Charming, a querulous look on his face as they listened, said, — So are they…
The leader of the trolls was the first to burst up over the side. Lean, shambling, coated in moss and dirt, he pulled himself over the edge and straightened up, all eight feet of him. Snow touched Charming’s hand, which he’d moved to the hilt of his sword, and shook her head. He looked at her, and let it drop.
— Not very charismatic, are they? — Charming muttered.
— Who in God’s name is this? — boomed the head troll, pointing at Charming. He slowly craned his neck and looked at her. — And why are you back? Our business is done.
— I’m here to make a new trade, — she said evenly. — I want to buy back one item. The ring.
The lead troll frowned, grunted, looked toward one of his compatriots, who produced a small burlap sack, dug around, and pulled out a ring. He held it up, then dropped it back in the bag.
The head troll looked back at Snow White.
— I won’t do business with him here, — he said again. — I asked you once, I’ll ask again. WHO IS HE? — These last words exploded out of him, out of some pit of anger and torment. Snow didn’t let anything show on her face, but she was scared. Very scared.
— He’s no one, — she said. — Let’s do the deal. How about I give you all your money back and you just give me the ring. You can keep everything else.
He cocked his head, thought it through. Finally, after a long and skeptical look at Charming, he turned to one of his companions and nodded. The other troll again pulled out the sack fill I of jewels.
— Thank you, — said Charming, and Snow thought: No, do not thank him. But Charming didn’t catch her look of warning, and continued with his ridiculous manners: — We appreciate your help.
The head troll held up a hand, looking at Charming, telling the other troll to wait.
— Look at those hands, — sneered the head troll, pointing at Charming’s clean fingernails. He grinned devilishly. — Look at that well-fed posterior. This one is a royal. — The head troll snarled this last word, and Snow knew that the deal would not be going through — not with any civility, at least. All five trolls pulled their daggers.
— So what? — said Charming, defiance in his voice.
Snow hung her head.
— Never admit that, — she said to him.
— Take him down, — the head troll commanded, and the others moved in around Charming, who pushed Snow away and raised his sword.
He did not get a chance to use it, though — he was swarmed and brought down by the fast-moving, catlike trolls, whose movements were impossibly smooth, and twice as fast as their lumbering frames suggested they’d be capable of.
Snow watched helplessly as they tore open the sack Charming was carrying, containing all of Snow’s possessions. The dust the Prince had taken from her fell to the ground, and soon, one of the trolls had found the wanted poster in Charming’s vest. The head troll unrolled it, took a long look, and shook his head, looking back at her.
— Snow White, — he said. — We’ve been doing business with Snow White all along. — He laughed. — Quite the reward! — he said. And then, to his cronies: — Take her as well.
Two trolls scrambled toward her, and as they did, Snow glimpsed Charming shaking free of the others. She ducked at the last moment, and both trolls missed her. As she scrabbled forward and gathered up their possessions, as well as the jewels, she saw Charming tossing one of the trolls into two more — impressive, she thought — and she knew that they both had a clear path to run.
— Come on! — she cried to him, and she turned to run. She heard his steps behind her.
And then she heard him go down.
She turned back and saw it then: Another troll had climbed up and grabbed Charming’s ankle as he ran, and now all of them were piled onto him. If she left, she’d be free, and she’d have everything. But he’d be dead.
She didn’t think for long.
Snow dropped the satchel and opened the vial of dust all in one quick motion, then pivoted and headed back toward the fight. The head troll saw her coming and smiled a disgusting smile.
— Royal blood, — he said, — is the sweetest blood.
As a response, Snow tossed a handful of dust in his face. He turned into a snail, then fell through a crack in the bridge.
The other trolls came for her, and one by one, she threw dust at them, turning each and every one into a snail. By the time she was through, Charming lay alone on the bridge, looking at her in awe, and a number of impotent snails were sliming their way around on the wood. Her vial was empty.
— You saved me, — Charming said, getting to his feet. — Thank you.
— It was the honorable thing to do, — Snow said.
He looked at her empty vial.
— Now you don’t have your weapon, — he said.
— I’ll think of another way, — she said, — to kill who I want to kill. I couldn’t go and let Prince Charming die.
— I have a name, you know, — he said. — It’s James.
— Well, James, — she said. — Nice to meet you.
She was almost embarrassed by the way he was looking at her now, and she felt herself starting to blush. She turned.
— Come on, — she said. — Let’s get out of here before more of them show up.
He nodded. They walked together, side by side. Snow heard a satisfying crunch when Charming stepped, firmly and deliberately, onto one of the snails.
Emma, Graham, and Mary Margaret stalked the woods for hours in the hope of finding the lost man, each of them swinging the beam of a flashlight back and forth across the trunks of trees and the thick, prickly bushes. Graham was a good tracker, and he’d managed to follow John Doe’s trail for a decent distance before he lost it. Mary Margaret, Emma noted, seemed oddly emotional about it all. Emma wondered what was going through her head. Most likely, she was thinking she was responsible in some way. God help her if she thinks he’s her Prince Charming, Emma thought.
They spiraled off where the trail ended, but the three reconnoitered after thirty minutes of little success. Emma had been about to suggest they wait until morning to resume the search, when they heard a rustling in the direction of the hospital.
— Who’s there? — Graham said curtly, decisively, in the direction of the noise.
Without responding, Henry appeared in the clearing, trademark smile on his face.
— Good lord, kid, — Emma said, going toward him. — Your mother’s gonna kill me if she knows you’re out here.
— Have you found him? — Henry asked, looking from Emma to Sheriff Graham.
— Sorry, Henry, — Graham said. — Not yet. And Emma is right — we need to get you home.
— I can help, though, — Henry said. — I know where he’s going.
— Where? — Mary Margaret said. — How could you know?
— I know because I know the story already, — Henry said. — Come on.
He ran off before Emma could snag him by the back of his shirt, and after an awkward moment of dumbly looking at one another, the other three ran after him, calling his name.
Fast for a little half-pint, Emma thought, dodging left and right to avoid barely visible tree trunks. She was running too fast to hold her light steady, and she caught only occasional glimpses of Henry’s big, bouncing backpack.
— Kid! — she yelled. — Come on! Where’re you going? — But Henry never slowed.
He led them through the forest until she and Graham emerged, panting, in the clearing at the shores of a river Emma had not yet seen. Henry stopped and turned, waiting for them to gather — Mary Margaret had fallen behind, and finally emerged as well.