Chapter 1
The imp despised Nottingham – both the city and its Sheriff – and, worse still, he didn't care that Sir Guy knew it. They were nothing to him, a technicality of proximity pushed aside and easily forgotten, until everything began to fester and swell. Now, faced with an oozing pustule ready to burst, the Dark One stood ready to lance them.
The largest settlement in Sherwood Forest passed under the shadow of the Dark One as an unfortunate side-effect of the deal that bought him King Richard's Summer Castle – the Dark Castle, they called it now. The smattering of villages in the Sherwood operated well enough with or without the Dark One looming over them, but Nottingham… Nottingham required administration, law, and justice - a steady head to wear the crown.
Some looked to the Dark One himself to fulfill the tasks of their errant monarch, and that only exacerbated things further. The Church hated the Dark One, the Dark One hated the people, half the people wanted to seat Rumplestiltskin on the throne – Sir Guy included, if only to drive out the Blue Brothers – and the other half railed that he was a phony king. Between their taxes and tithes, many people had been reduced to living in the streets – and more refugees poured in every day.
Trouble was the only thing Sherwood had in plenty these days, but the Dark One didn't care to hear about the impenetrable complexity of it all. He only wanted the thief responsible for stealing a parcel intended for the Dark Castle.
The corner of the imp's eye twitched, and the beginnings of a frown etched itself in his mottled skin. "Explain to me again, dearie, how the thief escaped you and your men?"
"Sherwood Forest is too thick, my Lord," the Sheriff groaned, "and the men are frightened. Every day, more leave the City Watch and take up the Blues - everyone knows that the Crusaders guarantee room and board in addition to the coin they pay. Between my green men, your Dark Castle, the Infinite Forest, and the Forbidden Mountain, it's a wonder I can get them out of the city at all – never mind onto the Castle Road. What chance would a city lad have lost in that country?"
"Then how do you propose to recover my property?" asked the Dark One, his tone gone from child-like exuberance to deadly sobriety in the space of a moment.
Sir Guy swallowed back bile as his fingers ghosted over the comfortable edge of the flask concealed at his hip. A drink would help bolster his nerves, if he survived this encounter, and then – somehow – it would be alright again. When he made no answer, the Dark One continued without him.
"The Hood is a common highwayman. He took something that belongs to me, and I intend to return the favor by removing something of his. A hand, maybe. Every nobleman who braves the Castle Road seems to stumble upon our thief, and – amusing as that is – it seems to me that you and your men are the only people alive capable of walking into the forest and not tripping over one of them. Our deal was simple: you give me the name of the Hood and I continue my protection of your miserable, little kingdom. I'm losing patience."
"My Lord," the Sheriff begged, "I have done everything in my power to fulfill my end of the bargain. What use is it to demand that we track this criminal when you yourself cannot find him?"
"I could find him if you'd do your job and discover his name! The Hood did it! The Hooded Man robbed me!" he prattled on in a chilling falsetto. "Without the name he is nothing – a myth, a legend. Find the man beneath the Hood, dearie, or suffer the consequences. You've got three days, Sheriff, then I'll begin searching on my terms, and you might not like the methods."
"But the people love him!" Guy groaned. "Nottingham conceals him at every turn, only to have him vanish into Sherwood the moment we think we've cornered him. If King Richard were permitted to return, then perhaps the people would—"
"Your King," sneered the Dark One, "traded me his castle for a magic sword and a few tips on slaying Ogres. I'm not preventing his return, he can come and go as he likes, so long as he leaves the Dark Castle to me. Tell your people to go to the Frontlands and volunteer for Ogre fodder if they're so eager to be reunited with him. Otherwise, they better stay out of my way."
The imp's rage was terrible – cold and cutting, full of fits and ticks that animated his monsterous hands – but his laughter was worse. Guy only managed to stammer as he tried not to shake too badly.
"Now, now, Sheriff, don't be frightened. I am not an unreasonable man. I simply value my things! I will do what I can to hasten the hunt. And, because I am the very spirit of generosity, the only price I'll charge you this time is the successful return of my property."
He fell silent then, palms facing outward from his eyes, concealing the huge, blood-shot monstrosities, and said nothing.
"Should… should I go?" the Sheriff whispered.
"Silence!" the demon hissed at him, then he stilled again. "I've glimpsed our thief in shadows and broken reflections, through the mists. He'll be at the Nottingham jail in three days. I couldn't say under what circumstances, but he will be there, understand? I expect you to succeed."
"But how will I recognize him?"
"That, dearie, is entirely your problem," Rumplestiltskin giggled and he vanished from the armory.
Sir Guy nearly collapsed from relief, pawed his flask free, wiped the sweat from his brow, and poured the strong spirits past his lips. He needed more time, more resources, and for the people to cease their hero-worship of the bandits. He needed Marian and to run a cold sword through Loxley. He needed more whiskey.
Something flickered in the corner of his eye, and Guy spun on his heel, spilling and sputtering away the last of his drink.
"Shit!" he swore, awkwardly drawing his sword and pointing it at the blue-hued image in the mirror.
"Is that any way to greet a Queen, Sheriff?" the beautiful woman asked him.
"Your Majesty, I – how are you here? Why are you here?" He bowed twice in rapid succession.
"Oh, just keeping an eye on dear, old Rumple," she smiled. "It seems you and I may have a common goal, Sir Guy: a bandit robbing from the rich and instigating rebellious acts in the poor… sound familiar?"
"Is it… do you think Hood could be traitor Princess?"
"So you've seen my wanted signs," she teased, tossing her hair. "You heard Rumple – and he's never wrong – she'll be in the Nottingham jail three days from now. But she's cunning, murderous, and more difficult to capture than you can possibly imagine. So I propose a deal: you provide me and my men with full access to the prison, castle, and streets, and I'll do all Rumple said and more. I'll open up trade agreements with your towns. I'll make you a hero. And I'll rip the heart from the one who betrayed you."
"No! No, please, not Lady Marian. But Loxley… Loxley," he spat the name bitterly. "You'll get rid of him for me?"
The Queen vanished from the mirror, and Guy feared that he'd offended her. He slouched a fraction of an inch before she re-appeared next to him in a cloud of purple smoke. Through the glass, in shades of blue and amethyst, she'd been beautiful; in life, with raven hair, smooth skin, and blood-red lips, that beauty verged on the terrible.
"I'll do you one better," she purred, voice sweet as honey. "I'll help you utterly destroy every shred of happiness he ever had."
"And Marian will love me again?"
"Why Sir Guy, everyone will love you. You're going to be wonderful," she smiled.
Guy grinned and kissed her perfect hands. "Yes, my Queen. Send in your men."
