Grimwald opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He tried again, then fell silent, bowing his head as a tear tracked down his cheek. That tear was worth a thousand words.
“Let’s say our final goodbyes,” Der said, his voice breaking a little. “Then we can find a place for him to rest in the forest, with all of the animals he loved so much.”
That prompted a few sad smiles, and the little miners gathered around the head of the table. Each stepped up and pressed a kiss to their beautiful lost prince, some upon the forehead, others upon the cheek or hands. The last one to step up was Dagobert. He bent down, tears burning once more upon his pink cheeks, about to bestow his kiss when a sudden racket outside startled them all.
Through the trees burst three guards on horseback. They could see them through the crack between the casement of their front windows that were currently shut. The guards from the mines. One, the head of the guards with a great purple plume on his helmet, hopped down from his horse and hurried to the wooden door of the cottage, banging upon it with his fist. “Open up in the name of Queen Schön of Falchovari!”
The little men looked about in panic, for they had the prince of Falchovari dead upon their dining table and the royal guard at the door. Grim was the first to react, grabbing Sigmund and Dagobert by the collars and yanking them toward the bedroom. Der watched them go before more pounding at the door again startled him. “One moment,” he called, his voice high and shaky.
“Open this door immediately!” yelled the guard, battering his fist upon the door, enough that a few strands of loose thatchfrom the roof fell down upon their heads. “If you do not, we’re coming in.”
Grim came sprinting back into the room with a blanket, Sigmund and Dagobert at his heels with blankets of their own. Grim tossed the blanket over Makellos’ head and shoulders, hitting Bernhardt in the face with the fabric as it sailed over the table. Sigmund draped the second blanket across Makellos’ middle, and Dagobert across his legs. They had just finished covering him when the door burst open with a crack of splintering wood and the screech of hinges coming loose, the three guards all surging inside at once. They stopped short, the little men staring up at the guards, the guards staring in return at the shrouded figure upon the table.
Hardwic was the first to recover his senses. “Our apologies, gentlemen,” he said, letting tears flow down his ruddy cheeks. “Our dear friend was taken ill and passed suddenly, and our grief has known no bounds.”
The lead guard’s thick moustache bristled, and he gave a stumbling little huff. “Be that as it may, you are still required to work.”
Der glanced around at the others and gave a small nod. If the guards stood here much longer, they might investigate, and find that the missing prince was dead under the blankets. "Yes, we... we shall go.”
“All of you,” the lead guard said gruffly.
The little men looked amongst themselves with concern that no one would be left here to take care of Makellos. But the more they protested, the more suspicious the guards might become. “Yes. Let us bank the fire so it does not get too warm in here,” Der said, nodding to Sigurd who was closest to the hearth. “We shall have to bury our friend upon our return.”
“The ground is frozen,” piped up one of the guards behind the lead one. He was younger and seemed at least a little remorsefulat the situation. “Snow came last night.” He stepped aside for the little men to see out the door, and, indeed, there was several inches of clean, white snow blanketing the ground.
The little men all glanced around one another again. They did not want to leave Makellos as he was, but if they were to try to move him, it was possible the blankets might slip and reveal his face. So, Sigurd banked the fire, casting the little cottage into dimness and cold. Then the little men all grabbed their warm clothing and queued up for the walk to the mines together. The last one out of the cottage was Grimwald, who propped the broken door shut as best he could.
Because they had missed the day before, the guards were not eager to release them when it became dark. It was rumored that the Queen had been in a terrific rage recently, and if their quota of jewels was lacking, she might wreak her vengeance on them. So, the seven little miners toiled longer hours until the black of night made it impossible to work further. But instead of going home, the guards had them sleep in the mine, with rocks for pillows and thin blankets as coverings, to begin work anew as soon as dawn peeked over the horizon.
Though they spoke not a word about him, they could see in one another’s eyes the worry about Makellos being left alone in their cottage. They had been visited by death before, but the suddenness of its arrival on one so young and fair had shocked them all into stony silence. More than one of them broke down deep inside the mine, crying and even wailing, such that itmight have been thought a banshee creature inhabited the thick darkness.
The ground was frozen now; they could not give him a proper burial. They decided quietly amongst themselves that once the spring came and the ground was thawed, they would lay him to rest properly under the forest floor, the way they had for many of their fallen friends and relatives. It was nightfall before they were allowed to return home once more, trudging through the heavy, wet snow toward their cottage that would feel empty and cold now without Makellos’ sunshine to fill it.
They had just reached the clearing and saw their house when Der came to a sudden stop, causing several of them to crash into him, nearly taking them all to the slippery ground. “The light’s lit!” he gasped.
And indeed, he was correct. Where they had left their home yesterday without lighted lantern or hearth, a warm, yellow glow now emanated from the windows and from under the sturdy wooden door that was no longer propped up but attached once more in proper working order.
They nearly all tripped over one another as they slipped and skidded across the clearing to the little cottage. Dagobert arrived at it first, but his hands were shaking so badly that he was unable to grab the wrought iron handle. Bernhardt reached past him and opened the latch of the door, swinging it inside with its usual high-pitched squeak.
All of the lanterns around the cottage burned brightly, and a large fire blazed in the hearth, filling the room with its warmth and light. Upon the wooden table, where they had left the prince wrapped in his hasty veil, the three blankets now sat, neatly folded, with a piece of parchment resting atop it. The body of the prince was nowhere to be seen.
All of them stood and stared for a very long time before Sigurd voiced what they were all thinking. “What in the Queen’s cunt is going on?”
They all approached the table as though it were enchanted and might come to life, but it was their same table with its many gouges and scratches, the benches neatly tucked in under it. Der picked up the parchment, which was simply folded and sealed with a drop of wax bearing a sigil. “What is this?” He held the parchment up for all to see.
“The Thieves Guild,” breathed Hardwic, to everyone’s surprise. Sigurd and Sigmund turned to look at him suspiciously, but Hardwic just smiled and shrugged. “It’s the same as the symbol on the carts that bring supplies to the mine.”
Der broke the wax seal with slightly shaky fingers, squinting at the writing, then setting it down to wipe at his spectacles that were stained with melted snow. Grimwald let out an annoyed huff and snatched up the paper, glaring at the flowing script as he read aloud.
“To the seven little men of the mines.
Our deepest condolences for the loss of Prince Makellos. He is resting peacefully in your garden. But all is not lost, for with our tears we can water roses. Upon your return, please use this mirror to contact us.
Zel”
“What in the blazes is a Zel?” Sigmund grumbled, snatching the paper from Grim’s hands.
But Dagobert, Sigurd, and Grim were already racing out the door, followed closely by the others, around the corner of the house to the garden. Something shone in the cold moonlight from above as they tramped through the snow.
