Chapter Fourteen

A Night in Clover

Motty slept, seated, head slumped forward, tongue lolling, in a perfect grassy cup of a depression on the side of a Clover hill above Sadlar’s Gardens. Delighted to find so such a spot, she’d performed what was to Nimble Missst a ridiculous gyrating dance of hollowite silliness. The moons, Jeth and Jith, both of ‘em fair nearly full, lit the landscape mysterious blue with black shadows. How many times had Nimble Missst floated as green wisps under so such similar moonslight? Multiples of many. Was it not truly one of her favorite joys to mist over mountains under full moons? It was. This night, howsoever, was different. She struggled to untangle a knot of a problem. Yes, she drifted as a green mist cloud over the hills of Clover. Yes, she twined over the Greenwilla River and seeped among Sadlar’s blooms. And all during this long night’s span of time, instead of enjoying the mystery of the moonslight, she struggled to untangle the knot of the missing Blossom Prince.

Start over. Yes, start over, she thought deep in the night, fair true near the dawn. Line things up one at a time. The fleckrunner came out and said, ‘He ran off.’ Two letters in ‘He’. Three in ‘ran’. Three in ‘off’. Two, three, three. Two and three make five plus three is eight. Eight. Ate? Posh! Nothing. Nothing there. Move on. It has to be the note. I thought the oat parchment itself. I sought complication, ignored simplicity. Ridiculous of me. The words, not the paper. The words were ‘I am afraid of her. Good-bye. Zootch. p.s. Sorry.’ First letter of each word … I … a … a … o … h … g … z … p … s. Mmmmmmm … nothing. Last letters … y … s … h … e … r … f … d … m … i. Much more promising. What’s the code? Hmmmmm … a bit of juggling. Let’s see … my red fish? No. fred mishy? Ridiculous. Shy firmed? Odd, but meaningless. Dry fimshy? She my frid? Oh! Oh!

Oh, she felt she was close. She tattered and churned, writhed in wisps among Sadlar’s flowers. Dawn crept into the sky. The mysterious light and shadows dissolved from the landscape, leaving it there as ever it was when ready to greet the morning. Motty lurched, thrown wide awake by a dream of falling. Nimble Missst stood at the crest of the hill looking down at her.

“It was too ridiculously simple,” said Nimble Missst. “I gave him too much credit by analyzing the note’s oat parchment. The words were of course the key. He’s not afraid of me. I knew that was ridiculous. He has simply challenged me to a contest of wits! Ridiculous! He thinks that he can outwit me. Ridiculous! Well, true, he almost did, but that was only because I jumped too deep. The answer is always on the surface. Oh, how I would like it if a puzzle some day could take me truly deep, really test me. Silly Prince. So simple. Get up. Let’s go.”

“And a pleasant good morning to you, too, and did you sleep well, dream fondly, Nimby Nim Nim? You say he is simple. Then why are we here?” sang Motty, stretching her arms, then each of her six legs in turn.

“Because I gave him too much credit. I told ye! Probably deep down I hoped he was smart,” said Nimble Missst. “Come. Get up.”

“Where? Why? Am I to know or to simply fly?” sang Motty.

“I’ll tell ye if ye must know,” snorted Nimble Missst, truly so such eager to share her snapjaw mind solution of the puzzle clue with ridiculous old Motty the hollowite. “Simple. The last letter of each word in the note when gathered together made a jumble. Ridiculously easy it was to unjumble and find revealed the prince’s hiding place. I do wonder, though, how he learned so much about the oat fields surrounding the Castle of the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined if truly he has never been there. I still have a strange sense of suspicion that Riffle Sike somehow has his minty hands in this. Thrust that aside for later. So, true tell, the unjumble is ‘fid rhymes’. Do ye see how simple?”

Motty smiled and blinked to show she didn’t see.

“Ridiculous,” said Nimble Missst. “’fid’ means Fidd, the oat fields. ‘rhymes’ means a hutter’s conical cottage where they sing their ridiculous rhyming songs. We’ll start at the cottage nearest the Castle. I suppose he’ll be in some sort of disguise. Whatever it is, I’ll see through it!”

“I’ve had good times with hutter rhymes,” sang Motty happily.

Nimble Missst waved Motty up impatiently, fairly flapping her wings in the hollowite’s face. They took to the sky and sped north, leaving Clover and the Greenwilla River behind.