Quentin clamped his hands over his ears. ‘Poor Dr Cuddles,’ he found himself thinking. ‘Then again,’ he thought, ‘as long as she’s giving him a hard time, she’s leaving me alone.’
An hour earlier, Dr Cuddles had entered her chamber with scissors, razor and a bowl of warm soapy water balanced in his stubby arms. He was intending to carry out the first of the ransom-note threats by shaving Ingrid’s head. Things, however, had obviously not gone as Dr Cuddles planned.
Quentin tentatively removed his hands from his ears and listened.
‘You see, you really are a good hairdresser when you make the effort,’ Ingrid was purring. ‘Much better. I look beautiful.’ She giggled. ‘Don’t you think I look beautiful, Dr Cuddles? You want me to look beautiful, don’t you?’
Quentin blanched. She was being nice! That was when she was at her most dangerous. Beads of sweat broke out across his forehead. Any moment now, she would want something, and with the house-elves all having been assigned to other duties, it was he, Quentin, who would have to get or do whatever that something might be. He shuddered miserably as he remembered the night before. All that wobbly strawberry jelly! All that wire wool!
‘Stinky hog cleansing milk, you mean, you silly thing,’ Quentin heard Ingrid saying. She was giggling coquettishly. Quentin shivered with foreboding. ‘Oh, I shall look forward to that. Then you can give me a back-rub, Cuddles. And a foot-massage . . .’
All at once, the door burst open. Quentin let out a little scream and jumped back. Dr Cuddles stood in the doorway, his piercing blue eyes glaring out of the shadows.
‘You startled me, M . . . Master,’ Quentin stammered. ‘I was just . . . just about to enquire whether you’d like a . . . a . . . a nice snuggle-muffin for your mid-morning snack?’
‘This is no time for snuggle-muffins,’ said Dr Cuddles coldly.
‘Cuddles!’ Ingrid cooed from inside the room. ‘Hurry back with that stinky hog cleansing milk.’ Her voice hardened.
‘Ingrid doesn’t like to be kept waiting, remember.’
‘How could I forget?’ said Dr Cuddles, rolling his eyes. ‘You did send that ransom note, didn’t you, Quentin?’ he said, giggling nervously. ‘You did say that we’d shave off her hair, immerse her in a vat of stinky hog milk . . .’
‘And tickle her feet with a lazybird feather! And prod her repeatedly with a wet fish!’ Quentin interrupted, flapping his hands about agitatedly. ‘I told them everything!’
Dr Cuddles shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘That Horned Baron,’ he growled. ‘I’m going to make him pay for this if it’s the last thing I do!’
‘Cuddles!’ screeched Ingrid. ‘I’m waiting!’
‘Coming, my backcombed beauty,’ Dr Cuddles called back. He turned to Quentin, eyes blazing. ‘Fetch the stinky-hog milk. Open the gates ready for our visitors. And tell Roger the Wrinkled I want to see those plans at once. Good grief, do I have to do everything around here?’
Meanwhile, in the northern fringes of Elfwood, a vast set of cutlery was busy getting prepared for the next stage in its epic journey. The knives whetted their blades on stones, the forks sharpened their prongs, while the ladles and spoons polished and buffed themselves up, until the entire cutlery set could be seen reflected in each of their gleaming bowls.
A tiny teaspoon, with glinting curlicues on its handle, stood on top of a boulder. The back of its silver bowl glinted in the early morning sun as it cocked it to one side.
It was listening.
Meanwhile, in the far off Ogrehills, a gruff yet plaintive voice cried out.
‘Has anyone seen Fluffy? He was here a minute ago. Fluffy! Flu-uffy!’
But the ogre’s snuggly-wuggly comforter – a particularly soft and hairy elf – was gone. Off down the dusty mountain track he was skipping, a tune on his lips and a knotted handkerchief on a stick over one shoulder.
Meanwhile, under Trollbridge, a lumpen troll reached out for a turnip-slicer-elf that wasn’t there.
Meanwhile . . .
‘Do you think it’s safe yet?’ said Randalf.
A good five minutes had passed since the last flying rock struck the houseboat, and Randalf had just poked his head out of the picnic hamper in which he’d been hiding – a pink snuggle-muffin stuck to his forehead. There was no reply.
‘Where’s everybody gone?’ he called.
‘Out here, Fatso,’ came Veronica’s voice.
Tentatively, Randalf ventured out on to the deck, where he found the others at the balustrade. They were all looking over the side, peering down through the clear water beneath them. Veronica, perched on Joe’s left shoulder, flapped a wing at something far below.
‘I’ve never noticed that before,’ she said.
Joe frowned. Despite the distortion from the rippling water he, too, could see something. He squinted. Not something, he realized with a shock, but someone . . .
‘Look,’ he said. ‘You can make out the shoulders and legs. And red hair.’ The figure below the hovering lake raised an arm in unmistakable greeting. Joe gasped. ‘He’s seen us!’
Just then, a voice called up, loud and clear. ‘At last! I’ve been chucking pebbles at every houseboat for the last hour trying to get someone’s attention. I was beginning to think all the wizards had left the Enchanted Lake.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ muttered Veronica.
Joe glanced down at a boulder the size of a large pillow, lying on the deck to his right. That was some pebble!
Randalf cupped his hands to his mouth.‘I am a wizard,’ he called out. ‘And who might you be?’
‘It is I, Brenda, Warrior-Princess,’ came the booming reply.‘Weave a spell of levitation, mighty wizard, that I may join you on the Enchanted Lake.’
Joe blushed. Despite the broad shoulders and stout legs – not to mention the deep and powerful voice – he was evidently a she.
Randalf also blushed. ‘Spell of levitation,’ he murmured. ‘Spell of levitation . . . er . . .’
‘I think she means Norbert and the rope ladder,’ Veronica sniffed.
Randalf leaned over the balustrade. ‘I seem to have mislaid my spell book, your highness,’ he shouted down. ‘But I do have a rope ladder and an ogre,’ he added. He turned and snapped at Norbert, ‘Come on, Norbert! Don’t keep our guest waiting!’
Having sunk every rowing boat on the Enchanted Lake, followed by every bath tub and then every kitchen sink from every houseboat, Norbert was forced to become increasingly resourceful. Joe watched as the great ogre – squashed inside a huge baking tray and using spatulas as oars – paddled slowly across the lake, a wooden washing-up bowl on a piece of string bobbing along beside him.
At the edge of the hovering lake, Norbert pulled the coiled rope ladder from his shoulders and, having wrapped one end around his ham of a hand, tossed the other end down over the side. Joe saw the rope ladder go taut, the ogre’s arms and neck strain – and the baking tray begin to take on water.
Brenda must have climbed up at incredible speed, for the next moment her flame-red plaits appeared, and the warrior-princess pulled herself up over the lip of water and into the waiting washing-up bowl. She seized the ladles Norbert was holding out and, in a blur of hands and spray, sped towards the houseboat.
Randalf was there to greet her. ‘Enchanted to make your acquaintance,’ he said giddily as Brenda leaped up on to the deck and fell to one knee before him.
‘Enchanted,’ sneered Veronica. ‘You couldn’t do “enchanted” if your life depended on it!’
‘Ignore her,’ said Randalf, unable to tear his eyes away from the magnificent warrior-princess. ‘And . . . and please stand up.’ He wiped his right hand on his robes and stuck it out. ‘Randalf the Wise,’ he announced. ‘Would you care for some refreshments? Some spittle tea?’
Brenda got to her feet, seized Randalf’s hand and shook it vigorously. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, and as she followed him inside the houseboat, added, ‘You seem to have something stuck t
o your forehead, Rudolf.’
‘A snuggle-muffin,’ said Veronica. She fluttered across the room to her cage, where she perched on the little bar and swung indignantly backwards and forwards.
Randalf wiped a tear from his eye – brought about by Brenda’s bone-crushing grip – and plucked the snuggle-muffin from his head. ‘This needs some more icing, Norbert,’ he said. He turned to the warrior-princess. ‘Now tell me, Brenda, what can I do for you?’
‘What can you do for me?’ said Brenda, and chuckled throatily. ‘It is more a case of what I can do for you. I stand before you, a warrior-princess, veteran of a thousand battles. I have wrestled with mud hags and clashed swords with orc lords. Now I offer my services to you, oh mighty sorcerer.’
Randalf swooned. Veronica tutted. Norbert took a bite of the snuggle-muffin.
‘No heroic deed too small to be considered,’ she added, and reached round for her sword, which she held up. Joe noticed the light glint on eight notches carved into the handle. ‘Each one of these represents a mighty quest,’ she said and smiled. ‘There’s room for plenty more.’
Joe stepped forwards bashfully. ‘You’re . . . you’re a real warrior-hero,’ he said. ‘We were just about to set off on a quest of our own.’
Brenda’s eyes narrowed. ‘And who might you be?’ she asked.
‘Joe Jefferson,’ said Joe. ‘I’m . . .’
‘He’s Joe the Barbarian, a warrior-hero,’ squawked Veronica. ‘See? We’ve already got one.’ The swinging perch itself seemed to squeak with indignation. ‘The position’s taken, thank you very much. So, buzz off! Go on, sling your hook!’
Brenda frowned. ‘Warrior-hero?’ she said.
Joe shrank back. He felt her piercing gaze boring into his own. ‘Actually,’ he began, ‘I . . .’
‘You tell her!’ Veronica called out encouragingly. ‘Conqueror of ogres. Defeater of dragons. Slayer of wardrobes.’
‘Really?’ said Brenda, sounding impressed.
‘Yes, and that’s his battle-hound . . .’ said Veronica, with a wave of her wing. ‘Fang. Fang the Ferocious. You don’t want to mess about with Fang.’
‘His real name’s Henry,’ said Joe.
Brenda reached forwards and stroked Henry on the head. Henry rolled over and waited for her to tickle his tummy.
‘Traitor,’ muttered Veronica.
Brenda straightened up and proffered her hand. ‘Put it there, Joe the Barbarian!’ she said. ‘Always glad to meet a fellow warrior-hero. So what is this quest of which you speak?’
‘Our quest?’ Randalf broke in. ‘Oh, just a little bit of business to clear up in Giggle Glade. You’re welcome to join us,’ he added as casually as his thumping heart would allow. ‘Usual rates; a quarter of any treasure found, plus all the snuggle-muffins you can eat . . .’
A smile spread across the warrior-princess’s face. ‘A little bit of business?’ she said. ‘Sounds perfect. But I wouldn’t want to tread on the mighty Joe’s toes . . .’
‘You’re right!’ squawked Veronica. ‘You’d be treading all over Joe’s toes with your nasty big feet.’
‘No you wouldn’t,’ said Joe quickly. ‘Honestly, you wouldn’t! After all, we’ll need all the help we can get on this quest. We have to travel to Giggle Glade to recover the Grand Wizards’ Great Book of Spells, a sacred text which has fallen into the clutches of the most malevolent fiend ever to have breathed the air of Muddle Earth!’
Brenda turned on Randalf. ‘Is this your “little bit of business”, Rupert?’ she demanded.
Randalf blushed and threw a filthy look at Joe for being such a blabbermouth. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off. ‘Yes,’ he admitted quietly. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘Great stuff!’ said Brenda. She clapped her large hands together gleefully. ‘Count me in!’
‘You mean you would accompany us on this noble yet perilous expedition?’ said Randalf, scarcely able to believe his own ears.
‘No problem,’ said Brenda. ‘When do we depart?’
Randalf smiled. ‘You know what they say; there’s no time like the present.’ He shook his head. ‘As I keep trying to impress upon young Joe, here.’
‘But . . .’ spluttered Joe.
‘Young people today,’ said Randalf, winking at Brenda conspiratorially. ‘You know what they’re like. Always procrastinating. Always putting off till tomorrow what should be done today . . . But now you’ve turned up, we can finally set off. We’d be honoured if you would accompany us.’
‘But, Randalf . . .’ said Joe indignantly.
‘Do come along, Joe,’ said Randalf fussily. ‘There really is no time to lose.’
With that, the wizard turned on his heels and followed Brenda out on to the deck. Norbert went after them, a peevish Veronica perched on his head.
At last, thought Joe. A real warrior-hero! Now they stood a real chance! He wouldn’t have to bluff and bluster any more, not with Brenda to back him up. Now he could wrest the Great Book of Spells from the evil Dr Cuddles, he could release the grand wizards, free Ingrid – whatever it took – and finally return home to the real world; the place where he belonged.
‘Uh-oh,’ Randalf’s voice floated back from the deck.
Joe groaned. His hopes and dreams melted away like snowflakes in a fire. What now?
Quentin was standing outside Ingrid’s bedchamber, his ear pressed to the door.
‘Ooh, Dr Cuddles!’ came Ingrid’s shrill voice. ‘That tickles!’
‘I can’t do this if you keep moving!’ Dr Cuddles’s muffled voice was sounding increasingly desperate. Quentin consulted his note book. 12.30: Tickle feet with lazybird feather, he read.
Dr Cuddles’s voice rose to a high-pitched wail. ‘Careful. No, don’t sit down. No . . .’
Ingrid squealed with delight. ‘You silly thing!’ she chided. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Ouch!’ Dr Cuddles cried out. ‘Helpmmff! Hffmmpppfff!’
Quentin shivered with foreboding. It sounded as though the master was being smothered. He raised his fist and hammered on the door. ‘Dr Cuddles, sir?’ he called.
‘Come on in!’ Ingrid trilled. ‘The more the merrier!’
‘No, don’t come infffmm,’ shouted Dr Cuddles. ‘I’ll . . . come . . . out . . .’ he said, every word an effort.
All at once, the door flew open and Dr Cuddles rushed from the room, his robes crumpled and askew. He slammed the door behind him, locked it, and slipped into the shadows.
Quentin shuddered. He could hear Ingrid cooing from behind the locked door. ‘Don’t be long, Cuddles,’ she was saying – and a hard edge crept into her voice as she added, ‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what happened last time you kept Ingrid waiting!’
‘She’s mad,’ Dr Cuddles muttered and giggled nervously. ‘Quite, quite mad!’ He fell still; his piercing blue eyes blazed. ‘I’ll have that Horned Baron,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll make him wish he’d never been born!’
Quentin nodded. ‘It is in connection with the Horned Baron that I bring news,’ he said. ‘The first of the elves are arriving.’
‘Excellent, Quentin,’ Dr Cuddles said, giggling happily. ‘Have them assemble in rows outside in Giggle Glade, and show the new arrivals where to go. I shall address them all at moonrise.’
‘Cuddles!’ It was Ingrid. She sounded far from happy. ‘Cuddles, you haven’t massaged my other foot!’
Dr Cuddles groaned miserably. ‘In the meantime, Quentin, you know where to find me.’
‘CUDDLES! NOW!’
‘After Brenda climbed up it, Norbert dropped the rope ladder,’ said Randalf. ‘Look.’
Joe looked. There, beneath the rippling lake, curled up on the ground beside a sleeping lazybird, was the rope ladder.
‘Well, at least we tried,’ said Randalf with a sigh. ‘We’ll just have to wait for him to make another one. Shouldn’t take long. Couple of months, maybe. Brenda,’ he said, turning to the warrior-princess, ‘how about that cup of spittle tea?’
‘A couple of months!’ Joe exploded. ‘I can’t wait a couple of months!’
‘And nor shall you,’ said Brenda.
The warrior-princess immediately took control of the situation. ‘Norbert,’ she said, ‘bring me the longest piece of rope you have. Rudyard, fetch four coat hangers.’
The pair of them jumped to her command. When Norbert returned with the rope, she instructed Joe to tie one end to the houseboat’s chimney. The other, she secured round the pillow-sized boulder. Then, having barked commands to some character by the name of Sniffy who seemed to be waiting for her at the bottom, Brenda hurled the boulder with tremendous strength.
Clutching hold of the balustrade as the boat wildly dipped and swayed, Joe had watched, puzzled, as the boulder sailed off through the air. What on earth – or rather Muddle Earth – was she up to? he wondered. Over the edge of the lake it went and down to the ground below. The rope flew with it. There was a thud and a distant yowl, and the rope abruptly went taut.
Suddenly, Joe realized exactly what was going on. Brenda had rigged up a makeshift cableway they could use to descend to the ground.
‘Great idea,’ he said enthusiastically.
‘Absolutely ingenious method of getting down!’ Randalf agreed. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Do you really want me to tell you?’ said Veronica.
Brenda went down the cable first, with Henry – tail wagging furiously – around her neck. ‘Just to show how easy it is,’ she added, glancing pointedly at Randalf, who was beginning to make excuses and wanting to change his hat. Joe watched her glide down the rope, over the edge of the lake and out of sight.
‘It’s fun,’ she called back a moment later. ‘Next!’
Norbert was the second to leave the houseboat, with Randalf clinging to his back, eyes tightly shut and screaming hysterically. Veronica flapped beside him (reminding the wizard that he took danger in his stride) as they swooped down. Now it was Joe’s turn.
Muddle Earth Page 21
