Quen Nim (12 page)

She shimmered to green mist and ascended as a cloud up over the walls of the Castle Boad. Motty checked her pocket for truly the fortieth time to make certain the silver cape and the red vest and pantaloons were safely there. She jumped up to flap her stubby yellow wings in preplanned pursuit of her Nimby Nim.

“And that brings us to the end of today's festivities,” announced Kig Zootch. He rose and bowed four times, once in each direction. He strolled majestically to disappear through the doors of the Great Hall.

Pause. Murmurs. “But?” “I was …” “If it's …” “How?” “Huh?”

Chapter Thirty-Six

After

And so such was the how that Nimble Missst, Cloud Castle City Princess with the snapjaw mind, became Quen Nim of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined. She became known as well throughout the world by various other titles. She was called Nim, the Adventuress; Nim, the Traveler; Nim, the Knowing; and Nim of Mysteries. On the two selected days of each year when she visited the Castle Boad to solve mysteries, riddles, quandaries, and problems, did she not also tell the most marvelous tales of where she'd been and what she'd done? She did. Were they not tales worth writing as Gwer drollek Chronicles? They were. Might I choose to write ‘em myself? Her stories exist as fragments. It would be a challenge to search for the truths to fill ‘em out. I could do it. I have powers. I might. So said, returning to this story, when Nimble Missst appeared unannounced twice a year in the Throne Room of Cloud Castle City, did not Rindle Mer have to struggle fiercely to mask with frowns the awe she felt when hearing of her daughter's wondrous travels? Such was so. Even Lady May and Motty, who'd returned home to a welcome retirement soon after Nim became Quen, listened entranced with nary the twitch of a wing or the flick of a tongue. And in the Happy Dungeon of the Amethyst Grotto later at night, Old Dabber was the only one to hear the most secret of secrets. Yes, Quen Nim was a traveler, a world ranger. She misted in the wildest storms on the Wide Great Sea, riding the lash of crashing waves. Jelled to form, she swam in every river rapids, pulling strong with or against the push of current with her webbed fingers and toes. She crept through meadows and forests as ribbons of fog. She learned and learned about all of everything, her snapjaw mind filling its vaults. She was the smartest creature ever to live. She knew more than enough about all. She visited every realm, village, city, underground, ground, or overground. There are rumors still that she visited the world down the well where this language I use to write in is said to be known. If it's true, what a story that might be. When she herself was asked about it, she replied, “There are some things that only snapjaw minds should know.”

Else? She and Zootch were the last of the Royals to rule the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined. When Quen Nim faded as a mist to join the rainbows dancing in the sunlight amidst the foaming spray at the base of the O'Tan Falls, and Good Kig Zootch, aged so such that whenever he stood up his white beard brushed the toes of his pummeled gold boots, when he too left life to travel the rainbow, no creature with even the tiniest splash of Royal blood could be convinced to wear the crown. So from then until on and including right now, The Rulers of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined, have been selected by drawing. Scraps of oat parchment, each with a citizen's name (hutters, of course, go into the hat as numbers, not names), are tossed into a gigantic hat, and from the hat the winner or loser, depending on point of view, is drawn. No one is forced to be Ruler for more than one year. Of late and right now, the Ruler of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined, is a chair. Someone with wit or with a lack of wit slipped into the gigantic hat a scrap with the words ‘chair under the purple banner next to the long stairs at the back of the Great Hall' scribbled on it. The retiring Ruler, a hutter glad to be going back to the fields, reached in up to his elbow and pulled out that very scrap. What could be done? Rules were rules, after all. The chair was placed on the throne and everyone went about their various businesses. Yes, all truth, and as Nimble Missst would have stated with a shake of her orange, green-rooted curls, “Ridiculous.”