Page 33 of Snow White and the Seven Little Miners
It was a coffin, the bottom made of carved, gleaming gold, the top a rounded dome of pure glass so it could be viewed from all sides. And there, inside of it on a bed of white satin, layMakellos, dressed in his fine princely garb, hands folded atop his chest, head of dark hair resting on a plump pillow, looking for all the world like he had fallen asleep under the stars in the garden he loved so much and would wake any moment. A sleeping beauty, the fairest of them all. They all stared at the elaborate entombment for a very long time, nothing moving but the puffs of breath coming from their lips.
“What does this mean?” Bernhardt finally asked. “Who could have done this?”
“Perhaps the mirror mentioned in the note shall give us the answer,” said Hardwic. They all glanced between one another, for no one had thought to grab the mirror or even look for it. They all trooped back inside to the warmth once more, finding a small handheld looking glass atop the pile of blankets.
Grim snatched it up, holding it up in front of his face. “Hullo? Who’s there?” he growled. For a moment, its silver surface only reflected his own face and sharply pointed beard, and a few of the other faces trying to crowd around him to see. After a moment, it began to swirl, as if with dark, black smoke, and two faces appeared.
One was pale and fair-haired, with a face nearly as lovely as their own lost prince, eyes shimmering a brilliant green. The other was a taller, darker figure with pointed elven ears, with hair as black as Makellos’, but it seemed to be infused with stars that twinkled and glittered like the tiniest diamonds in the mine’s walls.
“Ulrich,” breathed Der, peering over Grim’s shoulder. He had heard the name many times before, long ago when he as an apothecary had created elixirs and remedies, though his own were not at all magical. The legendary sorcerer had hoarded many books on forbidden magic that were thought lost, including those with knowledge on plants and herbalconcoctions not seen elsewhere in centuries. There was no one else that the dark-haired figure could be.
“What is an Ulrich?” asked Bernhardt, who was stuck behind the others trying to see.
Grim glared into the mirror. “I assume we have you to thank for breaking into our house?”
“And the coffin,” Ulrich agreed, not seeming at all perturbed by Grim’s accusation. “Though that should only be a temporary measure.”
“What are you talking about?” Grim snarled. “You have some nerve coming into our home and touching the prin-” Hardwic gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs.
“Thank you for your kindness, sir,” he said politely to the mirror. “And I assume yours as well,” he said with a nod to the fair creature with the brilliant eyes and hair.
The youth’s lips curved into a warm smile. “I am glad to help. My name is Zel.”
Grim let out a snort. “I don’t care who you are. What is it you want from us?”
“Don’t mind him,” Der said with a glower at Grim. “We are all on edge after what happened to the prince.”
“Yes, I assumed that,” said Ulrich, still in his calm way. “What doyoubelieve happened?”
“We think he was killed by the Queen,” said Der.
“Of course he was,” Grim snarled.
“You would be correct,” Ulrich replied, and next to him, Zel looked a little sad. “But every magic spell can be broken in some way.”
“Even in death?” piped up old Bernhardt.
“Even in death,” Ulrich repeated. “We shall find a way to break this spell over the prince, if that is what you wish.”
“Yes!” said Hardwic, followed by a rousing agreement from everyone, even Grim.
“But what will you do once the prince is restored?” asked Zel. “The Queen has killed him once. She would not hesitate to do it again.”
There was a rustle of movement and mutters amongst the seven. Zel was right; if they brought Makellos back, they would constantly have to be on their guard for the Queen’s return. Even if they sent him south, over the mountains, he might not be safe, and they could not bear to never see him again anyway.
“That witch has destroyed so much in this kingdom,” Grim growled. “I would see her dead before I let her harm a hair on Snow’s head again.”
“As would I,” said Sigurd.
“And I,” added Sigmund.
“Dead,” agreed Dagobert, surprising everyone with how strong his soft voice was.
“Then heed my words,” Ulrich said, his voice dropping even lower. “I will find the antidote to the spell that has taken the prince’s life, but you must be steadfast in your resolve to kill the Queen. For once he is revived, her rage will be swift and terrible, and she will know that it is I who helped you. I hold no love in my heart for Schön; I would see her end, but I am not as powerful as I once was and unable to do it myself.”
Der looked between the other six miners, each one’s face set in dark determination. They had lost so much at the hands of Queen Schön; the glimmer of hope that their dear prince could be restored to them and that the kingdom might be freed once and for all from her tyranny was all they needed. “We’ll be ready,” he said, turning back to the mirror.
Ulrich nodded. “Very well. We shall arrive in a few days, once we have determined the limits of the magic and have reached out to the Thieves Guild. They will be more than willing to help you in this quest.”
