Furnaces of Forge (The Land's Tale)

by Alan Skinner

  ‘Theyse jus’ don’t believes us,’ moaned Patch.

  ‘Or they don’t want to believe that they are wrong,’ replied Japes.

  They rose early the next morning for their return journey to Home. They tidied their room and went downstairs for breakfast. The breakfast room was crowded but Jakob found them a table in the middle of the room.

  Instead of the low hum of normal breakfast conversation, Patch and Japes were aware of an energetic buzz. The Myrmidots appeared to be agitated. The Muddles couldn’t help but overhear some of the talk at nearby tables:

  ‘Scratch didn’t come back last night. The last I saw of him was his tail disappearing through the cat flap,’ said one Myrmidot.

  ‘Funny. Puff has been acting a bit odd too,’ came the reply. ‘Yesterday he was hiding behind the sofa and wouldn’t come out. Today, he’s disappeared again. Poor Bess is heartbroken.’

  ‘I went next door to ask Jerome if he’s seen our hamster and he said his parakeet flew away, too. I can’t understand it. Why would a hamster run off with a parakeet?’ asked another Myrmidot.

  At every table there was a tale of a pet missing or running away. Even as they sat on the tram on their way back to the border, all the talk was of pets that had mysteriously disappeared. Everyone, including Patch and Japes, thought it very strange. Only Patch and Japes, though, didn’t think it was a coincidence.

  ≈

  Early that same evening, Megan arrived back in Home. She watched Gertrude drive the small red bus back to Beadleburg, then started across the road towards Whist’s Coffee House. A movement on the Common caught her eye. A ferret streaked across the grass, two rabbits close behind. Both ferret and rabbits seemed unsure of where they were going. The ferret darted to the middle of the Common. Its head twisted left and right, as if it was trying to decide which way to go, before it made straight for the woods on the far side. The rabbits leapt, first one way, then another, until finally they followed the ferret into the trees.

  Megan continued on her way to Whist’s, pondering over what she had just seen. She guessed neither ferret nor rabbits were Muddles. They seemed too nervous and unsure, which meant they were probably ordinary animals – which in itself was extraordinary, as ordinary animals rarely ventured into Muddlemarsh. ‘Like last night’s fox,’ she reflected. Deep in thought, she opened the door of Home’s coffee shop and went in.

  ≈

  From the window of the bus, Patch and Japes watched the animals of Myrmidia cross the border into Muddlemarsh. Every sort of animal had left their burrows and dens, their nests and lairs: birds, rabbits, hedgehogs, squirrels, foxes, bears, deer, wolves and badgers, dogs and cats, sheep, cows and horses. They came in families, in packs, in pairs and singly.

  Once over the border, most headed north towards the forested region of Muddlemarsh. A few continued eastward towards Beadledom. To Patch and Japes, it seemed that every animal was fleeing Myrmidia.

  ≈

  By mid-morning, the trickle of animals coming to Muddlemarsh had become a flood.

  Animals roamed through the streets of Home and congregated in the fields and on the Common. None were hunters and none were prey; all were just very frightened and very confused. Squabbles broke out among the animals and every Muddle was busy reuniting lost lambs with their mothers, calming fractious ducks, soothing frightened goats and herding baffled cows out of the coffee plantation.

  In short, all the Muddles, and two bewildered Beadles, had their hands full keeping the peace.

  Reach saved two lost yellow chicks from being accidentally crushed by a rather overweight sow who had lost her piglets and who had finally decided to sit and have a good cry. Reach managed to pluck the pair from under the pig’s plump rump just in time.

  Cape, Muddlemarsh’s matador, found himself face to face with a big black bull with very sharp horns. The matador’s red cape proved irresistible to the bull, who immediately charged. Unfortunately for Cape, he was wearing it at the time and spent the next half-hour barely a whisker ahead of the bull.

  All the noise and commotion proved too intriguing for Leaf. Despite Miniver’s protests, she asked Bright for a wheelchair and pushed herself out of the hospital and down to the Common. She was just in time to see a small fawn sprawl on the grass as it tried to avoid a pair of bad-tempered badgers. Leaf wheeled herself to the fawn and helped it to its feet.

  ‘What beautiful eyes you have!’ exclaimed Leaf. ‘I have just the thing!’ Leaf reached into her pocket and pulled out her eyeliner. In the midst of the noise and confusion, the little fawn sat patiently while Leaf made her over.

  A fox looking for her mate tripped over two hot and tired gerbils. Tempers flared and Grunge had a hard time restraining the gerbils while the fox, who really didn’t want to hurt anyone, made good her escape. He sighed. He needed a cup of coffee. Pulling a tin whistle from his pocket, Grunge played what might have been a tune as he started across one of the little stone bridges towards Whist’s.

  Whist was just shooing away a pair of owls that had flown into the coffee house. She looked at the musician, who was still playing his lively noise, and frowned. ‘You’re more than welcome, Grunge, but I’m afraid your friends have to stay outside,’ she said, pointing behind him.

  Grunge lowered his whistle and turned round. A column of rats stared back at him.

  Even the Muddle animals were busy keeping order in Home. The ordinary animals became very subdued around the Muddle animals, as if they didn’t quite know what to make of them.

  Megan watched as Calamity rescued a young lamb from between two rams who were butting heads. Calamity put the lamb out of harm’s way, then yelped at the two rams to stop their nonsense. The rams listened to Calamity’s barking and hung their heads, looking very. . . well, sheepish.

  ‘Can Muddle animals talk to other animals?’ Megan asked Grunge.

  Grunge had only just managed to get the rats to go away. They were now sitting in the bandstand, patiently waiting for another musician to turn up.

  ‘No,’ he answered, smiling. ‘How could they? Animals can’t talk.’

  ‘Well, I just thought, you know, like we can’t understand Calamity but she understands us. Maybe it’s the same with the animals.’

  Grunge realised how much he took for granted and how strange some things must be to the Beadles and the Myrmidots. ‘Not quite the same, Megan. Muddles can’t understand animals. They just understand other Muddles. And some of them happen to be animals.’

  ‘But the animals from Forge behave differently with Muddle animals than they do with Muddles like you and Reach and Wave,’ Megan said. She trusted what she saw and she saw a difference. She just wasn’t sure what that difference was.

  Grunge looked out over Home. He watched the Muddles and the animals. Megan was right. There was a difference. The animals from Forge were calmer with the Muddle animals. And they responded to the Muddle animals.

  Grunge looked for Calamity. He spotted her in the street. She was muzzle to beak with an excitable swan. The swan honked and its long neck stretched as it reached out to peck Calamity. The little puppy barked sharply and the swan’s long neck immediately drooped into a long curve as it bowed its head.

  ‘Calamity!’ Grunge called.

  Calamity gave the swan another little yelp and raced to Grunge.

  ‘Calamity, did you just speak to that swan?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ replied the puppy. ‘It needed a good talking to. It tried to bite me.’

  ‘You mean, it understood what you said?’ asked Grunge.

  ‘Of course it didn’t,’ barked Calamity. ‘Well, not exactly. It sort of knew what I meant. You can’t have a conversation with an animal. Especially that one. That’s one thick swan.’

  ‘Do you understand what they say to you?’ Megan asked.

  Calamity gave an amused little bark. ‘About as much as you can understand me, Megan. For a start, animals can’t talk. That would be silly.’

  Grunge translated for M
egan, who couldn’t have agreed more.

  ‘But I know what they’re feeling,’ Calamity barked. ‘Whether they’re angry or frightened or happy or tired.’

  ‘And what are they feeling, Calamity?’ asked Grunge. An idea was starting to form in his head.

  ‘Some are angry, but mainly they’re scared and confused,’ explained Calamity. ‘Quick came across a large group not far from Bourne Bridge. She said she sensed that they were all angry. Angrier than these seem, at least.’

  ‘Calamity, do you think you could find the ones who went north, find out why, what’s going to happen?’

  ‘A dog with no nose could find a group of animals that size,’ Calamity scoffed. She cocked her head and looked at Grunge. ‘But they’re angry.’

  ‘Take Eugene with you,’ said Grunge.

  ‘OK,’ yelped Calamity. She trotted off to find Eugene, then stopped and came back to Grunge.

  ‘What about Crimson? You won’t go without me, will you? You know what happens when I’m not there to look after you two,’ said Calamity.

  Grunge scratched Calamity behind the ears. ‘I wouldn’t dare go without you. Once Patch and Japes get here and we know what’s going on in Forge, we’ll go find Crimson. Meet us at Bourne Bridge.’

  Reassured, Calamity went in search of the lion.

  Chapter 11

  An Untimely Mix

  This is the way to travel,’ Calamity said to herself.

  ‘Ouch!’ cried Eugene. ‘Calamity, watch the claws!’

  ‘Sorry. I slipped.’

  Calamity sat perched on Eugene’s back as the lion loped along the road towards Bourne Bridge. Somewhere ahead, the animals from Myrmidia were gathering. It was up to Eugene and Calamity to see if they needed help – and to discover the reason they were fleeing their own land.

  The sun was nearly directly overhead when Eugene and Calamity caught up with them on the plain where Muddlemarsh ends and the High Mountains begin. The noise as they approached was deafening; animals bellowed and roared; they threw back their heads and whinnied; they flapped their wings and squawked and shrieked. The air was filled with protest and anger.

  A hawk was the first to spot the puppy and lion. The bird swooped low over the plain, screeching. A ram on the fringe of the giant herd turned towards the Calamity and Eugene and its bleating joined the screech of the hawk. Gradually, the birds and the beasts grew quiet; and then, like a silent army, they advanced on the Muddles.

  ≈

  At about the same time, back in Home, Muddlemarsh’s little orange bus pulled up at the Common, and Patch and Japes stepped out into the pandemonium.

  Patch immediately found himself in a tug-of-war with a pelican who took a liking to his hat. ‘’Ere, yer can’t ’ave that,’ said Patch, holding his hat firmly on his head with both hands as the pelican snapped at it with its very large beak.

  The best laid plans are those not laid too deep. It was obvious that with all the animals coming into Home, they couldn’t just go charging off into the High Mountains to look for Crimson. Grunge, Patch, Japes and the Beadles went into Whist’s to decide what should be done.

  A fire was burning in the hearth and Grunge stood with his back to it, warming his bottom. The others seated themselves round a table, and Whist went to get coffee and biscuits. While they were waiting, Patch and Japes told them the news: the blue fire had once again come to the Land.

  ≈

  Calamity watched the animals draw closer. Her heart pounded and her stomach knotted. Her legs felt weak and she wanted to turn and run. But she had been sent to help – she couldn’t let her friends down – and so she stood her ground. Her hackles rose; she bared her sharp little teeth in a noiseless snarl. Beside her, Eugene tensed, every muscle ready.

  The distance between the Muddles and the animals was closing rapidly as the horde’s charge gathered pace. Calamity lifted her nose and sniffed. She smelled fear and anger, mingled with confusion: enough of each to make the animals lash out blindly.

  Then a roar louder than any ever heard in the Land thundered across the plain. It rolled across the grass and shook the trees beyond; it hit the cliffs of the mountains and echoed back across the plain. A dark shape, nearly twice as big as Eugene, moved between the puppy and the lion. Miniver lumbered on until she was but a few paces from the charging animals. The great bear raised herself up on to her hind legs and roared once more.

  The animals stopped. Those in front stepped backwards, as a ripple of retreat went through the horde. But their uncertainty was short-lived, and a moment later they began to move relentlessly forward again.

  ≈

  Hazlitt and Edith turned north, following the river. They didn’t stop for breakfast; the pair took some cheese from their packs and ate as they rode. Crimson and Kevin were offered meagre pieces, which disappeared in seconds. The sun was past its highest point in the sky by the time they entered the northernmost edge of Myrmidia. It was inhospitable country, sparsely wooded and rocky. The High Mountains beyond and the Salvation River to the right would prevent anyone from approaching from the north or the east.

  They rounded a bend in the river. The ground rose slightly then levelled into a wide horse-shoe-shaped plateau. At the far north end of the plateau was a line of trees that ran down the eastern edge and, behind them, the ground dropped away into a cliff overlooking the Salvation River four or five metres below. The cliff continued around to the right, following the curve of the river , beyond which they could see accross to Muddlemarsh.

  The ground sloped away gently where they had entered the plateau, but became a steep ravine along the western edge. At the bottom of the slope, a wide and fast-running stream ran through the ravine and made its way south into the flat plain of Myrmidia.

  In the centre of the plateau was Hazlitt and Edith’s camp. It was a far cry from the rough camp near Leaf’s Meadow. A tall pavilion, almost as big as a house, stood in the centre. Its cloth was blue and silver, and from its centre peak flew a pale blue pennant. On one side was a much smaller tent of pale blue, and on the other side a third, even smaller, tent: a rough affair made of coarse brown canvas.

  The dogs yelped and raced to the smallest tent. They pushed aside the door flap and disappeared inside.

  Hazlitt and Edith rode up to the pavilion. The horses stopped and Kevin and Crimson slid off. Hazlitt and Edith dismounted, leaving their horses’ reins dangling.

  ‘This is your new home. For a while, at least,’ said Hazlitt. ‘Do make yourselves comfortable. There’s a stream over there for water and some lovely scenery. Wander where you like in your free time – not that I expect you’ll have much of that – and don’t worry about getting lost. The hounds will be with you wherever you go. They’ll make sure you come back safely.’ He smiled and walked into the pavilion. Edith followed, but stopped at the entrance.

  ‘There’s a stable at the back. See to the horses,’ she ordered Crimson. ‘I wouldn’t try to escape on them, by the way. You’ll find that they don’t take kindly to anyone riding them except Hazlitt or me.’ Pointing to the second tent, she said to Kevin, ‘That’s the kitchen. Make lunch. But first, bring us a pot of tea.’ And she swept into the pavilion.

  What Crimson found behind the tent wasn’t really a stable but a lean-to with a hitching rail from which hung feed bags. Large sacks of grain, covered with a waterproof sheet, were stacked in the corner. In a rolled-up leather holder were brushes and combs. Crimson unsaddled the horses, filled their feed bags from one of the sacks and groomed them while they ate.

  As she brushed the second horse, Crimson had the feeling she was being watched. She glanced behind her. Clash was standing just outside the lean-to. The hound stared at her. Its wide oval eyes held no expression. There was no hint of menace or threat in its face or stance. It simply watched Crimson. On impulse, she took a couple of steps towards the hound. She crouched and slowly held out her hand.

  ‘Come, Clash,’ she coaxed the hound gently.

  Clash tilt
ed his head, as if puzzled.

  ‘This must all be strange for you.’ Crimson’s voice remained gentle and friendly. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have a treat to give you. Can I pat you, instead?’

  Careful to move slowly, Crimson took a couple more steps towards the hound. Clash remained impassive, his head cocked. She risked another step so that she was within a hand’s breadth away from the hound. All the time she continued to talk to Clash, her voice easy and reassuring.

  ‘I’m sorry about the other two. I didn’t want to hurt them. I don’t want to hurt you. Wouldn’t you rather be friends? Do you want to be friends, Clash?’

  Again Crimson crouched. Clash’s face was level with hers and close enough so that she could feel the animal’s warm breath. She very slowly raised her hand above Clash’s head, and lowered it to pat him.

  Clash growled and scrambled backward. He bared his teeth and snarled. His ears went back and he crouched, ready to spring. Crimson didn’t move, her outstretched hand within easy reach of the hound’s jaws. Clash snarled again, a deeper, more savage growl. Her heart beat hard as she waited for him to come at her. But Clash stayed crouched down and continued to snarl.

  ‘It’s OK, Clash. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll go back and finish brushing the horses,’ said Crimson, and, very slowly, she brought her hand to her side and stood up. She turned and walked away. The hairs on her neck tingled and she expected to feel Clash’s teeth and claws at any moment. As casually as she could manage, she continued grooming the horses.

  The snarling behind her stopped. Crimson dared a glance over her shoulder. Clash was walking towards his tent. He went a few paces, then stopped and looked back at Crimson. Their eyes met for an instant, and then the hound turned and trotted away.

  Crimson exhaled. She wondered how long she had been holding her breath. She breathed in deeply, and went back to brushing the horses.