A/N: Adam Horowitz has stated that OUAT's Maleficent is not a fairy. I guess that makes her a dragon, regardless of the form she takes.

Dame schools were small private schools for young children. According to Encyclopaedia Britannica, they can be viewed as forerunners of nursery/infant schools in England and colonial America. A typical curriculum would include the alphabet, basic reading, religion, and household chores.

Chapter 48

Maleficent shook her head impatiently at their apprehension. Despite what she'd said earlier, part of her might have reveled in it, but she had other matters on her mind. "I'm not here to kill you," she said levelly.

David's eyebrows shot up. "Um… okay," he said, but despite the relief in his eyes, Maleficent noticed that his hand was still moving toward the sword at his hip.

"Really," she snorted, "you don't need that. And," she added matter-of-factly, "if my intentions were hostile, you'd already be dead. But I didn't come here to fight."

Snow swallowed hard, but when she spoke, her voice was almost calm. "Then why did you come here?" she asked.

Maleficent lowered her eyes. "I just… I just want my daughter."

Snow frowned. "She's not with you?"

"She's leaving," Maleficent said, not quite able to conceal a ragged note on the last word.

Some of the tension left David's stance as he extended his hand toward her, still a bit warily. "You think we can help," he guessed.

Snow seemed to collect herself and a welcoming smile curved her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Please," she said, "sit down. I… I'll put some tea on. And we can… talk."

Maleficent's answering nod was stiff, but her smile was hopeful as she approached the table and took the seat that David pulled out for her, murmuring her thanks.

Lily took in the studio apartment at a glance. "You live here?" she asked, trying to sound friendly. Her new friend was either a slob, a pack rat, or both. Clothes were strewn over most of the furniture. Papers littered the floor. Dusty footprints told her that it had been some time since anything had been cleared away to sweep.

"I… hope you didn't bring me back here to hire me as a housekeeper," she quipped. Then she felt her face grow hot, as she realized that she might have just insulted her new acquaintance.

Dopey, however, seemed to take no offense. Instead, his shoulders quivered as he laughed silently and shook his head in a gesture of negation.

He crossed swiftly to a desk where a computer sat, its screen-saver showing dancing red stick figures. He moved the mouse and quickly minimized the document that appeared in its stead. Then he opened a blank page.

Now, he typed, we can talk. He raised an eyebrow and slapped his forehead. I mean, I can talk to you with this. You can just talk to me like you have been.

Lily nodded. "That works," she agreed. "So… do you, uh, usually invite total strangers here?"

Dopey shook his head. There are no total strangers here most of the time. Everyone knows everyone.

"A few days ago," she countered, "Someone asked me if I was a… Sherwood Forest refugee."

Dopey nodded. They are newcomers, but they know each other. And they stick together. You're alone.

Lily sighed. "Yeah," she agreed. "I guess I am."

Dopey shook his head. I meant to say that you WERE alone. Now you aren't.

She smiled. Then she looked at the words on the screen and a puzzled frown came to her face. Dopey might have been clowning about in those tunnels. And the words he'd scratched in the mud had been pretty simple. But as she reread his part of their current conversation, she noticed a few things. Dopey had not made a single typo. Not even an 'accidentally a word'. His prose wasn't very descriptive, but it sounded a lot more mature than his childish smile might have led her to expect. She turned back to face him. "You know, for a guy named 'Dopey,' I think you might be a little smarter than you let on."

Dopey buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he raised it again, he was smiling, but she read apprehension in his brown eyes. You won't tell? he typed, glancing at her nervously.

Lily shrugged. "Who else have I got to talk to?"

Please?

Lily shrugged again. "Sure, if it's that important to you, I'll keep your secret. Mind telling me why?"

For a long moment, his fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then he typed, I'm Dopey. That's all anyone has to know.

"But that's not all you are."

So?

Lily took a step back, shaking her head. Why was this guy letting some… axe… define who he was? Why didn't it bother him? And why the hell was it bothering her this much?

He was typing again. Make yourself at home. I need to finish something. If you want food, check the refrigerator. Help yourself. If you want to rest, you can dump the stuff on the bed anywhere. I know this place is a mess, but the sheets are clean. They're only gray because sometimes I forget to separate colors when I do laundry.

"Uh… that's okay," she said. "Maybe I'll just sit down somewhere."

Dopey nodded. Sure. Sit anywhere you want. If you need anything else, ask me. Don't wait for me to finish. Sometimes I lose track of time.

"Uh," Lily frowned wondering why he'd shifted gears so suddenly. "Uh, sure. Okay. So… what do you need to do?"

Dopey smiled. Work, he typed. Then, he reached for a curtain that Lily hadn't noticed, bunched up at the wall a few inches away from the table. He pulled it forward along a curved rod, sealing himself off from her with a semi-circular barricade.

"Okay…" Lily said slowly. "I'll just… call you if I want you." She looked around at the rest of the room. Nothing she could see appeared remotely valuable. The clothes looked like something she might have picked up at K-Mart, or maybe Walmart. The knickknacks on the furniture looked homemade and not like anything a fence would want. And she didn't want to go poking around in his drawers and cabinets; not when he might come out from behind that drapery at any time.

Finally, she shrugged, swept a heap of clothes from one sofa cushion to the other, and turned on the TV. As she sank down onto the sofa and leaned back, she realized that it really was a relief to sit down again. It felt like she'd been on her feet for hours. She wasn't tired, exactly, but she didn't feel like moving again right now.

Maybe later, she'd suggest they get takeout. Once he left to pick it up, she could do a more thorough search of the place. She didn't really want to rob him, but she couldn't stay here indefinitely and a bit of money—or something to pawn—always came in handy…

Maleficent accepted a cup of tea from Snow with a good deal more gratitude than she normally might have showed. "Regina explained to me about the magical boundary that surrounds this town," she said, taking a sip. "I think this would be improved with a bit of lemon," she murmured, and David got up to get some from the fridge. "As I was saying, Regina mentioned that, in the past, there've been some difficulties with crossing the town line—difficulties that were recently corrected. Could you… reinstate those? Just temporarily?" Registering the expression on Snow's face, she continued at a rush, "Lily plans to leave. She may have already gone. But if she hasn't, once she goes over that line, there's no guarantee that she'll be able to return. I just want her to have a few days to-to cool off and, hopefully, change her mind. I know that the two of you cast the second curse. If you could seal the boundaries the way Regina did for the first one…"

Snow shook her head. "I don't know how to do what you're asking. But even if I did," she went on, and despite the sympathy in her eyes, her voice was firm, "that wouldn't be the right way. If she's upset, you need to get to the heart of what's wrong."

David returned to the table bearing a saucer of lemon slices and Maleficent took one absently. "I don't know what's wrong," she protested desperately, waving the slice for emphasis. "I don't know her!"

"Well," David said, retaking his seat and scraping the chair closer to the table, "it sounds to me like she's acting a lot like Emma did when she first came here. She had these… Her walls were always up."

Snow nodded sadly. "She was afraid that if she opened herself up to me, I'd let her down like everyone else had. And… ultimately, I did."

Maleficent shook her head. "I'm sorry for your troubles, but they don't help me now. If there's any way that you can… You didn't give her back to me as you once promised you would, but if you can do something now… Please."

Snow nodded again. "Yes. Come on, David. We'll stop by the sheriff station; Emma should be there now." She smiled at Maleficent. "If Lily's still in town, we'll find her. And if she isn't, then Emma will."

Belle had to force herself to approach the clock tower—or what was left of it. "It… Well," she said almost too evenly. "I suppose it was better at night, when I couldn't see the extent of the damage."

Rumple rested a reassuring hand on her arm. "Regina tells me that it will be put aright in short order," he murmured. "If I had a better idea of how to shape my current brand of magic, I would…"

Belle turned to him with a warm smile. "I know. You don't… regret giving it up?" she asked. "I mean, at times like this—"

"At times like this," Rumple cut her off smoothly, "I do wish that I had the power to restore that which was destroyed. I," he shook his head, "I know how much this place means to you and how it must pain you seeing it like this."

"It's just a building," Belle said at once. "It's not as important as—"

"No, but it is important to you," Rumple replied. He sighed heavily. "When first I became the Dark One, it was because I wanted the power to save my son and the other children. I wanted the power to end the Ogre War and win the admiration of those who scorned me." He shook his head again. "In short order, though, I came to just… want the power." He let out a breath. "Now, while I wish I did have the power to grant you what your heart desires most, I think it's probably best I don't reacquire it. Not if it leads me down the same path I began to tread over two centuries ago."

His hand was still on her arm. Belle turned slightly to face him and placed her free hand on his shoulder. "You already have granted it," she said smiling. "And it's not the library." Her smile hardened slightly, as she added, "Which isn't something you ought to feel responsible for repairing in the first place. Nor Regina, for that matter," she continued, "though as mayor I can see why she would."

Rumple took her meaning and shook his head, still smiling. "I think you'll have a far longer wait to reopen if you mean to delay repairs until the true culprit comes forward."

Belle sighed. "I don't know that I'm ready to deal with her at the moment, at any rate," she admitted. "If I see her now, I'll probably do… something else I'll regret." She smiled back wanly. "Actually, I'd prefer it if she just stayed away from the both of us from here on out."

Rumple nodded. "I can scarcely fault you there," he returned. "Well. Maleficent has charge of her now. I imagine those two will spend a few days catching up. And after that? Well, she arrived here unannounced. It's probably too much to expect that she might depart the same way. But we can hope."

Emma fought down a mounting feeling of dismay when she saw her parents at the doorway of the sheriff station office, Maleficent accompanying them. It wasn't hard to guess why they were here. Still, she forced herself to smile a greeting and listened to what they were saying. Then she steeled herself and took a deep breath. "So, you haven't seen her since she left you in the mine," she stated, looking to Maleficent for confirmation.

Maleficent nodded. "I don't know where to find her, much less how to reach her."

Emma nodded back. "Well, asking the dwarves is probably the best place to start," she pointed out. "Even if they didn't see her, nobody knows those tunnels as well as they do."

"Grumpy's probably at Granny's right now," David smiled. "And if he isn't, we can swing by the pharmacy and talk to Sneezy."

Emma smiled back. "Sounds like a plan," she agreed, reaching for a file.

Snow blinked. "You're not coming with us?"

"I've got a lot to do here," Emma hedged. "Besides, you don't need me. Maleficent knows what Lily looks like. And I don't see why two sheriffs need to be on top of this."

"You want me to stay back?" David asked with a puzzled frown.

Emma took a breath. "Maleficent, would you mind if I spoke to my parents alone for a second?" she asked.

The dragon raised an eyebrow, but she swept out of the office, closing the door behind her. As soon as they were alone, Emma said, "I can't get involved in this."

David blinked, startled. "What?"

Emma took another breath. "Look, I'm sorry she and Maleficent didn't hit it off, but Lily's a grown woman. Maybe we shouldn't get involved."

"But she's leaving!" Snow exclaimed.

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "Maybe that's for the best, too."

Snow gasped. "Emma!"

"I thought the two of you were friends," David protested.

Emma half rose from the desk and braced both her hands at its edge. "Well, so did I!" Emma shot back. "Right up until the moment she ruined one of the few decent foster placements I had!"

"But…" Snow gaped at her. "But that was such a long time ago! You can't still be angry after all this time!"

"About that?" Emma snapped. "You're right. I got over it. And… when the Apprentice told us who she was, I admit that I was looking forward to seeing her again. I thought that knowing what I know now about her having my…" she lowered her eyes, "my darkness, maybe I could be a little more understanding this time out. Maybe I could give her a second chance."

"Absolutely," David nodded. "So…?"

Emma slammed down the file folder with enough force to dislodge several sheets of paper. She grabbed them without looking and thrust them back inside. "So, the last time I saw her, she was on the run after being involved in an armed robbery. And before she moved on, she also stole a bunch of cash from my foster family."

"I remember," Snow said. "That was part of what you told Maleficent while she was waking up. But—"

"She hasn't changed," Emma snapped. "She's just added kidnapping and assault to her repertoire. I could try to overlook what she did to the library and to Mr. French—even if Belle might not," she added in an undertone. "I mean, it's not like she's the only person around here who hurt people because they lost control of their… magic?" She frowned for a moment, thinking aloud. "Yeah, shape-changing qualifies. Magic. I know how scary that was for me." Her voice hardened. "But what she did to Gold was beyond the pale. You guys can go find her. I don't want to see her again, unless," her head jerked toward the holding cells, "she's in custody. And since I don't think Maleficent's going to be happy if she sees me slap cuffs on her daughter, I'm sitting this one out."

"Maybe you should," David looked as though he couldn't quite believe what he was saying, "talk to Rumpelstiltskin before you decide. I have to admit he's been a lot more… forgiving lately. And really, it's a similar situation to that with Poseidon and Ursula: an estranged parent trying to reconnect with lost child—"

"Then you talk to him," Emma shot back. "Maybe he'll let Maleficent prick her finger on that globe I used to track you down after Regina's car crash. But after seeing the bruises he sustained after that fall down the storm cellar stairs, I wouldn't bet on it." She opened a desk drawer, pulled out another folder and thrust it toward her parents. "Gold's statement from the other night," she said. "In case you need a refresher, Lily was the one who dropped him down the stairs. Not to mention clobbered him with a lamp inside the shop. I'm not going to ask him to rise above that; not now. Not after we've promised him we're going to start acting like he's part of this town." She took another breath. "Because he is. Lily isn't. And if it comes down to supporting someone who's just recently proven himself to be a true friend over…" Her voice trailed off. "I'm not going to be part of the search effort," she said finally. "But, hey. I've got faith in you guys. You'll find her."

Still stunned, her parents regarded her silently for one long moment. Then Snow nodded slowly and they turned and walked toward the door. One hand on the knob, David looked back over his shoulder. Emma shook her head firmly and picked up the folder she'd been going through earlier.

She pretended to be immersed in it for several minutes after the door closed once more.

There was no reason to feel guilty, Emma told herself fiercely. She'd made the right decision, even if it felt like it had been the wrong one. She and Lily had never been friends, not really. Yeah, Lily had come to her rescue when she'd almost been picked up for shoplifting, but practically the first words to come out of the other girl's mouth had been lies and Lily had kept up the trend through the rest of that encounter. Emma didn't know whether her superpower hadn't been working that day, or whether she'd been so happy to have made a friend that she'd disregarded what it was telling her, but the truth—with its attendant anger, hurt, and betrayal—had come out in the end.

She'd given Lily another chance when their paths crossed again, and gotten burned for it. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Emma wasn't going to give her a third opportunity.

That wasn't the only reason she was sitting out, though. If it had been, she probably would have let her parents talk her out of her resolution. After all, Lily was another lost girl looking for a family. Emma almost managed not to roll her eyes at that tired argument. She'd once watched a performance of Gilbert and Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance—about a band of privateers whose saving grace was a refusal to harm any orphan that they might come across. Of course, once word got out, as the operetta's hero had put it, "…Every one we capture says he's an orphan. The last three ships we took proved to be manned entirely by orphans, and so we had to let them go. One would think that Great Britain's mercantile navy was recruited solely from her orphan asylums…" To Emma, it felt like everyone in Storybrooke had either abandoned a child, been abandoned as a child, or both. Lily, she reflected with some cynicism, was just part of the trend. And then, instantly, she was ashamed of herself. Lily's pain was no less real just because it was common. Neither was Maleficent's. Damn it, she liked Maleficent.

And maybe, she would have let herself be persuaded, if Lily had restricted her deliberate activities here to confidence games and petty theft. She'd meant what she said about being willing to overlook what Lily had done when she'd been out of control (or, as Tia had related to them, under Cruella's!)

But there were other factors in play.

It had taken her some time to recognize the pattern, but once she had, she couldn't unsee it again. At one time or another, just about everyone in town had prioritized their needs, their wants, their pain over Gold's. Maybe they hadn't stated it outright, but the message had come through loud and clear: whatever he needed, whatever pain he was feeling, none of it mattered; it had to be put aside for the greater good. Belle hospitalized with amnesia and a gunshot wound? Never mind that, Whale needed a patient healed. Neal dying (at least, that was what she'd believed), as he fell through a portal? Her parents still asked him to pull himself together and save the town. Enslaved and held captive for months, then finally freed? His tormentor was going to have a second chance and he just needed to… move on.

She'd finally realized the trend when she, Belle, and August had joined him in New York and promised herself that things were going to change from this point onward. More to the point, she'd promised Gold. Maybe not directly, but an apology that didn't carry with it an unspoken promise to try to do better was an empty apology.

And I still asked him to… waive his right to justice and let Ursula go home with her father—and that was less than twenty-four hours after she, Lily and Cruella had kidnapped him. What the hell am I supposed to tell him to get him to back down about Lily? He still might. There was no question that he'd been a lot… nicer since he'd gotten free from the Darkness. But if Emma asked him, then… Then she was still doing what everyone always had; she was just feeling guiltier than usual about it. And seriously, why should he have to be the one who backs down? Is it because we've come to think we have a right to expect it of him? Or do we just think he's easier to strong-arm?

A new thought struck her. Gold still probably wasn't used to having friends. He was used to bargains and deals: he did something for someone; someone did something for him. And if one didn't like the terms, then one didn't strike the deal. Would it seriously be that farfetched if Gold saw friendship as something similarly… transactional? What if he was agreeing to everything she asked of him, not out of selflessness or generosity, but because he was afraid that refusing would lead her to abandon him? Of course, Emma had no intention of doing anything of the kind, but would Gold know that—or believe it if she told him? Seriously? Until he and Belle patched things up this last time, that was pretty much standard operating procedure: he did something wrong; Belle walked out on him; he apologized; and they made up until the next time. What else does he know from?

Emma's jaw set. Forget strong-arming and call it what it is: bullying. If we're pushing Gold into letting people who hurt him get away without consequence, not because he wants to be the bigger person, but because it'll make our lives easier, then like my parents always say, 'Heroes don't do what's easy; they do what's right.' And when did letting Lily get away with what she did become the right thing anyway?

Her mind was made up. If Lily—on her own—showed some indication that she was trying to become a better person, then—just as she had with Gold—Emma would be there to support her. Otherwise, she stood by what she'd said earlier: her parents could help Maleficent find Lily. And if, when they did, Lily still wanted to leave, then it was probably for the best. And if Emma had to choose between Gold and Lily, right now she could state with more assurance than ever before that Gold had the better track record.

Something was strange, Cecily realized, as soon as she woke up. It wasn't just the amount of sun filtering through the curtains; she knew it was late morning, maybe even early afternoon. Clearly, Mama had let her sleep until now.

No, the strange thing was that the house was quiet. No little brothers or sisters chasing each other through the hallway or bouncing balls against the side of the house, or imitating cars and airplanes as they manipulated their toys. No TV blasting cartoons at maximum volume. No Mama ordering everyone to be quiet or calling to her to 'lend a hand'. Quiet. Blissful quiet. Maybe she was still dreaming.

If this was a dream, though, something should be happening by now, right? She should be showing up at rehearsal totally naked or Skippy should be prancing in with two heads with everyone else acting like it was normal or something. She gave herself an experimental pinch. It hurt. Not a dream, then. And if she wasn't asleep or dreaming, then it was time to get up. She stepped into her slippers and made her way toward the bathroom.

The pounding on the door startled Lily out of her television-induced stupor. She got up quickly and crossed the room to the curtained alcove, but before she could say anything, Dopey emerged looking worried. Holding his right index finger to his lips, he gripped her wrist with his left hand and pulled her firmly into the alcove.

Wait here, he typed at once. Be quiet. Don't touch anything. Not until they're gone.

"W—" His finger was suddenly against her lips, as he released her wrist and gestured to the keyboard.

Don't talk, he typed quickly. Type. The pounding came again and he shook his head. I'll answer after.

Lily nodded. Dopey smiled and ducked out of the curtain and into the apartment proper. I was just going to ask who 'they' were, she thought, sitting very still and listening intently. Maybe she could figure it out. Or at least find out something more about her new benefactor.

"…got to find her!" a gruff voice was saying. "Before her mother lays waste to the town." There was a silence long enough to make Lily wonder if they'd somehow left really quietly. Then the gruff voice snapped, "What do you mean you're not coming? I'm telling you, there's a dragon on the loose! Dragons are full of Dark magic! Some of them can even make themselves invisible! She might be in this room right now!"

Lily tensed and wished she knew what Dopey was telling them. From the way the gruff voice was going on, though, it didn't sound as though Dopey was mentioning her. Which was a relief.

She leaned back for a moment. When she turned to look at the screen, she realized that she must have accidentally minimized the Word document. And Dopey had told her not to touch anything. Well, she could see the application in the task bar at the bottom of the page. She could bring it back up. No problem. She frowned. There were two open documents. One—the untitled one—had to be the blank one Dopey had been 'talking' to her with. But he'd probably had the other one up, too. At least, she thought he probably had.

She clicked on it and her jaw dropped. Holee…

Mrs. Lapine was carrying one sleepy twin in each arm when she met Cecily at the top of the stairs. "I was going to check on you after I put them down for their nap," she smiled. "If you'd like a real breakfast, I'm sure you know to help yourself, but if you'd like heartier fare, there's lentil soup in the crock pot and Bridget made barley bread; there's a quarter loaf left, if you'd like.

"I didn't know Bridget could bake," Cecily marveled. But when she'd been nine—her little sister's current age—she certainly had.

"She's watched you often enough," Mrs. Lapine replied. "And me. And she's discovered that when a recipe is written down—or printed from the internet—reading it is a sight easier than trying to remember how others before you've done it. Mind," she added, "it won't quite taste like mine. I always use my own ale, and there hasn't been occasion to brew any fresh stock since we came to this land."

"And the liquor store wouldn't sell to her. Or me," Cecily added. Not like back in Sherwood, where there were no laws to forbid selling alcohol to youngsters—though drunkenness was looked upon askance at any age. She'd tried Mama's ale once and remembered wondering how anything that tasted so vile could make barley bread taste so good.

"No," Mama nodded, "they wouldn't. But it seems that Mr. Clark was willing to spare her a measure of the dwarfish variety, once he knew why she was asking it of him." She sighed. "I don't know when she got over her shyness about strangers. And maybe I should have taught Bridget more by now, instead of putting so much on your shoulders. Maybe then, she would have come to me for help instead of seeking elsewhere." She shook her head, still smiling tiredly. "At any rate, the bread's certainly tasty enough and you're welcome to what's left of it."

Cecily nodded. "I had breakfast this morning, so bread and soup sound wonderful, Mama, thank you."

Her mother's smile grew slightly wider. "Go eat, then. I'll join you in a moment."

Lily's eyes skimmed the page in disbelief. In the background, she could still hear the gruff-voiced protests. It didn't sound as though Dopey was letting his guest know he had company, but the guy didn't seem able to take no for an answer. Lily frowned. The one-sided conversation wasn't nearly as interesting as what she was reading.

Scratch that. 'Vulnerability assessment of mining subsidence hazards in coastal areas' wasn't really her thing, and although the paper was written in plain English with very little of the jargon she might have expected from what was clearly academic writing, much of it was over her head. But based on everything she'd seen so far, it also should be over—

The swivel chair suddenly spun about and she found herself face to face with Dopey, his face frozen in an expression of anger, his eyes fearful. He lunged past her to turn off the monitor—though not the computer—in one savage motion.

"Hey!" Lily exclaimed. Then, more softly, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snoop. But what was that?"

Dopey's hands gesticulated wildly.

Lily shook her head. "I'm sorry. I-I don't…"

He heaved a silent sigh and turned the monitor back on. He was mousing over to the minus sign that would minimize the document, when Lily murmured, "You wrote it, didn't you?" His shoulders slumped. As he had before, he pressed his finger to his lips.

"I won't tell anyone," Lily assured him. "But why?" She pointed to the byline under the title. "Is that your real name?" she asked. "Herbert Simple?"

Dopey chewed his lip for a moment. Then he brought up the other, untitled document in which he'd been typing to her earlier.

My real name is Dopey, appeared on the screen as his fingers flew across the keyboard. Do you know about the Dark Curse?

Lily frowned. "A bit, I guess," she admitted. "That's what brought you here, right?"

A quick nod. He kept typing. It brought us here, but it made us forget who we were and gave us false names and false memories. Herbert Simple was/is mine.

Lily nodded her comprehension. "So, if your real name is Dopey, then…?"

Dopey's fingers hovered over the keyboard for another long moment, before they finally typed, Well, I couldn't use that when I applied to Columbia's Masters in Civil Engineering program. My name is Dopey, not Dumbbell.

Lily couldn't quite suppress a giggle. Then her eyes widened. "Wait, you've got a master's degree?"

Dopey smiled slyly. Not yet. His smile dropped away. And if I don't finish this thesis, not ever. You won't tell?

"Uh," Lily blinked. "Sure, it can be our secret. But… why?"

This time the answer wasn't long in coming. I'm Dopey. Who'd believe you if you told?

"But why don't you tell anyone?"

This time, there was no hesitation before he typed his reply. I'm Dopey. Who'd believe me if I told? He shrugged. I only applied to see if I could get accepted. I got accepted. Now I want to see if I can finish the program. If I do, he looked up for a moment his eyes flashing a mix of nervousness and wonder. Then he went back to his half-finished sentence, then it will be time to tell people. He frowned. I don't want anyone to ask me how I'm doing or if it's hard or if I really think I can finish. I just want to do it. For me. Not for them. Does that sound stupid?

Lily shook her head. "No. But," she smiled, "it does sound a little dopey."

A broad grin creased her new friend's face. That's me, he typed happily. A little Dopey.

Cecily was using a crust of bread to mop up the last of the soup from her bowl when Mama came downstairs. "Your Mr. Quince called to speak with me the other day," she said quietly. "I've been meaning to mention it before this."

Cecily's hand froze, still pressing the crust against the inner curve of the bowl. "What did he want?" she asked, half-dreading the answer. Skippy had been less-disruptive than usual at rehearsals, but he was still disruptive. Especially when tempers ran short because scenes weren't coming together as smoothly as they might be. She knew that her brother's presence was only tolerated at rehearsals provided he behaved himself. And if he'd spoken to Mama… I'm going to have to drop the play, she realized.

"He wanted to know whether you'd been a player in the village pantomimes back in our land," Mama remarked. "When I told him you hadn't, he asked if you'd apprenticed with a player's troupe."

"Wh-what?" Cecily stammered.

Her mother was smiling. "I set him straight about that one, too," she said. "And that was when he told me that you have quite the natural talent for acting."

It took the meeting of her thumb and index finger to realize that she'd been pressing down on the bread crust so hard, she'd broken it in two. "Oh," she murmured, looking down.

"Well, you don't have to look so unhappy about it!" her mother laughed.

"I-I'm not," Cecily said. "Not about that," she added.

"Well, what then?"

Cecily shook her head. "Nothing important," she said, looking down again. Mama worked so hard; there was no point in making her feel bad over things that couldn't be changed. And someone did have to look after Skippy and the others. And she was the eldest. "It's okay."

Her mother waited for her to look up once more. "What's okay?" she probed.

"Everything. Really, Mama. If you need me at home, well then, talent or no, of course I'll drop the play. Or if Mr. Quince said Skippy can't come to rehearsals anymore, then I guess that's that." She forced herself to smile. "Family comes first."

Mama locked eyes on hers. "Family does come first," she agreed. "I suppose that all this time, I've been overlooking that you're family, too. And it's not terrible for you to have a few interests outside of schoolwork and housework." Her expression turned stern, but her eyes couldn't quite hide a twinkle. "Mind you, I do still need your help. And in a few months, once this play of yours is over, I'll expect you at home most evenings."

Cecily's eyes widened. "Mama?"

"I hadn't realized that there were afterschool programs at the elementary," Mama admitted.

Cecily bit her lip. "But… don't those cost money?"

"They do," Mama nodded. "But since schooling doesn't, I think I can manage it. And your Mr. Quince said he'd put in a good word with the person who coordinates those activities and arrange for Skippy to take part, even though it is past the deadline for registration." Her mother smiled. "Really, Cecily, even when times were hard, I could generally at least pay the dame school fees. Though it was a mercy they'd take fruit preserves and firewood when coin was scarce." She took the soup pot from the stove, brought it to the table and held it over Cecily's bowl with a questioning look. When Cecily nodded, she tipped the remaining contents in.

"Don't think you're excused from all your duties," Mama continued with mock severity. "When you're home, I expect you to pitch in as needed. And even if schooling is free, that's no excuse to not take it seriously; if your grades slip, I'll have to reassess your involvement in that play. But assuming that you keep them high, and that you enjoy what you're doing, well, I suppose Bridget's big enough to take on a few of your chores some evenings. So's Skippy, for that matter," she added. "Let's see whether we can't make this work," she continued, matching her daughter's slowly dawning smile with one of her own.

"So, uh, that conversation before?" Lily said carefully. "It sounded pretty intense. Who was that guy?"

Dopey had some sort of document open with tiny text and a number of bar graphs and tables, but he minimized it to bring back the Word page. My brother, he typed.

"What did he want?" She asked, not letting on what she'd overheard. She watched her answer appear on the screen.

He's leading a search party. He wanted me along.

Lily frowned. "A search party?" she repeated, still playing dumb. "Someone's lost? I mean, look, you don't have to stay here to look after me; I'll be fine on my own." She exhaled through her nose. "I'm pretty used to it."

Dopey shook his head. Just because you will be doesn't mean you should be, he typed.

"That's… actually kind of sweet," Lily said, smiling despite herself. "But—"

Dopey was typing again. I didn't have to join the search party, his fingers keyed. Not with you right here.

"Uh, seriously?" Lily replied as her hands went cold. "I don't want to be a problem. If your brother wants you to help him find, uh, whoever it is, the—" She broke off in mid-word, seeing the new line of text on the screen.

You, it read, confirming that Dopey had guessed her secret after all. My brother is hunting for you.