Furnaces of Forge (The Land's Tale) (26 page)

Flyte hung her head. ‘Whatever other harm Hazlitt and Edith have done that we have to undo, this one can never be undone,’ she said sadly.

For a long time, Crimson looked at Spite’s body. She mourned for the hound. He had never been given a chance to be anything except what Hazlitt and Edith had wanted him to be, as if he had no other purpose simply because he was born a spoorhound.

The answer to the question Crimson had been asking herself came to her.

‘We should go,’ she said, rising. ‘It is still a long way to Forge.’

Kevin got to his feet. His wet eyes glistened with blue moonlight. ‘You are welcome to come with us,’ he said to Clash. ‘What you do when we get to Forge is your choice. But you can come.’

Clash rose to his feet and faced them. Quick flew in a circle above them, then perched on Flyte’s back. The three Muddles and the Beadle waited for Clash to choose. The hound looked warily at Flyte, then walked to Crimson’s side, keeping her and Kevin between himself and the wolf.

They had nothing with which to bury Spite, so they left him, his blood a dark pool on the the grassy plain.

Chapter 13

Enemies and Envoys

G
runge was right. Within the first hour of dawn the next day, the Beadle bus could be seen driving up the main street of Home.

Unlike their neighbours, the Muddles didn’t elect councillors. Each week, they took turns being Town Leader and they considered that to be quite enough to expect of any of them. Whenever there was a decision to be made or something to discuss, they all did it together anyway. They treasured the yellow and blue sticks given to them by their guideparents when they were very young, and they took great pleasure in using them. Indeed, most Muddles never left home without them, just in case.

It would have been impractical for all the Muddles to travel to Forge. So the day before they had decided that three Muddles would be elected to go and speak for them all.

The first Muddle to have been elected was Grunge because, as Patch had chuckled, ‘’E likes thinkin’ and talkin’, and if ‘e’s gonna talk weese may as well let others ’ave the benefit-like.’

Miniver was the next to have been elected. A Muddle’s a Muddle regardless of how many legs they have, whether they have hair, feather, fur or scales and whether or not they use a knife and fork when they eat. All Muddles are entitled to take part in town meetings and have a say in things that affect Muddlemarsh and its inhabitants. By and large, though, Muddle animals leave the non-animal Muddles to tend to their own affairs, while the animals do the things that animals like doing.

But this matter concerned them all, and everyone had agreed that Miniver was an ideal choice to try to talk sense into the Myrmidots. After all, the bear was very smart, very level-headed and very, very big. The trouble was, though, that Miniver was nowhere to be found. In fact, there still wasn’t a single Muddle animal to be seen anywhere in Muddlemarsh.

‘It’s not like them to have a party and not invite us,’ Japes had said.

So instead of Miniver, the Muddles had voted for Reach to accompany Grunge. And for good measure they had voted that Patch should go as well. And then Patch had suggested that they had one last decision to make.

‘What are weese?’ he had asked.

‘Ahh, Muddles, I think,’ had come a voice from the crowd.

‘I knows that. What I means is, those of us that are goin’ to Forge should have a title-like. Now, nobody knows more about titles and formalities than them Beadles. And when they had to send someone to us to ask for our help – that was Brian, remember; ’e fell in the water, rescued Weevil’s bowl and had ’is trousers stolen by Nanny’s goat – they gave ’im a title. Envoy, they called him. I propose that we vote to call all of us what is goin’ to Forge envoys.’

All the Muddles had agreed that it was a capital idea and so Grunge and his envoys stood waiting by the Common as the Beadle bus pulled up beside them.

Grunge greeted the Beadles as they stepped from the bus and introduced his envoys. Then Bligh presented his ‘delegates’ Megan and Brian.

‘Theyse is delegates, not envoys!’ Patch whispered to Wave. ‘You’d think theyse’d make up their minds-like!’

Bligh took hold of Grunge’s arm and took him to one side.

‘Is Reach still Town Leader?’ he asked.

‘No. Her week was up yesterday,’ Grunge answered. ‘Leaf’s the new Town Leader but she’s still in hospital.’

‘Good. Good,’ said Bligh, looking relieved. Then he added hastily, ‘I didn’t mean it was good that Leaf’s in the hospital – or that Reach wasn’t a fine Town Leader. She was first-rate. Did a wonderful job when she came to see me about Kevin. Very polite. It’s just that I don’t think the Myrmidots appreciate . . .’ Bligh struggled to find the right diplomatic word.

‘Pink?’ suggested Grunge.

‘Exactly! Pink! That expresses it perfectly!’ said Bligh with delight. He put his arm round Grunge’s shoulder. Unfortunately, Grunge was a great deal taller than Bligh and it looked as if the Beadle was a doll hanging by one arm on a clothes line. ‘I’m sure she’ll be an asset on our mission, but I don’t think she would be the right person to officially head the Muddlemarsh delegation. So who will, may I ask?’

‘Well, actually, Bligh, we don’t have one,’ said Grunge. ‘We thought it would be best if you were head of all the envoys.’

Bligh blushed. ‘Well, I’m honoured, Grunge. I’d be proud. I think that’s a splendid idea.’ They turned and walked back to the others.

‘Would you mind just pushing my arm off your shoulder, Grunge? It seems to have gone to sleep up there,’ said Bligh.

Those going to Forge boarded Beadleburg’s little red bus. Since Megan was part of the delegation, Gertrude was driving the bus. Megan felt strange sitting in a passenger seat in her own bus, but she managed to hold her tongue and made only four comments to Gertrude about her driving – which, thought Brian, sitting next to Megan, showed considerable character.

≈

Touch and Cres sat on the bank of the Salvation River. Cres had her head in her hands, staring at the wide sheet of water flowing a few paces from her feet. Touch picked up small stones and threw them into the river.

To anyone watching, they would have looked a forlorn and weary pair, as if they bore the burden of Atlas.

‘We got it wrong, Cres,’ said Touch. ‘There’s no other explanation. These last couple of days, nothing has been right. Nobody is nice to anybody else. Everybody’s scared of something but no one knows what. So they just seem to be getting nastier and meaner to each other.’ He threw a stone as far as he could. It plopped into the water barely halfway across the river. ‘The Muddles were right. We should never have brought the blue fire from the mountains.’

‘And all the animals leaving. I believed what everyone said about them just being spooked by the factories glowing blue like they do. But I don’t any more,’ sighed Cres.

‘It’s queer, isn’t it? You know, all the times we’ve made a mess of things and got in trouble, and yet I don’t think we ever made a mess as bad as this. And everyone says what a great thing we did. Well, they would if anyone was still being nice to each other.’ Touch shook his head. ‘It’s a paradox of life, I guess.’

‘What’s a paradox?’ asked Cres.

‘I’m not sure,’ Touch admitted. ‘Old Wilhelm says it all the time when he can’t understand something.’

‘Why do you think we haven’t become sad and mean like everyone else? I mean, we haven’t, have we?’ said Cres.

‘Yes, I’ve been wondering about that. There are some others who seem OK, too. Maybe it takes longer to affect some people than it does others. Maybe tomorrow we’ll be frightened and nasty.’

‘Maybe tomorrow we won’t be friends,’ Cres added sadly. She lifted her head from her hands and looked at Touch. ‘We have to make it right, don’t we?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But how? I’ve been thinking about it. Getting the fire stone into the furnace was one thing. Getting it out again will be impossible. As soon as we open the door and all the new air gets in, whoosh! We’ll be lucky if it doesn’t turn us to cinders.’

‘We have to think of something, Touch. Soon. Really soon.’

‘Perhaps we can think of something together,’ said a voice behind them.

Startled, Touch and Cres jumped to their feet and whirled round. Their eyes nearly popped out of their heads. Standing there was the Muddle firefighter who’d journeyed to the High Mountains with Copper and Dot, the one they’d seen in Forge not so very long ago.

‘Crimson!’ exclaimed Touch.

Crimson walked down the riverbank and sat down.

‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit tired.’ She smiled at Touch and Cres, who were still staring at her. ‘I overheard what you were saying. Perhaps we can help each other. But we don’t have much time. What do you think?’

Touch and Cres nodded their heads vigorously. ‘Sure!’ said Touch.

‘Good,’ said Crimson. ‘But I hope you two have lots of ideas. I’ve only got one and I think we’re going to need more than that.’

≈

Gertrude made good time to the border. Her passengers left the bus and walked past the small neon sign that said, ‘Welcome to Myrmidia’ and entered the tram depot.

At the turnstile, every one of them pressed the blue button, which was for those who either had no money or lacked the correct change. The turnstile clicked, a small sign above their head flashed ‘Thank You’, and one by one they went through to the platform.

For a good part of the journey, Bligh and his delegation were the only passengers on the tram. As they got closer to Forge, Myrmidots on their way to Forge or Kiln boarded the tram. Though normally a little reserved, Myrmidots are really quite polite. On this morning, however, there were no nods of greeting, no quiet hellos. In fact, the Muddles and the Beadles observed that the Myrmidots seemed quite sullen and withdrawn, not only with them, but with each other. The more Myrmidots that boarded the tram, the unhappier the atmosphere became.

In summer, the tram windows are always open to let in a cool and refreshing breeze. As it was now autumn and the wind more brisk than refreshing, the windows were closed. Without so much as a ‘by your leave’, one of the Myrmidots opened a window. The bracing wind rushed in and several passengers turned up their collars, muttering under their breath about some people having no consideration for others.

One Myrmidot, however, rose from her seat, leaned over the one who had opened the window, and slammed it closed before sitting down again.

‘That is my window,’ said the Myrmidot who had opened the window. ‘I want it open.’ And he turned in his seat and pushed up the window.

‘By the clouds!’ shouted the other passenger. ‘I have never met anyone so selfish. You expect the rest of us to catch our death of cold so you can have a little breeze!’ Once again, she stood up and slammed the window shut.

Before she was back in her seat, the window was open again. Of course, she closed it. He opened it. She closed it. Then they completely forgot about the window and stood nose to nose, yelling at each other.

Within a minute, other passengers joined in and, before long, the whole tram, with the exception of the delegation, had joined in. They jostled each other, they called one another names; windows were pushed open and windows were slammed shut.

Not far from Forge, Jakob boarded the tram. He pushed his way through the melee and found a seat opposite Grunge.

‘Hello again, Jakob,’ said Grunge. ‘The tram is quite lively today.’

Jakob’s scowl deepened. ‘Back so soon?’ he said. ‘What do you want from us this time?’ His eyes lighted on Bligh. ‘And Beadledom’s High Councillor, too. We are honoured,’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘I suppose you are here expecting us to do something for you, too. Why is it always the Myrmidots? Why can’t you pull your own weight? Though I’m not surprised you can’t with that waistline.’

Bligh’s face turned bright scarlet. ‘You – you – you can’t talk to me like that!’ he blurted. ‘I shall tell Achillia about your attitude!’

‘As if I care a fig for what that old stick thinks,’ said Jakob. ‘I’d like to read my paper in peace, if you don’t mind.’

Jakob snapped open his newspaper and buried his face behind it.

‘He seems a bit out of sorts today,’ Grunge whispered to Bligh.

‘They all seem out of sorts today,’ said Bligh. ‘I hope we haven’t come at a bad time.’

‘We’ve come because it is a bad time,’ said Megan. ‘I hope we haven’t come too late.’

Jakob left the tram at Forge Central. Two minutes later, at the next stop, the Beadles and Muddles prepared to get off. The door opened and a wall of Myrmidots began to board. Naturally, there was a lot of bumping and shoving and the Myrmidots made it quite clear who was to blame.

‘Mind where you’re going!’ said one.

‘Watch the elbow! Some people!’ said another.

‘Can’t you see we’re trying to get on?’ cried a third.

‘Are you gonna stand there all day with your eyes shut, Pinky, or you gonna let me get on?’ said yet another.

‘The fat one’s off! Room for three more inside!’ someone jested cruelly.