Doomwyte

Umfry pulled a face, then set to with his friends. They applied themselves wholly to the ale and cheese. Old Samolus went at it with a will. “By the seasons, this is a good, nutty-tastin’ ale! Er, wot’s wrong with you young uns, not drinkin’?”

Bisky took a small taste, then screwed his face up. “I think we’re a bit young to judge October Ale, sir, haven’t you got any sweet cordial, or Strawberry Fizz?”

Gullub chortled as he tilted a firkin into a clean jug. “Hurrhurr, try summ o’ moi danneloin’n’burdock corjul, likkle surr, be that’n sweet enuff furr ee?”

Bisky swigged it gratefully. “Oh, that is nice, Mister Gurrpaw, but we’re not getting much solving done like this, are we?”

Corksnout had been riffling through Gonff’s journal. He stopped at one page, placed a dainty, little pair of rock crystal spectacles on his cork appendage and peered closer at the script. “I don’t know much about this Prince Gonff, but I’ll say this, he must’ve been an aggravatin’ little beast. See wot ye make o’ this….

“The bird has no buries, the snake no red meals, two bruise and two mere lads, where are the nests O? A pincer those five hid them well!”

The huge Cellarhog gave a scornful snort, which blew his cork nose up between his eyes. Dwink giggled. Corksnout adjusted the nose quickly, glaring at the young squirrel. “What’n the name o’ my ole grannie’s spikes is all that nonsense supposed t’mean, eh?”

Dwink replied meekly, “P’raps it’s a riddle, sir.”

Umfry grinned cheerily at his big grandsire. “H’I thought you would’ve guessed that, Granpa.”

Corksnout clenched his paws and ground his teeth, as he searched for words to berate the pair.

Abbot Glisam defused the situation by addressing Umfry. “Oh, I’ve no doubt that your grandfather had guessed that as soon as he saw it, he’s a lot smarter than most creatures. But it does sound like a load of nonsense, doesn’t it? That’s because it is a riddle, you see. Riddles are supposed to sound like that, or there wouldn’t be much fun in trying to solve them. Now, you bright young uns, any ideas?”

Dwink and Umfry sat dumbly, staring at their beakers. Only Bisky had anything to say.

“Like Mister Spikkle said, Father, it’s nonsense, the words are all mixed up, they don’t make sense.”

Samolus drained his beaker, and filled it from another jug. “Hah, then ’tis up to us to unmix those words, so they do make sense. Someone read it out again, please.”

The Abbot obliged, speaking slowly and clearly.

“The bird has no buries, the snake no red meals, two bruise and two mere lads, where are the nests O? A pincer those five hid them well!”

Putting aside his beaker, Samolus began pacing the floor, giving rein to his powers of reason. “Right, let’s keep this in mind. We’re searching for the jewels that Gonff hid, long seasons ago. So, let’s take this bit by bit. It’s a message, cleverly designed by Gonff. We’ve got to be just as clever to solve it. I suggest we all look at it together, see which words look out of place and what clues they contain.”

Glisam, Samolus, Bisky, Dwink and Corksnout sat studying the lines. Not being able to read, Umfry was at a loss. Gullub picked up the scrolls, which had been written by Gonff’s molefriend Dinny. The kindly Cellarmole took Umfry to one side, away from the rest. “Yurr, maister, Oi’ll read ee owt summ molescript.”

Meanwhile, something occurred to Bisky as he looked at Gonff’s writing. “Either Prince Gonff was an awful speller, or I’ve missed somethin’ on this first line.”

Dwink enquired, “Why so?”

Bisky tapped the page. “Look here, ‘The bird has no buries,’ surely that’s not right. If a bird had no berries to eat, that would be spelled like berries, the sort that grow on trees. But the way it’s written here, that’s like somebeast having to dig a grave. He buries the body, see what I mean?”

Corksnout nodded. “Yore right, young un, so why’s it spelled like that, eh?”

Samolus ventured, “It could be an anagram.”

Gullub suddenly began waving the piece of scroll parchment that he had been reading. “Hoourr! Nannygrammer! Et sez yurr ee Gonffen cudd make nannygrammers!”

Umfry scratched his headspikes. “Wot’s a nannygrammer?”

The Abbot explained. “The correct name is an anagram. If you split the letters of a word apart, and put them back together so they spell a different word, that’s an anagram. Maybe the word buries

means something else.”

Dwink took a charcoal stick and began using the barrelhead as a writing board. “Er, how do I split buries up?”

Samolus made a suggestion. “The best way to write it is to form the letters in a circle, like this.”

They looked at it. Bisky shook his head. “Still looks pretty much mixed up, I can’t see a new word.”

The Abbot’s eyes were twinkling. “Look closer, Bisky, think what we are searching for.”

Dwink took a guess. “The eyes that Prince Gonff stole?”

Corksnout shouted out the solution. “Rubies, it’s rubies!”

It was Bisky’s turn to snort at the big Cellarhog. “Well, thanks for shouting it out, I almost had it before you started yelling. Rubies, eh.”