Chapter 9 Cheddar Late Than Never
CHEDDAR LATE THAN NEVER
The scene outside was chaos.
Fred was running—or rather, waddling—at top speed across the farmyard, his wings flapping frantically.
Behind him, moving with surprising agility for her size, was the largest duck Minerva had ever seen.
She had to be twice Fred’s size, with glossy brown feathers and an expression that could only be described as determined devotion.
“Quack quack quack!” Fred was frantic, flying straight for the clothesline where the silk ribbons were hanging to dry.
“Fred, no!” Bayard shouted, but it was too late.
Fred attempted to fly under the low-hanging line, but his anxiety made him clumsy. He crashed directly into one of the flimsy support poles.
The entire clothesline swayed, tilted, and then collapsed.
Dozens of hand-dyed silk ribbons, each one blessed and cured in the magical sunlight, flew into the air. They scattered everywhere like a rainbow explosion. They flew across the yard, into the cow pasture, up into the trees, and wrapped themselves around the dreamcatchers.
“Over here, Fred! I’ve got you!” Exandra called, holding up his carrier. Fred dove into the proffered backpack, gratefully and speedily taking refuge in the safe space.
The larger duck suddenly stopped her pursuit, looking confused about where her target had gone.
“Oh, no,” Blythe breathed, emerging from the Creamery with the dwarves behind her. “Oh, no, no, no. The ribbons! The Yule order!”
Exandra was already moving, holding a ruffled and indignant Fred in her arms. “You need to get your duck under control!” she snapped at Blythe.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that. We don’t ‘control’ anyone or anything here at Meadowsweet Farms,” Blythe protested. “Helga’s just friendly. She doesn’t mean any harm.”
“Friendly?” Exandra clutched Fred protectively to her chest. The little duck was shaking in his carrier, and she worried that he’d been traumatized by the incident. “That’s harassment. Fred made his lack of interest perfectly clear. Like cheesemaker, like duck,” she added angrily under her breath.
The dwarves surveyed the disaster with grim expressions. The grizzled one who’d glared at Bayard earlier stepped forward.
“This is a catastrophe,” he said, his deep voice thick with accusation. “Those ribbons took three days to dye and bless. Without them, the Yule cheeses can’t be properly wrapped. It’s our most important order of the year...”
“I’ll help,” Bayard volunteered. “We’ll all help. We can gather them, surely—”
The dwarf’s eyes narrowed. “Convenient that you were just in the wrapping room. Alone.”
“I was checking the ventilation,” Bayard said, but he could hear how weak it sounded.
“Were you, now?” The dwarf crossed his arms. “And did the ventilation require you to touch our carefully hung muslin?”
Bayard’s face went pale.
Exandra stepped forward, still holding Fred. “He was investigating. At my request. There have been incidents at other fromageries—sabotage. We’re trying to prevent the same thing from happening here.”
“Seems to have happened anyway,” another dwarf muttered.
“Enough,” Blythe said, though her usual cheerfulness was strained.
“We have to stay positive. Arguing won’t retrieve the ribbons.
We have—” She checked a pocket watch hanging from one of her many necklaces “—eight hours before the final wrapping must be done.” She sighed heavily.
“I hate to be a downer, but If we don’t complete the order by midnight, the blessings might not hold up properly. ”
“Then we’d better get started,” Minerva said, stepping forward. “All of us. Come along, everyone. We need everyone’s help. It’s for a sort of scavenger hunt.”
The ribbons had scattered across the entire farm, caught by the perpetual summer breeze.
Some were draped artistically over fence posts.
Some were tangled in tree branches. One particularly adventurous purple ribbon had wrapped itself around Buttercup the cow, who hated to part with her new accessory.
The tour group fanned out across the property, calling out whenever they spotted a flash of color.
The dwarves got to work cleaning and pressing the recovered ribbons.
Blythe even convinced the cows to help, and the animals proved surprisingly effective at nuzzling out the ones that were caught in the tall grass.
Wren climbed a tree to retrieve a stray cluster of green and gold ribbons, laughing as they fanned out behind her in the breeze.
From the ground, Jasper watched her, wishing he had a camera.
He framed her with his hands and took the picture in his head, determined to capture and remember Wren perched in the branches, her face lit with genuine joy, the endless summer sunshine making everything glow.
She looked down and saw him, and instead of being annoyed or self-conscious, she just smiled wider. “Did you get a good one?”
“Perfect,” he said softly.
Back in the picnic area, Minerva and Zephyr took over hosting duties, making sure the guests who weren’t looking for the ribbons, or were taking a break from the hunt, were well fed and entertained.
They devised a point system, based on the ribbon colors and lengths, and quickly came up with rewards for the passengers who collected the most ribbons.
These would have to be distributed back on the ship.
The awards included a gift certificate for The Squeaky Wheel, a photography lesson with Wren, a self-defense training session with Exandra, and a cooking class with Jasper.
“You see,” Minerva explained, setting out more bread and cheese, “a proper ploughman’s platter is about teamwork. The sharp cheddar, the sweet pickles, the crusty bread, the crisp apple. Each element supporting the others. No single flavor overwhelming. Just... harmony.”
She glanced toward the farmyard where Bayard was using magic to summon ribbons from high tree branches, while Exandra interrogated the dwarves about any other potential hiding places, and she smiled.
By the time the sun began to lower, they’d recovered nearly all the ribbons. Bayard and several dwarves stood in the center of the farmyard, wands raised, ready to try one last spell of return.
“Reveni ribbons,” they chanted together.
The last few ribbons streamed through the air from every direction—red and gold and blue and green and purple and orange.
A few of them were tattered but still swimming through the air like painted eels toward the outstretched hands of the waiting dwarves.
It was a beautiful, magical, and strange sight to behold.
The grizzled dwarf counted the haul now, his expression slowly softening. “Ninety-seven out of one hundred. We can make it work.”
“And Buttercup can keep her bow! Thank you, everyone.” Blythe said, addressing the whole group. Her clingy flirtatiousness was subdued at last, replaced with gratitude. “You’ve saved our Yule order. The families who’ve been waiting all year—they’ll be able to have their blessed cheese after all.”
She looked at Bayard, and this time her touch on his arm was brief, respectful. “You’re a good man, Bayard Fontaine. Your friend is lucky to have you.”
Bayard’s throat was tight. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Blythe turned toward Exandra next. The agent still held Fred protectively, the carrier strapped to her chest. She hadn’t set him down the entire time they were hunting for the ribbons, not even for an instant.
“I’ve had a heart-to-heart with Helga,” Blythe confided.
“And she wants Fred to know she’s sorry.
She only wanted to play, but she understands now that she needs to be more gentle with newcomers, and ask for their consent before making inappropriate advances.
My apologies as well. It’s not entirely her fault. She’s an odd duck.”
Exandra coughed.
“We’ll keep a closer eye on her,” the grizzled dwarf said to Exandra. But he wasn’t looking around for Helga when he said it. He was placing a protective hand on Blythe’s hip, and gazing up at her with adoration.
Back on board The Celestine Queen, Exandra was loath to hand Fred back to Bayard. She stroked his head gently, murmuring to him.
“You’re all right now,” she whispered. “No more unwanted attention from crazy old mallards.”
Bayard was walking beside her.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “For protecting him. For... everything.” For once, when he gently touched her shoulder, she didn’t pull away.
“He’s a good duck,” Exandra said, not quite meeting his eyes. “I just want him to feel safe and happy and like he can be himself. He deserves better.”
They both knew she wasn’t only talking about Fred.
As Cornwall faded behind them and the eternal summer bubble gave way to a normal winter evening, Minerva and Zephyr headed to the library. He was planning on playing a few rounds of solitaire and she’d collected papers and pens with which to make the gift certificates for the ribbon hunt winners.
Neither of them could resist a bit of gossip about their day.
“Well,” she said, “today was certainly educational.”
“Indeed. I learned several interesting things today.” Taking a brief break from the cards, he counted on his fingers.
“One: Our friends are both saboteurs. Two: They’re both lousy at it.
Three: They’re both desperately in love with each other and completely unable to say so.
And four: Never underestimate the chaos a lovesick odd duck can cause. ”
“All accurate observations.” Minerva leaned against him. “But the question is whether you think we should do anything about it?”
“Items one through three? I’m not sure yet. Item four?” He smiled. “I think Fred’s earned hazard pay. Perhaps an extra serving of frozen peas.”
Below deck, Bayard sat in his cabin with Fred nestled beside him, both of them exhausted. The small duck seemed fully recovered from his ordeal, though he kept falling asleep with one eye open.
“I nearly confessed everything today,” Bayard whispered to Fred. “Twice. Once in the barn, once after you got attacked. But the moments passed, and I couldn’t find the words.”
Fred quacked softly, sympathetically.
“I know.” Bayard hung his head in shame. “I’m such a coward.”