Chapter One: The Tavern

“Rise and shine, princess!” called a gruff, male voice, jolting Belle out of her not-so-peaceful sleep. For a moment, she was completely disoriented.

“Who’s that?” she wondered. “Where are we? What time is it?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she sat up in the uncomfortable seat. As she stretched out her cramped limbs, it all came flooding back. The man who’d just woken her was the carriage driver she’d hired at the port to take her home. When he called her “Princess,” he wasn’t showing respect. He was ribbing her for being spoiled, as though sleeping in the privacy of the carriage meant she led a carefree life of leisure. He couldn’t see the stress she was under. He didn’t know about the ogre raid that killed her mother. . .

. . . or the war raging in her kingdom. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have the slightest notion he was addressing the runaway princess, Belle of Avonlea.

"At least I didn't blow my cover," she thought. "I made a shambles of everything else."

She’d been on an obsessive quest to restore the gaps in her memory. Though she knew Mother was gone, she was drawing blanks as to how exactly it happened. The doctors claimed that memory loss was a common result of trauma, but that was too convenient an excuse. She didn’t trust them one iota, and Father was behaving so strangely, it was easy to see he was hiding something.

So she did her own research and decided to seek a remedy from the Rock Trolls of Arendelle. Her journey took her over a thousand miles across land and sea, but when she finally got hold of the magical stone that could cure her, it slipped out of her grasp and smashed to pieces against the cliffs. And her kind-hearted new friend Anna, who’d gone far out of her way to help her, fell into a witch’s hands. All Belle had to show for her efforts was unbearable remorse.

“The inn’s right there, miss,” said the driver, pointing to a wide stone house bustling with activity. “If you want to get home by nightfall tomorrow, then we’ll have to set off again at sunrise. Don’t be late.”

“Thank you,” she answered, gathering her belongings. He handed her down from the carriage, but there were no servants at the ready to take her pack or see to her needs.

“Well, this is what I wanted,” she told herself. “To see the world beyond the palace.”

The driver walked over to the innkeeper, and the two clapped each other on the back like old friends. Belle entered the inn alone. In the foyer stood a woman beneath a wall covered with keys on hooks. To her right was a staircase leading up to the rooms, and to her left was a noisy tavern. Belle peered toward it with great curiosity. She had never been inside a real tavern before.

“A tavern is no place for a lady,” her governess would have said.

“Which is why I will see it now while I have the chance,” her mind answered defiantly.

She arranged for her room, received a key, and entered the busy tavern. It was alive with people eating, drinking, and laughing. Dwarves, dusty and sweaty from their work in the mines, sat in groups of eight, joking amongst each other. Harried barmaids carried trays from the tables to the kitchen and back again.

And a tall man in an enormous cloak was roaming among the customers, talking to anyone who’d give him the time. When he turned in her direction, Belle could see that every inch of the inside lining of his cloak had a trinket or bauble pinned to it. But something about him told her he was no ordinary peddler.

“A pirate!” she thought in morbid fascination. “He’s probably seen the whole world!”

“He’s probably robbed the whole world,” came a voice of caution in her head. It sounded just like Father.

She heeded the internal warning, walked away from the pirate, and sat down at an empty table next to the dwarves. If she was going to see more of the world, she’d be safer starting with those admirable creatures. She’d read all about their honor code and their industriousness. She was too shy to strike up a conversation with them, but sitting nearby meant she could at least watch, listen, and learn.

The smells of food wafting around the room suddenly made her feel famished. She ordered a bowl of stew and a pint of ale. She’d never tasted ale before. She’d only ever been allowed to have wine, and then only at ceremonial dinners. But she liked it, perhaps a little too much. Wine made her light-headed and loosened her tongue. The ale would probably do the same. She resolved to keep her wits about her.

The barmaid brought over her meal, and Belle tucked into it with gusto. The hearty stew of potatoes and beans was the plainest dish she had ever been served, yet somehow, the most satisfying thing she’d ever eaten. Hunger truly was the greatest spice.

After her first sip of ale, which was bitterer than she’d imagined, the pirate hawking his wares made his way to her. “Aye, how ‘bout a present for yerself, lassie? Ye don’ need a bloke to buy one fer ye!” He gave his cloak a shake, and everything on it jangled.

“No jewelry, thank you. But I do have a long way to travel tomorrow. Perhaps you have some books?”

“Aye!” he laughed, giving his cloak another shake. At least seven books spilled out from hidden pockets inside it. They were now strewn in front of her on the table.

Belle’s eyes widened. “Is that an Agraban Cape of Endless Storage? I’ve read about those!”

“Well, aintcha a clever ‘un with book larnin’ n’all!”

Belle looked over the titles laid out before her. All romantic stories, the sort designed to make young women sigh and pine for their own Prince Charmings.

“Do you have any histories, perhaps?”

“No promises. Not a big seller, ye know.”

This time, he twirled around full circle, and the romances flew back into whatever hidden pockets they had come from. Two different books replaced them on the table. One was brand new and quite thick, the recently revised edition of King Leopold, Fairest in the Land. Belle had already read it. The other book was so old and tattered, some of the letters of the title were fading.

“But sometimes the best book has the dustiest jacket,” she said quietly to herself, picking it up to examine it.

She let out a gasp. It was called Heroes of the Ogre Wars. It felt like a stroke of fate!

She turned to the Table of Contents. Each chapter was dedicated to the story of a different war hero. All were familiar names and legends that every schoolchild in the realm would recognize, but the final name on the list belonged to someone notorious. Belle had read and heard of him, but always in a cautionary tale, never as a hero. This was a wholly new context. Rumpelstiltskin and the End of the First Ogres War.

Her eyes scanned across the page to the name of the author of the chapter. That was equally surprising. Madam Morraine.

“A woman!” she thought, her hopes rising by the minute. There weren’t many female authors of history. Women writers, like women readers, were expected to stick with the domestic themes of love and marriage, not grapple with the broader issues facing humanity.

“But a woman’s touch is exactly what this horrific mess needs,” she thought. “With any luck, a woman as wise as Mother and not a bungler like me.”

“Yer a collector, I see!” said the pirate, noting her interest. “That one’s a rare get, that is.”

Belle knew he was bluffing. A minute ago, he might just as easily have tossed the book away as sold it. But now he was eyeing her fur-trimmed collar, trying to guess just how much silver lay in her purse.

“I’m not a collector, really,” she lied, remembering the cover story she’d invented for the journey. “I’m just a governess on my way back to work. But it does look interesting. I think my pupils will benefit from some first-hand accounts of the wars.”

“Arr, enough natterin’ then. Let’s get down to business. Five silver pieces.”

Belle knew she was expected to bargain with him, but she saw no need. He named his price, and he probably just picked it out of the air. So, without a word of argument, she counted out exactly the sum he asked for and handed it to him.

The coins clinked in the pirate’s pocket as a grin spread across his face. Little did he know, he could have asked for as much as twenty pieces and still gotten it. Belle would have given away everything she owned if it meant the ogres would leave poor Avonlea alone.

She looked over her purchase as the pirate walked away, eager to go up to her room and get started on it, but as she finished up her stew, one of the dwarves from the next table sat down beside her, an urgent look on his face.

He leaned in close and said softly, “Not a very experienced traveler, are ya.”

Belle suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re wearing the finest clothes of anyone in the tavern, and you spent way too freely with that pirate.”

Belle glanced over at the pirate, who was standing at a different table, chatting up his next customer.

“Word is that he’s a boatswain on the Jolly Roger,” the dwarf continued. “All pirates are scoundrels, but Captain Hook’s are the worst. You’ll need extra protection tonight.”

“I had no idea,” said Belle, feeling foolish. “But are you sure the Jolly Roger is real? There are so many contradictory stories about Neverland.”

“Oh, it’s as real as you and me. Here. Take this.”

He pressed a small, sackcloth pouch into her hand. As she closed her fingers around it, the crystal on her necklace immediately warmed up. That told her what was in the pouch.

“Fairy dust?” she asked.

“Exactly,” said the dwarf. “Sprinkle it around your door and windows. Guaranteed to keep out intruders.”

“Thank you,” she said, putting the pouch in her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

“What do you take me for? I wouldn’t charge for fairy dust! My payback will come in goodwill.”

It was the dwarf honor code in action. Belle was grateful to be the recipient of it.

“Then as an act of goodwill, may I buy you and your friends drinks?”

“On behalf of our brother, we accept!” answered one of the other dwarves. He waved over the barmaid.

Belle didn’t order a second drink for herself. She hadn’t even finished the first one. She didn’t plan on speaking to the dwarf for much longer anyway. She had history to research and a carriage to catch in the morning.

“The name’s Stealthy, by the way.”

“Belle.”

It was a little risky to use her real name, but this dwarf seemed particularly trustworthy. Besides, there had to be many other Belles in the world.

“And who are you really? I know you’re not a governess.”

“How did you – ?”

“It takes a sneak to catch a sneak. So, who have you run away from? An unwanted suitor?”

Belle took a tiny sip of ale. Gaston was part of her story, and not even the most important part, but there was no denying it. The dwarf had landed pretty close to the truth.

“It’s actually worse than that. An arranged marriage.”

She took a bigger sip.

“Humans!” he scoffed. “Mixing up love and duty so that nobody is ever happy. We dwarves get hatched from eggs, so we never have to marry or fall in love. Too complicated! My brother Dreamy over there may be a bit of a weak link, but he’s the exception. Anyway, I have hope for him. He’ll learn.”

“Love is complicated,” agreed Belle. “But that sounds awfully sad. You’ve never gotten to feel a mother’s love. I can’t imagine life without my. . .”

She stopped short, her grief catching up with her. The unimaginable was her new reality.

“Excuse me,” she apologized as a painful lump swelled in her throat. “My mother only recently passed.” A few tears trickled into her stein. Dabbing at her eyes, she realized she’d drunk way too much ale.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Stealthy. Then he bent closer to her. “Are you a royal?”

Belle stared at him open-mouthed. “How – ?”

“The arranged marriage for one thing. Is it an alliance your father is hoping to clinch?”

Belle nodded. Stealthy shook his head disapprovingly. “So that’s why, despite the fancy clothes and full purse, you look like you’re bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders. I’ve seen that look before.”

With a tilt of his head, he indicated the signs plastered around the tavern. Each one pictured a raven-haired woman dressed like a bandit. Underneath her portrait were the words “Wanted: Dead or Alive.”

“Snow White,” whispered Belle. She’d been so preoccupied with the problems in her own kingdom, she hadn’t given much thought to the conflicts playing out in the lands she was passing through.

Stealthy chuckled. “No need to whisper here. Snow’s a heroine in these parts.”

Belle sat back, secretly delighted to have inadvertently walked into a den of Snow White’s loyalists. According to every reliable account, Princess Snow was cut of the same cloth as her father King Leopold. That was why she had the support of the people. Even in exile, she was fighting for justice and defending against the tyrannical queen.

Belle studied the signs more closely. They’d all been defaced in some way. A few were torn, others were crumpled, and all of them had been scribbled upon. The printed words of the death warrant were crossed out and replaced with a handwritten scrawl that read, “Wanted: Back on the Throne.”

Only one sign kept the original words, and that was because Snow White’s picture had been ripped out of it. Swapped in its place was a hideous doodle of a hag that could only be the Evil Queen. 

“Would you like to meet our princess?” asked Stealthy.

“Oh!” cried Belle in surprise. “It would be my greatest honor. . . but I can’t. I must get back home. My father needs me.” She paused. Dare she say it? Yes, she would, no matter how inadequate she felt. “The kingdom needs me.” 

Stealthy nodded. “Duty comes first.”

“I intend to fulfill my duty,” she said, the ale emboldening her to let down her guard. “I just want to find an alternate strategy to my father’s. That’s why I overpaid the pirate. I think the book he sold me has valuable information.”

Belle wondered what Stealthy would say to that. Some people, even Father at times, laughed at her for putting her faith in books and history. They said she had her head in the clouds. She was beloved in her kingdom, but mainly because she was pretty. That was what people seemed to want in a princess, but it wasn’t what she valued in herself. She was much prouder of her scholarship, and she longed to be recognized for it. But more than that, she aspired to be a leader. Like Snow White. Like Mother.

Right now, she didn’t feel like much of one. True leaders didn’t run away to chase after the forgotten past when there was a crisis in the present. All she’d done since leaving home was make dumb decisions that led to worse mistakes. A tragic one for Anna, and a whole bunch of little ones, as Stealthy had just pointed out. There were probably others she didn’t even know about.

“Maybe my head is in the clouds,” she thought, “but that’s all the more reason I have to rely on books. I can’t trust in my own judgment by itself.”

Stealthy cocked his head in the direction of a bespectacled dwarf sitting at the end of the table. He had a pickaxe like all the others, but a telltale backpack full of books. “My brother Doc doesn’t go anywhere without something to read. Between his book smarts and my street smarts, we’ve gotten through some pretty tough scrapes. I hope your book helps you with yours.”

“Thank you, Stealthy. That means a lot.”

“It is a dwarf’s honor to serve,” he said, standing up and bowing.

Belle stood up, too, and returned his bow with a curtsy. A tremendous disregard of rank and protocol, but she was still incognito. Stealthy knew her secret, but nobody else in the tavern had to.

“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must get to bed. Early ride tomorrow.”

She made her way through the crowded tables, but nobody seemed to take notice of her. She went upstairs, which was as vacant as the tavern was full, and settled into her room. Just as Stealthy instructed, she scattered the fairy dust around the door and windows. Her crystal grew even warmer once the dust was released. Perhaps it was mined from the very same source as the powdery dust. It would have been interesting to get Stealthy’s expert opinion, but she wasn’t going back downstairs now. Besides, even she knew better than to show off her crystal in public. It wasn’t just that it was fairy-blessed and costly. It was a gift from Mother. That made it priceless.

The crystal remained warm even as she nestled into bed with her new book. With all that fairy magic around her, she knew she was safe. That greedy pirate wouldn’t dare cross her threshold!

Still, part of her felt lucky to have met him. Perhaps the old book wasn’t the collector’s item he claimed it to be, but it was just what she was searching for. She had to return home with some solution in hand. Otherwise, her whole trip amounted to nothing. And after all the trouble she’d caused, how could she ever forgive herself?

She knew Rumpelstiltskin was the last refuge of the desperate. Everyone said so. But she was desperate, and “everyone” might just be wrong. So she flipped through the pages to the final chapter of the book. Her mind was completely open. Rumpelstiltskin might well be the most fearsome sorcerer in the Land, but if his magic was what ended the First Ogres War, then she might have no choice but to enlist his help to save Avonlea.