small strand of connection to the world. He’d appeared as a kitten and had funnelled his entire being into the creature to the point where he almost felt whole again, but it seemed that he could not anchor himself to the world he once occupied. There just wasn’t enough magic left there anymore to sustain his arrival. So for the moment, he dedicated himself to doing what he had done for centuries and simply floated lost in his own thoughts and occasionally plucked on the single strand that held him to the world of Thiside. Mainly because he liked the twangy sound it made.
The Historian quickly flipped through the pages, stopping every now and then to read.
“Hmm,” said the Historian, and then, “harrumph.”
The firelight danced shadows across the wall. The Pixie had long since vanished from the room after fetching the Historian an ancient map of Thiside. Lily and Robert stood on the opposite side of the table from the old man.
Robert was taking the time to reflect on everything that had happened today, from the cat disappearing, the fight in the forest, the voice in his head, the revelation that he’d not only met a werewolf but had been travelling with one for the last day and a half. The same question still kept nagging at him: Why me? He was afraid he knew the answer. He must have been born here and crossed over at some point. And from the hushed conversations he’d heard today, his father was here. Maybe his mother, too. But why had they given him up?
“All right, I think I have it all together now,” said the Historian, looking up from the book.
“So what was Rumpelstiltskin doing before he was caught?” asked Lily.
The Historian paused, shook his head a little as if something was buzzing inside his head. He looked toward the ceiling for a moment. A broad grin cracked his old face and he looked back to Robert and Lily.
“Sorry,” said the Historian, “dizzy spell.” He flipped back through a few of the pages. “It’s strange that you, Lily, as an Agent don’t already know this as he was caught and transported to the Tower the same day. Although Jack is possibly the worst Agent I’ve ever encountered for his record keeping, he did file the report and eventually it ended up here.”
“Jack was the Agent who caught him?”
“No, but he was his interrogator at the Tower. Like I said, strange that you didn’t know that.”
“This was fifty years ago; I was on sabbatical.”
“Ah yes, your voyage across the seas. I recall hearing about it. Strange, though, that he’d send you here to find out what he himself already knew, as it was he that filled out the report.”
“But what about the Dwarf?” asked Robert, who was growing more and more anxious to get out of the Archives. Something didn’t feel right, and he had a severe dislike of the Historian. He’d been waiting for the voice in his head to say something but it had been quiet since the werewolf revelation.
“The Dwarf known as Rumpelstiltskin is not like a normal Dwarf. He’s a wish granter.”
“Like a genie?”
“Robert…” said Lily.
“I know, I know, there’s no such thing as genies.”
The Historian shook his head. “Similar concept as a genie, but there are no limitations to wish granters. They can grant or deny any wish that’s made in their presence, so it always pays to watch what you say.”
“We already know this,” said Lily.
“I didn’t know,” said Robert.
“Regardless,” said the Historian, “his power is relevant. Jack’s interrogation notes are sparse, at best, but they do indicate that Rumpelstiltskin was trading wishes for different objects of varying value before he was caught. What’s interesting is that wasn’t the reason he was arrested. He was arrested for attempted murder in Othaside.”
“How did he obtain the passport to get through to Othaside?”
“The notes say he threatened a farmer who wished him to see a particular person, the one he tried to murder, in Othaside.”
“Who was the victim?”
“Her name was Elise Marie Palmer.”
“What was so special about Ms Palmer?” asked Lily.
“Her birth name was Elise Bastinda.”
“Oh,” said Lily.
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“Can you two just pretend I’m actually here in the room and know nothing about what’s going on?” asked Robert.
Lily sighed. “The Bastindas were a family of witches. Evil witches. The main members of the Bastinda family were wiped out during the Munchkin Wars almost three hundred years ago, but it was rumoured that a few escaped and were granted asylum by the Wizards’ Council, although they continued to be hated for their past transgressions.”
The Historian lifted a separate piece of paper and squinted at the scrawled lettering. “The records here show that Elise’s mother died during childbirth, leaving Elise as the last living Bastinda. They changed her name and sent her to Othaside to give her a chance at a normal life and to get rid of the last of the Bastindas.”
“Why would Rumpelstiltskin need the last living Bastinda?” thought Lily out loud.
“The list of objects he was acquiring…,” said the Historian.
“Yes?”
“Well, they’re strange to begin with: horn of a bolgroc, scale of a dragon, urine of a dying Munchkin; it goes on and on. It seems like he was going to perform a ritual.”
“Or a spell,” said Lily, “but he’s not a wizard; I wouldn’t imagine he’d know where to start.”