A Mission Accepted
Fropperdaft was annoyed. He was groping about on the floor for a screw he had dropped. It was the third time he had dropped the same screw. As he crept about trying to find it, he banged his head on the underside of his workbench. OUCH! It was the second time. He felt a headache coming on. The morning had not gone well. Earlier he had broken a bolt off as he tightened it. Another bolt had stripped its threads. A gear tooth had snapped off. He seemed to be all thumbs. What a day! Very annoying.
It was all the fault of that insolent Wood Cow that had upset him. An attack on one Royal Patrol with Skull Buzzards dead. An attack on another Royal Patrol within the confines of his very own Throne Room! An attack on his brother. Stealing his most prized invention and escaping. Such things could not be contemplated. It was too astonishing for words. It gave him a headache—even without his other troubles.
But that would soon change. Fropperdaft had decided that historic and urgent actions must be taken to destroy the Wood Cow society once and for all. The upcoming celebration of Clear Water’s Day—with its theme of purification and cleanliness—offered a perfect opportunity to cleanse the Hedgelands of the foul odor of the Wood Cows.
From time immemorial, the High Ones had issued a royal proclamation especially for Clear Water’s Day. And Fropperdaft had decided that this year’s proclamation must be changed. “I must recall the first proclamation I sent and replace it with a new one. Time is short. There is no time to have the proclamations returned to me via Weasel Courier. I will have to call upon the Messenger Jays. That is the only way I can change the proclamation in time for Clear Water’s Day. The Jays must carry a message to the Keepers of the Light, directing them to destroy my first proclamation and substitute the new one.” The High One smiled malignantly as he considered his plan.
At that moment, he heard the sound of Bad Bone coming up the stairway to the Throne Room. Chain mail boots sounded swish-luckt...swish-luckt...swish-luckt on the stairs. No one else wore chain mail boots. It could only be Bad Bone. The High One smiled. He had a job for his friend. Fropperdaft felt happier to think about that. He chuckled. “Yes, indeed,” he thought with some returning glee, “I have a fine assignment for him.” Reaching to pick up the lost screw, his mind focused on the approaching meeting with Bad Bone. Without thinking where he was, Fropperdaft stood up. CLUNKKK! His head slammed hard into the edge of the workbench. “Bah! Sharant! Blast that Wood Cow,” he fumed.
A moment later, Bad Bone entered the room. An exceptionally large and powerfully-built Climbing Lynx, he wore the traditional deep blue tunic of the Order of a High Peaks Worthy. Fingerless gloves and boots of finely made chain mail completed his dress. He had a reputation as the greatest climber in the Hedgelands. Unlike the rest of the Hedgies who had a climbing date as part of their name, Climbing Lynx had no number. They were trained to climb from birth and were on the stairs to Maev Astuté throughout their lives. Scattered through the line of stair climbers, the Climbing Lynx kept the line moving and in step. Their example and exhortation, backed by the terror of the Royal Patrol, kept the stair-climbers in perfect order.
Bad Bone was a special case, however. In his chain mail boots, Bad Bone could swiftly cross even the roughest terrain with great speed. He moved like a speeding shadow. A small grappling hook on a rope was coiled at his belt, and he carried a longbow. He could climb virtually anywhere quickly. For this reason, the High One called on him for special missions of state.
“The Wood Cow has ruined my day, Bad Bone...He’s ruined my work, too. I’ve broken or muddled up every one of my projects since yesterday when that insolent Wood Cow appeared!” Fropperdaft smiled wickedly at Bad Bone. “But, that will be the last time such a thing happens in the Hedgeland, my friend...the last time.”
The High One motioned for Bad Bone to sit down at a chair near him. “Here, my loyal friend,” Fropperdaft offered, “have some cheese and Rotter Wine while we talk.”
Bad Bone tossed his long matted hair out of his face. “I’m very glad to see you, sire, I’m sure. Very pleased, sire.” He took a loaf of cheese and bit a chunk out of it. Chewing slowly, he watched the High One with interest. “Ah-har-har-har! Yes, sire, very pleased!”
“Well, well, my musty old bag of fur,” the High One began, “I hope you feel up to a climb?”
“Fitted with iron in my knees, and fire in my eyes, sire!” the Lynx replied in his deep, hearty voice. The phrase was something of a personal motto. He used it to declare his readiness for anything. It called attention to the fact that nothing would stop him from completing his mission. Bad Bone took great pride in the fact that he truly did have iron fragments embedded in his knees and legs as the result of a cooking explosion in the course of a mission many years before. The explosion and fire had not stopped him from completing that mission, however, or any other mission. He was as fast and strong as ever. He felt confident in his strength and courage to triumph over any danger, conquer any obstacle, and overcome any trial. There was no one more strong, swift and courageous than Bad Bone.
“Now listen, Bad Bone,” Fropperdaft said, “You are to go to the Messenger Jays up on the Desperate Ridges. Deliver this satchel of scrolls to their Keeper of the Light. It is my proclamation. All must hear it. The Jays will distribute the scrolls to all corners of my realm. Go swiftly. No time must be wasted. When you arrive at the Jay’s settlement, respect the authority of their Keeper of the Light, kneel before her and do as she may require. Give her this wheel of cheese as my gift. She may keep you waiting. If so, wait patiently. Do all you are asked. Although the Messenger Jays are my subjects, their home is extremely remote. They harm no one, and wish only to be left alone, so I let them do as they will. However, at times I need their assistance. They will help, but they cannot be commanded, nor hurried. You, yourself, must go swiftly and so I charge you to do. But if the Jays require patience, be patient. They are mapmakers and navigators. Their Keeper of the Light is the trustee of maps for my realms. Only the Jays know all the byways of the Hedgelands. With time so short, I must call on them to use every hidden route and little-known shortcut to assure that my proclamation is delivered throughout the land before Clear Water’s Day. Without the order of their Keeper of the Light, the other Jays will not deliver my proclamation. You must not offend her.”
“Very much my pleasure, sire,” Bad Bone replied, “very much my pleasure, to be sure.” Bad Bone felt happy. His deep, hearty laughter echoed through the Throne Room as he ate sweets with the High One and they joked about the fools they knew. Bad Bone left his meeting with the High One in good spirits. His belly was full of fine cheese and sweets, and the High One had sent him away with one of the easiest assignments he had ever received.