The Third Sister

It was fall in the north-central region of the kingdom of Jigsaw, when sensible, less hardy dragons migrate to the southern jungles, fires from festivals honoring the harvest gods climb into the sky almost every night and illuminate the forest treetops in a warm glow, and if you are not quick to harvest the year’s crops, they might just do the job for you.

“Come back here!”

“Rose, grab it!”

“Umph! Cockatrice feathers!”

Not all of them, of course. But enough that farmers generally only could handle a single crop a year of plants that didn’t have the courtesy and patience to wait to be picked. It wasn’t so much that they were sentient and had a will to flee from harvesters, but that they had the strange characteristic of uprooting themselves when ripe, perhaps better to spread their seeds before the first frosts came in from the north over the bay. Hoverbegas sprouted little leafy propellers and lifted off on the slightest warm breeze, canterloupes transformed their stems into stiff legs, and the breans… well, perhaps it’s best they’re not spoken of.

Off White, not quite twelve, had done the planting that spring proudly, with a noble caking of dirt on her little hands as a trophy, and now was receiving her fair share of blame from her older and younger sister. The family only had a small garden with which to help sustain themselves over the winter months. Not that it was a real concern. Their father, the great knight Bright Blue, was a confidante of King Zenos, and despite the distance to the capital, Sela, received frequent gifts from the royal family. King Zenos was good natured, absent minded, and compulsively generous. Especially for an elf.

Rose Red had just managed to accumulate an armful of runaway vegetables, while Snow White was content to “oversee” the collection, swearing on her fairy godmother (none of the sisters actually had one) that it was far more demanding than actually catching the things. She did not need proof of this claim; her words were enough. In our world, she would have made a fabulous politician. Off White snagged Rose Red’s captures in a canvas bag and kept them under control.

In the secluded village of Nai, in the duchy of Prill, there was no harvest festival; there was the Rainbow Festival, celebrating the centuries-ago defeat of a particularly troublesome monster, after which rain fell from a cloudless sky and created a vivid rainbow. Since then, all children born in Nai were named after colors. Collectively, the sisters were known as the loveliest the village—and perhaps, the entire kingdom—had ever produced. They would doubtlessly grow into beautiful young women and would garner suitable mates without having to use their hair as ladders or detect peas through mattresses.

However, Off White couldn’t help but get the feeling that, at times, she was somewhat overlooked. Her older sister, Snow White, was absolutely perfect, with an obsession for keeping the house tidy. Rose Red, the cute youngest sister, had a love of all the creatures of the forest. Some might say she enjoyed the company of animals more than that of people. But Off White, even with her sunny orange hair and pale skin, totally failed to stand out in any respect. Her form was even more petite than Rose Red—far from Snow White’s, who was blessed with an early and generous blossoming into young womanhood.

“Off White, why did you have to plant all these?” Snow White demanded.

She had indeed offered to plant the spring’s crops with the sincere promise that she would do a good job. Promises, in Jigsaw, are often given with the best of intentions but yield the most undesirable of results. It’s a concept not uncustomary to us in our world, either. “Well…” she ventured. She tossed her hair over her head with an abrupt nod, her hands too busy restraining fruits and vegetables. “I thought of how much fun it would be trying to catch them all! I guess…” she amended, upon receiving her sisters’ annoyed looks.

Then, Off White saw something surprising—Snow White smiled. She seldom did so in the presence of filth or dirtiness of any kind. “Well! Rose Red, are you having fun?”

Off White gulped; never was the inquiry as to the enjoyment of an individual such a profound signifier that something was wrong.

Rose Red paused, and was hit in the cheek with a slingbean tossed by its stem. Her frown tightened. “No, I can’t say that I am.”

The two sisters turned to Off White. “It would be dreadfully selfish of us to monopolize all the fun, when we’re not even having any. Why don’t you finish up here, Off White?” Snow White abandoned her post in the ankle-deep soil, and, before Off White could object, Rose Red spread her arms, freeing her armful of fruits and vegetables.

“W- wait!” She couldn’t watch as all of it ran, flew, bounced and rolled away in a flurry. She dropped her sack just too late to realize her mistake. Everything that’d already been caught ran, flew, bounced and rolled out of the bag.

*****

The dim, cold walls of Castle Prill were filled with crashes, thumps and drunken singing. And the fact that the din was made by inept movers, not the jolly denizens of some extravagant party, that really had Invid’s tippets in a twist. A thin, delicate coating of dust was on everything, even where the newly-christened duchess didn’t think the accumulation of dust was possible. How had so much of it built up in the three weeks since the castle had been inhabited? Was it that her cousin really had kept the place in such a shocking state of dishevelment before her bizarre tea-brewing accident left her dead—or, as it was expressed among refined society, deficient of pulse?

It mattered not. Invid, the new duchess, had been promised the throne decades before, when she caught her cousin in a compromising position with one of the manor’s enchanted brooms, creating a perfect blackmail scenario. And now that the Prill Palace was hers, she had important matters to attend to, enchanted brooms notwithstanding. In a direct contravention of the treaty against the use of magic mirrors for the allusive comparison of a ruler’s aesthetic beauty to that of their subjects, Duchess Invid relieved a large ornate mirror of its canvas wrapping. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall!” she evoked.

For just a moment, the mirror’s brass frame glowed. The reflective surface of the mirror hardly shone at all in the dusty dreariness of the old tower; the cheerful pink mist that swirled in its depths was somewhat of a mismatch. Invid would have to order the installation of a new face that would match the curtains. What’s more, this one had always been troublesome, never showing the same entity twice. This time, a man appeared, but the mirror’s focus seemed to be a few awkward feet too low. Thank the gods for trousers.

“Yeh, duchess? Whaddaya need?” it asked eagerly.

“Oh, gods… can you at least speak in rhyme so as to pretend to have some amount of dignity?”

“Aw, I’m something silly again, ain’t I? Wot is it this time? A pastry? A horse’s bum? A blue stoat with makeup on?”

“No, not this time. Listen, just tell me something, Mirror.”

Not allowing any pause, the mirror replied. “Right, well, the bloke what brought me up ‘ere was a bit weird, right? He was all, ‘Oh, these magic mirrors, they fulla dragon dung, all of ‘em! Crystal balls are the way ta go! Humble n’ simple, not all snooty like magic mirrors are,’ right? Now listen, I ain’t all mouth and no trousers.”

Invid massaged her temples. “Thank the gods for that. Listen, I need you to tell me something specific.”

The image in the mirror put its hands on its hips. “Right, well, ya gotta make it rhyme if I gotta. S’only fair. Makes me all intimida’ed otherwise.”

Why? Why was she cursed with such a defective, smart-mouthed piece of junk? It meant well, but meaning well was for doe-eyed children and endearingly hopeless sidekicks. Perhaps she should invest in a crystal ball. They were far pricier, but they didn’t speak (contrary to popular opinion, a magical item that didn’t speak was the true luxury). A crystal chandelier would match the décor, but would be murder on her poor old neck. “Don’t patronize me, Mirror!” Well, she may as well make it rhyme, if only for appearance’s sake. These days if you couldn’t break into song or come up with rhyming spell incantations on demand, it was scrubbing dungeon walls or churning butter for life… and she was a duchess! She cleared her throat.

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall...”

The image in the mirror shifted its weight to its left leg. “Well, I’m not rightly on the wall, now am I? Blasted movers couldn’t be bovvered. No, just stuck me in a corner.”

The chandelier was looking practical by comparison. Invid balled her hands into fists that were feared by cheap dates, singing telegrams and obnoxious children, and spoke through gritted teeth,

“Mirror, Mirror, ‘neath the sill,

Who’s the fairest in all of Prill?”

“See, that’s better, ain’t it?” It winced at Invid’s angry, wrinkled brow. “Ahem…”

“While elves and angels be beyond compare,

Next to most mortals, you’re far more fair.

Your hair of jet, your gentle skin so sunny,

Next to an orc, your face is sweet as honey.”

“Mirror, in case you can’t tell, there is an open window not less than five feet from where you are propped. It is a long, long way down.”

“Pardon my insolence and forgive my fiddling.

Barring three, your subjects’ beauty is middling.”

Finally, some progress was being made. Perhaps the upgrade could yet be forestalled. “Well? Where are they?” she demanded.

“It is my pleasure, Duchess, to inform,

The sisters from Nai yet take youth’s tender form.”

Well, this was perfect. They were yet helpless children. And yet, children had a penchant for unusual feats of bravery and resourcefulness. Gods forbid they have a bag of bread crumbs or a red cape or some other seemingly useless trinket.

“Well, crack me cods!” The mirror said, its metered eloquence gone. “They’re Bright Blue’s girls! He’s a knight tougher than dragon scales! You’ll be hard pressed ta’ find someone who can do the job all clean n’ quiet!”

“Fear not, Mirror. Get me…” She paused. Could she take the risk? No, she needed it done fast. There was no other option. Sometimes, a drastic course of action needed to be taken. “The dwarves.”

*****

The yellow sundress was destroyed. Off White looked at it, unable to imagine her father shrugging this off. It'd take a strong cleaning spell to get out the dirt and grass stains. Still, she’d managed to fill the bag halfway again, and she’d figured out to tie the bag off so she could concentrate on her task unburdened. Some of her quarry had gotten quite far, past the edge of the village and into the seemingly endless, but pristine forests surrounding it. She was not afraid of them, even at night. No witches, trolls, demons or anything at all threatening were known to lurk there. Some believed this was because it was guarded by a sylph hound, a majestic canine beast with the ability to turn human. Off White had never spotted one, but it was said by some that sylph hounds were scouts sent by the gods themselves, and you’d never know if one was watching over you, for the instant you turned, it could dissipate its form into a cloud of mist.

“Where’ve you gone…” There was rustling in the bushes everywhere; there was no way to catch them all. Perhaps she could just gather as much as she could in her already-ruined dress. Repair as much of the damage as possible. She scooped up a canterloupe as it tried to scramble over a root and gathered the hem of her dress together like a pouch, rolling it in… just in time to see a ptomato propelling itself on leafy wings right at her head.

“Ha!” A little hand snatched it out of the air. Rose Red smiled through the midday sun filtering through the trees. “Well, it… it wasn’t right of us.”

“Leaving you to do all the work.” Snow White elaborated, stepping gingerly through the brush, frowning at the dirt at her feet as if it could see her distaste.

“It was your fault, though.”

“Entirely, and this is totally an act of charity on our part.” Snow White looked back at the house. “Father won’t be happy about this, so we may as well soften the blow for you a little. We are sisters, after all!”

“Yes, we are!” Rose Red agreed, grinning.

They spent the next half hour collecting the stragglers that hadn’t made off into the deepest part of the forest. Snow White even tolerated it when she tripped over a root and got a bit of dirt under her fingernail.

But, this wouldn’t have been the first time her sisters had voluntarily helped her. She recalled just a few months ago when she found a magic book an elven friend of Father’s had forgotten after leaving in a huff. Off White had gotten hold of the book and summoned a flood of fine wine into she and her sisters’ bedroom. Her sisters had helped her find a cleaning spell, just in time. Of course, they were quick to point it out to Father what Off White had done and how they’d charitably helped her. Or the instance Off White attempted to follow a recipe for downberry pie as found in an old Better Homes and Dungeons scroll, and ended up using powdered dragon’s teeth instead of flour. The dragon’s teeth had been worth over one hundred gold pieces, and the confection that resulted made anyone who consumed it breathe fire. Snow White had talked the wizard the powdered teeth had belonged to into forgetting the whole thing—but of course, she made sure Father didn’t. This would be no different, she suspected. She’d rather have finished the job herself.

Back at the garden, the half-full bag of fruits and vegetables had finally become still after a couple hours of having been uprooted, as per the usual, and lay idle in the dirt. After adding what was caught in the woods, the bag was nearly full.

“This is still less than half of what was planted,” Snow White huffed.

“Well!” Off White reasoned, dusting her hands off on her dress. “Nothing for it now. We did our best.”

The door to the house opened and closed.

“And just in time, too,” Rose Red whispered.

Bright Blue walked with military deliberateness to the garden. He hadn’t, as far as Off White knew, fought in any kind of battle in years, having recently retired as a knight of the king, but he’d been hardened over the years, and his wrinkling, tanned skin was most often set with a deep, thoughtful frown, as if some passing sphinx had presented him with a riddle it would take his lifetime to solve. He’d always been a kind and loving father… and yet as he approached them, she realized she didn’t blame her sisters for taking as little of the blame for their misadventures as possible.

“Father!” Snow White was quick to be the first to speak, joining him in the long grass at the edge of the garden. “Father, you won’t believe it.”

Their father raised a graying eyebrow knowingly. He wore an expression that couldn’t be shocked, startled, or frightened by anything. At least, not anymore. Patiently, he sighed. “My daughters… have you something to say?”

“I… I planted all sorts of things that would run or fly away.” Off White shrunk away so much she thought she could feel the dirt swallowing her ankles. “And… and… Snow White and Rose Red… just finished helping me gather everything. As much as we could catch.”

Bright Blue eyed the sack in her grubby hands. “Uh…” Off White knew from how he looked at her sisters that they’d meant to incriminate her further. Well, they couldn’t if she’d done it first. “Oh…” Their father smiled, and brushed his middle child’s cheek. “You just seem to attract trouble, don’t you?” Bright Blue chuckled. “It’s all right. You’ve been very responsible in telling me. Well…” He frowned sternly, and nodded once. “As I’ve said, I’ve a meeting with some friends shortly, and a carriage will be arriving to take me to Sela, where I’ll be staying there for a short time. I’ve hired help to look after you; they should be here shortly as well, in the meanwhile.”

Rose Red gaped. “But Father!”

Bright Blue ignored the complaint. This was customary; simply his way of saying that the point would not be argued. “I know you’ll be on your best behavior.”

Grinding the toe of her shoe into the dirt, Snow White pouted. “You never let us look after ourselves! You may as well put me in a glass case!”

He looked out through the trees. “My return should be in no more than two weeks, but perhaps earlier.” His daughters’ disappointed faces made him pause. “And… I’ll… bring you back something. Maybe some magic candy? A toy?”

Candy and toys were nice, but… “I wish I could come along.”

Bright Blue chuckled, tousling her sunny orange hair. “You’ll have plenty of time for adventures when you’re older. Besides,” He looked up the single dirt road that wove out of the forest by the village. The sound of hooves preceded a cloud of dust that was kicked up into the sunny afternoon air. “It’s all the tedious duties of adults. I’m sure you’d not find it very interesting, and I’ll have little time for anything else.”

There would be no need, had she been able to come along. You could find anything or anyone in Sela—wizards, masters of lore and legend, heroes, craftsmen, nobles—all kinds of people made Sela either their home or travel destination. Elves, beast people, arborn, dwarves… even demons and angels, sometimes. However, demons usually skulked about in disguise, and angels were somewhat shy, constantly the butt of jokes about lyres, queries from alchemists and potion brewers for a few of their feathers, and questions as to where they feared to tread. Angels are not known for their sense of humor.

The bag Bright Blue had packed thumped against his back as he shouldered it. It was incomprehensibly small, probably full of only the barest of essentials. He had his own guest room at the Sela castle, too, so there was probably little to take that wouldn’t already be there for him. “Ah. That should be my carriage.”

A massive centaur, around seven feet tall on broad, sturdy legs, slowed to a trot and stopped with a few awkward stumbles. The one-person carriage he towed squeaked to a stop on its wooden wheels right in front of its passenger. Centaurs were popular among the upper classes, and with a very trustworthy one (often hard to find), one had no need for a driver.

“Bright Blue?” he spoke in a clear, deep voice. “I was told that we should make haste to the capital.”

Bright Blue nodded once. “Er… yes. Very good.”

“That… having been said, I’m sure you wouldn’t object to a drink or two once we reach the Inter-City?”

The Inter-City was a crowded, noisy pit of trade and pandemonium.

“We really ought to go around Laviri Mountain and Zorn Valley to save time.”

The centaur took a swig from a canteen. It didn’t look like water. “Florda, then.”

Florda was only slightly better than the Inter-City.

The knight sighed gruffly as he stepped aboard, the carriage listing to the right until he sat down. “Centaurs,” he chuckled to his daughters. “I’ll see you when I return. Be good. Don’t talk to strangers. Be nice to the sitters. Don’t touch the weapons cabinet; it’s got a magic lock on it anyway. Change your—”

Snow White pouted. “Father!”

The centaur shook his fiery red-orange mane. “Right! We’re off!” He stamped the ground with his forelegs a couple times and took off down the dirt road. Unfazed, Bright Blue caught and closed the little door of the carriage just before it flew back. In just a few seconds, they had disappeared in the rich, deep green shadows of the forest.

Birds chirped. Dust settled. Branches fluttered in the breeze. Snow White faced her sisters.

“Right, well,” she crossed her pale arms. “I’m in charge, of course.”

”You’re in charge!” Rose Red screeched. “That’s dragon dung! You can’t handle anything you can’t fix by sweeping with a feather duster or a broom!”

This, as could be expected, was the usual way of things. The two would deliberate over who would be in charge, using such reasoning as “Daddy would have said so if we’d asked him,” or “Because I said so,” and such oratory gems as “steaming sack of donkey vomit” or “basilisk face” until both were blue in the face.

“Well… really, aren’t the sitters in charge?” Off White ventured.

The eldest sister wrinkled her nose. The short black hair around her ears practically stood on end like an angry cat’s fur. “I will not be sit… sat… sitted! Or anything of the like!” She placed her delicate hands on her hips. “We shall go inside, and lock the door. And pretend no one’s home. They’ll come, think everyone’s away, and leave.”

"'ey! You Bright Blue's gals? By any chance? Mebbe? I'm sorry if we're mistaken, but you see--"

Off White and Rose Red couldn't hide their dolorous expressions. "Y... yes?"

Upon turning, it was absolutely baffling how none of the three sisters had seen the speaker and who he was accompanied by sooner. An uncountable crowd of dwarves had approached them! It was a veritable sea of bearded faces, most of which only reached up to the girls' necks. Of course, they were all slightly different, because, despite what some will tell you, every dwarf is an individual.

Off White gaped, and reasonably so. She'd actually never met a dwarf before. Nai had no tavern, you see, so visitation by dwarves was limited to circumstances of absolute necessity. Many more politically correct individuals will try to insist that the idea of dwarves being obsessed with alcohol, stonework and competition with elves is a stereotype. Dwarves more often than not tell those people to mind their own business-- usually over a pint of stout.

"You're looking for us?" she asked gingerly.

The particular dwarf who had spoken was more well-groomed than the imagined any dwarf capable of. He stood stiffly still with his arms at his sides. "Er, yes. I think. Maybe." Wincing, he turned to his many compatriots, all of them shifting about and whispering. "Er, fellows..."

"Shaky, would you shake the starch outta yer trousers! Yes, they're the ones we're here for!"

"Wait... then they know?"

"This is problematic."

"WE'RE GONNA DIE!"

"Paranoid, shut up."

Off White curtseyed in her dirty dress. "So you're the sitters." But... why so many? Perhaps Father had made a mistake. She’d heard of the famous Seven Dwarfs, but this was way too many! In as much time as it took her to think to count them all, one garbed in sunshiny yellow and a broad smile interrupting the harmony of his bushy beard stepped forward.

“Why, yes!” he spoke, wringing his stubby hands and baring his teeth in a grin. “For as you can see, we are, and it is so joyous to be, the Seventy-Seven Dwarves! Oh, happy day! And what an abstruse pleasure it is to be in your company, daughters of Bright Blue! Should I be any happier, I should imagine sunbeams would shine forth from every orifice!” He twirled around thrice on his tiptoes.

A chorus of grimaces spread outward from the grinning dwarf.

“Dunna mind hem,” one whispered. “He’s Suspiciously Happy.”

“I… see.” Wasn’t it a custom in some dwarven clans to give names after an individual’s dominant characteristic? Or was it dwarfs? Off White couldn’t quite remember. “And you are?”

“Oh me? I’m George.”

All of them grinned. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. And besides, there must at least be some fascinating stories among them. And Father wouldn’t have hired them if they couldn’t be trusted. And as much as Off White resented her vengeful side, she imagined her sisters would on the whole be displeased with their presence. Yet… something didn’t feel quite right.

Snow White ruffled her immaculate white and scarlet skirt and crossed her hands over her waist politely. Her polished serene frown neither conveyed happiness nor dissatisfaction. When needed, she could be upstanding and polite—even more so when there was some advantage to be had in doing so. “Well, Seventy-Seven Dwarves, welcome to our—”

“Now, hold on there!” A voice that could only be described as goofy and endearing erupted from the woods on the other side of the trail. Seven small men wearing bright clothing and pointed shoes tromped out of the brush. Even though they all wore angry expressions, their large eyes and bulbous noses made them look cute somehow.

“Don’t you trust them! Those are baaaad people!” one dwarf chided, pointing at the crowd of seventy-seven with a pudgy finger. He led the newcomers across the road through the dust. Like a mighty storm cloud, the dust roiled over the lawn as they stopped in a rigid, flawless row, their pointed, belled shoes at perfect attention.

Upon a desperate cursory look down the road, it was clear to Off White that their dear father was far too far away to be called back. Under the crossfire of glares from the two parties, she stood betwixt them. "Now... now... uh... there's no reason for unfriendliness... right?"

One of the seven crossed his stout arms. "There is every reason for unfriendliness. Dwarfs and dwarves, after all, are, without a doubt, are always, and forever, mortal, eternal enemies."

The Seventy-Seven Dwarves sent a wave of mumbles of agreement over the divide.

“Et is how et is,” George nodded, twisting the end of his beard. A melancholy frown twisted his mouth. His temples drew together like a drawstring bag and the eyes set under red bottlebrush eyebrows glazed over. “But… ‘tis not our fault. Et’s those gods damned, rosy-cheeked, whistlin’ pansies! Everyone loves dwarfs! They’re cute! They’re cuddly! They make wee li’l shoes when yer sleepin’!”

“Well, your lack of charisma or cobbling skills isn’t our lookout.”

“Well, there must be some kind of common ground to start from! Don’t dwarves and dwarfs both have that naming custom?” Rose Red attempted. The divide she, Snow White and Off White made between the dwarves and dwarfs was tenuous at best.

One of the dwarfs, taller and slimmer than the rest, piped up. “Oh, no, no!” he rebuked. “That kind of thing is extremely passé. You can’t go by the book anymore. You get raked across the coals for it by the hip, younger generation. If a witch wears black, she’s dull. If a feline of any kind wears boots, he’s being derivative. Don’t get me started on princes! Charming doesn’t do it anymore. Now all the girls trip over themselves over a delicate, effeminate prince.”

At that point, Off White had forgotten completely about the fact that one of these groups was meant to be looking after her and her sisters. Perhaps that very fact had been forced out of her mind upon seeing the demeanor of both parties.

Proudly, the skinny dwarf puffed his chest out. “Which is why we now sport hip, modern names for a new generation!” he pointed at his chest. “I’m Jared, and these are Raleigh, Christian, Alphonse, Caleb, Vaughn, and Slater. There, isn’t that hip and cool, Gloomy?” he shot across to the crowd of dwarves.

“It matters not,” came a reply like the last gasp of a leaking balloon. “In the end we are all impaled on the thorns of life and wither away like an orange peel on a stone slab.”

“GLOOMY, WOULD YOU PLEASE KEEP YOUR DEPRESSING PHILOSOPHICAL DETRITUS TO YOURSELF?”

“Unnecessarily Loud, you’re—well, you know.”

“Well. It seems the only available recourse is to… well… kick their arses!” He produced and raised a broad battle axe as tall as he. While made of stone, the blade was sharpened to as fine an edge as Off White had seen on any sword. Like an explosion, eighty-four voices went up in rage, zealous bloodlust, and tightly-fettered mild annoyance. Little fists were waved. Expletives were hurled as from a trebuchet. Inappropriate gestures were made. Tongues were stuck out. Surely, if they were allowed to do battle here, they’d tear the village apart, and Father would hardly be pleased.

“Ah-ah!” One of the dwarves admonished from the rear of the group. “You remember the regulations: No rampaging, no stampaging, no trampaging.” He pulled out a rolled paper scroll and unfurled it to its full length of three inches. The axe-wielding dwarf rolled his eyes.

“I understand what rampaging is,” Snow White said. “But what is stampaging and trampaging?”

One of the dwarves balled his fist and slammed it into his open hand. “Now tha’s something ye can only experience ‘round real dwarves! Not these cuddly, tender li’l creampuffs who couldn’t tell mortar from mousse!”

One of the dwarfs turned his bulbous nose to the sky. “Stonework is a simpleton’s craft! Jewel mining—now that takes a refined hand and mind! That and cobbling, of course!”

“Es that peachfuzz on yer face s’posed ta be a beard?”

“Your rampant follicular growths are obviously a poor attempt to compensate for a lacking elsewhere,” one of the dwarfs rebuked.

“You’ll be whistlin’ while ye work outta more than just yer mouth when I’m through with ya!” The dwarves cheered and whooped.

“You smell like alcohol.” The dwarfs clapped in sterile applause.

“Well, duh!”

“Now, er…” Rose Red attempted. “Could you not at least… well…”

“Have this confrontation elsewhere?” Snow White finished. “There are plenty of nice, safe fields to tear apart if you absolutely insist upon it. Though, to speak candidly, I really do not see what is stopping the dwarves from being a little more civilized and clean besides over-inflated egos and a crippling culture of pride and arrogance.”

Even as her sister moved to take her place next to the Seven Dwarfs, Off White faced her from next to the Seventy-Seven Dwarves. “Well, I’m sure it’s easy to say that, but they’re simply doing what they do! Which is…” She turned back. “What, exactly?”

“Actually,” one of the dwarves fidgeted with the folds of his greasy, stained tunic, which had been tucked through his belt several times, being far too large for him. “We were sent by Invid, the evil duchess of Prill to dispose of the three of you for being fairer than she.”

Off White recoiled, but remained resolute. “Wait—why would you tell us that? Hold on, so your name must be ‘Truthful’ or ‘Saintly’ or something, right?”

“Nah,” another one dismissed. “He’s just an idiot.”

Snow White set her shoulders. Every time she was about to make an assertion that she felt was of vital importance, she did so, balling her delicatest of hands into little pale fists. “You see, Off White? Now come over here. Be sensible, now.”

Off White had tried being sensible on many occasions, and found it to be a lackluster experience. She’d seen what rampant sensibility did to people. They were content to drink tea and eat biscuits and ramble over how bizarre the weather’s been lately and how nice it is that no giants have passed through lately. Sensible people never had dealings with monsters, enchanted weapons, or haunted swamps. Even worse, they very much preferred it that way. Therefore, she did something totally wild and irrational: appealed to the dwarves in a civilized manner. “Now, you see? That’s the kind of thing that drove them to this state of villainy! Perhaps if they’d been shown some understanding and had been given a chance to realize their true potential…”

One of the dwarves puzzled over this, his brow twisting in curiosity. “True…”

Another’s brow raised in interest. “Potential?”

An unimpressed sniff came from Snow White. Rose Red crossed her arms. “You mean, devise a way to combine drinking, stonework and hating elves?”

“Tha’s not all we do! I paint! Landscapes!”

“But I bet I could do it before any a’ ya!” One of the dwarves boasted.

“Overly Competitive, tha’s enough now. Fiery-haired lass, how can we show up those pansy, snobby dwarfs?” He looked to the dwarfs behind Off White to make absolute sure that they’d heard the comment. Judging by his grin, they had.

Now this required some real thought. She should have expected that they would ask her what she had in mind. Of course, she hadn’t thought of anything specific. There had to be something! A sea of expectant dwarven faces applied more pressure than she was used to when trying to decide upon something. Not daring to face what kind of appalled or scornful faces might be glaring at her back, she knew she wouldn’t be relying on her sisters to get her out of this one.

*****

The mirror’s image, now a parasol that twirled as it talked, hung its handle in disappointment. “Right! Well! If ya don’t mind me sayin’ so, this whole thing’s gone all to cock!”

As much as it pained Invid to admit, the mirror was quite right. But she hardly felt she could take all but an insubstantial sliver of the blame for the events that had unfolded before her eyes in the mirror. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to proselytize seventy-seven little bearded men into an idea not involving stonework or alcohol?”

“Now, tha’s actually a stereotype.”

“It matters not!”

“Wha? How your plot’s just got foiled, or whether it’s a stereotype?”

“Both!” Storming to the closet, Invid whirled a cape with the almost black redness of blood around her. “I didn’t think there would be need for my Robe of Suspicious Old Woman Transmutation. I haven’t worn this since the prom.” She strode to the door. “Mirror! When I get back, remind me to have the tailor let out the waist a little!”

*****

Off White was having horrible luck finding the words to say to the dwarves. Every fallow second that passed seemed like ten. She had to stall. Just a little bit. She had to say something to keep them hanging on her word. “No matter how long it takes, I will help you!”

One of the dwarves tried to hide wiping a tear from his eye. “You are a lass of unsurpassed compassion,” he said earnestly.

Rose Red actually approached her and put a hand on her arm. “Come on, Off White,” she said. Rose Red had always been the most compromising of her sisters. “This is getting nowhere. Let’s—”

Suddenly, an ancient door creaked open. Or was it the sound of a falling tree straining against its failing trunk, or the call of a sickly animal? As the noise persisted, it was clear that it was actually a voice.

“Dears, dears! Now, what’s the sense in all this fighting? Come, now!”

The owner of the voice hobbled into their midst in a blood red robe and a crooked grin betraying a lack of proper dental care. Her wrinkled, shriveled hand was clasped like a talon around the handle of a basket that held apples so red they seemed to glow. When she chuckled, birds fled from their perches and dogs barked. “Have you ever seen apples so enticing? Go on!” The old woman licked her lips and grimaced as her tongue met with the white hairs on her upper lip. “Er… I promise you, you’ve never tasted its like before!”

Snow White raised an eyebrow. “Are they… free?”

As if under a weight, the old woman’s sagging shoulders fell even further. “Would it be suspicious if they were?”

“Extremely.”

“Two coppers each, then.”

Rose Red crossed her arms. Snow White pouted. Off White sighed.

“We can’t,” Off White finally said.

The old woman shifted in her ragged robes so oddly that Off White had to wonder if what was beneath them was human. “Oh, dear, you mustn’t refuse on my account! Why-ever not?”

“We’re allergic,” Rose Red explained.

“To apples,” Snow White elaborated. “They tend to put us into a deep sleep for days or weeks. Simply can’t handle them.”

In the split second it happened, it was unclear whether something snapped, erupted or caved in within the old woman. Whatever its nature, it was explosive. “Oh, curse the gods! Curse them with thorns and thunder!” The basket and its lovely red contents were scattered at their feet.

Off White thought that the reaction was entirely uncalled for. “It’s hardly that we’re ungrateful, but you see, we really are—”

It did little to console the old woman. In a rage, she threw off her blood red robe into a pile at her feet. “I never did like skulking around in secret!” When Off White looked up from the discarded robe she saw that, like so many things, the old woman was not what she had first appeared to be. Instead, a middle-aged woman stood straight as a pole, fiery rage barely contained behind a tight grimace.

“My bumbling minions… my lazy movers… my defective mirror, my useless poisoned apples, my perfect plan, my gods, why do I have to be surrounded by such utter chaos and stupidly circumstantial happenstances?” Her words came faster and faster, her fists clenched tighter and tighter.

Why did this have to happen while Father was away?

Invid shook her head vigorously as if trying to shake off a small, furry creature clinging to it. “I need a stiff drink…” Reminiscent of spider’s legs, Invid flexed the fingers of her right hand. “Or better yet, to blow something up!” She thrust the hand commandingly in the worst direction Off White could imagine—toward their house. “Pyhhrus nicte bann!” she roared. The old tree next to Off White and her sisters’ room burst into flames. Charred bits of branches and leaves rained down and charred the grass into twisted black stalks. Over the crackling of the fire, Invid blew a bit of smoke off her hand. “Now, you see… I can be a perfectly civilized person. I could have immolated your home, but my qualm is not with your entire family. Should the three of you choose to die peaceably, no further damage will be inflicted on person or property.”

The flaming tree let out a sharp crack as its top half gave out, then fell onto the house, crashing through the roof.

“Aside from that.”

Rose Red gaped at the destroyed roof. “Forget dying peaceably; Father’s going to kill us!”

One of the dwarves interspersed his stout body between Off White and the evil duchess. “No help fer it! Dwarves always repay favors, and this lass has shown us kindness!”

Invid seemed to be having trouble summoning the breath to speak. She looked at her former minions—all seventy-seven of them. More importantly, she looked at their axes, clubs and swords. “But—but I hired you!”

“We’re also very capricious creatures,” one of the dwarves said with a grin embedded in scruffy beard.

Off White had never had the pleasure of hearing a dwarven warcry before, but just being witness to it called to mind rolling fields of green whipping in a savage wind, a sky stained gray with storm clouds, and armies thundering on and on betwixt the two.

“All right! Time for a fight!”

“Time to break in me new boots!”

“All right!” another of the dwarves shouted with a cautious edge. “No one say anything about being about to retire! Or about buying drinks after the battle!”

“But we’re dwarves!”

“All right then! Then just don’t die!”

“HUZZAH!”

Despite taking a few careful steps backward, Invid cackled. “Just because I hired you to do my work, you think you can best me in combat?” She placed her hands before in pre-emptive spellcasting position. “The only difference it makes to me is there will be more corpses!”

“Well, you’ll have to add seven more to the pile!” One of the dwarfs stepped forward with an assertive, yet strangely cheerful jingle of the bells on his shoes. A cursory glance back at his comrades showed that they appeared content to stand by and watch. "Right?" he added.

Muttering, the six other dwarfs shuffled forward.

“Have I had too much to drink, or are the Seven Dwarfs teaming up with the Seventy-Seven Dwarves?”

“Pssh.” The dwarf waved off the insinuation like a wisp of smoke. “We can’t have you flea-bitten, ale-blooded good-for-nothings do a noble deed and leave us standing by! It would be murder for our publicity if anyone were to hear of it! But now that you’ve gotten us respectable dwarfs fighting mad, you’ll found our prowess is oft misrepresented!” He curled his stubby fingers into a tight fist and thrust it into the air. Six more followed.

Tittering, Invid flexed her fingers once more. "You won't listen to reason, of course. All that's required is a bigger boom!"

Boom. No, that wasn’t another spell of Invid’s; she looked apprehensively at the tilled ground at her feet before it burst, sending dirt flying over rooftops in a shower that only came back to earth, and the heads of everyone in the village, as the garden went through spring, summer and fall before Off White could even begin to speculate about thinking of coming up with the idea that perhaps she should work out what was going on. The plants they’d just harvested withered, died and rotted as new ones exactly the same sprouted, grew and, with a collective shudder as from a gust of wind, exploded in an array of color. Slingbeans flew like bullets, canterloupes ran underfoot, rollabegas tussled in the dirt and fleet peas took wing in spectacular formations of ten, twenty and fifty pods a piece. It didn’t stop there, though. There wasn’t enough time, but as Off White ran to the house, she could see those plants dying as their crops twirled and twisted in the air, shriveling and gnarling into brush at Invid’s feet as more grew in their place, nourished by season after season of rot, compacted into the space of just a few seconds. Soon the air was full of airborne produce. It blotted out the sun and threw the village into shadow like whizzing, buzzing storm clouds—cover enough for Off White to duck into her home in search of something she’d never counted on using—the one weapon in the house that wasn’t locked up by her father, and one she had no idea how to use.

But then, she thought as she carried the ornamental dagger—carefully, point down, as she’d been taught, from the cabinet in her room, wasn’t the point of a dagger to stick the pointy end into what you wanted to destroy? It seemed simple enough, but she never dared to express that to Father.

Safety be damned; if she wanted to make a successful hit on this witch, she’d have to make a run at her. Blocking out images of blood dripping into the garden and onto the pretty dagger she’d been given for her tenth birthday, she dug her heels into the dirt and took off running through the sea of fruits and vegetables, swatting away runions and saunter squash as leaves swiped at her cheeks and bare arms. She must not falter. She must not waver. She must not stick the dagger into a hovermelon. But that’s what happened. And a blade with any kind of produce stuck onto the end of it, not matter how magical, is rather useless.

She didn’t get a chance to pass Invid by very far, because an aging hand seized the back of her dress and threw her into the dirt, the stabbed melon rolling harmlessly to the side in the thick layers of rapidly rotting, reproducing and sprouting plants.

Invid cackled, bringing to mind the old crow that always was nested outside Off White’s window that woke her up every morning. “You appear to be the third prettiest of your sisters. I may as well start with you… and work my way up!” Her hand began to glow with magical power, deep red with a tinge of yellow. It didn’t look at all friendly.

The crunch of dead foliage under the duchess’s feet sounded like tiny, brittle bones snapping as she advanced on Off White, spell at the ready. “It is not without considerable displeasure that I commit this act, young lady. It is an unpleasant business, maintaining one’s reputation.”

“W- would that you’d call off your spell, I’d be happy to explain why killing a girl would hardly enhance your social standing.” The glow playing at Ingrid’s spindly fingers intensified.

“Get down, lass!”

Off White deftly dove into the layer of rotting plant matter and waddling, rolling and bouncing crops. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d planned on sitting upright and letting herself be killed. Instead, vegetables and fruit whizzed by in a resolute and unyielding barrage. After all, one hundred forty-four hands could pitch plenty of produce. Amongst a thinning flock of fleeing plants, Invid succumbed and hit the ground. The seven dwarfs were upon her in a flash, and before Off White could pick herself out of the dirt, she was bound sturdily.

“Bootlaces!” Caleb beamed, grinding the disgruntled duchess’s face into the dirt with an adorably-pointed shoe.

Christian clapped his tiny hands. “We pride ourselves on their durability! There’s no need to fear anymore! What do you have to say for yourself, you bad, mean, nasty woman, you?”

Those bootlaces held fast. “I am merely the victim of a gross deficiency in aesthetic justice. It shall be righted one day!” She was taken away in a most undignified manner, and did not show herself again for more than a decade. Being bested by small fellows in pointed shoes is not conducive to healthy self-esteem.

With that, the dwarfs and dwarves happily set about collecting the several seasons worth of crops that George the dwarf’s spell had forced to sprout from the garden. Most of it had exhausted the energy it possessed for its mobility, so it was just a matter of organizing them into piles. Vaughn trotted over to Snow White, who, observing the current state of the garden in horror, had just returned from fetching a broom from the house.

All the dwarfs fell to their knees, but one representative spoke. “Milady, your resoluteness and support for our people—well, it’s inspiring! We’d be honored if, well—you’d allow us to be your vassals! Loyal protectors! Shoemakers! To the girl who will grow into the most beautiful woman in the kingdom!”

“Feh!” One of the dwarves scoffed. Beard trailing in the dirt, he knelt in stout, gruff majesty. “Off White, lass, ye’ve inspired us. T’ do something n’… ya know… transcend petty rivalries, n’ that means a lot to us. We’re not much fer shoemakin’ or minin’ and our beards get in the way so we’re not good at whistlin’ but… will ye have us as your protectors? We’d be happy t’ come to your aid anytime! Especially if you can do something about the tragic lack of a tavern in this town!”

Now, even in Jigsaw it was an extraordinary thing for a girl to have protectors. That carried the implication that she was special. But Off White wasn’t special. At least, she failed to see how. All that she could really see was a charred old oak embedded in her home and twitching fruit and vegetables for as far as she could see.

And, in a dilatory manner suited to the season of early fall, the clean-up began.

The dust cloud that had taken Bright Blue away to Sela retreated back down the same road about two weeks later. The wagon was being pulled by a different centaur, and the sisters’ father had arrived home in a much fouler mood than the one that had possessed him when he left. However, when he returned home, it was as if a burning blaze had been doused.

Now, in our world, and in Jigsaw, many children learn from a very young age to always leave a place in a condition better than that which you’d found it in. The two worlds are more similar that they may at first appear, because the “three is company, but four is a crowd” rule applies there as well. It may not appear in those exact words, but the sentiment is evidenced by the fact that once the dwarfs had mended Bright Blue’s home, they left graciously, to visit now and again in coming years. The dwarves had, in their wisdom, realized that all the garden had been forced to produce and spew throughout the town could not possibly be consumed before it went bad, and had gone about distilling and fermenting it all into a bizarre, exotic concoction previously unknown to any world. It was stored and served, subsequently, in “The Scarlet Maiden,” a tavern of their own construction, which still stands to this day. Including frequent visits by the Seventy-Seven Dwarves to pay Off White a visit, and of course, to restock the taverm, visitation of Nai by dwarves following this incident has increased by nearly eighty-nine percent.

P.S.: While in Nai, be sure to order the “Harvest Special.” There is little alcoholic recreation to be had in the center of the kingdom, and this drink comprises most of it.