Chapter Thirty-Two

After the Moons Sank from Sight

In cartjagger shops all along the edge of the courtyard, cartjaggers slept exhausted after spinning out goodnight tales of the Great Green Va to their insistent offspring. In the Visitor’s Tower every room was crowded with slumbering forms. Groaning, rasping, buzzing snores decorated the halls and stairwells. In the kitchens, assistant crapes read from batter-smudged recipes written in the hand of the legendary Old Prince Chef Larry, who four generations earlier stirred pots, prepared pans, shredded herbs in these very kitchens. Sculgers scurried to follow the instructions. The Queeeeeeeeeeeeeeen slept like as a carved stone monument, the Kinng like as a restless breeze. Hutters in their conical cottages slept as fast as they could, so such excited were they about the Blossom Prince and the Cloud Castle Princess and what would take place in the morning.

In Cloud Castle City, floating in position above the selfsame oat field where it had hovered for days, hollowites snored, rolling their tongues across the floor and back. Craggers, with their spidery hands limp and twitching, sprawled near the levers and dials and cogs and gears and switches of the flying city’s engine room. Lady May of Orrun slept deeply, as was her habit. Days spent nervously flitting and darting led naturally to nights of deep slumber. Lord Jay Dot of Orrun slept peacefully. No longer was he worried about the Boad, All Fidd and Leee Combined. Rindle Mer stalked while Jay Dot slept, throwing glances of hatred now and again at the azure gown flung across the back of a chair. She would wear it again for Nimby’s sake. Then she would burn it. Her eyes flashed orange fire, but inside she was pleased. Her daughter was strong and Royal. Old Dabber’s place beside Lady May was unoccupied. He was with his granddaughter in the Happy Dungeon of the Amethyst Grotto.

Nimble Missst sat on the cupped slab bench. She hugged the curving cushion. She was wrapped in the silver cape. Old Dabber of the West gazed with adoring ash blue eyes upon his granddaughter.

“You want to hear it one last time?” he said softly, a small crack forming to break his heart. “Why last?”

“I will be Quen tomorrow. Too old for stories. Ridiculous,” said Nimble Missst shortly.

“Oh,” said Dabber, feeling unsteady in the knees and empty in the chest. “I had best tell it well then.”

Nimble Missst nodded mutely so such like as she was lost in thought.

“Well,” said Old Dabber, straightening and gathering himself together. “Such a day it was! I remember. I remember the wind, cold and cutting, but not unpleasant, no. Not unpleasant at all. There I was flying through the air! How? Why? I did not know. I knew only that I was. ‘I am Dabber of the West,’ I said, shocking myself with my very own voice. I threw my hands to my throat. Strange sensation to speak! My hands! I looked and saw that they were emerald green. Was that a silver flutter at my shoulder? I glanced. I did not know what was wrapped around me, but it was the silver cape! I touched my face. I felt the tiny soft wisps of the beard on my chin. I tugged it for the first time. I became aware of what was below me. A river tumbled down to leap in a falls from a mountainous height. I swerved. I found that I could control my movements. Down to the river. Down to the falls. Oh, the roar! The thunder. I saw the ledge! I swooped to land there. The cape came unclasped and fell at my feet. Wings! I had wings! Great membraned wings! I threw myself from the ledge and flew. I flew up, down, through the falls. I splashed to the river and swam. Back to the ledge I dove. I picked up the silver cape and held it in both of my hands. ‘I am Dabber of the West,’ I said. ‘I am home.’”

The trickling of the tear down the ash green cheek of Nimble Missst reached the corner of her smile. Old Dabber rested his emerald green hand on Nimby’s silver caped left shoulder. Both of ‘em, grandfather and granddaughter, were lost in time.