“Well, if his highness likes it, then Snow White it shall be,” Der said with another bright smile, giving Dagobert an affectionate look.
Grimwald snorted softly and mumbled something about “ridiculous name” under his breath, but everyone else ignored him.
Dagobert shifted over toward Makellos, who leaned over as well, thinking that the young man was about to whisper something in his ear. But instead, he felt the soft brush of lips on his cheek. Dagobert pulled back quickly after that, his face completely red with embarrassment. Makellos blinked in surprise, then smiled kindly at Dagobert and placed his other hand over his to give his stubby fingers a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.” Dagobert flushed, a large, dopey smile on his face as he gazed adoringly at Makellos.
After that, the group broke up into several smaller ones to handle evening chores in the light from the lanterns on the wall and the fire in the hearth, for the outside had grown menacingly dark once more. Makellos found himself with Hardwic, washing dishes at the pump. “Is Dagobert usually mute?” Makellos asked softly. “He didn’t say a word to me when we were here this afternoon.”
Hardwic chuckled softly. “He can speak. But he rarely does.”
“Why?” Makellos asked.
“Well…” Hardwic looked thoughtful. “We’re not fully sure. He tends to only speak when something is very important to him, and then only a few words, as you saw. He was quite young when the Queen rounded us up, so he has spent most of his life in the mines.”
“How awful,” Makellos said softly.
Hardwick nodded, his mouth set in a surprisingly grim line compared to his normally cheerful demeanor. “He was the only small person in his family. We never learned what happened to them after he was taken away. Perhaps they still live, or perhaps they were sent into exile or imprisoned. Or…” Hardwic let the last possibility hang in the air between them like a soap bubble.
Makellos shuddered. “My mother is cruel,” he said, lowering his eyes to the soapy water. “I am ashamed to be her son.”
Hardwic gave him a gentle pat on the small of his back, the highest his smaller arms could reach. “We don’t choose our parents,” he said. “But we can choose our families.”
Makellos smiled a bit at the words. It was true. His mother had birthed him, but she was hardly what he considered his ‘family.’ “Did you have a family, Hardwic?”
“I did,” the round man said, his voice dropping a little. “A wife and a little girl. All of us touched by the hand of shortness.”
“What happened to them?”
“They were executed,” Hardwic said, his voice no more than a whisper.
“I’m so sorry.” Makellos felt a lump form in his throat.
Hardwic glanced up at Makellos. “Thank you. They still live in my heart.”
“I don’t understand how you can seem so cheerful after suffering such a loss,” Makellos said.
Hardwic hummed as he looked up and out the window into the darkness beyond. “As tough as it is, life goes on. I am alive, andI keep their memory alive in me. I know they would not want me to only be sad. I was always quite the cheerful person. The Queen has taken so much from me, but I refuse to let her take that.”
“I admire your strength,” Makellos said, his eyes turned to the little man with a heart too big for his small frame. “I will do my best to not let her take that from me either.”
“I’m certain it is not easy, having her blood in your veins and your closeness to her all of your life. But you seem to be quite a remarkable young man.” Hardwic’s smile dimpled his cheeks. “I am confident you will rise above the bindings placed upon you.”
Six
As the night drew on, there were yawns all around, and a new problem presented itself. In the next room, each of the little men had their own wood-framed bed with a pallet stuffed with straw, rags, and other soft items, and each had a pillow stuffed with feathers that Makellos assumed were probably refreshed from the feathers collected from hunted fowl. But none of the beds were long enough for Makellos to actually stretch out on. Sigurd logically suggested that they could put a few of the beds together to make a larger one.
“Oh no, I couldn’t put you out!” Makellos protested.
“That’s right,” Grimwald said, giving him a cold look. “I ain’t giving my bed to some royal.”
“Now now, Grim, no need to be rude,” said Der, giving him a pointed look over the top of his spectacles.
Makellos wasn’t sure why Grimwald didn’t like him, but he also was not about to put the hard-working little men out of their own beds. “Please, it’s quite all right. I can sleep on the floor.”
That set off a round of protests, until Bernhardt reminded everyone of the extra pillows and blankets in the root cellar thatwere stored for winter. “We could make a comfortable bed on the floor until we can find a better option,” he offered.
So, the blankets and pillows were retrieved. The little beds were lined up around the room, but Der suggested they push them all to one side so that the prince could have his own half of the room. Makellos once again protested, but the little men, minus Grimwald, were all in agreement, and the seven little beds were shoved and dragged across the room into a strange jumble of wood frames and blankets.
The room itself was relatively dim. Makellos noted the single window in the room that he had not washed earlier, since he had not entered this room, with bedraggled curtains that could be pulled. There was a chest of drawers that he assumed held clothing, with a pitcher and smaller washbasin upon it, and, by the door, a tarnished-looking full-length mirror on the wall. A door off to the side led to a little washroom, where there also was a battered, discolored copper washbasin, though that was usually for colder weather, Hardwic told him. During the warmer months, they’d make a short trip to the nearby creek and wash there.
