Muddle Earth

by Chris Riddell

  ‘GO!’ Brenda’s booming voice echoed up.

  Jaw set in grim concentration, Joe gripped the two sides of the hanger. His heart was racing. His knees were trembling.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ he muttered as he kicked off from the side of the houseboat and launched himself into the air.

  Down, down, down, he sped. The slide was far faster than it had looked and Joe now realized why Randalf had screamed so hysterically. Not that he was going to scream! Not Joe the Barbarian. For he was a warrior-hero, and warrior-heroes didn’t scream – particularly when there was a warrior-princess about.

  As he neared the edge of the lake, his legs struck the water, sending up a plume of spray and increasing the drag on his arms. It was all he could do to hang on.

  ‘Nearly there,’ he told himself. ‘Just hold on tight and . . . Wow!’

  The view which opened up below him as he sped past the lake was magnificent.

  ‘Whee!’ he cried. ‘Wheeeeeeeee!’

  Everything rushed below him in a blur of green and brown. The ground came nearer. Ahead of him, he could see Randalf and Norbert, with Veronica back on top of his head, and Brenda beside him – and next to them, what looked like a massive, stripy, pink cat sniffing at a terrified Henry.

  Joe landed with a bump, rolled over and looked up to see the others looking down at him. ‘That was amazing!’ he gasped.

  Henry licked his face.

  ‘Well done, sir,’ said Norbert, helping him to his feet.

  ‘Glad someone enjoyed it,’ said Randalf grumpily, wiping the dust from his crumpled pointy hat and straightening the attached umbrella.

  ‘Unlike some,’ said Veronica scornfully. ‘Squealing like a pink stinky hoglet, you were. I’ve never been so ashamed.’

  Brenda stepped forward.‘Well done,’ she said warmly. ‘I must confess that when I first laid eyes upon you I had some doubts. But you tackled that task with the skill and determination of a true warrior-hero!’ She clapped a heavy arm round Joe’s shoulder. ‘We’ll make a great team, you and I. That fiend with the spell book doesn’t stand a chance.’

  Blushing furiously behind his beard, Randalf pushed his way between the two of them and eased Joe out of the way. ‘Of course, he was nothing when he first came to me,’ he said. ‘I taught him everything he knows.’ He smiled up at Brenda ingratiatingly. ‘And you know what they say, a warrior-hero is only as good as his teacher.’

  Brenda frowned. ‘There are some things you can’t teach, Ronald,’ she said. ‘Like bravery.’ She stepped past him and seized Joe by the arm. ‘Come, Joe the Barbarian. You shall ride beside me on Sniffy.’

  The great, stripy, pink cat purred as Brenda leaped up into the saddle. She reached down and pulled Joe – who had Henry under one arm – up after her. Then, with a tug on the reins, they were off. Norbert followed, with Randalf on one shoulder and Veronica on the other.

  Randalf was not a happy wizard. ‘You really have such bony shoulders, Norbert,’ he complained testily. ‘It’s like sitting on a sack of rocks.’ He snorted irritably. ‘Now, if Joe would just move up a little, I’m sure there’s room on Sniffy for one more . . .’

  ‘Shut up, Ronald!’ said Veronica.

  ‘Pass me another snuggle-muffin, Norbert,’ said Randalf. ‘There’s a good fellow.’

  Norbert, who had Veronica perched on his head, reached forward and rummaged about in the hamper which was resting somewhat precariously on a raised grassy tussock in the middle of the Perfumed Bog. Sickly sweet-smelling bog-mist swirled about them, tingeing the low, late-afternoon sun purple and covering everything in its musty scent. Norbert retrieved a snuggle-muffin and held it out.

  ‘No, not that one,’ said Randalf, looking at the small green-and-yellow-iced cake in his hand. ‘I wanted the pink one with the glacé cherries and chocolate sprinkles.’

  Norbert frowned. ‘Someone must have eaten it,’ he said. ‘This is the last one.’

  ‘Unless there’s one stuck to your forehead, Randalf,’ added Veronica with a giggle.

  ‘Oh, really!’ the wizard exclaimed petulantly. ‘I was looking forward to that snuggle-muffin!’ His resounding voice caused a huge pink stinky hog to break wind from a nearby tussock and a startled gas frog to explode. ‘Who ate it?’ Randalf demanded.

  Veronica nodded towards the adjacent tussock, where Brenda was deep in conversation with Joe. ‘She did,’ said Veronica. ‘Half a dozen of them, she’s had. Mind you, to be fair, you did promise her all the snuggle-muffins she could eat.’

  ‘Of course, being a warrior-princess and all, she needs to keep her strength up,’ said Randalf with a dreamy smile. He turned to Norbert. ‘All right, Norbert, give me that . . . Norbert!’

  Blushing bright crimson, Norbert wiped the telltale crumbs of cake and icing from his mouth. ‘You feb you bibn’t wamp ip!’ he spluttered, showering Randalf with bits of half-chewed snuggle-muffin.

  ‘Oh, Norbert!’ Randalf exclaimed.

  Norbert swallowed. ‘There’s lots of snotbread sandwiches left,’ he said helpfully.

  Another startled gas frog exploded close by. In the distance, a pair of stinky hogs paused, grunted and passed wind noisily. Only Brenda and Joe seemed unaware of the altercation taking place on the neighbouring tussock.

  ‘And this one,’ Brenda was saying, lightly fingering one of the many nicks in the blade of her long sword, ‘was when I had that run-in with Hilda the Hairy Hag. Those thunderbolts of hers can really sting, you know.’

  ‘Wow, thunderbolts!’ gasped Joe, who was growing more and more impressed with every successive story Brenda recounted. ‘That sounds amazing!’

  ‘And this,’ she went on, moving down the blade, ‘resulted from an incident with Harry-and-Larry – a monstrous two-headed ogre. Terrible creature he was, though he could never make his minds up about anything. I had to knock his heads together.’ She chuckled. ‘He won’t be forgetting Brenda, Warrior-Princess, in a hurry!’

  ‘Incredible,’ said Joe quietly. ‘You’ve done all that!’

  ‘Indeed I have,’ said Brenda, a faraway look in her eyes. ‘Indeed I have. But now I want to settle down; find a nice little home for me and Sniffy,’ she said, nodding across to her pink, stripy battle-cat, who was lying on a third tussock some way off, trembling.

  On hearing her name, Sniffy whimpered plaintively. She didn’t like this wet place with its swampy mud and pongy mist. Henry, who was sharing the same tussock, licked her face and barked encouragingly.

  ‘I’ve had my share of adventure,’ Brenda went on. ‘Now it’s time to take life a little more easily, and Rudolf seems a nice enough wizard. I just hope I’m not putting your nose out of joint, Joe.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Joe.‘Not at all. In fact I’m glad you’re here. Although Randalf summoned me and Henry to Muddle Earth, he can’t send us back again. If we don’t manage to rescue the Great Book of Spells and release the other wizards, then I’ll have to stay here for ever and . . . and . . .’ He sniffed.

  ‘You’re homesick,’ said Brenda.

  Joe nodded. ‘I miss my mum and dad,’ he said. ‘And the twins. And even my sister, Ella.’

  ‘Is she a warrior-princess?’ asked Brenda earnestly.

  Joe smiled. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Although if looks really could kill, then she’d be pretty deadly.’

  Brenda shuddered. ‘Sounds like Sybil the Sorceress,’ she said. ‘Now, her looks could kill.’ She touched a jagged notch down near the end of the blade.‘Not to mention her breath!’

  ‘Sybil the Sorceress,’ Joe whispered in awe.

  ‘Mind you, she proved no match for Brenda, Warrior-Princess.’ Brenda wrapped a great, muscular arm around Joe’s shoulders and squeezed tightly – rather too tightly. ‘Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll see to it that you get home. Trust me,’ she said, ‘we’ll complete this quest successfully if I’ve got anything to do with it!’

  ‘But you don’t understand,’ said Joe, breaking free from her powerful grip. ‘Weeks, I�
�ve been waiting to set off on this quest. Weeks and weeks. And what happens when we do finally get going? Ten minutes in and Randalf wakes up and says we’ve all got to stop for a picnic!’

  ‘Those snuggle-muffins were rather good,’ said Brenda, licking her lips appreciatively. ‘But you’re right, Joe. We should be making tracks. The sun’s getting low and we don’t want to spend the night in the Perfumed Bog.’ She climbed to her feet. ‘Ralph! Sniffy!’ she called across to the other tussocks. ‘We must set off at once.’

  ‘Already?’ Randalf’s disappointed voice floated back.

  ‘You can ride beside me on Sniffy,’ said Brenda.

  Randalf beamed. ‘I’ll be right with you,’ he said.

  Goblintown was already badly missing its holidaying elves. With none of them around to do the little chores that kept the town ticking over, the whole place was running down. Oil lamps sputtered, went out and stayed out. Letters remained unsent, wet washing went unspun. And with none of the clocks working, it was as though time itself had stopped. Only the mounting piles of rubbish on every corner of every street indicated just how long there had been no elves about to tidy up.

  Inside the buildings which lined the rubbish-strewn streets, the story was the same. There were no sewing-elves, mending-elves, washing-elves . . . No elves at all! And in their absence, nothing was being made. The workrooms of the milliners, ironmongers, furniture makers and dressmakers were all standing idle.

  One shop, however was a hive of activity. Goblins become very active when there’s money around – and the helmeted figure trying on new robes smelled very strongly of money.

  ‘How do I look?’ the Horned Baron asked, looking into the mirror.

  ‘Oh, I say!’ the mirror – a tall, free-standing swivel affair set in an ornate mahogany frame – replied. ‘You’re the fairest Horned Baron of them all.’

  ‘I am?’ said the Horned Baron uncertainly.

  ‘No doubt about it,’ said the mirror. ‘This outfit really suits sir down to the ground. And fits to a T. Could have been made for sir.’

  The Horned Baron twisted this way and that, keeping his eyes on his body and checking out his appearance from every angle. ‘I’m still not sure,’ he said. ‘I just don’t know if it’s me.’

  ‘Sir looks fabulous,’ the mirror assured him. ‘The lilac complements your sallow complexion and magnificent jet-black moustache so well. And the sparkly bits match that mischievous glint in your eye.’ It paused. ‘Is sir planning on going somewhere nice this evening?’

  ‘I thought I might take in a nightspot or two while I’m here in Goblintown,’ said the Horned Baron vaguely.

  ‘Well, you’re certainly going to impress the ladies in that little get-up,’ said the mirror.

  The Horned Baron nodded happily.

  Situated on the ground floor of a towering stack of clothes shops, Unction’s Upmarket Outfitters was renowned for its staggering array of outrageously priced outfits – and its talking mirror. Normally, the Horned Baron wouldn’t have dreamed of shopping in so expensive a place. Ingrid would never have allowed it.

  But then Ingrid – bless her enormous cotton socks – was no longer around. Sadly, tragically and possibly for ever, Ingrid was gone. And with her, the Horned Baron’s days of having to shop at Grubley’s Discount Garment Store. Quite apart from the fact that Grubley had swindled him in that incident with the singing curtains, the goblin had nothing on offer but cheap tat. Whereas these new clothes . . . You could feel the quality.

  The Horned Baron craned his neck round. ‘Are you absolutely sure my bum doesn’t look big in these sparkly tights?’ he said.

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ said the mirror. ‘In fact I was just thinking how slimming they are – particularly tucked into those patent-leather bootees. And the sequinned tunic emphasizes both the breadth of your shoulders and neatness of your waist. So very flattering,’ it said. ‘So very you, sir, if I might make so bold!’

  ‘You’ve talked me into it,’ announced the Horned Baron. ‘I’ll take the whole lot.’

  ‘An excellent choice,’ said the mirror. ‘And a snip at only two hundred and fifty gold pieces. Sir is going to cause an absolute riot on the dance floor.’ It paused. ‘Did sir have any particular nightspot in mind?’

  The Horned Baron nodded slowly. Two hundred and fifty gold pieces did seem an awful lot for a tunic, tights and bootees. Then again, it would be worth it. ‘Mucky Maud’s Lumpy Custard Club is supposed to be rather good,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, absolutely!’ gushed the mirror. ‘I’ve heard that the custard pies there are to die for.’ It chuckled. ‘And Mucky Maud herself won’t be able to keep her big custard pie-throwing hands off you!’

  ‘I’ll have you know I’m a happily married man,’ said the Horned Baron blushing furiously. (If Ingrid should ever, ever get to hear of this . . .)

  ‘Oh, you can trust me,’ said the mirror conspiratorially. ‘Now if sir would like to proceed to the till . . .’

  Just then, the door at the front of the shop burst open and the Horned Baron looked round to see his manservant – bright pink and panting – dashing in. ‘There you are, sir!’ he said breathlessly. ‘I’ve been looking all over.’

  The Horned Baron sighed impatiently. ‘What is it now, Benson?’ he said. ‘Can’t I have a single moment’s peace?’

  ‘Please, sir,’ said Benson, lowering his head. ‘Sorry, sir, but it’s really important.’ He rummaged in his pocket. ‘There’s been another letter concerning the baroness.’

  ‘Ingrid?’ said the Horned Baron, blushing more furiously than ever. ‘A letter?’

  ‘Delivered by batbird,’ said Benson. He handed over the sheet of parchment. ‘It says they’re going to baste her in oil and boil her in a cauldron!’

  The Horned Baron tutted and shook his head. ‘What appalling luck,’ he said.

  ‘But, sir!’ said Benson.

  ‘Not now, Benson,’ said the Horned Baron. ‘I’m already late for my helmet-polishing, not to mention my horn-sharpening.’

  ‘As I always say,’ the mirror enthused, ‘it’s those little finishing touches that make all the difference.’

  ‘But, sir,’ Benson tried again. ‘The letter . . . Ingrid . . . What are you going to do?’

  ‘First things first,’ said the Horned Baron. ‘After all, it wouldn’t do to rush these things, now would it?’

  The ragtag group continued on their quest along the dusty road. To their right, the Perfumed Bog fizzed and popped in the fading light. To their left, the jagged peaks of the Ogrehills were silhouetted against the sky. Before them – far, far in the distance – a line of pointy tree tops was just appearing above the horizon.

  Joe was up on Norbert’s right shoulder, with Henry trotting along behind them. Randalf, for once awake while travelling, was sitting in Sniffy’s ornate saddle beside Brenda. The huge grin on his face was so fixed, so unmoving, it looked painted into place. Randalf the Wise was in seventh heaven.

  ‘Oh, do tell me that story about when you fought the warty gutguzzler of the Black Lagoon. What rude names did you say you called it?’ He swooned giddily. ‘Ooh, Brenda, Warrior-Princess, you’re so brave and strong and wicked . . .’

  Brenda laughed (the sound of peeling bells, Randalf thought) and clapped the wizard on the back.

  ‘Ooof!’ gasped Randalf, his smile momentarily disappearing.

  ‘Enough about me, Rodney,’ said Brenda. ‘Tell me, where exactly is this Giggle Glade?’

  Randalf peered into the distance and nodded. The treeline was closer now. ‘Giggle Glade is right in the middle of that,’ he said. ‘Elfwood.’

  Brenda flinched. ‘Elfwood?’ she said. ‘Elfwood? As in elves?’

  Clonk!

  ‘Ouch!’ cried Randalf, who was back on Norbert’s shoulder, as he attempted (and failed) to duck an oncoming branch.

  Clonk!

  ‘OUCH!’ Randalf howled, gingerly rubbing his forehead. ‘Do watch where you’re going, Norbert! Tha
t really hurt!’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Norbert. He stooped down as low as he could get. ‘Is that better?’

  Clonk!

  ‘Oh, for crying out loud!’ Randalf exclaimed, as the tiny umbrella was knocked from the top of his pointy hat. ‘Norbert, put me down. There’s nothing for it. I’ll just have to walk.’

  Norbert did as he was told.

  ‘Ah, that’s better,’ said Randalf as he strode off into the forest. ‘Keep up, you lot,’ he called back. ‘No dawdling! After all, we are on an important quest, you know.’

  Veronica fluttered down and landed on the brim of his pointy hat. ‘What’s the hurry, Fatso?’ she said. ‘No, don’t tell me. It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’ve got a warrior-princess on a battle-cat backing you up, by any chance?’

  ‘Wonderful, isn’t she?’ said Randalf, a dreamy smile playing on his lips.

  Behind them, Joe tugged on Henry’s lead. ‘Come on, boy,’ he said. ‘If you stop to sniff round every tree, we’ll never get anywhere.’

  Joe looked around him. With its tall, burnished trees glowing in the twilight, its tangle of flowering brambles and clumps of feathery ferns, Elfwood was certainly beautiful. But something about it made him feel vaguely uneasy, as if he were being watched. He turned and saw Brenda still lingering at the forest’s edge.

  ‘What’s the matter, Brenda?’ said Joe. He walked back to her and took her gently by the arm. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Well,’ Brenda began.

  ‘Yes?’ said Joe.

  ‘The thing is . . . I don’t quite know how to say this.’ Brenda looked down at the ground shamefacedly.

  ‘You can tell me,’ said Joe, softly ‘What’s bothering you?’

  ‘It’s Elfwood,’ said Brenda. ‘Elfwood.’