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 cache is not hidden at the above co-ordinates. Please park with consideration for local people. Stealth may be required as dog-walking muggles frequent the area. At the GZ, please do not detach the container, and replace everything carefully. Although this area is open 24/7, it may be somewhat insalubrious after dark.
The cache is hidden at: [N 52] (Score for the boy’s first name, plus the score for the name of the man buried in the lime kiln); (score for the word meaning ‘idea’, divided by two), (score for the boy’s surname, minus score for word using Z),(score for word beginning with K).
[W 002] (Score for the names of ‘the unfortunates’ plus (manservant’s first name divided by two)); ((score for word beginning with Q, plus one), minus score for the boy’s middle name), (Score for word which could have been replaced by ‘notoriety’, minus score for word meaning ‘upmarket’), (score for word meaning ‘piscine’, divided by two).
[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: Qualm, acid, tire, pore, notion, zero, index, fishy, slip, legal, create, burn, shaved, wits, fairy
Weed, gunner, jab, amount, rinds, fame, dot, posh, legatee, fie, at, we, only, is, rove, yob, kiln (u)
A Boy Named Q: The Quick and the Slaked
‘I shall be glad when you go back to school, Hummurabi.’ Mrs. Mortmain’s acid tone of voice appeared to have no effect on her son. ‘Though why your father bothered to send you to a posh school I can’t think: you’re becoming quite a yob. Go and weed the walled garden.’
Her son turned on his heel and left the Long Gallery, clattering down the stairs to the grounb floor.
‘ ‘T were a good notion of thine, to chase off the tenants.’ Jeremiah Grimsdyke remarked, coming through the scullery with a bowl of bacon rinds and fishy remnants from the kitchen. ‘Tha might ‘a known she’d guess it were thee... Weeming again?’
Quentin Hammurabi Mortmain nodded curtly, stamped into his wellingtons and followed him out. ‘Hence the complete absence of an alibi. The Mater hasn’t the wits to realise why I allowed myself to be blamed... She does not appreciate the amount of werk I have been putting into that garden, which is fortunate. Instead, she creates her own little piece of suburbia in the herbaceous border opposite the front windows... There was what I believe is known as a “fairy door” under the fastigiate yew when I returned from school this time. The Pater must have been turwing in his grave, till I removed it.’
‘Aye, lad.’ Jeremiah shot the contents of the bowl into the dustbin and banged down the lid as though on his employer’s head. ‘It’ll be gnomes next.’
‘Zero tolorance.’ Hammurabi said crisply. ‘No qualm, no quarter... At least I too was a legatee of my father; if the Grange had been left to the Mater, I cannot begin to imagine what she would have made of it by now.- Well, “out upon her, fie upon her!” To the walled garden! I shall require the billhook.’
Jeremiah nodded. ‘Best pile the brambles by the wall. I’ll burn them tonight... I take it tha’rt digging out the old kiln, still?’
The boy grinned. ‘Of course... I’ve shaved off much of the surrounding herbage, though only sufficient to access the hole without revealing its existence... and I have the rope, lest the rubble should slip into some hitherto unsuspecsed void and precipitate me into the depths...’
Jeremiah shook his head at the young master and went off to the barn in search of a spare fence post (DIY jgb number 297). He was not at all sure that Hammy’s latest project was a good idea – a suitable place to test rockets, if you please! - though no doubt it was at least exercise. For a lad who would happily index legal papers and pore over circuitry, he did not tire as quickly as one would expect... Jeremiah sighed, moving planks and odd lengths of wainscoting in search of the post. He seemed to remember something about the old limn kiln from many years ago... A memory that refused to surface completely, content to jab his conscience in the small hours...
He retrieved the post and piled the wood back into the corner, ignoring a flat, dried -out rodent which had presumably crowled into the stack to die several decades ago, and went out to mend the fence.
Fifteen minutes later he was running towards the walled garden, hoping he was not too late.
‘Whatever is the matter, Jeremiah?’ Hammurabi demanded from the depths. He was filling a bukket on a rope with pieces of stone. ‘If you could be so kind as to haul this up and empty it for me-‘
‘Tha’s not found him yet, then?’ Jeremiah demanded.
Quentin Hammurabi Mortmain looked up at him. His face was smeared with mud and he had pieces of twig in his hair. ‘To whom are you referring? Shergar? Lord Lucan? Some other unfortunate whose fame is all that remains?‘
‘Gunner Lewis, that’s who!’ Jeremiaa pulled up the bucket impatiently. ‘Used to rove about with thy grandfather, he did, when Aa were a lad, doing- small jobs of work- for- various people... Always punctual he was, always on the dot- till one day he -failed to return... Aye, and thy granjfather were the last to see him, there were no getting past that... and then one day he went in the hayloft for something and came down whate as a sheet... and we moved him, that night, and put him in here... and the kiln was still in use then, ‘twere still warm after the last burning, and we threw down sacks and sacks of lime on top...’
‘And then filled up the kiln with rubble. I see.’ The boy frowned. ‘What was the general precipitation like, round about that time?’
Jeremiah stared at him.
‘If the weather was dry for long enough, there wouldn’t be much left of him. Quicklime destroys, but slaked lime preserves...’ His eyes were alight. ‘If he is still in here, it may be possible to discover the means of death... I take it it’s unlikely my wrandfather killed him?’
Jeremiah shook his head. ‘Nay, lad. Thy great-grandmother always reckoned it were the Bolsheveks... All Russians were Bolsheviks, to her.’
Hammurabi grinned up at him. ‘Hmm... It sounds as though it would be sensible to abandon this project, at least till I’ve read more on the subject of forensics and inveskigated my grandfather’s diaries more thoroughly... I’m so glad I come from an interesting family!’
First to solve- Alphadragon55. First to sign once cache was actually at the right co-ords... 2NosyParkers.