Blue Fire and Ice

By Alan Skinner

An original and brilliant take on fantasy and imagination in the tradition of Alice in Wonderland and The Wind in The Willows. This is a gripping adventure fantasy filled with humour and irresistible characters set in a beautifully realised fantasy world that will enchant teens and adults alike.

Fire ravages Beadledom. Fire that can't be quenched. So Beadledom's slightly stuffy and pompous factotum, Brian, is sent to enlist the aid of the neighbouring people, The Muddles. But aid from the unpredictable Muddles brings its own risks... Drawn together to save The Land, seven unlikely heroes set out to find the secret of the blue fire and the identity of the mysterious arsonist who will stop at nothing to destroy them all.

Full of the most unusual characters and packed with intrigue, humour and adventure, Blue Fire and Ice is the first in The Land's Tale series.

For readers 12+.

Reviews

The story is simply beautiful. I know that the expression beautiful doesn't initially say that much. But it is exactly that. It is simply very, very beautiful. It is perfect for children and teenagers; and adults, too. The author manages to narrate scenes full of suspense without resorting to the usual stock phrases such as suddenly , all of a sudden or similar; the book lives through the descriptions. As an adult a comfy shiver ran down my spine and as a result I caught myself once or twice jumping over the description of the scene - because I couldn t wait to see whether or not one of my favourites had lost his life.
Bettina Meister, Zauberspielgel-online.de

When I come face to face with a debut fantasy novel, I am usually both a little excited as well as filled with a slight sense of dread. All too often new writers are disappointing and knowing that the book comes from a small, independent publisher my apprehension grows. This time, however, I was quite pleasantly rewarded with not only a truly original storyline, but a well crafted plot with rounded characters. His storytelling skills ensnare the reader, giving a sense of urgency to the act of turning the page to find out what happens next. While standing satisfyingly complete on its own, it is a welcome beginning to a new series that hopefully will live up to the vivid promise this book gives.
Kimberley Saunders, Thebookbag.co.uk

There is plenty of action and adventure in this first book of a new series with lots of plot twists and unusual characters to keep you interested.
Primary Times

This book isn’t “The Hobbit”. But the Land is just as magical and simple and refreshing as the Shire. I loved the Beadles and the Myrmidots, and especially the Muddles. It’s the sort of tale where you snuggle your older child in for the night and they happily listen for hours while you both forget the time because the story is enchanting...
... I was pretty much hooked, and by the time I reached the 50% marked, I was enchanted. It is a simple and sweet story, with mystery and adventure, somewhat the flavor of the Wind in the Willows.
... This is not a short book at 336 pages, and it spans at least a month or two of time. There are so many funny and wonderful people to meet. The Muddles especially were full of unique and completely surprising individuals. The three people groups have always lived as isolated as possible from each other, but to solve the mystery of the fires and the strange woman, they will have to work together and venture farther than anyone of them in history has ever ventured before .... or are they? Leave it to the Muddles to come up with some wonderful surprises and amazing solutions. Maybe the Muddles aren’t so bad after all?
...Alan Skinner has done a remarkable job at creating a fun and fascinating world of likable characters with realistic personalities and problems. I laughed, I cried, I stayed up late to read the next chapter ... and the next one ... and the next until I cringed and then laughed at the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Skinner
• Release date: Jun 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9780992272807

Alan Skinner

A passion for words and a delight in storytelling have driven me for as long as I can remember. Writers write. It's that simple. Nothing else matters. There's no backstory to speak of. Only the books, and they speak for themselves..

Book preview

Cast of Characters

The Muddles

Grunge, a rock musician

Crimson, a fire officer

Japes, a jester

Reach, a ballerina

Leaf, a scout

Bright, a nurse

Sky, an astronaut

Slight, a magician

Patch, a pirate

Wave, a surfer

Whist, the manager of Home’s coffee house

Shift, a bus driver

Miniver, a bear

Calamity, a fire station puppy

Sparkle, a fire station horse

Charm, a rabbit

Shades, a meerkat

Madigan, a toucan

Bray, a donkey

Priscilla, a frill-necked lizard

Weed, a duck

The Beadles

Brian, factotum of Beadleburg

Bligh, High Councillor of Beadleburg

Megan, a bus driver

Isidora, proprietor of Beadleburg's bank

Hugo, a shopkeeper

Tek, a computer and appliance technician

Trimsy, a beautician

The Myrmidots

Achillia, Lord Mayor of Forge

Beatrice, Assistant to Lord Mayor

Dot, Apprentice engineer

Copper, an Engineer and Dot's guardian

Jakob, a waiter at Bellow's tavern

From The Place

Amelia, a aristocratic lady

Kevin, Amelia’s servant

Chapter 1

A Very Important Mission

In the clear blue sky appeared a single cloud. It was shaped like a bird and so light that when it passed across the face of the sun only the faintest shadow followed on the ground below. Down the craggy mountains the pale shadow flew, above the wooded slopes and valleys and across the tumbling rivers and streams of the Land. In Muddlemarsh, the very heart of the Land, Muddles worked and played, both human and animal. And as the cloud passed overhead every Muddle, whether on two legs or four, on the wing or on foot, felt a familiar tingle and each was bathed in a shimmering glow, each appearing for an instant like a desert mirage. The Mix, they called it. The cloud dissolved, the shimmering vanished and the Muddles went on with their work and play.

Yet not exactly as they had been. For the Mix does something very strange to the Muddles.

*

‘I hate Muddles!’ Brian yelled. He was sprawled in the middle of a large, leafy bush, one shoe on and one shoe held firmly in his hand. He tried to stand and a branch stabbed his bare foot and he yelped in pain.

‘I really hate Muddles!’ he shouted again as another branch jabbed into the seat of his trousers, nearly making him drop the shoe in his hand.

‘I really, REALLY do not like Muddles!’ Brian roared. He pushed the branches apart and tumbled from the bush.

One hand rubbing his bottom and the other holding his shoe, Brian hopped around the bush. Scowling, he stopped hopping and stood, swaying on the one foot that still had possession of its shoe. He reached down to put on his shoe, swaying as he bent. He paused, then tried again. He reached further and his body swayed even more, forward and back, and forward again. The earth came alarmingly close to his nose. He threw back his arms to balance himself. The shoe flew from his hand. A magpie in a nearby tree watched it sail high over the bush.

Brian fell hard on his bottom. ‘Ooomph!’ he said.

‘Caw!’ said the magpie.

‘Ooooh!’ moaned Brian.

‘Caw!’ said the magpie. The bird swooped from the branch, plucked the shoe from the grass and flew home with the treasure.

‘I SO hate Muddles!’ yelled Brian, watching his shoe disappear in the blue sky.

It had started as quite a good day. Brian felt warm and content in the sunshine, and the narrow, smooth road along which he walked was free of traffic. Life was calm and peaceful and he strolled down the middle of the road, humming and whistling. He watched the birds fly from tree to tree and soar in the air, swooping in a graceful line like long coloured ribbons. Across the blue sky drifted small puffs of clouds. Butterflies and bees flickered from flower to flower, bidding each hello. ‘Yes,’ thought Brian as walked in the sunshine, ‘it is a lovely day.’

More than the birds, the sunshine or the blue sky, what made Brian feel good was that he felt important. After all, he was on a very important mission. Even Bligh, the High Councillor, had told him three times before he left just how important Brian’s mission was.

‘As the town’s Factotum,’ he had said solemnly to Brian, using his deepest voice in case Brian had trouble understanding the words, ‘it is up to you to convince the Muddles that they have to help us. We are all counting on you, Brian.’

Now, normally, Brian wouldn’t have been too thrilled to visit the Muddles. He avoided Muddles whenever he could. Brian thought Muddles made life difficult. It wasn’t just the Mix when, for no reason he could fathom, all Muddles swapped bodies and legs – though that definitely was odd. It was also that they had no common sense and could be very unpredictable. He tried to be understanding. After all, it must be very difficult to have common sense when some days you wake up and don’t even know whose shoes you have to tie. Brian remembered when he was learning to tie his own shoes. For a moment he felt sorry for the Muddles, but then he remembered how something unexpected always seemed to happen when Muddles were around and he quickly lost his sympathy. Because when something unexpected happened, it made Brian’s life more difficult. After all, it was a Factotum’s job to make sure that life is predictable.

In all the three countries of the Land – Beadledom, Myrmidia and Muddlemarsh – only his home town of Beadleburg had a Factotum. So, unless you are from Beadleburg (in which case you probably know this story already), it’s unlikely you know what a Factotum does.

A Factotum attends to detail. A Factotum organises. A Factotum is responsible for making sure that the town’s accounts are correct, that the High Councillor has everything that a High Councillor could possibly need, that all the little jobs which make a town run smoothly get done. Someone had once said, rather unkindly, Brian thought, that a Factotum was a fancy name for a gofer, someone who just ran errands for everybody else, to ‘go for’ this and ‘go for’ that. Brian knew better. The Factotum was the one who made things happen. Without the Factotum things would be … disorganised. One of the special skills one had to have to be a good Factotum was to be good at organising. And Brian knew that there wasn’t anyone in the world as organised as he was.

Now he had to go on a mission so important that the future of Beadledom might well depend on it.

‘Someone has been lighting these fires deliberately. All over Beadledom, fires have destroyed barns, haystacks, shops and even homes. It cannot be a Beadle. No Beadle would do such a thing,’ Bligh said to Brian.

Every night, for nearly a month, there had been a fire somewhere in Beadledom. Had they been normal fires, the Beadles would not have been so worried. But they were not normal fires. The fires burned blue, a deep blue, deeper than the truest sapphire. The blue flames burned hotter than any fire they had encountered and in minutes the sturdiest building would be consumed by the hungry flames.

What horrified the Beadles more than the ferocious heat was that nothing could put out the blue fire. It ate water like the desert sand. Their fire truck pumped tank after tank onto the flames. Instead of hissing and dying, the blue flames roared louder and blazed more fiercely. The fire burned not only wood, but brick and mortar. No one had ever put out one of these fires. The Beadles had stood by, helpless, until the flames had consumed everything. When nothing was left except melted, twisted metal, the flames sank into the ground and disappeared.

But what really terrified the Beadles was that even when the flames had disappeared, the fire stayed hidden in the earth, ready to come to life as soon as a new building was erected. They watched in horror as buildings they had erected where the old ones stood would suddenly burst into blue flames once more, right in front of their eyes.

The heat from the blue fires often made nearby buildings burst into flames. Fortunately, not terrible blue flames, but the flames of an ordinary fire. And so the Beadles learned that when a building was ablaze with blue flames, they should let it burn and use their fire truck to prevent nearby buildings from catching fire. The Beadles would soak the stores, the workshops, the homes, hoping to save them while watching helplessly as the blue fire consumed its victim.

The High Councillor had clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth.

‘Our fire engine can’t cope, Brian. We need help. We asked the Myrmidots but they dare not send their fire engine for they need it to keep watch on their factories. So, we are forced to ask the Muddles for help. They must send their fire cart and fire officer to help us protect our buildings and help us discover how to fight the blue fire. And to help us find out who is behind these terrible fires.’

The High Councillor had sighed and gone back to his large chair behind his large desk and sat down.

An envoy, Bligh had called him, which had made Brian nod gravely.

‘In this critical time, Brian, you are our envoy, our representative, who will take our request to the Muddles. Do not fail us, Brian. The fate of all of Beadledom is in your hands. You must get the Muddles to agree to help. You will never have a more important job to do.’ He had looked at Brian, who had nodded some more, wondering if perhaps he should salute.

‘There’s no time to lose, Brian,’ the High Councillor had said. ‘Now, fetch me the newspaper and then be on your way.’ Brian had fetched the newspaper then he’d run home to get ready. He pulled off his shoes with the bright silver buckles, and quickly put on his everyday shoes and tied the laces. Brian stood, felt a sharp tug on his hand, and fell over. He looked at his hand. He looked at his shoe. He gingerly pulled his finger out of the knot in his laces and stood up. He would have to hurry if he was going to catch the morning bus. It left the bus depot at 7.10 a.m. sharp every day.

‘Sorry, Brian. The bus will be late today.’ Megan looked up from under the bonnet of the town’s bus, very embarrassed. Megan was the bus driver and, of all the people Brian knew, Megan was the most organised – she was almost as organised as he was. The bus always ran and was always precisely on schedule.

‘It’s broken down and I only got the part from the Myrmidots last night. It will be about an hour and a half before I finish fixing it.’ Megan pointed at the motor. ‘It’s the -,’ she started to explain.

‘That’s OK, Megan,’ Brian interrupted quickly. Once Megan started talking about motors and their bits and pieces, there was no stopping her. ‘It will mean I miss the Muddle bus. Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll walk the rest of the way into Home from the border.’ Brian paused. ‘I’m on a very important mission.’

‘Yes, I know!’ Megan said with admiration. ‘It’s all over Beadleburg. We’re all counting on you, Brian. I’m glad you’ll wait for me to fix the bus, though I’m sorry it means you’ll miss the Muddle bus at the border.’ She looked at Brian’s feet. ‘Well, I see you’re wearing your walking shoes – you’re so organised. Your left shoelace is undone, Brian. You’ve done a lovely bow on the right one, though.’

Brian tied his left shoelace, careful to pull his finger out before he pulled the bow tight. He checked to make sure both bows were the same size.

‘Right, well, ah … can I help, Megan?’ he asked.

Megan looked horrified. She never let anyone else fix her bus. ‘Thank you, Brian, but, ah … you’d get your hands dirty and that wouldn’t do. You’re on a very important mission. We’re all counting on you. Right. I’d best keep working. There’s not a moment to be lost.’ Beadles were very punctual and they counted moments like they counted money. Megan glanced over at the bright shiny bus, its bonnet wide open, and sighed. ‘Oh, Brian, could you possibly run over to the bakery and get me one of those nice lemmings?’

‘Lamingtons,’ Brian corrected her. ‘Of course. With jam or without?’

Megan thought a moment. ‘With, I think. Yes, definitely with. One with jam, please, Brian.’

Megan was as good as her word. An hour and a half later the bus was fixed and Megan ready to go. Brian boarded the bus and they set off for the edge of Beadledom, where it nudged the land of Muddlemarsh. From there, it would be an hour’s walk to the town of Home. The bus rolled on and Brian sat in his seat, looking out the window. He could tell by the countryside when they were getting close to Muddlemarsh. The steep hills of Beadledom grew gentler as they neared the green valley of Muddlemarsh.

‘At least it’s downhill,’ Brian thought to himself. ‘So it is! It’s downhill all the way to Muddlemarsh!’ Brian thought this was extremely clever and funny and laughed. ‘All downhill to the Muddles! Downhill all the way!’ he repeated and chuckled. He really wasn’t that fond of Muddles.

Megan stopped the bus at the border precisely fifty-eight minutes after leaving Beadleburg. She pushed the lever that opened the door and Brian rose from his seat. He walked to the door then turned to Megan and smiled.

‘Thank you, Megan. I’m glad you got your bus fixed. I’ll see you this afternoon.’

‘You’re welcome, Brian.’ Megan returned Brian’s smile and handed him a small parcel. ‘Here. Take this.’

Brian took the parcel, waved goodbye and passed from Beadledom into Muddlemarsh. Megan sounded a farewell with a toot of the bus’s horn as Brian started towards the town of Home (or Home-on-the-Meddle, to give it its full name). He felt happy to be important and soon lost track of time as he walked and whistled.

Finishing the last tune he knew, Brian looked at his watch. He’d been walking for nearly an hour and he felt a little hungry. He reached into his pocket and took out the half of a lamington that Megan had kindly given to him. She had wrapped the lamington in waxed paper, which crinkled as he unfolded it. Brian took a bite and felt some of the fine grains of coconut from the cake tumble softly past his chin. He checked to make sure that none had stuck to his shirt or coat.

Brian finished the lamington, carefully folded the paper, and placed it in his coat pocket. All around he could see the slopes and plains of Muddlemarsh. In the distance he could see the large fields of coffee bushes, with Muddles moving about, tending their precious crop. Coffee was the only thing the Muddles produced but they grew the finest coffee there was. After the beans had been harvested, they were roasted in large, brick ovens. The bricks were made from the same soil in which the beans grew and Muddles claimed that the secret of their exquisite coffee lay in the making of those ovens.

The deep green coffee trees were covered with the small, shiny, reddish-brown cherries, making the coffee fields look as if someone had sprinkled the land with tiny beads. Brian could smell the aroma of roasting coffee that was always present in Muddlemarsh.

The sun climbed higher in the blue sky. The grew warmer and Brian took off his coat. He carefully folded the coat and lay it over his arm, feeling the soft breeze tug playfully at his shirt as he walked on.

‘Right,’ he said to himself, ‘the thing to do is to find the fire house, tell the fire officer that we need help, then go to the council and ask them if it’s all right. They’ll be more inclined to listen if I have the fire officer with me.’

He considered the problem.

‘No. First, it’s best to go to the council, explain the situation and ask them to tell the fire officer to help. They might be offended if I talk to their fire officer without permission,’ he decided.

He considered some more.

‘On the other hand, maybe I should ask for an appointment with the Town Leader and explain the situation and ask for advice on what is best to do.’

He frowned.

‘No, that won’t do. One never knows who is Town Leader from one week to the next in Muddlemarsh,’ he muttered to himself. After all his considerations, he still wasn’t happy.

‘There is only one thing for it,’ he decided. ‘Go to the pub and have something to eat and think about it with a full stomach.’ His stomach rumbled its agreement and Brian walked on, satisfied he had a plan.

Pleased with himself, he concentrated on enjoying the beautiful day. In fact, he was enjoying it so much that he forgot to look where he was going and walked straight into a pirate.

It is not often that one knocks over a pirate, especially on the highway and many miles from the sea. It was hard to tell who was more surprised: Brian or the pirate, who lay stretched out on the hard road at Brian’s feet. The fall had knocked the pirate’s hat down over his face and he lay very still. Brian was worried.

‘Excuse me,’ he apologised. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Bwii ah ells!’ came a voice from under the hat. The pirate sounded in great pain – or was very angry.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ said Brian, ‘I don’t understand.’ The pirate had obviously come from somewhere far, far away.

‘‘Eahhr utt izz,’ said the voice under the hat again, then added, ‘‘Aah wundrrud ear ahh pu ut.’

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Brian. ‘Look, just stay there, and I’ll get help.’ By now, he was anxious to get away, lest the pirate jump up and take him prisoner. Everyone knew that pirates carried their prisoners away to sea and made them row their pirate ships for seventeen years before abandoning them on a deserted island.

Brian was just about to make a run for it when the pirate reached up and lifted the hat from his face. The face smiled at Brian as the pirate’s hand disappeared into the hat and came back out holding a piece of paper.

‘By the bells, ’ere it is!’ said the pirate. ‘I wondered where I’d put it!’ He held up the piece of paper for Brian to see. ‘Been a-looking four years fer this.’ He stood, gave a little bow and patted Brian on the shoulder. ‘Very grateful to ya, me lad.’

Brian couldn’t see what was on the paper, which looked very old and yellow. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘What is it? What is it, ya say!’ repeated the pirate. ‘It’s me treasure map, laddie! Not just any treasure map, mind. The finest treasure map in the world, ta show the way ta the richest treasure in the world!’

‘Oh,’ said Brian, thinking that it was very careless to lose such a thing.

‘I know what yer a-thinkin’, me bucko. Yer a-thinkin’ that it was very careless, like, to ferget where I hid this ’ere map,’ said the pirate with a cunning glint in his eye.

‘No, no, not at all,’ lied Brian. He didn’t like lying but he thought it wiser not to upset the pirate.

‘Ah, well, I didn’t need to remember, cos I’d made a map to show meself wheres I hid it!’ the pirate exclaimed proudly.

‘Oh,’ said Brian. ‘And … you … lost … that … map, too?’

‘No, me hearty. Dropped it in the bath and the ink ran, like.’ He thought for a second, remembering, then sighed. ‘Spent a whole month a-searchin’ the swamp for me treasure map.’

Brian’s mouth went round. ‘Oh -’

‘Please, swabbie,’ interrupted the pirate. ‘Don’t say Oh. ’Tain’t polite.’

Brian closed his mouth, then started again. ‘Now that you have your map, I suppose you’ll board your ship and sail away to find the treasure.’ Brian still wanted the pirate to just go away and leave him. He didn’t want to be taken aboard the pirate ship. Ever since he could remember, he wanted to be a Factotum. He couldn’t ever remember wanting to row a pirate ship.

‘Can’t,’ said the pirate. ‘Ain’t got a ship.’

‘You haven’t?’ said Brian, puzzled. ‘How do you sail the seas, then?’

‘I don’t,’ said the pirate. ‘Ain’t never been ta sea. I don’t like the water.’

‘Then why are you a pirate?’ asked Brian, thinking this was not at all what he expected from a pirate but at least he wouldn’t be rowing a pirate ship.

‘Cos I am,’ said the pirate simply. ‘Alwus ’ave been.’

It all became clear to Brian. ‘You’re a Muddle, aren’t you?’ he said politely.

‘Course,’ said the pirate. ‘Wot else’d I be?’

‘Nothing,’ said Brian, feeling a little foolish at being afraid of a Muddle. No one was afraid of a Muddle. ‘Well, now that you’re OK and you have your map, I have to go. I have a very important job to do.’

‘Don’t weese all, matey.’ The pirate tucked his map into his vest pocket and put on his hat. ‘’S been a real pleasure to make yer acquaintance …’

‘Brian,’ said Brian quickly.

‘Brian.’ The pirate nodded as if he’d known Brian’s name all along. ‘Pleased ta know ya, Brian, me old shipmate. Me name is Patch.’

‘Patch?’ Brian looked at the pirate. Both eyes seemed to be there and in working order. ‘Is that because you sometimes squint and wear a patch on one eye?’

‘No,’ said Patch.

‘Then why do they call you Patch?’ asked Brian.

Patch looked puzzled. ‘Cos it’s me name,’ he said.

Brian couldn’t help himself. ‘Oh,’ he said.

‘You know,’ said Patch, ‘I thinks I’ll walk with ya. Where’re ya headed?’

Brian’s heart dropped into a pit that had suddenly opened in his stomach. ‘Home,’ he said in a small voice.

‘By the bells!’ exclaimed Patch. ‘Home! Of all the places. I’d be pleased to show ya the way, like.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Patch, but I think I can find my way. This road only goes to Home.’

‘So it do, so it do! Clever of ya to notice that, like. But youse Beadles are clever people. Not as clever as them Myrmidots, mind, but clever enough, like.’ Patch clapped Brian on the shoulder. ‘An’ I can tell ya tales of pirates and buccaneers on the ocean, sailing the high seas wherever their fancy took ’em. I can tell ya tales of storms and hurricanes, of gigantic sea beasts and faraway lands that drip gold, and silver, and precious gems the size of yer fist.’

‘But you said you’ve never been to sea. If you’ve never been to sea, how can you have stories to tell of sailing the seas?’

Patch looked at Brian in surprise. ‘What a question! By the bells! Where’d weese be if weese only had stories of things weese’d actually done, like?’

Brian couldn’t think of an answer to that. He was stuck, and he knew it. He sighed. It would be a long hour to Home.

‘There was this one time, like, when weese was in the Northern Oceans. Now, them Northern Oceans is the most dangerous of all the oceans. Waves so ’igh they wash away ’ole countries when they crash on the shore. An’ that’s when the b’rometer’s up, mind. When the glass drops and the weather rises, there’s no more unpleasant place in this world.’

Brian wasn’t too sure of that but he felt it was better not to say so.

‘There weese were,’ Patch continued, ‘skippin’ over these mountain waves. The ship would ride ta the top o’ each wave, then slide down the other side, like them young people with their boards down on the beach. It was all peaceful, like, when, without warning, weese were hit by a ferocious tycoon.’

‘Typhoon,’ Brian corrected Patch.

‘Ah, no, me salty dog, ’twas definitely a tycoon. Rich as the King of the Pearls ’e was but he couldn’t steer a boat fer love nur money, and ’e was in a very bad mood.’ Patch laughed uproariously at his own joke.

Brian’s heart fell all the way to his shoes. It definitely was going to be a long walk.

Patch continued to tell his stories as they walked. He told Brian of an island where dragons still roamed. It had been a rich land, crowded with the tallest trees and tastiest grass, with every kind of animal one could imagine. It had water so pure that it sparkled like diamonds, sparkled so brightly that animals had to close their eyes when they lowered their heads to drink. And the dragons had come and scorched the earth with their fire and had feasted on the animals. The island was so bountiful that it was hundreds of years before the dragons had consumed everything on the island. Their greed had made them lazy and they didn’t bother to fly during those years when they laid waste to the island. And when every animal had been consumed and every plant burned so that even the sparkling water was dull and smelled of the sulphur from the dragons’ fire, the dragons found that they had forgotten how to fly. So, because of their greed and ignorance, their wings gradually disappeared and they were condemned to live on that barren island for all time, finding whatever food they could in the sea.

The pirate told Brian of birds that soared in the air for months without ever touching land and which were so light that they sailed higher than eagles on the slightest breath of wind. He had stories of sea creatures that would come to the aid of ships that were sinking in a storm. The sea creatures would hold the ships on their backs above the waves until the seas were calm once again, and then the creatures would silently disappear beneath the waves. Patch told tales of peaches the colour of wine, with nectar so sweet that one bite would keep away thirst even in the hottest desert.

A short distance from Home, they came to a small bridge that spanned a narrow stream. It was a typical Muddle bridge, a simple arch with small walls on either side, made of red brick with an open timber roof. The roof was painted a reddish brown, the same colour as a newly ripened coffee bean. Muddles are very fond of their bridges and, when it rains, they often sit on the wall of the bridge, their feet dangling over the water, and watch the raindrops make circles in the stream running under their feet.

Halfway across the bridge Patch’s tale was interrupted by a yell, and then a splash. Brian and Patch ran to the side of the bridge and peered over.

Slight sat in the middle of the stream. ‘’Ello, Slight. Performin’ for the fish?’ said Patch. He didn’t seem to think it was at all odd that there was a magician sitting in the middle of the stream, the water flowing around his waist.

Slight was Muddlemarsh’s magician. He wore an elegant black dinner suit with long, pointed tails, a white shirt with ruffles and a bow tie. He performed magic tricks, or at least tried to, for none of them ever seemed to work properly. He had ruined a great many watches wrapping them in a handkerchief and smashing them with a hammer and was disappointed each time to find the watch in tiny pieces. Yet all the Muddles still happily gave him their watches when he asked, for they thought he was a fine magician who practised very hard. They had all agreed, though, not to volunteer when he wanted to perform the trick of sawing someone in half.

‘Hello, Patch,’ said Slight. He spoke with a great deal more good humour than Brian thought he would if he had just fallen in the stream. ‘I was just practising a new trick I thought of and fell in. I was trying to catch a fish for the trick.’

‘A new trick, eh? That’d be something ta see.’ Patch turned to Brian. ‘Ain’t never seen a new trick before. I mean, brand new, one just been thought up, like. That’d be worth seein’.’ He called down to Slight.

‘So, what’s this trick do, then, Slight? Does ya make the water run o’er the bridge ’stead of under? Does ya sit in the water without gettin’ wet?’

‘That’d be a good one to do, Patch. I should have thought about that one before I tried to catch a fish.’

Brian couldn’t see a fishing pole anywhere. ‘Did you drop your pole in the water?’ he asked.

‘Pole? Fishing pole? Oh, goodness, no!’ replied Slight. ‘I wouldn’t want to hurt the fish! Besides, a happy fish learns tricks much quicker. No, I was trying to catch one with my hands.’

‘Should’ve asked Leaf to do it for ya, Slight. Leaf’s a scout,’ said Patch. He thought a second. ‘No, Leaf don’t like gettin’ ’er ’ands dirty. Don’t think she’d like holdin’ a fish, like.’

Brian didn’t bother asking why a scout wouldn’t like getting her hands dirty, or catching fish. He knew enough about Muddles to know it was hopeless to try to understand them. Instead, he asked Slight, ‘What’s the new trick? How does it work?’

‘I can’t tell you that. It’s against the Rules, even for tricks you can’t do. But I can show you.’

Brian was a Beadle and he knew all about Rules. For Beadles, the first rule about all rules was that Nothing Was A Rule Unless It was Right. The Proof That A Rule Was Right Is That It Is A Rule. He peered over the roof of the bridge so he could see the sun. It wasn’t quite directly overhead but he would have to hurry to get to Home in time to complete his mission and get the bus back.

‘I would love to see your new trick, but I really must go.’ An idea came to him and he said, ‘But you stay, Patch. I’m sure you want to see Slight’s trick.’ He looked at Slight, who was still sitting in the middle of the stream. ‘Perhaps you can show me another time. When you have it right.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t wait that long, if I were you,’ he said good-naturedly. ‘Are you sure you have to hurry? It would be good to practise in front of an audience.’ Slight frowned. ‘I’m not sure you can call one person an audience …’

‘’E’s got ta get ta Home. Ta see somebody. ’E’s on an important mission. Oo’s in charge of Important Missions, then, Slight?’

‘That’d be whoever’s Town Leader this week. Let me think. Whose turn is it?’ Patch and Slight considered the question.

‘I do thinks it’d be Wave,’ declared Patch. ‘Yup, I’se sure ’tis Wave.’

‘Why, there you go!’ said Slight. ‘There isn’t any hurry. Wave isn’t there! You can’t see him! I met him this morning with Reach. They went up to the woods to find truffles. They won’t be back until this afternoon.’

Brian was dismayed. Back in Beadleburg, the Mayor was always available from 9.30 in the morning until 6.30 at night, except between one o’clock and two o’clock when