The Baron von Ernest and the Seven Dwarves

“Is this the end of our journey?” I asked the Baron von Ernest after our visit to the bears of Ursine Forest. 

“Not at all, we’ve only just begun.” 

“Where are we off to?” 

“We’re heading to the Gloden Mountains.” 

We returned to the carriages. The Baron gave orders to one of his clerks who rode off to begin the process of printing song sheets for the Ursine bears. The carriages, meanwhile, headed south, towards the Gloden Hills. 

As before we stopped at towns en route for food and ablutions, sleeping in any town with sufficient beds for our party. During the journey, the Baron was surprisingly willing to sleep in any inn or hotel bed, whereas usually he had a long list of instructions for his domestic staff relating to the bedding, pillows and the exact position of his teddy bears (none singing variety). 

After several days travel, we arrived at the foot of the Gloden Hills. It would not be possible to drive the royal carriages up the narrow mountain track, so as before the Baron gave orders as to who was to stay with the carriages and who was to join us in the trek up the hill-path. 

It was a short distance, but for the Baron and his party, who were unused to physical exercise, it was a difficult climb and took over an hour before we reached what was clearly the entrance of a mine (evidenced by the sign ‘mine entrance’). 

“We’re here,” the Baron told me. 

“Where are we?”  

“The Gloden Mines. Home to the Gloden Miners.” 

The Baron’s trumpeter stepped forward to sound the announcement of his arrival, followed by his emissary, Friedrich, who shouted into the mine’s entrance, “The Baron von Ernest.” 

At the announcement seven heads popped up out of the mine, followed by seven short, mud-encrusted men, each with thick beards, thick coats, and helmets.  

“Dwarves,” I said.   

“Yes,” said the Baron, “These are the Gloden Dwarves.” 

“Hello,” said the shortest of the dwarves. “Welcome to the Gloden Mines. What is a baron doing here, are you going to help us dig?” 

“Greetings , I am the Baron von Ernest. I am touring my baronial lands meeting some of my lesser known subjects.   This is my friend Hans and my emissary Friedrich.” 

“Ah, the one with the loud voice. We thought the walls were going to cave in on us. I am Dopey, this is Dummy, Divvy, Dippy, Dosey and Dunce.” 

“But those are all ...” I began to say, but Dopey interrupted. 

“Those are all traditional dwarven names, yes. We all have traditional names here in the Loden mines.” 

“Donkey,” said the seventh dwarf.” 

“And this is Donkey.” 

“Why do they call you Donkey?” 

“Donkey.” 

“It’s the only word he knows,” said Dopey. “He’s not the brightest dwarf in the Loden mines.” 

“Donkey,” said Donkey. 

“What do you mine here, coal?” I asked. 

Dopey laughed at my suggestion. 

“Coal, ha, as if we would waste our time with coal.” 

“What do you mine then?” 

“Glod.” 

“Glod?” I said. “I’ve never heard of Glod.” 

“It’s a precious yellow metal, we use it to make our underpants.” 

So saying, and without any encouragement, the dwarf dropped his trousers to show underpants, made of a hard, yellow metal. 

He tapped his pants to demonstrate the hard, metalic thud that resulted.  

“Solid glod,” he said.  

“That’s gold,” I said, “not glod. Aren’t they uncomfortable?” 

“Not half,” the drawf agreed. 

There were murmurs of assent from the other drawfes, “you can say that again,” “very uncomfortable,” “not alf,” “Donkey.” 

“Why not try these instead?” said the Baron, holding up a pair of white cotton underpants. 

“What are those?” 

“Cotton underpants.  They’re like gloden underpants, but warmer and more comfortable.” 

“Let me try,” said Dopey. Thankfully Dopey went back into the mine to change, and came back with an enormous smile on his face.   

“These are amazing,” he said, gesturing to his pant region. “Non-metallic pants are so comfortable, walking is actually a pleasure. Can we have more of these?” 

“Of course,” said the Baron. “My merchants would be happy to make the arrangement. May I ask what you plan to do with the gloden pants?” 

“What do you suggest? I don’t suppose you want them.” 

“Not as pants,” said the Baron, “But we could melt the pants and use them for coinage.  

The baron signalled to his clerks, who ran forward with crates of underpants and paperwork for the dwarves to sign. 

“Is that why we came here?” I asked the Baron as we descended. “For the dwarves’ underpants.” 

“We don’t have enough gold. We use gold for our coins, and with insufficient gold our merchants can’t trade and the whole economy suffers. The gloden mines are the biggest producer of gold in the kingdom, but up to this point all of their gold has been used to make undergarments. With the dwarves’ pants we cant triple the amount of trade.” 

“So it wasn’t about tax?” 

“Not directly, though with an increase in trade this will raise a fortune in sales taxes.” 

By this time we were nearly at the bottom of the hills and our carriages awaited. 

“So is our journey over?” I asked. 

“Not by any means,” said the Baron. How would you like to see some perfectly normal ducks?”