The Hero’s Guide to Storming the Castle. Christopher Healy

kay, people, let’s try it again from the top,” Prince Duncan called out.

      He and Snow White had returned to their woodland estate in the forests of Sylvaria shortly after the League of Princes disbanded. And ever since, he’d been working day and night on his guidebook for would-be adventurers. After his exploits with the League, he figured he was the perfect person to write such a manual. Unfortunately, Duncan had a very difficult time remembering why he’d done any of the things he did. To help himself figure out the motives behind his own actions, he started having the local dwarfs act out his past so he could relive it all from a spectator’s point of view. The dwarfs were not happy about this.

      “From the top,” Duncan repeated. Clad in his puffy red-and-yellow pantaloons, green felt jacket, and fluffy white neck ruff, he sat on a small chair in his backyard, ready to witness a reenactment of his and Liam’s attempted escape from a heavily guarded bandit camp. He had a quill pen in hand, prepared to take notes. “That means you should start again,” he added.

      With heavy sighs, two tired-looking dwarfs plodded out from behind some shrubbery.

      “You’re supposed to be running,” Duncan said.

      “Imagine it faster,” grumbled Frank, the first dwarf. Sylvarian dwarfs are notoriously cranky by nature, but these particular dwarfs had been dealing with Duncan all day and were in worse moods than usual.

      “Can you at least pretend to run? It would help me visualize the scene better,” the prince said. “After all, what you do here today, you do in the name of all hero-dom.”

      Flik, the second dwarf, simply pulled down the earflaps of his cap and pretended not to hear.

      “All right, then. Carry on,” Duncan said. “Um, enter the Big Bandit!”

      A third dwarf, Frak, appeared, dragging slowly behind the first two. He shook his fist halfheartedly at Flik and Frank.

      “Don’t forget your line,” Duncan whispered.

      “I’ll get you, princes,” Frak said in a flat monotone. Then he paused to pull a beetle out of his beard.

      “Oh, no,” Flik recited without emotion. “We’re surrounded.”

      Two more dwarfs, Frid and Ferd—playing the entire bandit army—entered on the opposite side, stepping out from behind a birchwood gazebo. Duncan bit his lip in excitement.

      “Don’t worry . . . Liam,” Frank said to Flik. “I . . . Prince Duncan . . . have an idea. Throw me at him.”

      Flik gave Frank a one-handed shove. Frank shuffled over to Frak, waving his arms limply and mumbling, “Oh, I’m flying through the air.” He stopped and faced Duncan. “Okay, you get all that?” he asked. “We done?”

      Duncan leaned back in his seat and scratched his chin. “I still don’t know why I did that,” he said. “Hmmm. ‘Throw me at him.’ Why in the world did that seem like a good idea at the time? We’ll have to try it again. Maybe in reverse this time.”

      “Nope. I’m outta here,” Frank said. He and the other dwarfs began to walk away.

      “Okay, good idea, Frank,” Duncan said. “We could all use a break. Nice energy, by the way, Frak. And Flik, good line reading, but next time maybe you could sound a little more heroey. Let’s all meet back here in, say, ten minutes? Johnny Peppercorn!” That last bit was Duncan getting distracted by a chipmunk he suddenly decided should be named Johnny Peppercorn. Spontaneously naming random animals was only one of the many odd traits and hobbies that had made Duncan an outcast for most of his life. In fact, until the previous year, there had really been no one other than Snow White whom Duncan could call a friend. But joining the League of Princes changed that. Frederic, Liam, and even Gustav (to an extent) seemed to genuinely care for Duncan. He’d gone from one friend to several in a very short period of time. It was an undeniably positive step for his social life, but it also gave him a false sense of popularity. He believed he was a superstar. And since he never traveled very far outside his own yard, he never ran into any of the Sylvarian citizens who told jokes about him and referred to him as “Prince Dumb-can.”

      “I don’t care if it’s going to get Snow White upset—we’ve got to put an end to this,” Flik grumbled to Frank as they walked around a hedge for some privacy. “I’m beginning to lose whatever trace of self-respect I have left.”

      “It’s not just these pointless reenactments either,” Frank said. “Everything he does gets on my nerves. I still don’t know why we answer to these stupid names he invented for us.”

      “So annoying,” Flik agreed. “Though I suppose it’s an improvement over the old days when Snow White didn’t use names for us at all. She just referred to us by personality traits.”

      “Hey, at least Duncan gave you a different name. They both called me Frank!”

      “You’ve all got it better than me,” yelled Fork, another dwarf who’d been hiding from Duncan in a nearby wheelbarrow.

      “We need to choose our battles wisely,” Flik said. “We can tolerate the name stuff. But this reenactment business needs to stop. Let’s go talk to Snow.”

      The dwarfs found Snow White at a picnic table on the other side of the garden, weaving a vest out of sunflower petals. A petite woman, she was practically swimming in a voluminous pink dress adorned with dozens of violet ribbons.

      “Good day, boys,” she said cheerily. She was one of the only people alive who seemed to be able to make her eyes twinkle at will. “Having fun?”

      “No, we’re not,” Frank said. “We need you to talk to Duncan for us. Tell him to stop making us perform these ridiculous scenes for him.”

      Snow shook her head (and then readjusted the wreath of daisies that sat atop her black hair). “As long as Duncan is working on his book, he’s not tempted to wander off—and that’s a good thing,” Snow said. “My husband hasn’t gotten lost in ten whole months—a new record, by the way—and if you fellows stop acting out his memories for him, he’s likely to traipse off into the woods and try to make some bears do it.”

      “But he’s been so insufferable ever since he started thinking he’s a hero,” Frank said. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t annoy you, too.”

      “Oh, pishposh,” Snow said. “Duncan’s just got more self-confidence now, and I like that.”

      “It’s Duncan’s fault we lost our dragon!” Flik griped.

      Just then a call rang out from the front garden gates. “Make way for the royal family of Sylvaria!”

      Snow burst from her seat and darted over to where Duncan still sat pondering his past. “Dunky, your family is here,” she said.

      Duncan stood up and grimaced. “Oh, no. Not them. Not here. They’ll embarrass me in front of the dwarfs,” he whimpered.

      Snow put her hands on Duncan’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “They’re your parents and your sisters,” she said. “Be nice.”

      Duncan slumped. “But I’m popular now,” he said. “And they’re so . . . not.”

      You see, Queen Apricotta (named after her mother’s favorite fruit) and King King (whose parents liked to keep things simple) were shunned by the very people whom they supposedly ruled. And Duncan’s teenage sisters—twins Mavis and Marvella—were no better off. Those two girls turned weirdness into an art form (dancing to imaginary music, walking pet crickets on leashes, constantly sniffing each other’s hair). Of course, Duncan was just as unpopular as the rest of his family, but he didn’t realize that, which is why, for the past several months, he’d turned down every one of their invitations to come visit the castle. But he couldn’t avoid his family forever.

      “First of all, who