Anya walked across the soft carpets towards the dwarves, with Ardent at her heels. She couldn’t see Shrub or Smoothie, nor the Good Wizard. The dwarves were all watching her, and she felt shy and anxious, and very young all of a sudden.
“I am oldest, so I speak for us all,” said the moustached dwarf. “As far as greetings go, in any case. My name is Sygror, and we welcome you younglings to this place.”
He bowed carefully, from the waist, his head back, and deep brown eyes never leaving Anya’s. The other dwarves did likewise. None spilled their drinks, their movements so precise that hands holding glasses or tankards remained as steady as … rock.
Anya did not bow back. She just stared.
“We wore night attire like yourself in the hope that it would make you more comfortable,” said one of the female dwarves. “Yet you seem disturbed? My name is Tinya, which I believe is close to your own?”
Anya blinked several times, blushed as she remembered her manners, and bowed. Ardent followed, bending his head low over his crossed paws, getting slightly off balance as he uncrossed them to straighten up.
“Yes,” said the princess. “My name is Anya, so it is similar. Thank you, pajamas are good—I mean comfortable … I’m sorry, it is just … you are the Seven Dwarves of legend, and I … I am a little overwhelmed.”
“And hungry,” added Ardent. “I am Ardent. Royal Dog. Not a puppy.”
“We see few younglings here,” said another dwarf. “And even a much, much older dog would seem but a puppy to us. Yet we do not wish to offend you, Ardent. Let me offer my name in return. I am Gramel.”
“And I, Sleipjir.”
“Danash, at your service.”
“Holkern.”
“And last, youngest and least of my fellows, I am Erzefezonim,” said the seventh dwarf, the one with the velvet cap Anya so admired. She laughed a deep, rolling laugh, and added, “Being the youngest, I must have by far the longest name. But you may call me Erzef. Come, let us sit and eat. If we wait for the Wizard, we might all become as starved as you are already.”
Ardent needed no further encouragement. He jumped to a chair and looked back at Anya for permission to eat, his tongue working overtime to hold back the drool sliding from his jaws.
“Eat!” repeated Erzef. “We do not stand on ceremony.”
Anya nodded to Ardent. He whipped around, forced himself to go slow, and gently leaned forward to pick up a huge slab of meat from a central platter and drop it on his own plate. From there, it vanished so quickly Anya could only just believe he’d eaten it. Already, the dog was reaching for more.
But there was plenty. More than plenty, with an additional dozen huge dishes arriving, borne on invisible hands. As Anya watched, she saw the briefest flash of a youngish man’s face while one dish was descending to the table, as if a curtain had twitched aside and back again.
“Jeremy, your nose is showing! Adjust your cloak, please.”
That was the Good Wizard talking, suddenly at the head of the table. She was also now in pajamas, red-and-yellow-striped pajamas, and over them a black silk dressing gown dotted with golden stars. Her hair had been newly brushed and was enmeshed in a net of silver set with diamonds and moonstones. She still wore the huge white beard, though it had been tied back with golden ribbons to make it easier for her to eat.
“Won’t come off,” muttered the Wizard, catching Anya’s eye. “Could be worse. At least I managed to spit out the voice-changing lolly. If I’d swallowed it, the effect would last for days. Come, eat.”
“Thank you,” said Anya. “But I should make sure Shrub and Smoothie—”
“I’m here!” said Shrub, his voice emanating from under the table. He popped his head out. “I still only like bugs and worms and such. They’ve given me some under here, so as not to put you lot off.”
“And your otter friend is eating by … or in … the pool,” said the Good Wizard. “But it is as well that you should check. That is the mark of a leader.”
“Is it?” asked Anya. She sat down. Now that there was finally all this food in front of her, she felt sort of faint and not at all hungry.
“Take it slow,” said Sygror, looking at her with kindly eyes. “Small pieces to start. Chew carefully.”
Anya followed this advice, and soon felt better. Well enough to take larger bites, and fill first her plate and then her stomach with food that was at least the equal of, if not better than, anything she had ever had back home.
The silence of deeply contented eating reigned for the next fifteen minutes or more, until Anya put down her knife and fork and took a deep draft of water, and Ardent slid from his chair to lie on his stomach on the floor, with a glazed expression.
The Good Wizard took a sip of her wine, set it down, and spoke to the princess.
“So, you have come to visit me, knowing almost nothing of wizards. What did you hope to find?”
“Help,” said Anya. “Tanitha, the matriarch of the royal dogs, suggested you might help us. And so did Bert, the leader of the Association of Responsible Robbers.”
“They are both known to us,” said the Good Wizard. The dwarves around the table nodded in agreement. Most of them were still eating, though in a desultory way, picking at the dates and apricots that had replaced the main courses, and topping up their wine or beer. “Let me tell you about the help you may find here.”
“Please,” said Anya. The thoughts she’d had in the bath had coalesced further as she ate, and she even had the beginning, or more than the beginning, of a plan.
“First, you should know that Good Wizards never interfere directly with matters in the wider realm,” said the Wizard.
“Never,” said Sleipjir. He sounded a touch ironic. Anya noticed the other dwarves were hiding smiles.
“Never interfere directly,” repeated the Wizard, waving her finger for emphasis. “But we freely give advice to those who ask. And we may give gifts. Occasionally. If we feel like it, or there’s a recent birthday or something significant of the sort.”