Back on the sole occupied barstool at Billy’s bar, our fair fairy scrubs her pudgy hands together and cackles. Again.

“Oh this—this is good! Too good!”

Honestly, Madame, I think you might have had more than enough of that coffee. Perhaps some nice calming tea instead? No?

Madame Sarsenet snatches her mug back up again, slopping more of the viscous sludge back onto the sticky counter, and peers eagerly into the dark and caffeinated depths.

“Now, you useless girl, find me that egg.”

Find you…?

Oh, dear.

***

Meanwhile, our fearless Elaine is still standing in the dwarf’s… dwarves’… in the little kitchen in the hill, transfixed by the display in front of her.

"So... you are..." Elaine begins.

"Dissociative," Professor Von Eisenstrom’s voice offers.

"We share," Burr giggles.

"Crowded," Thor cuts in.

“I… see.”

The calm voice who seems to answer to the name of Bob smiles reassuringly up at her. “You’ve met Granny Gudrid, of course.”

“Hello, dearie.” The feminine dwarf waggles her fingers at Elaine.

Our brave heroine absently waves back.

“And I’m Bob,” the first voice continues, “son of Hamar, son of Halvard Stonefoot.”

“Right.” Elaine appears to be processing this. “Bob. Is that… uh… a traditional dwarf name?”

Bob shrugged. “My mother was a bit more modern in her tastes.”

“Oh. Right.”

A sudden shout from Thorgrim has our girl jumping back to bang her elbow against a small cupboard while simultaneously smacking her head on the low ceiling.

“And we don’t know anyone named Bobo Beggins or Dildo Boggins or whatever the feck it is! So don’t even ask!”

“Thorgrim!” Granny snaps.

“Um…” Elaine attempts to surreptitiously rub her elbow and head at the same time.

“It’s the door,” Bob hurries back to the front of the queue to explain. “We get the oddest people coming by talking about our round door in a hill and asking if this is Beggsend or something.” He shakes his head. “Strange folk.”

“Uh huh. Strange.”

“In any case,” Bob continues, “I assume you’re here for the housekeeping position?”

Our fearless heroine, still looking slightly dazed and a little bruised, shakes herself and appears to rally. After all, the dwarves might be a little… unusual… but they seem harmless. If not a little dizzying. And some of them appear to be quite pleasant. Perhaps not Thorgrim, but—

"What I'm really looking for is an egg," Elaine is saying.

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"Oh, I can make you a plate of eggs, dearie,” Granny pipes up. “Won’t take but a moment.”

"No, no. Not breakfast. A dragon egg. It was stolen from its mother." Our girl thrusts out the sketch she found in the parlor. "This egg."

A single tear runs down the dwarf's cheek and Burr’s tiny voice whispers, "That's so sad."

Elaine leans down to meet the dwarf-child’s suddenly wide, teary eyes. "Yes. It’s very sad. And even sadder if I get fried over it. That’s why I need to bring it back to its mother. So she won’t be sad anymore."

The dwarf nods vigorously, sucking in a pouting lip.

Then, through some fantastic manner of facial gymnastics, the childlike—albeit heavily bearded—face grows suddenly detached and rather condescending, sending Elaine straightening back upright again.

"That egg was fairly acquired as compensation for services rendered to some rather colorful gentlemen," Professor Von Eisenstrom announces.

"Now, now, Professor," cuts in Granny. "Dearie, if we had known its source we never would have accepted such a payment."

Elaine is clearly attempting to hold back her eagerness to not be turned into a crispy dragon snack. "So where is it?"

"Alberich, where did you leave it?" Bob asks calmly.

A very professorial sigh emanates from the dwarf. "It is sitting on my workbench just waiting for me to adhere the filigree and scrollwork."

"We're not just fecking giving it to her?!"

"But Mommy dragon will keep being sad. I don't want her to be sad," Burr whimpers.

"I don't give a farmer's feck about that dragon. Those tools took weeks to make, I refuse to just give our payment away for—"

"Calm down Thor, we’ll handle this like everything else,” Bob interrupts. “We vote. All in favor of returning the egg?"

"I am," Granny answers.

"Me too," Burr announces with a huffy stamp.

"Feck no."

Big surprise there.

"Me, me, me, meeeee," Glistenheath sings in tone perfection.

"Under the circumstances, as much as I lament not acquiring remuneration for our aforementioned labors... I acquiesce to the judgment of the many."

"Mushmind?"

"Huh... What?"

"Nevermind,” Bob continues. “So that's five to one with the usual one abstention. We return the egg."

“Great!” our girl beams. “But there was no egg on your...the Professor's workbench, so…"

The dwarf hurries back to the front room with Elaine close behind.

"This is inexcusable. I left it right here!" the Professor exclaims, gesturing at a clearly vacant space on his workbench. "Burr, were you playing with my belongings again?”

"No! It wasn't me! `Member? I was helping Granny with tea for that lady in the red cloak.” The dwarf-child is now hurriedly scanning the floor. “Maybe it rolled under here."

Burr reaches for the tapestry covering the long table along the wall and—

“Holy hells!” Elaine shrieks.

We couldn’t agree more.

Peeking out from under the cloth is a glass case holding… a woman. A rather stunningly beautiful woman with lily white skin and hair darker than Elaine’s own. Whoever the glorious maiden is, she appears to be… um… well preserved.

“What,” our fearless heroine jabs a finger. “Is. THAT?!”

"Feckin' hell, Burr."

Granny sighs. "Now, Burr, what did we say about uncovering poor Snow in front of guests?"

"Don't be alarmed." Bob waves his hands, clearly attempting to sound calm and reassuring. "It's really not what it looks like."

"It looks like you're starting a trophy case!"

"No! We…" Burr’s child voice squeaks out. "We made the box for our friend. She was sick."

“She ain’t the only one.” Elaine takes a slow step back toward the door.

“It’s all right, dearie,” Granny Gudrid is crooning as she straightens the covering cloth and smooths out the wrinkles. “You see, she was our last maid…”

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” Another step toward the door.

Professor Von Eisenstrom reemerges and gestures broadly as he lectures.

"This damsel asked for succor. We made a mutually beneficial arrangement whereby she did the cleaning, and we focused on mining and crafting. It was agreeable to everyone, even Mr. Smeargold—” A grunt issues from Thor. The professor ignores this. “But one day we came up from the mines to find her unconscious. Even with all my research, I haven't found a way to waken her yet."

“A whooole new CAAAAAAAAAAAAVE! A new fanTAStic hoard of jewels!”

“Don’t you start with that songbird ratfilth, Glisten! I’ve had just about enough—”

"Now that we have that out of the way,” Bob interjects smoothly, “Let's get back to looking for your..."

Elaine?

Oh dear.

Our dwarves are currently speaking to an empty room and an open door. Our brave heroine, on the other hand, is clearly to be seen sprinting across the meadow for the tree line.

"I am feckin' sick of cleaning up after you feckin' slobs."

"Yes, well," Granny soothes as she sits down with the pot of tea. "Ol' Stilskyn brought us Snow. Perhaps he can help us find another."

"It's already too feckin' crowded in here."

Bob sighs. "There is just no pleasing you is there?"

Burr pokes at the tea cozy. "Granny says you can't make everyone happy.”

Unfortunately, dear reader, this appears truer in their case than most.

"Well, feck!"

***

Meanwhile, at the Withershins Inn...