Chapter Nine

The Search for Zootch Begins

Silver cape, red vest and red pantaloons in hand, Nimble Missst shimmered to green cloud and rejelled a crafted moment later wearing the red clothes and holding the silver cape, azure tunic and pantaloons in hand. Such was how she ever dressed, thusly that quickly and easily.

“Carry these in your pocket. I’ll need ‘em later to become Quen,” said Nimby. She handed the ceremonial silks and her grampa’s silver cape to Motty.

“Smooth and cool, so smooth and cool, like as the underside of a golden harp,” sang Motty. She folded the garments neatly and slid ‘em into her pocket, which was immense, so said a fact, being the lone pocket on Motty’s dark blue six-legged substantial trousers.

All of Nimble Missst’s doubts about being thrust into marriage with Zootch in order to become Quen of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined, had been swept away by winds of consternation and bafflement. Someone afraid of her? Someone afraid of her? So such a possibility had never remotely at all even once occurred to her. Respect for her snapjaw mind? Certainly. Deference to her Royalty? Ever so. Admiration for her puzzle skills? To be sure. Regard for her independence? So such had she always believed. Fear? Ridiculous.

“He can’t have gotten far without magic or wings. If he fears me, he’ll fear the Woods. He’ll not wander far from the road. Ye fly that side. I’ll fly this. Eyes open. Look for flashes of ridiculous silver and gold garb,” said Nimble Missst, and she took flight to the left of the high cobbled road.

“You’re left and I’m right. If you’re left, why aren’t you staying? If I’m right, how pleasant that will be,” Motty sang her nonsense, fluttering along in ragged flight, working her stubby yellow wings.

Nimble Missst felt soothed by the wash of Motty’s voice. A surprise? Not really. It was Motty’s voice, and not Rindle Mer’s, she had heard singing above her cradle so such that long ago in her newborn days.

The green density of the Woods Beyond the Wood spreading out far and wide from both sides of the road offered tens of thousands of places to hide. Nimble Missst’s snapjaw mind focused, hard at work. No sign of him on the road. No boot scuffs. No pebbles on the slope turned underside up Blossom Princely stride lengths apart. Did he have help? Might he not have befriended a waterwizard at some Blossom Festival or other? Hmmmmm … waterwizard. Zootch would need help, wouldn’t he? A ridiculous coward afraid of me would never venture alone. He had help from someone who moved him swiftly to Sadlar’s. He isn’t hiding in these Woods. He’s at Sadlar’s. He must be at Sadlar’s because I think it so!

“Motty!” called Nimble Missst. “Follow me.”

Nimby swerved from the high cobbled road and flapped her wings furiously. She sped on a line over the Woods Beyond the Wood. When a beckoning pool at the mouth of a cave appeared below her, she dropped abruptly to land.

“Riffle Sike! Where are ye? How did ye help the Blossom Prince?” she called into the cave from the edge of the pond.

Motty fluttered along and settled clumsily half in and half out of the pool. Three trouser legs were wet. Three weren’t.

“Oh, a family visit, how nice. Where your mother grew. Is Uncle at home?” sang Motty merrily.

True to be said, they’d arrived at the beckoning pool of Nimble Missst’s mother’s uncle, the waterwizard Riffle Sike. Nimby shimmered to cloud and seeped into the cave. She furled out and twined into the depths of the pond. She wisped from the surface and combined to jell on the shore. She swirled an orange curl of her hair on a finger. She mused.

“He’s not here. There’s a fact. Why isn’t he here? He’s always here. He’s up to something. What is he up to? Helping Zootch. Nothing other. He helped Zootch get to Sadlar’s. It’s as I thought. Now straight to …”

“Be it truth? Wave billows and waterspouts, so it be!” came a cry from above the tops of the trees.