A/N: According to Iowa State University's Extension and Outreach site, giant pumpkins have been recorded with a circumference of greater than 10 feet or weighing over one thousand pounds.

Chapter Eight

"What are you doing?" Belle demanded. How fast was this thing going? She'd had to leap from a spooked horse a time or two when it was racing at full gallop. From the way the scenery was flying past, she rather thought this was faster, but there was no help for it. She pushed at the door. Then she tugged at the handle. Something gave, but the door wouldn't open.

"I locked it," Crane said apologetically. "I-I'm sorry it has to be like this, but your father says it's the only way. Once we're over the town line, you'll forget all about the Dark One and Misthaven. You'll just revert to who you were under the Curse. We'll make a new life out there."

Belle thought she might faint. Under the Curse, she'd been a prisoner, her mind in a fog, with no memory of anything else and no hope of a better tomorrow. She couldn't go back to that! As the orange paint of the town boundary line came into view, Belle threw back her head and shrieked.

"RUMPELSTILTSKIN!"


"It's not more than another mile or so," Much assured them. Despite their insistence that they didn't need a guide to follow a road, Robin had insisted. The track wasn't nearly as well-traveled as it had been when there were more people in these parts, he'd explained, and nature had a way of reclaiming what had once belonged to it. To that end, he'd ordered Much to accompany them to the forest's edge and the party hadn't gone far before the newcomers had realized what Robin meant. The path was overgrown in spots, grasses obscuring what had once been packed dirt. Neal was glad that it was spring and that last fall's leaves had mostly gone to dust or to line some forest creature's nest or burrow or the road would have been even harder to see. Here and there, brambles and vines encroached and stones that would have been buried over or dug out once now had them stumbling when they didn't pay attention to where they stepped. After the fourth or fifth time that Henry tripped, the boy muttered a phrase he'd heard Gilbert utter the other night, when the piece of venison he'd been roasting had slipped from the branch on which he'd spitted it to fall into the flames.

Regina's lips pursed in disapproval. "I raised you better than that," she scolded him. "Just because you've been associating with riffraff is no reason to sound like them."

"R… Lady Wilma!" Neal exclaimed. "Please!"

Much only laughed. "Don't be offended on our account, Goodman Neal. We are commoners, most of us. The only member in my family to better herself forgot the rest of us as quickly as she could, so I never even had her example to model myself on."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "By 'bettering herself', do you mean she acquired a patron or a good apprenticeship, or was it more of a good marriage?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Regina make an irritated 'shushing' gesture, but ignored it. Over the last couple of days, he'd found he liked Much's rambling stories and explanations, and there was always the chance that the young outlaw might mention something in passing that could prove useful.

Much grinned. "The last," he confirmed, using his quarterstaff to shove aside a mass of coiling vines. "My father's sister, she was. Elder by some fifteen years; he were a lad of ten when she left. Their father, my grandfather, the old miller was a drunkard, I'm told, and shiftless to boot, and with my father but a child, the running of the mill and the selling of the flour fell to my aunt.

Well, one day, so my father tells it, she up and left. Said she was meant for finer things and was going to marry a prince. She had a ring to prove it, or so she claimed, but as father related, anyone could see it was just a bit of braided straw. Still, she insisted it was given her by a prince and off she goes." Much chuckled a bit at that, but his expression sobered quickly. "Some weeks later, she was back, bitter and angry and not a word about where she'd been or about that prince of hers. She threw herself into the mill, so my father said, as though it had offended her and needed to be wrangled into submission. And then one day, she tells my father she's arranged for him to prentice to a miller one town over, that he can learn what it was to work honest and sober; that soon, she'd not be able to keep up and best he go." Much shook his head. "That was the last time he saw her, but not the last he heard of her."

For a few minutes, Much said nothing. Then Regina snorted. "Well, that's cryptic."

Much smiled. "Forgive me milady," he said diffidently. "But I don't know how the next bit came about. Only that nearly a year later, a royal progress passed through the town where my father was apprenticing. The king and queen and his five sons and daughters and their wives and husbands and children, those what had 'em. Well, when my father saw the wife of the king's third-born son, his jaw near to cracked the millstone, for 'twas his own sister, y'see. But that night, when he stole to the castle where sheriff was entertaining the noble visitors and asked so politely if he might greet his sister, she sent back word that she had no kin in these parts and knew nobody by my father's name, and that if he didn't get himself gone that very hour, he'd soon know the penalty for harassing his betters. So," he concluded, "back to the mill goes my father, and in time he takes over from his master and becomes the miller in truth. And now, it's Much the Miller's son, I am," he grinned.

"And your father never tried to find your aunt again?" asked Henry with some consternation. "Maybe after a while, she missed your father and wished she hadn't sent him away. Maybe…"

Much shook his head. "No," he said shortly. "If she'd wanted to find him or me, it's no difficult thing. True, I don't make my whereabouts known to many these days, but from the stories that sprang up about my aunt over the years, it's magic she took to dabbling in. If her spies couldn't find me, her spell craft would. But why would she want to?" he continued. "She married a prince and her daughter a king. And I've no truck with either, nor want it."

"But they're your family," Henry protested.

Much winced. "I've said too much, I have. Friar Tuck always says I get so caught up in the stories I tell that I sometimes tell more than I mean to. And I suppose, since you're not from these parts, it's safe enough, but I'd rather you didn't repeat this tale of mine in other company, lest someone examine the pieces and see the full picture. "Yes," he said heavily, "the princess and her daughter are my kin. But it was that daughter cast the Dark Curse, and that was only the last of a long list of evil deeds to her discredit. Even before she came to that mile-marker, her acts had grown so heinous that when one I thought my dearest friend learned of the blood tie between us, he gathered a mob to burn my family out of our home, thinking that if they couldn't make the Evil Queen pay for her crimes, they could at least bring her kin to account. I escaped that blaze," he said bitterly, "and I've been outlaw ever since."

Regina flinched. "I'm sorry," she said heavily.

"Eh," Much said, his previous good cheer reasserting itself, "it weren't your doing. But talking's thirsty work, and the road and the stream parted ways a mile back. There'll be no more water than what's in our water-skins for you now until Safe Haven, and none for me until I've turned back. So perhaps we'll conserve our drink and our speech until either's needed?"

"That sounds sensible," Regina agreed with a sense of profound relief. It was another quarter of a mile before relief yielded to realization. If Much's story was true—and she could see no reason why he might be lying—then the affable young man who was escorting them was, in fact, her cousin. And she had no idea how she was supposed to feel about that.


Had it been anyone but Belle, Rumple would have let them stew a bit. Just because he could always hear his name if it was spoken aloud didn't mean he had to answer. But this time, it was the woman he loved and she hadn't been entirely comfortable with the phone he'd given her, so when he heard her cry he only hesitated for an instant before he responded, teleporting to the location from which her call had come.

He wasn't expecting to appear on the main road by the town line, but the Dodge Caravan now only a scant hundred yards from the boundary demanded his attention at once. With the speed of thought, a bolt of magical force knocked the van sideways, sending it careening and crashing through the line fence and into the field beyond. He was able to bleed off enough of the vehicle's velocity that he could be reasonably certain that its passengers were unharmed. All the same, it was with some trepidation that he teleported the two hundred yards or so to where the van had now come to rest.


"I don't like this," Much said, frowning a bit.

Neal turned to their guide with a frown of his own. "Sorry?"

"Leaving you three on your own, an unarmed man, a woman and a boy, with only a day's food and water and not a weapon between you."

"Your leader said it was less than six hours' walk to this Safe Haven place," Regina said. "Surely, our supplies will last us until then."

"Aye," said Much. "Provided you encounter no bandits nor wild beasts. Provided the road stays true and hasn't been washed out by a monsoon further ahead. Provided you don't accidentally drop your water-skins when you've unstopped them and lose most of your water supply."

"You're cheerful," Regina retorted.

"And you're newcomers," Much replied back.

"You could come with us," Henry suggested. He and Much had been chatting for much of their journey so far, and he found he liked the young man with the younger face.

Much shook his head. "The longer I accompany you, the farther I'll need to travel back alone once I've seen you off," he said. "I don't much like open country. Too little cover, too few hiding places, and too little game for me. No, lad. I'll see you to the first crossroad and point your path from there, but then I'm back to the woods.

"Hey," Neal said, holding a hand to his eyes to shield them from the bright sun. "Are there… more people up ahead?"

Much squinted as he followed the direction in which Neal was gesturing. "Aye," he said. "Three, and two of 'em knights." He let out a low whistle. "And strangers to these parts, by my reckoning; that's armor the sun's a-glinting off of. It's a wonder that they're not cooking alive in it."

"Should we continue on?" Regina asked.

"Unless you've changed your mind and you want to head back with us," Much replied, "I think we must. Bandits wear no armor; the sound and the stench of it would give them away, even if they could afford it. And two knights…they're like to be escorts for the other traveler. Friendly they may or mayn't be, but thieves and cutthroats? I doubt it. Still," he held up his crossbow, already loaded with a wood-fletched bolt, "if I'm wrong, it's best we find that out before I take my leave of you. This won't be much use at close range, but I'm no swordsman and attacking knights with a hunting knife'd be nigh as futile."

Neal nodded. "Fingers crossed, then. With any luck, we won't be travelling the rest of the way to Safe Haven on our own."


"Let me go!" Belle insisted, tugging futilely on the minivan door.

Crane swallowed. "I-I can't while you're pulling on the handle. Let go for a second." He gasped when he realized that the Dark One was fast approaching, a terrifying gleam in his eyes. The instant Belle released the handle, he pressed the button to release the power locks, thrust his own door open, and practically flung himself out of the van.

Rumple approached the passenger side, just as Belle managed to emerge and he caught her arm to steady her. "You're all right?" he asked anxiously.

Belle nodded. "Y-yes. Now," she murmured. Rumple wrapped an arm about her shoulders and set his gaze on Crane, who was stumbling through the pumpkin patch. As Belle watched, a thick vine several inches ahead of him rose to mid-calf height and stretched taut, its loose end coiling and tightening about an A-frame trellis. Crane tripped and went sprawling, his head banging into a large orange gourd.

Before Belle's eyes, a fissure seemed to open in the pumpkin, its edges lined with jagged orange teeth. Two feral green eyes blinked wide and then narrowed as the vegetable leaned forward, its maw wide. "Rumple!" she cried. "No!"

"He was going to carry you out of town!" Rumple exclaimed.

"I would have come back!" Wait. What had Crane said about the town line? She couldn't think about that now; if she did, there would be no deterring the man she loved from the vengeance he meant to exact. "Please, Rumple," she said softly, hoping he didn't already know, "don't do this."

Rumple wavered. Crane whimpered. Rumple's gaze passed from the cringing music teacher to the woman at his side and he shook his head and sighed. Then he gestured and the pumpkin engulfed Crane.

Belle cried out, but Rumple wasn't finished yet. The pumpkin began to grow, doubling in size, then doubling again and again, until it was nearly the width of the vehicle which he'd been driving. And Belle realized that its rind had taken on a sheen like polished wood. The vines at its base coiled into tight loops. Spokes formed at their centers, converging on small, solid hubs.

At another gesture, the pumpkin-turned-coach began to move, rolling out of the pumpkin patch, out to the main road, and back towards town.

Rumple turned to Belle. "There really should have been horses," he admitted, "but it seems that the owner of this field has done a decent job at keeping the mice out. I would have had an easier time back in our land."

Belle leaned against him. "Where will it take him?"

"Back to you father's, I suppose," Rumple shrugged. "It was he who hired your abductor?"

Belle lowered her eyes. "I-I really think it must have been," she said, remembering.

Crane does deliveries for me. Suppose I have him take you where you need to go...

Where I needed to go, she thought, her jaw hardening. Not home.

Take the van up there first, and then you can take Belle wherever.

Wherever. Her fear and shock were subsiding, but her anger was rising fast. Father meant out in the world. And when he told me he loved me, he was really telling me… goodbye.

"He wanted me to leave you," she said. "And when I wouldn't, he tried to make me."

Rumple's arm tightened about her. "He has much to answer for," he said in a tone that was very nearly a snarl.

Belle shook her head. "He sent me away believing it was forever. Well, if that's what he wants, so be it. After this, I-I don't care if I never see him again." She locked her blue eyes on Rumple's brown. "But let that be enough. He's still my father, and… you told me you hurt him once when he didn't deserve it. Credit that unearned retribution against what he's done today and consider the debt paid. Please, Rumple," she added when he hesitated. "For me."

Rumple sighed. "Well," he allowed reluctantly, "I suppose when he sees what's been done to his henchman, he'll anticipate that what I have in store for him will be much worse. I don't know that I need to reassure him so quickly."

Belle started to smile, but a puzzled expression came to her face. "Rumple? I-I don't want you to do worse to Crane, but it seems all you really did was send him packing back to town."

"Not exactly," Rumple replied with a chuckle. "Remember, before he was engulfed in a coach, he was swallowed by a pumpkin…"


The coach rolled swiftly into town, drawing wide-eyed stares from startled bystanders. Stepping out of Bushy's Bridal Shoppe, Ashley Boyd gripped her fiancé's arm. "I didn't know there was a ball in town," she murmured.

"There isn't," Sean Herman replied tersely. "And that coach doesn't look nearly as nice as the one in which I saw you arrive."

"You saw me?" Ashley asked and Sean smiled.

"I was watching from the southwest tower, waiting to make my grand entrance and looking at the guests as they were making their way inside. You don't see a lot of coaches that look like giant pumpkins." His face sobered. "Wonder where that one's going."

Baby Alexandra started to wail then, just as the shop assistant came to inform her that they were ready for her gown fitting. Ashley hurriedly handed the infant to Sean, who began soothing his daughter, all thoughts of the pumpkin-coach vanishing for now.


As the coach drew closer to the Game of Thorns flower shop, its wheels began to wobble. The tires took on a dark green color, as their solid interiors melted away, leaving the vehicle lurching and bumping along on mere loops of vine. The pumpkin bounced up and down and left and right as it bore down on Moe French's establishment.

Moe was behind the counter trying to lose himself in his account books and not think about the events he'd just set in motion. He wished Belle could have seen the truth for herself; none of his measures would have been necessary then! But she was stubborn and headstrong and someone had needed to save her, both from the Dark One and from herself!

He wondered who she would be on the other side of the town line. Under the Curse, he didn't think his own personality had been radically changed. He'd been a tradesman, of course; still was, but he imagined that he'd been more or less the person he would have been back in Misthaven, had he been born a villager instead of a noble. Of course, the same could not be said of Snow White or the fairies… Well. He would just imagine his daughter as a schoolteacher or university scholar, content with her books as she always had been and, perhaps, he'd sleep well toni—

He screamed and flung up his arms to shield his face as the giant pumpkin slammed into his display window, shattering it into countless shards. It smashed the large ceramic planters behind it and crushed the delicate blooms and greenery within. It tumbled from the display area onto the shop floor and came to rest inches before the counter.

Shaking, Moe lowered his arms and took in the damage with a horrified look.

And then he realized that there was a tapping sound coming from inside the pumpkin.

"Help!" a muffled voice cried. "…me out! Let me out!"

Moe hesitated. He picked up the knife he used to trim the stems of his cut flowers. The blade was only four inches long, but it was sharp. He thrust it into the pumpkin, pulled it out, and thrust it in again in nearly the same spot. It took more time than he would have liked to cut open a small plug hole. "Uh, hello?"

"My liege?" a plaintive voice replied. "It's me. Crane. I'm afraid I've failed you."

Moe swallowed. "My daughter?"

"W-with the Dark One. C-could you get me out of this? I don't mean to complain, but I've been bruised and battered, I'm covered in pumpkin guts and there are seeds in places I'd prefer not to specify."

Moe winced. "Hang in there. I think I'm going to need to borrow a better knife…"


The small party up ahead seemed in no hurry to move on and were still camped at the crossroads when Much and the others reached it. Upon hearing where they were bound, the visored knight spoke first. "We're heading that way ourselves. You're welcome to join us."

"Mulan!" stage-whispered the young woman in the creased dress. "We don't know anything about these people.

"They're unarmed," Mulan replied firmly. "And these badlands can be treacherous. It's a soldier's duty to lend aid to civilians where they can."

"And a knight's as well," the second knight said—or perhaps, the only knight—agreed. "They come with us."

Neal glanced sharply at Mulan. "You… you're…"

"A woman?" Mulan finished, raising her visor. "Yeah, I know."

"No, not that," Neal said. "Just that I've heard of you."

A quick smile flashed on the soldier's face. "Exaggerations, no doubt," she returned, lowering her eyes quickly.

"Yeah, I guess movies embellish sometimes," Neal mumbled. He was keenly aware that Much's eyes had narrowed.

"Movies?" the young man replied.

Neal winced. This realm didn't have movies. "It's complicated," he said. "Let's just say that in the realm we come from, it's not that uncommon for us to, uh, hear about famous people from other realms. But a lot of what we get can be… garbled." He could feel Regina glowering at him without his needing to turn around, and he hoped he wasn't about to have to explain further. If these people started asking him how stuff worked, he didn't know how he was going to explain a movie projector and something told him that Henry and Regina wouldn't do any better at it!

Much, however, merely nodded, though he was still frowning.

The other knight seemed to consider what Neal had said for a moment. Then he shrugged. "My name is Phillip," he said. "This is Aurora, my betrothed." He extended his hand to the woman, and she clasped it with a demure smile.

Henry's face broke into a wide smile. "Aweso—"

Word and smile both died on his lips, as the light shawl Aurora was wearing fell back. And angry red burn, almost exactly like Henry's own, marred Aurora's bared arm.