Muddle Earth

by Chris Riddell

  ‘Quentin the Cake-Decorator had Mary the poodle,’ Veronica muttered.

  ‘Shut up, Veronica,’ Randalf snapped. ‘You’ll have to excuse my familiar,’ he explained to Henry. ‘She’s been getting a bit big for her boots recently.’ He turned to Joe. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? You are Rough the Hairy’s sidekick. His sword-carrier, perhaps? Or his axe-sharpener?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Joe, in a dazed sort of voice. ‘And his name is Henry, not Rough. I was holding his lead when . . .’

  ‘So you’re his lead-bearer,’ Randalf interrupted. ‘Joe the lead-bearer. Hmm. Unusual, admittedly, but not totally unheard of.’

  The budgie, who was wearing small yet sturdy lace-up boots, coughed. ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ she said.

  ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ he said, and brushed the bird off the brim of his hat. ‘We’re forgetting our manners,’ he went on, turning back to Henry. ‘Let me introduce myself properly. I am Randalf the Wise, Muddle Earth’s leading wizard.’

  ‘Only wizard, more like,’ said Veronica, settling on his shoulder.

  ‘And this,’ Randalf went on without missing a beat, ‘is my assistant, Norbert – or Norbert the Not-Very-Big, to give him his full title.’

  ‘Not very big!’ Joe blurted out in astonishment. ‘But he’s gigantic.’

  ‘Taller than you or me, I grant you,’ said Randalf, ‘yet for an ogre, Norbert is a small and rather weedy specimen.’

  ‘You should see my father,’ said Norbert, nodding. ‘Now he is gigantic.’

  ‘But back to the matter at hand,’ said Randalf. ‘I have summoned you here, Henry the Hairy, great warrior-hero, to . . .’

  ‘Warrior-hero?’ Joe interrupted, ‘Henry’s not a warrior-hero. He’s my dog!’

  Henry wagged his tail and rolled over with his legs in the air.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ said Norbert, his three eyes open wide and panic in his voice.

  ‘He wants you to tickle his tummy,’ said Joe, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Any minute now, I’m going to wake up in hospital with a big bandage on my head.’

  ‘Go ahead, Norbert, tickle his tummy,’ said Randalf.

  ‘But, sir,’ said the ogre weakly.

  ‘Tickle!’ said Randalf. ‘And that’s an order!’

  As Norbert bent down, the room gave a lurch. He gently stroked Henry’s tummy with a massive finger.

  ‘Go on, go on,’ said Randalf impatiently. ‘He won’t bite.’ He smiled at Joe. ‘It seems there’s been a slight misunderstanding,’ he said, stroking his beard.

  ‘There’s always a misunderstanding with you,’ chirped the budgie.

  ‘Shut up, Veronica. I was under the impression that Henry the Hairy was the warrior-hero I had ordered – strong, loyal and . . . errm . . . hairy. But if, as you say, he is in fact a dog, then you must be the warrior-hero . . .’

  ‘He doesn’t look very strong, or for that matter, very hairy,’ said Veronica dismissively. ‘If he’s a warrior-hero, then I’m Dr Cuddles of Giggle Glade!’

  ‘Veronica,’ Randalf snapped, ‘if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times never to utter that person’s name in my presence!’

  ‘Brings back memories, does it?’ Veronica taunted, and flapped up into the air. Randalf tried to swat her.

  ‘Ow, watch where you’re flying,’ Norbert shouted, taking a step back as the budgie booted him in the ear.

  Joe clung on to the great hanging pot as the whole room seemed to tilt to one side.

  ‘Button it, you great lunk!’ Veronica shot back.

  ‘You and whose army?’ Norbert countered.

  Joe watched in open-mouthed amazement as the wizard, the ogre and the budgie rounded on one another angrily. This was absolutely crazy. Who were they? Where was he? And most important of all, how was he going to get home?

  ‘It’s . . . it’s been lovely meeting you all,’ he shouted, interrupting the three shouting protagonists, ‘but it’s getting late and I’ve still got my homework to do. I really should be leaving now . . .’

  The three of them stopped mid rant, carp and criticism, and turned to him.

  ‘Late?’ said Randalf.

  ‘Leaving?’ said Norbert.

  Veronica jumped up and down on the wizard’s head, feathers all fluffed up. ‘You’re not going anywhere!’ she squawked.

  ‘Ouch!’ cried Joe, rubbing his arm.

  ‘Again, sir?’ asked the three-eyed ogre, bending over him.

  ‘No, three times is quite enough,’ said Joe ruefully.

  There’s nothing quite like an ogre pinching your arm to convince you that you’re not in a dream, and Joe was now totally convinced that this was no dream. But if it wasn’t, then where on earth was he? And how had he got there? Henry wagged his tail and licked the ogre’s hand.

  Before Joe had a chance to ask any questions, the clock on the wall above the fireplace erupted with insistent noise. There was coughing, the sound of a tiny throat being cleared and fists and boots battering on a small wooden door which suddenly sprang open. A little elf – dressed up in grubby looking underpants and with a length of elastic tied around its waist – jumped out and dived into mid-air.

  ‘Five of the clock!’ it screeched as it reached the end of the elastic, before rebounding and disappearing back inside the clock with a muffled crash.

  ‘Five?’ said Randalf wearily. ‘But it’s dark outside.’

  The door sprang open a second time and the elf popped its head out. ‘Or thereabouts,’ it said, and disappeared again.

  ‘Wretched clock’s slow again,’ Randalf grumbled. ‘The mechanism probably needs cleaning.’

  ‘I should say so,’ said Veronica scathingly. ‘Judging by the state of those underpants.’

  ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ said Randalf.

  ‘“Shut up, Veronica!”’ said Veronica. ‘That’s your answer to everything. Well, I won’t shut up! Call yourself a wizard. You’ve only got one spell – and you can’t even do that properly.’ She flapped her wing at Joe. ‘I mean, look at him,’ she said. ‘Is it just me or is our so-called warrior-hero a little on the short side? Not to mention puny – and gormless. And as for his hairy sidekick . . .’

  ‘Shush, Veronica,’ said Norbert, patting Henry on the head. ‘You’ll hurt his feelings.’

  Henry wagged his tail.

  ‘Ooh, look, his waggler’s waving!’ Norbert cried. ‘Does he want his tummy tickled? Does he? Does he?’

  He jumped up and down excitedly. The room lurched backwards and forwards alarmingly, and more books and utensils clattered to the floor.

  ‘Norbert!’ said Randalf, sternly. ‘Behave yourself! Remember what happened with Mary the poodle. You don’t want that to happen again, do you?’

  Norbert stopped jumping, and shuffled to the corner of the room.

  ‘Very nervous animals, poodles,’ said Veronica, who was perched on Randalf’s head. ‘Ruined the carpet!’

  ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ shouted Randalf. ‘That’s all in the past. We have a new warrior-hero here and he’ll be fine.’ He clamped a hand on Joe’s shoulder. ‘Won’t you, Joe? Just the job for the Horned Baron’s purposes. Once he’s kitted out . . .’

  ‘Kitted out?’ said Joe. ‘What do you mean, kitted out? I don’t want to be kitted out. I just want to know what’s going on,’ he added angrily.

  ‘Temper, temper!’ said Veronica.

  ‘The fiery disposition of a warrior-hero,’ said Randalf. ‘Excellent!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Joe asked. ‘I’ve got to get back for tea. And I’ve got this essay. I haven’t even started yet . . .’

  ‘Tea? Essay?’ said Randalf smiling. ‘Ah, yes. The mighty deeds of a warrior-hero – the great tournament of tea, the epic slaying of the monster essay! Of course you must get back for these tasks, but first, if you could just lend a hand with a tiny little task we have here . . .’

  ‘I can’t!’ Joe insisted. ‘I’ve got school tomorrow. I must get back. If you
brought me here, you can send me back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Veronica muttered.

  ‘I don’t think you appreciate the difficulty involved in summoning a warrior-hero from another world,’ said Randalf solemnly. ‘I mean heroes don’t just grow on trees – well, apart from those in the Land of Hero-Trees that is. It’s a long and painstaking process, I can tell you; by no means as easy as you seem to believe.’

  ‘But—’ Joe began.

  ‘For a start, the three Muddle moons must be correctly aligned – and that doesn’t happen often. If we’d missed this evening’s triangular configuration, there’s no knowing how long we’d have had to wait for the next one.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Furthermore,’ Randalf went on, ‘because of a slight technical hitch with the actual spell—’

  ‘What he means is, he’s lost half of it,’ said Veronica.

  Randalf ignored her. ‘You’re only the second hero I’ve actually successfully summoned. The first one was Quentin—’

  ‘The one with the poodle and the kilo of icing sugar,’ Veronica butted in.

  Joe became aware of a soft sniffing sound and looked up to see three big fat tears rolling down from Norbert’s bloodshot eyes and over his lumpy cheeks. ‘Poor, dear Quentin,’ he sobbed.

  ‘Cry baby!’ Veronica mocked.

  ‘Oh, but he never stood a chance!’ Norbert wailed.

  ‘That’s enough, you two,’ said Randalf.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Norbert. He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, but kept sniffing.

  ‘As I was saying,’ said Randalf. ‘First there was Quentin, and now I have summoned you . . .’

  ‘But you had no right!’ shouted Joe. ‘I didn’t ask to be summoned! I didn’t ask to be pulled through a hedge, down a tunnel and into this, this . . . junk room!’

  ‘Damn cheek,’ came a muffled voice from the clock.

  ‘I didn’t ask to be kitted out by a stupid wizard! And insulted by a stupid budgie! And pinched by a stupid three-eyed ogre!’ stormed Joe.

  ‘Actually,’ said Norbert. ‘You did ask to be pinched. You said, “Pinch me. If this is a dream then . . . ”’

  ‘SHUT UP!’ shouted Joe. ‘SHUT UP!’

  Norbert jumped back, his eyes wide with terror. ‘Oh, help!’ he bellowed. ‘Mayday! Mayday!’ And he jumped up as high as the ceiling would allow, crashing back down on to the floor with both feet a moment later.

  The room keeled to one side. Randalf fell, Veronica flapped up into the air, while Joe was catapulted across the room.

  ‘Aaaaaargh!’ he yelled as he hurtled past Randalf and Veronica and crashed into the wall opposite, missing the open window by a fraction. Dazed and winded, he slid to the floor. The room continued to roll back and forth, back and forth.

  ‘Norbert, you bird brain!’ shouted Randalf.

  ‘How dare you!’ screeched Veronica. ‘Bird brain indeed!’

  Randalf sighed as the room gradually righted itself. He turned to the ogre. ‘Say “sorry”, then,’ he told him.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Norbert miserably. ‘Very, very sorry.’

  ‘Not to me, Norbert,’ said Randalf. Norbert frowned with confusion. ‘To our guest here, our warrior-hero,’ Randalf explained. ‘To Joe,’ he said, and pointed towards him.

  ‘Joe!’ Norbert cried out in horror. He saw him lying on the floor. ‘Did I do that?’ he said. ‘Oh, I am sorry. So, so very sorry.’ Tears welled up once again in his eyes. ‘It’s just that I panic when someone shouts at me. I have a very nervous disposition. In fact I was almost called Norbert the Wet-Trousers instead of Norbert the Not-Very-Big, because—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Randalf. ‘Pick him up, Norbert. Brush him down.’

  ‘Yes, sir. At once, sir,’ and he hurried back across the room.

  Joe, by this time, was already climbing to his feet quite successfully on his own. As Norbert came lumbering towards him, the boat lurched again. Joe stumbled towards the open window.

  ‘What on earth?’ he exclaimed.

  Randalf pushed past Norbert and placed his hand on Joe’s shoulder. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Muddle Earth.’

  Joe stood stock-still as he stared out of the window. He was barely able to believe what his eyes were telling him. For a start, instead of the one familiar white moon in the sky, there were three: one purple, one yellow and one green. And the landscape! It was like nothing he’d ever seen before, with vast areas of fluorescent green forest and glistening rocky wasteland – and far in the distance, tall, smoking mountains.

  Most curious of all, however, he realized that he wasn’t underground at all, but rather in some kind of a boat. And there were others. Five . . . six others, all bobbing about on a lake which . . . But no, it made no sense. He closed his eyes, then opened them again.

  There was no doubt about it. The lake was suspended high up in the air, without any means of visible support.

  Joe turned to Randalf. ‘The lake,’ he gasped. ‘It’s . . . it’s floating.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ said the wizard solemnly. ‘The Enchanted Lake was raised up by the wizards of Muddle Earth many, many moons ago, and for a very good reason – only no one can remember what that was. Anyway, they raised it . . .’

  Joe frowned. ‘But, how?’

  ‘By great magic’ said Randalf solemnly.

  ‘And that’s something you don’t see round here much these days,’ Veronica chipped in.

  ‘Magic?’ said Joe softly. He shook his head. ‘But . . .’

  ‘Don’t you worry about it, young warrior-hero from afar,’ said Randalf. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn. Thankfully, I am an excellent teacher.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m an exploding gas frog!’ Veronica retorted.

  ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ said Randalf.

  ‘There you go again,’ said Veronica huffily, and turned her back on the proceedings.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Randalf continued. ‘I shall teach you everything you need to know for the small task which lies ahead.’ He smiled. ‘Things are going to work out well this time, I can feel it in my bones. Joe, here, will see us proud.’

  Veronica sniffed. ‘I still don’t think he looks like much of a warrior-hero,’ she said.

  ‘He soon will,’ said Randalf. ‘We’ll set off for Goblintown just as soon as day breaks.’

  Just then the elf sprang out of the clock. ‘Half past twenty-six, and that’s my final offer!’ it shrieked.

  ‘Yip! Yip! Yip! Bibbitty-Bibbitty!’ came a shrill voice.

  ‘This is your early morning wake-up call.’ Boing!

  Joe’s eyes snapped open, just in time to see the elf disappearing back behind the little wooden doors of the clock.

  Joe looked round, and groaned. Everything was exactly the way it had been when he’d curled up in his hammock the night before. The clock, the room full of junk, the floating lake . . . What was more, it was still dark.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ Randalf demanded, emerging from the far end of the room.

  The door of the clock flew open. ‘Early morning!’ snapped the elf. ‘Or thereabouts.’ The door slammed shut.

  ‘What’s going on?’ squawked Veronica. ‘I’ve only just tucked my beak under my wing.’

  Norbert lumbered out of the shadows, yawning and stretching. ‘Is it morning?’ he said.

  Randalf looked out of the window. There was a fuzzy glimmer of light on the horizon. High in the sky the noisy purple batbirds were soaring back to the woods, to spend the day resting upside down at the top of the highest jub-jub trees. ‘Almost,’ he said.

  ‘Stupid clock,’ Veronica muttered.

  ‘I heard that!’ came an indignant voice from the clock.

  ‘Never mind all that,’ said Randalf. ‘We’re awake now, so we might as well make an early start. Come on, Joe. Stir your stumps. Today’s your big day.’ He turned to the three-eyed ogre. ‘Norbert,’ he said. ‘Prepare breakfast.’

 
‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you with any more?’ said Randalf, ten minutes later.

  ‘No, thanks,’ said Joe.

  ‘You’ll need to keep your strength up,’ Randalf persisted.

  ‘Such as it is,’ added Veronica unkindly.

  Joe looked at the ladle of slop hovering above his bowl. ‘I’m really full,’ he lied.

  Without any doubt, Norbert had produced the strangest breakfast Joe had ever eaten in his life – lumpy, green porridge that tasted of gooseberries, a small cake iced with love-hearts and a mug of foaming stiltmouse milk.

  ‘But you haven’t touched your snuggle-muffin,’ said Norbert, looking hurt.

  ‘I’m saving it for later,’ said Joe. ‘It looks lovely, though.’

  The ogre sighed. ‘Dear Quentin taught me everything I know. He was an artistic genius with icing sugar.’

  ‘Right, then,’ said Randalf, clapping his hands together. He stood up and grabbed his staff. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

  Relieved, Joe jumped up from the table, grabbed Henry by his lead and followed Randalf downstairs. Norbert stomped down after them.

  ‘Eager to get started, eh, Joe?’ said Randalf warmly. ‘An excellent sign for a warrior-hero. We’ve summoned a good’un this time, Veronica.’

  ‘You said that about Quentin,’ the budgie was not slow in reminding him. ‘And look how that turned out.’

  ‘We must not look to the past,’ said Randalf as he opened the door. ‘But to the future.’

  He stepped outside. Joe followed him, still none the wiser about what exactly was going on. He seemed to be on the lower deck of a houseboat, but it was difficult to know for certain.

  Underneath the vessel, fat fish swam round and round in the crystal clear water. They reminded him of the goldfish at home and, for a moment, he thought that perhaps it wasn’t so crazy here after all.

  High above him, small fluffy purple clouds scudded across the sky. Below him – and attached to the side by a rope – was a small boat. At least that’s what Joe thought at first. It was only as he stepped across from the rope ladder to the bobbing vessel that he realized it was not a boat at all, but a bathtub. Joe clapped his hand to his forehead.