Chapter 13
Fire and Blood
It didn't take much to get inside the castle. A fire set on the perimeter near the stables caused enough chaos for Rumplestiltskin to slip through a servant door unnoticed. The instructions Grima had given him were simple. Find the tallest tower and look behind the tapestries in the room on the mid-level floor. How Grima could know where the dagger was when magic prevented him from even approaching the castle grounds baffled Rumplestiltskin. But this was for Bae as much as for Grima, so he had no choice but to trust that he was right. Days of walking and planning couldn't go to waste.
Unfortunately, the tallest tower was about to catch fire. Embers from the stables fire glowed like fireflies as the night breeze carried them to the pile of straw someone had dropped next to the tower. Men ran towards the fire, and women and children ran away, but no one paid attention to the straw that was now beginning to smoke. Or to the man with a fake limp and a walking stick who entered the tower.
No one seemed to be inside, so Rumplestiltskin dropped the act and climbed the winding stairs without the aid of his staff. At the third level, he stepped through a doorway into an empty room. Tapestries hung on the walls, but no other furnishings were left to show what this room was once used for. The only light came from the windows looking out on the fire below. It seemed a rather unlikely place to hide a magical dagger. Then again, it was unlikely that the one the dagger was meant to be hidden from would know exactly where to find it.
One tapestry seemed to glow around the edges. Rumplestiltskin pushed it aside with his staff. There was a window behind this one, glowing orange with the light of the flames below. In the center of the window was the dagger, mounted on a plaque. Rumplestiltskin plucked the dagger from its rest and held it up to the light. There it was. The name Zoso inscribed on the wavy blade.
He tucked the dagger into his belt and turned to go. A man stood in the doorway.
"Who's there?" the man demanded. The light from the windows illuminated his face and the fine cut of his clothes, but Rumplestiltskin stood in shadow, backed by the tapestry so even his outline was obscured. "Show yourself."
Rumplestiltskin stayed silent, watching to see what the man would do.
"Whoever you are, you have no business being in here. Get down there with the others and help." The man stalked closer, but in a predatory arc, changing the angle to get a better look at the intruder. "He sent you, didn't he?"
Rumplestiltskin didn't know what to do. By circling around, the man, quite possibly the duke, was leaving the doorway wide open. His first instinct was to run, but he didn't trust that he could outrun the duke. Even if he escaped the room, he wouldn't likely escape the castle grounds. The way the duke moved with his hand on his sword and his eyes fixed in Rumplestiltskin's direction, he expected him to flee, and was ready to pounce.
When Rumplestiltskin didn't move, the duke stopped. "Who are you?" he asked again.
Was that a hint of fear in his voice? Could the duke actually be afraid of the coward? What a novel thought. Rumplestiltskin laughed. It came out a strained, high-pitched giggle, but the duke took a step back, feeding Rumple's boldness all the more. He was a cornered animal facing down a skilled predator. He may as well press this new-found advantage as far as he could.
"Who I am doesn't matter," he said, his voice high with fear, not sounding like himself at all. He withdrew the dagger from his belt and pretended to be brave. "I am nothing. But I got what I came for, dearie. And that is something."
He forced himself to walk casually towards the doorway. The exposed blade in one hand glinting in the firelight, his staff balanced in his other hand, parallel to the ground and swinging with each step.
The scrape of the duke drawing his sword was all the warning Rumplestiltskin needed. He spun, dropping low and sweeping his staff out to trip the duke as he came at him. He may not have fought any ogres, but he did have at least some training. Particularly in defense.
In the patchy light, the duke couldn't see well enough to dodge. He stumbled and nearly fell on Rumplestiltskin. The hand holding the dagger rose to shield him from the falling weight. For a moment, Rumple felt that weight on his arm, but then the duke fell to the side, his sword clattering to the floor, and Rumplestiltskin lost his grip on the dagger.
Startled, he looked up. The duke lay on his back, the hilt of the dagger protruding from his chest. The man groaned, his hands fluttering about the wound before grasping the dagger. Rumplestiltskin stared. No, no, don't. But he did. The dying duke pulled the bloody dagger from his chest with trembling hands, and it fell to the floor. He gasped and moaned and finally lay still while Rumplestiltskin knelt there, frozen while the world burned.