A/N: I'm not syncing up daytimes and night times between SB and the EF. Let's just say that roughly the same number of days will pass in each locale, but it's not going to line up precisely. Who ever said that the EF had to be on Eastern Standard Time (GMT-5) or that their days were 24 hours long anyway?

A/N: 'Tiring' refers to matters of dress... or attire.

A/N: According to Wikipedia, there were three real-life individuals who might have inspired Irving's Ichabod Crane character: Col. Ichabod Crane—who fought in the war of 1812—and schoolmasters Jesse Merwin and Samuel Youngs.

Chapter Six

Neal turned to face his interrogator and recognized him as one of the two men he'd seen earlier. Behind him stood several others, all carrying strung crossbows, aimed in their direction.

"Papa?" Henry asked carefully.

Neal didn't break his gaze away from the leader, as he said, "It's going to be okay, son."

"I must say," the leader went on, "you led us a merry chase. If you could hide your tracks as well as you move silently, it's just possible I might have lost your trail." His eyes narrowed. "Who are you? The truth."

Neal hesitated. "Name's Baelfire," he said. "The boy's my son. I'm a woodsman in service to Milady."

"And has your lady a name?"

Yeah. But if you've been here all along and didn't just pop through a portal like we did, telling it to you would probably get us killed. He thought about the liveried servants he'd met in Victorian London, how they'd acted haughtier toward other commoners than even their moneyed employers, and curled his lip scornfully. "It's not for your ears, sirrah," he said, hoping Regina would understand his reluctance to divulge it.

The other man's eyebrows climbed. "You speak boldly for a man with a dozen weapons trained on him."

"Five by my count," Neal returned. "Six, if you want me to count the guy circling behind us."

His interrogator smiled. "Peace, Much," he said. "Our friend's ears are evidently as large as your feet, though not half so clumsy. Come forth."

There was a rustling in the trees to Neal's left. And then a youth in his late teens emerged with twigs in his curly red hair and a sheepish expression on his face. "Sorry, Robin," he mumbled.

Robin smiled. "I suppose formal introductions might be warranted. Allow me to present Much the Miller's son," the redhead bowed awkwardly, "Allan-a-Dale, Friar Tuck, Little John, and Gilbert Whitehand." As each man was named, they bowed in turn. "As for me," the man continued, "I'm called Robin. Robin Hood."

Henry's breath caught and an excited grin flashed across his face. "Awesome!"

Rumpelstiltskin heard Mary Margaret out without comment, his face impassive. When she was done, he nodded. "Well, he's quite right," he said finally. "Apart from one element that neither you nor he twigged to."

David frowned. "Sorry?"

"It's not dreaming, dearie," Rumple explained with a smile. "Think of it as… traveling to another realm while asleep."

"I'm… not sure how that differs from a dream," David said, and Rumple chortled.

"Well, dearie, for one thing, when one dreams, the actions of one's physical body may well impact one's psychic self. It's the reverse situation we're dealing with here."

"I don't—" David started to say, but Snow broke in with dawning comprehension in her voice.

"It's like dreaming you're wrestling a serpent and waking up tangled in the bedclothes, o-or dreaming of sliding down a hill and waking up on the floor, isn't it? Your body was… doing something, and your dream translated whatever it was into its reality!"

Rumple nodded. "Gold star for you, dearie. Yes, precisely."

"Wait," David said. "In my curse memories, I think I remember hearing or reading that if a person dreams they're falling from a height, they always wake up before they hit the ground. If they were to actually hit, then the fall would kill them for real."

"Well," Rumple snorted, "it would be illuminating to know just how your source of information figured that out. If your dreamer is dead, it's hardly as though one could ask them whether they'd dreamed as you claim. No, I suspect you're referencing some bit of folklore with no real basis. In any event," he continued, "I would take Mr. Clark's advice to heart. While there are substances that can safely bring you to the state required for re-entering that curse-world, I wouldn't look to this land's pills and powders for it unless I truly understood what I was ingesting."

"Then how…?" Mary Margaret's question overlapped with David's.

"What are you propos—?"

The bell over the shop door jangled and Emma came in. "Belle here?" she asked without preamble. She nodded greetings to her parents, not really surprised to find them there.

Gold's eyebrow shot up. "A good morning to you, too, Sheriff," he said mildly. "Yes, she's in the back room. Shall I—?"

"I'm here," Belle said, pushing back the heavy curtain that separated the back room from the shop floor. "You're looking for me, Emma?"

Emma exhaled. "Yeah. Or… I think your father might be…"

Robin continued to smile at them in a friendly fashion, but his men never lowered their crossbows. "Times are hard here," he went on, "and many of us have pasts we'd like to forget, but at the same time, it's helpful to know who one's friends are. And since my men and I happened upon you while you were in the midst of concocting some tale to explain yourselves, I'll have the truth of it."

Neal frowned. "I'm not sure that's wise," he said carefully. "We have our reasons for keeping our true identities secret, and a secret loses its effectiveness the more people know it. Since we're strangers here, let's just say we're keeping things close until we know it's safe to disclose our real names. Which," he added with a shrug, "probably won't mean anything to you anyway, but at the moment, I'm not ready to risk it."

He could see a few quick nods from the men surrounding them. Robin, however, remained pensive. "There may be something in what you say," he allowed, "but these woods are no longer safe for those who know them not. Now you," he nodded at Neal, "evidently have some skills that will stand you in good stead here, but I don't believe that holds true for your companions. And I mark that none of you carry weapons. My conscience won't allow me to leave you fend for yourselves, but prudence precludes my offering succor to those who might be in league with our foes."

Neal sighed. "Sounds like we have a problem, then," he said.

"It would seem so."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Regina broke in sounding irritated. "We're not in league with your enemies. We're from another realm entirely."

Neal flicked her a warning look, one she met with a faint smile, as she continued. "My name is Lady Wilma of Starbrook. This man is in my employ and the boy is his son." She sighed. "I was wed too young to a man I loved not. A strategic alliance for the good of my family. It appears that our distaste was mutual, for when it became clear that I would beget no heirs, my husband troubled me no longer. However, some eleven years ago, an enemy attacked our kingdom and my husband rode off to battle. I was left behind in our castle," she smiled demurely, "with a number of servants and retainers and more embroidery and tapestry work than I could ever hope to complete."

"You spin a fine tale, Lady Starbrook," Robin said. "But I think there must be more."

"There always is," Regina agreed pleasantly. "Some eight months after my husband's departure, the wife of my loyal gardener," she gestured toward Neal, "birthed a healthy boy. Sadly, the ordeal was too much for her and she died, not long after, leaving my man a widower with a newborn infant."

Neal fought to keep his face impassive. Hearing Regina casually 'kill off' Henry's birth mother, even in a made-up tale, grated on him. As much as he wanted to protest, he knew that this was the best way to explain an absent wife, and despite his original plan, he also knew that his earlier conclusion had been right: he'd never be able to pass himself off as a noble for long, and Regina would never be believed as a commoner.

"I've no children of my own," Regina continued sadly, "and I must say that I came to dote on the motherless babe, looking after him while his father was occupied and oftentimes inviting the two of them to sit at board with me."

"I think I see where this is going," Robin said dryly, and one of his men chuckled lewdly.

Regina shot the henchman a cold look, which barely warmed when she turned back to Robin. "Do you?" she asked. "Because if you mean to insinuate that anything improper transpired between Goodman Baelfire and myself, you'd be much mistaken. Over the next decade, I saw little of my husband. The front was far away; he was only able to visit infrequently and didn't stay long enough to remark on my affection for the boy. Unfortunately, when the war ended two months ago and my husband came home for good, he did take notice and decided that things between myself and Henry's father had gone in the same direction you seemed to imagine a moment ago. And when he realized that the boy had been born less than a year after he'd gone off to war, he suspected that those activities had been going on for quite some time."

"Indeed?" Robin frowned. "Just to look at the lad, there's much of his father in him, but I don't remark much of a resemblance between the two of you."

Regina lowered her gaze for a moment to glance at Henry. "Perhaps not," she admitted. "Nevertheless, he made accusations, and disregarded our protests. Before long, I found myself a virtual prisoner, confined to my bedchamber. As for Goodman Baelfire…" she pressed her lips together. "In our land," she continued carefully, "when a commoner is accused of a crime against a noble, the interrogators will claim to be expert at finding out the truth, but it's my belief that one subjected to their methods will, in the end, say anything—true or not—to end the interrogations. Do you take my meaning?"

There was angry rumbling from the other men, and Robin nodded. "I do," he said, his expression grim. "Such was the case here as well, until quite recently." He turned to Neal. "I must say, you look remarkably hearty for one so questioned."

"I wasn't," Neal said with a faint smile, as he built on the framework Regina had begun. "Fortunately I had friends among the castle guardsmen. Two days ago, one of them warned me that he'd been given orders to take me into custody that evening. I could scarcely leave my lady to her husband's tender mercies, and as my friend knew that the accusation against her was baseless, he agreed to distract her guards long enough for me to help her to escape with me." He smiled. "It seemed the guards in question had both a weakness for wine and for dice games. My friend used both. And while they were involved in their game and drinking one another's health, I unlocked Lady Wilma's chamber, led her to where I'd told Henry to wait, and we three fled in the night."

He focused his gaze intently on Robin now knowing how important eye contact would be for this next bit. "Many years ago, my late mother did a service for the fairies and they rewarded her with a magic bean. I don't know if you're familiar with their power, but—"

"A fairy bean?" Robin shook his head. "I know nothing of those, but I've heard tell of giant's beans that allow one to traverse realms. I mention this only because you say you're newly arrived in this one. Was that your method?"

Neal nodded. "It was. It seems that this land is very much like the one from which we originate."

"Apart from your tiring fashions," one of the men snorted and the others laughed.

"Well," Robin said when the merriment died down, "that's quite the tale, and I doubt you're being entirely honest. Still," he continued, "there's more than a ring of truth to what you have told me. So," at a gesture, five crossbows dropped as one, "if you'll accompany us back to our camp, we'll share both food and information. And once you've partaken of each, perhaps you'll know your best course."

"My father," Belle repeated, her eyes widening. "I-I had no idea he was here, too." She turned to Rumple. "Regina brought everyone? Not only the people from her own kingdom?"

Rumple shrugged. "Well, I don't know everyone in Misthaven, and there is a face or two I might have expected to see whom I've not come across lo these last twenty-eight years. Still, I couldn't say for certain that those I miss were in our realm when the Curse was cast, or that they were still alive at the time. I spent the months leading up to the Curse under much the same circumstances as you did after it, you see."

Belle's eyes widened. "I-I didn't know. Who…?"

"Who doesn't matter, dearie," he said gently, not missing the relief on Snow White and David's faces. "It was all planned, albeit not particularly pleasant. Well. While we're on the subject of the past, your father and I have one. He won't be happy that you're staying with me now of your own free will."

"He can be a bit stubborn at times," Belle admitted. "But I'm sure I can make him see—"

"I wouldn't be," Emma cut in. She shot Rumple a look. "I take it Belle is the person you were ranting about the night I—"

"Saved her father's life?" Rumple interrupted smoothly. His smile dropped. "I'm afraid so. You see, Belle, shortly after I turned you out-of-doors, Regina came to call on me. And she told me quite the story." He hesitated. "Perhaps you'd best both sit down. It shan't take long to relate, but I think it might be wise…"

"Our keep is some two day's journey from here on foot," Robin was saying, "but we'll make camp before nightfall. It's well enough you're joining us for a meal. Game is a bit too sparse where we're living, though the location has," he paused meaningfully, "other advantages. Of course, when we do bring down a beast, we're then faced with having to salt and dry the meat before it goes rancid on us. So, we've plenty to spare and if it means we'll dry a bit less, we're yet in springtime. There will be months of good hunting ahead before the winter snows."

"How fortunate," Regina said with a polite smile. "And I won't deny it's a relief to be with someone who's familiar with the area. Or, well, the realm," she added. "Seeing as we're strangers here."

"Yes," Robin nodded. "Well, I'm afraid my area of expertise stops at the forest boundary. This path we're on leads to the barren lands if you follow it west. There's a safe haven there, where most of those remaining have chosen to band together for protection against the trolls and ogres that rise up again now. Our destination lies eastward, though."

"There's a safe haven there now?" Regina repeated. "But not… earlier?"

"Earlier," Friar Tuck chimed in, "there were more people in these parts, but nearly thirty years ago, that changed. A Curse was cast by an evil witch-queen and overnight, almost every soul in these lands vanished. Spirited away by some dark mist. Only this small corner of the realm was spared and, even here, it was as though time stopped for us. I've a son who was born to me before the casting. He'll celebrate his fourth birthday in a month's time."

Neal had been watching Regina during this speech. Apart from a slight twitch at the term 'witch-queen' and a very faint smile, there was no sign that Tuck's words held any special significance to her. "How are you so certain that it's been thirty years?" he asked.

"The trees kept growing," Much explained. "Perhaps in a forest, you wouldn't notice a thing like that, but, well, the sheriff was planting an orchard the summer before the casting. He'd gone off to make his yearly summation to the king when the mists came and we can only surmise that they carried him away when they did. Meanwhile, those saplings tower over us with trunks thicker than Little John can encompass with both his hands."

Unbidden, Neal's gaze strayed toward the big man whose massive hands gripped a quarterstaff easily. He whistled in appreciation.

Little John smiled. "We're outlaws, all of us," he went on. "There might not be much law hereabouts at the moment, but even if nobody hunts us now, we've been living in the woods too long to bed easy in some town. We've our keep and it suits us."

"And that," Robin continued, "leaves you with a choice. We lead a rough life, but we welcome those who choose it, provided they understand and abide by our code. If you wish to throw your lot in with us, those are our terms. If not, we'll escort you the forest's edge, point your way to Safe Haven, and give you enough food and water for the journey. You need not decide tonight," he added. "It will take us the better part of two days to dry the venison and forage additional foodstuffs for the trek back. But by the time we're ready to leave, we will need your answer. And perhaps by then," he added more seriously, "you'll have decided whether or not to trust us with the rest of your story."

Neal didn't miss the look that Regina shot him at that last remark. Beside him, he felt Henry tense and, with a reassurance he didn't truly feel, smiled at his son and brought a finger to his lips.

"Oh, dear," Belle said, when Gold was finished speaking.

"Guess you won't be bringing your fiancé to family dinner anytime soon, huh?" Emma asked, and though her voice was light, her eyes were serious.

"We… uh… haven't gotten that far yet. Not officially," she added quickly. Then she shook her head. "I need to talk to him, then. Explain how things are."

Gold nodded. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised you feel that way," he said with weary resignation. "And while I imagine an apology will do little to smooth things over, I won't deny he's entitled to one."

"At the very least," David broke in.

"Might want to put something toward his medical bills," Emma suggested. "I'm no expert, but don't most plans have deductibles? And premiums that go up if you make a claim?"

Gold nodded again. "If that's the way things are in the outside world, well the Curse was designed to create those conditions as accurately as possible."

"Why?" Emma asked with a frown. "I-I mean, it's not like people were going in and out. This place could've looked like Hogwarts or Vulcan and nobody would've known anything was weird."

"True," Gold admitted, "but you must remember that all magic comes with a price, and that price would have been far greater if the Curse couldn't map itself onto a setting already typical for the region in which it took root. Had it transported us to, say, rural Uganda or the Swiss Alps, one would expect this town to look radically different. At any rate," he sighed, "I do owe Mr. French a debt, and I prefer to pay those as soon as possible."

Belle smiled. "Thanks, Rumple, but I think I ought to go myself this time. I'll explain to him how things are. Maybe once he knows that you aren't the monster he thought you were, he'll accept you."

"Anything's possible," Gold allowed dubiously. "But Belle, if you do run into any trouble, I hope you'll call." He gave her a shrewd look. Belle's eyes widened slightly and she gave him a quick nod.

"You have a phone?" Emma asked.

"Phone?" Belle repeated.

"That is one way you might call me," Gold nodded at Emma, even while addressing Belle. "But hardly the only one."

"Got it," Belle said.

Rumple turned to Mary Margaret. "As for your matter," he said, "leave it with me. Poppy would be the best method, but such blooms as grow here are far too weak and mild for what's needed. I'll need to research what other means might suffice."

Mary Margaret nodded, as Belle rose to her feet and squared her shoulders with a sigh. "All right, Sheriff," she said brightly. "If you can tell me how to get to my father, I'll be on my way."

Emma was still frowning in confusion. "No problem. I'll…" she cast a dubious look at Gold, who merely smiled, "…drive you."

Moe French did not return to the flower shop immediately. After Emma had taken down his information, he decided to go to Granny's for a coffee first. As he was walking past the newly-opened crisis center, seven men jostled him as they hurried to its entrance. He was about to shout out to them to watch where they were going, but they were already at its front door. As they pushed it open, one of them—Moe recognized him as the hospital's janitor—bellowed the words, "Terrible news!"

Moe snorted to himself. The man was probably on another bender, as likely as not. But just in case he was sober… Moe hesitated only a moment before following the others into the building.

"…them who you think you are, Sneezy!" the janitor was saying.

And, with a show of irritation, the town pharmacist exclaimed, "Oh, will you stop calling me that? I'm Tom Clark. I own the Dark Star Pharmacy. What's going on here?"

The janitor—was his name Lewis? Leroy, Moe remembered now. That was it—turned to the people now clustering around them and proclaimed, "If you cross the border, you lose your memory all over again!"

There was a stunned silence. Then Archie Hopper asked, "A-and coming back doesn't fix it?"

Leroy gave him a withering look. "If it did, would I have come running in yelling 'terrible news'? If we leave, our Curse selves become our only selves!"

There was a ripple of panic and then a babble of voices as the others in the center began speaking at once. Moe didn't stay to try to puzzle out their words; he could guess the gist. He stepped out of the crisis center intent on continuing to Granny's. If he wasn't going back to Misthaven, Storybrooke was as good a place to live as any and he had no interest in venturing beyond its borders in the first place.

A new thought occurred to him. Unless… No. No, it wouldn't come to that. Surely not. Belle was a sensible girl, despite those insipid romantic epics she'd used to read for leisure. She'd see reason. But just in case she didn't…

Moe turned around and headed, not for the shop, but for his house. He didn't know how long it would take the sheriff to find his daughter, but the town wasn't that big. If Belle was here, then it was just a matter of time until she turned up. And then, his jaw set in grim determination, he'd need to make sure he did whatever he had to in order to keep her safe from the monster who'd carried her off!

Neal awoke to a hand gently nudging his shoulder. He opened his eyes blearily. "Hey, Henry," he mumbled. "What's up?"

Henry looked a bit embarrassed. "Uh… I guess I need to get into the woods for a couple of minutes, unless there's a bathroom around here, but I don't know if it's safe to go by myself."

Neal stretched. "Yeah," he grunted, "it's probably not. C'mon. Long as I'm up, I should probably take care of that, too." He looked over to where Regina slumbered, a short distance away and guessed that she must have been more exhausted than she'd been letting on if she could sleep on the hard ground after a lifetime of soft living.

They'd only gone a few steps when Much stepped out from behind a tree brandishing a lantern in one hand and ready crossbow in the other. The weapon was pointing downwards. "Leaving?" he asked.

Henry flinched, but Neal shook his head calmly. "Boy needs a privy," he said, shielding his eyes from the lantern's glow. "Or the stream, since we're out in the wilds."

Much frowned. Then he thrust the lantern in Neal's direction. "Here," he said. "Ground's treacherous when you can't see it beneath your feet and the moon's not much help when it's waning. Go on," he said, when Neal hesitated. "I've another."

"Okay," Neal said, smiling. "Thanks. We won't be long."

"Probably smart," Much said seriously. "We saw lynx tracks maybe three leagues west of here on our journey. They weren't heading in this direction, but a lynx can travel more than six leagues in a day if chooses." Seeing their reactions, Much smiled. "Probably no reason to worry. Generally, lynx prefer to hunt hares and squirrels. They aren't especially likely to attack humans and less likely to stalk a group of us. All the same, I wouldn't venture too far out from camp."

Neal nodded. "Understood. We're just heading as far as the stream."

"Well, if you're looking for a spot to use it, pick one down-current," Much suggested. "We'll want to fill our canteens in the morning before we move out."

Privately, Neal didn't see how it would make a difference. There were still hours to go until dawn and hours more before they were likely to break camp. By then, anything they did would be miles downstream. Rather than stand there arguing with the Merry Man though, he nodded in agreement, hefted the lantern, and beckoned to Henry to follow him.

Belle rang the doorbell a second time and waited another two minutes. Then she turned around and walked back to Emma's yellow carriage. Car, she reminded herself. It was called a car. Or a bug. She wasn't sure about that one.

"He's not there either?" Emma asked.

Belle shook her head. "Are there any other places he might be?"

Emma shrugged. "Granny's, the drugstore, the grocery, the wilderness park, the garage… I mean, he's in town, but I'm sorry I don't know your father well enough to guess where he hangs out if he's not at home or at work and his cell phone just went right to voice mail." She frowned. "Does he have any hobbies?"

Belle sighed. "Hunting and hawking. I gather neither is done much here."

Emma thought for a moment. "How about fishing? We can head out to the marina."

Belle smiled. "All right. And if he's not there, and he hasn't replied to the message you left him, perhaps you'd best take me back to Rumple and I'll try again tomorrow."

"I think this is far enough," Neal said, gesturing toward a large rock at the stream bank. "We won't be overheard over the sound of the water, as long as we keep our voices down. What's on your mind?"

Startled, Henry turned to his father and then, almost imperceptibly, he relaxed. "I really do have to go, too," he said apologetically. "But I also have a few questions."

Neal nodded. "Okay, I guess if they're keeping you up late at night, I can try to answer them. Hit me."

Henry fumbled with the button on his jeans. "Why are we lying to Robin Hood?"

Neal winced. "That's pretty direct," he said, glancing away as Henry got down to business.

"Well…?"

Neal hesitated. "I've read your book. Anything from there strike you as familiar about your mother's story?"

"Well, yeah," Henry said after a moment. "It reminds me a little bit about the genie, the one who went into her mirror. A little bit about Daniel, too," he added. "Maybe."

"When you're going to change the truth," Neal nodded, as Henry refastened his jeans, "it's usually better to stay close to it, or barring that, stick with stuff you know. It's why we decided I couldn't be a nobleman and she couldn't be a peasant. And why we couldn't pose as a married couple: no way we could have pulled any of that off for long."

"Okay," Henry said, "but why lie at all? I mean, Robin Hood's a hero!"

Neal nodded again. "So, why would he want to help the Evil Queen?"

Henry paused. "Well… maybe if he thought it was the right thing to do…"

"Maybe," Neal agreed, "but there's something else you're not thinking of. The stories in your book, they're usually a little... different from the stories we think we know about everyone, right? Like Little Red Riding Hood actually being the Big Bad Wolf?"

"Yeah…"

"What does it say about Robin Hood?"

In the dark, Neal couldn't see his son's expression, but Henry's voice was puzzled as he replied, "Nothing. He's not in it."

"So, we don't know if he's really a hero like the stories back home tell it, or if he's like Regina's genie."

Henry flinched. Then, slowly, "I don't know if the genie was actually bad, or if he just did bad things and convinced himself that they were good."

"The same argument could be made about Regina," Neal pointed out. "Not to mention my father. Nobody gets up in the morning saying, 'What evil thing can I do today?' Almost nobody," he amended. "Mostly, people want to do the right thing, but they go about it the wrong way and then they convince themselves the ends justify the means, or they'll make up for it later, or something. Now, maybe Robin Hood's a hero here. Maybe he's not. We've known him less than a day and that's not enough time to trust him with everything. And even if we do, there's still the problem of Regina being the Evil Queen and me being the Dark One's son. The fewer people who find out about that the better." He patted Henry's shoulder. "C'mon," he said, picking up the lantern. "Let's get back to camp and see if we can get some sleep before daylight."

"Yeah," Henry nodded, "Sure."

Neal could hear a note of doubt in his son's voice. "Try to, anyway," he added. "It's been a long day."

Henry nodded again.

In twenty-eight years, Moe French had never had reason to step foot in Storybrooke High School until now. He paused only to ask directions, reaching the music room just as the end-of-class bell rang. Once the students had surged out, laughing and chatting, he rapped smartly on the open door. The man inside looked up and his eyes widened. "My liege," he said at once, bringing his right fist to his left breast in salute.

"It's just Moe, here," Moe said genially. "You look well, Crane."

"It's been a long time since I've heard that name," Crane said, smiling a bit. "These days, I go by Merwin. Sam Merwin."

Moe nodded, not at all put out by the correction. "I may have a mission for you, Merwin," he said slowly. "I can't order it of you, and even if I could, I don't think I would. It needs to be voluntary. If it's too much to ask, I'll understand."

Merwin met Moe's eyes directly. "My liege," he said, "long ago when you knighted me, I pledged my life and loyalty to your service. I'll not be forsworn. What is this mission?"

Moe hesitated. "It pertains to my daughter."

"Belle?" Merwin asked in surprise, a tiny smile springing to his lips.

Moe caught it. Yes, he thought to himself. Crane was a good choice for this. "Let's get some coffee," he said aloud, "and I'll explain…"