Chapter Thirteen

Another Snapjaw Mind

The softly smiling hutter seemed so such to be like as any random typical youthful hutter. Cropped straight black hair, brown eyes, blue skin, brown sturdy tunic and tannerbritches, rugged scuffed fieldboots, he had ‘em all. He worked a sudgeburr straw from one corner of his soft blue smile to the other.

“Say there, hutter,” called a cartjagger approaching from the rear of the vedling cart against which the smiler leaned. “Could you lend me a span of assistance? I’ve got rope twist problems here.”

The hutter strolled the few paces to where the cartjagger stood and asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Hold this here tight while I go around and pull. I’m not good at knots. I looped under instead of over, silly lackwit that I am sometimes. I can never remember. Over or under? Over or under? It’s over! Over! Over!” gabbed the cartjagger, adjusting his char black apron and heading for the far side of the cart.

The smiling hutter was left clutching a strand rope which went over the tarp covering the bulge of the vedling cart’s contents. He felt a tug and held tight.

“What do you think of all the prince and Princess kafuffle?” called the cartjagger, making conversation. The smiling hutter felt tug, tug, tug.

“What do you think of it?” the hutter tossed the question back.

“Oh, my, well, don’t you know? I’m all ready to go, and then this. Well, a cartjagger’s job is a cartjagger’s job. Hurry up and wait, we always say. We always say that. Mind you, it turns out to be a fortune of luck for me, don’t you know? I should have been properly shamed, buried in it, if the Queeeeeeeeeeeeeeen’s root collection had gone a spilling all over the road because I can’t remember whether it’s over or under. There! Tightly drawn! Solid! That got it! Give it a good tug over there to make certain.”

The hutter tugged. The rope was snug. Around came the cartjagger, nodding his thanks.

“Well then, I’ll be ready tomorrow when the snapjaw Princess arrives with the Blossom Prince. I wonder how many ‘e’s she’ll take in her Queen? What do you think?” commented the cartjagger.

“Couldn’t say, couldn’t know, couldn’t care. I’m off. Luck with your blooms,” said the hutter in a disinterested manner, and he gave a careless salute and strode off.

“Strange sort of a hutter,” murmured the cartjagger, turning again to his vedling cart. “Not at all talkative. Luck with my blooms?”

The afternoon sun dipped low to the verge of sunk when the softly smiling hutter made his way across the drawbridge and out into the fields of oats. He peered up at Cloud Castle City and narrowed his eyes at the bright blush of the sinking sun’s gold reflection. Such was so.

What fun, he thought. All this delay because of me, Mother’s little weed. Oh, I would have loved to see it when Dral announced that I was gone. And the note. The first clue. I wonder how that went. So they think she’ll find me, do they? We’ll see how well she follows a blossom of obscure clues. We’ll see whose snapjaw mind is the more perfect flower. Mine! Mine because no one save Dral and Riffle Sike knows that I have one. I hide mine. She flaunts hers. Advantage? Me! Ah, night, hurry. I itch like ivy to plant the second clue.

She can’t have missed the first one. It of course led her astray to Clover, as I knew it would. She’ll realize her mistake. And then she’ll fly here, but I’ll be gone, always one jump ahead. How can anyone know that I have Riffle Sike’s Cap of Cloak? No one knew HE had it. Not even a snapjaw mind can know the unknown. Well, Princess, come and get me if you can. If you find me, I’ll gladly be Kig Zootch of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined.

The softly smiling hutter hurried through the oats to a small tricklestream. He sat himself beside it, dropping out of sight below the tall grassy grains. He removed the invisible Cap of Cloak. The softly smiling hutter became Blossom Royalty. Flash of battered silver garb. Sheen of pummeled gold boots. The Blossom Prince drank from the tricklestream. Soon he would plant the second clue.