Hook could only stare at the witch in confusion. Was she truly willing to make a mindless army out of her own citizens? At the very least her confidence in his continued confinement was apparent, considering how easily she shared her plans. But seeing as she was arranging to go after Swan and her family he would have to remedy that quickly.
Of course, everything was rather painful and fuzzy at the moment with that perpetual itch at his chest. And he was finding it difficult to stand upright but that minor inconvenience would doubtless be remedied soon enough. The Witch seemed intent on keeping him alive for her own reasons and was unlikely to let him die. The problem being he was now entirely dependent on the attention and benevolence of someone not normally prone to such actions.
Zelena smiled wide in reaction to his fevered stare. "That's enough of a demonstration for now." With a twist of her hand the dagger disappeared in a wisp of green smoke. The prisoner with the missing heart simply looked up at her with a hollow stare, his dark eyes barely visible in the flickering torchlight. She noticed and gave him an exasperated sigh.
"Oh do lighten up dear. You'll be doing far worse soon enough." She grabbed the train of her dress and departed the room, dumping the heart in the hand of the nearest guard.
Hook turned to leave, certain that if he didn't he'd be dragged out. But before he exited he saw the prisoner's face go slack and his mouth stretch into a sickly grin that didn't meet his eyes. It was a horrific expression that the pirate did his best to ignore. There was no point in offering words of comfort as they were both under her control. Disobedience was apparently met with creativity and pain according to the Tinker.
As he stumbled out into the dimly-lit hall he had to close his eyes, willing the nausea to dissipate. The bile at the back of his throat burned, leaving an acrid taste behind. The Witch ignored him as she swept back up the stairs and he suffered the indignity of being manhandled by her guards. Though truthfully it was unlikely he could have managed on his own. The ache in his chest had started to creep its way into the rest of him. His head was light and his feet were heavy. He barely noticed when they started to drag him up the stairs, his legs giving away halfway up.
The world grew muted and soft around him. The clank of armour dulled as if there were men walking around in a room next door; his laboured breathing became an echo; the hiss of wet torches small as a mouse. In the distance he heard a bell that steadily grew louder until it was beside his head banging against his skull, unrelenting. He felt as if he'd been turned on his head, floating upside down until everything shattered around him, splintering into pieces before it all went dark.
The guards shared a look over the bowed body. Drawing attention invited wrath and despite the prisoner's seeming importance, neither wished to speak up about his possible impending demise. Instead both pulled an arm over their shoulder and continued up out of the depths. Perhaps Her Majesty would notice on her own.
It was only as they ascended out of the dark that she turned, eyes snapping to his prone form. She frowned and reached down to grab a handful of hair. She yanked, jerking his head up and searched his face for the lie, his eyes closed, his mouth slack. Noting his seemingly dormant state she peeled back an eyelid. They always tried this, fleeing into their minds to escape her. But she had ways of dragging them out. With a finger extended, her nail slowly grew into a sharp point towards his eye. But alas there was no flinch, no cringe, no movement at all.
She rolled her eyes. "Well he's certainly been less than entertaining. Get the Tinker to fix him." Waving them off she sauntered back to the War Room, bored with the pirate. After all she had a ship to find and enemies to destroy.
The guards pulled him along, his dead weight an annoyance. Besides, if he was of interest to the Witch, best to hand him off to another. Her mood tended to be indiscriminate when angered and all with a brain in their head made themselves scarce when that happened. Neither spoke as they made their way to Tinker's shed. The strange wooden structure was crammed into what would have been a receiving room of some sort. Hauling their cargo up the creaky wooden stairs they banged on the door, eager to be out of sight.
"Yes?" Tinker popped his head out the door, goggles affixed to the top of his head, his hair standing on end. He grimaced as he took one look at Hook. "Oh. It's you." He neither acknowledged nor looked at the guards and simply left the door open for them as he scuttled back inside.
The patient was quickly dropped off on the table he'd so recently been strapped down to and the soldiers departed without a word. Tinker plopped down on his least comfy chair and fiddled with a mechanical bird at his desk, trying to ignore the rather large problem behind him. But after he'd wound the gears through their automation half a dozen times, testing the speed and ensuring it was well oiled, he found he couldn't shut out the pained noises behind him.
He had welcomed the man's departure before, leaving him in peace. Now, to have him brought back, he shook his head. It was an ill reminder of the Witch's demands and his apparent failure. Tinker closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, setting aside his personal project. The bird would have to wait while he fumbled his way through human anatomy. Again.
Walking to stand over the man it was obvious things were far worse than when he'd left before. The prisoner was pale, sweating and not entirely lucid though he did occasionally mumble unintelligible nothings into the ether. Gingerly Tinker reached forward to check the wound. He pulled at the clothing, prompting a flinch and slurred shout from the man. Soon enough it was obvious why. Something had gone horribly wrong. The wound was red, swollen and fit to burst but from what Tinker couldn't say.
"Not sure what they expect me to do with you," he muttered. "I told 'em I was no healer and look what's happened."
He grimaced and scratched the back of his head, long fingers carding through his already wild hair. He was unused to being wrong, let alone admitting it. But measuring that discomfort against the Witch he would choose the former every time. Better to admit his pride than suffer her wrath.
Last time had been guesswork and clearly mistakes had been made. But now what to do? He began pacing, his timeline unknown, his tools insufficient, his knowledge lacking. The more he thought the more he knew they were both unlikely to survive another attempt without help. There were few enough allies in the castle, with everyone either too devoted or too scared to do anything apart from obey. And while he couldn't necessarily complain about his current living standards he did rather enjoy being alive. Failing this next task would make him very dead indeed and he could think of only one person he could turn to, though he was already cursing the four corners just thinking about it.
He grabbed his cloak and stuffed his satchel full of spare parts, the metal clunking to the bottom of the bag. He marched toward the door and just before leaving turned back to the unconscious man, willing him to vanish.
Oz knows we'd be better off if neither of us were here.
Shrugging his cloak on, he crept his way through the palace taking the servant's stairs. Unseen and unheard were his goals as there would be consequences if he was seen outside of his workshop. He circled ever downwards, his fast flight swirling his head until it felt all aflutter. He hid his face when passing servants and slipped into rooms when guards marched past. His lean build was an advantage here, allowing him to huddle behind statues and slip into corners. He scurried past the kitchens, loud with the sound of voices and punctuated with a variety of meat and grease and sauce smells that had his mouth watering. With his head bowed he avoided the gaze of anyone he brushed past. He needn't have worried though. They were far too busy arranging the evening meal, their hands and minds full.
As he descended into the Canal Rooms he found the air heavy with brine. Well-worn stone steps took him to the barges that delivered everything from food to weapons to special guests. Slipping down to the water's edge he glanced around for witnesses before sliding into the water and swimming out beyond the gates.
The water was bracing and the current stronger than he remembered. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore the stiffness in his knees as he kicked towards the shore. River grass and reeds with their long stems bowing in the breeze provided shelter for all manner of waterfowl but also hid those wishing to conceal themselves. Feeling around for the sandy bottom Tinker came in close to the shore, wet up to his nose as he slowly crept along, his eyes darting to the road every few moments to check on the progress of soldiers and carts. He spoke a silent blessing for the relative incompetence of the Witch's men, never having faced opponents this close to the castle they were lax and easily distracted.
Adjusting the sack on his shoulders he only felt the current pulling at his clothes. This early in the year it would otherwise have swept him away, a fate he'd only had to suffer once. As he strayed further from the gate house the more he felt the chill of the river. He shivered as the cold curled into his bones.
When he reached the treeline he slowly hauled himself out of the water and just lay on the shore, breathing hard, clothes stuck to his skin. He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to rest. There was no time and he'd be sure to take ill doing so while soaking wet. Rolling over he cursed the four corners before wearily standing and shoving the sack of metal beneath the closest underbrush. He grabbed a handful of river mud and shoved it in his pocket. A quick glance to the sun told him how much time he had left before they closed the gates. He could only hope no one checked in on him before then and that his "patient" would still be alive when he returned.
He hiked off into the woods, pushing aside branches as he squelched past trees, steering clear of the road. He kept his eyes to the ground, searching for the hidden markers he needed to find the cottage. It didn't help that they moved around but her excuse was the patrols would eventually find her if she stayed in the same place. After wandering in circles for several minutes he finally spotted a small stack of stones beneath a mess of brambles. To anyone else they might appear random. Fortunately he knew better and smiled, shivering as he stomped off in the direction they pointed.
He shook out his hair as he searched wishing he could walk along the water so his clothes would dry out faster. It was far too dangerous though and with his luck he would be spotted by a patrol on the opposite shore. Instead he was forced under dense foliage, mucking around in the brush in soaking wet clothes. Sighing he flicked the water from his fingers, scanning the ground for more stones. They were arranged every few hundred feet and he'd adjust his direction but often enough he'd lose track of the path entirely and have to retrace his steps. It was a frustrating way to travel but ensured no one would stumble upon the place by accident.
Sometime later he broke into a clearing and saw the familiar woven gate standing alone in a clearing, an earthen jar next to it on the ground. A tired smile graced his face as he walked up and rested a worn hand on the wood. He scooped out the handful of mud he'd saved and scraped the muck off into the jar. Wiping the excess on his pants as best he could, he swung the barrier open and heard the humming of bees. A tiny cottage with a thatched roof and bright red door materialized. Surrounded on all sides by green, he took a deep breath of the sweet earthy scent. Colourful flowers dipped and swayed in the breeze; large dark leaves shaded a future harvest.
He tapped on the door, hoping she was in. It opened of its own accord and he stepped inside, feeling his shoulders relax. The windows were open and homemade pots hanging from the rafters were slowly clanking together. Herbs were drying on a rack in the corner; a smokeless fire burned in the hearth; several lumps of fur lying on various pieces of furniture paid no attention to his presence. There was a warm, fresh smell to the place, like lemons and baked bread and if threatened he'd admit he liked the place well enough.
"Madeleine?"
His voice sounded loud in the house but there was no reply. He hesitated to look around or venture upstairs. Guests might feel nosy but should never act on their curiosity, especially in Maddy's house. There was nothing to do but wait so instead he walked over to the nearest chair. She would forgive him for getting her cushions wet. He gently picked up the bundle of fur sprawled across it. The action earned him a series of angry noises at being disturbed but as he sat and settled the grumpy fella next to him, the growling ceased and eventually settled to a loud purr. Tinker absently ran his hand over its back, anxious to be on his way again. Soon enough though, the lull of the house settled over him as well and his head dropped back, his eyes closed, pulling him into a deep sleep.
His head snapped up as a door slammed somewhere. He yawned and blinked in confusion as he realized he wasn't in his workshop. Remembering his journey he made to stand but found himself weighed down by a very fat and fluffy cat who was currently giving him the stinkeye.
A buxom woman with long ruddy hair and mud-caked boots walked in. She brushed stained hands off on her apron before wiping her brow. Smiling she walked right past him to check the pot sitting over the fire. She stirred and tasted the contents before grabbing a jar from the mantle and flicking a pinch into the pot. It was only then that she turned to finally address him.
"Trouble at home darling?"
Tinker frowned at the informality. She was always trying to goad him in some manner and it looked like today would be no different. So he chose to respond as usual and ignore her mistake, hoping that this wouldn't take too long.
"I need you to come back to the castle. The Witch dumped a problem on me I can't fix."
At that she quirked a brow and a hip. "The man who can fix anything has a problem?"
"It's a human problem."
She sighed and turned back to the pot, flipping her braid over her shoulder.
"You know my price."
He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't leave Madeleine. We talked about this."
She ripped off her apron and tossed it onto the table, whipping around to glare at him. "You talked. I listened."
"And I told you why!"
He hated yelling. Even more he hated yelling at her. But how was she to understand? He was bound to the place and nothing could change that.
"I still don't like it."
"What you like doesn't matter. Will you help me or not?"
She frowned and sighed through her nose and bunched her skirts in her fists. Her eyes looked down to the floor as she turned away from him. Walking to the kitchen she started fiddling with a bunch of jars on a shelf, rearranging them, opening them up and sniffing the contents.
Tinker watched her for a moment, waiting. When she didn't answer or turn around he put a hand through his hair, took the furball in his hands and stood. There was no use begging and he hadn't time to spare. The creature hissed and spit at him, writhing in his hands until he dumped it on the floor. It ran under the nearest cabinet, tail disappearing until it had vanished completely. He shook his hand at the slight sting on his palm, noting the thin line of blood on his hand.
"I'll stop by when next I can get away," he mumbled towards her before walking to leave the cottage. But before he could cross the threshold though, the door swung shut. He half turned back to Madeleine, confused as he pulled on the handle without result. Giving a stronger tug on the smooth wood had no effect.
"I didn't say no Tom." Her voice was soft as she walked up behind him, sack in hand. "Just tell me what to bring." There was a sad, resigned look in her eyes as she gave in. Again.
"He's got an infection, probably a fever."
"Who is he?" She started pulling herbs from the ceiling, plucking small sealed pots from cabinets, gathering what supplies she'd need.
"The Witch's new pet."
Her brow crinkled. "What happened to the old one? He was from Ix wasn't he?"
"I'm guessing she got tired of him. Can't say for sure."
She flowed through the room, the sack grower heavier by the minute. When she finished she turned to him and started looking him up and down before circling and plucking at his clothing.
"What- must you poke at me?" He swatted at her hands, willing her to keep to herself.
"These are going to have to come off before we go."
His eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"
"You left late today. By the time we go across again it'll be dusk. You'll catch your death if you stay in them and I refuse to drag a corpse back there."
He rolled his eyes. "Must you exaggerate?"
She raised a brow before pointing at the privacy screen in the corner. When he pursed his lips and harrumphed she started to tap out a rapid rhythm on the floor with her foot. Both stared the other down. He had no desire to strip down in her home and she would rather make a fuss now than deal with two ill people later. As the moments ticked by, the house seemed to creak more, the fire in the hearth flaring as neither were willing to give in. Finally Tinker threw up his arms in defeat and ducked behind the privacy screen.
"Blasted woman," he muttered.
"I heard that."
He flinched and frowned as he shrugged off his suspenders and untucked his shirt. There was no denying he was cold but there wasn't time to let his clothes dry by the fire. He jumped as a large blanket was thrown over for him as he stepped out of his pants. Figuring out what to do with the woven monstrosity proved to be a challenge. He just sort of draped it over himself and tied the ends together, praying to the four corners that it wouldn't fall off. Bundling his soaking clothes together he took a deep breath and stepped out from the screen, shoving his clothes in her general direction.
Madeleine smiled and pulled a chair over to the hearth, draping the clothes over it. With her bundled apron she pulled the pot off the fire and leaned down, whispering something into the flames. Instantly they leapt higher, licking the top of the hearth, the core glowing blue.
"Would you like a cup of tea while we wait? It shouldn't take long."
Anxious to leave Tinker shifted from foot to foot. He nodded slowly, knowing he couldn't just march out in a blanket. That was, if she'd even let him leave. He eyed the closed door for a moment before taking a seat. They drank in silence as the breeze blowing through the open windows continued to clank pots in the rafters together.
She brushed off imaginary dirt from her skirts before folding her hands in front of her. "I have one demand."
"Isn't this concession enough?" He gestured at the blanket he was wearing.
With a glance down to his temporary garment she smirked. "Not exactly what I meant." She fiddled with her fingers in her lap. "If I help. You have to try."
"You know I can't just sneak out of the castle."
She gave him a look. "And where are you right now?"
His hand tensed around his tea cup, not daring to look at her. "This isn't for me."
"So next time do it for you."
He didn't respond and kept his head bent, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. "I'm not having this conversation with you."
"Why not!" She stood, her chair falling over in her haste.
"Because!" He turned away from her, tea abandoned.
"Then say goodbye to your 'human problem'." She stalked over to the fire, staring at the blue embers, cursing his stubbornness.
He sucked his lips against his teeth, fighting the anger bubbling in his belly. Things were obviously different out here but that didn't mean she wasn't aware of the dangers in the castle. She practically twisted his arm with every visit, pulling out all the information she could about the Witch.
"He'll die Madeleine. And where he goes, I follow." He stared into the bottom of his tea cup.
"What?" She turned in confusion.
He threw up his hands in disbelief. "He's her new pet! What do you think is going to happen if he dies before she's done playing with him?"
"But she needs you. No one else does what you do."
He pulled a hand through his hair. "Sometimes her temper moves a little faster than the rest of her. That's why I need your help."
Madeleine stood a long while, rubbing her stained fingers together, the heat of the fire at her back. She absently felt the callouses on her skin, wishing she were back out in the garden. Green was simple and didn't make unreasonable demands on her. She gave a start as a furry friend brushed against her leg, giving a loud yowl that echoed through the cottage, breaking the silence that had settled over them like a hush. Mind made up she strode over and snatched his cup off the table.
"If we want to get back before they close the gates we should leave now."
"But…" He gestured down at the blanket.
She waved a hand absently at his clothes. "You can go change. They're dry now."
He huffed and stomped over to the fire, snatching up his clothes. Darting behind the screen again he kept his frustrations to himself. It was never clear where he stood with Madeleine, especially when she changed her mind mid-leap. By the time he emerged she was rummaging around in the kitchen.
"So this infection, how'd it happen?"
"He had a chest wound and I was told to fix it. Problem is he's sick now and I know it's something I did."
Without turning around Madeleine started taking down herbs and pulled out a few jars. Sniffing the contents, she pulled a finger through the mixtures and tested them on her skin. A furball was forcibly removed from a chair so she could stand on it to reach a line of pots on a high shelf.
"I suppose we'll have to hurry."
She ushered him towards the door which he hesitated to open. Madeleine just rolled her eyes, reached past him and yanked on the handle. The wood creaked in protest as it moved on its hinges. Tinker ducked out before the cottage decided to change its mind and scuttled over to the gate. Madeleine grabbed a cloak off a nearby peg and was about to leave before she stuck her head back inside.
"Murren you're in charge." The grey lump on the bookshelf gave no indication of having heard the command.
The two quickly left the garden, securing the gate behind them. Silently they ran through the forest, heads turning at every sound watching for patrols. The sun filtered through the trees, lower on the horizon. Madeleine led the way past her stone markers, not even glancing down. It was all Tinker could do to keep up with her. They reached the shore, breathless as he retrieved his satchel of scrap metal from where he'd hidden it.
They slipped into the water, fighting the current, each holding a fistful of satchel to keep them anchored. Madeleine had settled her bag atop her head to keep it dry as they walked along the river bottom. The road above them was empty at this hour with the sun setting at their backs. It was easier to hide in the river grass in the growing gloom.
Tinker just kept his eyes on the castle as it grew in his vision. On reaching the stone wall next to he sighed in relief at noticing the gates were still open. The barges were tied up but they still had time. There were signs of soldiers or servants so he tugged on Madeleine's sleeve. Cautiously they swam into the room and exited the water, dripping puddles onto the smooth stone at their feet.
The real test would be sneaking back upstairs. As they crept past the kitchens it was obvious that dinner was now in full swing. The smell of meat, grease and sweat wafted from the large room along with waves of heat from the line of hearths blazing on the far wall. Most of the staff were too busy being run off their feet to notice the soaking wet duo slipping around the corner.
As Tinker moved upstairs they hid in corners and behind curtains until finally reaching his workshop again. As they slipped inside he dropped the scrap metal in the corner and walked over to his latest project. The man was unconscious and paler than when he'd left but thankfully still alive.
Madeleine spent a moment looking around the shop. He'd never brought her back here before and she was surprised at the mess. Clutter covered every surface but her eyes were soon drawn to the man in black. Tom had been right, he was indeed ill. Gently setting down her sack next to the table she looked him over.
"You know I might not be able to help him right?"
Tinker nodded. "I just need you to try. For both our sakes."
She pulled open an eyelid, checked the colour of his tongue and inspected his extremities. Her expression never changed as she mechanically moved back and forth along the table, her eyes rapidly flicking over his body. Her long fingers pulled his collar aside revealing an ugly gash, swollen and red on his chest. She poked it with more force than necessary. The man flinched in response, groaning in pain. Frowning she stared at it in confusion.
"You were right it's infected. But there's something else." She started to roll up her sleeves.
The man on the table muttered in his half-conscious state, breathing hard, sweat beading on his brow. Here or there he formed a word but it was mostly garbled nonsense, uttered in stuttering mouthfuls. It pulled a little at her, a reminder of a sick nephew who'd talked the whole way through a fever. Gently she prodded at the edges of the wound, the flesh unnaturally engorged and overwarm. It would likely need to be drained.
"There's something..." She tilted her head towards the body. "Something's….wrong… in him."
Tinker sighed. "I would have thought that was obvious."
She gave him a look. "Who's the hedge witch here?"
Tinker made a face but didn't argue.
Resting her fingers over the wound she closed her eyes for several moments before grimacing and shaking her head.
"What exactly were you thinking when you decided to fix him yourself?"
The Tinker glared, folding his arms. "I was thinking if I don't save him the Witch will rip out my heart next."
She rolled her eyes, huffing in frustration.
"You might have done better to leave him alone. We'll probably have to cut him open. Do you have any knives? I just brought the one with me." Madeleine reached for her bag and started pulling out the various pots, herb and jars that she'd packed.
Meanwhile Tinker walked over to a shelf and pulled out a pouch. He swept aside the tools on one of his tables before he unrolled the soft leather. It held a variety of knives, long and short, wide and thin, all sharp to the touch. He knew this because he'd tested them and had ended up with his fingers dripping in blood.
"I borrowed these from the Hunt Master the first time. He uses them to dress deer so I thought they couldn't hurt."
Madeleine pulled out her own knife and cut off the man's shirt. She'd need full access to the wound if there was any chance of getting rid of the source of the infection. The stiches were pulled tight by the swelling, the skin an unnatural red. She could feel her hand shaking as the nerves took hold for a moment. Taking a deep breath she held the knife out and whispered a blessing under her breath, reaching deep within herself. Eyes flicked to the metal and she watched as blue flashed over the blade.
"I might need your help."
Tinker looked at her nervously. "I don't know how much help I can be but I'll do my best."
"You seemed to do well enough before. Just tell me what you did the first time."
He walked her through what he'd done trying to simplify it as best he could, watching as Madeleine deftly cut the stitches. The wound started oozing pus and a strange smell wafted up from the cut flesh. They both made faces at the putrid odour. She cleaned up the mess as best she could but the longer it drained, the more confused she looked.
"Do you know how he was wounded?"
Tinker shook his head. "He was delivered to me injured. I didn't ask for fear of the same being visited upon me. I can only assume he was stabbed."
"Yes but with what."
Madeleine frowned and he reached out a hand to gently but firmly prod at the skin around the wound, drawing a pitiful yelp from the man on the table.
"There's definitely something else here but I can't quite tell."
She looked at the wound but saw nothing unusual. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something.
"Do you have anything I can use to open this up a bit more?"
Tinker jumped to a table, pushing aside parchment and half-used candles to pull out a pair of pliers. He shoved them in Madeleine's hand and she whispered at the metal, watching it respond with a flash of blue.
"Hold him down for me?"
He took hold of the man's wrists, leaning over the body as she worked. Several grisly moments later she pulled a small blood-covered shard from the wound. Oblong and sharp she dropped it onto a clean linen next to his chest.
"Is that it?" The Tinker frowned down at the tiny thing that had caused so much distress.
She nodded. "It's got magic whatever it is and it was poisoning him." A trickle of bright green smoke was leaking out of one end.
"I'll bet it's the Witch's."
A loud knock on the door had the two jumping several feet in the air. Tinker looked over the top of the table in fear. There was only one exit in the room and nowhere to hide. Madeleine didn't speak but simply grabbed the linen with the shard in one hand and ducked down underneath the table just before a soldier barged into the room.
Dressed in shiny black armour the man had to duck to enter the room. His face was obscured by his helmet and one hand rested on a large sword that nearly reached the ground in its scabbard. He stood aside and at attention as Zelena sashayed into the room.