I wasn’t arguing. We’d seen the scorch marks back in Sproutville. We knew someone bigger than a rogue sheep was behind all this mess.
What I didn’t expect was for that someone to show up wearing a cape.
The cape arrived first. That’s genuinely how it happened. A huge purple rectangle flapping in the breeze, stitched all over with golden flame patterns, appeared at the far end of the meadow before the rest of Baron Blaze came into view. Then came the tall black hat with its blinking red gem. Then came the glowing orange-and-yellow blocky figure underneath it all, trailing little puffs of smoke like the world’s grumpiest chimney.
“People of Rainbow Meadows!” he announced, in a voice so loud that three nearby sheep immediately sat down from the shock. “I, Baron Blaze, Rightful Owner of All Blocks, Scrambler of Compasses, and Wearer of This Extremely Impressive Cape, have arrived PERSONALLY to witness the end of your silly little festival!”
I turned to Biscuit. “Is that—”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“The actual—”
“Yes, Ollie.”
“Wow,” I said. “His hat is enormous.”
Biscuit grabbed my arm. “Ollie. Focus. We still need the last batch of Sticky Resin from the oak trees at the meadow’s edge — without it, the wool decorations won’t hold through tomorrow’s celebration. That’s the plan. That is the only thing we’re doing.”
She was already pulling a list from her pocket. I counted at least four other lists tucked behind it.
“Which plan are we doing?” I asked. Last time she’d offered me seven.
Biscuit took a deep breath, stuffed six of the lists firmly back into her pocket, and held up exactly one. “This one,” she said, with a look on her face like she’d just made the most important decision of her entire life. “We split up. You get the resin. I keep him busy.”
I blinked. “You’re going to distract Baron Blaze?”
“I’m going to not know who he is,” Biscuit said, with a smile that was frankly a little frightening. “Go. Quickly. And try not to trip over anything important.”
I slipped away toward the oak trees while Biscuit walked straight up to Baron Blaze with the most aggressively normal expression I have ever seen on a human face.
“Oh, hello!” I heard her say brightly. “Are you here for the festival? The wool-dyeing tent opens at noon. There’s also cake!”
There was a long pause.
“I am Baron Blaze,” said Baron Blaze.
“Lovely!” said Biscuit. “Is that near Crumbleton? I have a cousin there.”
I did not stay to hear his response, but the sound that came out of him was somewhere between a growl and a kettle boiling.
The oak trees at the meadow’s edge were old and wide, with thick roots that humped up out of the ground in exactly the kind of pattern designed to trip someone like me. I caught my foot on the very first one, stumbled magnificently, grabbed a branch, spun around twice, and landed facing the right direction. Honestly, an improvement over last time.
“Excuse me,” I said to the nearest tree — or rather, to the small sheep pressed against its trunk, watching me with enormous eyes. I recognized her immediately. Pale grey wool, one ear flopped sideways. She’d been in Snatcher’s group yesterday, but she’d been the one hanging back, looking uncertain. “Hi. I’m Ollie. Is it okay if I collect some of the resin from these trees? We need it to fix the decorations.”
The sheep blinked at me. Then she made a soft sound — not quite a baa, more like a question.
“I know Snatcher thinks the wool should only belong to sheep,” I said carefully, remembering what I’d figured out yesterday. “And honestly? I get it. It is your wool. But the festival isn’t about taking anything from you. It’s about celebrating color, and most of that color came from sheep who wanted to share.”
Another small sound. She stepped aside from the tree.
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it completely.
The resin came off the bark in thick, golden globs that smelled — according to Biscuit’s nose, which I’d come to trust completely — like “warm honey and oak sawdust.” I filled the bucket in about four minutes, which might be a personal record for me doing anything without accidentally dropping something.
Back at the festival square, things had escalated.
Baron Blaze had apparently introduced himself six more times, each time with a slightly longer list of his own titles. Biscuit was nodding along pleasantly, asking questions like “And is that a regional thing, the cape?” and “Do many barons visit Rainbow Meadows? We get quite a few traveling merchants.”
Baron Blaze was so flustered he’d tripped over his own cape twice. The smoke puffs following him were now coming out slightly the wrong color — a mortified pinkish-orange.
“I am the most FEARED villain in the Overworld!” he finally bellowed.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Biscuit, consulting her list. “Have you tried the cake?”
That was my cue. I uncorked the resin bucket, and with help from the festival volunteers — who’d been watching Biscuit’s performance with barely-contained delight — we patched every last banner, every unraveled bunting, every drooping wool sculpture in about twelve minutes flat. The Sticky Resin held everything together like a golden hug.
Baron Blaze turned around to survey his supposed moment of triumph.
The festival square was more colorful than ever.
He made a sound like a furnace running out of fuel. Then he gathered his extremely fancy cape, attempted a dramatic spin, caught his foot in the hem, staggered impressively, and marched away across the meadow, muttering about revenge and how nobody appreciated a really good hat anymore.
Biscuit turned to me. “How was my plan?”
“Perfect,” I said. “You only used one.”
She looked quietly, spectacularly proud of herself.
Behind us, the pale grey sheep with the flopped ear wandered into the festival square. A moment later, two more followed. Then four. Then the whole flock, Snatcher included — moving slowly, cautiously, but moving. I caught Snatcher’s eye. He looked away first, which I decided to count as progress.
The Festival Celebration was tomorrow. The decorations were holding. The sheep were, for the first time, actually inside the festival square instead of wrecking it.
And somewhere out in the Overworld, Baron Blaze was probably already planning his next move — something bigger, something louder, something with an even more impressive hat.
But that, I figured, was a problem for tomorrow-Ollie.
Today-Ollie had resin on his hands, a gap-toothed grin on his face, and the best sidekick in the entire Overworld standing next to him saying, “I wrote that plan down so I have it for next time.”
I didn’t tell her she’d already added it to a list.
Some things you just let a person enjoy.