Blue Fire and Ice (6 page)

‘Oh, Tom, you did it! She’s going to be OK!’ exclaimed Pim, his face split by a huge grin. He clapped Tom on the shoulder. ‘You must have puffed all the smoke out of her!’ He gazed at his friend in admiration, though wondering why Tom’s tears fell faster now.

Gwyneth’s coughing eased and her head cleared. Behind Tom’s head she could see the eerie blue glow of the fire.

‘Tom! The mill!’ she cried. ‘We have to save the mill!’

She pushed herself to her feet and stared at the mill in horror.

‘It’s no use, Gwynny. We can’t save it. We tried, but we can’t put out that fire.’

The millworkers were also her neighbours. They had rushed to fight the fire when the alarm had sounded. One had grabbed the hose near her little vegetable garden; others filled bucket after bucket with water from the stream. Each bucket of water, each drop that sprayed from the tiny hose, seemed to feed the fire’s fury and make it burn more fiercely. Gradually, they had given up on the mill and concentrated on stopping the buildings nearby from catching alight.

Anger and sorrow filled her. ‘It’s taken my mill, Tom! It’s taken our mill!’ She sobbed and Tom put his arm around her shoulders.

‘It nearly took you, too, Gwyneth,’ said Pim. ‘It would’ve, if Tom hadn’t saved you. We couldn’t see you when we got here and… and…’ His voice faltered. ‘Well, we thought you was still asleep and hadn’t got out. The place was truly blazing, blue flames all over it. But Tom just broke down them doors and rushed in, bits of burning roof and walls falling all about him.’

Pim stopped. He felt tears threaten his eyes, too. ‘I feared you was both gone for sure. Then I seen Tom come through the smoke and flames carrying you. He laid you down here and puffed into you until you woke up. He never stopped, he didn’t, until you opened your eyes.’

Gwyneth reached for Tom’s hand. Her fingers curled around his and she felt the soft squeeze of his strong hands. Deep as her sorrow was, as his hand clasped hers, she felt a small stream of joy inside, like a new mountain brook bubbling from the land for the first time.

The great wheel at the side of the mill continued to turn, its large paddles pushed round and round by the stream. It had been many years since it had provided the power for the mill but Gwyneth’s mother and father had kept it oiled and repaired, and Gwyneth had done the same. They watched as flames leapt from the wall of the mill onto the wheel. The old wood was easy prey for the fire and in moments the wheel was ablaze with blue flames. In awe they watched as the flaming paddles dipped into the water. Instead of spluttering and dying, the flames grew stronger under the water, giving the stream a frightening glow.

Like a giant, flaming Catherine-wheel it turned, until the fire had done its work and the mill wheel crumbled into the water that had played with it for hundreds of years.

‘We’d better help the others,’ said Gwyneth. Her voice no longer trembled. Tom looked at her small, round face. Sad but determined eyes looked back at him. ‘We have to save what we can or there’ll be no cloth to be had in Beadledom for love nor money this winter.’

‘Here,’ said Tom. He took off his coat and draped it over her scorched and ragged dressing gown. Pim stared at his feet as Tom took Gwyneth’s face between his hands and pressed his lips on her hair.

The three of them turned. Lit by the blue glow of the fire, they went to save what was left of Melton’s Mill.

*

Atop a hill not too distant, cloaked by the night, a shadowy figure watched the mill turn to ashes.

Chapter 3

T
he firehouse in Muddlemarsh is a small building made of red brick. Like any true firehouse, it has two storeys, with a shiny pole down which one would slide to get from the top to the bottom. Crimson, Muddlemarsh’s fire officer, lived in the upper storey, where she had a small kitchen, a cosy sitting room, a bedroom, a guest room and, of course, a bathroom. Crimson loved things to be clean and bright and the firehouse was always as neat as a pin. In the lower storey was the fire equipment: hoses, pumps, ladders, axes, coats, hats, boots, a whole shelf of books on the proper way to fight fires and keep a fire station tidy and ready. The books on maintaining a fire station were Crimson’s favourite, especially Effective Techniques for Polishing Brass, which she had read at least a hundred times.

The fire engine had pride of place in the building. It wasn’t exactly a fire engine. Rather, it was a fire pump; a large metal tank on a small cart, which was pulled by the firehouse horse, a lively little mare named Sparkle. It took two people to work the pump while Crimson held the hose. As she was the only fire officer in Muddlemarsh, she relied on volunteers. So far, that had never been a problem, as there had never been a fire in Muddlemarsh. Nonetheless, they were proud of their firehouse, their fire pump and, of course, Crimson. Each Saturday, a group of volunteers would arrive at the station and they would practise hitching Sparkle to the fire cart and working the pump and watering the gardens of the nearby houses.

At the moment, the guest room had a guest and as Crimson polished the brass on the fire equipment, she could hear him on the floor above her. A strange noise, like metal barrels falling and clanging, came from the guest room.

‘Well, that’s sounding better. Grunge certainly is improving. A town couldn’t want a more dedicated musician,’ she said to herself. Inspired by Grunge’s dedication, she hummed a little tune of her own as she polished the nozzle of the hose.

The sound of the metal barrels was replaced by a loud but quite pleasing metallic wail, which ended abruptly in a thump and a cry of ‘Owww!’ Crimson stopped polishing and turned round.

Grunge sat at the bottom of the fire pole, his guitar in his lap, clutched in both hands. His face scrunched in pain, then erupted in a wide smile.

‘Hello, Grunge,’ Crimson said. ‘You really should hold on to the pole, you know.’

‘Crimson! Did you hear that? What a wicked noise! Did you hear it?’

Crimson smiled. She liked Grunge and she felt happy when he felt happy. ‘Sure did. What was it?’

Grunge stood, excited. ‘Watch!’ he said. Grunge held the neck of the guitar against the metal pole, pressing the strings hard against the metal. With one hand, he strummed all the strings, then slid the neck of the guitar along the pole. The same wailing filled the firehouse. Then Grunge hit the guitar strings again and slid the neck of the guitar back the other way along the pole.

‘It happened when I slid down the pole! I didn’t want to let go of my guitar. I was afraid of breaking another one. The pole rubbed against the strings as I slid down and … wow!’

Crimson beamed at Grunge. ‘I heard you practising just before. You’re getting better all the time. Muddlemarsh is lucky to have a musician who practises so hard. You’re a credit to musicians everywhere, Grunge. I’ll bet it won’t be too many more years before you can actually play one of your instruments.’

Grunge beamed back at Crimson. It was pretty obvious to everyone else in the town that they liked each other a lot.

Grunge was a musician. He had a house full of instruments: cool guitars, hip pianos, funky saxophones, thunderous tubas, really rocking drums, smooth clarinets and haunting flutes. He couldn’t play any of them yet, though every day he practised, going from one to another from sunrise to beyond sunset.

In fact, it was a rather noisy and enthusiastic session practising the drums, during which he managed to shatter nearly all his windows, that led him to be staying at the firehouse. ‘Ah, like, it’s … ah, nice of you to let me stay here a few days while they, like, put new glass in my windows. I hope the practising doesn’t, like, disturb you,’ Grunge said.

‘Not at all,’ replied Crimson. ‘If you can put up with me testing the fire horn!’ The firehouse had a large black horn on the roof which Crimson could sound by pulling on a rope. Every day at 10.00 a.m. sharp Crimson pulled on the rope three times, making the horn roar throughout Muddlemarsh. And each day when they heard the horn, all the Muddles stopped what they were doing and sat down to coffee and biscuits.

‘Well, I am off to see Sky. We are going to see the new music pole the Myrmidots put in the square last week. Did you know they gave Wave one of those new CarryTune boxes they invented? I’d like to see it,’ said Grunge.

Crimson wasn’t too sure why she felt a little put out that Grunge was going off with Sky, but she did. Deliberately offhand, she said, ‘Yes, I’m sure they are very clever but I don’t why anybody would invent something just to make people sing badly. I saw Wave wearing his yesterday morning. He had wires pushed into his ears and was walking along, singing dreadfully off-key. And Wave has such a nice voice.’

Grunge wasn’t too sure why he felt a little put out that Crimson liked Wave’s singing. He didn’t want Crimson to say anything more about Wave’s singing, so he changed the subject.

‘Did you hear about the Beadle that Patch rescued yesterday? The one that fell in the stream? Seems he was very angry with Patch and Slight just because Nanny’s goat ran off with his trousers when he chased it.’

‘Really?’ said Crimson. ‘People should keep their trousers on their legs where they belong. And he should have known better than to chase Nanny’s goat. Everyone knows she loves to be chased. Beadles are very smart but they have no common sense.’

‘Patch told Wave that the Beadle told him that he was on an important mission to see Wave and then to see you.’ Grunge shrugged. ‘He didn’t say what the mission was about, though.’

Crimson was surprised. ‘Whatever could he want with me? Well, if it was important, he’ll come again today. He should take the bus. Then he won’t go falling into streams.’

Grunge looked at his wrist. Crimson looked at Grunge out of the corner of her eye. ‘You don’t wear a watch, Grunge,’ she said gently. She glanced at the large station clock on the wall. ‘It’s nearly eight o’clock.’

Grunge glanced sheepishly at Crimson. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Well, I have to go. I don’t want to keep Sky waiting and I said I would meet her at eight. See you.’

‘Bye, Grunge,’ said Crimson, wondering why she felt a little angry with Sky, who was one of her very best friends.

Grunge whistled as he walked from the fire station to the town centre, where he was to meet Sky. Home was quite different from Beadleburg. It was clean and tidy, but the streets were not straight, the houses were all of different shapes and sizes and there were flowers and gardens everywhere.

The firehouse was on the edge of the town. A traveller coming along the road to the east that led from Beadleburg would see the neat red building and know they had arrived at Home. Grunge strolled along the curved road until it straightened in the centre of the town. Here, shops fronted the south side of the street in a colourful array, with awnings of red, blue, green and yellow, and small metal signs painted gold hung above most of the doorways. There was a gold boot above the shoe store and a golden bull with sharp horns over the entrance to the butcher’s. Above the door of the stationer’s hung a gilt pen, next to the gleaming spoon and fork that rocked back and forth over the doorway of the little restaurant. The largest sign, and the only one made with silver as well as gold, was the sign above the coffee house. A large golden cup with a silver coffee bean etched on the front marked Home’s most popular shop.

A river ran along the north side of the road and on the other side of the river ran another street also lined with shops. Seven small bridges, each without the usual timber roofs, crossed the glistening blue river, connecting the seven small roads that ran northward from the town.

Muddles love flowers and on every lamp post a hanging basket overflowed with flowers: orange and yellow impatiens; purple geraniums and dark red daisies; white and yellow snapdragons; and deep blue lobelia that entwined with shiny ivy and streamed from the basket in a waterfall of colour.

In the centre of the town, next to the coffee house, was the town common. The Common was a large open park with playthings for the children and benches for the grown-ups. Oak, elm, maple and ash trees offered shade. Open spaces of grass offered room to lie in the sun or play the Muddles’ favourite game, Crickle.

Grunge walked past the flowers and the shops, the signs and the bridges, and turned into the park. In the centre of the park was the Quad. Almost any time Muddles arranged to meet, they would meet in the Quad. There was a noticeboard on which was posted news and announcements. A small booth with a roof of yellow, blue and white stripes sold ice creams and sweet bubble water.

He spotted Japes at the booth. Japes was Home’s jester and, with her colourful outfit, almost looked like part of the booth. She wore a suit of blue and yellow, with a blue and red peaked cap. On her feet were red slippers with curled toes, and a small red cape hung from her collar. Around her waist was a large drum, the drumsticks stuck into a band on the side. In one hand she had an ice cream and in the other she held a small golden trumpet. Japes was so busy licking her ice cream that she nearly walked into Grunge.