Outside the tavern, wagons carrying the remnants of the cursed gingerbread house rumbled through the main street, prompting the townsfolk of Hamelin to gather on the streets and follow the wagons excitedly.
"I would never eat gingerbread that had been infused with dark magic for several generations," the Huntsman mused, eyes fixed on the passing wagons.
Rumplestiltskin, seated across from him and nursing a tankard of ale, smirked.
"Gingerbread is gingerbread, regardless of whether or not it's cursed. The people will praise Lord Hansel for ridding them of a witch as well as filling their hungry bellies."
The Huntsman raised an eyebrow.
"They won't be thanking him for bringing back their stolen children, though."
Rumplestiltskin leaned in, his voice low. "What did that witch say to you in there?"
"She implied that she had been framed by her brother for the missing children."
"And do you believe he orchestrated these disappearances?"
The Huntsman shook his head, grimacing. "Why travel all the way to Ironthorn and bring the Queen's attention to a crime he committed?"
Rumplestiltskin's dark eyes gleamed.
"Well, framing his sister for such a crime would give him the perfect excuse to summon the kingdom's greatest huntsman to eliminate her... hypothetically speaking, of course."
"But how would he do it?" the Huntsman gazed out the window at the passing wagons, escorted by knights. "These men would never be complicit in stealing the children of their own people, I'm sure. They were angry. They wanted the witch dead as much as anyone. And yet, Lord Hansel could not have pulled off such a feat on his own. So, I ask again; how would he do it?"
Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath and tilted his head, weighing the Huntsman's question.
"Decades ago, when I was a younger man learning magic from a powerful sorcerer in the town of Escalot, off in a distant kingdom, I lay in bed one night and heard the sound of pipe music playing through the streets. Haunting, yet beautiful. Eventually, the music faded and sleep came to me. But the next morning, all the children had vanished. Only a few people claimed to have witnessed what had transpired that night, saying that the children had wordlessly snuck out of their homes to follow someone in a pied cloak playing pan pipes. It was as though the music had bewitched them. Even so, no trace of the children or this supposed piper was ever found."
The Huntsman absorbed Rumplestiltskin's words carefully.
"So... do you think this pied piper is responsible for what happened here in Hamelin?" he asked.
At that moment, a group of knights entered the tavern. The other patrons cheered at the sight of them, and people scrambled to pay for their drinks. Rumplestiltskin glanced at them, then looked back at the Huntsman and responded with a slight nod. The knights settled at a nearby table, their laughter and camaraderie providing a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere as the Huntsman stared down at his horn of ale.
Escorted by armed guards, the Huntsman traversed the dimly lit corridors of Hamelin Castle until he reached the chambers of Lord Hansel. The lord greeted him with a congratulatory tone, praising the Huntsman for slaying the witch and claiming vengeance for the stolen children. The Huntsman, however, couldn't find solace in the lord's accolades.
"You never mentioned that the witch was your sister," he pointedly remarked.
Lord Hansel's expression darkened. "That witch was no sister of mine. The true Gretel died long ago when she embraced the darkness within those spell books."
"She denied kidnapping the children. There was no trace of them at the gingerbread house."
"Witches are deceitful by nature. They are the servants of Chernabog. You should know that... and yet, you would take the word of one?"
"She didn't seem like she was lying," the Huntsman countered. "And the children were nowhere to be found, not even their remains."
"Well, who else could have taken the children if not the witch who dwelt in the Dark Forest?" Hansel snapped.
The Huntsman, recalling Rumplestiltskin's tale, spoke of the pied piper of Escalot. Hansel scoffed, dismissing the notion.
"Escalot is far from Hamelin, and Rumplestiltskin has lived longer than most men. Such a piper would surely be long dead by now."
"But what if this piper is a practitioner of magic?" the Huntsman proposed. "Perhaps he, too, does not age like the common man."
"Huntsman, the witch is dead. The people are celebrating. Your duty has been fulfilled," said Lord Hansel. "You are free to depart Hamelin on the morrow and make your way back to Ironthorn, where you can tell the Queen of your success and be hailed as a hero."
Yet, the Huntsman stood firm. "I did not come here to kill a witch. Queen Snow White sent me to find the missing children, and they have not been found. My duty is anything but fulfilled, my lord."
"Gretel may have magically destroyed any traces of her victims. If that is the case, you will never find them. I think your job here is done."
"I will remain in Hamelin, at an inn if needs be, should I no longer be welcome in this castle. But I intend to continue searching for those children, my lord, and I will find them one way or another. Alive or dead."
Without another word, the Huntsman turned and left the chambers of Lord Hansel of Hamelin, who glared after him. Fueled by a determination to uncover the truth behind the missing children, the Huntsman returned to his small chambers within Hamelin Castle. He began packing his belongings, contemplating the possibility of finding lodging in an inn within the town. Even if such accommodations were unavailable, the idea of camping in the untamed reaches of the Dark Forest, reminiscent of his youth, held an appeal. The wilderness, unspoiled by the designs of humanity, called out to him.
As the room filled with the sounds of packing, a sudden presence disrupted the solitude. Rumplestiltskin stood at the doorway, a question etched on his face.
"What are you doing?" the sorcerer inquired.
The Huntsman, not breaking stride, replied,
"Staying in Hamelin to search for the missing children."
Rumplestiltskin, leaning against the door frame, regarded the Huntsman with a mix of skepticism and amusement.
"A fool's errand, my friend."
The Huntsman halted his movements, turning to face the sorcerer.
"Should I just give up and return to Ironthorn then?"
"Returning to Ironthorn would be the wisest course of action, yes. In fact, that's precisely what I'm doing."
"What business do you have in Ironthorn?" the Huntsman demanded.
"There is but one person alive who may know more about the pied piper than we do, and that person resides in Ironthorn with his father, who I believe is the royal woodcarver."
Confusion etched the Huntsman's features.
"Why would Geppetto's son know anything about the pied piper?"
Rumplestiltskin lifted an eyebrow and looked a little hesitant to reply.
"I believe Pinocchio could have more memories in his head than the common man. He only became a real boy eighteen years ago. Long before then, he was so much more."
The Huntsman considered the sorcerer's words. "When do we leave?"
Rumplestiltskin let out a chuckle, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, the Huntsman's vision was clouded by thick purple smoke. For an instant, he found it hard to breathe and the floor at his feet fell away, only to be replaced by grass. The purple smoke dissipated and the Huntsman found himself bent over in a coughing fit. When he had cleared his throat, he stood up straight. The first he registered what that he was colder, and the world around him was darker. Then, he realized he was no longer within the walls of Castle Hamelin, but on a hill with nothing above him but the black starry sky. In the distance was the familiar palace of Ironthorn that the Huntsman had called home for many years, nestled in the tree-covered mountains and overlooking the nearby city that shared its name.
"I wish I could say I was glad to be here again," Rumplestiltskin spoke up beside him, "but I have no fond memories of this place."
"I have lived here for a long time," the Huntsman said. "Yet, I echo your sentiment."
"Is that so? When I was last here, Ironthorn had a different Queen. Do you prefer the old one to the new?"
The Huntsman scoffed. "I tried to kill one Queen, and the other ripped my heart out. I prefer neither."
Rumplestiltskin blinked. "Fair enough."
"I don't suppose your magic could have taken us closer to Ironthorn."
"Actually, it seems as though someone has woven spells in the ground surrounding the place, making it impossible to magically transport oneself into the capital. We shall just have to continue on foot."
The Huntsman glanced at Rumplestiltskin's gnarled wooden staff.
"Will you be alright to walk such a distance?"
"Is that an offer to carry me on your back, Huntsman?"
"No."
"Then let us not waste precious time with stupid questions."
They approached the imposing walls surrounding Ironthorn, the many buildings of the capital standing tall against the backdrop of the rising sun. As they neared the gates, vigilant guards barred their path.
"Who goes there?"
The Huntsman, familiar with the protocol, stepped forward and announced,
"I am the royal huntsman of Queen Snow White, returning from a mission. With me is a traveling companion named Rum—"
"Hobblefoot," Rumplestiltskin interjected, giving a small bow to the guards, who exchanged glances. After a moment's hesitation, they opened the gates, allowing the Huntsman and 'Hobblefoot' to enter the city of Ironthorn.
The cobbled streets were dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns, casting elongated shadows across the pathways.
"Why not use your real name back there?" the Huntsman asked, his curiosity evident.
"Names are power," said Rumplestiltskin. "Queen Snow White may not be thrilled to hear mine, especially if she were to learn that I am here. Where does Pinocchio live? I presume Geppetto resides in one of the towers surrounding the palace."
The Huntsman nodded, his eyes scanning the distant structures as they continued through the city, making their way towards another set of towering gates set in the barbican protecting the barbed palace.
"Aye, up in the master carver's tower. That's where you'll find Geppetto. I suppose his son lives there with him." Curiosity burning, the Huntsman couldn't let the matter rest. "Why would Queen Snow disapprove of your presence? Don't forget, my duty is to protect the royal family from those the Queen perceives as threats."
Rumplestiltskin snorted. "Oh, I'm no threat to the royal family. But I do know a thing or two about the history between Snow White and the Evil Queen. Knowledge is power, my friend. And power, in this realm, is supposed to belong to those who rule."
As the duo approached the palace gates, the towering structure loomed overhead, its spires reaching towards the darkening sky. The guards stationed at the entrance were clad in polished armor adorned with the peacock of Richilde. Again, the guards questioned the identity of the visitors. The Huntsman stepped forward.
"I am the royal huntsman of Snow White, and this is my traveling companion... Hobblefoot. We seek an audience with Master Geppetto and his son, Pinocchio."
Once the gates were behind them, they traversed the great space surrounding the main palace, making their way to the master carver's tower, which had but one guard whom the Huntsman knew well. He stepped aside without question. They ascended a spiraling staircase that led to Geppetto's chambers. The chamber door was opened by a servant who greeted them with a polite bow. Geppetto, the royal woodcarver, stood in his workshop surrounded by intricate carvings.
"Huntsman. What brings you here?" Geppetto welcomed them, wiping his hands on a cloth, his voice flavored with the accent of a faraway kingdom.
"We seek information, Master Geppetto," the Huntsman explained. "This is Hobblefoot, a knowledgeable companion."
Geppetto glanced at Rumplestiltskin with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
"What knowledge do you seek?"
Rumplestiltskin stepped forward. "We would like to speak with your son, Pinocchio."
Something fleeting crossed the woodcarver's eyes, then.
Embarrassment, the Huntsman silently decided.
"My son..." the old man said. "Has he done something wrong?"
"Not that we know of," said the Huntsman. "Pinocchio is not in any trouble, but he may be able to give some..." He glanced at Rumplestiltskin, "...insight into an important matter."
"And what important matter would that be?" Geppetto frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening.
When the Huntsman found himself unable to answer, Rumplestiltskin stepped forward.
"Back when your son was made out of enchanted wood, he and a group of boys were lured away to an island with the promise of eternal pleasure. Is that right?"
"Yes," Geppetto said with a sigh. "Pleasure Island. Though some other people call it—"
"I know what other people call it," said Rumplestiltskin, and the Huntsman registered disgust on the sorcerer's face. "The children of Hamelin have gone missing, perhaps you heard about it."
"Yes. A terrible thing, to lose your child."
"But yours came back," Rumplestiltskin put his staff in front of him, resting on it with both hands. "Pinocchio returned from the island in one piece... well, several pieces nailed together, really. I, for one, would like to know how he escaped."
Geppetto shrugged. "I do not know."
"Hence why we're searching for Pinocchio. Where can we find him?"
"I do not know that, either. Last I heard, he had gone to the Red Lobster Inn. Perhaps he decided to stay there for the night."
"The Red Lobster Inn," said the Huntsman, looking at Rumplestiltskin. "That's back in town."
Rumplestiltskin grimaced. "My feet are aching. Where are the royal stables?"
The sun had well and truly risen by the time the Huntsman and Rumplestiltskin rode on horseback, returning to the heart of Ironthorn, making their way through the cobblestone streets toward the Red Lobster Inn. The air was filled with the lively chatter of townsfolk and the distant melodies of minstrels entertaining in the taverns. As they dismounted their horses and tied them to a nearby post, the Huntsman shot a skeptical look at Rumplestiltskin.
"Your walking stick won't be of much help if we run into any danger, you know."
Rumplestiltskin chuckled, twirling his walking stick idly.
"Well, we are hardly on a perilous quest. Searching for Pinocchio of all people in a bustling inn hardly qualifies as dangerous."
"This place can be more dangerous than you think. A brawl broke out at the Red Lobster Inn once, left three people dead."
Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow,
"And you think that could happen tonight? Over a woodcarver's son?"
"Stranger things have happened," the Huntsman replied cryptically, leading the way to the inn's entrance.
As they pushed open the heavy wooden door, the lively sounds of the inn enveloped them. The room was filled with the warmth of a roaring fireplace and the scent of hearty stew. Patrons gathered at wooden tables, engaged in animated conversations, while the innkeeper bustled behind the bar. The Huntsman scanned the room, his eyes searching for any sign of Pinocchio.
"Keep an eye out for the lad."
"I hardly need instructions, Huntsman. Both of my eyes are open."
They weaved through the crowded inn, the Huntsman navigating with ease while Rumplestiltskin moved with an odd grace. As they reached the bar, the innkeeper, a portly man with a bushy mustache, greeted them with a warm smile.
"What can I get for you gentlemen?" he inquired.
"We're searching for someone," the Huntsman said. "A young man named Pinocchio. Have you seen him around?"
The innkeeper's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing.
"Pinocchio, you say? I'd watch your words, strangers. Don't stir any trouble."
Rumplestiltskin leaned on the bar, his voice carrying a hint of charm,
"No trouble intended, my good man. We're merely acquaintances looking to share a drink with our young friend."
The innkeeper's gaze lingered on Rumplestiltskin for a moment, then he nodded toward a corner of the inn.
"He's over there, by the fireplace. But keep it civil, you hear?"
The duo followed the innkeeper's gesture and spotted Pinocchio, sitting alone with a tankard of ale by the crackling fire. Approaching him, the Huntsman greeted,
"Pinocchio, I presume?"
His eyes widened in surprise. "Huntsman? What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, funnily enough." The Huntsman took a seat across from Pinocchio. The young man, with dark hair and blue eyes, gave no indication that he had once been a puppet carved from an enchanted tree. He was as human as anyone at the Red Lobster Inn.
"What would the royal huntsman and," he glanced at Rumplestiltskin, who was still standing, "an old cripple want with me?"
Rumplestiltskin loomed over the young man. "Unless you wish me to turn that tongue back into wood, you may want to be more careful about how you use it."
Pinocchio looked up at the sorcerer, glimpsed down at the wooden staff Rumplestiltskin was leaning on, and returned his gaze to the Huntsman.
"Just tell me what you want."
"Years ago, when you found yourself on... what was it called, Pleasure Island?"
Pinocchio opened his mouth in shock. "No. Don't talk about that. I don't wish to talk about that. Please."
"You went there," the Huntsman went on, "but you did not go there alone. The other children went with you, didn't they? Who took you there?"
The young man shook his head, and the Huntsman could see tears forming in his eyes.
"Please, I don't want to think about it."
"That's all well and good," said Rumplestiltskin. "But the children of Hamelin have disappeared, and if you answer our questions, you may prove instrumental in helping us find those children and return them to their homes."
A single tear ran down Pinocchio's face. He wiped it away and exhaled deeply.
"He wore a patchy cloak, with his hood up. Played his pipes and we all followed him onto a ship. He promised that we would be happy for the rest of our days if we went back to the island with him. Said that we would never have to grow up."
"You were a puppet. You weren't going to grow up anyway."
"Maybe, but the promise of eternal happiness... and the music from those pipes..."
"The pied piper," the Huntsman said, looking at Rumplestiltskin, who nodded. "What happened after you arrived at the island?"
"The other children and I danced, and played games. They ate and drank and smoked, everything that children were not supposed to do was permitted on the island. Obviously, I couldn't do that other stuff... eating or drinking. The night seemed to go on for days, as though time had stopped. And then, in the midst of our celebrations, the piper said that he wished to introduce us to his friends."
The Huntsman frowned. "The piper had friends? Who were they?"
"They... they weren't people," said Pinocchio, and his face began to pale. "They were these... beings, black with glowing eyes. Shaped like people, but they were monsters. Shadows. I cannot say for certain. They floated through the air above us and descended like birds of prey, tearing the shadows from everyone. I don't know what they were doing, exactly, but the other children... I think they died when their shadows were taken from them. With each stolen shadow, a child dropped to the ground and did not rise again. One of the monsters tried to steal my shadow, but it didn't work for some reason. Maybe because I was made out of wood, and not a real boy."
"Maybe," said Rumplestiltskin, his eyes gleaming in the yellow light of the fireplace.
"I ran away, back to the ship, and hid in a barrel of rum. I did not need to breathe back then, so I stayed in the barrel as the ship left the island and returned to the mainland."
Rumplestiltskin lifted an eyebrow. "I imagine that rum would have had an unusual flavor. Oak-matured with hints of magic puppet."
"When the ship made port again, I left and made my way back home."
The Huntsman nodded. "This pied piper; what did he look like?"
"He... looked like us."
"Like you?"
"He was just a boy. Called himself Peter Pan."
Rumplestiltskin stirred.
"Peter Pan," the Huntsman echoed the name. "Thank you, Pinocchio. You have been a tremendous help."
He rose from his seat, but Rumplestiltskin did not move. He simply stared down at Pinocchio.
"One last thing," Rumplestiltskin said. "Look at me. Do you remember me?"
"Remember you?"
"Do you remember my face? Do I look familiar to you at all?"
Pinocchio frowned. "No. Should I remember you?"
"Do you remember Camelot? King Arthur? The hat?"
"A hat? What are you talking about, old man?"
Rumplestiltskin suddenly reached out and grabbed Pinocchio by the collar. "You don't remember me? Are you sure?!"
"Enough," the Huntsman said, wrenching Pinocchio free from Rumplestiltskin's grasp and casting a glance at the innkeeper, who was staring at them. "I don't think you wish to draw attention to us. Right, Hobblefoot?"
Rumplestiltskin glared at the Huntsman, breathing heavily, and then reached into his crimson robes and withdrew a small cylindrical box, gold in color. Its black lid was decorated with golden stars. He placed the small box on the table in front of Pinocchio.
"This belongs to you, puppet. Take care of it; perhaps it will jog your memories."
And with that, Rumplestiltskin turned and limped out of the Red Lobster Inn, followed by the Huntsman. Once outside, he grabbed the sorcerer by the shoulder.
"What the hell was that about? Why did you give him that box?"
"Because it belongs to him. Weren't you listening?"
"Had you two already met before today?"
Rumplestiltskin hesitated. "In a manner of speaking. I knew who he used to be."
The Huntsman looked at him, puzzled. "Whatever that means."
"The important thing is that we now know the identity of the pied piper," said Rumplestiltskin.
"Peter Pan. Do you know who he is?"
"Yes, I do. He's my father."
"Father?" The Huntsman's eyes widened. "Pinocchio said Peter Pan was a boy."
"Yes, well, he's older than he looks. Peter Pan is my father."
Conversely, the Huntsman's eyes then narrowed as he chewed on this new information.
"You knew. You knew he was the piper."
"I suspected. There is a world of difference," Rumplestiltskin said. "Now I know."
"Do you think the children of Hamelin have been taken to Pleasure Island?"
"Pleasure Island is just one of its given names. The island's true name is Neverland, and yes, I believe they have been taken there."
"How do we get to... Neverland?"
Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth. "With great difficulty. I only know of one ship that travels between the mainland and Neverland, and somehow I don't believe the captain will be pleased to see me, let alone take us there."
"Why not?"
"We have a history."
"It seems you have a history with many people."
"The downside of living as long as I have. After a time, the enemies start piling up."