Chapter 12

Benefactor

"Let me help you," the stranger said.

How? Rumplestiltskin wanted to ask. Even if he could manage to stand despite the pain, he was terrified to see the damage to his ankle. It felt like it had been broken all over again. What help was there for him?

He took a breath, slowly, carefully, gauging the intensity of the pain. Then he dared to sit up. The stranger's hands guided him until he leaned against the wall. The pain was manageable except for his ankle. Even moving it as briefly as he had was enough to send him to the edge of consciousness. A feeble whine escaped him as the stranger touched the pain.

"It's okay," the stranger said. "You'll see. Let me help you."

Rumplestiltskin couldn't open his eyes, struggling to stay conscious. Somehow he managed to nod, and a fuzzy warmth enveloped his ankle, easing the pain. He opened his eyes. The stranger's hand was glowing with purple light. Rumplestiltskin was too terrified to flinch away. Magic.

"I have nothing to pay you with," he gasped. It still hurt to breathe, but his ankle was healing. He could almost feel the shattered bones shifting while the magic soothed the discomfort.

"I will find another way. I'll be your benefactor if you owe me a favor." The stranger finished with the ankle and looked up. "You can call me Grima."

Rumplestiltskin wiggled his foot, then pulled his leg in and stripped off his boot. The years-old injury was completely healed.

He stared at Grima, amazed. "Can you teach me to do that?" he asked.

"Perhaps in time. It takes a certain... aptitude."

Rumplestiltskin put his boot back on. "Rumple," he said. Grima looked at him. "My name. Rumple." He gestured to his chest. "Could you heal this too?" Grima narrowed his eyes. "I can't breathe."

"Oh," the other man said. He reached a hand forward, and it glowed with the same purple light. "My apologies."

Warmth washed over him, and he could breathe again without pain. He was still a little sore where Jones had kicked him, but bruises he could live with.

"Thank you," he said. He reached for his staff and stood, marveling at the lack of pain in his ankle. For the first time in seven years, he could walk without limping. Why, he could run in he wanted to!

"Care to tell me what got you into this mess?" Grima asked.

Rumplestiltskin looked down. The man kneeling in the alley watching him was a sorcerer. He owed him his life. More if the Jolly Roger hadn't left yet and they could get to the docks in time.

"I'll tell you while we move," he said, reaching down for the cloak he'd been sitting on. "There's something I need to see."

Grima stood, scooping up the patched cloak and holding it out to Rumplestiltskin. They swapped, and headed out of the alley. Rumplestiltskin would have liked to run, but he settled for a brisk walk.

"Three years ago, my wife left me and ran off with a pirate. Took my son with her. I found them again just yesterday. When I confronted them, well, you saw how well that turned out."

They came within sight of the docks. Rumplestiltskin scanned the ships, searching for the Jolly Roger.

"So you want my help getting him back?" asked Grima.

"No, no, no, no, no." It wasn't there. He spun, seeking the dock where he had seen the ship the night before. Another ship sat in its place. "They're gone!" He struck a pile of crates with his staff. That marauding cur deserved to die. Slowly. Painfully. For leaving him broken in an alley to die. And stealing his son. The pirate. Had to. Die!

"Get a hold of yourself, man!"

His staff was stuck. Rumplestiltskin blinked, finding tears in his eyes. Grima was in front of him, holding the staff in place. The pile of crates was askew. Some were cracked, others broken.

"We will find another way," Grima said.

"How?" Rumplestiltskin snapped. "They could be anywhere. Hours away. How exactly do you plan on helping me?"

Grima didn't back down, still calm as ever. "By calling on that favor you owe me."

Rumplestiltskin blinked. "What?"

"There's a magical artifact I need you to retrieve. It can amplify my powers enough to get your son back."

"Tell me." If this was the only way to get Bae back, he'd do anything.

"It's a family heirloom of sorts, and they've used that against me. I can't retrieve it myself, but you could. The Duke of the Frontlands has it hidden in his castle. All you would need is a bit of distraction to get inside."

"What am I to look for?"

"A dagger. A kris blade with my great-grandfather's name engraved on it."