Eliza -- Part One

"Whoever the intruder is, he's either remarkably stupid or he doesn't care if we know he's there," Owen said knowingly, pushing his glasses up his nose with a fat finger.

"How do you know that?" I asked. Everyone turned and stared at me, and as I felt my face turning several shades of red, I wished I hadn't said anything. Questioning Owen was never a good idea.

"Because," Owen said, after he thought I had turned enough different shades of red, "if you're going to burgle someone's house, you don't leave all the lights on. That's just asking for trouble."

"They want trouble, we'll give 'em trouble," growled Nicky, hefting one of the big mining picks we always carried to and from work with us. He headed towards the house. Owen followed suit, and one by one, the rest of us did too.

The burglar had left the front door ajar by about a foot. Nicky kicked it open the rest of the way and stormed inside, holding his pick like a battle axe. I braced myself for the crashes and screams I was sure would follow--Nicky had quite a temper--but none came.

I cautiously poked my head into the large main room of our house. All the lamps were lit, a fire blazed cheerfully in the fireplace, and a big cauldron hung over the fire. Whatever was in it smelled really good. As I watched Nicky and Owen prowling around the room, looking under tables and behind chairs, I felt like there was something else about the place that seemed... different, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it.

A noise behind me made me spin around, shrieking like a fairy, but it was just Derek, sniffing the air like a starving animal. "Food!!!" he cheered, a huge grin splitting his chubby face.

"Shut up, you morons!" snapped Nicky, grabbing the nearest item to hand and throwing it at us. It hit the wall and shattered.

Ben ran forward. "My Princess Rosy doll!!! You smashed my Princess Rosy doll, you coddle-bottomed purple-spleened toadlicker!"

"Your Princess Rosy doll?" Sean growled. "That doll was mine!"

"What are you talking about? It was totally mine! I won it at the night wisps' dancing tournament!"

"You're a liar. You couldn't dance if your life depended on it. I bought that last time we were in Elbarti."

"Liar!"

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Not!"

"Who cares whose it was? It's broken now," pointed out Owen.

There was a pause, then both Ben and Sean threw themselves at Nicky and all three went down in a ball of flying fists. Owen stood over them, trying to quiet them down until Ben rolled into his feet, knocking him on top of Sean.

"Well," I said, turning to Derek and Ian, "so much for taking anyone by surprise."

"Gracious! What are you doing?" came a voice. A high voice. A voice I definitely didn't recognize.

The entire room went deathly still. I turned, slowly, to face the voice's owner.

A woman stood over the four fighting by the stairs. She was too tall to be a dwarf, but fairly short for a human. She was unnaturally skinny, with disturbingly pale skin, black hair, and no beard. Her full, pouty lips were deep red, and her eyes were pale blue and held all the intelligence of a demented cow. She was pitifully ugly, and I wondered if a human might consider her more attractive than I found her. Probably not.

I realized I was staring and blushed. "Beg pardon, ma'am," I said, putting my right hand respectfully to my left bicep. "We were just getting home from work and saw someone had invaded our house--er, well, not 'invaded,' I guess... well, yes... well... um..." I was turning brighter red with each word. The woman giggled.

"What he means is," interrupted Owen, getting to his feet, "what are you doing in our house?"

"Where do you get off trespassing like that, acting like our home belongs to you? Just who do you think you are?" growled Nicky.

The woman giggled again. "Oh, how terribly rude of me," she said, putting a hand to her mouth and sounding not at all sorry. "My name is Princess Eliza, but..." she dropped her voice to a stage whisper that was actually louder than her normal voice, "but sometimes, I like to pretend me name is Snow White. It's such a pretty name, don't you think?"

This time, everyone stared openly.

"Snow White? What sort of stupid... that's not even a real name!" growled Nicky. "And just where do you think you're a princess of?"

"Why, the kingdom, of course!" said Eliza, or Snow White, or whatever her name was.

"Which kingdom?"

"The one the queen owns, silly!" the girl giggled again. I wished she would stop. The giggling was getting on my nerves.

"The... queen..." Owen repeated.

"Yes," said the woman. Her eyes widened. "She wants to kill me. That's why I had to run away!"

"Why does she want to kill you?"

"Because she has a magic mirror that told her I'm prettier than she is."

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "A magic... mirror..." I said, nearly biting my lips off to keep from laughing.

She nodded, eyes wide. "She sent her woodcutter to kill me, but he thought I was so beautiful he let me go. So here I am." She brightened. "Now you can call me Snow White and pretend it's my real name!" She giggled. Again. "And what are your names?"

Owen put a hand thoughtfully to his ear. "One moment, please, Princess."

"Ah ah ah!" she protested, holding up an impudent finger.

Owen groaned. "One moment, please, Snow White." He kicked Ben, Sean, and Nicky to their feet and pulled them over to Derek, Ian, and me. "Well?" he asked us quietly.

"I say we throw the stupid brat out on her ear!" snarled Nicky. "She's obviously stupid, probably insane, and exceptionally rude. Not to mention ugly."

"Whatever she's cooking smells good, though," Derek pointed out.

"It could be poisoned," Ben pointed out.

"I doubt it," I said. "I don't think she's smart enough to think of something like that."

"Incidentally, if she doesn't quit with the giggling, I'm going to pull a Nicky and throw something at her," mumbled Ian.

There was a pause, then a hideous clanging. We all wheeled around to see Snow White hitting the cauldron over the fire with a metal spoon.

Clang clang clang clang clang clang! "Supper time!" she shrieked. "Ah, there you are! Have you all washed? Let me see your hands."

Nicky stiffened. "What do you think we are, children?"

"Aren't you?" Snow White asked.

"Have you ever seen a child with a beard, woman? We're dwarves, burn it all!"

"Ah ah ah! Watch your language!" scolded the princess, shaking a finger at us. "Since you didn't tell me your names, I think I'll call you Grumpy. Now all of you, go wash up, or not a bite to eat!"

We stared at her incredulously, then Nicky stormed off, grumbling, "I think I'll call you Grumpy. Nyeh nyeh nyeh. I think I'll call you Mental."

We all trailed off after Nicky to go wash our hands. When we returned, our picks had all been lined up neatly against the wall in descending order of size. There were seven bowls of some kind of steaming food set around the table. Snow White was eating out of the cauldron with the serving spoon.

After the obligatory scuffle over who got the biggest bowl (Owen won), the princess scolded us and told us to get along, and we all sat down and inspected our food.

It may have smelled good, but looking at it was an entirely different story. It was yellowish white and lumpy and grainy looking. I stuck in a finger, scooped some out, and tasted it. It tasted like moldy corn. And the little grains were hard as rock. It was like eating gravel pudding.

"Ah ah ah! Use your silverware," scolded the princess. My face turned red again, but I reached for the little spoon by my bowl.

"What do you call this stuff?" asked Derek, in between big bites.

"We call it grits," beamed the princess. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Derek seemed to be the only one who thought so. Everyone else was pushing the grits around in their bowls, wearing matching expressions of disgust.

"Princess," Owen said suddenly, looking up at her. "You do realize that if you really are a princess and we--"

"I am a princess!" she yelled, stamping her foot. I'd never seen anyone manage that sitting down before. It was funny to watch.

"This ought to be good," I mumbled to Ian.

"I'm sorry, Princ-- Snow White," Owen said apologetically. "I only meant that since you're a princess, if we get caught with you here, we could get hanged for kidnapping you."

"Oh, don't worry," Snow White said, "We just have to not get caught!" She giggled. "Won't that be fun?"

"Um... not terribly," Owen said. "You see, if we do get caught, it will mean our necks."

"And our heads," added Sean.

"Not to mention the rest of us," Ben chipped in.

"It will be just like a game of hide and seek!" beamed the princess.

"Yes, only if we lose, we die."

"Oh, you worry too much!" proclaimed the princess. "Don't forget, the woodcutter told the queen I'm dead. He brought her the heart of a pig to prove it."

"Wait..." Ian said. "How is showing her the heart of a pig supposed to prove that you're dead?"

"Because, she'll think the pig's heart is really my heart, and if she has my heart, I can't possibly be alive, can I?" she said matter-of-factly. "You're not very smart, are you? Can I call you Dopey?"

"My name's Ian."

"I'm so glad!" she said cheerfully. "And you can call me Snow White. I'm sure we'll be good friends, Dopey."

"But back to the matter at hand," I said quickly, before Ian could throw his bowl of grits in Snow White's face, "How will the queen know it's your heart? I mean, a pig's heart doesn't look much like a human heart. Do you really think she'll fall for that?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully, then announced, "Yes. She will. And that is that." Then she stretched. "My, I'm getting sleepy! Well, I think I'll go upstairs and go to bed. Sweet dreams!" she called, heading for the stairway.

"Wait! If you sleep in our beds, where are we supposed to sleep?" yelled Sean.

Snow White pouted. "You wouldn't honestly make a princess sleep downstairs on the couch, would you? No, I didn't think so. You're so thoughtful. Well, good night!" She disappeared upstairs.

In the brief silence that followed, Derek turned to Owen, pointed to his bowl, and asked, "Hey... are you gonna eat that?"

***To be continued***

Yeah, I know, it's rough. That's why it's called a rough draft. So there. I actually plan to finish this story, touch it up, and be able to say I actually finished a story. ...I'll get to it tomorrow.