Furnaces of Forge (The Land's Tale) (22 page)

What Crimson found behind the tent wasn’t really a stable but a lean-to with a hitching rail from which hung feed bags. Large sacks of grain, covered with a waterproof sheet, were stacked in the corner. In a rolled-up leather holder were brushes and combs. Crimson unsaddled the horses, filled their feed bags from one of the sacks and groomed them while they ate.

As she brushed the second horse, Crimson had the feeling she was being watched. She glanced behind her. Clash was standing just outside the lean-to. The hound stared at her. Its wide oval eyes held no expression. There was no hint of menace or threat in its face or stance. It simply watched Crimson. On impulse, she took a couple of steps towards the hound. She crouched and slowly held out her hand.

‘Come, Clash,’ she coaxed the hound gently.

Clash tilted his head, as if puzzled.

‘This must all be strange for you.’ Crimson’s voice remained gentle and friendly. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have a treat to give you. Can I pat you, instead?’

Careful to move slowly, Crimson took a couple more steps towards the hound. Clash remained impassive, his head cocked. She risked another step so that she was within a hand’s breadth away from the hound. All the time she continued to talk to Clash, her voice easy and reassuring.

‘I’m sorry about the other two. I didn’t want to hurt them. I don’t want to hurt you. Wouldn’t you rather be friends? Do you want to be friends, Clash?’

Again Crimson crouched. Clash’s face was level with hers and close enough so that she could feel the animal’s warm breath. She very slowly raised her hand above Clash’s head, and lowered it to pat him.

Clash growled and scrambled backward. He bared his teeth and snarled. His ears went back and he crouched, ready to spring. Crimson didn’t move, her outstretched hand within easy reach of the hound’s jaws. Clash snarled again, a deeper, more savage growl. Her heart beat hard as she waited for him to come at her. But Clash stayed crouched down and continued to snarl.

‘It’s OK, Clash. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll go back and finish brushing the horses,’ said Crimson, and, very slowly, she brought her hand to her side and stood up. She turned and walked away. The hairs on her neck tingled and she expected to feel Clash’s teeth and claws at any moment. As casually as she could manage, she continued grooming the horses.

The snarling behind her stopped. Crimson dared a glance over her shoulder. Clash was walking towards his tent. He went a few paces, then stopped and looked back at Crimson. Their eyes met for an instant, and then the hound turned and trotted away.

Crimson exhaled. She wondered how long she had been holding her breath. She breathed in deeply, and went back to brushing the horses.

When she had finished, Crimson found that Kevin, too, had been busy. An awning had been attached to the front of the pavilion. Under the awning, Kevin had erected a sturdy folding table and had laid place settings for two. Crimson followed the smell of cooking to the kitchen tent.

Kevin was at a stone oven with a bed of coals on the top for a stove. Cans, sacks and boxes were stacked in one corner. In another corner was an icebox. Crimson looked around, puzzled.

‘Kevin,’ she said, ‘do you think they brought all this with them? How could just the two of them get all this down through the High Mountains? I wondered when I saw the sacks of feed for the horses. It doesn’t seem possible that they did it on their own.’

Kevin turned sausages in the pan. ‘They couldn’t have. And they wouldn’t have. Not without Beadles to help them.’ He pointed with the fork in his hand at a box of goods. ‘For one thing, that didn’t come from The Place. Everything came from Myrmidia.’ He pointed to the icebox. ‘That has fresh ice in it. This bread’s pretty fresh, too. And I’ve never seen cheese like this in The Place.’

‘They couldn’t have stolen all this without being seen,’ said Crimson. ‘Someone must have brought it here. Maybe that’s what they meant about the Myrmidots. But why would the Myrmidots do that?’

Kevin dug two potatoes out of the coals. They had a crust of baked mud on the outside. Kevin tapped the crust, which broke and fell off, leaving a perfectly baked potato.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

Kevin had already prepared two trays. Each one was precisely laid with cutlery, a tea pot, a bowl of fruit and a napkin folded in the shape of a swan. He put the food on plates: cooked sausage, baked potatoes, bread and cheese. Crimson realised then how famished she was. She looked longingly at the trays of food.

‘When they have finished, our potatoes will be done,’ said Kevin. He nodded at the stove. Pushed into the hot coals, Crimson could see another two large, mud-crusted potatoes.

‘Thank you, Kevin,’ she said. ‘Is this how it used to be for you?’

He nodded, sorrow on his face. ‘Always after, never as much.’ He picked up one of the trays. Crimson picked up the other.

‘Thank you,’ said Kevin. ‘When we serve, take the plates from the trays. Lay everything on the table, just as I do, then move away. Don’t look at them while they eat.’

Crimson nodded, though none of it made sense to her.

They walked to the pavilion. As they neared the awning, Hazlitt and Edith came out and seated themselves at the table. Kevin began setting out Hazlitt’s lunch. Crimson moved round to the other side of the table, holding her tray in front of her. Edith gave her a small, smug smile.

Crimson’s body tingled. Hazlitt, Edith and Kevin watched as the Muddle dissolved in a shimmering glow. The glow lasted for only a few heartbeats and Crimson came back into focus. But Edith’s meal was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Crimson looked down at Patch’s arms. One hand was empty; in the other, there was a brass spyglass.

‘Oh, bother,’ muttered Crimson.

Edith sat stunned for a few seconds, staring at her. Then her face contorted with anger.

‘Where is my lunch?’ she screamed.

≈

Brian often felt that he had had many more experiences with Muddles than he actually wanted. He had seen the Mix several times, but still found it rather unsettling. One minute he was talking to a musician, and the next a musician, matador and scout all rolled into one.

‘Ow!’ said Grunge. His leg hurt. And it itched. He looked down. The right leg of the trousers had been neatly cut away above the knee. Where the trouser leg ended, a plaster cast started. ‘Oh,’ he said. Of course, Leaf had been in a wheelchair when the Mix happened to make sure she didn’t do what Grunge was about to do . . .

With only one leg to stand on, Grunge toppled over.

There were times, Brian thought as everyone rushed to help Grunge into a chair, that having a simple conversation with Muddles was anything but simple.

‘Thank you,’ said Grunge. ‘Where were we?’

‘You were still planning to go to the High Mountains with Slight, Eugene, Flyte and Calamity,’ Megan said. ‘Is that wise? I know you’re worried about Crimson, but we have to consider what Japes and Patch have just told us. We need to do something about the blue fire in Forge. Someone has to go back there to talk to the Myrmidots.’

‘You’re right, Megan. Flyte and I will go to the mountains alone. I’ll pack some things and leave as soon as Shift gets back from his rounds,’ said Grunge.

Everyone looked at each other, and then everyone looked at Grunge.

‘I believe, Grunge, that you have not taken into account recent events,’ said Brian politely.

Grunge was puzzled. ‘Do you mean all the animals?’ he asked.

‘Even more recent,’ said Megan.

Absent-mindedly, Grunge poked a finger under the cast on his leg and tried to scratch. He struggled to think of anything that would make them change their plans again.

‘They’re talking about your leg, Grunge,’ came a voice from the kitchen door.

Whist walked in on Patch’s slightly bandy legs. The arms that held the tray were covered by the sleeves of a thick, dark jacket, the kind worn by a firefighter.

‘You can hardly go to the High Mountains with a broken leg. You’ll have to wait until the Mix ends,’ Whist continued.

Grunge gave a wry grin. ‘Kinda overlooked that, didn’t I?’

‘It might not matter anyway’ Whist put the tray on the table.

Slight looked with surprise at the food on the tray. ‘I thought we were getting coffee and biscuits.’ he said.

‘Exactly,’ Whist replied. ‘I don’t think Crimson’s in the High Mountains. She must have been holding this when the Mix came.’

‘From this, it doesn’t look like she needs rescuing,’ said Brian. ‘Do people who need rescuing eat this well?’ He picked up a knife and cut himself a piece of cheese. He popped it into his mouth. ‘Hmmm, not bad. Not as good as a Mint red cheddar, but not bad at all,’ he declared. He looked longingly at the sausage still on the tray.

‘How do you know she’s not in the High Mountains, Whist? She could have been anywhere holding the tray when the Mix happened,’ said Megan.

‘That’s true,’ Whist admitted. ‘But I know food. That red cheddar Brian has just finished comes from Kiln. That’s Myrmidian dark bread. I’d say almost all of this came from Myrmidia. If she’s in the High Mountains, someone had to carry a lot of food. And the bread is quite fresh. It’s more likely she’s in Myrmidia.’

‘But why is Crimson drinking tea?’ asked Slight. ‘No one in the Land drinks tea.’

‘She wasn’t,’ said Grunge. ‘This isn’t Crimson’s lunch. She was serving someone else. Someone from The Place. Amelia had tea, remember? I think Whist is right. They’re getting their supplies from Myrmidia but they brought their own tea. So, they still have Crimson.’

‘And Kevin’s with her,’ added Megan. ‘Look at how everything’s laid on the tray perfectly. The napkin is folded just like Kevin does it. The way he said Amelia always made him do it. Kevin prepared this.’

Grunge was filled with a deep and terrible dread that showed in his face as he spoke. ‘The people from The Place are Myrmidots, just like the Myrmidots here. Amelia said that our Myrmidots needed reminding who they really were. Maybe that’s what’s happened. Maybe they have been reminded.’

Everyone was stunned at what Grunge was saying. Grunge could hardly believe it himself. He looked at Beadledom’s Factotum. ‘Brian, you must persuade Bligh to meet us here in the morning. Tomorrow we travel to Forge.’

His mouth full of sausage, Brian just nodded.

‘Tomorrow,’ said Grunge, ‘we find out whether Myrmidia is our friend or our enemy.’

≈

With their eyes fixed on the animals coming towards them, Miniver, Eugene and Calamity didn’t notice the small white cloud shaped like a bird that floated across the face of the sun. They felt a familiar sensation, like someone brushing their fur the wrong way, and the tips of their ears and the bottoms of their paws tingled.

The Muddles became a glowing blur. They flickered and dissolved, then instantly took shape again.

Any way you look at it, the Mix is a very peculiar thing. For non-Muddles, whether they be people or animals, it can be extremely disconcerting. Part of the peculiarity is that animals adjust in size, generally getting larger so that all the bits fit together. In this case, Miniver ended up with the body of Madigan the toucan, and the fire station puppy’s hindquarters – which made for a very large bird’s body and a puppy’s bottom that Calamity was sure didn’t look that big on her. Equally, Charm the rabbit’s forelegs and Clark the penguin’s rear grew considerably when they ended up with Eugene. For the animals, it was all very strange and it is little wonder that they stopped dead in their tracks, then turned and ran.

The Muddles, of course, take the Mix in their stride and the sudden retreat of the animals puzzled them. Calamity thought Miniver looked considerably less fearsome. ‘And Eugene was not nearly so impressive with rabbit paws and penguin flippers. ‘Maybe it’s me,’ Calamity mused. She looked down at herself. ‘Flyte’s body, Eugene’s rear. Yup, it’s me. Killer pup.’

The animals stopped a short distance away. They were faced with a difficult choice. Behind them was the place from which they had fled, a place that smelled of corruption. In front of them were three animals unlike any others they had seen before. Yet, there was no scent of danger coming from them. Their instinct was to run, but where to?

And so they stayed where they were, a huge horde of animals bellowing, braying, barking and bleating, squawking, screeching, howling and lowing. And the Muddles drew close and listened.

≈

Edith sprang to her feet, knocking over her chair. Her face was contorted with anger.

‘By the clouds, I’ll teach you!’ she screamed at Crimson.

‘Teach her to finish serving before she clears,’ Hazlitt drawled.

Edith snatched Patch’s spyglass from Crimson’s hand. ‘This is why Muddles are useless!’ she raged. ‘You can’t trust them, even for the simplest things. Lazy and stupid, every Muddle!’

Edith hurled the spyglass. It sailed over the pavilion and into the trees beyond.

‘Get me food!’ she yelled at both Kevin and Crimson. ‘Now!’

Crimson didn’t move. She glared defiantly at Edith, trembling with fury. Kevin grabbed her arm gently but firmly.

‘Come on, Crimson,’ he said softly. A little nod of his head told Crimson to look behind her. Sure enough, the spoorhounds were there, snarling grins on their faces.

Crimson felt her heart pounding in her head and chest. She counted the heartbeats, then stepped back.

Edith smirked. ‘That’s very wise, dear. Now be a good little Muddle and get my food.’

Crimson turned on her heel and stormed back into the kitchen tent, Kevin close behind her.

Hazlitt watched them go, then turned his attention back to his breakfast. ‘Do you think she knows about the other one?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know!’ Edith snapped.

‘It makes sense – the Myrmidot, I mean. But a Muddle, too . . .’ Hazlitt let the thought hang in the air. He knew it puzzled Edith as well.

‘Who can tell anything about those damn Muddles!’ said Edith irritably. ‘We should just get rid of her!’

‘We will. Tomorrow, as agreed,’ said Hazlitt. ‘But Edith, we can’t risk raising the suspiscions of the Myrmidots now. That Myrmidot Beatrice, has some connection to us. From what we were told by our helpful friend, she seems to be able to sense our presence. And this Muddle. Crimson, has a very special link to the Land. What if they also have a connection to each other? If we dispose of Crimson now, we might alert the Myrmidots and risk everything we’ve done. After tomorrow, it won’t matter. We’ll wait until then to attend to that troublesome Muddle.’