Zelena reappeared back in the castle in a poof of smoke, her face a mask of fury as she stalked up to her throne. Things had not gone as planned. General Halden who had been directing the battle from one of the windows, stepped back from his spyglass. He did his best to ignore the body she'd brought back with her. What the witch did was her own business and he knew all too well what happened when you asked questions. After all he'd been promoted when General Lorcan had deigned to ask why Zelena had let her sister enter the realm in the first place. His prying had earned him a long fall off the balcony.
"What news Halden?"
He bowed before her to report that the invaders had fled back to their ship where a contingent of guards and monkeys would be waiting for them.
"It's a waste of resources but at least they'll take their time in returning."
Zelena stood and walked towards the window facing the gates. She stared out towards the plume of black smoke issuing from over the hill. The fool hadn't sent enough men to stop them at the docks. Meaning those usurpers would escape. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth before punching a hole in the window, jagged shards falling to the courtyard below, her hand covered in cuts.
Absently she glanced over at the body in the middle of the room. She had originally planned to kill him, eliminating their pathetic little group one after another. But when she saw how the Saviour had reacted when she'd stabbed him, a new plan had started to form in her mind. Perhaps this wasn't a total loss.
"Fetch the Tinker, Halden."
A strange request in his eyes, but Halden proved far smarter than his predecessors and stayed quiet. He bowed and quickly left the room in search of the inventor. What the witch wanted with him he didn't care. His life was more important than foolish questions he had no business asking.
Zelena stood looking out the window at the mess in the courtyard below. A contingent of guards were dragging bodies towards a bonfire, a greasy curl of smoke issued from the crisp bodies of dead monkeys, competing with the pillar of smoke coming from the docks. Her blood dripped down her hand onto the stone floor, disappearing as wisps of steam upon impact. They would doubtless be back. Perhaps this time she would take the mother's baby. That would surely break them. Her thoughts wandered towards all of the horrible plans she had in store for those who dared to face her. She was interrupted by General Halden clearing his throat. At least the man knew when to shut his mouth. Turning she stared down at the Tinker. He was tall but the glasses and dusty leather apron somewhat lessened any intimidation his height may have caused.
"Can you repair him?" She gestured over to the body with her bloodied hand.
The Tinker, unmoved by all this nonsense that had interrupted his experiments, walked over to the pile of leather on the carpet, a slight limp in his gait. He adjusted his glasses and frowned, staring down at the body.
"Madame I am not a physician." A fact he'd had to remind her of more than once. Clearly the man was still alive; the short shallow gasps were evidence of that. But he was leaking all over the floor and his skin had a clammy sheen to it, his face a mask of pain. "And he appears to be in some distress. Are you not sufficiently capable of fixing him yourself?"
She waved her hand at that. "My power lies not in healing. I wouldn't waste breath learning those spells. They serve no purpose."
"Yes I'm quite aware." He muttered, ignoring her glare. She might have cowed everyone else in this castle but he was not so easily unnerved. She needed him. Soldiers of flesh were easily destroyed. Her new army would be anything but weak and for that she would tolerate his mild contempt. But what she asked was impossible. He did not 'repair' the organic. It was too imprecise, too mutable a material. Human bodies were structures that did not lend themselves to pressure.
"Can you do it or not!" Always dithering, the man never gave a straight answer. It was not dissimilar to extracting the truth from a liar.
The Tinker leaned down and stuck a finger into the hole the man was leaking out of. A sharp cry of pain echoed through the room. The man spasmed beneath him, eyelids fluttering.
"His heart is punctured. He may not live." The Tinker wiped his hand on his apron. Her summons were a waste of her own time but he wasn't foolish enough to voice obvious facts.
"Then you will make him a new heart." She grinned as she saw his eyes meet hers and light up. The man enjoyed a challenge. So let him try. He was more likely to succeed when she made things difficult and even if he did not, it was no great loss. She would find another way to destroy them.
The Tinker chewed on his lip. He'd never had reason to marry the mechanical with flesh and blood before. Mostly because it was unlikely to work. And this man on the floor below him was not an ideal candidate. Likely half dead already, if not mostly dead. But he was never one to back down, especially when his not inconsiderable mind was put to the test.
"I make no promises as to a favourable outcome but I will do what i can." He bowed and turned to leave.
"Do try not to kill him." She motioned towards the guards on either side of the main doors. They picked up the body and dragged it towards the door, following after the Tinker, leaving a puddle of blood behind. Zelena turned back to the window and contemplated her next move. She glanced down at her hand, blood ran in lines over her knuckles as she made a fist, the red standing out in contrast to her skin. Those fools would return. And when they did she would be ready.
Somewhere in the dark, Hook could hear what sounded like the wind moaning. It surrounded him, digging into his skin. Its tendrils burrowed into his bones and ripped him apart, scattering him like so much sand in a storm. And he was so cold. As if ice had taken hold of his brain, his limbs in a constant state of shiver, frost running up his spine. He descended into himself as a hole opened up in his chest. And slowly as a frozen river, he gradually fell away, an ever-growing pressure pushing him down. His descent into the dark, threatening to shatter all that he knew, all that he was.
The Tinker apparently was the only one to notice a change in the man's breathing pattern as they continued towards his workshop. For the moment the Tinker ignored him. Soon enough he'd be at work again. Best to relax until the moment came.
The small contingent ascended a staircase until they reached a small door with a large lock. The Tinker fluidly pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it, allowing the guards to enter his abode, hoping they would keep their prying eyes from peeping around too much.
They unceremoniously dumped the man on his workbench and left but not without glancing around at the contraptions hanging from the ceiling and scattered about on the floor. Wood, leather and metal in varying states of assembly took up the majority of space, leaving little room to manoeuver. The Tinker silently cursed the guards as they departed, with only the comforting smells of tannin and wood smoke to comfort him. He quickly washed his hands in a basin that he'd always considered overlarge and turned to the task at hand.
Digging through a pile of odds and ends he came up with a handful of leather straps. It wouldn't do to have the man moving about while he was digging through his insides. He whistled while he strapped his project down, keeping a careful eye on him coming to. Considering how best to approach replacing a heart without killing him, he noticed the man was bleeding onto his floor, drip by drip. The Tinker frowned in disgust. Another reason he preferred the inorganic. Closing his eyes he did his best to imagine it was oil. But he would have to suffer cleaning up the mess later, a task he did not relish even thinking of. The maids couldn't be trusted to clean anything and he had no doubt that everyone in the castle functioned as a spy in some capacity for Zelena. The longer he was able to keep his inventions and plans from prying eyes, the more valuable he would be. And he planned on being as valuable as possible as it usually contributed to the likelihood of avoiding death at the witch's hands.
Leaning down towards the man whose breathing had slowed considerably, he poked at the hole in his chest again, wondering how it had come about. The man involuntarily flinched.
"Oh. I suppose that hurt." The Tinker frowned. He was going to need something to firmly knock the man out. Wouldn't do for him to wake in the midst of things. He pulled open a drawer and fumbled around for a minute, searching amongst a collection of bottles and jars until he came upon a black concoction. Zelena had provided it after his accident when he couldn't sleep. The constant pain in his leg had left him an exhausted insomniac, wandering the halls of the castle, too tired to work and too antsy to stay still. It had dulled all his senses to beyond what he expected possible. But she had warned him against overindulging. Consuming too much would put him to sleep permanently. Unaware of how much he'd need to keep the man under he merely guessed and tipped an amount down his throat. Sputtering and coughing, it didn't go down easy, leaving the Tinker to hold his hand over the man's mouth to ensure he swallowed every last drop.
He waited several minutes for it to take and saw his breathing even out. Watched the muscles relax, the tenseness leave the shoulders, the pain leave his face. And when he was sure he picked up his instruments, laying them out in order, all perfectly parallel to one another.
"Let us begin shall we?" He held up his bone blade and stared down at the man in leather. He had no blueprint for where to begin or how to proceed, a thought that was both terrifying and exhilarating. But there was only forward and he wasn't about to admit failure before testing himself against the unknown.
And so, for the second time in as many hours, a sharp implement was shoved into Hook's chest.