Chapter 5

The Barmaid

He took the River Road straight to the docks, then found the closest tavern and settled down outside a few steps from the door and next to an open window. He wrapped his cloak around him and allowed the hood to hide his face. It was getting dark, and he poked at the patch of dirt in front of him, idly trying to dig a hole with the end of his walking stick while listening to the chatter inside. Most of it was meaningless murmurs, and the little he could make out was of no use in his search. But he waited. He waited all night until the last patron staggered out, then begged the barmaid who came to lock up for a scrap of bread.

She looked inclined to dismiss him at first, but Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not good at earning pity. His hood had fallen back as he scrambled to his feet, and he was leaning heavily on his staff. The girl only needed one look at his disheveled mop of graying brown hair and mournful eyes before she told him to slip around to the stables and she'd bring him something edible so long as he didn't tell anyone or startle the horses. She disappeared before he could finish stuttering his sincere thanks.

The stables were warm but drafty. There were three horses, with space for several more. Rumplestiltskin looked around and decided he could sleep in the stall at the end, the one with the smallest pile of straw, without too much risk of being found. It looked like it hadn't been used in some time. He limped back towards the entrance and was petting one of the horses when the barmaid reappeared.

"That one seems to like ye," she said. She set down the basket she was carrying. On top were two loaves and a bread bowl filled with stew. "Have ye much experience with horses?"

"No," he said, not wanting to bring up the war. "But I've known a workhorse or two." He gave the horse a final pat, then limped over to the basket.

The barmaid handed him the stew, then lifted something out of the bottom of the basket, the two loaves still sitting on top.

"I've brought ye a blanket. It ain't much, I meant to scrap it, but ye might as well have it." She sat the blanket and loaves on the ground and picked up the empty basket. She stood there a moment watching him eat. "You're new poor, aren't ye?"

Rumplestiltskin looked up. "No," he said. "New homeless, perhaps, but I've always been poor." The pity in her stare made him retreat into his stew again.

"I'd point ye in the direction of the docks if I thought ye could find work with yer bum leg," she said. "As it is..."

"Please," he said, looking up again. "If you know where I can find the Jolly Roger, might be I still have one friend in the world."

"The pirate ship?" She tilted her head, studying him. "Can't see what business ye'd have with that lot. They come here time to time, aye. Haven't seen them in a couple months though, and no telling where they went or when they might see fit to return."

Rumplestiltskin stilled. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, but his eyes begged her to unsay those words. A part of him had expected this, but the other part, the part that had dared to hope, wanted so desperately for it not to be true.

"I'm sorry," the barmaid said. "Sleep here tonight. Keep the blanket and the food, but don't get caught or I'll have to deny I had anything to do with ye."

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Thank you. It's more than I deserve."

She gave him a half-smile. "Oh, I think ye deserve a whole lot more than I can give, and I hope ye find it. I truly do." With that, she turned and was gone.

When he'd finished the stew, Rumplestiltskin wrapped the loaves in the blanket so he could carry them back to his chosen stall one-handed. He laid down on the straw, wrapped in his cloak and covered by the thin, tattered blanket, but sleep would not come easily.

The Jolly Roger hadn't been seen here since Milah had taken Bae. Two months. What hope did he have of finding them now? He was a fool to have ever left his village. The longer he stayed away, the farther the rumors would spread. The cowardly spinner who hobbled into the woods and killed himself. If he continued his search, there was no telling how long the villagers would wait before selling his house or tearing it apart for anything useful, like firewood.

If he didn't go back now, he might not have a home to go back to once he found Bae.

But if he went back now, he might never find Bae.