There were a lot of things in Nesodi Iveent. There were more than three roads, and there was the old alpaca factory where Yodal Rodal Bartholomew died in a trance, and there was the community staple remover. But what Nesodi Iveent had more than anything was the house on the hill, where Old Missus Lopkit lived.

Everyone knew Old Missus Lopkit, and so did everyone else. And since she had a birthday this year, and since it was the last day of the year, the party had been in full swing for a long time, and so everyone was nearly out of breath, but there was cake and ice cream and balloons and presents for everyone, for Old Missus Lopkit was that sort of kindly old soul who saw to it that everyone who came to her house got presents, and so everyone went to the party, and they got presents, and some of them left eventually.

Five songs were playing, one for each genre, and mostly everyone was singing—dancing still being illegal, of course—and there was a great big vat of pasta, and a vending machine for various cheeses, and two scientists built a robot that could serve mushrooms and shrimp, and could serve mushrooms and shrimp to mushrooms and shrimp. There was a pinata—well, there had been one, like ten months ago. There was candy for the children, even the orphans, but theirs had needles inside.

All this is to say it was quite a grand party indeed. Everyone was there. Everyone, that is, except Roby and the others, for though it was but a short jaunt from the station of the bus, there was a bouncer who guarded the drawbridge that crossed the moat that surrounded the house, and atop the high wall beyond were a thousand snipers with laser-guided crossbows and hologram-powered trebuchets.

“Bouncing fellow,” said Roby, “I give a hello! I have the name of Roby, and this house, which you see, is of the mother of me! I would like to be inside, so please step aside, if you are so inclined.”

“Sounds good to me,” said the bouncer, “but these so-called friends you stand with! They're out-of-towners, so they've no need to be here. Split from them, and enter alone!”

“That is not an idea of me,” said Roby. “My so-called friends are friends so-called, so call 'friend' so friends can all be unbounced around this house of ours and thereabouts for now!”

“Let's not press the chap,” said Ben Garment. “Roby can party and the rest of us part, and we can still make for Oopertreepia.” He gazed longfully at his stopwatch.

“Hang on,” said Phillippo. “Did you say there's more ice cream inside?”

Mario embraced Phillippo in the manner of comrades, for ice cream was a strong bonding agent and even breached such a grand political divide as between those who know shoes and those who think rent. “More ice cream than you can imagine! At a birthday party, there's ice cream enough to fill the sky!”

Now, this of course was exciting. Phillippo turned in turn to Roby and Traycup and the bouncer, whose name by the way was, I dunno, let's say Topaz George Ractimus. Top G to friends.

“Fair bouncemate!” said Traycup. “As you've denoted aptly, out-of-towners we were, but in-towners we are now, and we'll grow the scales of Nesodi and play along, so let us mummers take up the role and break a leg, what sa'you?”

Now Top G—I can call him that, we're friends—scratched his chin, and thought a thought. “You're thinking about applying for citizenship? Then, apply your citizenship! Any denizen knows what's big in Nesodi Iveent, so if you've a care to truly care, you'd cling to like ideals.”

“The house seems pretty big,” said Ben Garment.

“Big as in popular,” said Mario.

Ben Garment shrugged. “Well, it looks like both.” Then Ben Garment took off his wooden coat, for he was getting warm. “Say, blockader, rather than spending time doing your job, why not look the other way and show us to the coat room? If we're to be stuck here, I'm growing warm, and would rather disrobe than not.”

But Top G shook his head ponderously. “Alas, would-be attendees, that's not an option. Go out, find me the symbol of Nesodi Iveent—if there's such a thing—and come back professing love and patriotism, and then, at that time, we can rediscuss admission!”

So Traycup, Roby, Ben Garment, Mario, and Phillippo went out to the city to find a symbol of Nesodi Iveent, but fortunately Roby already knew what Top G was hinting at. Roby, as a wayward native of the great old town, surely had in her blood some inkling of what made the place special, unique—a city like no other.

“Acorns, of course!” said Roby.

Traycup snapped some of his fingers and said, “That's an idea that's only occurred to me once or twice in passing, and not at all by passing notes in class! Roby, you've got the makings of some kind of sous-chef, if I'ven't missed my mark!”

So, they set a trap for some acorns. It was a trap of the classic variety: box, stick, string. Unimaginative? Quite the opposite, for hitherto in the hollow Earth, such a design of a trap had never been employed, and the team's collective invention of the device heralded a revolution in trapping technology that would see the world upended, history changed forever, and all of science rewritten—wait, no, never mind. They forgot bait.

Traycup said, “Baitless, this trap is no trap, but a decorative amusement in the stead!”

“I told you,” said Mario.

“And in misheeding, I have erred,” admitted Traycup. “Ben Garment! I've a next idea. Cast your fine woodish coat into the trap to be the tempt, so we'll not be baitless but enjoy a baitness! Acorns like naught more than to be apocket, so we'll grant it some and then some!”

“You guys have pockets?” said Ben Garment. He shrugged and went on, saying, “Anywho, when no coatroom presented itself, I tossed the thing into the wood chipper. Didn't think I'd need it no more.”

“A wise play,” said Traycup, “in a typical game, but alas! We've been twisted up by this strange situation.”

“There are coats of me,” said Roby, “and I can shed one or three, for I have jackets and capes in a plentifulness, and am glad to share some if it helps this mess!”

“If you'd be so kind,” said Traycup, “we'd be highly obliged.”

So Roby took off some of her coats, and still had several many more wrapped around her corpus, and they put the coats in a circle around the box trap, since a square would have been an abomination to embargoed relativity and triangles were for expert sommeliers only. After a long wait for several portions of a nanosecond, all the acorns in the forest—or at least, all of them whose friendship was worth gathering—had entered the pockets of the coats.

“This will buy us passage, surely,” said Traycup.

Roby had undonned several coats, so there were enough for each of them to wear. Roby didn't need to take one back, of course, as she was already citizenfied, and able to come and go at will, but Mario and Phillippo added a coat to their backs, and Ben Garment, whose genetic modification put a great amount of warmness to him, accepted one grudgingly, and tried to tied it about his waist as if the '90s never died, and Traycup took one as well.

“Alas, but I have a coat to myself already,” said Traycup, “and with this manner of fitness, I'll not b'able to don twain!”

“Then discoat your own coat, and let me become its host,” said Roby. “I can bear many! I can wear any! And then you can bear one, in its pockets are some of the acorns we gathered, which is all that matters!”

“Then, let's make a swapping.” So Traycup gave Roby his own coat, and put on Roby's acorn-stuffed coat, and with only one coat upon him, it was a perfect fit. Traycup did not see how Roby had applied his coat to her self, but now it was of her, somewhere.

“Civic pride, ho!” cried Traycup.

“We surely are,” said Mario.

With that improved excursion accomplished, they returned to Top G, and each gladly brandished their pockets of 'corns, all beaming with a glad and happy grin.

“True children of Nesodi Iveent,” said Top G, “would struggle to befriend as many forest eggs as you have!” He was in awe at their success and license plates. “Your entrance is guaranteed, and your presence is welcome!” At last, he let them in.

Mario led the way past the gate, up the winding steps that climbed the hill and led to the house. As soon as they were out of sight of the bouncer, he tossed away his sixth grade Field Day participation trophy, and sought a punch bowl, or to punch a bowl. Phillippo was lured by the siren song of the ice cream, and there was lot—again, normal flavors, so not things like ground drywall, or porcupine quills, or an old man at a nursing home who never gets visitors because he was a horrible person throughout his life and no one likes him. Not at all. Normal flavors, like... I dunno, nutmeg?

Several partygoers emerged, and handed Traycup cubed walrus and fried eggplant knuckles and hut cheese, and so they were all distracted from their taxes and paused for snacking and chatting about the latest sporting events. Soon they were surrounded by partygoers, all of them saying everything, eating most things, and drinking nothing, and they lost track of time, but there was a tall and merciful grandfather clock to keep track for everyone, which it did admirably, and so it was certainly less than thirty years to the minute when Ben Garment found the coatroom after all, and discarded his acorned Roby's coat.

“Say,” said Roby to some partygoers, “which of you can say the position of the mother of me, who I am here to see, to wish her today a birthday mostly happy?”

“Old Missus Lopkit?” said the partygoers. “Why, she's here, somewhere! Everyone's here somewhere!” They leaned close to Roby, and gave her a clever wink, which she didn't know what to do with, and so thought about studying sign language, and then forgot just as quickly.

“What's your mom look like?” said Ben Garment.

Roby laughed like some birds. “Ben Garment! The mother of me is the mother of me—how can it be said by me what the look of her may be? I suppose she is like many shapes, and says some words, but does not wait overlong for what must be missed!”

Someone came by with a tray full of glasses of punch or drain cleaner, and Roby and Traycup and Ben Garment all took a glass, and that someone got upset because they were no manner of waiter at all, but was just some guy getting drinks for his buds.

“Are you stoking a battle?” said the some guy, and he put anger on his face, but it stuck as well as magnets to a cloud, and then he laughed and said, “This isn't a battle-place. You'd have to get lost for that!” He went back under the sink to get more drinks.

“So!” said Traycup, “folk about here're not the fighting type! That's a good breather. Let's get partied, really!”

“Partying is not a thing of me,” said Roby, “and I think that is not surprising! Let us act as friends, and make a small search, and find the mother of me, though it be some work.”

“The way I see it,” said Ben Garment, “is she's either gotta be at the center of attention, or entirely removed from it.”

Traycup looked at Roby and considered the nature of her temperament. “Roby! Dearest chum, isn't there an upstairs sewing room we might abscond to?”

“Not until I get some more Dran-O,” said Ben Garment.

They went upstairs, and there were less partygoers up there, because a proper party makes stair-climbing difficult, due to the exaggerated angles created by the fishermen, and also the music was less loud up here. Music has weight, and falls to the lowest floor, even if you put a boombox on the roof, which you wouldn't do, because you're not a weirdo, unfortunately. It's okay. You'll get there someday.

They went further upstairs, where it was darker, and quieter, and the rooms were smaller, but they pressed on, trusting to the guidance of a half-baked idea, and the truth of a heart's screaming whim. The house had many rooms, and the party stretched on and on, and the further they climbed, the further their own hands seemed. But, finally, at the top, they found just one room, and in it were some comfortable chairs, and it was very sunny, and the sun shone in all the windows, and it was quiet and calm, and there was nothing to do, and Old Missus Lopkit was not there.

“I guess it's the center after all,” said Ben Garment.

“That mass has no middle,” said Traycup without a neck brace.

There was a creak as if of a door opening, because a door was opening, and at the other end of the room, there finally emerged Old Missus Lopkit.

“Oh, my!” said Old Missus Lopkit. “I did not expect visitors on this day! It is a pleasant surprise, but truly a surprise indeed!”

“Mother of me!” said Roby with wholesome, heartwarming joy. “I have made a long journey to say, 'happy birthday' to you, and now I will say it: happy birthday to you!”

All that sunlight that filled the room was dwarfed by the golden glow of Old Missus Lopkit's presence, if, that is, light could be “dwarfed” in the first place. Perhaps it was dwarved. Or perhaps not, for Old Missus Lopkit's glow was metaphorical, after all, and obviously represented her joyful heart, and other such conventions.

Old Missus Lopkit gave them all a big hug, which they all carefully put away in their lockers to save for later, when they would need it most, and then they all sat around on inflatable pineapples while Roby recounted the tale of her adventures, and how she met all her new friends, and became a baroness or something—that part still wasn't clear and also may not be legally binding.

“An egg cream and a fish and chips?” said Old Missus Lopkit. “This adventuresome life has made a spoilee of you!”

“It is a thing of enjoyableness,” said Roby bashfully, which sounds a lot more violent than it is.

Roby sat next to her mom as she told the tale with animation—stock footage, but it was still a nice touch—and Traycup and Ben Garment listened, or at least Traycup listened, the picture of politeness, while Ben Garment sipped his, um, “beverage.”

At the end of the tale, Old Missus Lopkit smiled warmly and said, “Why, Roby of me, gladness is of me to know the wonderment and joys you have had in your heart, and seeing the good friends you have made. It is quite a tale you have told, and I am sure there will be more to come!”

“More!” laughed Roby. “More like no more, for I had thought to be done with the chore—such an adventure does tiredness to me, and I ready to sleep for weeks!”

“Is that so?” said Old Missus Lopkit. “Why, your dear new friends have no fatigue about them! Look at this lad, good Mister Traycup, who has some spry in his step and a wit in his eye! And he goes far away to Oopertreepia, is that not the case?”

Now Traycup made a nice smile and said, “Good ol' ma'am, you're saying some kindness at me! Why, my steps go at such a pace I can hardly keep up with 'em, but alas, our Oopertreepian schedule finds derailment at last, and our goal's gone cold.”

“After a birthday party,” said Ben Garment, engloomed, “Oopertreepia's done and gone.”

“It's so,” said Traycup.

“It is a fault of me,” said Roby.

“Tut! Sayn't that!” said Traycup. “Roby's a dear friend, and what's a job to a friend? Not nearly a thing! So put that guilt out of your mind and into an orphan's cup, for you've thrown no stones at me, my pal!”

Roby smiled, and then Old Missus Lopkit said, “Now, Mister Traycup, the words of Roby tell your tale as being for Oopertreepia, but wherefore does your little clan go thither? For Oopertreepia is a special old place, and quite strange! Not all who go go, and not all who come went. The place sneaks away from those who seek it, and appears as a foil afore those who do not.”

“Alas,” said Traycup, “that's a secret not to be blabbed! But let me rebound a query your way, if I may, for talking about sneaky strangeness piques a thought in my dusty old mind. Ol' ma'am, your countenance has a familiarity to me, but surely I've never put my feet in Nesodi Iveent, so I'm put to wonder, where at've I seen you afore?”

Now, Old Missus Lopkit considered this carefully, for this was a strange question, but before she could answer, Roby piped up. “Oh! Mother of me! A thing is remembered by me. The name of Traycup is in full Traycup Lopkit, so it seems! Knowing why is not had by me, nor he, and so it became a puzzle for we, and we grew stumped and now ask of thee!”

“Oh, so the name of you is Traycup Lopkit?” said Old Missus Lopkit. “Traycup Lopkit, who thinks he knows of me! Well, perhaps the paths of you and me have crossed before.”

Now Ben Garment said, “Say, hope you don't find me overly rude, but mind if I take a moment and refresh my drink?”

Traycup said, “Ben Garment, and Roby! I have to announce a secret.”

“A secret to be told?” said Roby. “That is a thing of great excitement! I am partially ears so that I may hear as the secret draws near!”

“I am as well!” said Old Missus Lopkit, leaning forward.

“Well,” said Traycup, “as it's a birthday party, I felt a degree of appropriateness in getting a gift! A little thing, just to show a friending! But I haven't it—it's t'be delivered, and I adjudge by the howitzers growing antsy and sniffing about, the deliverer must be near with it. Won't the two of you humor me once and collect it?”

“A gift!” Roby cheered. “It shall not be missed! Yes, let us have a gift of my mother—though it was not needed that you should bother—and see if the thoughts of Traycup count! Mother of me, we shall sojourn and shortly return for glad gift-giving goings-on, and I will be a sneak and hand it over myself, to maybe take a peak and this gesture of wealth!”

Roby giggled as she sprang up and Ben Garment fell down but not out, and then they both ventured forth, sliding down the fireman's pole back down to the churning morass of the party, and started asking around for directions to the shipping and receiving department to see about this package retrieval process.

Now, Traycup had spun a tall tale, for alas, there was no gift at all, but in fact he had thought about growing a mustache, and since all his eyes were in his face, he was unable to inspect it himself, and would require a mirror, but having Roby and Ben Garment about while he sought one would be too embarrassing to withstand, and so he had concocted a convincing ruse to amuse his friends momentarily while he inspected his facade.

When they were alone, he was about to ask Old Missus Lopkit for a map to the bathroom, when she sighed at length and said, “So, you figured it out.”