Chapter Ten: A Raid and a Confession

He wandered in the city for hours, stopping in a tavern on the island for a stiff drink and a quiet place to think things over. There was no doubt in his mind that the recent sinister happenings were connected to this woman—none at all. The thugs, she had all but admitted to using—and since she had attempted to import a whole shipment of desecrated coffins, Flynn suddenly realized that the boat full of boxes that the Snuggly Duckling crowd had seen was probably another shipment of coffins. He didn't have any actual evidence that the vampiric act he had witnessed in the forest was related to this woman, but even during Amwald's most recent crime spree—the period when the former lord and lady of Corona were mourning—such things had not been reported. Flynn did not know, and did not want to guess, what the woman had intended to do with the eminent remains she had tried to import (or the remains that she had managed to acquire), but human remains plus possible vampirism plus the Necronomicon could not equal anything good. She also apparently regarded herself as a latter-day version of the old thirteenth-century witch Gothel Corvinus, down to assuming the witch's surname and becoming involved in the same kinds of incidents that, in that less skeptical time, had led to her being run out of the manor house. Whatever was going on at that tower or those tunnels Rapunzel said existed, it could not be good—and Rapunzel was trapped in it.

As Flynn drank up his liquor and ordered more, his mind turned to Rapunzel, and what that woman had said about her. Her parting words had stung a lot worse than he had wanted to admit. He thought back to numerous occasions when he had taken Rapunzel to bed and been demanding, overly physical, and generally inconsiderate of her. He had taken it for granted that she would continue to be flattered and pleased with his attentions and would not have anywhere else to go anyway. He had underestimated the strength of her bond to her mother, and in so doing, had failed to give her the kind of loving emotional support she had needed to cope with that loss. He had intended to keep her to himself permanently, but for some silly, unaccountable reason, had still been afraid to allow his feelings to flourish. The last time they'd had each other, he had all but admitted he cared for her, and at the time she had known it—but once she was with that woman all day long, it would have been easy for her to feed doubts in Rapunzel's mind. Flynn still wasn't convinced that "Elaine" had been telling the truth about Rapunzel's desire to stay in the tower, but if she had, it was all too plausible that Rapunzel really had been swayed. That thought was incredibly depressing to him.

He spent much of the afternoon in that Corona pub, eating lunch and supper there. When he finally, somehow, managed to return to his house, it was nighttime. He locked himself in and collapsed drunkenly on his bed, barely minding the fact that Pascal, in an attempt to punish him for not feeding him, had apparently raided the breakfast room and brought grape pits upstairs, which he had tossed all over the bedroom floor.

Flynn slept till noon the next day. As soon as he had suppressed his hangover headache enough to go outside, he stumbled his way toward the Snuggly Duckling. He was going to present everything he had learned—and the shipment of coffins was a far more damning piece of evidence than any he'd yet had—and try to organize a party to march out to the tower.

As had been the case the last time he was in there, the pub was full of the usual daytime patrons, though it seemed that several of the regulars were missing. Something was off. Flynn scanned the tables, trying to determine who was not there. Yes, Shorty was definitely missing. So were Big Nose and Hookhand—and Flynn realized that it was the lack of piano music that he had missed.

He had just gotten the attention of Vladamir and Gunther when Hookhand himself stormed into the pub. The floor creaked with every stamp of his heavy feet. He stormed up to the bar, bypassing the piano bench, and sat down next to Flynn.

"We've got a problem," he growled.

The entire common room seemed to snap to attention. Even Flynn glanced over.

"I guess we all know what happened last night with Shorty," he began.

Flynn interrupted. "I don't. What happened to him?" He had no particular affection for the crazy old man, but considering how many things had "happened" lately, and what kind, he felt dread wash over him at what he was about to hear.

Hookhand turned to Flynn. "I guess he got lost in the woods, but when we found him this morning, he was almost dead. Something had feasted on his shoulder, something that left human-lookin' teeth marks. Big Nose took him in. He's always had a strange kind of admiration for the old geezer. We're all hoping he'll pull through, but I don't know."

Flynn grimaced. At once his mind turned to his memory of the vampire woman in the woods. There was no question that it was the same person, he decided. He made a mental note to tell this to them after Hookhand had related whatever else he had to say.

"Anyhow," Hookhand continued, "now that we do all know what happened to Shorty, I'll carry on. I was going into the woods after it happened to try to find the villain, and I came upon them in the woods, close-up. The twins. It is definitely them. I know it don't make sense," he added, "but I swear to you, they look just like them." His face was unnaturally pale, as one might expect if he had just seen dead men.

"But that can't be," one of the thugs immediately protested. "Maybe they had more brothers."

Hookhand slammed his hook into the bar and ripped up a chunk of wood. "Look," he growled, "I know what I saw. Something ain't right in this village, and ignoring it won't solve anything."

Flynn decided that now was the time to speak up. He had a great deal to say, and he hoped that his residual hangover would not prevent him from being coherent. "Gentlemen," he began. "Hookhand's right."

All eyes were now on him, and he began to speak, telling them about the summons he had received just yesterday to the dock, the cargo of coffins containing the remains of renowned wizards, and the involvement of Rapunzel's sinister new colleague. He mentioned his theory about the boxes in the boat that the ruffians had seen from the footbridge. He made sure not to implicate Rapunzel herself in the scandal, since he was sure that she had become trapped in the older woman's schemes, but he did mention the ill-reputed book that the woman had in her possession. Not everyone in the pub knew of the book, but those who did shuddered in dread at its mention. Then he turned to his encounter in the woods with the vampiric creature.

"So Shorty wasn't the only victim," he finished, observing with satisfaction that everyone in the common room looked properly horrified and outraged at what was apparently being perpetrated in their midst. "And gentlemen, I have good reason to think that Rapunzel is being held hostage by this—witch—and is possibly being forced to work for her against her will. I don't think any of these outrages should be allowed to stand."

"Damn straight," said Killer.

"I agree," said Bruiser.

Several other ruffians cracked their knuckles and clenched their fists.

Seizing the moment, Flynn suddenly leaped on the nearest table, standing up and facing the entire pub. He wasn't sure what made him do it, especially since his head still throbbed vaguely, but perhaps it was that after days and days of being thwarted, he had simply had enough. "So—I think we can all agree that we don't need another witch panic to start up, not after what happened in recent decades with innocent people being wrongly accused," he said. There were grunts and nods of agreement, and he continued. "But I think we can also agree that it's high time we got some answers about what's going on at that tower. Am I right?"

Even though no one except Flynn had given any particular thought to what was going on at the tower, or even known of its existence, the entire crowd roared a resounding, "Yeah!"

"So what we need to do," he said, "is to go out there—all of us together—and have this woman explain herself. Maybe she has nothing to do with these thugs we've all been seeing and the vampirism, but she does work with some thugs, and she ordered a bunch of dead bodies from a highly suspicious source. If she's working on real scientific research, let's see it! And make her release the young lady she's holding captive. What do you say?"

"I say we should do it right now," Vladamir growled, standing up.

"Yeah!" the rest of the crowd roared again. Ruffians began to get to their feet, grabbing weapons and cracking their knuckles in preparation. Flynn jumped off the table, scrambled toward the head of the group, and led the pack of ruffians out of the pub and into the woods.

Before long they found the tower. Several of the ruffians expressed shock that such a thing had been there without their knowledge, but most of them simply looked angry and determined. Flynn, still feeling the thrill of leadership, strode forward into the clearing.

"Rapunzel, are you in there?" he bellowed out.

Silence.

"Madame! Are you in there?"

More silence. Flynn felt uneasy, knowing that a pack of ruffians was back of him, and he had taken leadership of them and led them out here. He really hoped they didn't turn on him if this didn't go right.

He needn't have worried. "If you don't come out, we're coming in ourselves!" Hookhand bellowed, stomping toward the tower. "You got till the count of three. ONE!" He paused. "TWO!" A longer pause. "THREE!" He stormed into the ground-level stone entrance and began crashing up the stone stairs. The whole pack of ruffians followed behind him, crowding at the door. Flynn stepped away. He wanted to lift up that stone and get into the underground tunnels, where he was sure they were hiding, but that wasn't possible with the entire Snuggly Duckling clientele barreling up the steps.

There was a loud thud, then—"Ow!" Hookhand's voice suddenly echoed down the steps. "Damn it, she's blocked the entrance! Heave!" Flynn heard several ruffians pushing away at the stone that, when removed, opened the first floor of the tower to the stairs. However, it didn't seem to be budging. Curses and grunts of pain increased from the crowd inside the tower entrance. At last they shuffled out, looking defeated and dejected.

"I don't get it," Hookhand said, still rubbing his head with his real hand. "How could they even get in and out of there if the only door is blocked?"

Flynn didn't want to suggest what had immediately come to his mind—namely, that the woman had found something in her old magic books to seal the entrance against them. "They must be in there and have a bigger stone blocking the entrance," he said feebly.

Hookhand didn't look convinced. "There were a bunch of us pushing on it together," he said. "Me and Vladamir and Killer. I don't think it's that."

Flynn frowned. "Well," he said, "I have reason to believe there is an underground room around here somewhere where she might be hiding—and I think I know how to get into it." He strode toward the tower. The group of ruffians backed away as he approached. He knelt on the ground in front of the stone entrance and placed his hands around the sides of the engraved central stone. With a firm grip on it, he lifted up the stone—

–And found himself staring at hard-packed dirt.

Confusion flooded his mind. "But," he stammered, holding the stone upright on its edge, "but this can't be right."

Hookhand seemed to understand the situation. "C'mon," he said gruffly, grabbing Flynn by the back of his collar and yanking him away. The stone crashed back in place as he was pulled away. "If she can... you know... then there ain't much we can do about it. But there is something else we can look up."

"Oh, what?" Uneasy on his feet, Flynn stared out at the group of ruffians, all his former bravado and confidence gone.

"We can see if the Stabbingtons' graves are empty," Hookhand said grimly. "C'mon everyone, we're wasting time here." The ruffians seemed to silently agree with him, and in a moment, the whole group began to trudge back into the forest in the general direction of the island city.

It was a mostly quiet trip that they made. Everyone seemed to have been frightened into silence by the fiasco with the unmovable stone blocking the entrance, and nobody questioned Flynn's conviction that there should have been a cavity beneath the engraved paving stone. They might be simple, unlettered ruffians, but they had a fearful respect of "dark magic" rather like the measured reaction, calculated to avoid rabble-rousing, that more sophisticated people would have.

However, the worst that any of them could fear was a possible threat to their own lives, something that they, being large and muscular, felt that they could handle if it ever happened—a bit of cognitive dissonance considering their fear of dark magic, but perhaps something best seen as a survival technique. It would not do, after all, to give up any hope of surviving a hostile encounter before it even happened—so however it might be, the ruffians all pretty much believed that they were in control of their own fates, and the concern they had was for the safety of the village as a whole. They had no personal stake in this. They didn't have to contemplate the idea of somebody they cared for being held hostage underground where nobody else could get to her.

The Captain was taken aback by the demand of the ruffian mob, led by this time by Hookhand (Flynn figured that looking at the graves had been Hookhand's idea, after all, and he also knew that the Captain would not be very amenable to granting the request of a mob led by him). He sputtered and bristled that it was not common practice to disturb even the grave of murderers who had been executed, and what possible reason could the ruffians have for wanting him to do so?

"We think the grave has been robbed," Hookhand snarled back to the Captain. "We think somebody's already gone in and disturbed it."

The Captain turned pale at this. "Very well then," he said nervously, nodding his head rotely, all resistance to the idea gone. Flynn suspected that the man was still shaken from the startling seizure of coffins at the dock, and he, hidden in the crowd of over-large thugs, managed a smug smile at that idea.

The Captain dispatched several soldiers to the grave of the Stabbington brothers with shovels. They began digging. Flynn noticed at once that the soil did indeed seem unnaturally loose, and as alarmed frowns formed on the soldiers' faces, he realized that the same thing had occurred to them.

At last they reached the level at which the bodies should have been, but it was plain as day that the grave was stark empty. The Captain began blustering and raving that they would get to the bottom of the outrage and redouble protection on all the cemeteries in the kingdom, but by this time, the ruffians were not even surprised—and neither was Flynn. All of his prior skepticism about the identities of the redheaded thugs seemed to have vanished. How it could be, he could not imagine—though he implicated the Necronomicon in all of it. But had that woman had access to the book by the time the twins were being spotted? Flynn could not recall whether the "twins" were being seen before Rapunzel took the book out of his house or after. He needed to go back home, he realized, and work out the timeline of everything in his memories.

They were back in Amwald by twilight. The ruffians headed into the pub while Flynn headed back to his house. Shortly after a very quick meal of leftovers—Attila had been in the mob and had not prepared any food for his employer today—he heard a knock at the front door.

Leaping up from the table, he dashed down the hallway with a pounding heart and flung open the door. At once a tiny, warm, yet trembling form rushed headlong into his arms.

"Rapunzel?"

She was squeezing him so tightly that he could hardly breathe, but there she was, alive, warm, breathing, and in his embrace, and he was so grateful for it that he almost forgot to lock the front door behind them as he helped her down the hallway. Fortunately, she was more aware of such things than he was and reminded him, frantically, to do so.

At this point he finally released her—and noticed for the first time the harassed, hunted look that was written on her face. As soon as the lock clicked, she spoke again.

"Do you have a key for the doors to the banquet hall?"

The question was asked so frantically, so fearfully, that he felt a chill creep down his spine in spite of everything. "Yes," he said slowly. "Why do those doors need to be locked?"

She bit her lip, unsure for a moment, but then it burst out. "There's an entrance to this house—a secret underground passage—through that room."

At once he thought about the underground rooms they had tried to find that afternoon at the tower. Surely this couldn't be part of the same system. That tower was an hour and a half's walk from here, a good four or five miles into the forest. How could something that vast have been built?

He had to know. "Does it connect with—with your book room?"

She looked at him, eyes wide, and nodded.

He sucked in his breath. It was unbelievable—but it was true. And now that she had confirmed it, he understood the necessity of locking up at once. He did not want that companion of hers—the companion from whom she was clearly running—getting into his house. He kept the keyring in his hand and went with her down the hallway to the tall doors to the dining hall, where he stuck the correct key and locked the doors.

"Where does it come out?"

"A panel of wall," she said shakingly. "What you thought was a former fireplace. It's actually an entrance."

Of course, he realized. It couldn't be anything else. There was no space unaccounted for except that. "And at the tower?" he asked.

"She's sealed that end off," Rapunzel mumbled.

"Then how did you get out?" Flynn asked.

She threw herself in his arms again, letting out a sob. He held her, trying to give her the comfort she sought, suddenly regretting the question, because whatever it was, it must have been painful.

"She's gone out of the country right now," she murmured into his chest. "She went to Transylvania to see—that man I wrote to once, the one who shipped her all the..." She trailed off in a shudder, but he did not need her to finish. He knew whom she meant.

"And you?" he asked as gently as he could, stroking her hair.

"She locked me inside the tower," Rapunzel whispered. "I was there—I heard you, all of you, but I couldn't answer, because she had me chained up and gagged."

Blatant outrage filled Flynn at this thought. "What?" he sputtered. "She left you like that while gallivanting off? How were you supposed to eat and drink?"

With this question, she seemed to break apart before his eyes. This whole time, she had been careful with her words—not as a person trying to be shifty with him, trying to keep secrets from him, but as someone who was too afraid to tell the full truth. No longer. A veritable volcano of words and confessions began to erupt as he helped her upstairs.

"She left a couple of the 'guards' in shape and they were going to feed me," she gasped. "They were going to untie the gag and give me food and water and watch me consume it, and then tie it back, and Eugene, they're horrible, they're all simply horrible, and then once she gets back, she's going to have all those coffins and more—and then they're going to... Eugene, I'm so sorry—I didn't mean for any of this to happen! I promise I didn't." A tear trickled down her cheek.

He did not understand much of what she had just said, but it left a vague horror and dread in him as she said it. They were outside the bedroom now, and he turned the knob and brought her into the room, helping her to the couch. They sat down side by side, with Pascal sitting on the armrest nearest him and watching sympathetically as a silent witness. She buried herself against him once again, and he wrapped his arms around her. It would come out, he knew. The truth would come out now. It was natural that it would be disjointed when she was this terrified.

"I know you didn't," he said soothingly, stroking her hair on the back of her head. "I know it got out of your control."

"You were right," she said in a cracked voice. "You were right about—her."

Of course he was, he thought, but he had not the slightest inclination to gloat about that. "It doesn't matter," he said. "I understand why you were drawn to her. You missed your mother so much that you clung to anything and anyone associated with her."

She drew away and gazed at him, a pained look filling her face. She seemed to want to tell him something—but then the moment passed. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I need... to start with that, I guess," she said in a calmer, more ordered voice.

"Take your time," he said gently. He planted a kiss on top of her head.

She drew another shuddering breath before beginning. "It starts with my hair," she said.

"Your hair?"

"My hair. It used to—to have a power," she said uneasily, glancing at him as if she feared he would not believe her. But by this time, hair with a (presumably magic) power sounded almost pedestrian to him, so he said nothing. She continued, "It used to be long, really, really long, and blonde, and there was this spell my—mother—and I said that caused it to glow and heal anything it was touching. It could heal wounds, diseases, take away age..."

That catalog of properties triggered a memory of something, some story he'd heard or read, deep in his brain somewhere, but he could not think of what it was or when he had heard of it, so he dismissed it for now. "Wow," he said. "What did she do to your hair to get it like that?"

"She said I was born with it," Rapunzel said. "She said she didn't cause it. I don't know. But that's why she never let me leave. She told me people would want to use it for themselves. And one day, we just... we fought. It was bad. And I got mad and told her I'd just cut it off if the hair was what was keeping me indoors. So I did..." She shook in his arms. He held her tighter, which seemed to comfort her, and she continued. "And when I did, it all turned brown, like it is now, and then she just... turned to dust before me. She died, just like that, and turned into dust immediately."

Another one of those chills shot down Flynn's spine. "That's weird," he said. "Death... that is not normal... it's not what is supposed to happen."

"I know... I realize it now," she said shakily. "But at the time... well..."

He hugged her again. "I understand now, though," he said. "You felt guilty about it." She nodded. "And that's why you got so drawn to that experiment, and those researchers she had known," he added. "But sweetheart"—the word slipped out before he realized it, but for once, it didn't cross his mind to take it back or be ugly to her to compensate for this moment of affection—"it was her fault. I don't know how she did it, or why, but she must have somehow tied her life to your hair."

She glanced up at him. There was still something lurking just behind her eyes, he sensed, but she couldn't bring herself to say whatever it was just yet. "I'm not sure," she mumbled. "I've... questioned a lot of things since all this happened."

"Naturally," he said. "But go ahead. You can tell me everything. I want to help you... to keep you safe from this 'Elaine' woman." He squeezed her once more.

She gazed at him, her eyes wide again with fear. He felt her heartbeat quicken. "I don't know if you can," she whispered. "I don't know if anyone can. She's... bad, Eugene. You don't know how bad."

"I have an idea," he said darkly.

"I didn't mean it to happen," she cried again. "I swear I didn't. I didn't know that she wanted to do... this. Eugene."

"Of course you didn't," he agreed soothingly, though he had no idea what the woman did intend to do. Whatever it was, it must truly be bad, so bad that Rapunzel was finding it difficult to talk about it. "What is it that she's trying to do, love?"

"She's going to... Eugene," she gasped, as if something had suddenly occurred to her, "Eugene, we have to get out of here! When she comes back, she's going to know—she already knows I don't want to be there; that's why she chained me up, because she knew I would try to run away—I did run away—Eugene, she's threatened your life! She'll kill you if she finds out I've told you this!"

If she had expected that to shock and horrify him, she would have been mistaken. By this point, he assumed nothing less. "That doesn't surprise me," he said calmly. "But Rapunzel, I'm prepared. I've got the Duckling crowd to back me up, remember." He paused. "What about your life? That's what I've been worried about all this time. I know she keeps thugs around. Do they—have they harmed you? Does she threaten you with them?"

Rapunzel trembled in his arms. "Not directly," she got out. "They're... enslaved to her. They don't do anything except what she tells them to do, and they've never touched me... but knowing that all she has to do is utter a word..." She shuddered. "They're not in shape right now, though."

There it was again, that phrase "in shape." Rapunzel had said it when she talked about the "guards," whoever they were, that the woman had left to unbind her and feed her. Eugene did not know what she meant by it, but he had a feeling that it did not mean physical fitness in this context. "Rapunzel, what—no, never mind," he said. He didn't need to interrogate her about the terminology of black magic. It didn't matter right now. What mattered, he thought with sudden clarity, was that she had escaped her evil colleague of her own accord, and had returned to him. She had not turned against him at all. She was safe in his arms, the very thing he had wanted for days, and the associate was en route to a foreign land. They would deal with it tomorrow. For now, he wanted to show her just how much she meant to him—finally.

She seemed to grasp the change in his tone and his intentions. A look of hope flashed in her eyes as he leaned in, wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close for a kiss. "I've missed this," she whispered just before their lips met.

He plunged into the kiss, devouring her and losing himself in her simultaneously. His fingers threaded through her soft hair and his grip on her waist tightened. His eyes were closed, but that only heightened the sensation of touch, and he felt the soft, smooth touch of her hands against his face, her thin ladylike fingers stroking his skin.

They broke apart for a moment. "You've missed this?" he said. "How do you think I've felt?"

"Probably the same," she whispered as they fell into another kiss every bit as deep. The hand around her waist slipped down lower. He gathered her in his arms and lifted her off the couch. Vaguely he heard a cheep of embarrassment and a scattering of tiny footsteps as Pascal scampered off the armrest and hid under the couch.

She clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting kisses on his face as he carried her to bed and set her gently down on the mattress. He climbed on it himself, kicking off his boots and throwing aside his doublet and shirt. She quickly untied the laces on her own boots and let them fall to the floor. He lifted her off the mattress and leaned in to kiss her while he unbuttoned the back of her dress. Once she was divested of her clothing and he of his, she opened her arms—no, from her body language, he realized she was opening her whole self to him. Seeing her like that, pleading with her gaze, giving herself with her open, inviting manner, was suddenly the biggest turn-on he could think of. She wanted him, she needed him—and he needed her. He didn't mind admitting that to himself now.

For the first time, he truly made love to her. It was so different from how the rest of his encounters with her had been, and so much better. She looked absolutely beautiful as her chest heaved and her face grew pink with heat and blood flow and anticipation. "Eugene," she cried at last, barely getting the name out as she came undone.

He did not last much longer himself. This was unbelievable—he thought he knew all there was to know about sex, but he'd never felt anything like this before. But he had to tell her. He had shown her, but there had to be no doubt in her mind. He should have said it long ago, if he'd been man enough to admit it to himself first... but he hadn't, and he had suffered for it in the form of not knowing whether she would ever come back to him. Still, his sufferings had to be nothing compared to hers. He had to tell her.

"Rapunzel I love you," he gasped out as he spent himself in her.

She whimpered in his arms, clinging to him as they collapsed bonelessly on the mattress. For a minute they could do nothing but offer tender, gentle touches to each other. When at last they were masters of their words again, she spoke.

"You meant it?" she whispered against the side of his face, close to his ear.

"Yes, I meant it," he said. "I've been an idiot... I don't deserve to have you... but somehow I do—"

"You do," she breathed in agreement.

"—and yes. I meant it. I love you, and I hope you never doubt it now."

She snuggled against him. "I love you too... and I never really doubted it in the first place," she whispered.

He brought her as close as he could, relishing the feeling of her chest rising and falling so close to his, and planted a kiss on her forehead. They soon fell asleep in each other's arms.