by Alan Skinner
Grunge felt like things were falling into place. The excitement built within him at the thought of the journey. ‘We’ll save time if we take our bus to Bourne Bridge,’ he said to the others. ‘When the bus stops at the border tomorrow evening, we can load the sledge and the ice tank. Copper and Dot can stay at Home tomorrow night, if they wish. We can leave at dawn the day after.’
Copper grunted again. ‘Good. We might have to take the rear seats out to fit the tank in, but we’ll do it.’
‘Excellent!’ cried Achillia. ‘Brian, I’m sure we can leave all the other details to you.’ She rose and gave each of her visitors, including Copper and Beatrice, a very enthusiastic hug. When the hugging had quite finished, she sat back down at her desk, and reached for a little brass bell with a black handle. ‘Now, I think it’s time for coffee,’ she declared, giving the bell a vigorous shake and making it tinkle loudly.
‘Loud enough,’ thought Brian, ‘to be heard all the way down to Bellow’s.’
Chapter 9
Preparations
The next morning, the little orange bus arrived promptly ten minutes late. Twenty minutes later, Brian was still tutting as the bus rumbled its way towards Home.
‘How can anyone expect me to organise the journey when Muddles have no sense of time?’ he muttered while he tutted. ‘I see I shall have to make a very thorough list for this job.’
He continued to plan and fret equally all the way back to Home. Bligh rode in silence, satisfied with what they had achieved. He had watched Brian organise the patrols and make lists of all the things the Myrmidots would need for the journey; he had watched as Copper and Dot had started fashioning the ice tank and assembling the solar unit; he had watched Grunge and Crimson help make a special harness for Miniver; and he had even managed to have morning coffee with Achillia. All before they had to catch the speedy tram at 9.57. ‘A good day’s work,’ he concluded.
From the front of the bus, he could hear Shift talking to Grunge. Over the rumble of the bus, he caught the words ‘radio’, ‘not working’, ‘music’ and ‘driving’. Grunge said something that Bligh couldn’t quite hear. ‘Oh well,’ he thought as he closed his eyes, ‘there’s nothing so soothing as a quiet ride through the countryside.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, Grunge,’ said Shift eagerly. ‘I really do like music when I drive, particularly in the morning.’
‘I’d be happy to, Shift,’ Grunge assured the driver. He reached down into his little travelling bag and took out a small concertina. He unfastened the little buttons that kept it tightly compressed, slid his fingers through the leather handles and stretched the concertina full-length. ‘Anything in particular you’d like to hear?’ And without waiting for an answer, he pushed his hands together and started playing.
The first note from the concertina assaulted Bligh’s eardrums. Startled, his whole body jumped. His head hit the luggage rack above him. On the way back down, he missed the seat completely and landed with a thud on the floor of the bus. Brian was no less startled. The fastidious Factotum looked down at the list he had nearly finished. What had been a very neat list now had a jagged line of ink running from top to bottom.
Bligh hauled himself off the floor and slid back into his seat. Brian turned the page of his notebook and started his list again. The cheerful but ear-rending noise from the front of the bus continued. Shift and Crimson tapped their feet and hummed along but Bligh noticed that both hummed different tunes and tapped to a different beat, neither of which matched Grunge’s playing.
As they drove on towards Home, more and more passengers boarded the bus. They joined the singing and tapping and soon the bus was filled with half a dozen different songs and the happy screeching of Grunge’s concertina.
‘That Grunge,’ Bligh heard one of the Muddles remark admiringly as he left the bus. ‘It takes a special musician to play along with so many songs at once.’
Bligh and Brian stretched their legs while they waited for the bus to take them to the border where they would be just in time to meet Megan for the last leg back to Beadleburg. They said goodbye to Crimson and Grunge, agreeing that Brian would be back at daybreak the next day. Then they sat on a bench, waiting for Shift to finish his coffee. Muddles walked past, each offering a greeting and a smile. Each ”Hello” and “Good afternoon” helped push the echo of the concertina from their heads and Bligh even forgot his plans to have the concertina banned in Beadledom. By the time Shift returned and they boarded the bus once again, both were surprised to find that their own goodbyes and waves to the passing Muddles were quite genuine.
Shift tooted the horn as they passed the fire station just in time to see Calamity bound out of the station to greet Crimson and Grunge. The Muddle pup raced around them in wide circles, stopping every couple of circuits to have her ears scratched, until the three of them passed through the door of the station. Grunge stopped just inside and looked at the overnight bag he had taken to Forge.
‘I guess I should really move back to my place. They’ve fixed the windows. There’s really no need for me to impose on you any more, Crimson.’
Crimson waved her hand dismissively. ‘It’s not been an imposition, Grunge. I’ve been glad of the company. But I know you must miss your own home.’ She looked around the fire station. ‘I should miss this place if I was away too long.’
‘We’ll be away for a little while on this trip. Eight or nine days, at least.’
Calamity’s ears arched, the tips lifting an inch or two higher from the floor. ‘Trip?’ she thought. ‘Where are we going?’ She listened carefully as her friends talked.
Crimson looked wistful. ‘It will be the longest I’ve been away from the station. And I’ve neglected my studies over the past week. I’ll have lots of catching up to do when we get back.’ She glanced at Grunge. ‘Remember when we were at the library and found Meddle’s book? In the cabinet at the bottom of the bookshelf there were lots of maps in those tubes. You don’t suppose there might be one of the High Mountains?’
Grunge shook his head. ‘I think it’s unlikely. The High Mountains have always been, well, off-limits to the people of the Land. I’ve never heard of anyone except Girth going there.’ He saw the look of disappointment on Crimson’s face. ‘But it’s worth a try. It will make the trip a lot easier if we know exactly where we’re going.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Crimson. ‘Where’s Calamity? She can come for a w -’ She stopped as she saw the puppy sitting by the door, waiting.
‘Well, you said we were going on a trip,’ barked the Muddle pup. ‘I’m waiting!’
‘C’mon, Calamity. We’re going to the library. Want to come?’
‘Library? I hope that isn’t the trip you were talking about!’
‘Miniver!’ Grunge stopped and looked at Crimson. ‘We haven’t asked Miniver if she’s willing to come! We’d better find her before we go to the library.’
‘Miniver?’ barked Calamity. ‘That’s more like it! Let’s go!’ Calamity leapt on the spot, then bounded out of the door.
Grunge and Crimson laughed and followed the happy pup out of the station.
*
From the window of her small office, Beatrice looked down on the courtyard below. Since dawn she had watched Copper and Dot bustle back and forth, bringing from their workshop each item they had built or assembled for the journey. The sledge, with Miniver’s harness, was finished. The bright metal ice tank that Copper had specially designed sat next to the sledge, reflecting the afternoon sun. Copper and Dot were gingerly lifting the small solar panel onto the top of the tank. She could hear faintly Copper’s calm voice drifting up from the courtyard.
‘Easy, now.’
They positioned the panel and tightened the bolts that would hold it in place.
‘Not too tight. They’ll likely freeze on the snowfield and we don’t want trouble getting them undone when we have to take it off again.’
The position of the panel concerned the engineer most. He had been unhap
py making the tank and panel in such a short time. To get the ice into the tank they would have to remove the panel before opening the top of the tank. The panel was delicate and Copper feared handling it more than was necessary.
Dot fixed the panel in place while Copper attached the wires and tubes that would carry the sun’s energy into the refrigerated coils that lay snaked within the wall of the tank. The tank had two thin layers between the outer and inner walls. The first layer contained the insulation and between that and the inside wall of the tank were the refrigeration coils that would keep the blue ice from melting during the journey down from the snowfield. It was a makeshift job but it was the best Copper could do in the short time they had.
‘Check the seating. Make sure there’s no give in it. We don’t want any extra movement. It’ll be bumpy getting it up the mountain and we don’t want it to shake loose.’
Dot had already checked the panel but she was used to Copper’s methodical ways and she checked again, her face too serious for one so young. Dot’s face was always serious. No one could remember hearing her laugh. Few had even heard her talk. She was a solemn, solitary girl who only seemed comfortable around Copper. She had said nothing when he’d asked if she’d like to accompany him on the trip. She’d simply nodded and gone on with her work.
Like Copper, Dot was slight and her habit of always wearing a pair of blue bib-and-brace overalls gave her the look of a tomboy. Her fair hair was cropped short at the back and sides, with a fringe that was cut straight across just above her eyebrows. Her small oval face, with its bright brown eyes and small nose, made her look about twelve, though she was over halfway through her teen years. More than one Beadle who had visited the factory where they normally worked had assumed the serious young girl was Copper’s daughter.
With the panel in place, Dot and Copper paused to look at their handiwork. The flat sledge sat on four thick tyres. On its base were the mounting brackets to attach the tank once they left the bus at Bourne Bridge. Two runners, like oversized skis, lay along the length of the sledge. When they reached the snowfield, the tyres would be folded under the base of the sledge and the runners fixed to brackets Copper had attached to the underside of the sledge. Once off the ice on the return journey, the runners would be replaced by the tyres. On both sides of the sledge were small levers which controlled the brakes. Not knowing the terrain they would be travelling through, Copper wanted to make sure that they could reach the brake from either side.
‘It’ll do,’ said Copper. ‘Wish I had more time, but …’ He finished the sentence with a regretful shake of his head. ‘Well, we’d best get our things and get this loaded on the tram. It must be nearly time to go.’ From his coat pocket, he pulled a silver watch and flipped open the lid. He looked at the watch face, then shook the watch. ‘Hmmm. Stopped. When we get back I’d better go see that Muddle, Slight, and ask him to make me another.’ He looked at Dot and grinned. ‘Slight may not know what’s up his sleeve, but no one in the Land makes better watches.’
Dot looked at the watch on her wrist. ‘Four minutes past four o’clock,’ she told Copper.
‘Just enough time to get our things,’ he decided. He looked pensive. ‘Are you sure you want to come? If that book the Muddles read is right, it could be dangerous.’
‘I’ll come,’ she said simply.
Copper gave a small grunt and a nod. ‘Ten minutes, then. Get your things and meet me back here.’ He watched as Dot disappeared round the corner. ‘Good,’ he said to himself. ‘Glad to have you along.’ And he went to get his own things.
Beatrice watched the engineer and his apprentice leave, turned from the window, opened the door that led to Achillia’s office and went in.
*
‘I’ll bet you feel proud to have been selected to go on another important mission, Brian. It’s quite an honour.’ Megan looked hard at a spot on the bus’s bright red paint and rubbed again with the cloth. ‘I’ll bet there’s never been a Factotum in the whole history of Beadledom who’s been on as many important missions as you have.’
Brian looked up from the list he was reading. ‘Do you really think so, Megan?’
‘Of course. You’ll probably become our most famous Factotum, ever.’ Megan stood back and looked critically at the spot she had just polished. ‘There aren’t many famous Factotums.’ She thought for a moment. ‘In fact, I don’t think there are any. You’ll be the first.’ She walked around the bus, looking for spots that needed polishing. ‘No disrespect to your father, Brian. He was a very good Factotum, they say.’
Brian couldn’t help puffing out his chest, which was no mean feat for a Beadle, whose waists were always bigger than their chests.
‘Now, read again the list of things to take with you,’ said Megan, breathing on a little spot, then polishing it.
‘Rope, axe, shovel, pick, hammer, compass, matches, torch, lantern, tents, sleeping bag, boots, coat, jumper, warm socks, mittens, pyjamas, slippers, water, bread, cheese, meat, jam, lamingtons …’ Brian kept reading. It really was a long list. To Megan it seemed that the list might be just a little too long. After all, there would be only one bear to pull the sledge.
Brian finally finished reading. He looked at Megan.
‘Don’t forget clean underwear, Brian.’ Megan’s eyes twinkled. ‘You never know when you’re going to get run over by a bus.’
Brian blushed then realised Megan was teasing him.
‘Have I forgotten anything?’ he said, wondering why his face felt warm. ‘Do you think three towels will be enough? And I’m only taking one bathrobe. Maybe I should take another,’ he said worriedly.
‘I doubt you’ve forgotten anything. In fact, I don’t know how the rest of us will survive while you’re away. You’ll have everything,’ said Megan, still teasing. She smiled at Brian. ‘Here, let’s sit down and go over the list. I don’t think you’ll be taking many baths.’
Half an hour later Megan had reduced the list to just the practical and necessary items, though Brian was rather concerned that he would be leaving his slippers behind. Nonetheless, he was grateful for Megan’s help. ‘Thank you, Megan,’ he said. ‘I guess I got carried away, didn’t I?’
‘Only a little. You just like being prepared.’ She looked at him and her smile vanished and her face became very serious. ‘You be careful. Beadleburg can’t afford to lose a good Factotum.’
Once again Brian felt his face grow warm. He wanted to say something but found that his head couldn’t remember any words at all. So he did the only thing his head could remember and he nodded.
‘Have you decided who you’ll be taking with you?’ asked Megan, practical once again.
‘Aunt Mag,’ said Brian, now that his head had found it could remember what a word was.
‘She’s a good choice,’ agreed Megan. ‘She’s tough and she won’t stand any nonsense.’ Though Megan never made it clear who she thought would provide the nonsense.
Aunt Mag wasn’t really Brian’s aunt and her real name wasn’t even Mag but no one could recall her real name. For as long as anyone could remember, the proprietor of Aunt Mag’s Nursery had always been known as Aunt Mag.
In truth, the first Aunt Mag was the current Aunt Mag’s great-great-great-great-great-great aunt. Whose name really was Mag. She had started the nursery and had passed it on to one of her nieces when she retired. And that niece became known as Aunt Mag and when she retired, and she passed it on to one of her nieces who, of course, also became Aunt Mag. The great-great-great-great grandmother of the current Aunt Mag had foolishly tried to influence destiny and affection by naming one of her baby girls Mag, thinking that should the child be the one to inherit the nursery, she really would be Aunt Mag. Unfortunately, it was left to her sister Eleanor, who was thereafter known as Mag. After years of answering when she wasn’t being spoken to, the real Mag, who was married to a very nice pharmacist by the name of Harold, changed her name to Maude. It was the last time any baby girl was actually named Mag at birth.
Beadles take their child-minding seriously (it was that sort of nursery; not the kind where plants are tended with loving care and spoken to in soothing words to make them happy and grow strong and healthy). So seriously, in fact, that some parents would regularly spend the whole day at the nursery with their child. Aunt Mag discouraged this peculiar habit for she found that the parents were much more underfoot than the children and considerably more fussy about their lunch.
Aunt Mag, apart from being an expert in the art of Caring For Children, was known for two other qualities: she had remarkable energy; and she never lost her temper. She could carry eight toddling Beadles at once, four under each arm. Once, she was even seen carrying a ninth, the collar of its little suit clenched firmly between her teeth like a round little kitten (though not as cute). Every day except Sunday, she opened the nursery at 5.30 a.m. sharp and worked all day until she returned the last child to its parents and closed the door at 8.00 p.m.
Very astutely, Brian had figured that the trip required someone of great stamina, for the trek into the High Mountains was sure to be long and arduous. Rather unkindly, he had also figured that with the Muddles along, someone good with children would be handy.
Aunt Mag had immediately said yes when Brian had asked her to accompany them on the journey. Leaving her charges in the care of her helpers, she went to her three nieces and asked if they would take her place while she was away. Naturally, they all said yes, thinking it would increase their chances of becoming the next Aunt Mag. In truth, Aunt Mag was quite glad when Brian asked her to go, for after more than a dozen years looking after small children day in and day out, she felt she needed a holiday and a little jaunt into the wilds of the High Mountains seemed just the thing.
‘You’d best get your things together then. We’ll have a very early start to get you to Home by daybreak,’ said Megan.