Apple nearly slowed as the cedar trees trembled around us.

However, it wasn’t an earthquake which caused my noble steed to reach up and nibble at the leaves of the dipping branches.

It was something far worse.

“Bwahahahahahaha!!”

“Drink! Drink! Drink Drink!”

“Gimme another! That barrel started it! I’m gonna finish it!”

Dwarves.

Like adventurers fresh from kidnapping their first cat lazing innocently on a windowsill, their drunken revelry filled my ears … and also the squirrels dashing away.

An accidental service. Little of which had anything to do with them.

Indeed, most of what I heard was simply the echo from the last time dwarves visited the Royal Villa. The noise had now successfully bounced halfway across my kingdom. 

The commotion from this newest group was less, but it was only a temporary reprieve. Once it had travelled to the Royal Villa in turn, the slowly accumulating strength would ensure my tower shaked so much that a passing dragon would poke it still before kidnapping me away.

Something I may very well welcome.

Here in a patch of woodland south of Nettle Cross, the source of my sleepless nights to come waited at the end of a newly made trail.

Tucked away within a neat little crater where the edges were hidden from eye level, the excavation could almost have been discreet were it not for the fleeing wildlife, the odour of alcohol and the many wooden signs warning away trespassers. All of which I obeyed. 

I was here for official purposes.

Fortunately for all, this was going to be a brief visit. 

No pickaxes, chiselling or headbutting could be seen or heard. 

Having deemed the vandalisation of my kingdom complete, a raucous score of dwarves sat around several picnic tables before a mining shaft, their helmets piled together while they traded jibes and spittle in equal measure.

I wrinkled my nose.

“Incredible,” I said as I considered leaving and simply accepting earthquakes as just another fact of life that was worse for everyone else than me. “I’d heard about the wonders of dwarven work ethics before. But I never knew it meant they finished all their work by midday. They’ve truly sent their best.” 

Coppelia giggled as she prodded away a discarded mining helmet with her foot.

“Dwarves do their best work when drunk. Have you ever seen anything made by a sober dwarf before?”

“I’m not certain if I’d know the difference.”

“You would. It looks like stuff made by humans. It’s so boring nobody spares a second glance. It pays. But they don’t advertise it.”

My mouth opened to defend humans everywhere.

I closed it a moment later. It was true. Much of what we made was dull.

“Well, then I look forward to judging what designs these dwarves have to offer. Given how deeply they’ve sunk into their barrels, I expect to provide Clarise with ideas for her next invention.”

Thus, I turned to offer my smile for the slacking dwarves as Apple bore me down a wooden ramp. 

It faded almost at once.

Here and there, the only evidence of work was in the dirt statues erected like failed snowmen, their crude faces and wonky beards chiselled with a blunt instrument. Art so avante garde that Apple didn’t even snort as he trotted past. He simply lifted his head and looked confused.

An act mirrored by the first dwarves to greet us.

The revelling continued all the way until my shadow was hovering over the largest table. Several dwarves leaned away, shielding their drinks as Apple shook his mane. The rest were content to stare, waiting until somebody more qualified could disappoint me.

The dwarf in question swiftly came. 

The only miner with a buttoned tunic. They were even all sewn on. A true aristocrat.

“Afternoon, young lady,” he said, smiling broadly while fixing his cuffs. “Prospector Fargrum at your service. My apologies, but are you scheduled to visit the excavation today?”

“Absolutely not. My schedule is filled with so many appointments that nobody knows where to find me. Even if I’m rolling on the same patch of grass for several hours.”

“I … I see? Then I’m afraid you must have missed the signs. All of them, it seems. General visitors aren’t allowed on the excavation site. It’s far too dangerous to wander.”

“Apparently so. I’m often told about the quality of dwarven workmanship. But your sculpting far surpasses any of the tales. Why, I had no idea you were holding back on us.”

The dwarf blinked.

A hearty chuckle followed as he quickly took note of the muddy statues. His colleagues were far less reserved as they returned to their hollering. I had no idea why. There were fine estates owned by proud nobility who would pay to have such wonky installations as part of their collections.

“You’re much too kind, young lady. We all have our talents, but I dare say sculpting isn’t one of them.”

“Truly? And here I was led to believe that all dwarves were natural craftsmen.”

“We’re natural charmers, certainly. Rest assured, most of us are worse than goblins when it comes to our handiwork. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be wielding pickaxes.”

“Then I see I must be in talented company. I don’t see a single pickaxe being lifted.” 

“To be fair, you shouldn’t be seeing anything at all … but if it pleases your curiosity, we of the Stoneheart Mining Guild are currently enjoying our lunch break.”

My hands covered my mouth in horror.

L-Lunch break … ?!

The absolute nerve of this dwarf! … I came offering a smile and he offered profanities instead! 

“There is no such thing as a lunch break,” I informed him. “That is a thing for those who deserve it after a busy morning of waking up. And I see from the slovenly smiles that everyone is still asleep. This is unacceptable. If you intend to cause the kingdom to literally groan at your activities, then I expect only relentless sweating.”

The jovial expression faded from the dwarf.

It was a stark contrast to those around him, who immediately made themselves invisible by raising the volume of their laughter enough to perfectly synchronise. 

“Ah. I see what this is,” he said, dipping his head slightly. “Another concerned resident, I take it?”

“Indeed I am. All the kingdom is my residence. And recently, that includes common inns where the ceilings absolutely do not require help in shaking more than they already do.”

“Then I can only offer my sympathy. However, the shaking isn’t related to our excavation. I ask that you disregard any malicious rumours you’ve heard from our rivals. The troubling earthquakes that we ourselves struggle with have nothing to do with us.”

The dwarf’s smile returned in full as he gestured all around him.

“... Sadly, none of my tools quite have the power to induce all the ground to shatter. Otherwise our surveying would be faster. But in the spirit of cooperation, I’m more than happy to spend some of my precious lunch break to soothe your concerns. If you see anything strange, I’ll be glad to offer an explanation.”  

“Excellent. Because the strangest thing is that I’m seeing anything at all.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Dwarves neither need nor seek permission to mine. Nothing you do underground can be heard. The spirit of cooperation doesn’t extend to us–and it certainly doesn’t extend to minor excavations. Your vaults would never permit such a spurious use of time. You’re here for a purpose beyond … surveying. Something we cannot ignore. What is it?”

The dwarf paused.

He frowned as his eyes slowly appraised me for the first time, looking over Apple’s mane with … well, considerable difficulty.

I leaned forwards slightly.

“Ah,” said the dwarf, his demeanour shifting at the sight of a copper ring disgracing my finger. As was only right. “This again, I see … yet I’m afraid I’ve already made myself clear to your guild. I also do not owe repeated explanations.” 

“You’re correct. Nobody owes those hooligans anything.”

“... Hm?”

“But that aside, offering a suitable explanation isn’t the role of the first doorstop I come across. That’s for whoever is in charge. Now, where might I find your employer?”

A snort to rival Apple’s answered me.

“I’m afraid my employer has a busier schedule than even yourself. If you’d like to speak with him, then you’ll first need to go through the proper procedure. That will also involve getting a visitor’s pass. From me. I regret I’ve now none to spare.”

“My, you needn’t worry, then. I already have one.”

“Oh? Where is it?”

I raised my fingertip, then pointed at the entrance to the mine that all the tables were clearly blocking. 

“This is my visitor’s pass. Wherever I point is where I’m permitted to go.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed. His smile faded entirely.

“... I disagree,” he said with a twirl of his hand, practised a thousand times in a mirror by every upper henchman barely on the ladder. “And I would kindly advise you against attempting to go where you’re not allowed. Otherwise my workers will be forced to escort you away.” 

The hollering ceased at once.

Disregarding their own drunken state, the surrounding dwarves stood up like guards suddenly whipped to attention, their tankards sloshing over their tables as knees partially collided with the woodwork.

But that was hardly a surprise.

None of them were miners.

Despite shameless carousing, their dark eyes failed to be lit by their smiles. An odour of malcontent wafted from them beyond what sweat or alcohol could do.

As they retrieved their mining picks from their sides, it was with the familiarity of dwarves more used to gripping battleaxes than mining tools.

Yes … there was no doubt about it.

They were utterly drunk, sitting around and bored enough to make dirt snowmen.

These were highly trained professional soldiers.

“... Very well,” I said with a nod of acknowledgement. “That is indeed clear and concise advice.”

“I’m glad you agree.” The dwarf’s smile returned. “Now that you under–”

“Which is why I shall also offer my own. Coppelia?”

Beside me, my loyal handmaiden tilted her head.

She gave an innocent blink of her eyes, then proceeded to easily lift the nearest table with a pinch of her finger and thumb. An act which appalled the dwarves as they scrambled to retrieve their tankards.

Even so, it was little compared to their alarm to come.

The dwarves immediately fell back as the shadow of any tavern’s greatest weapon loomed over them. But rather than being forced to raise their pickaxes against the onslaught of a heavy table, they stared as it was instead offered to Apple.

Chomp.

He began nibbling away.

As a sizable chunk swiftly vanished, mouths widened and pickaxes were hugged. Several tankards were offered to the ground as their owners deemed they had enough to drink. 

The dwarf prospector withdrew his hand readying to direct his allies.

Instead, he simply watched with growing horror as a gluttonous horse satisfied his appetite.

Ohohohohohohohoho!!

This doorstop wished to threaten me with his goons … but when it came to my escort, mine was the strongest!

“Ma’am,” said the dwarf, his tone suddenly hushed. “That … That isn’t normal.”

I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my smile.

“Ohohoho … what are you saying? A capable retinue is the most normal thing there is. Should you wish to rise in the dwarven hierarchy, I suggest you follow the same rules. You shall need better underlings than this.”

Thus, I tugged on Apple’s reins to continue onwards, all the while deciding which brand of premium apples I’d next be purchasing in bulk.

Nobody else stopped us.