34

The Challenge

Rumple led Belle, or Belinda, as she was now called, out of the Great Library and into the courtyard. Arrow was lying beside the fountain, and rose as they came towards him, cocking his head as he studied the woman beside his sorcerer.

So this is the one female who's got you tied in knots, eh? the wolf asked, baring his teeth in a friendly lupin grin.

Rumple flushed slightly, not bothering to answer the wolf, and said to Belle, "Belinda, this is my familiar, Arrow."

Belle smiled at the handsome animal and said, "Hello, Arrow. Pleased to meet you. You're a grimm wolf, right? Like Gwydion's Silva?"

Arrow whuffed in answer, and allowed her to scratch his ears. Keep this one, Rumple. I like her . . . and she knows how to pet . . .

"Yes he is," Rumple answered. "Come, let's find somewhere to eat." He started out of the library courtyard, Arrow beside him on one side, and Belle on the other.

Hampered only slightly by his bad leg, and feeling rather like the boy in that old tale who hung the moon in the sky to light the girl he loved's way home, Rumple walked down the street towards the section of the city where they had decent eating establishments. He had sampled more than a few of them with Jeff and his children when they had stayed at The King's Rest, and so knew which ones had good food and a clean atmosphere.

Belle looked around as she walked close to Rumple, marveling that no one stopped her to ask a favor or begged her to give them alms or intercede with her father on their behalf for some matter. No one seemed to recognize her at all in her ordinary dress and with her eyes altered to common brown. It was quite a change from the way it usually was when she ventured into the city as the princess, with six guards and at least Mrs. Potts as an attendant, and every eye was watching her. This . . . simply walking like anyone else, and beside a handsome man no less . . . was sheer bliss.

Some people stopped and stared as they went by, but Belle soon quit worrying they recognized her, since half the stares they got were directed either at Arrow or Rumple.

Once a group of boys about ten or eleven tumbled in front of them, shouting and throwing a leather ball back and forth. The ball nearly hit Belle, and Rumple grabbed the nearest one and said sternly, "Lad, watch it! You nearly hit the lady in the head."

The boy, who was a spindly child with knobby knees and a shock of wheat colored hair, looked at Rumple and said, "Sorry, Master Sorcerer! It . . . it was an accident. I was just trying to get the ball for my team," he indicated the long blue sash he wore about his waist.

"That's all right, just be more careful next time," Rumple said.

"I will, sir," the boy said, and doffed his cap at Rumple and Belle before scurrying off after his friends. "Didha see that?" they heard him tell his friends. "I nearly ran over our new sorcerer and got myself turned into a cabbage!"

Rumple shook his head. "Little ruffian! And that's how rumors get started."

"A cabbage!" Belle chuckled.

"As if! I don't know how to turn anyone into something, even if I wanted to," Rumple snorted. "This magic business is new to me and . . . I'm still learning how to do things with it and control it."

"That's why Gwydion's your teacher, isn't it?"

"Yes. I just hope he's patient with me, for I feel like I'm the biggest fumble-fingered apprentice alive."

"Gwydion's a good mentor," Belle assured him. "He taught me astronomy and astrology, and he used to teach the noble's children who were at court mathematics too . . . until he became too busy as my father's advisor."

"That's good to know," Rumple said, and then led her down the cobblestone way until they came to a popular eatery called The Fox and Goose.

Alice knew the owner, a stout woman called Mistress Blackthorne, and she made the best stuffed partridges and tender braised beefsteak Rumple had ever tasted. Even the vegetables she cooked were first rate, not too under or over done, and her bread was some kind of honey wheat that was crusty on the outside and moist and soft on the inside and tasted wonderful with her sweet churned butter and strawberry preserves. The bread reminded him of Rachel's back in the Enchanted Forest, he thought wistfully, and he wished he could go back and visit her.

"The Fox and the Goose," Belle read the sign hanging on the side of eatery.

"It's a good public house, dearie," Rumple assured her. "I've eaten here plenty of times with my children and Jeff. The cook here serves only the best food and plenty of it, and it's always hot."

"That's good," Belle said, for she could recall many a night when the dishes for the table had been served lukewarm because they'd been kept on serving trays too long since there were so many courses.

As they entered, noting that there was a crowd since it was lunchtime, a familiar tall man carrying a top hat hailed them. "Hey, Rumple! Fancy you being here!"

Rumple turned, and saw Jeff waving at him, and next to the adventurer was Alice from The King's Rest. He didn't see Dizzy, but that wasn't too surprising, since the Cheshire was only seen when he wished to be. "Hello, Jeff. I see you managed to get Alice to come out with you after all."

"Uh, yeah, she finally fell for my elusive charm," the other chuckled. "And who's this?"

"My name's Belinda," Belle introduced herself without batting an eye. "How do you do?" She held out a hand.

Jeff took it and shook it. "Fine, thanks for asking." He smiled at her, then smirked at Rumple. "So . . . you finally invited a girl to lunch. It's about time, buddy!" He turned back to Belle. "He's a little . . . shy around girls, so I'm surprised he asked you out."

Belle smiled. "He's not always . . . at least not when we're alone," she stated, then flushed.

Jeff chuckled. Then he looked at Rumple and winked.

Rumple did a slight doubletake. Surely Jeff couldn't know . . . could he?

Alice beckoned to them and they followed her to a table. After they'd been seated, a serving girl brought them a menu and Jeff quickly studied it and then said, "I'm going to have my usual. Braised beef with fried onions and whatever vegetable they have, plus some crispy potatoes. And a cold ale." He looked over at Belle curiously. "So where did you meet my friend, Belinda? He's usually spinning or has his nose in a book, so did you meet him at the Guild hall or in the library?"

"The library," Belle answered. "I'm a bookworm myself, so . . ."

"You're well matched then," Alice chuckled. "Jeff and I met when he stayed at my papa's inn. And over a piece of mince pie."

"Mince pie?" Rumple asked.

"I dropped it in his lap one day."

"She tripped over some lout's big foot while she was going by . . . and well . . ." Jeff grinned. "I told her not to worry, it'd come out in the wash, and she said she owed me for it, so that's how we started going out on her day off."

"It was the most fortunate accident I've ever had," Alice admitted, smiling at Jeff.

"That's how I felt too," Belle said. "Rumple and I met over a book. I know that sounds sort of silly . . ."

"No, it sounds like fate," Alice disagreed. "My mama always said that you'll know the right one because you won't be looking for him, he'll just find you." She waved at Jeff. "And I guess she was right."

Belle smiled and squeezed Rumple's hand beneath the table, feeling her heart start to beat fast. She agreed wholeheartedly with Alice's mama. She only wished she knew how to convince the shy spinner sorcerer of that fact.

The serving girl returned and they placed their orders—two stuffed partridges with gravy and roasted root vegetables and two braised steaks, and a thick rib-eye steak for Arrow, who was lying under the table across Rumple's feet.

Rumple barely noticed the grimm wolf lying on his feet, he was too busy being awed that Belle was actually sitting and eating lunch with him. He loved watching her, noting the surprised delight in her eyes as she took in everything around her, her facile mind processing it all and then moving on to the next new thing. He'd seen that same expression before—on Val when she encountered something different and new, and fort the first few weeks she had come to live with him at his old cottage, everything had been different, and she had absorbed each thing with wide-eyed wonder.

Besides her curiosity, he also couldn't get enough of how she looked, her face was all high cheekbones and a delicate chin and her hair possessed a life of its own, tumbling in waves down her shoulders and back, her tresses gleaming auburn in the lamplight, like the last banked embers of a fire. He drank in the sight of her, and found himself slightly dizzy, as if he'd imbibed too much applejack, though he'd barely touched his ale.

He reached for the platter of wheat bread, and their fingers brushed.

A spark jumped between them, and Rumple blinked, startled. Had she felt that, or had it been just his imagination?

But then her eyes met his, and he knew she had felt that even as he had. He grabbed the bread and busied himself cutting a piece and spreading it with butter.

She's a princess, Rumple! A princess, not some girl you met at the market, no matter what she resembles, he scolded himself. He mustn't forget that. But he found himself hard pressed to remember, as each time her eyes met his, he lost himself within them.

Belle too found it hard to concentrate, as being next to Rumple, and watching his fine boned hands handling the bread made her long to have him run them over her, as he'd done back among the stacks. Who'd have thought the hands of a spinner could be so. . .incredible . . . so gentle and yet they made her burn like an oil-soaked torch! But then, he was a sorcerer too, and maybe that was how it was with them, she reminded herself. If so, she decided then and there, she'd gladly break any tradition for the chance to have him touch her like that again.

She also enjoyed listening to his voice, so expressive and mellow, like rich honey, with that charming burr to his speech. She knew some would have called his speech countrified, and sneered at it, but she loved how it sounded, so unlike the clipped vowels and hard consonants of the City, or the stiff formal tone Gaston sometimes used when he spoke with her, as if he were her tutor about to deliver a lecture.

She bit her lip slightly as she lifted her glass of chilled lemonade to her lips. She had tried, gods knew, to find something redeeming about her suitor when they first started courting. He was handsome and well-built, athletic, and an incredible marksman. But he also regarded her as a trophy, she'd found that out one day by accident, when she'd been late meeting him over at the stables for a ride, and as she had come upon him suddenly, heard him boasting to one of his hunting companions that he was proud to have the princess on his arm, for she was as fine as a pedigreed hound or a purebred falcon. And then he'd laughed, his white teeth flashing, as if he'd said the most witty thing ever.

Belle had been horrified and not at all amused over the comparison, since she sensed that he regarded his animals as mere tools to do his bidding, and not cherished companions. That was the first time she had realized that she was not his true love, but his prize possession.

And she was no one's prize to be won.

She had decided then that no one decided her fate but her, and had taken pains to escape his company whenever the opportunity presented itself.

She eyed Rumple again and thought about what a study in contrasts he was compared to Gaston. Where Gaston was loud and arrogant, Rumple was quiet and self-effacing. Gaston's good looks got him admiring glances from women of all ages and stations, and well he knew it, preening and showing off his muscles like a peacock. Rumple, on the other hand, seemed to downplay his slender pleasing features by looking pensive and his limp sometimes dominated his steps, making people focus on it instead of his graceful hands and lovely soft brown hair. He was slender, yet not spindly, she had seen how well he filled out those leathers, and even with the limp she thought he had a well turned leg. Gaston made sure everyone looked up when he entered a room, but Rumple's presence could go unnoticed at first . . . until you looked around and saw him . . . and then the undefinable aura of mystery and magic that clung to him made your skin tingle.

It was the difference, she thought, between a strutting wild boar and a graceful unicorn.

And she knew without a doubt which one she preferred.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

While Belle and Rumple were breaking bread at The Fox Goose, Gaston and his friends were cheering on the hounds at the bear baiting. Gaston was a bit miffed when Belle never came back, and sent her serving wench, that old biddy Potts, to tell him she was indisposed with some female complaint, but his displeasure soon turned around when he realized that since she wasn't there, he could indulge himself as he wished, without worrying about offending her royal sensibilities.

He drank tankards of applejack, cursed the bear's keeper with his friends when the animal seemed likely to go down in the first few sorties against the mastiffs, and ate skewers of spiced chicken and beef dripping with grease as he watched the entertainment.

He brushed a beefy hand across his brow, ruffling his curly locks, which were dark as night, and complemented his tanned skin and chiseled good looks. He glanced around, feeling eyes upon him, and saw a pretty wench in a red dress watching him from across the packed dirt of the yard.

He eyed her leisurely, she had a nice figure, well rounded through the hips and bust, and had hair the color of a ripe dusky cherry, and perky lips that made him think of secret corners and seduction. He raised an eyebrow, and then curved a finger in an unmistakable gesture, his lips curving in a welcoming smile.

The girl smiled back, and sashayed over to him, her hips swaying tantalizingly. "Hello, my lord," she said, her voice low and pleasing, like a good shot of whiskey.

"What's your name, pretty one?" he crooned, his eyes roaming her the way he would have a fine mare.

"Cora, sir. Cora Miller," she replied, batting her eyes at him.

"Cora. How lovely. And I am . . ."

"Sir Gaston, of course!" she gushed, unable to believe her luck. "Everyone knows of you, Avonlea's premier knight errant."

Gaston preened. "Yes, my sweet little tartlet. And how are you finding the bear baiting?"

"Not bad . . . but they could have stirred up the dogs more," she sniffed.

"My thoughts exactly," he laughed. Ah, now here was a fine wench, one who appreciated the hunt, not like mealy-mouthed soft-hearted Belle, who couldn't watch when he brought down a deer, and nearly lost her lunch when he slit one's throat right in front of her. "And what do you do, pretty Cora?"

"I'm a journeyman spinner and weaver," she declared proudly. "I've won the spinning and weaving contest these past three years at the Spring Festival and am due to make master soon," Cora told him glibly, though she knew she was not yet even close to master status.

He eyed her dress, which was of fine grade cloth, though not as fine as a noble's of course, and had nearly invisible stitches, as well as low cut bodice that stirred a man's dark fantasies. "You make that dress?"

"I did," she stated, tossing her head proudly. "It's my own design."

"I like it," he said boldly. "It brings out the color in your hair and accents your figure well." Suddenly his hand was around her waist and he pulled her to him. "You remind me of a spirited filly I once had. She was gorgeous and fiery, and yet I could make her mind with a touch of my boot or rein."

"Oh? And do you think you could make me mind?" she queried playfully.

In answer he dipped his head and his mouth found hers.

Cora found his kiss delightfully passionate and hungry, leaving her wanting more. And he was handsome enough to give her grandmother seizures, she thought wickedly, kissing him back.

"Well, Cora?" he demanded, his mouth curving in a saucy smirk.

"I wouldn't mind letting you order me around . . . for awhile," she purred.

"I think I would enjoy the ordering, my pretty," he laughed huskily. "Shall I see you at the festival then?"

"Yes, of course. I plan to win again . . . unless that upstart Master Rumple tries to outdo me," she said, her eyes flashing.

"Rumple? You wouldn't be speaking of that hedge witch Rumplestiltskin that Gwydion presented as his apprentice a week or two back?" Gaston sneered.

"The same. Why? Do you know him?"

"I do . . . and he's nothing but a mere crippled coward," Gaston said, recalling how he had been humiliated by the sorcerer before Belle on the road. "He calls himself a sorcerer but I swear he knows as much about magic as I do!"

Cora laughed spitefully. "That's what I said! Sorcerer, ha! I've seen him do tricks—light a candle, untangle a stupid apprentice's thread, make things move across the floor, but any hedge witch can do that! That's nothing. I think Magician Gwydion felt sorry for him and that's why he made Rumple his apprentice. So his kids wouldn't become beggars and starve."

"No doubt. Gwydion has always had a soft spot for luckless commoners and little children," Gaston snorted. "Rumplestiltskin is an outsider and will never be part of Avonlea. Anyone can tell that by looking at him—the scarecrow! What a pity we must endure him and his stumbling ways and his stupid country accent!"

"I wish there were a way we could . . . get people to see him for the bumpkin he is," Cora said.

Gaston looked thoughtful. "Maybe there is."

"Like what?"

"Like proving to everyone what a great failure he is," Gaston replied. "Everyone thinks he's this great spinner and a sorcerer to boot."

"Yes. So?"

"So . . . what if we showed everyone at the festival that he was charlatan and a liar?"

"But he is a master spinner," Cora objected. "I hate to admit it, but he's earned his master's stamp. I've seen him spin and so has everyone at the hall."

"Pfft!" Gaston waved a hand in dismissal. "So he can spin wool into thread and weave a coat. So can many of you, right? But he's supposed to be something special, right?"

"Well, yes."

"Then why don't you challenge him to do something different, little tartlet?" Gaston whispered, his lips tickling her cheek.

"Like what?"

"Like this . . ." and he whispered something into her ear that made her smirk.

"Oh, yes! That's perfect!" she squealed. "And he'll never be able to do it and he'll be the laughingstock of the kingdom and maybe then he'll pack up and go back to his hovel in the woods or wherever he came from!"

Grinning from ear to ear, imagining the meek spinner's humiliation, Gaston wrapped his arm about Cora and they watched the rest of the bear baiting, cheering loudly when the bear finally gave up the ghost and the mastiffs growled and fought over the carcass until the beaters came and drove them off.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

The day of the festival arrived, and Rumple made sure Bae and Val were dressed in their new clothes that he'd made for them using the sewing machine. He had given Jeff his new coat, and his friend had exclaimed that he would be the best dressed bodyguard around in it, and spent ten minutes admiring himself in front of the mirror in the guardsman headquarters.

Rumple had made Bae a similar shirt to his own silk one, though Bae's was not silk, but soft sateen, a much less costly material, and Rumple had learned a spell from Gwydion to keep it free of stains, since the little boy sometime was clumsy and spilled things on himself. The shirt was a deep gold color, and brought out the flecks of light brown in his eyes. Rumple had also sewn him a vest of brown moleskin, with a rearing horse on it, and he had made the boy some leather pants as well, with a drawstring, and changed his everyday shoes into hightop floppy boots like some of the courtiers sons wore.

Bae looked adorable in his outfit, and strutted about the cottage like a bantam rooster. Linnea giggled at him and said he was a fine little gamecock.

Val was equally sweet and adorable in the new frock Rumple had made her, with its double skirt and matching bodice of rosebud pink sateen. The underskirt was a creamy ruffled cotton, which peeped out from beneath her overskirt, which was accented with shimmery rose colored ribbons and one lovely fabric blush rose on the center of the bodice. He'd made her a matching little bag so she could carry Amanda Willa in it, and a little ribbon choker with a pretty rose agate in the shape of a cat completed the ensemble. He had done her dark hair in a crown of braids and wound matching ribbons in her hair. And her shoes were like ballet slippers and matched her dress.

Linnea called her pretty as a picture, and Val was pleased as punch, and twirled about in her new dress until she made herself dizzy and nearly fell down.

"You t-two w-will be the most w-well-dressed children there!" the housekeeper said shyly.

"Except for the noble's kids." Bae reminded her.

Linnea shook her head. "I think y-you're even b-better t-turned out than they are, Master B-Bae."

Val looked at the maid and said softly, "What about you, Linnea? What are you wearing to the festival?"

Linnea shrugged. "I . . . err . . .j-just my regular dress . . . I d-don't have t-time to get a new one . . " she looked down at her shoes, which were a plain serviceable brown. "And it d-ddoesn't matter, Miss Val . . . s-since I'm not g-going anyhow."

"Why not? Linnea, everyone goes to the festival!" Val objected.

"Yeah, you gotta go!" Bae added.

Linnea blushed. "B-But . . . I . . . I d-don't have anything to w-wear and no one w-will miss me anyway. . ."

A purple mist enveloped her then, and when it dissolved she was wearing a new frock of soft cotton in a beautiful spring green color with lace edging and a long flowing skirt. On her feet were pretty shoes with matching bows and her work roughened hands were covered in fine kidskin gloves of soft ivory.

She put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! W-What . . .?"

"Papa!" exclaimed Val. "You gave Linnea a new dress!"

Rumple stood in the doorway of the kitchen, smiling at the woman. "I did. Because you deserve to go to the festival too, Linnea. And now you don't have the excuse of not having anything to wear."

"M-Master R-Rumple!" Linnea cried, her cheeks pink as she stared down at herself. "I-I . . . thank you!"

"Not at all, dearie," he handed her a small purse as well. "Here. Your wages for this week. Early, so you can buy yourself some treats."

The woman began to stammer her thanks again, but Rumple just smiled and said, "Now go and enjoy yourself, dearie."

Overwhelmed, Linnea blushed redder than a sunset, then curtseyed to her master and ran out the door to meet some of the palace staff who were also going to the festival, and when they commented on her new dress, she told them her master had made it for her and they all gasped, for it was rare as snow in summer for a master to show such concern for a mere kitchen maid.

Rumple met Jeff in his new coat outside on the path leading to the city and together with Val and Bae, they walked down into the City. The air today was one of celebration and joy, as the Spring Festival was a chance for old friends to meet and vendors to sell their finest wares and deals to be struck and people to enjoy themselves as spring burst into bloom.

Rumple held Bae's hand as they walked through the crowded streets, one hand in his son's, and the other on his walking staff. Jeff had Val's hand in his own, and teased her about being a great lady he was escorting.

Arrow walked beside them, a great hulking gray presence that gave people pause when they saw him, and they quickly scattered at his approach and made way for his family.

Rumple stopped at a stall selling fruit and bought each child an orange with cloves, a pomander that would make their room smell sweet, and then he bought them each a sweet golden pear as well, which Avonlea was famous for.

As they walked along, eating the rich fruit, they saw sword swallowers and fire eaters, and passed booths selling everything from swords to knitting needles. People were shopping, bargaining, and examining everything.

They approached the large central square where the guilds craftsmen had set up platforms and advertised their particular crafts with contests between members. The Glassblowers Guild had a contest on who could blow the best figure in five minutes, and the Jewelers Guild had several pieces from their best on display upon an ivory cloth draped table. The Wool Merchants Guild had dress form set up and two or three spinning wheels and Master Derek was up on the platform, asking who would show today's spectators what fine thread they could spin.

Suddenly Cora Miller came up on the platform, in her red wine dress, her auburn hair twined in a fancy hairdo, and she seemed to be looking for someone in particular.

"Ugh! Look, it's Cora!" Val made a face. Val didn't like her at all, not after hearing what she had done to her baby sister, and once when she had come to the Guild house Cora had sneered at her and called her a brat.

"Cora, Cora, that only a mother can adora!" Bae chanted.

Several people nearby tittered at the little boy's mocking saying, and Rumple sighed and said softly, "Baelfire, enough!"

"But Papa, it's true," his son said. "She's so nasty only a mama could love her."

"And maybe not even then," Val added. "I think her mama's dead, so maybe she died of shame because her daughter was so horrid."

Jeff started laughing.

Rumple groaned and said, "Valentina, where do you get such notions?"

Val shrugged. "Well, in one of my fairytales, the mother dropped dead of a broken heart, so why couldn't one drop dead of shame at how awful her daughter was?"

"I'd throw up if I was her mother," Bae seconded. Then he made a gagging noise.

Before Rumple could scold him, Cora's gaze alighted on the crippled spinner sorcerer. A sly grin spread across her face and she pointed at him, saying loudly, "I know who can answer your challenge, Master Derek! There's Master Rumple, whom we all know can spin wool into fine thread."

Now people were muttering and looking at them, and Rumple found himself under the uncomfortable scrutiny of several pairs of eyes. "Cora, what the hell are you up to?" he muttered, feeling himself start to blush.

"But some of you might not know that our finest master is also a sorcerer," Cora continued, her voice honey sweet. "And we all know that any sorcerer worth his salt can do incredible feats of magic, right?" The crowd agreed, yelling back at her.

"She's up to something, Rumple," Jeff began uneasily.

"I know," he muttered.

"That being so, I challenge Master Rumplestiltskin to show his prowess in sorcery for all to see," Cora's voice ran out shrill and high in the air, like the last clarion call of a bugle. "And spin straw into gold!"