(This story was written as part of an exercise during a writing class.  The point of it was to spin a unique interpretation out of an old fairytale.  Having just read the most recent Dresden Files novel at the time, I decided I’d try my hand at a first-person, somewhat-humorous private detective story set during Snow White.)

Snowed Under

a Snow White Tale

By Tim Sweeney

“No ma’am, I ain’t found her yet.  I’ve got a lead though.”

I shut the lid on the little pocket mirror, cutting off the shrill squawking of my client.  The Queen was beautiful, no question, but that bloody voice!

Reminded me of a cat getting run over… by a far bigger, even more annoying cat.

I popped the magic mirror into a pocket on my duster and rolled another cigarette.  Stakeouts were long, boring processes more often than not, and did nothing to help me kick my bad habit.  I took a swig from my flask for good measure, luxuriating in the rich, smoky whiskey as it burned its way down my throat; bad habits, more like.

I’d been sitting in the claustrophobic little carriage for about eight hours now, staring at the exit of the decrepit old coal mine.  One of my informants had overheard some miners in a local tavern talking about their new, surprisingly beautiful house guest, and how she “waited on them hand and foot,” amongst other – rather disgusting and almost certainly exaggerated – things.

It was a bit of a long shot, but I had a hunch it was her; besides, in my experience there weren’t all that many beautiful women in this Gods-forsaken kingdom who would give a man the time of day, let alone cook and clean for him and his mangy kinfolk.

Unfortunately, the blasted miners had to be the only eager workers in town, and were already hours deep into a long stretch of no-doubt unpaid overtime.

I waved the cloying blue smoke out of my eyes – smoking indoors really was a remarkably stupid thing to do.  I was just considering a quick nap when I finally spotted him.

He matched the description I had received from my contact: Short, hairy, kind of sleepy looking.  Yep, this was definitely my man, although I use that term extremely loosely.

I popped my trilby on (what PI doesn’t have a good hat?) and exited the carriage, pausing quickly to admire the words ‘Ye Olde Flower Shoppe” stencilled on the side of the vehicle.  Quality disguise if I do say so myself.

I sauntered over to the mark, adrenaline pumping as it always does before a confrontation.  I stumbled slightly.  Measuring my pace to those stumpy little legs was a bit of a challenge; honestly, the dozy little bastard was vertically challenged enough to be a dwarf!

I timed it right, drawing even with him just as he crossed a suitably dark and menacing looking alleyway.  My miniature crossbow was drawn and in his face before he could so much as look startled.

By the time I ushered him into the alley the little bugger looked on the verge of pissing himself.

“W-w-w-what do you want?” he squeaked.  I hope that stutter was because he was terrified, otherwise this was going to be the most annoying shakedown of all time.

I took another drag of my smoke, holding the crossbow pistol casually in my other hand.  The theatrical part of me wanted to blow the smoke into his face.

Turns out I was feeling particularly theatrical that day.

He spluttered and coughed – Gods even that was irritating, so I decided to just get down to it.

“You have a girl living with you,” It wasn’t a question, but he insisted on answering it anyway.

“N-n-n-n-n…”

I fired a bolt into his thigh.

“I’m talking,” I said casually while he writhed, squealing on the floor.  I waved happily to someone looking into the alley, no doubt alerted that something was amiss by the screams.  I wasn’t worried.  No one was going to stop and help the miner; he was far too pathetic for that.

“As I was saying,” I continued, “you have a girl living with you.  What’s her name?”

I gave him a prod with my toe, “This is the part where you speak up.”

He rolled around, still crying at the top of his lungs in a way obviously designed to give me the shits.  I was just starting to relish the idea of shooting him again when he spoke up.

“S-S-S-Snow White,”

The little coward had broken way too fast – I hadn’t even had the chance to threaten his family!

No fun at all.

“Cheers for the help my little friend,” I tipped my hat to him, “Oh and if you breathe a word of this meeting to anyone, I’ll kill your family.  Have a nice day!”

With a merry whistle, I trundled back to my carriage, crossbow safely holstered.  Pulling myself up onto the driver’s seat, I puffed contentedly on my cigarette.  Job well done with a minimum of fuss.

The renegade royal had been found, and really, who named a kid Snow White in this day and age?  Practically a form of torture, no wonder the dumb kid had run for it.

I cracked the mirror back open and started talking before the harridan on the other end could begin harping on about “fairest” this, and “woodsman” that.

“I’ve found her, Your Majesty, living with a group of freaky little mining folk – brothers as a matter of fact, easy to find.  Want me to snatch her back for you?”

I tuned out a little bit as she started ranting on about poisoned fruit or some such bollocks; how did this whack job become the Queen, anyway?  She was obviously starkers!

“Take it that’s a no then?” I cut her off mid-diatribe, “Just send a runner with the rest of my cash, will you?”

I slammed the lid shut before she could respond.  My last couple of jobs had rapidly taught me that the only way to work for nobles was to set your price, give them the good news as quickly as possible, and then piss them off before they could haggle or tell you about their stupid plans for world domination.

With another quick swig, I kicked the horses into gear.  There was no time for too much self-back-patting.  This business with the Princess already had me frightfully behind schedule.

I flipped the mirror open again, “Put me through to Prince What’s-his-name,”

From what I could remember, he was trying to track someone down as well.  Great.  Yet another missing persons case for yet another no-doubt insane noble.

I listened with polite disinterest as he waffled on about paying me an immeasurable quantity of gold to  find his true love, a girl he had never met (weirdo).

My ears perked up a little bit when he mentioned an evil step-mother.

The hair on the back of my neck started square dancing when he casually mentioned that, oh-by-the-way, she’s a Princess who had fled because the Queen wanted her dead.

Then he mentioned the name: Snow White.

I turned the carriage around as quickly as I could, almost losing my hat in the process.  Looks like I had another date with my sleepy little friend.

Fucking Royals.