Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

A/N Many apologies for the delay. Going back to college does funny things to my schedule. Last chapter should be up by middle of the week.

"Then," cried the little man, "you must give me your first born child." The girl was frightened and did not wish to agree to the bargain, but she knew not what else to do. And so she promised.

Chapter 6: On the Usefulness of Anagrams and Elevators

"I thought you might enjoy a tour, since this is to be your home." Herman's face was anxiously eager to please.

"Why not?" sighed Rachel. Anything was better than staring at that mute screen for endless hours. She felt unutterably weary as Herman paraded her past an endless procession of rooms, many with great historical value, or filled with state-of-the-art electronic playthings. Everything blurred together, and Rachel's feet were aching by the time they entered a short, narrow gallery.

"And these are the former owners."

Rachel focused on rows of old-fashioned portraits portraying grim-faced men and anguished looking women. "I wouldn't be happy either if I had to live in this place," Rachel told them, and then realized with a sinking feeling that she was about to become the next face in this gallery. "Does Mr. King have other residences?"

"Certainly. This is only his eastern estate. As a matter of fact, he hasn't even owned it for very long. He purchased it from a former competitor. A sort of trophy, you might say."

"A very large trophy," added Rachel. Something about the conversation and this place was making her uneasy, but she was too tired to figure out what.

Exhausted as she was, Rachel could not sleep. She tossed and turned and at last fell into an uneasy doze in which she saw portraits from the gallery dancing a ring about a curiously engraved pair of silver letters. The portraits evolved into a chain of Rumpelstiltskins who spun about faster and faster in a circle which was the way to solve an anagram…

Rachel sat bolt upright, breathing hard. She threw aside the covers and ran into the other room to rummage in the carved desk for pencil and paper. At the top of the sheet she wrote 'Rumpelstiltskin,' and below it she placed a capital 'P' and a capital 'K.' Then, deliberately crossing them out as she went, she filled in the other letters until the completed name sat in front of her. Prestin Kimstull was King's vanquished rival, the man whose family, Rachel was certain, had once owned this house. It was no wonder Rumpelstiltskin knew the secret passageways.

Lighting up the screen, Rachel carefully typed her solution into the palm pilot. Access was not denied. Her accounting skills had never been great, but after an hour of careful perusal, Rachel concluded that what she was looking at was a copy of M. F. King's financial records for the past six months. If she was interpreting her numbers correctly, these weren't the files he showed to the rest of the board, but his own personal books, where he kept track of the funds he was systematically lifting from the company coffers. But what did Kimstull expect her, imprisoned as she was, to do?

When morning came, Rachel was a lot closer to her wedding and no closer to the answer. Herman arrived to announce a shopping trip in the city. "Mr. King thought you might like to select a few things," Herman explained as if to prove that his employer had a good side. "You can get whatever you like."

Under other circumstances it would have been the shopping trip of every girl's dreams. As it was, Rachel took a grim satisfaction in purchasing the ugliest and most expensive garments she could find. Herman staggered under a load of sequins, leather, plaid, and fringe. She may be forced into this marriage, but Rachel was determined to be the tackiest bride on the coast.

After several hours of hopelessly attempting to put a dent in King's checking account, Rachel headed for the elevator, trailed by the exhausted Herman. As she approached the elevator, there was a flurry in the crowd, and Rachel was shoved into the elevator while Herman's entrance was blocked.

Wild visions of making a run for it filled Rachel's mind, and she was determined to take the chance when the elevator slammed to a stop and the lights went out. The tinny guitar music continued to play in the background as cries of alarm subsided under the emergency lighting. "Ladies and gentlemen," the intercom sounded, "the problem is minor. Please remain calm and we'll have you out of there in a few minutes."

"Don't turn around," Rumpelstiltskin ordered.

Rachel's breath caught sharply, but she remained motionless. "Did Mr. Prestin Kimstull send you?"

He chuckled. "Well done, I knew you wouldn't let me down. And the Prestin Kimstull you would be referring to is the eighth. It gets confusing, otherwise."

"That file was fascinating, but I don't understand what he wants me to do with it."

"You understand that Mr. King is a criminal of the first degree?"

"Tell me something I don't know, and stop wasting time."

"To what lengths would you go in order to stop him?"

"Considering he's taken over my entire life, great ones."

"You could marry someone else. Someone with the power to thwart his plans and who can keep you safe."

"Someone like Mr. Kimstull?"

"Yes."

Rachel frowned. "Are you familiar with the phrase 'out of the frying pan and into the fire?'"

"Being acquainted with both men, I can assure you that marriage with Kimstull, while it may have its unpleasant aspects, will be far superior to marriage with King."

"They seem equally manipulative to me."

"Mr. Kimstull hasn't threatened to kill you."

"No," agreed Rachel, "but he's asking for my first child after all. Does it have to be marriage?"

"Unless you can think of another way out of tonight's touching ceremony."

"You could take me with you now."

"Do have any idea of the kind of time it would take to make arrangements that would keep you safe from King?" whispered Rumpelstiltskin as the elevator jerked to life. What is your decision?"

"Oooh…fine!" snapped Rachel. "I'll marry him, but if this is another trick…"

"You'll make his life a waking nightmare, I know. We'll contact you this afternoon. Now go and don't look back."

The elevator opened and its relieved passengers spilled out onto the ground level. Herman was waiting with an agonized expression. "My dear Miss Miller, are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine, thank you."

"I, ah, would appreciate it if you didn't mention this little episode to Mr. King."

"No, of course not." If things go according to plan, I won't have the chance.

Notes to Reviewers:

Equus: You're right, the new summary stinks. But I'm too lazy to change it.

Melissa: Hope this answered your questions about anagrams. I'm a little fuzzy on exactly how Rachel baked the cookies, but I presume that if she requested access to a kitchen she would get it.

Phillippa of the Phoenix: LOTR forever! The story I remember the most from that book is the one that focuses on the father, and has him play the role of rescuer.

Miss Piratess: When the story is over, you may have Max. I'll even gift wrap him.