The Purloined Pony

by Chris

Page 85

“How about this,” you offer. “I hear that you boggies pick the wisest and most knowledgeable of your kind to be leaders.”

“That is true,” interjects the Ceanntighern, puffing out his chest.

“Well then, I challenge you to a riddle game. I’ll pit my wits against yours any day.”

The fat boggie ponders that for a moment. “This shall be the deal: if you can answer my three riddles and I cannot answer your one, then I will concede to the superiority of your wit. But if you should fail on either count, then I shall claim you and the foal both as slaves, to be taken to our home under the mountain. There, you shall never see the light of day again!”

You swallow. “Well, let’s do this. Ask your riddles, then.”

The Ceanntighern leers. “Very well:

What hath meat, yet hath no bone,

Upon whose heart the sun’s ne’re shown?”

“Nuts!” you reply at once. The boggie must think you’re stupid—that’s one of the oldest riddles in the book!

“Very good,” drawls the boggie, giving you a slow clap. “But the next one will not be so easy:

What sits beside your bed at night, gaping for your bones?

What gets on at first morning’s light, and clatters over stones?”

You struggle with that one a bit. The last line sounds a little like an old riddle you know, but the answer to that is ‘horseshoes.’ But what could that bit about gaping for bones mean?

Then you notice the Ceanntighern impatiently tapping his foot, and you realize boggie shoes go over their entire feet, skin, bones, and all. “Shoes!” you cry, triumphantly.

The fat boggie grimaces. “Alright, alright. I’ve got one riddle left in me:

What’s round as a dishpan, deep as a cup,

And yet all the oceans could not fill it up?”

Now you panic. This riddle you’ve never heard before! You wrack your brain for an answer, but come up with nothing. How could so small an object possibly hold so much water?

Then a voice nearby shouts, “The answer is a sieve!” Looking down, you see Hinterheart standing beside you. Quickly, you chirp, “Yes! Yes, my answer is ‘a sieve.’”

“Hinterheart! What is the meaning of this?” cries the Ceanntighern. “Just what are you up to?”

“This was all my doing, you old fat fool! I’ve convinced you to grant this pony an audience, accept your riddle game, and now she’s going to give you a riddle you can never hope to answer, all by my guidance! You are no longer fit to bear the mantle of Ceanntighern, and I mean to show the clan the truth of my words!”

“Very well,” glowers the Ceanntighern, “Ask your riddle, then. But when I answer it—and I will!—you will both find yourselves very, very sorry to have tried me so.”

Hinterheart turns to you and whispers, “He really is skilled with riddles. I hope you’ve got something good—I’ve never managed to best him.”

*****

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