Furnaces of Forge (The Land's Tale) (31 page)

‘Listen to me!’ Crimson said sharply. ‘Is everything ready?’

Touch nodded. He pulled his eyes away from the fire and pointed behind him. His bicycle, with a wagon bearing a metal box hitched behind it, stood next to the factory wall.

Cres grabbed Crimson’s arm. ‘This will never work! We can’t do it with it burning like that! We won’t be able to get it in the box.’

‘Let me take care of that,’ said Crimson gently. ‘You just be ready. Don’t go down into the furnace room until the fire disappears. But when it does, be quick. I don’t know how long it will stop burning. But you have to get it into the box as fast as you can. After that, everything depends on your idea.’

Doubt and fear creased Touch’s face. ‘I don’t know if I can do this, Crimson. I’m frightened.’

‘So am I, Touch’ she replied. ‘But there’s no one else. The others are still . . . not themselves. Besides, no one else knows how to work your contraption.’

‘What if it doesn’t work?’ said Cres fretfully. ‘It’s not clever. It’s so . . .’

‘Simple?’ Crimson suggested.

The apprentices looked at Crimson and smiled. ‘Yeah,’ they said together.

‘Thank you, both of you, for helping,’ said Crimson. She hugged them both then headed back to the Muddles. It was time to do her job.

SlowlyHazlitt rose to his feet, full of rage, and looked around. The animals were still fleeing, a stampeding stream of refugees from Forge. The townsfolk, who had retreated to the factories, did not concern him. But at the far side of the field, beyond the fire, were the Muddle animals. With them were Achillia and her companions – the Muddles and Beadles who had come to Forge to interfere – and the traitor, Kevin.

Hazlitt vaulted on to his horse and galloped across the field towards them. He reined in his horse in front of Achillia.

‘This will never stop burning!’ he taunted. ‘It will be the end of Forge. But that will not be the end for any of you. One day, when there is nowhere else to go, when the Land itself rejects you, you will come to us across the sea. And then I will have my justice!’

Hazlitt jerked the reins violently. He turned the horse and spurred it into a hard gallop. Animals bawled and squealed as they hurried to get out of the way of the pounding hoofs. Hazlitt rode out on to the northern plain and vanished from sight.

‘Shouldn’t we stop him?’ asked Bligh. ‘He might cause more trouble.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Achillia replied. ‘He may not have done all he set out to do, but he has done enough. I think he will return to The Place and wait, as he said.’ She looked at the tower of blue fire and shook her head. ‘He’s right,’ she said. ‘The fire won’t stop. It could burn here for ever, like its parent in the mountains. Forge is doomed.’

Crimson walked into the group of friends and neighbours. ‘It isn’t doomed, Achillia,’ she said. ‘It will be stopped. I know how it can be stopped.’

‘You do?’ said Beatrice. ‘How do you know?’

‘It’s a long story. It’s taken me my whole life to even know it was being told,’ Crimson replied.

Beatrice fixed her eyes on Crimson. She stared at the Muddle fire officer for a few seconds, then lowered her gaze. ‘I see,’ she said sadly. Achillia started. It was the first time she had ever heard any expression in Beatrice’s voice.

‘Amelia wasn’t completely right, Beatrice. We weren’t “sisters”. What she felt in me was through my connection to the Land. But you … you are connected to them, aren’t you?’ Crimson asked.

‘Yes,’ said Beatrice. ‘I don’t know how, but I could sense them as soon as they came into the Land. I think my connection is with them, but yours is with the Land. Maybe Amelia mistook you for me. Maybe I am the “sister”.’ She took Crimson’s face in her hands. ‘You are part of the Land, Crimson. I can feel it now. You are part of what gave a home to all the Myrmidots and Beadles who came here so long ago. You are part of what protects it.’

Crimson gave Beatrice a small smile. ‘I’m glad you weren’t the one who was –’ she began, but Beatrice finished the sentence.

‘Helping them?’ She looked at Achillia. ‘We’ll sort that out afterwards.’

Leonardo hung his head and tried to sneak away, but Achillia grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The old engineer looked at them in shame.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean any harm. When they came to me, I believed that they really did want to make up for what Amelia had done. And they convinced me that the blue fire really could help us and that it was perfectly safe. I brought them supplies and let them know what was going on. It was me who told them who the ones were who had gone to the High Mountains. But they made me promise not to tell anyone about them. They said they were afraid that no one would believe that they just wanted to help. So I persuaded Achillia that we should get the fire stone. When those two young apprentices came up with their idea, it seemed like the perfect solution.’

Tears began to run down his cheeks. ‘I didn’t know they wanted to hurt you, Crimson. They kept asking about you. Amelia had written to them about you, told them that you were somehow special. She knew of you even before she started lighting the fires. And then when I heard Beatrice say that she could sense something, too, I told them about Beatrice. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just an old fool.’

His head bowed and his shoulders drooping, Leonardo shuffled away.

They watched him disappear among the throng of Myrmidots, then Beatrice turned to the others. ‘Achillia and I have suspected Leonardo for some time. He had begun to behave oddly. But we had no idea what was going on. He was always talking about the blue fire. It was he who first suggested we bring it to Forge, though I doubt it was his idea. And he was very convincing, and we were arrogant. We thought we were clever enough to deal with whatever would happen. I knew the people from The Place were back. I could feel them. We thought it must be connected to them but we had no idea how.’

‘Beatrice isn’t being quite truthful,’ Achillia added. ‘She was always against bringing back the blue fire, but I insisted. I was wrong. I am the one who should be blamed.’

‘It’s how you handle your mistake that will matter, Achillia,’ said Beatrice.

‘Beatrice is right,’ Crimson said. ‘You will restore Forge.’ She turned to Copper. ‘The blue fire will go out,’ she said to the engineer. ‘Touch and Cres are waiting. They know what to do when it does. But the stone will still have much of its power. It must go back to the High Mountains as soon as possible. Touch and Cres have worked out a way to contain the stone until you can return it to the cave. It won’t work for long. Will you and Dot help them return it to where it belongs?’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ said Copper. ‘But how will you stop the fire?’

‘There’s no time to explain,’ she replied. ‘Thank you, Copper.’ Crimson hugged the small engineer. She turned to Dot and wrapped her in her arms. ‘Thank you, Dot,’ she whispered.

‘Crimson!’ Grunge’s voice held a note of panic. ‘What’s going on? What are you going to do?’

‘My job, Grunge,’ said Crimson. She buttoned her coat and checked to make sure her large red fire hat was firmly on her head.

‘Your job?’ said Grunge. ‘Crimson, that’s crazy. You can’t put out that fire. You don’t even have your fire cart.’

Crimson took his hand and held it. ‘Grunge, did you ever wonder why Muddlemarsh has a fire officer when there’s never been a fire in Muddlemarsh? And why the fire officer is the only Muddle who isn’t really good at anything else? There’s a reason, Grunge, and I didn’t see it until last night. There’ll always be a fire officer in Muddlemarsh.’ She pointed to the fire. ‘In case this happens.’

Crimson squeezed Grunge’s hand and let it go. ‘Now, I have to go to work.’

She turned to go but was pulled back by a sharp tug. She looked back and saw Miniver with the bottom of her jacket in her teeth. Crimson gently pulled it away from the bear’s jaws.

‘I don’t like this,’ Miniver growled. ‘I won’t let you. Not you, Crimson.’

Crimson kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I am the Meddle, Miniver,’ she said softly and she turned and walked away, Miniver’s deep, dark eyes following her.

‘What’s going on?’ yelped Calamity. ‘If she’s going to put out the fire, I have to go with her. She’s the fire officer. I’m the fire pup. It’s my job, too.’

She started after Crimson but Flyte stepped in front of her.

‘No, Calamity,’ growled the wolf. ‘Crimson said she knows what she’s doing. How many times have you heard a Muddle say that? She’s right. This is her job. You’re the station pup. You’ll be needed again.’

‘Grunge, have yer got somethin’ to play-like?’ asked Patch quietly, watching Crimson walk towards the blue fire.

For a moment Grunge didn’t answer. He stared after his friend. Then he nodded and pulled a battered tin whistle from his pocket.

Crimson unlocked the door in her head. Freed, the voice of the fire filled her head. Her own name echoed inside her, then faded to a whisper. The sound of a tin whistle came from behind her and for a second she was puzzled, then she smiled. It was a real tune, a gentle tune, solemn but not mournful. It was rich and melodious and, best of all, she knew it would never be played again. It came from a place inside Grunge that he would never revisit.

Over the tune she heard the names of her friends roll through her head: Grunge and Calamity; Miniver and Reach; Patch, Sparkle, Leaf, Bright, Sky, Flyte, Wave and Slight. The name of every Muddle tumbled through her head, as if the Land was reminding her. She knew that they defined her as much as what she did now.

She could feel the immense power of the beacon of blue flames. It rose higher and higher, until sky and fire were one. The power drew her to the flames. They raged and danced, beckoning her to join them. As she approached, she realised that the closer she came to them, the less she felt their heat.

Crimson reached the edge of the charred and crumbling hole. She looked down, and far below she could see the stone glowing. The heart of the stone was a gleaming midnight blue and the flames that burst from it were of every shade of blue she could have imagined. She watched the stone drink the water that washed over it and each drop of water became another shooting flame.

Left unchecked, there would be no end to the fire; the power of the stone, which served the Land in the High Mountains, would destroy the Land here. But Crimson knew that the Land had provided the balance to the stone.

Her eyes fixed on the stone’s heart, Crimson stepped from the edge of the crater into the fire.

There was no sense of falling. The fire held Crimson and she floated slowly into the flames. They had no heat, only anger and violence. She felt them struggle against her; she felt the panic and desperation in the blue fire as she went deeper and deeper into its heart. Far above her, she could seee the sky through the black hole in the roof.

Slowly but surely, the flames diminished. The pillar of fire became a ribbon, and the ribbon became a plume, and the plume became a wisp. And then she felt the stone itself beneath her and the wisp of fire quivered, and was gone.

She knew it wasn’t dead. She could feel the heart of it, still warm. But it had given up its struggle.

She lay on the stone, staring up at clouds drifting across the face of the hole. She heard the door of the furnace room scrape as it was pushed open and she heard Touch and Cres enter. Crimson rolled off the stone. She was tired, so deeply tired. She dragged herself to the wall, and sat with her back against the warm concrete.

Chapter 16

Roasting Day

T
welve metres and seventy-three cen-tee-metres! Weese has a new record!’

Patch held up the coffee bean for all to see and everyone cheered. Wave held up the small tube he had used to blow the bean, and everyone cheered again.

‘So who has record?’ asked Brian. ‘Wave, Cape or Reach?’

Patch removed his jaunty pirate hat and scratched his head. Brian wondered if the pirate head being scratched and the astronaut’s hand doing the scratching felt exactly the same thing. Then he decided that that was far too difficult a question to ask oneself, especially at a celebration.

‘All three, I reckons,’ decided Patch.

‘Right,’ said Kevin. ‘So we’ll put all three names in the record book.’

‘What record book would that be, then?’ Patch asked.

‘If you don’t have a record book, how do you remember who has the record and what it is?’ said Brian.

‘Ain’t hard,’ the pirate declared. ‘Weese has a new record every year.’

The Land had smiled on Muddlemarsh. It was late autumn but summer had returned for an encore and the day was warm and sunny. The Muddles couldn’t have asked for better weather for the best day of the year, Roasting Day.

On Roasting Day the Muddles celebrate the end of the coffee harvest. The festivities begin early, when everyone gathers to fire up the oldest kiln in Home. The kiln is far older than any Muddle, but they swear it is the best roasting kiln in Muddlemarsh. It is only used on Roasting Day, when the finest beans of the year’s harvest are roasted to perfection. The rich smell of roasting coffee is at the very heart of Roasting Day.