Chapter Three: Things to Know and Hide
The ride seemed long, but it most likely wasn't more than a few minutes before the carriage rattled to a stop. Boots thumped, and moments later the door opened. Jack leaned in. "Oy! You two still awake?"
"Yes. We are." Rumplestiltskin managed a nod.
"Good then. We're at the 'otel. This ain't the best, but the folks as run it are good people. Foreigners themselves, so they'll do right by you." Jack offered him a friendly smile. In the carriage light and the twin lanterns of the front door of the narrow building they'd stopped in front of, he was a wiry fellow, with a gap-toothed smile. "Fellow who owns the place gives me work, in the hard times like, so I can vouch for 'im. You and the boy gather your bags, an I'll get the door man." He turned and went up the stairs of the narrow building.
"Papa?" Bae's voice was questioning. Rumplestiltskin felt much the same. He buried his fear, knowing Bae needed him to be strong.
"It's all right son. It's all right." Actually, he had no way of knowing that. Still, it seemed best to go along with it, until they knew more about their situation. And if Jack was duplicitous...well, he knew ways of dealing with that. It would be far harder without magic, crippled, and as a stranger in a new land, but he would manage. He had to.
On the other hand, his childhood, as well as years of being every bully and thief's favorite target, had taught him how to spot virtually any kind of rogue or cruel man. He'd been too desperate to detect Zoso's deceit, but that had only made him all the more wary. Jack seemed rough and uncouth, but he didn't have the manners of a ruffian.
Actually, he had the manners of most carters Rumplestiltskin had known. And many of them had been decent men. Decent enough to give a cripple a ride, in spite of his reputation.
Jack returned before he could sink any deeper into his musings, followed by another fellow. This one proved to be a lad, barely older than Bae, but well built. He greeted them with a smile. " 'Lo sirs. Garrett Turner, at your service. I'm the night porter here. Jack told me you'd been injured?"
"Aye. I...my leg..." The reminder seemed to make his leg throb with renewed vigor. He swallowed back a pained gasp. "I...I can't...I can't walk well...and my son…."
"Never you mind that sir. Lift and carry's what I'm here for. An' if I can't manage, Dickon's by the kitchen door. Won't be no matter for us sir. Just give us your hands and brace yourself; me an' Jack'll do the rest."
Well, he'd done that before. Even when he'd been reviled as the town coward, there had been a few, like Morraine's family, who'd been kind and helped him, especially in those first awful weeks after he'd come home, and after Milah had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
He extended his hands, let the two men seize and lift him. He jarred his ankle a bit, but given the height of the carriage his landing was remarkably gentle. Bae clambered out, packs slung over both shoulders in wild disarray. Jack braced the boy as he stumbled, before Rumplestiltskin could even start to react, and grinned. "Easy there lad. You all right?"
"Yes sir." Baelfire straightened himself. "Papa, I've got everything. Are you all right? How's your leg?"
"I'm fine son." Rumplestiltskin managed a weak smile.
"Right then. Let's get you and the young master inside." Garrett settled a shoulder under his, taking his weight on his bad side. "You be comin' in or drivin on, Master Jack?"
"Comin in, just for a short spell."
Garrett nodded and began the slow process of leading them inside. Rumplestiltskin could barely hobble, and Baelfire, for all his bravado, was moving slowly and wearily. It took both Jack and Garrett to get Rumplestiltskin up the short flight of steps to the door, but they made it. Garrett worked the door with an elbow, and they stumbled inside.
"Master Kendrick! Guests for ye!" Garrett's shout startled both of him, enough that Bae jumped, but there was no time for any other reaction as a man emerged from a side door behind a long low desk.
"Enough noise boy. Don't shout to wake the guests, as if I couldn't hear Jack's cab outside." The tone was brisk and stern, like the man himself. "Now then, you said guests?"
"I brought you a pair, father and son. Came in from the continent, got lost in London and wound up in the Park after dark." Jack spoke up. Rumplestiltskin felt a surge of gratitude. He was far too weary to welcome the prospect of giving yet another long explanation, and he didn't quite trust himself to be able to keep the details straight.
Jack kept talking. "Father's hurt an ankle, he'll need a doc. Both'll need lodgin's, food, little of your old lady's home care, I reckon. After all, man's lame and the boy's like to be near asleep on his feet by now. Only carryin' foreign coin, but I've a fare's pay from the da, and I'll know come mornin' whether it's good coin or no."
The other man, Master Kendrick, nodded. "I can spare a room and a meal on credit, just for the night. As long as you'll be by to let me know about that coin in the morning."
"Will. I've never played ye wrong yet, have I, Rod?"
"You haven't. You're a good man, Jack." Kendrick smiled, then nodded to Garrett. "There's a room with two beds on the ground floor, around the corner. Get Dickon to come take the packs from the boy, and get them situated. You sir..." He turned his gaze on Rumplestiltskin. "Do you speak English?"
"I...I do." He spoke the language of the realm, if that's what English was. That was something of a relief. As the Dark One, he'd never worried about understanding anyone.
"That is good." Like Rumplestiltskin, the man had an accent, different from Garrett and Jack and Rob. "That will make things much easier. Do you and your son need anything before you retire? The room already has clean linens, and a basin of water for freshening up. I can have Garrett or Dickon bring you a light repast, or something to drink, to refresh yourselves."
"I...water or whatever is available to drink. My son and I ate, shortly before we got lost." The memory of that final meal at their own hearth made his heart ache. For all the smallness of their cottage, it had been theirs. He'd bought and bartered and built to make that place a home for him and his son.
Master Kendrick studied him a moment, then turned to the young man who'd returned with Garrett. "Dickon, have Sally in the kitchen make up a cup of warm milk for the boy. And half a glass of spirits and a shake of poppy for the father. From the looks of them, they both need a proper sleep more than anything."
Rumplestiltskin blinked. "I..."
The owner shook his head. "I hope you'll forgive me sir. But you and the boy have had a hard road. I can see it in your faces, and you're both worn out. First nights in a new place are always the hardest, and you'll do better for yourself if you take a proper rest. Warm milk will help your boy relax. Spirits for the easing of your spirit and poppy for your leg will do you the same favor. 'Twas exactly what my own benefactor gave me when I came over."
Rumplestiltskin yielded. There was nothing but earnestness in the inn owner's expression and his tone, or in his eyes. For better or worse, he and Bae had apparently landed among decent folk, for once, and it was a blessing he'd not take for granted. He nodded. "Thank you."
Dickon returned. "Sally'll be done in a shake, Master Kendrick."
"Then you and Garrett see these two to their room, then return to your places."
Jack tipped his head to Kendrick. "Looks like you've got everything in hand. Which case, I'll be off. High time the horse was up and I was home."
"That it is. What time in the morning shall I expect you?"
"Told the fellow I'd return nine on the hour, if the coin were good."
"I'll have Mary put something aside for you then."
"Thank'ee kindly. Evenin' to you, Master Rum, an' I'll see you on the morrow."
"Yes." Rumplestiltskin nodded, leaning on Garrett's renewed support as he watched the driver leave. He found himself hoping he'd be able to remain friends with the man. He seemed kind, and cordial enough.
He put the thoughts aside, forced to concentrate on his steps as Garrett half-led, half-carried him down a hall on the right and to a door. The room on the other side was smaller than his cabin had been, but it had two beds. It also had a stand of drawers and a mirror. And a door, leading to a tiny enclosed area with another mirror, a wash-basin, and a privy.
It was practically luxury, given the conditions he'd lived in for most of his life. From the wide-eyed look on Bae's face, his son thought much the same.
Garrett helped Rumplestiltskin to the nearest bed, while Dickon deposited the packs near the stand of drawers. Baelfire flopped on the other bed. Garrett gave him an encouraging smile. "Right then. Sally'll be in with your drinks soon enough. If you're not needin' anything else, me an' Dickon'll leave you to restin'."
"Thank you. I believe we can manage." Rumplestilskin ducked his head in a nod, and the two young men left.
Three minutes later, there was a soft knock. "Sir?" The voice was youthful, and feminine.
Baelfire hopped up and opened the door, to reveal a young woman, perhaps a year or so older than he, holding a tray. "I had a request from Dickon. Warm milk, and a bit of brandy and poppy?"
"Thank you." Baelfire took the tray. The young woman bobbed him a curtsey, then left. Bae brought the tray in, taking the milk for himself. "Here papa."
"Thank you son." Rumplestiltskin took the cup. The scent of the spirits was strong, but not unwelcome. He sipped, feeling the smooth burn. As a spinner, he'd had no exposure to alcohol, beyond the very rare beer at the tavern. As a soldier, he'd only had the rougher spirits. But as the Dark One, he'd had enough exposure to different types of drink to recognize that what he'd been given was, while far from the best, far from the worst brew he'd ever had. In any case, it certainly masked the taste of the poppy.
"How is your leg?" Baelfire's quiet question caught his attention.
"Better. The medicine will help."
Baelfire nodded. "Should we get your boot off? I can help, if you need it."
If he took the boot off, the foot would swell until there was no getting it back on. But the continued restriction wasn't good either. He knew that. "That would be good son. Thank you."
"Of course." Baelfire smiled at him, then helped him swing his legs up. He couldn't help gasping a few times as his son unwound the brace and tugged the boot off, but he managed to keep from screaming. He stifled his cries in the brandy, and by the time the boot was set aside, the poppy was beginning to do it's work.
Fortunately, he'd developed a tolerance for pain medicine, after years of being crippled. Despite the haze, he was still awake enough to see how his son was wavering on his feet. He smiled at the boy. Whatever else was true, he hadn't lost his son, and that was the important thing. "It's all right Bae. You just drink your milk and get some sleep now son. I can manage the rest."
Baelfire frowned. "But...your leg..." He could barely keep his eyes open, but he was still worried. Rumplestiltskin's heart warmed further.
"It's all right. I learned how to manage a long time ago. I'll be fine."
"All right." Baelfire frowned at him a moment longer, then nodded. He drank his milk, blinking a little at the taste, then shed his cloak and shoes. He crawled into the bed, seeming as startled as Rumple was at it's softness and yield. Then his head hit the pillow, and in five minutes, he was fast asleep.
Rumplestiltskin smiled, then turned his attention to disrobing. He habitually slept in his shirt and loose trousers, so it wasn't hard. It was, however, a chance for him to reach into the inner pocket of his coat and remove the object he'd stashed there earlier that evening.
Cold and sharp, his dagger glinted in the light of the lamp on the table between the beds. He'd known what it was the moment he'd picked it up in the woods, in the park, but he'd hoped he'd somehow been wrong. He turned it over.
Dark black lettering scrolled across the blade, spelling out his name. His full name. He ran a finger over it, shivering in reaction. He could still feel the blade.
This land didn't have the abundant magic of his own world, but it was not without power. He doubted he could have the power to throw fireballs or turn men into snails here. Certainly, his curse was much weakened. But the information spell he had cast was still working, gathering new concepts into his head. It would take time, and sleep, to sort them out, but the fact that the spell hadn't completely failed argued for at least a weak presence of magic.
And his curse…
The dagger could not bind him. The loss of constriction he'd felt when they'd arrived proved that. So did the absence of the voices of the Dark Ones, always whispering in the back of his mind, and the burn of his magic. But that didn't mean his curse was broken.
If his curse had been broken, the dagger would have been blank.
He was still the Dark One. For all their effort, it seemed Bae's plan had failed. He might be much curtailed, much more himself here, but that didn't change the fact that he was still cursed.
It did, however, change what he could do about it. He clenched his hand around the dagger, then hid it back in his jacket, determination forming in his mind.
He would be the man Bae wanted. The dagger's influence had weakened enough that he could do it, could be Rumplestiltskin, rather than the Dark One. But perhaps…perhaps, he could use the lingering traces. He'd never known the confidence, the strength, he'd felt with the dagger's power before his curse. But he could use it now.
It would be difficult. He was, now, far more the spinner than the Dark One. And he didn't know if evoking the vestiges of the curse would change him or not. It might do nothing, or it might find a way to make a monster of him, even without the magic to fuel it. But if he could do it, if he could do it right…
If he could do it right, he could be not just the father Baelfire wanted, but the father he deserved. A father to be proud of, rather than a poor, trembling coward.
Determined, Rumplestiltskin put the coat to one side and continued undressing for bed. Once ready, he slid under the sheets, marveling at the skill in their craftsmanship, and drank the rest of the brandy. The lull of the poppy and the relaxation of the alcohol hit him hard, and Rumplestiltskin surrendered to sleep.
Author's Note: And so...our boys are settled. And it looks like Rumple has a secret...
Next up...first day in London. In which they learn a lot.
