Geocache: A Boy Named Q (part 1) By Mogmother
Scrabbletales is a new game invented by Mogmother and Optimist on the Run on 19/11/2017
- Play a game of Scrabble (proper rules or not...)
- Record all the words used.
- Use all the words in a short story.
Mogmother then wondered what to do with her stories once she’d got them... Puzzle caches, of course!
The co-ordinates given are for a necessary clue to the cache; on-street parking should be available in this area but be please considerate.
The cache is hidden at:
N 52 (score of letters in word using Q, + score of letters in word using Z, + score of letters in the boy’s surname), (first 2 digits of date on former Highfields Dairy, minus score of letters in a word using X, minus score for word meaning ’bury’) (Grimsdyke family motto divided by 10) (score for name of Greek letter)
W 002 (last 2 digits of date on the former Highfields Dairy, minus score of letters in word using J, minus score of letters in a word using X, minus score of letters in the boy’s first name), (score of letters in the boy’s middle name minus 2, + (score of letters in both words using K, plus K)), (score of letters in word for geographical feature).
[where ‘word’ is mentioned, this refers to words from the original Scrabble game, not extra ones added to make up the story. However, some of the names were too useful to leave out...! Ignore the possibility of Double Word Scores and Triple Letter Scores etcetera: just add up the letters.]
Words for game 1: Ring rapt lax te tinge er awe bully geek home an oar hides jot comb dairy feast on quads eta inter goes be gratin axe at clanked why ah morituri foe craven fulvous bay zips (i)
A Boy Named Q ... Part One
(A story in two parts about the childhood of a young man who later took over a very well-respected and useful post in a very well-known organisation. The people who saw his application for the job felt that with his name, his background and his skills, there was absolutely no point whatsoever interviewing anyone else... and M agreed.)
Jeremiah Grimsdyke shouldered the axe and strode towards the old dairy where the wood was stored. There was a fulvous tinge to the sky beyond the crumbling parapets. The remains of the lawn in the courtyard looked as though a comb had been dragged through it; he shook his fist towards the distant sound of roaring engines. Modern young people, in their coats covered with pointless zips and their pointless vehicles not covered in anything: he chopped viciously, hoping that at least one of the quads would crash and cause injury if not fatality.
When he had split a good basketful of logs he went back to the Grange, stepping out of his boots on the mat. Mrs. Owthwaite might be lax about dusting under beds but her kitchen was spotless and there was to be gratin for dinner. Probably turnip, again, but it just might be cauliflower...
Having delivered the wood he went out again, filled the coal-bucket and clanked through the front door and up the main stairs. He was in awe of the Mistress, who was something of a bully. Why had she leased the East wing to the young men? The rent she got would not cover the damage they’d already done to gates and fences...
To his relief she was not in the long gallery. She didn’t care a jot for people’s difficulties; why did she insist on living in the biggest, coldest room in Lichthorpe Grange, when the Morning-room was perfectly habitable and the Grey Drawing-room very nearly so, if you stood with your back to the damp patch...
‘Jeremiah?’ came a voice from the far end of the room. ‘I didn’t ring...’
‘Nay, lad. I’ve come to make up t’fire.’
‘Ah.’ Quentin Hammurabi Mortmain turned from his computer. ‘They have been driving round and round the courtyard of our home. Again. And while the Mater hides, rapt in contemplation of Strictly Come Dancing, and is not here to put her oar in, let me apprise you of the plan I have formulated to rid us of the foe. –Would you be able, do you think, to inter anything which required it?’
‘Never has a Grimsdyke flinched from duty.’ Jeremiah growled. ‘Morituri Te Salutant is our family motto, as well tha know’st.’ Hammurabi was what was apparently called a geek, but such dreadful modernity could be forgiven, for he was utterly true to his Mortmain blood. Oswy Tancred Mortmain who had perished nobly at the Bay would have recognised him at once.
‘Come closer, then, and I shall elucidate.’
Jeremiah went unwillingly towards the computer. He had heard rumours that such devices carried strange diseases, for which there was no cure... As Hammurabi explained his plan, Jeremiah was not sure whether he should applaud his audacity or emigrate while there was still time.
‘You look pale, Jeremiah.’ The boy accused. ‘Not craven, are you? No; for you’re a Grimsdyke as much as I am a Mortmain.’
‘Er- when do we start?’
‘Immediately.’ Hammurabi had shut down the computer, now he pulled on a black jersey over his school uniform. ‘Let us utilise the secret passage. Mrs. Owthwaite will be preparing the feast: she’ll not notice us traversing the kitchen ceiling if we are cautious. Now, silence!’
Jeremiah stood respectfully while the young master moved a picture aside, disclosing a piece of electronic equipment.
‘Beta... delta... eta.’ The boy muttered, pressing the keypad. ‘And sing: Fa... te... la... do.’
Jeremiah felt an eerie draught of chill, damp air as a portion of the wall swung silently outwards.
‘Must get that re-set to work off a bo’sun’s call before my voice breaks.’ Hammurabi muttered, lifting a head torch from a hook inside the gap and fitting it on. ‘Draw the portal shut behind you, Jeremiah, and take good care on the steps...’
(To be continued!)
FTF Sandierose FTF (First to solve ErewashPaddler)