The Locket by Elise Koepke Page B

first, so he must not have been a elf—or at least not the stereotypical pointy-eared elf. Running down from the hat like a waterfall was his long, gray hair. It was as gruff and unkempt as his beard, though the beard was a good two or three inches shorter.
    Finally reaching her, the man bent down, panting. “Thank —goodness,” he said through sharp breaths. “We—thought—that—you—would—never—” Raising his head up, he examined her for a minute and then stood up quickly. “Who are you?”
    Savannah stared down at him, not quite sure how to answer the question. Obviously he thought she was someone else, but unless this world often got visitors from other dimensions, she was having a difficult time figuring out why he thought he knew her. “Excuse me?”
    “Who are you?” he repeated with emphasis. He watched her as though she were a rubix cube that could not be solved. Worse yet, he seemed amazed by her appearance: her hair, her face, but, most importantly, her clothes. He acted as though he had never seen jeans before by the way he circled her like a hawk and put a hand to his chin in wonder.
    “I’m Savannah Morgan,” she began, placing a hand out in front of her. When he didn’t take it, she went on, slightly irritated. “I’m sorry I wasn’t who you were hoping for, but I’m kind of lost. See, I just moved to my aunt’s and—”
    “Morgan?” He interrupted. He seemed surprisingly interested in her last name by the way his blue eyes widened.
    “Yes,” she answered cautiously.
    “As in Terrance Morgan?”
    Savannah lifted a brow. “Yes. How do you know my father’s name?”
    The little man thought about this, moving his fingers through his gnarly beard. “And your mother is … Gwen?”
    Now she was getting spooked, and mad. “All right how do you know that? What is this place?! And who are you?!”
    Shaking off his wandering thoughts, the man gave her a half-hearted smile, swooping down to take a bow. “Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Lance-a-lot, head dwarf and assistant to the palace and loyal to his majesty, the king. You may call me Lance for short.” Not sure if she was more stunned or amused, Savannah began to laugh. “What is so funny?”
    “Oh, it’s just … your name is really Lance-a-lot? No kidding?”
    “No,” he scowled at her.
    “And you guys have a king? Really?”
    “Yes.” Lance put his hands to his hips as he drew his eyebrows even closer together. “I demand to know why this appears to be some kind of joke to you.”
    “It’s not, it’s not,” Savannah said, putting her hands up in defeat. “I’ve just never been to a place where there was royalty … or where people are named after Arthurian knights.”
    “Ah, well,” Lance slid his gaze from her face down to her feet. “By the looks of you I can see why you do not entertain above your station; therefore, I suppose it makes sense you’re not used to royalty.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “None the less,” he continued, changing the topic, “I will have to report you to the king. He will not be pleased, though he may be intrigued.” His frown turned into a devilish sneer. “I am sure you will not be beheaded, at least not right away.”
    “Beheaded?” With a wince, Savannah enclosed a hand around her throat.
    “I would say you could pass with manners and appropriate attire but, aha, I can see that that idea is best forgotten.”
    Savannah did not even register the remark, but rather focused out on all that was around her once more. Everything was so perfect. Too perfect. The civilians could use an upgrade, yet other than that it all seemed so peaceful. “Where am I?”
    Lance, at first about to make another sarcastic comment, decided against it when he saw her face. She was so lost, this girl he just met. Her expression was a mixture between a child frustrated from a difficult question and an innocent doe during hunting season. Resigning his initial annoyance, Lance simply said,