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Grumpy nodded to him and took a seat across from the prince, his short legs swinging like a child’s. “What’s this all about, young man?” He coughed. “I’m not in the mood for any of your tantrums.” He eyed the table uneasily, as if the boy was about to leap upon it, even now. The plate of sugar cookies and the goblet of cider in front of him, he left untouched.
“Thank you for meeting me today,” said Ben. “I thought this might be easier, if it was just the two of us talking. Since everything got a bit—loud—before.”
“Hem,” said Grumpy. “We’ll see about that. You don’t plan to hop on the table again or shout like an animal, do you?”
Ben flushed. “I apologize for my behavior the other day. I was…a fool.”
“You—What?” Grumpy was caught off guard.
Ben shrugged. “I admit it. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I made a mess of everything. And I certainly don’t blame you for not wanting to take me seriously now.”
Grumpy looked at him grumpily, if a little pleasantly surprised. “Go on.”
Ben smiled. It was a start, and he’d take it.
“You see, I called you in because I read all one thousand and one pages of your complaint.”
“Really? All one thousand?” asked Grumpy, sounding impressed in spite of himself.
“And one.” Ben smiled again. He was a fast reader, and a concerned listener, and if he was truly going to be himself, he was going to need to use both talents in his favor to settle this complaint once and for all.
“From what I could gather, it appears what you and your colleagues are demanding is to be heard, and to have a voice in your future. Something more than just a seat at the Council.”
“It’s not that much to ask is it?” asked Grumpy keenly.
“No, it’s not,” Ben acknowledged. “And I think we can come to a simple agreement.”
“What do you propose?”
Ben shuffled the papers. He thought about it, and about how to say it. How had his mother put it? Perspectives and opinions I can’t offer, from lives I haven’t lived.
Ben smiled. “I propose listening to the people who know best.”
Grumpy raised an eyebrow.
Ben consulted his notes. “Let’s start with the mermaids. They should charge a silver coin for every undersea tour. And I’ll talk to Ariel about giving Flounder’s collecting for Ariel a break.”
Grumpy nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Okay.”
“I’ve also set up a college fund for the Dalmatians—all one hundred and one of them will be eligible for financial aid through the Puppy Grant.” Ben pushed a black-and-white-spotted folder that contained all the pertinent forms across the table.
Grumpy accepted it. “Pongo will appreciate that,” said Grumpy. “But what about us miners?”
“Half of everything you mine must still remain the property of the kingdom,” said Ben. He knew his father would settle for no less.
“Half? What about the rest of the diamonds? Where does that go?” asked Grumpy, sounding alarmed.
“The other half will go to a 401D Fund. A retirement fund for dwarfs, to take care of your families and your children. Tell Bashful not to worry.”
“Sounds fair enough.” Grumpy nodded, in spite of himself. “What about the restriction of magic? Just between you and me, those three fairies make a lot of noise.”
“The three good fairies will have to take their complaint up with the Fairy Godmother. I can’t do anything about it myself, I’m afraid. But I’ll get them a meeting with her. That much I can do.”
“And Genie’s request for unlimited travel within the kingdom?” Grumpy frowned. At this point, he looked like he was struggling to find things to still be grumpy about.
“Approved, so long as he clears his itinerary with the palace beforehand.” That was a difficult concession to make, as his father did not want the “blue-skinned-maniac popping up everywhere without notice,” but he had been able to convince King Beast that as long as the subjects were warned about Genie’s arrival, all would be well.
Grumpy folded his arms. “What about the woodland creatures? They’re working their paws and hooves to the bone.”
