Blue Fire and Ice (24 page)

Dot had already checked the panel but she was used to Copper’s methodical ways and she checked again, her face too serious for one so young. Dot’s face was always serious. No one could remember hearing her laugh. Few had even heard her talk. She was a solemn, solitary girl who only seemed comfortable around Copper. She had said nothing when he’d asked if she’d like to accompany him on the trip. She’d simply nodded and gone on with her work.

Like Copper, Dot was slight and her habit of always wearing a pair of blue bib-and-brace overalls gave her the look of a tomboy. Her fair hair was cropped short at the back and sides, with a fringe that was cut straight across just above her eyebrows. Her small oval face, with its bright brown eyes and small nose, made her look about twelve, though she was over halfway through her teen years. More than one Beadle who had visited the factory where they normally worked had assumed the serious young girl was Copper’s daughter.

With the panel in place, Dot and Copper paused to look at their handiwork. The flat sledge sat on four thick tyres. On its base were the mounting brackets to attach the tank once they left the bus at Bourne Bridge. Two runners, like oversized skis, lay along the length of the sledge. When they reached the snowfield, the tyres would be folded under the base of the sledge and the runners fixed to brackets Copper had attached to the underside of the sledge. Once off the ice on the return journey, the runners would be replaced by the tyres. On both sides of the sledge were small levers which controlled the brakes. Not knowing the terrain they would be travelling through, Copper wanted to make sure that they could reach the brake from either side.

‘It’ll do,’ said Copper. ‘Wish I had more time, but …’ He finished the sentence with a regretful shake of his head. ‘Well, we’d best get our things and get this loaded on the tram. It must be nearly time to go.’ From his coat pocket, he pulled a silver watch and flipped open the lid. He looked at the watch face, then shook the watch. ‘Hmmm. Stopped. When we get back I’d better go see that Muddle, Slight, and ask him to make me another.’ He looked at Dot and grinned. ‘Slight may not know what’s up his sleeve, but no one in the Land makes better watches.’

Dot looked at the watch on her wrist. ‘Four minutes past four o’clock,’ she told Copper.

‘Just enough time to get our things,’ he decided. He looked pensive. ‘Are you sure you want to come? If that book the Muddles read is right, it could be dangerous.’

‘I’ll come,’ she said simply.

Copper gave a small grunt and a nod. ‘Ten minutes, then. Get your things and meet me back here.’ He watched as Dot disappeared round the corner. ‘Good,’ he said to himself. ‘Glad to have you along.’ And he went to get his own things.

Beatrice watched the engineer and his apprentice leave, turned from the window, opened the door that led to Achillia’s office and went in.

*

‘I’ll bet you feel proud to have been selected to go on another important mission, Brian. It’s quite an honour.’ Megan looked hard at a spot on the bus’s bright red paint and rubbed again with the cloth. ‘I’ll bet there’s never been a Factotum in the whole history of Beadledom who’s been on as many important missions as you have.’

Brian looked up from the list he was reading. ‘Do you really think so, Megan?’

‘Of course. You’ll probably become our most famous Factotum, ever.’ Megan stood back and looked critically at the spot she had just polished. ‘There aren’t many famous Factotums.’ She thought for a moment. ‘In fact, I don’t think there are any. You’ll be the first.’ She walked around the bus, looking for spots that needed polishing. ‘No disrespect to your father, Brian. He was a very good Factotum, they say.’

Brian couldn’t help puffing out his chest, which was no mean feat for a Beadle, whose waists were always bigger than their chests.

‘Now, read again the list of things to take with you,’ said Megan, breathing on a little spot, then polishing it.

‘Rope, axe, shovel, pick, hammer, compass, matches, torch, lantern, tents, sleeping bag, boots, coat, jumper, warm socks, mittens, pyjamas, slippers, water, bread, cheese, meat, jam, lamingtons …’ Brian kept reading. It really was a long list. To Megan it seemed that the list might be just a little too long. After all, there would be only one bear to pull the sledge.

Brian finally finished reading. He looked at Megan.

‘Don’t forget clean underwear, Brian.’ Megan’s eyes twinkled. ‘You never know when you’re going to get run over by a bus.’

Brian blushed then realised Megan was teasing him.

‘Have I forgotten anything?’ he said, wondering why his face felt warm. ‘Do you think three towels will be enough? And I’m only taking one bathrobe. Maybe I should take another,’ he said worriedly.

‘I doubt you’ve forgotten anything. In fact, I don’t know how the rest of us will survive while you’re away. You’ll have everything,’ said Megan, still teasing. She smiled at Brian. ‘Here, let’s sit down and go over the list. I don’t think you’ll be taking many baths.’

Half an hour later Megan had reduced the list to just the practical and necessary items, though Brian was rather concerned that he would be leaving his slippers behind. Nonetheless, he was grateful for Megan’s help. ‘Thank you, Megan,’ he said. ‘I guess I got carried away, didn’t I?’

‘Only a little. You just like being prepared.’ She looked at him and her smile vanished and her face became very serious. ‘You be careful. Beadleburg can’t afford to lose a good Factotum.’

Once again Brian felt his face grow warm. He wanted to say something but found that his head couldn’t remember any words at all. So he did the only thing his head could remember and he nodded.

‘Have you decided who you’ll be taking with you?’ asked Megan, practical once again.

‘Aunt Mag,’ said Brian, now that his head had found it could remember what a word was.

‘She’s a good choice,’ agreed Megan. ‘She’s tough and she won’t stand any nonsense.’ Though Megan never made it clear who she thought would provide the nonsense.

Aunt Mag wasn’t really Brian’s aunt and her real name wasn’t even Mag but no one could recall her real name. For as long as anyone could remember, the proprietor of Aunt Mag’s Nursery had always been known as Aunt Mag.

In truth, the first Aunt Mag was the current Aunt Mag’s great-great-great-great-great-great aunt. Whose name really was Mag. She had started the nursery and had passed it on to one of her nieces when she retired. And that niece became known as Aunt Mag and when she retired, and she passed it on to one of her nieces who, of course, also became Aunt Mag. The great-great-great-great grandmother of the current Aunt Mag had foolishly tried to influence destiny and affection by naming one of her baby girls Mag, thinking that should the child be the one to inherit the nursery, she really would be Aunt Mag. Unfortunately, it was left to her sister Eleanor, who was thereafter known as Mag. After years of answering when she wasn’t being spoken to, the real Mag, who was married to a very nice pharmacist by the name of Harold, changed her name to Maude. It was the last time any baby girl was actually named Mag at birth.

Beadles take their child-minding seriously (it was that sort of nursery; not the kind where plants are tended with loving care and spoken to in soothing words to make them happy and grow strong and healthy). So seriously, in fact, that some parents would regularly spend the whole day at the nursery with their child. Aunt Mag discouraged this peculiar habit for she found that the parents were much more underfoot than the children and considerably more fussy about their lunch.

Aunt Mag, apart from being an expert in the art of Caring For Children, was known for two other qualities: she had remarkable energy; and she never lost her temper. She could carry eight toddling Beadles at once, four under each arm. Once, she was even seen carrying a ninth, the collar of its little suit clenched firmly between her teeth like a round little kitten (though not as cute). Every day except Sunday, she opened the nursery at 5.30 a.m. sharp and worked all day until she returned the last child to its parents and closed the door at 8.00 p.m.

Very astutely, Brian had figured that the trip required someone of great stamina, for the trek into the High Mountains was sure to be long and arduous. Rather unkindly, he had also figured that with the Muddles along, someone good with children would be handy.

Aunt Mag had immediately said yes when Brian had asked her to accompany them on the journey. Leaving her charges in the care of her helpers, she went to her three nieces and asked if they would take her place while she was away. Naturally, they all said yes, thinking it would increase their chances of becoming the next Aunt Mag. In truth, Aunt Mag was quite glad when Brian asked her to go, for after more than a dozen years looking after small children day in and day out, she felt she needed a holiday and a little jaunt into the wilds of the High Mountains seemed just the thing.

‘You’d best get your things together then. We’ll have a very early start to get you to Home by daybreak,’ said Megan.

Brian folded his list and placed it in his pocket. Then saying good-bye, he went to get ready, wondering whether he should pack his slippers anyway, just in case.

*

Miniver’s large paw raked the blackberry bush, separating the ripe, juicy blackberries from the bush. The berries showered to the ground and Miniver pushed them into the rather large pile of berries she had already collected. Sitting on her haunches, she sifted through the berries, examining each in turn. She spotted one that had been slightly squished.

‘Jam,’ she said to herself, and moved it to a smaller pile next to her.

When Miniver thought she had enough, she scooped the piles into two bags. Gently, she lifted both bags with her teeth and ambled down the track towards Home.

‘Professor Weevil will have the jam made by the time I get back,’ she hoped as she made her way through the forest. ‘Perhaps he will invite me for afternoon coffee with crumpets and jam.’ She wished she had time for crumpets and jam right that minute but she had a lot to do before she left in the morning.

Grunge and Crimson had found her a little earlier as she stood in a small stream trying to catch a fish for her dinner. Calamity had scampered from the woods and run straight to the stream’s edge, barking her hello and scaring away any fish lurking under the rocks. Knowing it was pointless to reprimand the irrepressible pup, Miniver had waded from the stream and returned Calamity’s greeting with a good-natured growl hello and a lick on the pup’s face.

The exuberant Calamity gave one of Miniver’s dripping legs a little nip and ran a dozen paces, waiting for the bear to chase her.

‘We haven’t come to play, Calamity,’ chided Grunge good-naturedly. ‘We need to talk to Miniver.’

Crimson and Grunge made themselves comfortable on a rock next to Miniver. Giving all the details, they explained what they had discovered and what they now planned to do. Miniver, who considered the welfare and safety of all Muddles was her personal responsibility, needed little encouragement.

‘It will be very hard, Miniver, and I don’t like asking you, but we can’t think of anyone else to pull the sledge,’ said Crimson.

‘Why should you think of anyone else?’ she growled. ‘Don’t you think I can do it? Anyway … someone has to look after you and Grunge. Especially you. Something’s troubling you.’

Crimson looked into Miniver’s eyes, eyes that were impossibly dark and deep. ‘Thank you, Miniver. But we know it’s a lot to ask you to wear a harness. And the sledge will be very heavy.’ She stroked Miniver’s head. ‘I don’t know what exactly is troubling me. It’s a feeling, something I’ve never felt before. But I know one thing. It frightens me.’

Miniver studied Crimson’s kind and honest face, then laid her head in Crimson’s lap and closed her eyes. The sledge couldn’t feel as heavy as her heart did. She would gladly go.

*

Once again, Grunge and Crimson made their way up the stairs at the back of the library and through the shelves of musty books. The afternoon light made a pool of gold around the cabinet where they had found Meddle’s book. They knelt and opened the lower doors. Curious, Calamity sniffed the tubes inside and sneezed as a puff of dust invaded her little nose.

‘Bless you,’ said Grunge.

Crimson withdrew some of the tubes. ‘Put out your arms,’ she said to Grunge, then pulled out tube after tube, placing them in Grunge’s arms. ‘We’ll take them to the desk to look at them.’

When his arms were full, Grunge walked over to the desk and let the tubes slide onto it. They scattered and rolled across the desk, causing Grunge to frantically grab them before they rolled off the edge.

‘Let’s start with this lot,’ said Crimson as she added an armful of her own to Grunge’s pile.

Calamity decided that the tubes were boring. She walked into the pool of light and felt the warmth of the sun on her fur. She lay down and was soon fast asleep.

Crimson and Grunge spent the rest of the afternoon opening each tube. Most didn’t contain maps, but had inside elaborate documents with old-fashioned writing. Many were building plans; some were proclamations of laws or rules long changed and forgotten; a few were maps. These few showed each of the lands individually, or the whole of the Land. There was a map of Home as it was more than three centuries earlier and a map which revealed that a great forest had once stretched from Forge to the Salvation River, where the farms of Myrmidia now were. But though some of the maps showed the rugged mountains to the north, there was no detail and no mention of the snowfield with the blue fire and the blue ice.

As the sunlight faded, they had less than half a dozen unopened tubes. Calamity, bored and without the warm pool of sunlight, trotted over.

‘We’ll go soon, Calamity,’ sighed Grunge. He was disappointed that their search had been unsuccessful. ‘There’s no map of the High Mountains here.’

‘We still have some to check, Grunge. It’s here. I know there is something here.’ Crimson couldn’t explain why she was sure. She just felt it. She looked at Calamity. ‘We’re not having much luck choosing, Calamity. You try. Which one should we try next?’