Chapter Twenty-Nine

Nimby and Zootch

Motty rested at ease in the blue and gray striped conical cottage. Ever was she welcome in any hutter home so such because of her eagerness to sing, her eagerness to make clumsy amusing attempts at dance, and more so truth because of her glad spirit. She was greatly admired by hutters throughout the oat fields. Hutter hospitality to any and all was, so said, widely known, but they especially prized visits from Motty. Thus when Motty plopped down in the field near the blue and gray cottage, she marched without hesitation to its door, knocked once, sang out “Here’s Motty!”, opened the door, and entered without invitation. Thus was she that at ease with hutters. She supposed properly that the hutters were away at work in the oat fields. She knew without doubt they would be delighted to find her there when they returned for midday meal. Motty went to work straightening and smoothing her trouser legs, so bunched and wrinkled had they been by the buffeting gusts of the churning wind river. She selected which song she would sing to greet the hutters. She practiced it humming and wondered how Nimby was faring.

Nimby was faring well, alert with snapjaw mind crispness. Flowing low through the oat stalks, she approached the Castle moat from the side opposite the drawbridge. Down she seeped to the water and spread in a long thin finger of green fog around to under the drawbridge. She gathered into a dense green cloud and rose to seep between the planks. She expected to sense Zootch sitting and gazing skyward. She found instead an unoccupied drawbridge. Was she alarmed? Did her confidence sag? I tell you Nimby’s mind blazed so such with precision that she wasn’t bothered at all.

So. Something other happened. What? she thought, and she knew what it was in a snapjaw flash. Where are the carts? Hah! The ridiculous Zilp gave up on me. She left to retirement … Hmmmm … The tracks say dawn … I’ll turn her back soon enough. Ridiculous. Else? Else? Of course the ridiculous Prince was turned by the news from the path which would have led him to be sitting here looking for me. He, of course, was unable with his primitive version of a snapjaw mind to deal efficiently with an unexpected event. Well, let’s see, he would have spent the night … Hmmmm … sleeping in an oat field. Yes, and not far off. He woke up late. Yes. On his way to the drawbridge he learned the news of the departure from some gossipy hutter or … Hmmmm … better yet, a Clover honeytrader. They are the chattiest. What did Zootch do when he heard? Why, the ridiculous Blossom Prince froze on the spot, plagued by his inadequate mind’s indecision! Hah! I’ll seep low in the oats beside the path south. There, of course, is where honeytraders would be traveling on their way home to Clover.

The Cloud Castle Princess drifted in wisps touching the soil, tassels of oats thick above her. In no time at all she noted a hutter standing rooted in the road. Had she not been fog, she surely would have shown a rare smile. But fog she was, and the impulse passed. Behind the immobile hutter she gathered, rising in a column and jelling to solid magnificent Nimble Missst. She reached for the hutter’s black-haired head and clutched at the air, pulling up.

“Hah! Ridiculous Prince!” she cried in triumph.

Zootch spun around grabbing at his chest as his nose widened and flattened, his chin squared, his hair curled, his fingers lengthened, his hutter garb changed from tunic and tannerbritches and scuffed field boots to battered silver tunic, battered silver leggers, and pummeled gold boots.

“Good. Finally. It took you long enough,” said Zootch, showing true snapjaw ability to recover from shock.

“So ye are Zootch, are ye?” said Nimble Missst, and she thrust her face forward, opening wide her startling violet eyes to stare deep and close up into Zootch’s own common and brightly brown eyes.

Zootch, in response, thrust his face forward. So such were they nearly touching, nose to nose, battling in silence, gaze to gaze, staring unblinking a good span of time until the Blossom Prince blinked.

“Hah! Snapjaw indeed!” snorted Nimble Missst.

“Snapjaw enough to be Kig!” returned Zootch.

“Kig?” said Nimble Missst, taken aback.

“I’ll have no ‘n’s!” shouted Zootch, flustered, flummoxed and almost flattened by the glory of the princess seen so such standing not a pace away.

“Kig,” said Nimble Missst mildly. “That’s good. That’s quite good. Kig. Kig Zootch. It’s not ridiculous. I myself am to have one ‘e’. I’m to be Quen.”

“Quen is good,” offered Zootch simply.

“Go to the Castle and wait. And take your ridiculous Cap of Cloak. I’ve got work to do,” instructed and announced Nimble Missst. She pushed the invisible Cap into Zootch’s chest.

“Work?” questioned Zootch, taking one step back and fumbling successfully to grasp the Cap.

“Yes, work. The ridiculous Queeeeeeeeeeeeeeen must be retrieved for the ceremony. Cloud Castle City must be informed and prepared. I’m giving ye the task of dealing with the Castle, or must I do that as well?” said the stern Nimble Missst.

“Oh, I’ll go do the Castle. I’ll do the Castle. I can do the Castle,” said Zootch.

“Well, do it then!” snapped Nimble Missst.

“Right,” said Zootch, setting off, looking back, stumbling.

“Ridiculous,” said Nimble Missst.