by Alan Skinner
‘Let me introduce them,’ said Hazlitt with mock politeness. He pointed to the largest of the dogs. ‘Crimson, meet Chaos. The one with half an ear is Strike. And that’s Spite. He lives up to his name. He’ll never forgive that wolf of yours for his limp. And this one is Clash. They’re all eager to get to know you better, Crimson.’
Clash, Strike and Spite stood snarling, showing their long fangs dripping with saliva. Chaos just stood and stared, his eyes boring into Crimson’s.
‘Hazlitt, are you going to exchange pleasantries with her all day or are we going to keep moving?’
Crimson turned her head towards the sound of the voice. Edith sat on her horse a little distance away. Crimson noticed four legs astride the horse’s back, two that were obviously the woman’s and two that could only belong to a Beadle.
‘Kevin?’ Crimson called.
Kevin’s face appeared from behind the woman’s waist. Edith pushed him back with her elbow. ‘Hazlitt, we really don’t have time for this. Get her up again and let’s get going,’ she said. Her voice was hard and impatient.
‘Right you are, Edith my dear. If you’re sure we have to take her with us,’ said Hazlitt. He nodded to something behind Crimson. ‘Chaos there looks positively bloodthirsty.’
Crimson swivelled round. The largest of the hounds was directly behind her. His eyes were locked on her and his jaws were drawn back slightly, revealing the tips of his razor-sharp front teeth and his dagger-like incisors.
‘I told you. Now that we know of the other one, we can’t take the chance,’ Edith snapped. ‘Not until we are sure.’
Hazlitt leaned forward and lifted Crimson’s chin with his fingertips. ‘Get on the horse behind me and make sure you behave.’ The menace in his voice chilled her. She dropped her eyes and nodded.
Hazlitt mounted. Crimson had never ridden a horse and she hesitated, wondering how to climb on. Hazlitt stared straight ahead, his feet in both stirrups. Crimson realised that this was just the start. Hazlitt intended to make life as difficult for her as he could.
She took a deep breath, grasped the back of the saddle and vaulted on to the horse. Her momentum nearly carried her over the other side. Instinctively, she clutched at Hazlitt’s jacket. With a sharp shrug of his shoulders, he wrenched free. Before Crimson was settled he kicked his horse into a trot, nearly throwing her off the back.
It took all of Crimson’s concentration to stay on the horse. The strange rhythm and hard movement of the trot took their toll and soon her back and shoulders felt like they were burning and her thigh muscles ached. Chaos trotted alongside them. Every once in a while the hound looked up and glared at Crimson. She knew if she fell, he would be on her before Hazlitt or Edith could stop him.
It was a little while before Crimson was reasonably sure she wasn’t going to fall from the horse. For the first time since regaining consciousness, she took note of the land around them. It was nearly dark and it took her a few minutes to work out where they were. She had assumed they were heading for Bourne Bridge and then into the High Mountains, so she felt a jolt of surprise when they passed the road to Bourne Bridge. Hazlitt and Edith were heading towards Welcome Bridge. They were taking their prisoners to Myrmidia.
≈
Japes looked around at the decor in Ichabod’s Creamery. She looked down at her matching blue, yellow and red outfit. ‘Amazing!’ she whispered to Patch. ‘This is my kind of place!’
‘There they are,’ said Achillia, nodding in the direction of Touch and Cres. ‘Beatrice, would you please ask them to come with us?’
‘We could always talk to them here,’ suggested Japes, who felt right at home.
‘Here?’ exclaimed Achillia, her eyebrows rising in surprise and disapproval. ‘This is not a suitable place for Myrmidots to have a serious discussion.’
‘But perfectly suitable for Muddles, it seems,’ said Beatrice. Her impassive voice made it impossible for Patch to tell whether she was being sarcastic or polite to the Muddles. ‘I’ll ask Ichabod for a quiet booth in the corner.’
Touch and Cres slid off their chairs as Achillia and the Muddles approached.
‘Good evening, Touch. Good evening, Cres,’ Achillia said. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt but I’d like you to meet Patch and Japes. They have come from Home to talk to you.’
‘To us?’ Touch and Cres said together. They were so surprised that a Muddle would want to talk to them that they forgot their manners and didn’t even hug the visitors.
Beatrice returned with Ichabod, a tall, thin Myrmidot with a long, narrow face, small, round eyes, a sharp nose and a narrow chin with a little grey beard. It had been mentioned by more than one person that he bore a reasonable similarity to a kookaburra – except, of course, for the beard.
He was proud of his establishment, which undoubtedly accounted for his willingness to wear a vivid blue shirt under a white suit with alternating pink and yellow chalk stripes. His dress sense may have been questionable but his manners were impeccable, which is why he didn’t forget to hug Patch and Japes when Achillia introduced them, and why he offered them his own personal booth, next to the window, despite the fact that having the Lord Mayor and her assistant in Ichabod’s Creamery was not good for business. His young customers came there to talk about their troubles or to drink cream shakes to forget them, and having the major cause of their problems in a nearby booth put an unwelcome restraint on their freedom to do either.
‘It would seem that your friends Hazlitt and Edith have caused some trouble elsewhere,’ Achillia informed Touch and Cres when they were seated.
Patch was puzzled by Achillia’s tone. There was an undercurrent of scepticism, as if she didn’t believe what the two Muddles had told her.
‘What sort of trouble?’ asked Touch.
‘Apparently, they kidnapped a Beadle and then tried to kill Crimson,’ Achillia said flatly. ‘Not very nice things to do.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t Hazlitt and Edith!’ Cres protested. ‘Maybe it was someone else.’
‘That’s possible,’ replied Achillia, ‘though it does seem unlikely that there are two pairs of strangers wandering in the Land. It would be quite a coincidence, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Touch stubbornly. ‘What did they do exactly?’
Patch and Japes told them what they had learned from Calamity, and about Leaf’s accident.
‘We didn’t see any dogs,’ said Cres when the Muddles had finished. ‘Or horses. It can’t be Hazlitt and Edith who did those things. It can’t be!’
The young apprentice didn’t know what to believe. She didn’t understand why Hazlitt and Edith would help the Myrmidots and harm the Muddles. It was all too confusing. Touch understood, though. He understood that if Hazlitt and Edith meant to harm the Land, then they had used Cres and him to do it. And if that was true, then they weren’t really heroes. In fact it would all be just another disaster and they would be failures. Like always. He couldn’t let that happen.
‘What does it matter if it was, anyway?’ said Touch sullenly. ‘Maybe they had a right to take Kevin. Maybe they didn’t want the dogs to attack Crimson. What if Crimson had done something to make them attack her?’ His voice rose with anger and frustration. ‘We don’t really know what happened! We only have the word of a silly Muddle!’
There was an awkward silence. Achillia glared at Touch furiously.
Patch broke the silence.
‘Touch, what exactly would it be that Hazlitt and Edith helped yer ta do-like?’ he asked.
Touch stared petulantly at the table. He didn’t want to look at anyone. He knew he had been rude but it all felt so unfair. What right did the Muddles have to come here and ask questions, anyway? he thought. What happened to Crimson and Leaf and Kevin had nothing to do with him.
‘Tell him, Touch,’ Cres whispered, squeezing his hand. ‘Then they’ll see. Hazlitt and Edith really did help.’
Touch nodded. He raised his head and said defiantly, ‘They helped us get the blue fire st
one. Cres and I went to the High Mountains to get some but we couldn’t break off a piece to bring back. Hazlitt and Edith showed us how.’
Patch’s eyes widened. ‘Yer brought back a piece of fire rock? The blue fire rock?’
‘A big piece,’ boasted Touch. ‘About as big as your head.’
Patch was stunned. ‘Why? What did yer want with it?’
‘Power,’ said Touch proudly. ‘Fuel. Fuel that never runs out. More powerful than anything we had.’
‘Power for what, Touch?’ asked Japes quietly. Like Patch, she believed what Crimson had told them – that the blue rock didn’t belong in The Land, that it somehow corrupted the Land – and she was horrified at what Touch was saying.
‘Our factories, of course! To burn in the furnaces,’ proclaimed Touch. ‘And it works!’
‘You mean that yer actually usin’ it?’ said Patch in disbelief.
‘Look for yourself!’ Touch drew the curtain aside and pointed to the blue glow just beyond the town. ‘See?’
Neither Patch nor Japes could explain why they suddenly felt a knot in their stomachs, or what caused the sense of dread that swept over them and made their hearts beat faster.
There was fear in Patch’s voice when he spoke. ‘Achillia, I don’t want ta be rude, but this is wrong-like! Yer must get rid of it!’
Achillia was shaken by the fear in Patch’s voice, but she forced herself to answer calmly. ‘I think you’re over-reacting, Patch. I grant you that we know little about the fire stone, but that means we know as little of the good it can do as well as the harm it might do.’
‘But yer can’t –’ Patch started but Achillia held up her hand to stop him.
‘Can you or Japes tell me what harm it does? Why it frightens you so much?’
‘Crimson said –’ began Japes, but once again Achillia interrupted.
‘I thought not. Except that Crimson has a feeling about it. A few months ago you didn’t even know it existed, and yet now you are certain it is harmful – though you know nothing about it. We Myrmidots are much more . . . practical. I thought it better to know more about the fire stone, to use the good it can do than to stay in ignorance of it.’ Achillia’s voice became soft and coaxing. ‘If you saw fire burn down your neighbour’s house, would that stop you from throwing a log on the fire in your fireplace? Do you think the first person to burn coal stopped to think, “I won’t use this for what I know it can do because I do not know all the things it may do”? Where would we be if we had never burned coal? What of all those pretty things we make that you Muddles love so much?’
Patch didn’t know what to say. He remained silent, struggling to turn his feelings and thoughts into words. It was Japes who spoke.
‘I’m not sure how to answer that. But it seems to me that if this man and woman did those very bad things in Muddlemarsh and Beadledom, then they don’t mean any of us well. They helped Touch and Cres, but their purpose was not to be helpful. What Touch and Cres did was very brave and they must be very clever to have worked out how to hold the blue fire, but it must go back to the High Mountains.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Achillia. ‘I had my doubts at first, but I had good advice. And nothing bad has happened. I see no reason to change my mind. Even Beatrice, who did not want the blue rock brought to Forge either, has changed her mind.’
Beatrice didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I simply said that maybe the blue rock is serving its purpose.’
Touch felt growing relief as he listened. Achillia wasn’t going to give in. The furnace would continue to burn the fire stone and he and Cres would remain famous. All was right with the world after all.
≈
For many kilometres, the wide Salvation River marks the northern border between Muddlemarsh and Myrmidia. Then it veers west into Myrmidia to flow through Forge before it finds the sea past Kiln. The Welcome Bridge spans the river just before it turns west. Few travel this route, and so Hazlitt and Edith were able to continue their journey to Myrmidia unobserved.
It was about an hour after sunset that they reined in their horses. The bridge was still some distance away.
‘Off,’ Hazlitt commanded Crimson. ‘We’ll eat, then move on.’
The horses grazed along the riverbank while they ate a cold meal in the light of a small lantern Hazlitt took from his pack. Crimson decided to try to speak to Kevin, though she was sure that Hazlitt or Edith would forbid her. To her surprise, neither said a word as she went to sit next to the Beadle.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked quietly. She couldn’t stop Hazlitt and Edith eavesdropping but she wasn’t going to make it easy for them. ‘You have blood on the side of your head.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Kevin. ‘They only made me walk for a few minutes and then Edith said I was holding them up so she pulled me up behind her.’
‘How long was I unconscious?’
‘A while. About an hour, I think.’
‘Did you see what happened to Flyte? Did those dogs . . .?’
Kevin shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Crimson. I’m not sure. It was still two against one and . . .’ His voice trembled. ‘Chaos had Flyte by the throat. After Hazlitt called off the dogs, Flyte didn’t move.’
‘Kevin, do you know Hazlitt and Edith?’ asked Crimson.
He nodded. ‘Amelia was their sister. I’d never met them, but Amelia talked about them sometimes. And she would send them letters about the Land and what she was doing.’
For some reason, Kevin’s answer unsettled Crimson.
‘Do you know what they want? Why have they kidnapped you? Why have they taken me, too? Last time they just wanted to get rid of me. Why not this time?’
‘My, my, you do have a lot of questions, don’t you?’ broke in Hazlitt. ‘There are two kinds of people, Crimson: those who have questions, and those who have answers. Or maybe that should be, those who are questions and those who are answers. And Muddles certainly raise questions. Little Muddles. Question marks, everyone of them.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Crimson.
‘Of course you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have all those questions,’ said Edith sharply. ‘But we will answer one for you. You are interested to know why we want Kevin? Well, I’ll show you. Kevin, come here.’
Kevin slowly got to his feet and walked to Edith. At first, he kept his head lowered, deliberately not looking at Edith’s face. Then he raised his head and looked directly into her eyes. Crimson saw Edith’s mouth tighten.
‘Kevin, what am I?’ asked Edith.
‘A Factor,’ Kevin replied in a low voice.
‘Don’t mumble when you talk,’ Edith snapped. ‘Now, Kevin, what is a Factor’s first oath?’
‘To preserve the ideals,’ recited Kevin.
‘And what is a Factor’s second oath?’ asked Edith.
‘To protect those given to their charge.’
‘And who are those given into our charge?’
‘Beadles,’ said Kevin, lowering his eyes.
‘And what are you, Kevin?’
‘A Beadle,’ he replied.
‘Precisely. And how are we supposed to protect you when you run away? We can’t,’ said Edith. She looked at Crimson. ‘We honour our oaths and fulfil our duties. Is that clear now?’
‘How is taking him away from where he wants to be protecting him? He is safe and happy in the Land,’ Crimson argued.
‘There is more to the oath than just protecting the body. But I don’t expect you to understand. Maybe you will one day. Now, I haven’t got time to argue. We have to go,’ said Edith.
Somewhere in the darkness, the bushes rustled. The hounds were on their feet in an instant, a low rumbling growl in their throats. Hazlitt and Edith turned in the direction of the noise. Hazlitt held up his hand to still the hounds.
A stag stepped from the brush. It took an uncertain step towards them, and then stopped. Its large black eyes fixed on the dogs for an instant, then it wheeled round and ran back into the trees. Crimson’s head
swam. The sense of wrongness she had felt before returned, stronger than ever.
Edith and Hazlitt exchanged glances. The hounds quivered in anticipation. Hazlitt hesitated, and then shook his head.
‘Stay!’ he commanded the hounds. They looked at him, as if not believing him. ‘We don’t have time,’ he said to Edith. ‘Unless it’s necessary.’ He stood directly in front of Crimson. ‘Muddle?’ he asked.
Crimson’s head still hadn’t cleared. It took her a second to focus and to understand the question. ‘No. It wasn’t a Muddle,’ she said.
‘You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?’
‘No. A Muddle wouldn’t have run,’ said Crimson.
Hazlitt stared at her for a moment, and then walked away. ‘No,’ he said firmly to the hounds. The hounds hung their heads, bodies still quivering. Crimson shuddered to think what would have happened to the poor stag had Hazlitt sent the hounds after it.
‘Let’s go, then,’ said Edith. ‘We’ll travel all night. We still have a long ride ahead.’
Once again Crimson found herself riding behind Hazlitt. Whatever was calling to her was stronger, more insistent. Whatever was wrong in the Land was growing in power. She had been too preoccupied with Hazlitt and Edith to realise it, but now it was undeniable. And she had something else to worry about. What was the stag doing in Muddlemarsh?
As they rode, more animals crossed their path or were heard making their way in the dark. Those they saw were skittish and wary. Something was driving them from their homes. Crimson sensed some of the same unease in them that she felt in herself.
A couple of hours before dawn, they reached Welcome Bridge and crossed over into Myrmidia. The moment Hazlitt’s horse stepped on to the soil on the other side of the Salvation, the feeling of something being very wrong became more intense, as if they were drawing closer to the source. Crimson had to find out what it was – and what Hazlitt and Edith had done to cause it.
≈
Patch and Japes had been given a clean and cosy room at Bellow’s, together with an assurance from Achillia that if the Myrmidots encountered Hazlitt and Edith they would endeavour to uncover what Achillia called ‘the full version of events’.
