The Beast of Steaming Forest: A Goneunderland Adventure

By S.D. Birkbeck

Something is on the loose in Steaming Forest. It screeches, it scares and it kills. Where the mud boils, where the steam rises, where the giant Manglewarp Tree grows, no one is brave enough to enter the forest. In the nearby village of Pebbleknock, Sergeant Trod Elsewhere is also faced with an outbreak of thievery, mysterious magical gatherings and bothersome anarchists. Only one person realises these events might be linked, and unless he can work the connection out, things are about to take a turn for the worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Oct 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781785385841

Book preview

assistant

Five Years Earlier

The old woman walked as quickly as she could towards a small cart. A bent back and the two suitcases she was carrying made walking difficult. A small man holding the reins of two gaspars shouted down at her, Hurry up, there’s not much time.

There’s always time, said the woman as she heaved one then the other suitcase onto the back of the cart. Piled high were several more suitcases, boxes and unpacked household items such as rugs, metal goblets, luxite crystals, plates and several ornate candlesticks. In the middle sat a large, wooden box.

The box, is it...?

Yes, yes, said the man impatiently. I tied it down myself.

Food and water?

Of course, enough for a day. Now hurry up!

Slowly, as if to torment her driver, the woman climbed up next to him.

I’ll miss this place, she said looking at a small house carved out of a great, looming cliff. A few shrubs and thorny bushes dotted the ground. Lots of interesting plants. Lots of nettle, berries and I thought the pollypip flowers were particularly impressive... Her voice trailed off as she looked wistfully at the house.

There’ll be plenty of interesting plants at the next place, said the man. We’ve been assured of that. Hey-up!

With a swish of the reins, the little gaspars shook their manes, lifted their hooves and started pulling the cart along a narrow, dirt road. The woman, still bent over, held onto the seat as the wheels bumped in and out of potholes. Just as the cart disappeared around a corner and over a bridge, from the other direction appeared a bustling crowd led by a lean figure dressed a black cloak with the furry hide of a dead animal wrapped about his shoulders. Beside him walked a smaller man wearing a hooded, brown cassock. When they reached house the lean man ordered four from the crowd to go inside and search. After a thorough rummage, they returned empty-handed.

They must have known we were coming, said the man in the brown cassock. Maybe it’s true what they say. Maybe the future can be seen by those that wish to see it.

Rubbish, said the lean man. Nobody’s future is written. They were tipped off. Gone, they have, with all the evidence. He turned to the crowd. If only you had listened to me! he shouted holding his arms up. If only you had heeded my warnings! Let this be a lesson to you all!

I wonder where they’ll go, said the man in the brown cassock still looking down the road.

That is not our concern. They have gone.

The lean man turned and walked back down the road.

Moorlick Meets the Beast

The tilly is a small goat-like animal and in no way should it be confused with a twilly which is a small, hen-like animal. What both have in common, however, is they are highly inquisitive creatures and at any opportunity will look to leave their boarded or wired homes and seek greener pastures, even though the pasture they’re in is probably as green as any other they’re likely to find. Such is the nature of never-satisfied and inquisitive creatures, be they in Goneunderland or our own world, Upoverland.

On top of the tilly’s head grow two small, backward curving horns that are ideal for digging up mufflebump truffles. Sharp teeth can gnaw through the toughest of leaves and even the odd boot should it be left lying about. The tilly’s bleat is more of a high-pitched bark than a baa and is usually the signal for other tilly’s to leave their field and join the wanderer in his or her find. Most flocks will have one lead wanderer that, because of an excess in wanderlust, usually finds itself either tethered to a long rope or a bell hung around its neck.

Pebbleknock (population 823) farmer Moorlick Saltblock had one such tilly and in frustration had not only tethered and belled the animal, had gone as far to enclose her in a small pen in the middle of field. While this might sound a little cruel, the pen was big enough for Fluffy Pom-Pom (as she had been named by Moorlick’s youngest child Biddy, the last time, Moorlick swore, he would let one of his children name one of his stock) to wander about in. She even had her own pile of freshly picked bringle beets. Despite this, Fluffy Pom-Pom had not only chewed through the rope but had forced her way out the pen and in doing so had ripped her bell off. Furthermore, and to add a dash of cheekiness to her great escape, she had jumped a gate right beside Moorlick as he stood chatting with his neighbouring farmer, Moiles Ironbridge.

The sight of Fluffy Pom-Pom disappearing down the road and through a hedge had caused Moorlick to utter several hyphenated oaths in one breath leaving him quite breathless and Moiles more than a little shocked as like most farmers, in both Goneunderland and Upoverland, Moorlick wasn’t a man of many words, particularly long, hyphenated ones. Within the minute, Moorlick and his two eldest sons, Moorlick Junior and Gaff, were in hot pursuit along with Moiles who feared any bleating from Fluffy Pom-Pom would stir his own tilly’s into equally rebellious action.

I’ve told you before Moorlick, said a huffing Moiles whose high arm action and bowed legs made him look as though he was trying to step over a sharp object, ring that bloody beast’s neck!

She’s a good breeder, answered Moorlick. I’ll not be doing away with a good breeder.

They followed the tilly across a field and down a road following the telltale signs of little round marbles of pooh.

That’s torn it, puffed Gaff as they gathered at a gate. Look where she’s gone.

In front of them loomed a wall of trees. The straight bamboo-like trunks of trees known as ironrods stood packed together like a row of defiant soldiers. When their own huffings had stopped, the farmers heard a hiss. High above the forest steam rose into the air.

She won’t ‘ave gone in there, said Moiles pushing his hat back. Tilly’s are daft but not that daft.

Moorlick wasn’t convinced. You don’t know this one, he said quietly. He sent Moorlick Junior and Gaff off to check a nearby field and if they couldn’t find her they were to head home and tell their mother to keep dinner warm as he wouldn’t be long and if any of them touched his food he’d tie them up in Molly Pom-Pom’s pen for the night and they could finish off her perfectly good bringles. When they’d gone, Moorlick and Moiles squeezed themselves between two wet, ironrod trunks.

I don’t like this, said Moiles at the rear.

Just a little way in, said Moorlick. If we don’t see her, we’ll head off. Stupid thing can find her own way back. Quietly, he called for his tilly. Fluffy Pom-Pom. Fluffy Pom-Pom.

She ain’t gonna hear that, is she? said Moiles. Say it louder.

I don’t want to scare her, said Moorlick unconvincingly. The Tilly’s name wasn’t one he was prone to pronounce loudly, especially in the presence of other farmers.

Very quickly, the forest’s warmth surrounded them. The vines, for which the forest was famous, became thicker and thicker as they twirled over one another and wound their way around the smooth rocks that bulged from the ground. In the wet, geothermal warmth, ferns grew to giant heights and beds of moss where so deep they could bury a man. Leaves grew to the size of dinner plates. Ponds steamed and mud bubbled. The luxite crystals that carried the light from Upoverland down through the Illuminole struggled to penetrate the gloom and the steam. It was as if dusk had fallen on one of our own steamy jungles.

They had just stepped over a small stream no bigger than a healthy trickle when Moiles grabbed Moorlick’s shirt. Moorlick followed Moile’s pointing finger. Hanging from a tree he saw the shape of a tilly. Blood dripped from its throat.

In the name of Tulloc...

The oath was barely out of Moorlick’s mouth when a piercing scream filled the vaporous air. Something flashed through the forest. Both men could have sworn it swung by on a vine.

Did you see that? said Moiles.

I saw something. But I don’t know what I saw, came the answer.

They heard a rustle in the trees. Then a crash. After a few seconds something in front of them moved. They looked closely into the scrub. Suddenly, a branch moved and a red, screeching face appeared. Moorlick stepped back treading on Moiles’ foot. Both men fell to the ground. Above them, the face appeared. A mouth opened showing a line of yellow teeth. The man, if it were a man for he looked no bigger than a small child, let forth a long, harsh gasp as if he was trying to breathe fire. Naked from the waist up, his torso was smeared in blood. A thick mob of blonde hair was matted through with mud. Thin, sinewy arms grasped a vine and it clambered quickly up into the steam. In vain the farmers looked up. A rustle here and a rustle there tightened their nerves. Moorlick jumped as something tugged his shirt. It was Moiles.

I’m getting out of here, said Moiles.

Moorlick turned to see Moiles stumbling over the ground. Wait for me! Wait for me.

To Catch an Anarchist

Priscus Smutch’s soft-soled shoes scuffed over the palace’s flagstoned floor. He preferred his soles soft least they upset Lady Euphanisa Fish who liked to read the copious number of documents that crossed her desk in total silence. Tax lists, court judgments, passes permitting nobles to leave the palace (since the escapades of Sir Umbrage Boldspice a task that she now entrusted to no-one but herself), kitchen expenditures, new staff, sacked staff, all passed under the intense gaze and crooked mouth of Lady Euphansia. In his hand, Priscus held a sheet of paper that he was sure would bring a smile to that crooked mouth. Maybe not a full-blown smile, thought Priscus, but at least a small, triumphant grin. He knocked on an enormous door.

Come!

Priscus pushed the door open, closed it and quietly approached a large marble desk as if he were approaching a sleeping baby in its cradle. He presented the sheet. This has just been handed in.

Without glancing up from her work, Lady Euphansia tapped the desk with her quill. Priscus put the paper down and waited.

Pebbleknock, said Lady Euphanisa. You know it?

A small village about a two-day’s ride from the city, your Ladyship, answered Pricus primly and precisely. A geothermal area separated from Bottley Town by a wood known as Steaming Forest. Priscus’ face twitched. He hoped he was not about to be sent on another fact-finding mission. How he hated leaving the great city of Artobia! How he hated country folk, how he hated muddy tracks, fields, crops and animals!

Tax revenues are down, Lady Euphansia said ignoring the geography lesson.

Priscus rocked gently on the balls of his feet. I believe there has been a disturbance of sorts, he said happy he was up on the latest information. A small outbreak of thievery is keeping the local illuminatie busy. Oh, and something has been ‘worrying the stock’, as I believe they like say in the country.

Lady Euphansia raised her gaze and peaked at Priscus under a harsh, dark fringe. Well, something’s worrying me. I don’t like it when revenues are down. No matter how worried the stock may be.

Priscus dared a smile. They say a beast has been seen and it’s killed several tillies and injured several people. Though this could be an exaggeration, you know how country people like to exaggerate.

Lady Euphansia continued working. Who’s our tax collector in Pebbleknock?

Asper Buttonpush, your Ladyship. A most reliable collector and informant.

And a drunkard, shot back Lady Euphansia looking up.

I’ve been assured that that little problem is behind us. This time, Priscus was less sure of his facts. Mr Buttonpush has been for many years one of our most reliable collectors.

You mean he doesn’t line his own pockets.

As far as we know, he doesn’t keep a single gooner more than he should. I’ve heard he’s quite a stickler for a perfectly balanced column.

And the illuminatie? asked Lady Euphansia. I assume someone is investigating these disturbances that are preventing the full and proper payment of taxation, she said, sarcastically.

Indeed, your Ladyship. I understand Pebbleknock is a two-illuminatie village, in this case a Sergeant Elsewhere and Patrolman Gumz.

What’s this? A tapping quill left a small dot of ink on the sheet of paper Priscus had bought.

It was delivered to the front gate not a few minutes ago, said Priscus, happy that the conversation had turned away from rural mysteries to something closer to home. The bookseller Root brought it in.

Root?

The last upwatcher to Upoverland, your Ladyship.

Yes, yes, snapped Lady Euphansia. I know who he is. The events of several days ago were still uppermost in Lady Euphansia’s ever-ticking mind. The appearance and immediate disappearance of the blue crystal, the crack on the back of her head at the Gowning ceremony, the disappearance of King Longwiff and the subsequent elevation of Queen Ferimond as outright ruler. Oh yes, and the death of her son, the luxian priest, Master Smillock Nib. Somewhere in all of this, she knew not where, was the hand of the bothersome bookseller Erasmus Root. And? she said still not looking at the paper.

It would appear that Mr Root has discovered the next secret meeting place of the Bendergusts.

Priscus smiled. He now had her ladyship’s full attention. A boney hand reached for the sheet. Grey eyes read the words. A crooked mouth twitched. The paper was a printed pamphlet. At the top, there was what looked like a party streamer and in each corner a balloon floated towards the centre where Lady Euphansia read the following verse:

Friends! Don’t be a party pooper!

Your next event doesn’t have to fall flat!

Make your gathering one to remember!

Jokes! Magic! Music! Singing! Dancing!

Let Dr Alberto Terrificus Stones take care of all your entertainment needs.

(Special discount offer ends 3 days at midnight after the date at the top of this pamphlet)

The answer is in the poem, said Priscus nervously.

Lady Euphansia Fish read the poem for a second time, her eyes darting with increased vigour. From top to bottom she read, then from top to bottom again. The brain worked, the lips moved but no answer was forthcoming.

Bother it! Lady Euphansia swore slamming the paper down. I haven’t time for these games. Out with it.

Priscus explained. If you take the first word in the first line, followed by the second word in the second...

Lady Euphansia read the words. Friends! Next. Gathering. Singing. Stones. She looked at her secretary. Quietly, she said, The Singing Stones. They’re meeting at the Singing Stones.

Indeed, your Ladyship. And three days from the date at the top means we’ve just four days.

Lady Euphansia slammed the sheet down.

Shall I tell Captain Plumbender, he said, referring to the captain of the Artobian illuminaties, or blueys as the lawmen were known. I’m sure a crack team could be promptly assembled.

Lady Euphansia seemed distracted. Yes, right away.

Very good, your Ladyship. Priscus conducted a brisk soft-shoe turn and was about to reach for the doorknob when his mistress’s voice stopped him cold.

Wait!

Priscus turned. Your ladyship?

Lady Euphansia was staring at a luxite crystal mounted on her desk. As she spoke, she turned the stone around. We know where they’re meeting?

Yes, Lady Euphansia.

And we know what time?

We do.

And we can be sure they’ll all attend?

If they all got the pamphlet, then I can assume so. It was posted on several notice boards, as they always are. It’s only now that we’ve identified one as being from the Bendergusts.

Yes, said Lady Euphansia, still turning the crystal absentmindedly, this presents us with a unique opportunity.

Indeed, a unique and a great opportunity.

Instead of answering, Lady Euphansia opened a drawer and pulled out four sheets of paper that had been tied together. Priscus recognised the writing as his own.

This is your report on your investigation into the events surrounding the blue crystal, Lady Euphansia said looking at Priscus.

Yes your Ladyship, said Priscus wondering why the document was still in his boss’s desk and not in the official archives - though he knew better than to ask. I interviewed several people, some more forcibly than others, he added, thinking of the more than moderate torture applied to Arkle Nuthrob, the King’s dyeing assistant deep beneath the palace, but we failed to uncover anything. The whereabouts of the King and the crystal remain a mystery.

There is one person you interviewed that interests me, said Lady Euphansia looking at the second page. The shiner Teasel.

Priscus allowed himself a slight look of disbelief. A truculent and vicious man, he said giving his face an extra jerk. Would you believe, his hair is red. Lady Euphansia ignored this comment. Priscus continued. He blatantly refused to answer questions and did all he could to deflect attention away from his fellow shiner Funkum Drop, who we know was responsible for leaving his disc.

And quite handy with a knife, prompted Lady Euphansia.

Priscus rung his hands together as his fingers collectively remembered how close Qorm’s knife came to separating one from the others. I hardly see what this has to do with capturing the Bendergusts, he said boldly approaching the desk.

This Teasel, continued Lady Euphansia sitting back in her seat, would you say he’s the strong, silent type that is likely to watch and listen, to not suffer fools, can hold his own in a fight and would be prepared to leave his post as a shiner if the money was right?

No doubt, your Ladyship, but I hardly see...

Send for him.

But your Ladyship...

Now! We have no time to lose.

Qorm Gets His Orders

Qorm Teasel looked at the towering walls of Glazbouch Palace. He’d been here once before, to the Judgement Tower and briefly to a cell deep below before being hauled out and marched out of Artobia and up into the Illuminole to start a 10-year stint as a shiner. And now, six years later, here he