by Alan Skinner
Contents
Front page
Title page
Imprint
The Land map
Cast of characters
1 A Very Important Mission
2 A Sad Return Home
3 Sticks
4 Into the Fire
5 Brindle’s Daughters
6 Beyond the River
7 The Book of Meddle
8 A Journey to Myrmidia
9 Preparations
10 Bourne Bridge
11 A River to Cross
12 The Mountain Trail
13 An Unexpected Guest
14 A Tower of Rock and Ice
15 Fire and Ice
16 A Party
Sibling Press (Australia) Ptyt Ltd
19 Gresford Road
Wantirna, Victoria, 3152
Australia
www.sibling-press.com
First Edition 2009
This e-book edition published 2011
Copyright © Alan Skinner
The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-9872110-0-2
Cover illustration by Steve Crisp
All illustrations © Steve Crisp
Cover design by Ian Hughes
E-book production by
www.mousematdesign.com
Edited by Katherine Fry
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may br reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Cast of Characters
The Muddles
Grunge Rock musician
Crimson Fire officer
Japes Jester
Reach Ballerina
Leaf Scout
Bright Nurse
Sky Astronaut
Slight Magician
Patch Pirate
Wave Surfer
Whist Manager of Home's coffee house
Shift Bus driver
Miniver Bear
Calamity Fire station puppy
Sparkle Fire station horse
Charm Rabbit
Shades Meerkat
Madigan Toucan
Bray Donkey
Priscilla Frill-necked lizard
Weed Duck
The Beadles
Brian Factotum of Beadleburg
Bligh High Councillor of Beadleburg
Megan Bus driver
Isidora Proprietor of Beadleburg Bank
Hugo Shopkeeper
Tek Computer and Appliance Technician
Trimsy Beautician
The Myrmidots
Achillia Lord Mayor of Forge
Beatrice Assistant to Lord Mayor
Dot Apprentice engineer
Copper Engineer
Jakob Waiter at Bellows Tavern
From The Place
Amelia Aristocratic lady
Kevin Amelia's servant
Chapter 1
A Very Important Mission
In the clear blue sky appeared a single cloud. It was shaped like a bird and so light that when it passed across the face of the sun, only the faintest shadow followed on the ground below. Down the craggy mountains the pale shadow flew, above the wooded slopes and valleys and across the tumbling rivers and streams of the Land. In Muddlemarsh, the very heart of the Land, Muddles worked and played, both human and animal. And as the cloud passed overhead every Muddle, whether on two legs or four, on the wing or on foot, felt a familiar tingle and each was bathed in a shimmering glow, each appearing for an instant like a desert mirage. The Mix, they called it. The cloud dissolved, the shimmering vanished and the Muddles went on with their work and play.
Yet not exactly as they had been. For the Mix does something very strange to the Muddles.
*
‘I hate Muddles!’ Brian yelled. He was sprawled in the middle of a large, leafy bush, one shoe on and one shoe held firmly in his hand. He tried to stand and a branch stabbed his bare foot and he yelped in pain.
‘I really hate Muddles!’ he shouted again as another branch jabbed into the seat of his trousers, nearly making him drop the shoe in his hand.
‘I really, REALLY do not like Muddles!’ Brian roared. He pushed the branches apart and tumbled from the bush.
One hand rubbing his bottom and the other holding his shoe, Brian hopped around the bush. Scowling, he stopped hopping and stood, swaying on the one foot that still had possession of its shoe. He reached down to put on his shoe, swaying as he bent. He paused, then tried again. He reached and his body swayed even more, forward and back, and forward again. The earth came alarmingly close to his nose. He threw back his arms to balance himself. The shoe flew from his hand. A magpie in a nearby tree watched it sail high over the bush.
Brian fell hard on his bottom. ‘Ooomph!’ he said.
‘Caw!’ said the magpie.
‘Ooooh!’ moaned Brian.
‘Caw!’ said the magpie. The bird swooped from the branch, plucked the shoe from the grass and flew home with the treasure.
‘I SO hate Muddles!’ yelled Brian, watching his shoe disappear in the blue sky.
It had started as quite a good day. Brian felt warm and content in the sunshine, and the narrow, smooth road along which he walked was free of traffic. Life was calm and peaceful and he strolled down the middle of the road, humming and whistling. He watched the birds fly from tree to tree and soar in the air, swooping in a graceful line like long coloured ribbons. Across the blue sky drifted small puffs of clouds. Butterflies and bees flickered from flower to flower, bidding each hello. ‘Yes,’ thought Brian as walked in the sunshine, ‘it is a lovely day.’
More than the birds, the sunshine or the blue sky, what made Brian feel good was that he felt important. After all, he was on a very important mission. Even Bligh, the High Councillor, had told him three times before he left just how important Brian’s mission was.
‘As the town’s Factotum,’ he had said solemnly to Brian, using his deepest voice in case Brian had trouble understanding the words, ‘it is up to you to convince the Muddles that they have to help us. We are all counting on you, Brian.’
Now, normally, Brian wouldn’t have been too thrilled to visit the Muddles. He avoided Muddles whenever he could. Brian thought Muddles made life difficult. It wasn’t just the Mix when, for no reason he could fathom, all Muddles swapped bodies and legs – though that definitely was odd. It was also that they had no common sense and could be very unpredictable. He tried to be understanding. After all, it must be very difficult to have common sense when some days you wake up and don’t even know whose shoes you have to tie. Brian remembered when he was learning to tie his own shoes. For a moment he felt sorry for the Muddles, but then he remembered how something unexpected always seemed to happen when Muddles were around and he quickly lost his sympathy. Because when something unexpected happened, it made Brian’s life more difficult. After all, it was a Factotum’s job to make sure that life is predictable.
In all the three countries of the Land – Beadledom, Myrmidia and Muddlemarsh – only his home town of Beadleburg had a Factotum. So, unless you are from Beadleburg (in which case you probably know this story already), it’s unlikely you know what a Factotum does.
A Factotum attends to detail. A Factotum organises. A Factotum is responsible for making sure that the town’s accounts are correct, that the High Councillor has everything that a High Councillor could possibly need, that all the little jobs which make a town run smoothly get done. Someone had once said, rather unkindly, Brian thought, that a Factotum was a fancy n
ame for a “gofer”, someone who just ran errands for everybody else, to ‘go for’ this and ‘go for’ that. Brian knew better. The Factotum was the one who made things happen. Without the Factotum things would be … disorganised. One of the special skills one had to have to be a good Factotum was to be good at organising. And Brian knew that there wasn’t anyone in the world as organised as he was.
Now he had to go on a mission so important that the future of Beadledom might well depend on it.
‘Someone has been lighting these fires deliberately. All over Beadledom, fires have destroyed barns, haystacks, shops and even homes. It cannot be a Beadle. No Beadle would do such a thing,’ Bligh said to Brian.
Every night, for nearly a month, there had been a fire somewhere in Beadledom. Had they been normal fires, the Beadles would not have been so worried. But they were not normal fires. The fires burned blue, a deep blue, deeper than the truest sapphire. The blue flames burned hotter than any fire they had encountered and in minutes the sturdiest building would be consumed by the hungry flames.
What horrified the Beadles more than the ferocious heat was that nothing could put the blue fire out. It ate water like the desert sand. Their fire truck pumped tank after tank onto the flames. Instead of hissing and dying, the blue flames roared louder and blazed more fiercely. The fire burned not only wood, but brick and mortar. No one had ever put out one of these fires. The Beadles had stood by, helpless, until the flames had consumed everything. When nothing was left except melted, twisted metal, the flames sank into the ground and disappeared.
But what really terrified the Beadles was that even when the flames had disappeared, the fire stayed hidden in the earth, ready to come to life as soon as a new building was erected. They watched in horror as buildings they had erected where the old ones stood would suddenly burst into blue flames once more, right in front of their eyes.
The heat from the blue fires often made nearby buildings burst into flames. Fortunately, not terrible blue flames, but the flames of an ordinary fire. And so the Beadles learned that when a building was ablaze with blue flames, they should let it burn and use their fire truck to prevent nearby buildings from catching fire. The Beadles would soak the stores, the workshops, the homes, hoping to save them while watching helplessly as the blue fire consumed its victim.
The High Councillor had clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth.
‘Our fire engine can’t cope, Brian. We need help. We asked the Myrmidots but they dare not send their fire engine for they need it to keep watch on their factories. So, we are forced to ask the Muddles for help. They must send their fire cart and fire officer to help us protect our buildings and help us discover how to fight the blue fire. And to help us find out who is behind these terrible fires.’
The High Councillor had sighed and gone back to his large chair behind his large desk and sat down.
An envoy, Bligh had called him, which had made Brian nod gravely.
‘In this critical time, Brian, you are our envoy, our representative, who will take our request to the Muddles. Do not fail us, Brian. The fate of all of Beadledom is in your hands. You must get the Muddles to agree to help. You will never have a more important job to do.’ He had looked at Brian, who had nodded some more, wondering if perhaps he should salute.
‘There’s no time to lose, Brian,’ the High Councillor had said. ‘Now, fetch me the newspaper and then be on your way.’ Brian had fetched the newspaper then he’d run home to get ready. He pulled off his shoes with the bright silver buckles, and quickly put on his everyday shoes and tied the laces. Brian stood, felt a sharp tug on his hand, and fell over. He looked at his hand. He looked at his shoe. He gingerly pulled his finger out of the knot in his laces and stood up. He would have to hurry if he was going to catch the morning bus. It left the bus depot at 7.10 a.m. sharp every day.
‘Sorry, Brian. The bus will be late today.’ Megan looked up from under the bonnet of the town’s bus, very embarrassed. Megan was the bus driver and, of all the people Brian knew, Megan was the most organised – she was almost as organised as he was. The bus always ran and was always precisely on schedule.
‘It’s broken down and I only got the part from the Myrmidots last night. It will be about an hour and a half before I finish fixing it.’ Megan pointed at the motor. ‘It’s the -,’ she started to explain.
‘That’s OK, Megan,’ Brian interrupted quickly. Once Megan started talking about motors and their bits and pieces, there was no stopping her. ‘It will mean I miss the Muddle bus. Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll walk the rest of the way into Home from the border.’ Brian paused. ‘I’m on a very important mission.’
‘Yes, I know!’ Megan said with admiration. ‘It’s all over Beadleburg. We’re all counting on you, Brian. I’m glad you’ll wait for me to fix the bus, though I’m sorry it means you’ll miss the Muddle bus at the border.’ She looked at Brian’s feet. ‘Well, I see you’re wearing your walking shoes – you’re so organised. Your left shoelace is undone, Brian. You’ve done a lovely bow on the right one, though.’
Brian tied his left shoelace, careful to pull his finger out before he pulled the bow tight. He checked to make sure both bows were the same size.
‘Right, well, ah … can I help, Megan?’ he asked.
Megan looked horrified. She never let anyone else fix her bus. ‘Thank you, Brian, but, ah … you’d get your hands dirty and that wouldn’t do. You’re on a very important mission. We’re all counting on you. Right. I’d best keep working. There’s not a moment to be lost.’ Beadles were very punctual and they counted moments like they counted money. Megan glanced over at the bright shiny bus, its bonnet wide open, and sighed. ‘Oh, Brian, could you possibly run over to the bakery and get me one of those nice lemmings?’
‘Lamingtons,’ Brian corrected her. ‘Of course. With jam or without?’
Megan thought a moment. ‘With, I think. Yes, definitely with. One with jam, please, Brian.’
Megan was as good as her word. An hour and a half later the bus was fixed and Megan ready to go. Brian boarded the bus and they set off for the edge of Beadledom, where it nudged the land of Muddlemarsh. From there, it would be an hour’s walk to the town of Home. The bus rolled on and Brian sat in his seat, looking out the window. He could tell by the countryside when they were getting close to Muddlemarsh. The steep hills of Beadledom grew gentler as they neared the green valley of Muddlemarsh.
‘At least it’s downhill,’ Brian thought to himself. ‘So it is! It’s downhill all the way to Muddlemarsh!’ Brian thought this was extremely clever and funny and laughed. ‘All downhill to the Muddles! Downhill all the way!’ he repeated and chuckled. He really wasn’t that fond of Muddles.
Megan stopped the bus at the border precisely fifty-eight minutes after leaving Beadleburg. She pushed the lever that opened the door and Brian rose from his seat. He walked to the door then turned to Megan and smiled.
‘Thank you, Megan. I’m glad you got your bus fixed. I’ll see you this afternoon.’
‘You’re welcome, Brian.’ Megan returned Brian’s smile and handed him a small parcel. ‘Here. Take this.’
Brian took the parcel, waved goodbye and passed from Beadledom into Muddlemarsh. Megan sounded a farewell with a toot of the bus’s horn as Brian started towards the town of Home (or Home-on-the-Meddle, to give it its full name). He felt happy to be important and soon lost track of time as he walked and whistled.
Finishing the last tune he knew, Brian looked at his watch. He’d been walking for nearly an hour and he felt a little hungry. He reached into his pocket and took out the half of a lamington that Megan had kindly given to him. She had wrapped the lamington in waxed paper, which crinkled as he unfolded it. Brian took a bite and felt some of the fine grains of coconut from the cake tumble softly past his chin. He checked to make sure that none had stuck to his shirt or coat.
Brian finished the lamington, carefully folded the paper, and placed it in his coat pocket. A
ll around he could see the slopes and plains of Muddlemarsh. In the distance he could see the large fields of coffee bushes, with Muddles moving about, tending their precious crop. Coffee was the only thing the Muddles produced but they grew the finest coffee there was. When the beans were harvested, they were then roasted in large, brick ovens. The bricks were made from the same soil in which the beans grew and Muddles claimed that the secret of their exquisite coffee lay in the making of those ovens.
The deep green coffee trees were covered with the small, shiny, reddish-brown cherries, making the coffee fields look as if someone had sprinkled the land with tiny beads. Brian could smell the aroma of roasting coffee that was always present in Muddlemarsh.
The sun climbed higher in the blue sky. The warmth of the day had increased and Brian took off his coat. He carefully folded the coat and lay it over his arm, feeling the soft breeze tug playfully at his shirt as he walked on.
‘Right,’ he said to himself, ‘the thing to do is to find the fire house, tell the fire officer that we need help, then go to the council and ask them if it’s all right. They’ll be more inclined to listen if I have the fire officer with me.’
He considered the problem.
‘No. First, it’s best to go to the council, explain the situation and ask them to tell the fire officer to help. They might be offended if I talk to their fire officer without permission,’ he decided.
He considered some more.
‘On the other hand, maybe I should ask for an appointment with the Town Leader and explain the situation and ask for advice on what is best to do.’
He frowned.
‘No, that won’t do. One never knows who is Town Leader from one week to the next in Muddlemarsh,’ he muttered to himself. After all his considerations, he still wasn’t happy.