With all of the blankets and pillows, which smelled a little musty from the root cellar, Makellos made himself a little nest against the wall opposite the miners. The little men all seemed to have their own processes for getting ready to turn in. A few of them shaved or trimmed their facial hair. Bernhardt sat by one of the windows to smoke a pipe, blowing smoke rings out into the darkness. Makellos took off his waistcoat and boots but left his shirtsleeves and breeches on, both for modesty and for warmth, since he was unsure how cold the night might get.
The little men all settled into their beds; the lantern by the door was blown out, and the room became quite dark except for the dusty blue moonlight filtering in through the window. Makellos pulled one of the blankets over him. His little nookwas surprisingly comfortable, certainly preferable to the forest floor, at any rate. But despite his exhaustion, he found he could not sleep right away. He stayed awake, listening to the sounds of the men falling asleep across from him. Someone had an exceptionally loud snore, he couldn’t tell who, but he saw someone else sit up and whap them with a pillow, which quieted the noise for a time.
At most, he had only ever had guards or a faithful servant in his room at night. Even out in the woods, his only bedfellows had been the family of squirrels. But now, he was in a strange, new place, with strange, new people. People who had (mostly) agreed to protect him and let him stay as a member of their family, while hardly knowing anything but his name. They had been acquainted for a mere few hours, but he already felt much more comfortable here than he ever had at the palace, where his mother criticized and the servants whispered. He was only going to stay for a few months, but he was absolutely grateful for that time. He would work hard and do his best to earn his keep here, and prove to Grimwald that he was not just a spoiled little prince. He would prove that he was different than the cruel woman who had birthed him.
He must have slept hard once he actually fell asleep, for when he woke up the next morning, sunlight was peeking into the room through the grimy window, and several of the little men were already up and about. There seemed to be quite the kerfuffle happening in regards to finding clothing and using the washbasin, the mirror, the water closet, and pretty muchevery other space that was available. Makellos decided to stay out of the way of those preparing for work. Instead, he slid on his boots and his waistcoat. His breeches and shirtsleeves were no worse off than the night before, the dust from the blankets disappearing from them as soon as he stood up. A fight broke out between Sigmund and Sigurd over the ownership of a wooden comb as Makellos headed into the main room.
Dagobert was already out there, stoking the embers of the fire. Makellos gave him a smile. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Dagobert looked up in surprise, then beamed and nodded, pointing to Makellos. “Yes, I slept surprisingly well, thank you. May I help you with breakfast?”
Dagobert nodded again and pointed to a nearby loaf of bread, making a slicing motion with his hands. Makellos set about slicing the bread and then toasting it over the fire. The little house was filled with chatter and movement as the men all got ready for the day. They all sat down to a quick breakfast of toast with fruit preserves and a tea made from some sort of root that Makellos didn’t know. When Makellos offered to pack some additional food for them, Hardwic explained that they each received a single meal at the mines, usually bread and cheese and a few vegetables, courtesy of an arrangement with the Thieves Guild. That surprised Makellos, both that the little men were given a meal at all, and that the Thieves Guild, of whom he was aware but not very familiar, would have created such an arrangement. He had always thought it to be a gallery of rogues and cutpurses, but it seemed that he had been wrong about that too. There was so much he was learning about the kingdom that he was supposed to be supporting, so much that had been hidden from him.
“We better be off,” said Grimwald, shoving a last bite of toast into his mouth with a slight glower at Makellos.
“Indeed. Take care of the prince today, doc,” Hardwic said with a cheery smile as the little men all stood and made their way toward the door. Der remained where he was, his cheeks apple-red as the rest departed, carrying tools and bags over their shoulders as they vanished into the woods.
“Doc?” Makellos asked curiously as he set about gathering the dishes from the table.
“My nickname is doc,” said Der with a slightly sheepish grin as he rose to his own feet.
“Are you a doctor?” Makellos asked in surprise.
“I was an apothecary, many years ago,” Der said. “I learned a lot about medicine and illnesses from treating them, though I’ve had no formal medical training.”
“I suppose that comes in quite handy though, with all of you out here,” Makellos said thoughtfully.
“Oh, yes, quite often,” Der said, giving a proud little nod.
“How do you get supplies?” Makellos asked, looking around. “The things you can’t hunt?”
“Well, you see, we are not allowed in the town surrounding the palace, by the Queen’s orders, but we are allowed within the forest. And there are several markets that happen, usually weekly or monthly. We are not given any pay for working in the mines, so we usually trade for the things we need. I make various herbal remedies that I sell or trade. Sigurd and Sigmund are quite the woodworkers, so they make most anything we need from wood, and a few things to sell as well.”
Makellos frowned. “I am so sorry for what you have all gone through. It’s not fair to you, or to your families.”
Der placed a hand lightly on Makellos’ arm. “Thank you, your highness. We know you are not to blame, of course.”
Makellos gave him a small smile. “The others seem to look to you. Are you the leader, then?”
Der blushed, ducking his head a bit. “Oh, well, I wouldn’t say the leader. We try to live in harmony without leaders. But I do feel that sometimes I am the one looked to in a pinch.”
“I noticed that,” Makellos said with a smile, remembering their arrival yesterday when everyone was behind Der and telling him to talk to Makellos on their behalf. “And I thank you again for your kindness.”
Der fumbled one of the dishes in his hands, and Makellos quickly reached down to help steady them, catching Der’s hands in between his own. The man’s face went bright pink, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you. I am sorry that you are having to escape from such horribleness yourself, your highness.”
“Please. Makellos,” the prince reminded him with a sweet smile. “I am no more royalty here than anyone else.”
Der still looked flustered as he set about cleaning up, and Makellos left him to his tasks. He would do his own scrubbing today; the rest of the windows, more laundry, perhaps the floors and even the walls. He wondered as he worked if Hans had returned yet to the palace to face the Queen and what he would tell her. Perhaps he would lie and say he completed the task, but Makellos had a terrible feeling that his mother would know if the huntsman lied. He hated to think what would happen to Hans. He harbored no illusions that the Queen would just dismiss the insubordination. Hans had been loyal to the Queen for as long as Makellos had known him, but whether that loyalty was actual fealty or fear, he had never known. Now, he suspected the latter.
Seven
Hans returned to the palace at the end of the appointed week he was given to complete his gruesome task. He had spent the last few days of his journey trying to decide what to do. The Queen expected him to return with proof he had slaughtered the prince. He supposed it was possible that Makellos was dead in the woods somewhere. He had fled with nothing but the clothes on his back, and Hans suspected that the forest would not be kind to the pampered young man. But if he tracked him down again, and Makellos was still alive, what then? He would be back in the exact same predicament he had faced before. And he might not have the courage to spare the prince a second time. No, he had to live with the decision he made. But now he had to bear the weight of the choice to let Makellos flee.
The morning after he let the prince go, he found a boar near a river. He felled it with one shot and then proceeded to butcher it. Better the blood of a pig on his hands than the blood of a boy. He removed its liver and lungs, trying not to imagine what it would have been like to see the young prince he had known all of his lifesplayed out on the grass at his feet. He didn’t think he could have borne the sorrow and shame.
Placing the boar’s lungs and liver into the jeweled box that glittered obscenely in the blood-streaked grass, he snapped it shut and put it into his bag. If he was lucky, Makellos was no longer alive, through no direct violence from Hans’ hand, and the Queen need never know the difference. But, he suspected, he would not be that fortunate. And, he realized, letting the prince starve or be torn apart by wild beasts was much less merciful than a quick and clean death would have been at his hands. What was the point of letting the boy go if he had only condemned him to more suffering? Well, it was done now. So, Hans returned to the palace as late on the final day of the week as he could.
The Queen had been distracted the last few days, he heard as he entered the gates. Something about a boy and spinning something into gold and some other gossip that he was too distracted to pay attention to. But as soon as she heard that Hans had arrived back, the Queen summoned him, not to her throne room, but to her private chamber. He waited outside the door of the elegant rooms, his own travel-worn garb feeling even more out of place in the privacy of her luxurious quarters.
