Muddle Earth

by Chris Riddell

  ‘Yes,’ said Joe.

  ‘A wood full of elves,’ said Brenda, tears in her eyes.

  ‘What’s that, Brenda?’ came a voice. It was Randalf who, finding himself on his own, had marched back to find out what was keeping the others. ‘Elfwood? Full of elves?’ he said. ‘If you’re looking forward to seeing elves in Elfwood, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. There haven’t been any elves in Elfwood for years.’

  ‘There haven’t?’ said Brenda, the colour returning to her cheeks.

  ‘I was forgetting, you’ve been away, haven’t you?’ said Randalf. ‘Well, Brenda, such is the demand for the hardworking little fellows that the last place you’ll find them now is in Elfwood.’

  ‘It is?’ said Brenda, smiling.

  ‘They’re all in Trollbridge, and Goblintown and the Horned Baron’s castle these days, working their little socks off, bless’em,’ said Randalf. He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry to have to disappoint you.’

  Brenda laughed. ‘I’ll cope,’ she said, with a toss of her fiery-red plaits. She clapped a great hand on Randalf’s shoulders. ‘Come then, Raymond, show me the way to Giggle Glade.’

  The hairs at the back of Randalf’s neck tingled deliciously. ‘I’d be delighted,’ he said.

  For a good ten minutes, they made excellent progress through the woods as the shadows lengthened. Elfwood looked particularly beautiful in the setting sun as the twilight air slipped from yellow to gold, to a deep burnished copper. Birds twittered from the branches. Creatures scratched and scurried in the dappled shadows. A warm, gentle breeze whispered through the trembling leaves.

  ‘Don’t the woods look pretty,’ Joe said.

  ‘He thinks we look pretty,’ said a voice just behind him.

  Joe spun round. There was nobody there. It must be my imagination, he thought, or maybe the wind in the branches. He hurried after the others, tugging Henry along behind him.

  He caught up with them in a small clearing. Randalf was sitting on an old tree stump, red-faced and short of breath.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he was saying. ‘I can’t go any further. I’m absolutely shattered . . . Must rest . . .’

  ‘Oh, honestly!’ said Veronica. ‘Take more than three steps and Fatso, here, has to lie down.’

  ‘Tell her to shut up, Norbert,’ said Randalf weakly. ‘I’m just too weary.’

  ‘Shut up, Veronica,’ said Norbert meekly.

  ‘It is getting dark,’ said Brenda, looking round, ‘and this seems a nice place for a camp. We’ll stop here for the night, and set off again bright and early tomorrow morning.’

  ‘My thoughts entirely,’ said Randalf, stretching out on the tree stump. ‘You take charge of setting up camp, Brenda, while I try to regain my strength.’

  ‘That fat one’s sitting on poor old Auntie Ethel,’ came a whisper from behind Joe.

  ‘Blooming cheek!’

  ‘Just ignore them and they’ll soon go away.’

  Joe looked round. Was he going mad? ‘Hello?’ he called.

  ‘Is there anybody there?’

  ‘Stop fooling about, Joe,’ said Randalf, his hat down over his eyes, ‘and help Brenda. Ooh,’ he groaned, ‘I can feel my ankles swelling.’

  ‘Lay the blanket out over there,’ Brenda was telling Norbert. ‘Then go and get some firewood. Veronica, you collect some kindling. And Joe, find some small rocks and lay them in a circle here. This is where we’ll make our campfire.’ She unhooked a great, black cooking pot from Sniffy’s back. ‘I’ll just rustle up a little something for supper.’

  ‘Don’t be too long,’ said Randalf. ‘I can feel myself growing weaker.’

  ‘In the head!’ said Veronica.

  ‘Kindling, Veronica,’ said Randalf. ‘Good quality kindling is the basis of any good fire. Isn’t that right, Brenda?’

  ‘That’s right, Rudolf,’ replied the warrior-princess, dicing up several carrots and onions from Sniffy’s saddlebag, and throwing them into the pot.

  Muttering under her breath, Veronica fluttered off into the gathering shadows. Norbert followed her, his axe grasped in his great hands. Joe began collecting rocks and making the circle for the fire. From a little way off came the sound of a sing-song voice.

  ‘One potato. Two potato. Yo, ho, ho and a rotten old bum!’ it said.

  Joe decided he was going to get to the bottom of this. He walked towards the sound of the voice. Just beyond the clearing, he stopped. There in front of him was a woodland stream flowing through the trees and babbling cheerfully.

  ‘Football. Tennis. Elbow. Grease those wheels and trim that sail. Lilacs are a girl’s best friend . . .’

  Talking streams! thought Joe, with a shake of his head. Only in Muddle Earth!

  Suddenly, he realized how terribly thirsty he felt. Kneeling down, Joe cupped a handful of the cool, clear water and was just about to drink when a firm hand clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘No!’ said a voice sternly.

  Joe looked up. It was Brenda. ‘Never drink from a babbling brook without boiling the water first. Just in case,’ she said, filling the cooking pot.

  ‘In case of what?’ asked Joe.

  At that moment, the air filled with anguished cries. ‘Ouch!’ ‘Ooh!’ ‘Ow!’

  ‘He’ll pay for that!’ came a voice. ‘You just wait!’

  Brenda and Joe rushed back to the clearing to find Randalf still stretched out on the tree trunk.

  ‘Was that you?’ asked Joe.

  Randalf frowned. ‘I thought it was you,’ he said.

  They looked at each other. ‘Norbert?’ they both said together.

  Just then, the ogre in question burst from the trees, his great arms wrapped tightly round a huge bundle of firewood. He strode over to Joe’s circle of rocks and dumped the whole load down beside it.

  ‘Heavy work,’ he said as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  ‘Did you have to make so much noise, Norbert?’ said Randalf. ‘You had me worried for a moment.’

  ‘Mffllmm blmmnflck!’ Veronica muttered as she appeared from the trees, her beak stuffed full of twigs, straw and bits of dried bark. She fluttered down, perched on one of the rocks and opened her beak. The kindling fell to the ground. Veronica turned to Brenda. ‘So, what did your last slave die of?’ she said.

  ‘That’s enough, Veronica,’ said Randalf.

  ‘Well, honestly!’ said Veronica, her neck feathers all ruffled. ‘I’m only little. Not like that great, gallumphing red-haired oaf of a—’

  ‘Veronica!’ said Randalf sharply. ‘That is no way to talk to a warrior-princess.’ He turned to Brenda. ‘I’m sorry, your highness,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t mean it.’

  ‘I most certainly do!’ said Veronica hotly. ‘I—’

  ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ said Randalf loudly.

  ‘Hmmph!’ she squawked indignantly, and flew up to an overhanging branch.

  With the fire set, lit and blazing, Brenda placed the cooking pot full of water over the flames and it wasn’t long before they were all sitting down on Norbert’s great, thick blanket, eating Brenda’s rather watery carrot and onion stew. The wind dropped. The stars came out. The full moon glinted on the forest canopy, far above their heads.

  Veronica pecked at some birdseed in the firelight. Joe was sitting next to Henry, one arm wrapped around the dog’s neck. Sniffy lay curled up in front of the fire, purring contentedly. Brenda herself was sitting cross-legged, polishing her sword, the glow from the fire gleaming on her finely chiselled features.

  Randalf put down his bowl of stew. Their eyes met. Randalf smiled. ‘Tell us more of your adventures, Brenda,’ he said, stretching out on the blanket. ‘My word, this is comfortable after that king-sized bed,’ he sighed happily.

  ‘More adventures,’ said Brenda, inspecting the nicks on her blade. ‘Now let me see . . .’

  ‘Too late,’ said Veronica. ‘He’s already nodded off.’

  A low rasping snore filled the air. Brenda smiled. ‘Likes his
rest, doesn’t he?’ she said. ‘But then we could all do with a good night’s sleep,’ she said. ‘We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Sniffy will keep guard, won’t you Sniffy?’

  The great, pink, stripy cat got up from her place by the fire and stretched luxuriously. Henry barked and trotted over to keep her company.

  Joe lay back on the thick blanket, his hands behind his head, and stared up at the moonlit sky. It had been a long day. Finally, they had set out. Finally, he was on his quest.

  Beside him, Randalf’s low rasping snores were soon accompanied by Norbert’s loud rumbling ones and Veronica’s muffled whistle. Joe closed his eyes. From far away he could hear a distant babble.

  ‘Shut the door. Open the hamster. Rhubarb, rhubarb. Pardon me, your highness . . .’

  Joe smiled to himself. Even the voices had turned out to be nothing more sinister than a babbling brook. Muddle Earth! he thought drowsily. What a place!

  Brenda sheathed her sword and, having tossed another log on the fire, settled herself down.

  ‘Now they’re burning a piece of Great-aunt Lavinia,’ muttered an indignant voice.

  ‘And there are sparks going everywhere!’ another whispered.

  ‘Just you wait and see,’ said a third darkly. ‘We’ll show them!’

  If Joe had heard these voices, he would have realized that they didn’t belong to a babbling brook, a talkative stream or a gossiping river. But he didn’t hear them, nor the odd rustling, shuffling noise that began to echo through the air – for Joe was sound asleep.

  A full moon shone down over Giggle Glade, brightly illuminating the forest clearing below, where hundreds of small, bony elves were assembled, flittering, twittering and giggling excitedly. They were waiting in rows in front of a raised podium, upon which stood a tall lectern and a row of seven chairs.

  ‘The moon is up,’ one was saying. ‘I’m so excited!’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said another.

  ‘Me, neither,’ a third – then a fourth and fifth – chirped up.

  Soon the whole great multitude of elves were chattering to themselves in agreement. If there was hard work to be done, then they wanted to get started.

  Just then, a gangly figure in tight leggings and a glittery red coat, jumped up on to the stage and clapped his hands together.

  ‘Welcome!’ he said. Instantly, the flittering, twittering and giggling stopped. ‘Welcome to Giggle Glade and a holiday that none of you will ever forget!’

  ‘Hooray!’ the elves cried out, their squeaky voices echoing through the air.

  ‘Back-breaking work!’ he announced.

  ‘Hooray!’

  ‘Endless toil!’

  ‘Hooray!’

  ‘Task after arduous task!’

  ‘Hooray!’ the elves cheered, louder than ever.

  ‘And who’s the one who’s made it all possible? The one who’s extended this warm invitation? The one you’ve all been dying to meet. The one . . . the only . . . Dr Cuddles of Giggle Glade!’

  A tumultuous roar of approval went up as Dr Cuddles appeared, his dark, hooded robes wrapped tightly about him. He climbed the neatly turned stairs at the edge of the podium, mounted the mahogany and inlaid rosewood lectern and raised his head. Two piercing blue eyes glinted fiercely from the shadowy hood as he surveyed the gathering. The elves fell silent.

  ‘Thank you, Quentin,’ said Dr Cuddles nodding towards the glittery figure, who blushed modestly. Dr Cuddles’s gaze grew more intense as he glared down at the elves. ‘I promised you hard work, and that’s exactly what you shall have!’ he announced.

  The elves found their voices again. ‘Hooray!’ they cried out in unison.

  ‘You will be engaged in a great enterprise, the like of which has never before been seen in Muddle Earth,’ he continued, his voice loud and clear. ‘You are to build a towering construction from scratch – chopping down the trees . . .’

  ‘Here we go again,’ came a weary voice from the edge of the clearing.

  ‘He needs to be taught a lesson,’ muttered another crossly.

  ‘ . . . preparing the wood and assembling the structure from top-secret plans.’ He paused. ‘Top-secret plans,’ he repeated. ‘Quentin,’ he snapped. ‘Where are the top-secret plans?’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Quentin sibilantly. ‘Come on, you lot,’ he said. ‘Up on the podium with you.’

  Grumbling under their breath, a line of seven wizards – each one with long robes, a pointy hat and a rolled scroll of blueprints in their hands – climbed the steps and, with a muffled jangle, filed across the podium. They each took a place on one of the seats. As they sat down, the chain linking them all together glinted in the moonlight.

  On the left was Roger the Wrinkled. Beside him, Bertram the Incredibly Hairy and his brother, Boris the Bald. Then Eric the Mottled, Ernie the Shrivelled, Melvyn the Mauve, and last – and also least – Colin the Nondescript.

  Dr Cuddles’s blue eyes blazed. ‘Thank you, Quentin,’ he said again, his voice laced with unspoken menace. ‘These top-secret plans have been divided into seven parts,’ he went on. ‘Each of you will be assigned to one wizard who will oversee the construction of your individual section. When all seven sections have been completed, they will come together under my expert guiding hand.’ Dr Cuddles pulled himself up to his full height and raised his head. ‘We have the tools!’ he announced.

  The elves cheered.

  ‘We have the expertise!’

  The cheering grew louder. All at once, cutting through the echoing roar of the excited elves, came a loud and strident voice. ‘Cuddles!’

  The light in Dr Cuddles’s bright blue eyes visibly dimmed. ‘Ingrid,’ he murmured. He turned to Quentin. ‘You go,’ he said. ‘She likes you.’

  ‘But she called for you,’ said Quentin. ‘I fear I would be a dreadful disappointment.’

  The wizards sniggered behind their beards.

  ‘I’m waiting, Cuddles!’ Ingrid shouted imperiously, her voice a curious mixture of eagerness and impatience. ‘Are the oils ready? Is the water hot enough? I’m so looking forward to my lovely bath!’

  Dr Cuddles groaned. His gaze hardened as he turned to the elves. ‘To work!’ he bellowed. ‘To work. Now!’

  ‘Wake up, everyone, we’re surrounded!’ Brenda’s urgent voice cried out.

  Awakened by Sniffy’s piercing yowl and Henry’s forlorn barking, she’d opened her eyes to find the campsite had become a prison, surrounded by a wall of trees. During the night, the trees had crowded in around them until they were penned up in a space the size of Norbert’s blanket.

  Brenda leaped to her feet. Norbert’s three eyes snapped open. Veronica sighed and pulled her head out from under her wing. Joe stirred, sat up and looked round.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘It seems that our battle-creatures were less vigilant than we had hoped,’ said Brenda, shaking her head.

  Joe stared round at impenetrable wall of rough bark surrounding him. ‘The trees!’ he gasped. ‘They’ve moved!’

  ‘The small one’s woken up now,’ came a voice.

  Joe started. Norbert looked round in surprise. ‘That tree,’ he said. ‘It spoke!’

  ‘Ooh, and that’s that great big bully who hacked my branch off,’ said another.

  ‘And mine!’ ‘And mine!’ ‘And mine!’ came a chorus of indignant voices.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this,’ said Brenda darkly. ‘Perhaps wizard Robert, here, will be able to conjure up a powerful spell to move the trees from our way.’

  ‘I shouldn’t count on it,’ muttered Veronica, fluttering up into the air. ‘What you lot need is wings.’

  ‘Hey, one of them’s getting away,’ said a tall copper beech.

  ‘It’s only the budgie,’ his neighbour replied. ‘Completely unimportant.’

  ‘Unimportant!’ squawked Veronica, twisting in mid-air and swooping down on to Norbert’s head. ‘I’ll have you know I’m the linchpin of this entire op
eration!’

  ‘It’s that fat one that sat on Auntie Ethel who seems to be in charge,’ came a voice. ‘When he’s not asleep, that is.’

  ‘I’ll soon see to that,’ rumbled a giant horse chestnut, releasing a volley of conkers in their hard, prickly casings. They landed on Randalf’s head, causing him to jump up in surprise. ‘Ooh! Ouch! Ow!’

  ‘That’ll teach him to throw his weight around in Elfwood,’ the tree muttered gleefully.

  Randalf climbed to his feet and straightened his pointy hat with dignity. ‘There appears to be a misunderstanding,’ he began. ‘We are on an important quest, and we simply camped here for the night.’

  ‘Camped, he says. Ooh, the nerve of the fellow!’ an affronted voice exclaimed. ‘How would he like it if we barged into his home and set fire to his beard?’

  ‘And sat on his Auntie Ethel!’ said another.

  ‘He wouldn’t like it,’ came a voice from the back. ‘Not one little bit. Go on, Bert, drop a branch on him!’

  ‘What are you waiting for, Ronald?’ said Brenda. ‘Cast a spell!’

  ‘If only,’ said Veronica.

  ‘Shut up, Veronica,’ said Randalf. ‘Why don’t you do something useful instead of just perching there. Go and get help.’

  ‘What kind of help?’ said Veronica. ‘Friendly woodcutters? Or perhaps a flock of trained woodpeckers?’

  Brenda drew her sword. Norbert fingered his axe gingerly. Joe clutched his own sword and backed into Randalf. The clearing seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.

  ‘And what do they think they’re going to do with those?’ an ancient elder sneered. ‘There’s far too many of us and far too few of them, you know.’

  ‘Oh, why did I let you all talk me into going on this insane quest?’ wailed Randalf. ‘Why did I think we could ever get to Giggle Glade and destroy Dr Cuddles? What a fool I’ve been!’ He sank to his knees with a sob.

  ‘Did he say destroy Dr Cuddles?’ one of the trees asked in surprise. ‘Did he? What did you hear, Enid?’

  ‘Oh, Ashley, you never listen, do you?’