Muddle Earth

by Chris Riddell

  ‘Well?’ said Joe.

  ‘All right,’ said Randalf. He climbed to his feet. ‘But you go first.’

  ‘CHARGE!’ Joe roared. Waving his sword above his head, Joe burst from the cover of the trees and ran headlong across the stripped clearing, Henry hard on his heels, barking excitedly. Elves squeaked and darted out of their way.

  The wizard looked up from the great piece of crumpled paper in his hands, the links of his heavy chain clanking as he moved. ‘My goodness!’ he exclaimed, his eyes twinkling brightly. ‘It’s a warrior-hero!’

  Joe stopped before him.

  ‘A little on the short side, perhaps – but that’s a marvellous shield!’ He smiled at Joe. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘Come to rescue you,’ said Joe breathlessly. ‘To set you free.’

  ‘Oo-ooh!’ came a chorus of sing-song squeaky voices, and Joe looked round to see various elf faces peering up at him.

  ‘Don’t mind them,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. He clapped his hands together. ‘Get on with your work!’ he said brusquely.

  ‘At once, sir!’ they said, returning to their various tasks. ‘With pleasure!’

  ‘Eager little creatures, aren’t they?’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘A joy to be in charge of.’

  Joe frowned. ‘You don’t exactly look in charge,’ he said. ‘Not with that ball and chain . . .’

  ‘I know,’ said Roger, looking down at his shackled feet. ‘Frightful bore, isn’t it,’ he said. ‘Still, there’s really no need to worry. Everything’s under control.’

  ‘It is?’ said Joe, surprised.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, tapping the side of his nose mysteriously. ‘Certainly, I have no need of a rescue – although it was awfully considerate of you to offer. Tell me, where exactly did you spring from?’

  Joe turned. Norbert was approaching, with Randalf (looking decidedly sheepish) behind him. ‘I’m with them,’ he said. ‘We’re on a quest!’

  Roger the Wrinkled looked up. His face wrinkled with surprise. ‘Norbert?’ he said. ‘Norbert, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Norbert, striding forwards.

  ‘How lovely to see you again, Norbert,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘It certainly is. And how terribly clever of you to have come all the way here to rescue me.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t just me, sir,’ said Norbert modestly.

  ‘Who’s that behind you? The wizard fell still and screwed up his face in such amazement that his wrinkles got wrinkles. ‘That’s not young Randalf, is it?’ he said.

  A red-raced Randalf peered round from behind Norbert. ‘Hello, sir,’ he said, speaking more meekly than Joe had ever heard him speak before.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘Who’d have thought it? That you could have organized all this!’

  ‘It wasn’t that difficult,’ said Joe. ‘After all, he is a wizard.’

  ‘A wizard?’ said Roger the Wrinkled, chuckling loudly. ‘Oh, my dear young warrior-hero, Randalf here isn’t a wizard.’

  ‘He isn’t?’ said Joe.

  ‘No, no,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘Randalf here is a very junior apprentice. He hasn’t even passed his preliminary wizardry exams yet, have you Randalf?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Randalf, squirming with bright-red, shamefaced embarrassment.

  ‘I told you so!’ said Veronica triumphantly as she fluttered up from the brim of Randalf’s hat. ‘I told you that you’d be found out one day.’

  ‘Veronica, is that you?’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘How lovely your plumage is looking.’

  ‘Oh sir,’ said Veronica giddily. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘And to think you came all this way to rescue me,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘I’m touched. I really am.’

  Randalf shook his head. ‘But how did it happen, sir?’ he said. ‘A great big, powerful wizard like yourself getting kidnapped. I don’t understand.’

  ‘I don’t think we need to go into the details, Randalf,’ Roger the Wrinkled said quickly, his wrinkles forming deep creases. ‘I should never have stepped into the wardrobe in the first place – but there was a rather fetching evening gown in there which just happened to catch my eye . . .’

  Norbert hiccuped nervously. ‘Frilly knickers, frilly knickers . . .’

  ‘How did you know?’ said Roger, blushing a deep scarlet. ‘Well, before I knew it, the door slammed shut and Dr Cuddles turned the key. Then he had me transported back to Giggle Glade inside the darned thing, blast his big blue eyes!’

  Joe trembled. ‘Couldn’t you have cast a spell?’ he asked.

  ‘There wasn’t the time,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘It all happened in an instant.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been under lock and key, along with the other wizards, ever since.’

  ‘So where does the rabbit’s head fit in?’ asked Randalf, nodding towards the wooden construction.

  ‘On top of the rest of the rabbit,’ said Roger the Wrinkled.

  Randalf frowned. ‘I mean, what is it for?’ he said.

  ‘It’s all part of Dr Cuddles’s latest fiendish plan,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘I’m afraid that’s all he told me. He’s quite mad, you know.’

  All round them, the teams of elves blithely continued what they were doing, whistling to themselves as they worked. Chopping and planing, screwing and nailing. Fashioning the individual sections of timber which, when they were completed, were passed along a line of elves, across the clearing and up the scaffolding, where they were hammered into place.

  From the fringes of the growing clearing, the trees muttered to themselves nervously.

  ‘I’m going to be next, I just know I am,’ said a weeping willow tearfully.

  ‘Courage, Lucinda,’ said a neighbouring hornbeam. ‘If we’re going to go, we’re going to go with dignity.’

  ‘Ouch!’ cried a nearby oak, as the elves cheerfully attacked the base of its trunk with a volley of axe blows. ‘Farewell cruel world!’

  ‘Oh, now they’re starting on Oswald,’ the willow sobbed. ‘That it should have come to this. If only that fat one would hurry up and do something!’

  ‘Him!’ snorted the hornbeam. ‘He doesn’t do anything in a hurry!’

  ‘You can say that again, Norris,’ said a prickly hawthorn. ‘Spends half his time sitting down!’

  Even as the trees were grumbling to themselves, Randalf was once again making himself comfortable – on the great iron ball chained to Roger the Wrinkled’s ankle. He looked up at the wizard. ‘So, now that we’re here, what would you like us to do?’ he asked.

  Roger the Wrinkled frowned, the deep lines corrugating his forehead. ‘Do?’ he said. ‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure what you can do. As I was saying to the young warrior-hero, here . . .’ He smiled at Joe, the corners of his eyes crinkling alarmingly. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘It’s Joe,’ said Joe.

  ‘Joe the Barbarian,’ added Veronica.

  ‘Quite,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘As I was saying to Joe, grateful though I am that you’ve come all this way, your journey has been unnecessary. I don’t need to be rescued.’

  ‘Oh, dear, what a shame, I was really looking forward to getting stuck in,’ said Randalf cheerily. He climbed to his feet. ‘Still, if you’re quite sure, sir, we’ll leave you to it. See you back at the houseboat.’ He turned to Joe and Norbert. ‘Come on, you two,’ he said.‘We’re not needed. Come along Veronica,’ he added, patting the brim of his hat.

  ‘Hang on a minute!’ said Joe indignantly. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘You heard what Roger said,’ Randalf told him. ‘He doesn’t need our help.’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Joe. ‘But I need his help!’

  Roger the Wrinkled turned towards him, his face creased up in concern. ‘You do?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Randalf hurriedly. ‘Come on, Joe. You can see that Roger the Wrinkled’s got a lot on his plate . . .�
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  But Joe was having none of it. ‘I need a real wizard to get me home,’ he told Roger, speaking over Randalf, who was tugging at Joe’s sleeve and urging him to go. ‘Randalf summoned me here to Muddle Earth, but he doesn’t seem to know how to send me back. I’ve been here for ages. Ages and ages! I’ve battled with fearsome ogres, tussled with fire-breathing dragons . . .’

  ‘Slight exaggeration,’ Randalf muttered.

  ‘Be quiet, Randalf,’ said Roger the Wrinkled sternly. ‘It sounds to me as though you’ve been dabbling in matters you know nothing about.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Veronica, fluttering through the air and landing on Roger the Wrinkled’s pointy hat.

  Randalf hung his head. ‘Shut up, Veronica!’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

  Roger the Wrinkled turned to Joe. ‘Continue, young man.’

  ‘Anyway, I’ve done everything Randalf asked of me,’ he said.

  ‘And more,’ said Norbert, nodding. ‘He’s been marvellous!’

  ‘But now I want to leave Muddle Earth,’ said Joe. He smiled bravely. ‘You’re my last hope, Roger the Wrinkled,’ he said. ‘Can you send me home? Please!’

  ‘That could be tricky,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, shaking his head sadly. ‘I’m afraid magic isn’t simply a matter of waving a magic wand and casting a spell.’

  ‘It isn’t?’ said Randalf, surprised.

  ‘Gracious me, no,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, giving him a wrinkled frown. ‘Regardless of what you might have heard, Joe, wizardry is a highly complex enterprise, requiring great skill and heightened powers of interpretation. Not even the legendary Ian the Clever was able to perform more than half a dozen of the simplest feats of magic from memory.’

  Joe felt his heart begin to sink.

  ‘Accuracy is everything, you see,’ Roger continued. ‘There is, for instance, a wart-removing spell that is only two words and a whistle different from a turning-someone-into-a-pink-stinky-hog enchantment. You can see the danger.’

  Joe nodded glumly. Henry whimpered softly. Randalf looked down at his feet shamefacedly.

  ‘That’s why we wizards have the Great Book of Spells,’ said Roger. ‘To ensure the accuracy required. And even then it’s not easy. Years of study, it takes, before an apprentice wizard can interpret its symbols, codes and diagrams, in order to carry out its instructions to the letter.’

  ‘But you could, couldn’t you?’ said Joe, hope in his voice.

  ‘I could,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, ‘if I had the book.’ He sighed. ‘Unfortunately – and don’t ask me how – the Great Book of Spells has somehow fallen into the clutches of Dr Cuddles.’

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Veronica, glaring at Randalf. ‘I wonder how that could have happened?’

  ‘He keeps it locked up inside a heavy box secured to the top of a tall, oak lectern . . .’

  ‘Or Cecil, as he used to be known,’ said the willow sadly.

  ‘Poor, dear Cecil,’ the hornbeam murmured. ‘And now Oswald’s going the same way.’

  ‘Cuddles only allows me to read a word at a time from the spell book,’ Roger the Wrinkled went on. ‘And then, only from the particular spell he wants conjured. So you see, it takes absolutely ages to weave even the simplest magic.’

  Joe sighed. Every time he got his hopes up, Roger the Wrinkled dashed them again. Not that Joe was about to give up. Not yet . . .

  ‘What about the key?’ he said. ‘If the book’s locked up, there must be a key to unlock it.’

  ‘There is,’ said Roger the Wrinkled, shaking his head sadly. ‘Dr Cuddles wears it on a silver chain around his neck.’

  Joe groaned.

  ‘Oh, well, we tried our best,’ said Randalf. ‘Let’s get back to the Enchanted Lake and have a well-earned cup of spittle tea.’

  Veronica fluttered down from Roger’s pointy hat and landed on his shoulder. ‘Shut up, Randalf,’ she said. ‘We’re not leaving now – are we Norbert?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Norbert.

  ‘And as for the key,’ Veronica went on. ‘You leave that to me!’

  ‘You’ll find Dr Cuddles in his Giggle House over there, behind the privet hedge,’ said Roger the Wrinkled. ‘And if you do manage to get your hands on the Great Book of Spells, stick it up your jumper and bring it to me, and I’ll be happy to weave you any spell you like, young man. Good luck, and don’t you worry about me!’ He waved a wrinkled hand airily.

  The five of them turned and set off, Norbert, Veronica, Joe and Henry (back on his lead) in front, and Randalf trailing reluctantly behind.

  Although most of the trees had been felled, Giggle Glade was not completely bare. The clearing was dotted with a number of small, pathetic specimens: a wispy willow sapling, a scrawny hollybush, a weedy elm . . . As they crossed the glade, darting from tree to spindly tree and hoping that they wouldn’t be spotted, Joe noticed more teams of elves – each one being supervised by its own manacled wizard – constructing other sections of the massive tree rabbit.

  ‘Isn’t that Bertram the Incredibly Hairy?’ said Veronica, flapping her wing at a tall, stooped individual, his features hidden behind thick, bushy tresses.

  Norbert nodded. ‘And look,’ he said. ‘Over by that huge back leg. It’s Melvyn the Mauve.’

  Joe kept quiet. The sight of the imprisoned wizards depressed him more than he would have liked to admit. If they had all been captured by the dastardly Dr Cuddles, then what chance did he stand?

  ‘Cheer up, Joe,’ said Norbert, as if reading his thoughts. ‘It might never happen.’

  They were crouched down behind the bushy privet just in front of the house waiting for Randalf to catch them up. Joe peered over the little gate. A path of stepping stones led up to an ornately decorated wooden cottage. There were pink roses round the door and every window had powder-blue shutters with heart-shaped peepholes.

  ‘That’s the Giggle House?’ said Joe.

  ‘The nerve centre of Cuddles’s sinister operations!’ said Randalf, panting noisily as he caught up.

  ‘Not so loud,’ whispered Veronica. ‘He’ll hear us.’

  Just then, from inside the Giggle House, there came the sound of a door slamming.

  Dr Cuddles stood outside Ingrid’s chamber. ‘She’s driving me stark staring bonkers!’ he groaned. ‘You’ll have to deal with her, Quentin. I’ve had all I can stand.’

  ‘Oh, but, sir,’ Quentin whined.

  ‘That’s enough!’ snapped Dr Cuddles, his blue eyes blazing. ‘I’m going to my room and I do not want to be disturbed. Do you understand me?’

  Quentin nodded unhappily.

  ‘Good!’ said Dr Cuddles, giggling menacingly. ‘It’ll be the worse for you if you don’t.’ He marched towards his own bedchamber, walked in and slammed the door behind him with even more force than before.

  BANG!

  ‘Someone’s in a bad mood,’ whispered Veronica to Joe. ‘I’ll just take a peek inside to check the coast is clear. Wait for my signal.’

  Joe nodded grimly. The budgie flew off, a bright flash of blue. He watched her fluttering through the air and round to a shuttered window. She landed on the window ledge, peered in through the heart-shaped peephole, then turned and beckoned with her wing.

  ‘Come on,’ said Joe. ‘We’re going in.’

  Heads down and shoulders hunched, Joe, with Henry, Norbert and Randalf scurried over to the house and joined Veronica by the window. Their shadows were long in the light from the low sun. They crouched down.‘What can you see?’ Joe whispered.

  ‘Take a look for yourself.’ Veronica nodded at the peephole. ‘I think it’s him.’

  Slowly, cautiously, his heart thumping and legs shaking, Joe straightened up and peered into the room. It looked like a nursery, with toys and games – and there, lying on a bright yellow bed, was a small figure, all wrapped up in baggy robes. He was sound asleep, snoring softly. On a chain round his neck, a small, silver key glinted from the shadows; beside it, on a bit of old st
ring, hung a rusty-looking whistle.

  ‘It must be him,’ Joe whispered. ‘There’s the key. But how do we get it without waking him?’

  ‘Leave this to me,’ said Veronica, flying up from the ledge and squeezing through the peephole. Joe held his breath as he watched her land on the pillow next to the sleeping figure and, taking care not to wake him, disappear inside the shadowy folds of his hood.

  Dr Cuddles twitched, grunted and rolled over. ‘That tickles, Quentin,’ he giggled in his sleep. Joe held his breath.

  The next moment, Veronica emerged from the hood, a silver chain clamped in her beak. With a flap of her wings, she launched herself into the air, flew across the room and out through the peephole once more.

  ‘Well done, Veronica!’ Joe whispered excitedly.

  Randalf seized the key. ‘It’s not over yet,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

  With their heads down, they stole round to the front of the house and, having peeked through the letter box to check no one was there, tried the door. It was open. They tiptoed in.

  Joe peered round. Compared with the golden glow of the evening sun outside, the room he found himself in was bathed in shadow. Slowly, his eyes grew accustomed to the light. The rosebud wallpaper clashed with the powder-blue frilly curtains. The orange carpet was decorated with big bright daisies.

  ‘Look,’ Joe whispered urgently. ‘Over there.’

  Everyone turned to the lectern in the corner with the locked box secured to it at the top. Randalf nodded.

  ‘Come on, then,’ whispered Veronica. ‘Let’s unlock the spell book and get out of here!’

  Keeping close together, they crossed the room and gathered in front of the lectern. Joe held Henry close on the lead and, finger on lips, reminded him to remain quiet. Veronica fluttered down and landed on Norbert’s shoulder. Randalf stepped towards the box.

  He raised the key. He slipped it into the heavy padlock. He turned it . . .

  ‘WAAAAARGH!’

  As the floor abruptly opened up beneath them, the five hapless intruders tumbled back into the darkness. Down, down, down, they fell.