Bae pulled out the dagger.
"Oh, easy, brave warrior!" the woman mocked, bringing her steed under control as it plummeted down. The beast stomped its feet and tossed its head, waiting for its mistress' orders before trampling him.
The boys in Bae's village grew up practicing for war, playing at swords and staves. He had heard stories about warhorses. He couldn't outrun a horse – or whatever that was – but he was more maneuverable and could dodge in and out of the trees, maybe get around behind it. If he could get a good slice at its legs, maybe cut the tendons . . . .
"Here, little warrior, see?" The woman held up her sword, still sheathed, so he could see the pommel. It had the same device as the dagger, a block stone set in a silver sunburst. "We are companions in arms, you and I." She grinned, showing her black teeth.
Like but not like his father's, he thought. His father's were the color of rot, of things old and decayed. Hers gleamed. Her curly hair was tied off in tangled web of small braids and ponytails, with beads and what looked like fragments of broken, colored glass tied to them with bits of leather and black string.
Siri had said the Goblins would recognize the device and that they might – might! – take him to the place it belonged to.
She hadn't said anything about people who belonged there, too.
"Peace, Mehitabel," a cold voice that chimed like a bell broke in behind him.
Bae whirled. There was another woman standing behind him. This one was ice white with eyes like sapphires, gashes of color in her pale face. She had an amused, superior look that made him think of a smug kitten. She held a silver stiletto, a sky blue gem in its hilt, toying with it idly. "He looks a clever child," she went on. "He'll not disarm for the first Goblin that asks him." Her breath left mists of cold fog on the air.
"And you're helping?"
"I'm not a Goblin. Tell me, child," she said, looking at Bae. "Who gave you that dagger? Or did you steal it from him?"
"I didn't steal anything!" He wasn't about to make a gift to them of Tom Rosa's name. He thought of things his father had said about how names could be used. No, he definitely wasn't going to do that.
"Impasse, witch," the Goblin woman said, laughing.
The ice girl grinned. "Said I not he's a clever one? Well, lad, here's proof of good will." She pulled a off a locket – it had been hidden inside her blouse, a locket that looked as though it were made of white ice. She tossed it to him. He caught it reflexively. It was very cold.
"Go ahead, you may open it," she said.
Bae looked from her to it uncertainly, suspecting some kind of trap even if he couldn't imagine what.
Though she'd sounded impatient, the pale woman seemed ready to wait all night. The Goblin woman snickered.
Bae opened the locket.
There was a picture inside. Tom Rosa.
"You – you know Tom Rosa?"
The pale woman made a motion, oddly dancelike, between a bow and a curtsy, her arms spread (the dagger still twirling in one hand). "I have that honor. I am Silver, at your service."
"Are you –" he looked at the Goblin woman, "– a friend of Tom Rosa?"
"For lack of a better term," the Goblin woman said.
"Yes," Silver told him, frowning at the Goblin. "We are."
"Then – then you need to help his sister, Siri. She told me to run. There were other Goblins back there. I don't think they were friends.
0
"Owwww," Tom said when he woke up.
It was going to be one of those days.
He felt something sharp against his throat. "All right, who are you and what are you? And I want the truth."
Oh, correction: it was going to be one of those days.
He opened his eyes and saw a man . . . two men . . . no, back to one man, again – standing over him with a sword. Or maybe there were two of him.
"Are you twins?" Tom asked.
For some reason, this was the wrong thing to ask. The man, who hadn't looked too happy to being with, looked like he was thinking of putting the sword through something soft and vital – heart, jugular, something like that.
"I. Asked. You. A. Question."
Viva, the guy was doing that hard bit, single word grammar bit. Never a good sign. Wait, question? What question? Oh, right, the usual ones.
"I'm Tom Rosa. From Portland. Maine." He added in case there was any doubt.
"Nobody in Portland has those ears. Or teeth. Where are you really from?"
Uh-oh . . . .
And he usually did such a good job of hiding the ears. That's why he let his hair grow out.
And his canines were within human norms.
Just at the really extreme end of them.
"Uh, usually, I tell anyone who notices that the ears were the result of a plastic surgeon and my Lord of the Rings phase. Unless they're far enough away to think they're fake. Then, I'm just on my way to a science fiction convention. But, really, I'm not from Storybrooke. And I have an apartment in Portland. I'm a registered voter and everything."
"He's telling the truth, Mr. Nolan," a familiar voice said. "Or do you prefer Prince Charming?"
Tom looked over and saw Gold walking towards him. Things were getting better. There was only one of him. Good thing. From the look on his face, Tom wouldn't want to be dealing with two.
He was beginning to remember what had happened. Black shadow creature attacking, Tom hoping a magic sword would work on it, either Siri deciding fire was a good defense or something else starting a few blazes . . . .
And, now, he was in the middle of the road by the remains of his sister's Winnebago with not one but two people who looked like they wanted to kill him.
"You know him?" Nolan/Charming asked.
"Oh, yes," Gold said. "I can vouch for his identity. If not his honesty. Mr. Rosa, where is Baelfire?
Oh, yeah. Definitely shaping up to be one of thosedays.