In Storybrooke, Mr. Gold strives to be the man Bae used to love--until Belle is kidnapped to Neverland. If he resumes his Dark One powers to save her, can he control them? In the Enchanted Forest, Emma battles ogres, zombies and her ex to get back h...
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Emma: Oh, that's really not fair. (The Price of Gold)
Smee was on Mr. Gold's third floor rifling his dozenth antique armoire when he heard the front door open. He froze, praying it was a cleaning lady. Then a cane tapped the hardwood two floors below, and Smee's stomach clenched. How long would it take the gimp to limp up the stairs?
As quietly as a bilge rat caught in the captain's quarters, Smee guided the wardrobe door shut. He took a moment to squat and remove his shoes. Dangling them by their shoelaces, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and past the grand staircase landing. Though he could easily outrun Mr. Gold, he daren't try. Likely, the Dark One wouldn't toss a fireball in his own house, but that left him a thousand other ways to catch and punish an intruder such as Smee.
When he heard the cane click on the stairs, Smee gulped. His only hope was to climb higher. Surely, the Dark One wouldn't traipse up to his attic.
Smee stole down the hall, clutching his doubloon-filled pocket, so it wouldn't jingle. Each time the floorboards creaked, he gnawed his lip. Reaching the latched wall panel he'd spotted earlier, he hooked his thumb in the ring pull and popped it open. Eureka! A ladder! Suspending his shoes from his teeth, Mr. Smee clambered up the rungs. His years of rigging sails on the Jolly Roger served him well.
At the top, he slid the hatch cover aside, pulled himself up into the attic, set down his shoes, nudged the wall panel shut, and lowered the trapdoor again.
Proud of his ingenuity, Smee grinned. The Dark One won't even suspect I'm here.
The room was pitch black, which was a good thing. If no light was entering—not even past the edges of the trapdoor—then no light could beam out to the floor below. Smee reached into the inside pocket of his peacoat and thrust his fingers through the hole in the lining, fumbling for his flashlight.
When he clicked it on, he saw a low, peaked, unfinished storage space packed tight. He noted a cupboard and a bookshelf accessible to searching. He'd have to wait for the Dark One to leave before moving the trunks and crates stacked against the back wall as tight as treasure in a cargo hold.
He took a step then heard the squeak of a door in the corridor below. After a painfully long minute, a toilet flushed. Smee grinned. Even the Dark One has to take a piss now and then.
Smee heard water running in a sink and pipes banging. Under cover of the noise, he scurried to the shelves. A quick scan showed tarnished candlesticks, geode bookends, porcelain goose girls, a pony saddle, and a tangle of linen. He turned his light on the cupboard. How loud will opening the drawers be?
Smee paused. Had he been too hasty dismissing the shelves? He beamed his flashlight on the bottom one again. That pile of linen—why was it lower in the center? Was something heavy hidden inside it?
Excited, he crouched to rifle the linen. When he felt a hard, flat object beneath the cloth, his heart raced. He pulled aside the folds and dropped his jaw. The Dark One's dagger.
