Blue Fire and Ice

by Alan Skinner

  (Being as inventive and practical as they are, one enterprising Myrmidot produced a range of hats called Tram Hats. They were all identical and would stretch or shrink to fit the head of the wearer, so that you never had to worry about losing your hat, but just waited for the next one blown from the head of another passenger to land in your lap. Unfortunately, the idea only worked if everybody wore a Tram Hat and the moderate enthusiasm of the first season was followed by waning interest over the next two seasons and then the Tram Hat disappeared from the heads of even the most practical Myrmidots.)

  It may interest you to know that the trams of Myrmidia run on three rails, the outer pair for the metal wheel and the inner rail for the electricity which provides its power. They have a dynamic bifurcated catalytic soporific-injected motor which produces more horsepower than anyone has ever counted or which is at all useful, but it gives the more technical Myrmidots a great deal to talk about when they are relaxing over an ale after work. Or perhaps it doesn’t interest you at all and we should skip the technical details.

  What was of considerable interest to our four passengers was that the tram has a top speed twice that of Beadledom’s highly polished bus. It scoots down the track between the border and Forge at a hat-tossing rate of 100 kph, covering the 130-kilometre journey in … well, you’ve probably already figured out how long it takes. That was very important for our travellers, none of whom had had their dinner. At that rate they would make it to Forge in time to eat before they had to see the Lord Mayor.

  So it was that at 7.27 in the evening the four hungry travellers entered Bellow’s tavern, where they ordered a hearty meal of fat brown sausages and sautéed cabbage, covered in thick onion gravy.

  Bligh made short work of his dinner. Placing his knife and fork neatly on his empty plate as his parents had taught him, he sat back in his chair and surveyed the busy restaurant. Most of the Myrmidots had finished their meal by the time the travellers entered, and were chatting and laughing, drinking mugs of frothy ale, or cups of steaming coffee. Myrmidots are very industrious and when they are at work they seldom smile or relax. Once they finish for the day, however, they unbutton their collars and undo their shirt cuffs and entertain each other with tales of inventions that didn’t work or with stories of the most fantastic feats of engineering they have ever done, much the same as people who like to fish.

  Bligh caught the waiter’s eye and beckoned to him. The waiter was a tall, stern Myrmidot with thick black hair and black bushy eyebrows to match. He had a strong, square face that always bore a belligerent scowl. He walked purposefully to the table and glared at Bligh.

  ‘Yes?’ he said cheerfully, his face almost split asunder by a huge smile. ‘I hope you enjoyed your dinner? May I get you the dessert menu?’

  Bligh was taken aback by the swift change in the waiter’s appearance. ‘Yes, and no,’ he managed to say. ‘That is, yes, the dinner was very enjoyable. And no, we don’t need the dessert menu.’

  Brian’s heart fell but he didn’t let on.

  ‘Is there something else, then?’ asked the smiling waiter.

  Bligh had fully recovered from his shock. ‘Yes, there is. I wondered if you would be so good as to send someone to inform the Lord Mayor that we’re here and will be over to see her in ten minutes. My name is Bligh, High Councillor of Beadledom.’

  The waiter gave a small bow from the waist. ‘I am honoured to serve you, Bligh. I shall go myself and let her know.’

  Bligh was feeling very magnanimous after his dinner. ‘Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself. I thought you might have a young errand lad you could send.’

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ said the waiter. ‘She’s sitting right over there.’ He pointed to a table on the far side of the restaurant where a group of seven or eight Myrmidots were in the middle of what was obviously a very convivial conversation. They could hear their laughter and observed that there was rather a lot of backslapping between the Myrmidots. Every so often, one would raise a glass and propose a toast, at which they all raised their glasses and cheered.

  They watched as the waiter went to the table and approached a woman sitting there. As soon as he finished speaking, she said something to her dinner companions, laughed and slapped one on the shoulder. She stood and immediately all traces of conviviality and laughter vanished from her.

  Myrmidots on the whole are about the same size as Muddles, which makes the average Myrmidot about a head taller than the average Beadle. Achillia was taller than most. She was a handsome, impressive woman. She had high cheekbones and a long, straight nose perched above a wide mouth and square chin. Her brown hair was pulled back and tied in two neat buns at the back of her head. She straightened her dress, patted each bun, and strode towards the four visitors. When she was a few feet from their table, her face broke into a broad smile and she threw her arms wide.

  ‘Bligh, my friend! So good to see you!’

  Bligh remembered just in time that Myrmidots love to hug. They will hug you when they say hello, they will hug you when they say goodbye and sometimes they will hug you in the middle of talking to you. Bligh stood just in time to receive Achillia’s hug. She bent down and wrapped her arms around Bligh, pulling him to her. Almost dangling from her arms, he hung like a child being squeezed by an affectionate aunt.

  Bligh tried to return her hug but with his arms pinned by hers, the best he could do was to make little patting motions on her shoulder blades.

  ‘Achillia,’ he managed to say when she had let go and the wind had rushed back into his lungs, ‘I’m happy to see you, too. Very happy.’

  ‘‘You’ve got here very quickly,’ said the Lord Mayor. ‘You said it’s important, and so it must be!’ She nodded her thanks to the waiter, who brought an extra chair, placed it next to Bligh and held it for her while she sat down.

  ‘It is, it is. Most important.’ Bligh sat and gestured to the others. ‘Achillia, may I introduce my companions?’

  ‘Ah,’ Achillia interrupted him, ‘you didn’t say you were going to bring a brace of Muddles with you!’ She beamed at Crimson and Grunge, looking at them as she would a pair of cute dolls in a toy store.

  ‘This is Crimson, Home’s fire officer…’ continued Bligh.

  Achillia rose from her chair and walked around to Crimson. Crimson stood and received one of Achillia’s tightest hugs.

  ‘… and this is Grunge, a fine musician, very fine, I understand …’

  Grunge also stood and found himself wrapped in Achillia’s arms.

  ‘… and this is Brian, Beadledom’s Factotum and my invaluable right hand.’

  Brian was so startled by Bligh’s description of him that he forgot to prepare himself for Achillia’s hug. He found himself hoisted completely off his chair by a pair of strong arms which encircled him.

  Achillia’s smile radiated genuine warmth. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brian. It’s not often we’re honoured by a visit from Beadleburg’s Factotum,’ she said, placing Brian back into his chair.

  ‘It … it’s … m-my pleasure, L-Lord Mayor,’ was the best Brian could manage, his face bright red.

  ‘Now,’ said Achillia, sitting once again, ‘have you had your coffee and dessert? No? Then let’s chat while you do and then we’ll go to my office.’ She turned her head slightly and gave a slight nod. Brian could have sworn that she hadn’t actually looked at the waiter, but somehow he was scurrying to the table. Once again, his face looked like thunder until he got near the table, only to have the scowl replaced by the wide smile.

  ‘Coffee for our guests, please, Jacob.’ It was definitely more an order than a request.

  Achillia chatted sociably while they enjoyed their coffee. She was a mixture of authority and charm, asking about their journey, whether they found the tram comfortable and efficient, the state of banking in Beadledom and even the prospects of a good coffee harvest. Yet, although she was polite and charming, Crimson and Grunge realised that she seldom asked them serious questions and they bega
n to feel like small children invited to sit with the grown-ups. Achillia clearly did not take the Muddles as seriously as she did the Beadles.

  Bligh finally took the last sip of his coffee. He placed his cup on its saucer, making the china tinkle. Grunge and Brian had already finished, though Crimson’s cup was still not quite empty. Seeing Bligh put down his cup, Achillia gave another little nod and rose from the table.

  ‘Shall we go?’ she said.

  Bligh started to get up from his chair when he noticed Crimson raising her cup to her lips. He immediately sat back down. Achillia followed his eyes to Crimson.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Crimson,’ she said, without bothering to sit again. ‘I didn’t notice that you hadn’t finished.’ She smiled a slightly impatient smile. ‘Forgive me for being rude.’

  Crimson sipped the last of her coffee and put down her cup. ‘Think nothing of it,’ she said.

  ‘OK,’ said Achillia and turned away. ‘Come,’ she said, speaking more to the Beadles than the Muddles, ‘my office is just a short walk.’

  ‘Efficient,’ thought Crimson as they walked out. ‘That’s the best way to describe this city.’ And she was absolutely correct. Whereas Home was pretty and quaint, and Beadleburg dull and neat, Forge was efficient ‘… and hard,’ she decided. It felt like a city with little patience.

  Myrmidots design and set things out very well but they’re not as good as Beadles in making sure everything goes as planned. Grunge noticed the long, tubular street lamps that hung from poles like giant glowing cocoons, and observed that here and there one was dark. The rubbish bins dotted along the road had not been emptied and one or two were in danger of overflowing onto the walking lane. The streets, though tidy, had a faint feel of grit and many of the buildings were slightly soiled from the black factory smoke that drifted over the town when the wind blew from the west or the north.

  Achillia walked briskly and poor Bligh and Brian had a hard time keeping pace with the Lord Mayor. Fortunately for the Beadles, it was only a short walk and soon she turned into a dark, narrow alley between two brick buildings. Halfway down the alley there was a large gate made of thick black steel, almost invisible in the night. As they approached the gate, a figure scuttled from a small box on the right and opened it. He stood holding the gate and gave a small bow as the Lord Mayor strode past him without acknowledgement. Crimson glanced back when they had passed through and saw the figure, head still bent, close the gate and scurry back to the little box.

  Directly ahead was the building which housed the Forge Town Offices. Grunge had never seen a building so high and so wide. With five storeys and a dozen windows on either side of the massive central door, it loomed over them in the dark like a giant beast. There were lights on in several of the windows but their glow couldn’t penetrate the thick darkness of the night shadows cast by the nearby buildings.

  They were less than twenty paces from the building when the forecourt was lit by a row of lamps arrayed across the front. Achillia was expecting the expression of surprise on their faces, and laughed proudly.

  ‘Clever, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘One of our engineers invented the device. When one gets close enough, the lamps go on automatically.’

  ‘For everyone, or just for you?’ Crimson muttered to herself.

  They entered the offices. Crimson felt a little overawed by its size, for the proportions of the building were clearly meant to impress. The foyer was cavernous, its ceiling extending for two storeys. The sound of their footsteps on the black-and-white swirled marble floor rebounded off the ceiling far above and off the thick grey brick of the walls. Two fluted concrete pillars, like the mighty arms of Atlas, each too large for even two people to encircle with their arms, supported the ceiling.

  At the far end of the foyer was an enormous marble staircase, which swept upwards and around, like the spiral of a gigantic seashell. Crimson wondered how many minutes, or hours, Myrmidots who worked here spent each day walking up and down the endless stairs. As they followed Achillia, Crimson glanced upwards and saw the receding spiral end in the gloom five storeys above.

  Achillia’s office was no less impressive. On the second floor, it sat directly over the entrance and atop the foyer, overlooking the forecourt which was still lit by the automatic lights. It was almost as wide as the foyer and, though the ceiling was much lower, extending only to the storey above, it was still higher than any Crimson had seen before. Six large casement windows took up the breadth of the outer wall. In front of the windows was a wooden desk which would have filled any other room. In this room it fitted the proportions perfectly. The desk had a deep dark colour with a tinge of red and blended tastefully with the timber window frames and the wood panelling on the lower half of the walls. Covering the top half of the walls were portraits of previous Lord Mayors, keeping a stern and serious eye on all who walked into the room.

  Achillia walked behind her desk and sat down. Her chair was beautiful, of dark reddish-brown leather cracked with age; it had a high back and wide, curved arms with brass studs dotted along the front.

  ‘Please, sit down,’ she said, indicating the leather armchairs opposite her. They were not as grand as hers, but appeared to be equally old and just as comfortable. As they sat, a side door on the right opened. In came a tall, thin Myrmidot with a long, solemn face. Without speaking, she walked to the other side of the room, took a plain, wooden chair from against the wall and placed it on Achillia’s side of the desk, a few respectful paces from her. She sat on the chair, folded her hands and stared at the visitors.

  Achillia didn’t acknowledge the other Myrmidot. She leaned forward, put her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands.

  ‘This is Beatrice, my assistant. I’ve asked her to join our meeting.’ Beatrice gave a stiff nod. ‘Now, what brings you in such a hurry? Is it still the fires? I’m sorry, Bligh, but we can’t afford to have our factories without adequate fire protection. I wish we could help.’

  ‘It’s all right, Achillia. We understand your need to protect your factories. That’s not why we’ve come. Thankfully, the Muddles came to our aid. Crimson’ – he waved his hand in her direction – ‘is Home’s fire officer. She and Grunge, and another Muddle, Reach, have been very … willing. With their help, we nearly caught our firebug. Unfortunately, she managed to escape during the struggle.’

  At the word “she”, Beatrice’s eyes lifted briefly.

  Bligh then recounted all that had happened since the Muddles arrived, right up to the events at Brindle’s hospital. Grunge noticed that, when he told of the Mix, both Beatrice and Achillia nodded silently, as if they would have expected nothing else.

  ‘That was two nights ago,’ continued Bligh. ‘During those two nights, no fires were started. We believe that she has gone.’

  Achillia raised her eyebrows. ‘But you have reason to believe she is not gone for good, I presume?’

  Bligh nodded. ‘Yes. We believe that she has not finished her work. And she will be back.’ He paused, then he took a deep breath and continued. ‘But there is something else we need to discuss with you … The other Muddle, Reach, caught a glimpse of the woman. And … she spoke to Crimson.’

  Everyone turned and looked at Home’s fire officer.

  ‘She looked at me and said, “Sister. Sisters yet”,’ said Crimson. Her voice was strong and even, although her heart ran wild in her chest.

  Achillia leaned back in her chair. ‘Curious,’ she whispered. ‘She said nothing else, Crimson?’

  ‘No, that was it.’

  ‘Did Reach recognise her?’

  Crimson shook her head. ‘No. All she could say was that the woman wasn’t a Beadle.’

  ‘And she wasn’t a Muddle, either’ Achillia’s eyes flicked at Crimson and then at Grunge. ‘She didn’t mix, did she?’

  Grunge returned her look. ‘She’s clever,’ he thought. ‘She saw that right away.’

  At heart, Bligh was a very fair man. ‘No, she didn’t. It was Grunge who pointed that
out. It didn’t occur to the rest of us,’ he said generously.

  Achillia tapped her fingers lightly on the desk. ‘So, if she wasn’t a Beadle, and she wasn’t a Muddle …’ She didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and looked at each of her visitors in turn.

  Bligh was clearly uncomfortable. ‘Well, that’s why … we thought we’d better … it doesn’t make sense…’ He stopped and took a deep breath. Achillia remained silent, looking at him with an expressionless face.

  ‘We’re puzzled, Achillia. None of us believe that a Myrmidot would do such a thing. And we’re not saying that it is a Myrmidot. We’re just saying that it isn’t a Beadle and it isn’t a Muddle and …’ Bligh’s voice dropped ever so slightly, ‘…there isn’t anyone else in the Land except …’

  ‘Myrmidots,’ Achillia finished for him. ‘Quite so.’ She smiled at Bligh. ‘Please, don’t feel awkward. I’m not taking this personally or as an insult to Myrmidia. What other conclusion could you draw?’

  Bligh breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘But, Myrmidia has no wish to destroy or bring harm to Beadledom. It is not in our nature. Besides … it wouldn’t be in our interest to do so. Our economy needs the trade with Beadledom. Without you, we would have a limited market.’ She gave Grunge and Crimson a glance. ‘There would still be the Muddles, but their needs are … simpler. And of course,’ she continued, ‘we are friends.’ Without warning, Achillia pushed back her chair and came quickly round to Bligh. Throwing her arms open, she leaned down and hugged the High Councillor. She let him go and turned to Brian and wrapped the little Beadle in her arms almost crushing him. Then she hugged both the Muddles in turn.