Quen Nim (7 page)

“A hutter home, how pleasant and clean. Hello, young hutter, how have you been?” sang Motty, and she flung her tongue in greeting.

“Ridiculous. Put that back,” said Nimby.

“He … He vanished,” gasped the hutter maiden, brought some odd sort of how to her wits by the sight of Motty.

“What's that? What's that ye say?” said Nimble Missst, moving to the rungladder and staring up.

The hutter maiden looked hard at Motty. The sight of the wildly marvelous Princess was so such too much for her to bear. In the other bowl, so to say, Motty's grin, wagging head, looping tongue, and waving yellow-gloved fingers made a far more soothing sight.

“Strange hutter … I invited him in for tea and pudding. He was … there at the table. I was up here preparing the pudding. He called me. I looked. He grinned at me most strange, raised his hands like as if removing a hat, but he wore no hat. Most strange. Then … Then he transformed from hutter to gold and silver gadapple Prince and vanished!”

“When? How long?” snapped Nimble Missst.

“Just … Just before you. Not five ninces,” said the hutter.

“Ridiculous! Ye needed a rest! Ridiculous!” raged Nimby, pounding the rungladder with an ash green fist. She subsided with a sigh. “I had him. I have him. His lead grows shorter. One more clue will do it. Where is it? Not the table again. He's not that …”

Nimble Missst's flow of words was cut short by the sight of the note under the lifted table leg next to Motty, who'd bent under to push the table atilt.

Chapter Twenty

Zootch in the Danken Wood Clearing

While Nimble Missst sparked the hutter maiden to an ever higher stage of open-mouthed awe with each shake of a flame orange curl, each flash of a startling violet eye, each shudder of a powder blue wing, Blossom Prince Zootch rubbed his hands together and walked in a circle, nodding and shrugging and muttering to himself. He paced in the witch's flat round clearing in the Danken Wood. The edible cottage was there, but not the lavender witch. The troll's house was there, but not the troll. The troll, of course, yet still remained visiting Sadlar. The witch, of course, could have been anywhere. Blossom Prince Zootch was Blossom Prince Zootch, not in Cap of Cloak disguise as softly smiling hutter. His pummeled gold boots settled, heel, toe, heel, toe, as the prince went round and round, gesturing, shrugging, muttering. His battered silver tunic and leggers flashed whenever he turned.

“This is good. This is good,” he muttered. “I'm ready to be Kig. We'll strike a deal, snapjaw mind to snapjaw mind. What could be simpler? I plant myself in the Castle Boad and eat ladgecakes and gadapple petals at my whim, and even better, am situated an impressive distance from Mother. All good. All fine. And Nimble Missst, she takes herself off somewhere far away else like as she is supposed to prefer. They say she goes to those Falls a lot. O'Tan, I think. I say she can go there forever! My gift! A Kig's gift! She has a snapjaw mind. She can't be any happier about this mess than I am. Happy! What am I saying? Her mother is the Replenisher Rindle Mer, as unpleasant a raggedy old weed as I've ever met. Almost as bad as … well … my own dear Mother.”

Zootch carried on and on, examining from every angle reasons why he should allow himself to be caught. All of his musings seemed so such to filter back to how tasty ladgecakes and gadapple blossoms were, and truth, to how wonderful it would be to live far, far away from his mother, the Quing. Morning became afternoon, and he began to wonder where Nimble Missst could be. It wasn't so such that great a distance from the hutter's cottage in the Outerest Orchard to the witch's Danken Wood clearing. Hadn't that been the very why that Zootch had chosen to go there?

“Where is she?” he said, peering northwest above the trees. “The simplest clue. The simplest place. It couldn't be more simple. I'll get ready. Now where should I be when she finds me? Should I put on the Cap of Cloak? No. Why? I WANT to be caught. She has to know now that I want to be caught. Snapjaw mind, simple clue. And yet, where is she? Maybe I should Cap back to the Outerest Orchards and see what's … but no. If I went there, she might arrive here. I'll have to wait. I'll plant myself … here … no … here … no …here … no …”

The prince wandered around the clearing, selecting and rejecting places where he should pose to be discovered. In the cottage doorway, no; lounging under a window, no; leaning against a tree, arms folded, no; sitting on the troll's doorstep cross-legged, leaning forward, elbows on knees, chin in the palms of both hands, no. When the afternoon shadows lengthened and he lounged idly chewing on a candy cane he'd broken from a row of canes along the side of the witch's cottage, Zootch realized something. He realized he most urgently needed to take a nap. Waiting for

something to happen that never did was exhausting.

“So she'll find me asleep,” he shrugged.

He closed his eyes, dropped his chin to his chest, and leaned back against the cottage. Instantly he fell into a syrup of sleep. He dreamed. He toppled onto his side. Moons arrived and peeked into the clearing. Moons departed. Dawn streaked. The prince twisted awake, sat up.

“All night?” he croaked. “Where is she?”

He stood unsteadily, stretched. He reached into the pocket of his battered silver tunic. Out he brought the Cap of Cloak. He raised high it above his head. A mumble through his blue Blossom Princely lips, and he was gone.

Chapter Twenty-One

Nimby in the Falls of Horn

Where was Nimble Missst? She brooded as an angry green vapor circling the tusk of rock in the midst of the Greenwilla River above the thundering Falls of Horn. Where had she been for a day and a night since departing in the highest of spirits from the yellow and white striped conical cottage in the Outerest Orchards? She'd wasted time on a long and fruitless flight due to her overly complicated reading of the clue.

First, and earliest, she led Motty to the nearest palmpear orchard. She clouded green and twined among the fronds in order to think most clearly while deciphering the clue. Motty idled the while away wrapping her tongue around various tree trunks. A confident Nimby in no time at all jelled and announced, “Swump of Greedge!” Motty blinked her eyes amazed, wondering how the clue ‘witch's cottage' could possibly yield ‘Swump of Greedge'. She didn't so such question Nimby's snapjaw mind. No, she merely wondered how it leapt from ‘this' to ‘not even remotely similar this'. On hearing ‘Swump of Greedge' and knowing the measure of distance to get there, Motty smoothed the creases in her trousers in preparation for the long flight back over Clover and beyond Longthin Lake. She tugged tight her yellow gloves. Smoothing her trousers and pulling tug tight her yellow gloves had ever been a ritual habit of Motty's when preparing for a grueling long flight. So such, the palmpear orchard served as the first stop of Motty and the princess.

Second, and consuming fairly all of the rest of the day, Nimble Missst, allowing for frequent Motty rest stops, led the way over the Innerest Orchards, over the oat fields, over the Greenwilla River, over the green rolling hills of Clover, and down to a landing on the near shore of Longthin Lake. There she deposited Motty and continued on across the lake to the Swump of Greedge on her own. Why? It is well and widely known that wings are useless above the Swump of Greedge. Any creature on wing, dragon to buzzfly, who strays there plummets to the mucky slunge of the Swump below. Nimble Missst? She of course shimmered to green cloud for that very so such reason. Her cloud shift was of the wingless sort. Motty waited, flinging her tongue in loops to float and wriggle on the surface of the lake. It passed the time, along with a few dances and songs. At dusk, the angry green vapor of Nimble Missst seethed back across the lake. Without jelling, she hissed a windy “Falls of Horn”, and over the hills she rolled and boiled. Motty again wondered, not questioned, why ‘witch's cottage' led to ‘Swump of Greedge' led to ‘Falls of Horn'. Trousers smoothed, yellow gloves tugged, Motty followed the low angry green fog which was her own little precious Nimby. It proved easy for Motty to keep pace, sailing under the staring moons. Why? When Nimby was a cloud, she moved more slowly than when she was on wing. So such, the Swump of Greedge turned out to be Nimble Missst's second false destination. What caused her to return from the Swump so angry? What sent her to the Falls of Horn? Truth? Simply failure. No Prince. No Zootch. No trace of Blossom Royalty. Swumpogglers? Oh, yes, she met ‘em and interviewed ‘em. Ridiculous nonsense and no help at all. Her snapjaw mind again tore the clue inside and out, upside and down. In some mysterious convoluted how she forced the clue to offer up ‘Falls of Horn'. Why the continuing anger? Why the slow drift and boil as green mist? Another simplicity. She began to truly doubt her snapjaw mind. Before whenever she doubted it, she knew in her core it was not to be doubted. Now doubt crept to her core. She WAS her snapjaw mind. When she doubted her snapjaw mind, she doubted herself.

So such at dawn she brooded as an angry green vapor twining around the tusk of rock above the roar of the Falls of Horn. She continued stubbornly to battle the clue. Motty slept in the grotto below the rocky tusk where the legendary Squirrels of Horn resided until their unexpected recent departure for no one ever knew where or why. The grotto echoed therefore empty of Squirrel, empty of Blossom Prince, empty of the expected next clue.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Zootch at Riffle Sike's Pond

Zootch prowled among the bushes and trees surrounding Riffle Sike's cave and beckoning pond. Cap of Cloak in hand, he called the waterwizard's name. No evidence of Riffle Sike existed from the cave or the pool. Zootch dropped three large rocks into the pond so such like as if to knock on a door. No answer.

“Riffle Sike! A problem!” Zootch shouted. “I need some … I would like … I …”

Zootch found it difficult to admit that because he found ladgecakes and gadapple blossoms delicious, he'd so such changed his mind about being Kig and marrying Nimble Missst. It was the sort of embarrassment no snapjaw mind likes to have revealed. Zootch moved from embarrassment to annoyance when a pesky breeze sprang up to blow in his face no matter which way he turned. He heard a whooshing laugh and grasped in a snapjaw instant what he thought he might know for sure.

“Riffle Sike?” he questioned.

The breeze circled the Blossom Prince and slapped at the Cap of Cloak. Zootch gripped the Cap tighter and retreated to the edge of the beckoning pond.

“You did it?” commented the amazed Zootch, confident the breeze was Riffle Sike, and Riffle Sike was the breeze.

The breeze rushed by Zootch and stirred the surface of the pond to make ripples spell out ‘yes'. More whooshing laughter, and the ripples on the stirred pond formed in flow, ‘A problem, ye say. What be the trouble?'

“Ah, well,” said Zootch, sliding with ease into conversing with the surface of a pond. “That's the way and the thing. You see, I've … changed my mind. I want to be Kig now.”

‘Kig?' spelled the ripples.

“Yes, I'm having no ‘n's,” replied Zootch.

‘Oh,' spelled the ripples. ‘Where be the problem in that?'

“I gave an easy clue and allowed a hutter to see me and planted myself all day yesterday waiting to be found and fell asleep and woke up this morning and no Nimble Missst,” explained Zootch. “I should have made the clue harder. She's probably sailing all over everywhere looking for me and conjuring up fantastic convoluted solutions to my simple clue.”

‘What be the clue?' spelled the ripples.

“Witch's cottage,” said Zootch.

‘Ah,' spelled the ripples. ‘So now the two youngling snapjaw minds be looking one for the other. They be so smart that they'll ever miss.'

A whooshing chuckle circled the prince.

“I'm snapjaw enough to ask for assistance,” bristled Zootch. “Will you or won't you graft me some help?”

‘I be a laughing breeze now,' spelled the ripples. ‘I can only make magic suggestions. I be free of magic ties!'

“Congratulations. What's your suggestion?” grumbled Zootch.

‘Snapjaw minds, I tell ye, they rarely see the obvious,' spelled the ripples. ‘Mark this well. Have the Cap of Cloak send ye to the Castle Boad. Cloud Castle City be floating there, be it not? It be. Nimble Missst be the daughter of my stubborn niece Rindle Mer, be she not? She be. Does that not make her true bold and honest? It does. I say that though it will tear at her fierce, Nimble Missst will return to confess her failure to find ye. Ye will be waiting and ready to do what ye will do.'

The ripples calmed, and the pool smoothed to still. With a whooshing chuckle, the laughing breeze tore by Zootch and through the trees, waving branches goodbye. Zootch raised the Cap of Cloak high, mumbled the chant, pulled the Cap firmly down onto his head. Appearing in an oat field as if dropped from a modest height, he gave at the knees. He looked down at his hutter garb to make certain all was as it should be. He stepped from the oats onto the path which led to the Castle a short distance away. Cloud Castle City hovered nearby.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nimby Here, Nimby There

As Zootch in hutter guise passed over the drawbridge and into the Castle, Nimble Missst in red vest and pantaloons shook Motty awake in the grotto below the tusk of rock at the top of the Falls of Horn.

“Wake up! Let's go! I'm certain I've solved it this time!” urged and announced Nimble Missst.

Motty's froggy eyes bugged open, and she yawned and rolled her tongue in a mighty stretch to the far wall of the grotto. She stretched her arms and her wings and her six legs in turn.

“What a dream of delight, little Nim. The thundering Falls made it so, don't you think?” she sang.