Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

The girl sat down and wept, for she could not do what the king commanded. Suddenly a funny little man appeared before her. "What will you give me to spin this straw into gold?" he asked.

Chapter 3: On the Qualities of Persons in Cloaks

He was certainly no taller than she was, hunched painfully over, his features shadowed by a floppy pointed hat that looked like a reject from The Lord of the Rings.

"Stop cringing, child, I'm not going to eat you," he snapped, managing to sound both crotchety and efficient. "I am here to help you out of your difficulties, so stop wasting time cowering…or wondering if you can take me down," he added as her gaze became suddenly focused. "I assure you, I'm a good deal stronger than I look."

Rachel stared up into bright eyes overhung by bushy gray brows and decided he was telling the truth. "How did you get in here?"

He smirked. "We all have our little secrets, don't we?"

Now she was getting her wits back and scrambled to her feet. She still didn't exactly tower over him, but her growing annoyance was lending her stature if not actual height. "Who are you?"

He flared his scarlet cloak and bowed low. "Rumpelstiltskin, at your service."

"I don't believe it."

"Very shrewd of you. I wouldn't either, were I in your shoes."

"Why are you here?"

"I told you, to help you."

She glared at him. "Why should I trust you?"

"No reason at all," he said cheerfully, "except that you have no other choice."

She worked her mouth like a fish and suddenly her anger evaporated, leaving her an ordinary five feet two inches. "How can you help me?"

"By making money. I'm a stock-spinner." He grinned, "Get it? Stalk as in straw, and stock as in…"

"I get it, I get it. So help me."

"But we haven't discussed payment. You can't get something for nothing."

"I have nothing to pay you with."

Rumpelstiltskin, or whoever he was, shifted impatiently. "What about that ring?"

"This?" She examined the thin gold band. "It's not worth anything."

"Where did you get it?"

"It was my mother's."

"And where is your mother?"

"Dead."

"The ring is therefore irreplaceable and priceless, am I correct?"

Rachel slowly drew off the ring and offered it to him. "I think you're crazy."

"Aren't we all?" He tucked the ring into a hidden pocket and shuffled over to the desk.

Seating himself, he began to flip through the printouts, muttering. "I see dear old M. F. has given you everything but stock of any value."

"I am supposed to spin straw into gold."

"Yes, but you at least have to have the straw."

"I'm afraid my father painted a glowing picture of my abilities, one no one in their right mind should have believed.  Mr. King can't have believed it which is why I don't understand…" Rachel sighed and sat down on the floor again.

"I wouldn't worry about trying to understand, if I were you," Rumpelstiltskin offered, a trifle condescendingly. "It's no doubt for some deep and twisted reason known only to the very rich. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to have to ask you to be quiet. I need to concentrate."

Rachel leaned back against the wall and surveyed the room in silence. Now that she had leisure to study the walls, she still could not decide what they were supposed to represent. Perhaps it was a forest or an undersea scene. Whatever it was, it was making her dizzy and she switched her attention to the floor. In the middle of the room was the only figure not arranged in blue, gray, and white. It was black, and she eventually decided it was a fox. It looked friendly, certainly friendlier than anything else in this fortress, including the smiling Herman and her so-called rescuer.

            Rachel's sleepless night was catching up with her, and she felt it impossible to keep her eyes open. The floor was cold and bumpy, but it was all there was. Crawling over to the fox, she curled up on top of it and fell asleep.

                                       

The little man sat down to the spinning wheel. His foot moved the treadle and his fingers spun the straw faster than the girl's eyes could follow. By morning, it had all been turned to gold.

Rachel stirred and moaned. Her neck felt as stiff as if she had been sleeping on the ground all night. Opening her eyes, she stared up in sleepy confusion at a tangled gray beard and a long crooked nose. "You," groaned Rachel.

"Yes, me. You might try a little gratitude since I've been doing all the work while you sleep the morning away."

Rachel scowled. If he expected gratitude he was going to have to be more courteous. "What time is it?"

"Past one. Why don't you order us some lunch? I'm starving."

Rachel looked blank.

"The intercom," he reminded her.

"Oh." Rachel gingerly raised herself to sitting position, and realized she had been sleeping beneath Rumpelstiltskin's cloak. She stood up and handed it to him, "Thank you."

"You'd be a lot more welcome if you'd get on with lunch."

She stalked over to the desk and hit the button. "Yes, Miss Miller?"

Rachel completed her request and turned around. "I hope you're…" The little man was gone. Rachel's jaw dropped. "Where…how…Well that's just peachy." There came the sound of a key in the lock. "Fast service," muttered Rachel as a maid pushed in a loaded cart, then exited without a word, locking the door behind her. Rachel sighed. There was no hope of subverting the hired help, even if she had had anything with which to subvert them. She walked over to examine the cart.

"That will be quite acceptable."

Rachel jerked and buried her thumb in a piece of chocolate cake. "I wish you wouldn't do

that! You just scared a year off my life."

"You're too nervous," he said unrepentantly. "Do you like these little sausages?"

"No," sighed Rachel, "help yourself."

It was a very long afternoon. She tried peering over Rumpelstiltskin's shoulder, but he only growled at her, and she had no idea what he was doing anyway. She finally settled herself with a pile of useless printouts and attempted to revive her origami skills. By the tenth crane she was talking to them under her breath. "You don't like it in here anymore than I do, do you, poor birds? No sun, no sky, just a crabby old Rumpelstiltskin who hogs the sausages."

"Must you mutter? Besides, you said you didn't like sausages."

"Well what am I supposed to do? Play with Mr. Bones?"

"What?" He glanced in the direction she pointed. "Ah, one of our esteemed Mr. King's little jokes, I see."

"Was he alive once?" Rachel asked morbidly.

"I should say so, but not recently. Probably a relic of the former owners back in the seventeenth century."

Rachel shuddered. "Lovely people."

"Oh, they were. There's a large portrait gallery in one of the wings. You should ask M. F. to show it to you."

"Like I would ask that snake for a toenail clipping."

"He would probably charge you for it."

Rachel snorted and tried to even the wings of her eighteenth crane. "Why are you doing this?"

"The goodness of my heart."

Rachel declined to dignify the remark with a response.

"Let's just say, there are a lot of people who don't exactly cherish M. F. like a brother." He fell silent and Rachel tried to remember how to fold a cherry blossom.

At last Rumpelstiltskin pushed back his chair with a satisfied grunt. "That should satisfy the King."

"How much did you make?" Rachel stepped carefully around her stacks of origami to stare at the still incomprehensible screen.

"Around fifteen thousand dollars, give or take a hundred."

Rachel was duly impressed. "I didn't know that was humanly possible."

"It's not, for humans." He snickered at his own wit, and stood up. Rachel was regarding him with a fixed stare. "What?"

"You're not going to disappear on me again. I want to see how you do it."

"As you wish, my lady." He repeated his elegant bow, flared his cloak, and disappeared in an explosion of smoke. Choking, Rachel covered her face with the hem of her t-shirt. When the smoke cleared, the little man was gone.

A/N A special thanks to Melissa and Nala for pointing out the M.L.K. thing. I intended no disrespect to Martin Luther King, and have changed my King's middle initial to 'F.'

Notes to my charming reviewers:

Nala: Thanks again. I agree, Europeans tend to have more class, but Americans have more money, which was what I needed for this story.

Karli: Thanks so much for your lovely review! I hope I can continue to 'pull it off'!

Melissa: Thanks for helping out with my review level! Rumpelstiltskin is a great fairy tale, and it was fun trying to work with its inherent inconsistencies.

Lil Lillian 14: Glad you like it, and glad my suggestions were helpful!

Miss Piratess: I hadn't thought that about Richard, but you may be right. King is a very manipulative man.

Equus: You're welcome. Flowers may be sent to my dressing room back stage. flaunts brat badge

Phillippa of the Phoenix: Love your name too! The phoenix is a fascinating creature. Out of curiosity, where did you get the Phillippa? Thanks for the review!