Stiltskin (Andrew Buckley) (31 page)

Within the column of flame, Robert could see a pair of large dark eyes filled with flame and a wide mouth with lots of jagged teeth and…

“Oh,” said the wizard and snapped his fingers again. The wind died down and the column of blue flame winked out. “Sorry, that wasn’t the right spell.”

“What the hell was that?” asked Robert.

“Truthfully, I’m not actually s-sure. L-l-l-looked angry, though, didn’t it? Here we go,” said Niggle, who raised his left hand and snapped his fingers.

Robert shielded his face. When he dared look, there was no wind, no blue flame, no scary creature. Just the usual strange distortion in the air that marked the doorway. It floated just above the circle that Niggle had drawn.

“Quickly n-now!”

Lily grabbed Robert’s hand and pulled him into the circle and through the doorway. The door winked out of existence.

obert noticed there was a difference travelling between Thiside and Othaside as opposed to just travelling in Thiside. The feeling was worse. It felt like someone had grabbed his toes from the interior and pulled him inside out. Every nerve ending tingled uncomfortably. He looked around. They were at a bus stop.

“Where are we?” asked Robert.

“Judging by that big sign over there, it looks like we’re outside Burnley.”

Robert looked over to see a large sign that said,
You Are Now Leaving Burnley
.

The bus stop was located on a small country road in the middle of nowhere. Rock walls and large fields shrouded in thick mist could be seen in all directions. It always shocked Robert that no matter where a bus stop was located in England, some bastard always managed to graffiti it. All the fields were empty except one that held six depressed-looking sheep. Of course, anyone would be depressed if they were forced to stand in soggy grass for hours on end.

“So this is Yorkshire?” asked Robert.

“Western Yorkshire, actually. According to the wizard, Elise Bastinda is located in Hebden Bridge. It’s about an hour’s walk in that direction,” said Lily, pointing away from the setting sun. She set off walking.

“Wasn’t it morning when we left Thiside?” asked Robert, walking quickly to catch up.

“The two realities don’t operate on the exact same time frame. It constantly fluctuates.”

“And what about the doors? How come I’ve never seen a door in Othaside?”

“The same reason rain didn’t touch me here when we first met. This reality doesn’t believe in me, or us, or the doors, or anything else from Thiside. People don’t see the doors because they don’t believe they exist. Sometimes they see them out of their peripheral vision, but as soon as they look directly at it, they can’t see it.”

“Surely people have gone through them before. Don’t they end up somewhere else in this reality?”

“No. The doors don’t work the same way here. Go in one side and you’ll come out the other.”

“Everyone knows that,” said the voice in Robert’s head.

“Oh, you’re still here,” said Robert with a hint of happiness.

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” said Lily.

“Sorry, it’s become a hard habit to break.”

The mist felt heavy and allowed for only limited visibility. Like any old country road, there was no traffic, and even if there was traffic, the road was only wide enough to accommodate one car. Robert was home. And yet, he felt as far from home as anyone could possibly feel. He’d always felt a disconnect with this world, but in Thiside everything felt normal. Or as normal as could be expected.

“Why do you think Rumpelstiltskin wants to break down the doors anyway, so to speak?” asked Robert.

“I don’t know. To cause chaos, to end life as we know it, just for something to do on a boring Sunday afternoon? Who knows?”

Robert looked sideways at Lily. Her profile was beautiful, her features were more than pleasant, she bounced in all the right places, and her eyes always looked alive. Of course, she was less desirable when she was a large, hairy, carnivorous beast.

“Lily, what happens when all this is over? To me, I mean, what will happen to me?”

“I don’t know, Robert,” said Lily and there was a hint of sadness in there somewhere. “It’s not for me to decide.”

Rain began to fall through the mist and the sky grew dark. Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance. As they crested an especially steep part of the road, the lights from the village of Hebden Bridge illuminated the mist in the distance.

“There it is,” said Lily. “Let’s hope we’re not too late.”

Agent Tweedle had stopped sobbing and was now trying to reason with the Troll, who was promptly ignoring him. Tweedle had been placed into the cell across from the Mad Hatter, and he now stood on a makeshift pile of bedding, straw and some sort of small dead rodent so he could see through the barred window in his cell door.

“Come on, Troll,” he said, “I just had a slight emotional…”

“Breakdown!” shouted the Hatter from his cell.

Tweedle couldn’t see the Hatter but the mad man wasn’t helping in any way.

“I was going to say
moment
. A slight emotional moment.”

“Looked like a mental breakdown to me and you have to admit, I’d know.”

Tweedle’s voice no longer held the same confidence and authority it had less than an hour ago. He was no longer himself. The Hatter had undone it all. For years, he’d convinced people of his sanity while all the time hiding his insanity deep, deep down. His split personalities had stood in a united front, showing everyone that he was, physically and mentally, a well-rounded member of society. But now that he was exposed, the personalities didn’t want to get along. Tweedle Dee wanted to stay in the cell but Tweedle Dum wanted out into the world. Tweedle Dee didn’t want to touch the dead rodent creature in his cell but Tweedle Dum wanted to do nasty things to it and then eat it. Tweedle Dee wanted to talk nicely to the Troll but Tweedle Dum wanted to tear its limbs off. The years of maintaining balance between his personalities were lost.

“Look, Troll, I am still an Agent and I order you to let me out, plus, it’d be the nice thing to do,” said Tweedle Dee and smiled through the bars.

“Or alternatively, you could come close enough and I’ll be happy to rip your spleen out through your nose!” said Tweedle Dum.

“Oh, don’t be like that, you silly little man,” said Tweedle Dee.

“Blow it out your ass!” said Tweedle Dum.

The Hatter’s pale face appeared in his own barred window.

“Gentleman, if you’re making a case for insanity, I think you’re doing a damn fine job, and I applaud you.” And then he applauded them.

“There really is nothing creepier than an English graveyard,” said Rumpelstiltskin to no one. It was over fifty years since he’d been here in Hebden Bridge, when the Agency had caught up with him and thrown him in the Tower to rot for all eternity. The night had grown dark quickly and the mist was so dense that the Dwarf was having trouble finding what he was looking for. He was so close to finishing what he started, so close to breaking down the doors that separated the two worlds. And then he’d have some fun! The Agency would be too busy herding people like sheep…

Smash!

“Bloody hell!” shouted the Dwarf. The shovel and flashlight he’d been carrying skittered off across a gravestone. He looked back to see what he’d tripped over and found a small sheep staring back at him.

“Ba-a-a-a!” said the sheep.

“Something you can say about Thiside, at least there’s no damn sheep.” He retrieved his flashlight to find the glass had cracked and the device wouldn’t turn on. He picked up his shovel and turned to take his anger out on the sheep, but it had already run off. He made a guttural sort of shout and kicked at a stone vase that was apparently permanently attached to the gravestone upon which it sat. The Dwarf yelped in pain and swore so colourfully as to make a rainbow blush. He grabbed the shovel and stomped through the graveyard, checking the names on gravestones as he went.