Belle texted Professor Longneaux. The professor might be an old woman, but she'd told Belle she preferred messages she could read to ones that were spoken. "I do a great deal of work on my computer when I'm not working outside with plants, recording the data and so on," she'd said. "It's easier to just keep typing."
Professor Longneaux thought she knew someone who could help with the translations, a man from Oxford. She promised to forward the data Belle sent her to him, along with a story they concocted to explain it. The professor would say the documents had been found in the attic of an old house in Storybrooke. They would blame an old scholar who had lived there in the 19th century, one with a reputation for having an odd sense of humor. That gave them room to say they didn't know if the documents were something real or the last practical joke of a dotty New Englander. Hopefully, that would give them room to explain just about anything about a magic hat and demon wizards.
Belle hesitated but as they finished up their plan. At the very end, she texted one more message.
I found a notebook of yours with the herbs.
Belle wasn't sure why but she held her breath, waiting for the reply.
Oh, did you? I'm always leaving those lying about. Which one is it?
Not a guilty response, Belle thought, not sure why she thought it should be. It's tooled leather with a lot of plants and fruit on the front. It has notes on plants and stories about plants. She paused before adding, One of them is about Thumbelina.
I know the one, Professor Longneaux sent back. If you could just put it aside, I'll come back for it later. I'm trying to get ahold of Princess Aurora. Did you know she might have some thorns from the bushes that grew around her castle? I'd love to examine some of those.
She might, Belle texted. Tell me if she has some. I think I could find a use for them. Just be sure to call ahead before you come over for the notebook or any other business. I may be in and out today. She picked up the notebook again, looking over the story.
"Something wrong?"
Will's voice broke through whatever trance Belle had been in. She looked up. "Nothing," Belle said. "Except . . . the professor has notes on myths and legends connected to plants. There's a version of Thumbelina in here but it's not like any I know."
"Oh, one of those," Will said. "You wondering if it's like that book the sheriff's kid lugs around? A real story?"
"Maybe. Instead of a mole, it says a Dwarf wanted to marry her."
"Be too tall, wouldn't he? Thumbelina was, what, three inches? Can't see Tom Clark leading her down the aisle."
"Thumbelina was a fairy, if this story is telling the truth. She should have been able to make herself big." She wasn't sure how much of Dreamy—no, Grumpy—no Leroy's story she should share with someone else. Better not to give him names and details, she decided. "I—I knew a Dwarf who fell in love with a fairy."
Will sat up and took notice. "Really? A Dwarf? I thought those guys didn't do that. Hatch out of rocks, don't they?"
"They do. But, he still fell in love. And I knew the fairy." She supposed she had to give him this much. "She's Sister Astrid in this world."
"Sister? Oh, bloody hell. She's in the hat?"
Belle shook her head. "I don't think so." She'd been trying to remember everything that had happened that terrible day, the last day before she learned the truth about Rumplestiltskin. Or what she thought was the truth. She'd spent it helping the fairies, trying to find a way to defeat Ingrid's curse.
Until Rumple trapped them all. Or trapped all the ones who were there working on a counterspell.
"Sister Astrid wasn't at Granny's. She's. . . ." Belle tried to think of a polite way to say it. "She can be accident prone. Especially when she's nervous. I think the Mother Superior—the Blue Fairy—must have sent her away or left her at the convent."
"You'd think she would have shown up by now if she was still around. Or maybe somebody got her during the Shattered Sight Spell?"
Leroy, Belle thought. He'd been in love with Astrid and she'd broken his heart. If he'd run into her while under that spell, when all he could remember when he saw her was his pain and his hurt—or if Astrid had only been able to remember her own pain at how Leroy had turned on her. . . . Belle closed her eyes, trying not to see Rumple's face again as she ordered him over the town line.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
No, she'd seen Leroy since then. She'd heard his muddled sympathy as he told her she was better off without Rumplestiltskin. Belle knew how you acted when you'd destroyed the thing you loved most. Leroy hadn't done that.
"The convent," she told Will. "We have to look at the convent." Because, if Astrid was there, if they could find her—then they could get all the fairies out of the hat.
X
Will asked if he could drive as they got into Cadillac. Mrs. Gold gave him a wan smile. "I'm the only one my husband let's drive this car." Then her face changed. He could almost see the words she'd said registering, My husband. Her smile curled up, wounded, and vanished inside.
He didn't argue, but it wasn't just car lust that made him ask (not that he—and probably every man in Storybrooke—wasn't dying for a chance to get behind the wheel of this beauty). Mrs. Gold looked like she might pass out from exhaustion at any moment. That wasn't something he really wanted in a driver.
He tried to keep her talking as they headed out, keeping one eye on Mrs. Gold and another on the road. But, she had the grim, adrenalized look of a person with a plan. Or the beginnings of a plan.
"Blood," she told him. "There's a globe in Rumple's shop. With a drop of blood, you can trace where to find someone connected to you by blood. There are other spells that could summon someone with a drop of their blood. All the fairies in this world are family. Sort of. If Astrid's still here, if we can find her, there may be a way to get the other fairies. I think—maybe—the bits and pieces I was able to translate—I still need to know more—but I think it could work."
"So, we're going to search the convent for an enchanted fairy so we can use her to rescue a bunch of other enchanted fairies so they can unenchant the first fairy? Have I got that?"
"Uh . . . not exactly. People have been up to the convent before. I've been up there, when I was looking for books to help free the others. One of us would have found her if she was someplace obvious—"
"Bloody hell!" Will exclaimed as Mrs. Gold almost didn't make a turn. "Watch the road!" When his heart calmed down a little, he said, "They've got a mausoleum or something there haven't they? You don't suppose they stuck her in a crypt? It would be a good place to hide someone, like Snow White in a glass coffin. Except harder to see through."
Mrs. Gold shuddered. "I hope not. The last thing I want to do is break into a bunch of graves."
"Aw, there won't be any fairies in them. They don't die much, do they?"
"Not much isn't the same as never. There may be graves brought over from our world. Or there might be other people's bodies in them. Or things besides bodies."
"Yeah, guess that sounds like Evil Queen humor. Trust me. I've known some. Afraid we'll let out a bunch of ghouls? I fought a zombie army once. Don't worry about it."
She looked at him skeptically. "Are you going to tell me it's not that bad?"
"Nah, are you nuts? You stick a knife in them. They get up again. It stinks. The good thing is, if that's what you're fighting, you won't have time to worry. You'll be too busy staying alive. Or being dead." He waited. "That was a joke. You're supposed to laugh."
"Really?" Her voice was tight and strained. "Then it didn't work, did it?" Yeah, people who were at the end of their rope had no sense of humor. He should have remembered that. Mrs. Gold was holding it together but (he looked guiltily at the bruise on her cheek) it was a near thing. "I have something else that might help us find Astrid," Mrs. Gold said. "There's just one problem. We need something that was hers—just hers and no one else's."
"Why's that a problem?"
"Because the nuns didn't have private property. Everything they own belongs to the order. Or it's supposed to."
Oh, great. "Just checking. So, the plan is we break into a convent to steal something that belonged to a nun except nuns don't have anything that belongs to them. Once we manage that, then we find the enchanted nun to find the other enchanted nuns so they can unenchant the first nun. Have I got that or is there more?"
"We're not breaking in. I know where the keys are."
"Trust me, even if you've got the keys, people still call it breaking in when they find you going through their stuff and call the cops. I say we go with my plan and smash open some crypts."
X
A day or two before, Rumplestiltskin had taken Maleficent, still in the body of an iron dragon, to a certain apartment building. He had no trouble finding the room he wanted. New York may have sometimes confused him, but he knew every brick and stone in Storybrooke—and he knew where every man, woman, child, and quite a few of the sewer rats lived. The man he wanted was here.
He cast one spell before opening the door. No reason for any phone calls—or screams—to go beyond this door. Some conversations were best kept private. Rumplestiltskin went inside and turned on the light. Yes, there the fellow was, asleep on the couch, arms curled around a children's book.
"Dead drunk," Maleficent said. "Are you sure this is what you need?"
"Quite sure," Rumplestiltskin said. "Even Cora found this one useful." He snapped his fingers over the man, clearing the alcohol from his system and waking him at the same time.
Will Scarlet rubbed his eyes then looked up at the man standing over him. Any tiredness vanished at once. He started to swear.
"Now, now, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said. "Is that any way to treat the man who is about to make all your dreams come true? Oh, yes. I know exactly what it is you want and—in return for one, very small thing—I'm prepared to give it to you." He smiled coldly. "For your sake, I suggest you agree."
