The cart turned out onto the wide road in the valley, its bone-rattling ride softening into long lurching waves as the wheels slipped into well-worn ruts. The mule in front, more sure-footed now, picked up a little speed, and the axles squeaked a little faster.
Fiona's fingers worked at the cords that bound her wrists, but the cords gave up no slack. Not that it would help, she thought. What am I going to do, spring into action on a hundred armed witches? When three were enough half an hour ago?
She rubbed her ankles together. The dagger was gone. That made sense; the last thing she could remember of the skirmish, she had been holding it, so she either dropped it or her captors disarmed her.
It was instinct; it was training. Hope was lost, but here she was, taking stock. No functioning hands. No dagger. No shield. No axe. Play the hand you're dealt.
No army.
Her entire list of assets were a necklace, a shirt, a belt, a skirt (even that's falling apart, she thought with disdain), and the boots laced on her feet. She had her wits, which weren't at all sharp. And … that pretty much summed things up.
The cart lurched to a stop. "Open up already, you dimwit," shrilled Brinda. The orange glow of her lantern cast swinging shadows inside the cart.
A muffled voice shouted a challenge back down from the rampart.
"Assword my pass," muttered Brinda. Louder, "Bippity Boppity Boo, I Have One More Ogre Than You!" she shouted up at the gate.
The muffled voice didn't sound impressed, but a great clanking, squeaking sound began, signaling that Brinda had convinced the guards she belonged there anyway.
For the first time in the ride, Fiona brought herself upright, clenching her abdominal muscles and wriggling her legs awkwardly below her into a kneel. The cart wasn't any too pleasant on kneecaps, but it afforded her the chance to peer at the gaudy castle. It was as close as she'd ever been.
Well, that's not strictly true. She'd grown up there, for frog's sake, a realization that she spent as much as time as possible not thinking about. But this was as close as she'd ever been to the beating heart of Rumpel's impocracy.
Passing under the portcullis, Fiona caught the flash of glistening green skin, ogres driving the treadwheel machine that had opened the gate for her arrival. She couldn't see who they were. Her heart twisted up, wringing out a little more life.
The portcullis clanged and rattled on its way back down. The cart ground to a halt.
"Little late back from the party, Luna?" inquired a raspy voice.
"We weren't invited to the easy pickin's," Luna objected. "We got stuck on routine patrol. And yet, look! We caught one anyway!" Her voice was triumphant.
Wiry fingers wrapped around the bars in the door at the rear of the cart. A slender, conical hat swept up past the window, and a hooked nose poked in through the grate. The witch's eyes widened when they recognized Fiona. "Oh! Oh this is quite good. Somebody tell Rumpel!" she let loose with a piercing yell. "MISTER STILTSKIN! We got her!"
A hush raced through the chaos, quickly swallowed in excited chatter. The milling stalks of satin purple and black dresses parted in a wave, making room for the diminutive dictator. An imp in fine satin pantaloons and tall, purple hair swaggered through the coven and up to the cart.
A pair of witches stood either side of the cart door, grenades and chains at the ready. "Ah, another gross ogre. Throw 'em on the pile," Rumpel sang nonchalantly. He waved a hand dismissively, his back to the cart.
He froze, then spun on his heel and marched briskly back towards the cart. "Except..." his tone turned sincerely sinister, "...did I hear you say her, specifically?" Anticipation burst through his indifferent facade. He reached the cart, his nose level with the bottom of the rough wooden door, and rolled up and down on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain himself. His voice rose a key. "WITCH! What am I waiting for? OPEN THE CART already!"
The witch lifted the bar on the cart and swung it open.
Fiona met Rumpel's gaze with hard features. For his part, Rumpel lifted an eyebrow, tilted his head, and said with condescension, "aaawww! If it isn't the Queen of the Ogres!" With a grand bow and sweeping gesture, he invited her out of the cart. "We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival, your highness," he announced.
A witch reached into the cart and yanked on Fiona's arm; she was forced to step forward to avoid tipping onto her face. In this way, they extricated her from the cart; her feet had barely touched the stone tile floor before heavy manacles were clamped onto her arms, still bound with cord at the wrists. Iron bars held the manacles, and two witches gripped each bar, the four ready to keep the ogress under control.
"Ahhh, Baba, did this package include, you know," Rumpel twirled a finger in the air, "anyone else?"
"Uh, no, Mister Stiltskin," Baba replied anxiously through gritted teeth.
"Hmm, that's intruiging," Rumpel said to his shoes, then looked up. "Aww, nevermind! I'm sure he'll be along soon enough. Doo dee doo!", he sang cheerfully.
Fiona looked down at the awful little man. "What do you want with us ogres, you miscreant?" she spat.
"Oh, different things," he said cheerfully with a dismissive wave, as though the pair were just having tea. "A little labor from some—" he said, tipping his head towards the entryway, "—a little entertainment from others—" he said, tipping an eyebrow at her. His brow creased in mischief, and a sinister grin sliced across his face. "—and in one particular case, an entire kingdom!" He erupted in cackling laughter as he spun on his heel and marched back the way he'd come.
The witches exchanged glances and then took his cue, raising up a great cackle. "Show her in to the party hall, ladies!" Rumple tittered with glee, waving his hand towards a door with a flourish. "I think the accommodations on the east side of the room will fit her perfectly."
The crowd parted to reveal a huge set of wooden doors on massive iron hinges. A pair of witches worked the door latch and hauled one side open. It scraped on the floor, rusty hinges protesting. Her captors steered her through the door into a cavernous space.