Blue Fire and Ice

by Alan Skinner

  Brian stood for a moment, thinking. Perhaps it was because he felt a little guilty that he hadn’t gone with the others, that he had let them down. Perhaps it was because he was bored. Or perhaps it was because Brian was more curious than he realised. Whatever the reason, Brian decided he was going to see what was inside the mountain.

  Brian left the shelter of the rocks and returned to the camp. Inside the tent, he removed everything from his pack except his torch, spare batteries and enough food for the rest of the day. He tore a page from his notebook and in his neat, florid hand, wrote a note for the others, in case they returned before he did. Underneath the short note, he drew a map of where he had gone. He placed the note on his sleeping bag, on top of everything he had taken from his pack, and went back to the cave.

  Brian stood at the dark entrance. He felt a moment of uncertainty. The darkness was more forbidding and threatening now he had decided to venture inside. He flicked on his torch. It was a large torch, with a strong, powerful beam that split the heavy blackness of the cave. Brian moved the beam in a slow sweep around the cave. The walls were of mottled stone, grey with flecks of black and silver streaks. For as far as the beam revealed, the cave kept the same dimensions as the entrance, neither widening nor narrowing. How deep into the mountain it went, Brian couldn’t tell. He would have to venture inside to find that out.

  Brian took a deep breath. His heart skipped. He stepped into the mouth of the mountain.

  He walked forward, pebbles crunching underfoot. A dozen paces inside, he turned and stole a glance back at the entrance. He was surprised how small and dim it was, covered by the shadow of the rocks around it. For a moment he thought of going back. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he told himself. ‘It’s just a big hole in the ground. Nothing to be afraid of.’ So he walked on, with only the beam of light and the dull, muffled echo of his footsteps to keep him company. It took a few minutes for the cold, tingling feeling running down his back to leave him. He was reassured by the predictability of the cave so far. It continued, sloping downwards but otherwise unchanged, a long tunnel stretching into the mountain.

  The torch created a large pool of light in front of him, illuminating the tunnel. The silver streaks in the rock reflected the light and their sparkle made Brian feel better. Here and there, flecks of red and orange mixed with the black and silver. These, too, were luminous; they played with the light and flashed points of colour at him.

  He stopped and cocked his head. Brian could hear the sound of cascading water drifting up the tunnel. ‘Or wind,’ he thought. Walking more carefully, Brian continued down the tunnel. The noise became louder. ‘Water, for sure,’ he decided.

  Abruptly, the wall came to an end. Brian stopped, confused. The tunnel had led him to an immense, circular cavern, so big that the beam from the torch barely reached halfway across. Brian stared in awe. He flashed the torch upward but the light was eaten by the dark long before it made it to the ceiling. He stepped from the tunnel into the cavern.

  A river ran though the centre of the cavern. It gushed from a small fissure in the mountain to his right, tumbling down a wall not much more than twice his height. Brian could feel the fine spray on his face as it hit the floor of the cavern, then rushed through the centre to a larger opening in the opposite wall. The spray was cold, almost freezing, and it filled the cavern. Brian shivered. He felt the cold right to his bones.

  Gingerly, he approached the water. On the other side of the river he spotted the entrances to two tunnels. He flashed the torch around the walls. There was no way to cross where the river entered the cavern but on the left, above the hole where it left the cavern, there was a narrow shelf spanning the river. Making his way carefully on the wet, rocky floor, Brian edged onto the shelf. It was narrower than he had judged. He turned, his back against the wall of the cave, and he looked down. The tips of his boots overhung the ledge. A hand’s breadth beneath his feet, the black hole sucked the rushing river into the mountain. In the light of the torch he clutched in his left hand, he could see the ledge glistening with the spray from the river. He could feel its slipperiness as he shuffled sideways.

  He was almost across. The solid floor past the river was only a couple of paces away. He slid his left foot, then dragged his right to meet it. Nearly there. Anxious to get across, he slid his foot again and dragged his body after it. Before he could bring his right foot to meet his left, he was thrown forward by a sharp push in the middle of his back. He lurched forward as a rock protruding from the wall pushed him away off the ledge.

  Brian felt his body falling towards the river. He could feel his feet slipping from the ledge. Solid rock was only a step away but Brian knew that he’d never be able to get to it once he fell in the river. The torrent would grab him and toss him down the terrible hole in the wall. He would surely drown somewhere deep beneath the mountain – if the freezing water didn’t kill him first.

  Desperately, he pushed off from the ledge. He felt his right foot slip but his left foot stayed true and he hurled himself to his left.

  He thumped onto the floor of the cave. His teeth shook and his bones rattled. The breath whooshed from his lungs. The force shook the torch from his hand and it clattered on the stone. Brian rolled onto his stomach and forced himself onto his hands and knees, trying to get air back into his lungs. He saw the beam of light flash wildly, the torch rolling over the stone floor towards the rushing water. Brian grabbed at the torch – and missed. It reached the edge of the river and spun, teetering for a moment. It wavered, then tipped, and slowly slid towards the water.

  Brian snatched the torch just in time. He could see his fingers pink and glowing, lit by the torch’s glow. He rolled onto his back, drew the torch to his chest and lay on the floor, air entering his lungs in large gulps.

  As his heart slowed and stopped thundering in his chest, Brian shifted his grasp on the handle of the torch and pointed it directly overhead. He watched the beam shoot straight up, only to disappear far above him in the dense blackness.

  ‘What am I doing here?’ he thought. ‘I don’t know where I’m going! I don’t know why I’m going there! What would Megan think?’

  For several minutes he lay there, regaining his breath. With his breath came his resolve and Brian rose to his feet determined to continue.

  He faced the two tunnels. Now, Brian had never explored a cave before. The closest he’d come was a large garden maze at an old house outside Beadledom when he was a child. Which, he had to admit, was poor practice for not losing one’s way, especially as some dutiful Beadle had put signs in the maze reading ‘This Way’ and ‘To the Exit’. He remembered a story his mother had read to him when he was very young, about a boy and a girl who leave a trail of breadcrumbs so they can find their way back home. Stones, he decided, would do just as well as bread, so Brian filled his pockets with pebbles. He decided he would try the right-hand tunnel, and just inside the mouth of the tunnel, he made a neat little pyramid. Each time he came to a new tunnel, he would gather some stones and do the same, so he could find his way back. ‘Well, it just proves that you never know when something you learn might come in useful,’ he mused.

  The tunnel turned and twisted more than the first, and though it narrowed in places so that he could almost feel his shoulders touching the walls, it remained high enough for him to walk without bending. Like the first tunnel, the floor sloped downwards slightly, and Brian continued his journey deeper into the heart of the mountain.

  It was a long journey. Several times he ventured down tunnels that came to a dead end. He learned to mark tunnels he abandoned as well as those he entered. One tunnel narrowed and tapered so that he had to crawl to go forward. He began to panic, imagining that the ceiling was pressing down on him of its own accord, seeking to crush him. He scurried out of the tunnel backwards and after that he quickly left any tunnel in which he could not walk upright.

  Brian’s stomach began to rumble. He took his watch from his pocket and flashed the torch on its face. It w
as just after noon. He had been exploring for more than three hours and he decided that he would have to retrace his steps and return to the camp. He made the decision with reluctance. He was convinced that the tunnels led somewhere important, and the image of the footprints kept coming back to him.

  Just then, the tunnel swept around to the left in a long, gentle arc. It began to widen and the ceiling drew further away from his head. The floor no longer sloped downward. He also noticed something peculiar. He could feel warmth on the left side of his face. He moved closer to the left wall. The warmth was unmistakable. He stretched out his hand and touched the wall. He hadn’t realised how cold he was until the heat flooded through his hand into his body. He stopped and pressed his back against the wall, soaking up the heat. His skin tingled as his body warmed. Reluctantly, he moved away and continued walking along the curved tunnel.

  ‘It’s almost as if I am walking around a great round oven,’ he thought.

  He was disappointed when the tunnel swung sharply to the right, away from the warmth. Yet the warmth had revived his spirits and he walked on with renewed vigour. He felt like whistling and would have if he had been able, but as hard as he tried, he had never been able to put his lips together and blow a tune. So, he hummed, a strange sing-song buzzing hum that came back to him down the tunnel in a dull echo.

  He was still humming when he turned a sharp corner and stopped dead in his tracks. He was startled to find himself in a small, dimly lit alcove – and the blade of a knife flashing towards his throat.

  *

  The knife stopped in front of Brian’s face. His eyes followed the hand holding the knife, up the arm and to a face hidden by shadows. Neither of them moved.

  ‘Hello,’ said the face behind the knife. ‘Was it you making that noise, then? I wondered what it was. I didn’t think there was anyone around.’ The voice was pleasant and amiable. ‘’Excuse me,’ said the face and an arm reached across Brian’s face. It came back again, holding a loaf of bread. ‘I was just going to cut some bread for lunch. Would you like some?’

  Brian blinked and nodded. ‘Yes, please,’ he managed to say.

  ‘OK,’ said the figure and turned and walked away.

  Brian did the only thing that seemed sensible. He followed the figure into the kitchen.

  Nothing that Brian had seen in his life startled him quite so much as walking into the light of the kitchen and seeing Kevin. There was no mistaking the short, portly shape of a Beadle.

  ‘But you’re … you’re … a … Beadle!’ spluttered Brian.

  ‘Of course,’ said Kevin. He spoke politely and calmly but Brian found his voice odd. It was … dull.

  ‘But I know all the Beadles, and I’ve never seen you before!’

  ‘I’ve never seen you before, either,’ said Kevin politely while slicing the bread. ‘Which part are you from?’

  ‘Beadleburg,’ said Brian, a touch defensively.

  ‘Never heard of it,’ said Kevin. ‘Would you care for tomato pickle with your cheese?’

  Brian nodded. ‘Yes, please.’

  Kevin walked back into the little alcove and returned with a wedge of cheese and a jar of tomato pickle.

  ‘Which part are you from?’ Brian asked. He watched as Kevin placed the bread, cheese and pickle on the table, then fetched two plates, two knives and a spoon for the pickle. He placed the plates in front of the two chairs and laid each knife precisely the same distance from its plate.

  ‘Twoplace,’ said Kevin, putting two tin mugs on the table.

  Brian’s brow creased. Maybe Kevin wasn’t quite all there.

  ‘Two plates, yes, I see that,’ he said cautiously.

  Kevin wondered if perhaps his visitor wasn’t very bright.

  ‘No, TWOPLACE. Where I was born.’ He saw that Brian still looked confused. ‘You must have heard of Twoplace. It’s the second largest city in The Place.’

  ‘What place?’ Brian was beginning to feel a bit dizzy.

  ‘The Place,’ said Kevin patiently. His voice never changed. ‘Water?’

  ‘Yes, please. But where is this place?’

  ‘The Place, not This Place. There’s no such place as This Place.’ He thought a moment. ‘Unless you mean this place.’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s what I said, so that’s what I mean. Where is this place?’

  ‘Now. I see why you’re confused. Amelia didn’t tell you anything when she brought you here. That’s not surprising. She never tells me anything, either.’ Both eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘I can’t believe you’ve never been in Twoplace.’

  Brian shook his head. ‘Never.’

  ‘Not even one time?’ asked Kevin.

  ‘No, I’ve never been in Twoplace at -’ Brian stopped just in time. ‘Who’s Amelia?’

  Now, Kevin was puzzled.

  ‘Our Factor. The lady who brought you here. Surely she told you her name?’

  ‘I didn’t come with Amelia. I came with Crimson. And Grunge and Miniver and Copper and Dot and Aunt Mag.’

  ‘Who’s Crimson?’

  ‘What’s a Factor?’

  ‘Is she a Beadle?’

  ‘Is that like a Factotum?’

  ‘Who’s Aunt Mag and … and … those others?’ Kevin was starting to lose his composure. His voice raised slightly and his impassive face bore an expression of exasperation.

  ‘Look, I haven’t even introduced myself,’ said Brian. ‘We seem to have been talking nonsense. We sound like a couple of Muddles.’

  Kevin raised his eyebrows. ‘Muddles? I must say I never thought what Muddles sound like.’

  ‘You’ve never met a Muddle? Well, you’re lucky. They can be very troublesome.’ Brian caught himself. ‘Well, some are worse than others.’

  Kevin sniffed dismissively. He cut a wedge of cheese and put it on Brian’s plate. ‘Now you’re being silly. You’re not telling me you’ve actually met a Muddle?’

  ‘Of course I have! I just told you I came here with two of them!’ Brian was becoming irritated.

  Kevin placed a wedge of cheese on his own plate. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Muddles don’t exist. They’re only an old fairy tale!’

  Brian was getting angry. He picked up the jar of pickle and gave the lid a good twist. It flew off the jar and across the table. Kevin caught it neatly in mid-air and placed it on the table. Glaring at Kevin, Brian snatched the spoon from the table and jabbed it into the jar. He dropped a large spoonful on his plate.

  ‘I am not being ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I have met many Muddles. There’s … there’s a pirate who talks funny – and a magician who can’t do card tricks. And there’s a musician, but he can’t play anything yet; and a ballerina, who can only dance with her eyes closed, and a fire officer who hears voices and … and … one who makes coffee and cinnamon biscuits; and there’s a bear, and a puppy and a penguin and … and … a goat who eats trousers … and … and … and – they all throw sticks!’

  ‘The bear, the puppy, the penguin and the goat, too?’ asked Kevin innocently. He had quite forgotten himself, becoming intrigued by the strange characters Brian rattled off. Then he remembered himself. ‘Oh, this is too silly!’ He took an angry bite of his cheese.

  Brian did the same. The texture was excellent, firm but with just the right crumbliness, and very tasty.

  ‘Hmmm. The cheese is very good,’ he said. ‘Nicely matured and sharp.’ He nibbled a small piece of bread. ‘Fresh bread! It’s delicious!’ Brian exclaimed, and he meant it from the bottom of his heart.

  ‘Thank you. I made it this morning,’ said Kevin, proudly. Amelia had never once complimented him on his cooking. He pointed to a small square of rocks in the corner, the cracks neatly mortared. ‘See, I made a stone oven. The top lifts off and the fire is underneath.’

  Brian was impressed. ‘That’s very clever. I’ll bet even Copper and Dot would be impressed.’ He gave Kevin an apologetic smile. ‘Let’s start again. My name’s Brian.’

  ‘I’m Kevin.’

&
nbsp; ‘Pleased to meet you, Kevin,’ said Brian very graciously. ‘Now, I’ll tell you about myself, and then you tell me about yourself, OK?’

  Kevin nodded.

  ‘Well,’ started Brian, ‘I come from Beadledom – from the town of Beadleburg, in fact – and I am the official Factotum of Beadledom. And Special Envoy.’

  It was Kevin’s turn to look startled. ‘A Factotum?’ he asked a little nervously. ‘What’s a Factotum?’

  Brian explained what a Factotum was and all the things he did. Well, not all, for he didn’t want to confuse Kevin. But he told enough so that Kevin got the idea.

  Kevin was relieved but still puzzled. ‘They let you do all that?’ he asked incredulously. ‘If you do all that, what do the Factors do?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ admitted Brian. ‘Because I don’t know what a Factor is. I’ve never heard of one before. Is it like a Factotum?’

  Well, Factors – or Benefactors, to give them their full name – run everything. They make decisions, organise – everything. We work for the Factors. Some, like me, belong to only one Factor.’

  ‘Like a slave?’ Brian asked hesitantly.

  ‘No! Of course not!’ Kevin was quite indignant. ‘That would be dreadful. No, we’re paid. I’m Amelia’s assistant and I’m very fortunate.’

  ‘So, what exactly do you do?’

  ‘Whatever I’m told. One never argues with a Factor.’

  To Brian that sounded pretty much like a slave.

  ‘And this Amelia – she’s your Factor?’

  ‘Yes. She’s more difficult than most.’ Kevin paused for a brief reflection. ‘Well, she’s more difficult than any.’

  ‘The land you come from – The Place – where is it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s very far away. Over the sea to the north. We came on a small ship.’

  ‘”We”? How many of you came?’