A Hat Full Of Sky

extraordinarily powerful as it always has been!
    At this point the writing is smudgy, apparently because Bustle was beginning to drool.
Oh, how they have held me back over the years, those worms and cravens that have through sheer luck been allowed to call themselves my superiors! They laughed at me! BUT THEY ARE NOT LAUGHING NOW!!! Even those who called themselves my friends, OH YES, they did nothing but hinder me. What about the warnings? they said. Why did the jar you found the plans in have the words “Do Not Open Under Any Circumstances!” engraved in fifteen ancient languages on the lid? they said. Cowards! So-called “chums”! Creatures inhabited by a hiver become paranoid and insane, they said! Hivers cannot be controlled, they squeaked!! DO ANY OF US BELIEVE THIS FOR ONE MINUTE? Oh, what glories AWAIT! Now I have cleansed my life of such worthlessness! And as for those even now having the DISRESPECT YES DISRESPECT to hammer on my door because of what I did to the so-called Archchancellor and the College Council…HOW DARE THEY JUDGE ME! Like all insects they have NO CONCEPT OF GREATNESS!!!!! I WILL SHOW THEM!!! But…I in-soleps…blit!!!!! hammeringggg dfgujf blort…
    …And there the writing ends. On a little card beside the book some wizard of former times has written: All that could be found of Professor Bustle was buried in a jar in the old Rose Garden. We advise all research students to spend some time there, and reflect upon the manner of his death.

    The moon was on the way to being full. A gibbous moon, it’s called. It’s one of the duller phases of the moon and seldom gets illustrated. The full moon and the crescent moon get all the publicity.
    Rob Anybody sat alone on the mound just outside the fake rabbit hole, staring at the distant mountains where the snow on the peaks gleamed in the moonlight.
    A hand touched him lightly on the shoulder.
    “’Tis not like ye to let someone creep up on ye, Rob Anybody,” said Jeannie, sitting down beside him.
    Rob Anybody sighed.
    “Daft Wullie was telling me ye havena been eatin’ your meals,” said Jeannie carefully.
    Rob Anybody sighed.
    “And Big Yan said when ye wuz out huntin’ today, ye let a fox go past wi’out gieing it a good kickin’?”
    Rob sighed again.
    There was a faint pop followed by a glugging noise. Jeannie held out a tiny wooden cup. In her other hand was a small leather bottle.
    Fumes from the cup wavered in the air.
    “This is the last o’ the Special Sheep Liniment your big wee hag gave us at our wedding,” said Jeannie. “I put it safely by for emergencies.”
    “She’s no’ my big wee hag, Jeannie,” said Rob, without looking at the cup. “She’s oor big wee hag. An’ I’ll tell ye, Jeannie, she has it in her tae be the hag o’ hags. There’s power in her she doesna dream of. But the hiver smells it.”
    “Aye, well, a drink’s a drink, whomsoever ye call her,” said Jeannie soothingly. She waved the cup under Rob’s nose.
    He sighed and looked away.
    Jeannie stood up quickly. “Wullie! Big Yan! Come quick!” she yelled. “He willna tak’ a drink! I think he’s deid !”
    “Ach, this is no’ the time for strong licker,” said Rob Anybody. “My heart is heavy, wumman.”
    “Quickly now!” Jeannie shouted down the hole. “He’s deid and still talkin’!”
    “She’s the hag o’ these hills,” said Rob, ignoring her. “Just like her granny. She tells the hills what they are, every day. She has them in her bones. She holds ’em in her heart. Wi’out her, I dinna like tae think o’ the future.”
    The other Feegles had come scurrying out of the hole and were looking uncertainly at Jeannie.
    “Is somethin’ wrong?” said Daft Wullie.
    “Aye!” snapped the kelda. “Rob willna tak’ a drink o’ Special Sheep Liniment!”
    Wullie’s little face screwed up in instant grief. “Ach, the Big Man’s deid !” he sobbed. “Oh waily waily waily—”
    “Will ye hush yer gob, ye big mudlin!” shouted Rob Anybody, standing up. “I am no’ deid! I’m trying to have a moment o’ existential dreed here, right? Crivens, it’s a puir lookout if a man canna feel the chilly winds o’ fate lashing aroound his nethers wi’out folks telling him he’s deid, eh?”
    “Ach, and I see ye’ve been talking to the toad again, Rob,” said Big Yan. “He’s the only one aroound here that used them lang words that tak’ all day to walk the length of….” He turned to Jeannie. “It’s a