The Amazing Adventures of Dame Petunia Bladderwhort

By Tony Kaye

In the first part we meet Dame Petunia Bladderwort a large lady of noble birth. By a accident of fait is transported to Terraaqua a mud planet. Where she meets Cyril the modeling gnome, the mud men, and the celestial dragon. In the second part,This is the story of a missing book that contains all the knowledge and power of the two universes. The book is stolen by Death in an attempt to lure the keeper away from his mystical mountain. The lead characters are tasked by the Keeper to cross from the seen to the unseen universe to recover the book, with the help of the general and a few of his men from the sprit army who guard the unseen universe. While avoiding the agents of darkness and the leviathans of the underworld.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9780244110406

Book preview

The Amazing Adventures of Dame Petunia Bladderwhort

The Amazing Adventures of Dame Petunia Bladderwort.

                                               Chapter 1

                                        Rain and more rain

Splashing off roofs, and vomiting water over pedestrians, soaking anybody who was in its path as gravity pulled it towards earth The rain continued to descending so hard that the drops were cueing up to fall upon unsuspecting victims. The rain had turned a summer’s day that was vibrant with colour and activity, into a dark wet monochrome picture of despair.

Old Wilf the newspaper vendor took a step back into an alcove that was formed by the large stone entrance of the Acme building society, in a vain attempt to seek shelter from the deluge that was hitting the streets and causing pedestrians to dive for cover. One such unfortunate who dived into Wilf’s alcove with the intention of buying a newspaper, not for the current news, but to use merely as a makeshift umbrella  Gawld help us remarked Wilf will this weather never end? His customer, who was a large lady of generous proportions was wearing, what Wilf ,at first thought was cling film, but came to realize that it was in fact a very tight fitting plastic rain coat, brought, Wilf reasoned, many years ago when the owner was a lot thinner and a lot younger. Her Ladyship Dame Petunia Bladderwort for that was who she was, had the appearance of a cod wrapped in cellophane. No this is forecast for the next few weeks, responded the Dame, I just don’t know what is happening to the weather she added as she rummaged in her large carpet bag for her purse. Having eventually found it she sorted out a few damp coins which she handed to Wilf, who in turn offered her a newspaper from his rapidly dampening stock. There was a time when you knew what you got, summer was hot and dry. Winter was cold and wet. Spring and autumn were…….well you know a mix of everything. Today, he continued, you don’t know where you are. Personally I blame the government and all those politicians, ever since they nationalized the weather it’s never been right. I didn’t know it was nationalized responded the woman as Wilf handed over change in lose wet coins. Oh yes, it’s on the telly every night. Answered Wilf, They always say and now for the national weather, you see they say national weather, that means the government run it replied Wilf with the air of somebody who knows what they are talking about. If you want good weather for your holidays you have to pay what they call a green tax. The customer nodded in agreement, eager to get home and into the dry. She left Wilf to his complaining, and holding the newspaper over her head she made a vain attempt to stay dry before the tabloid disintegrated into a handful of paper Marché. Wilf stepped back into his dry alcove muttering to himself Bloody government weather. Wilf had a habit of blaming all life’s ills upon the government of the day, whoever was in power at the time. This stemmed from the time when they took his bike to melt down for the war effort in 1943.Wilf never forgave them for this perceived injustice, especially as the promised compensation was never forthcoming.

Chapter 2

Cyril’s arrival on Terra Aqua

Just down the road from Wilf’s news stand, turn right and carry on for about nine light years, you will find a planet. Well planet is a generous epithet for what in reality is no more than an enormous ball of mud trundling around the stars and the solar system without any clearly defined orbit or trajectory, a cosmic ball of mud in a galactic pin ball machine. Its path around the firmament being defined by the gravitational pull of whichever celestial body is nearest. Which to this day is why its undiscovered existence is never listed in any reference book or chart? This is a wet inhospitable environment that any travelers would pass by without a second glance, and never, through choice, ever stop to explore. In fact this ball of mud had no redeeming features what so ever. Unless you were one of those small band of dedicated mud spotters, who love nothing better than to catalogue all the one hundred and nineteen types of mud that this planet comprised of. Despite its bleak landscape and inhospitable terrain. The planet was inhabited by the mud men. A group of enterprising unique individuals who mined the planet for the mud that was in abundant supply on the planet. This they could then turn into flower pots, garden ornaments, house bricks and tiles, or in some cases using the very fine high quality mud that could only be found in the outer reaches of the planet, they were able to produce fine china tea services. The leader of this somewhat unusual enterprise was Clay Potter. Who, having stumbled upon the planet many years ago by accident, saw the commercial opportunity in the value of mud and the chance to supply garden centers with all their pottery needs. His appearance to the casual observer was that of a badly sculptured human being, he was enclosed in mud from head to toe. The action of mining the planet’s mud had left him with the appearance of a mobile statue. Anybody who came across him or his fellow workers referred to them as the mud men of Terra Aqua.

Previously the planet was called Terra Incognito (Invisible land) and one chart even catalogued this area of space, as Here be dragons. Which Clay did not mind. The use of mythical beasts to protect what you have found is a good way to deter inquisitive explorers

The existence of the planet was known and acknowledged in legends. Its exact whereabouts still remains a mystery to this very day. However since Clay’s arrival it underwent a name change, and was now referred to as Terra Aqua (Earth Water) which to his mind was a logical name for a mud planet,

Clay was sitting on a rock out crop thinking up a new marketing incentive for the use of the unlimited supply of mud and clay that surrounded him. When his concentration was broken by the sound of screaming engines ,and the appearance of a very low flying space craft closely followed by a loud CRASH the result of which was a large crater in the hither to unblemished surface of the mud plane. After a while, this by the way is slightly longer than a moment, but not as short as a jiffy, in galactic time. There followed yell ofBUGGER IT closely followed by another curse of the same magnitude.

Sitting in the centre of a mud creator amidst the shattered remains of a mark six intergalactic explorers was a somewhat dazed and shaken Cyril, the pilot.

Cyril was by profession a very successful model. Not your normal model you understand, but a model for garden figures and gnomes. Every garden gnome you have ever seen looks like Cyril thanks to a very active agent, whose commission was escalating by the minute, as models of Cyril sold like hot cakes. This was very fortuitous for Clay. As he had the sudden financial inspiration to go into production of terra cotta garden embellishments.

Cyril, who was now standing up endeavoring to brush off the clinging mud from his smart red jacket and yellow trousers, His pointed hat had disappeared into the mud due to result of his crash landing. The mud was starting to dry as he observed his immediate debris laden surroundings. Arriving at the logical conclusion, that if he didn’t move almost immediately, he would be in danger of becoming Cyril the statue, much to the delight of any passing pigeon. And that state of affairs did not carry the same prestige as Cyril international model. So picking himself up and mustering all the dignity he could salvage from his unscheduled landing. Well he told himself that was an unexpected turn of events’. He was speeding along galaxy on auto pilot minding his own business on his way to the ideal gnome exhibition. When suddenly he was on a collision course with a ball of mud, of rather large dimensions, something that could not be found on any chart in the known universe. Before he could react he found out the hard way that the law of gravity had an awful lot of down, and very little up, and doesn’t come equipped with hand grips. Clay watched the unfolding events before him, and rejoiced in the thought that a passing God had answered his prayers. He would have offered up a prayer of thanks to the god in question that instigated his good fortune, but for the fact that he did not know which god had been passing at that particular moment. If he prayed, and got it wrong, the wrath of the other gods might be vested upon him, and a pissed off god was not what he wanted right now. A god hurling thunder bolts and lightning around in a fit of pique because he or she never got a mention in his prayers should be avoided at all costs. Nothing worse than a pissed off god. So all said and done it was best to just sit and do nothing.

Chapter 3

Dame Petunia Bladderwort

Dame Petunia Bladderwort hurried up the garden path and opened the front door of her detached cottage; it was in what estate agents would describe as being in a desirable area, one that was in the process of regeneration. Her cottage was in fact situated right in the middle of a building site; previously it had been semidetached but the construction workers had made her detached, with just a few swings of their wrecking ball. Now her little abode was an island in a sea of construction and partially completed buildings. She was a thorn in the flesh of the large supermarket that had brought up all the land surrounding her cottage, with the sole intention of developing it into a shopping centre. She steadfastly refused all there offers to buy her property, reasoning that an English woman’s home is her castle and worth fighting for so she had every intention of continuing to ignore their offers to buy her out. If only the dear brigadier was still here he would know what to do she reflected. The brigadier, her late husband, was a leading light in the third Bombay mounted dash hounds. A regiment renown for its social activities, which mainly comprised of drinking large amounts of gin and tonic as a preventive measure against malaria.

She closed the door on the wet world outside and proceeded to remove her plastic rain coat, having stepped over the letters that the postman had delivered earlier that day. She made her way to the kitchen discarding the now sodden newspaper that was now disintegrating. She consigned it to the waist bin without attempting to read it, as it had now served its purpose. The front page suddenly caught her eye; Wettest and coldest summer on record screamed the 40Pt headlines. As she put the kettle on for a nice cup of tea, she wondered if old Wilf the newspaper vendor may have had a point after all.

Dame Petunia had by her own standards, fallen upon penury times. Due in some part in her refusal to acknowledge the generous offers that the supermarket had made to her for the sale of her cottage. She made the tea and settled back into her favorite arm chair, which was now sagging under the extra strain that it was being subjected to. The arm chair, along with all the other furniture in the cottage was inherited from the Dowager Duchess upon her passing. A picture of whom took pride of place upon her mantelpiece. Petunia preferred the epithet of whom, it was a word befitting her station in life, and she always thought who was a common word, where as Whom had a degree of elegance to it. Staring down from an old hand carved, and now worm eaten wooden picture frame was an timeworn hand painted image, consisting mainly of faded red’s and brown’s, with occasional fly spots, as if to add punctuation to the faded representation of a very large stern woman, who had more chins than a Chinese telephone directory.

The picture conveyed to the viewer an impression that the artist had somehow successfully managed to position a dress on a blancmange. Whereas you find some pictures give you the impression that the eyes are following you around the room. This one gave the impression of cutting right through you. The portrait of the dowager duchess could out stair a glass eyed sailor.

Petunia relaxed back into her chair as it gave a creek of protest and then resigned itself to the large load it was expected to bare. Petunia for a while listened as the rain beat a tattoo on the windows. She reached out for a seed catalogue that was lying on a table next to her, and with a cup in one hand, she began to leaf through the glossy pages that showed illustrations of immaculate gardens and parkland. She daydreamed of the seeds and plants that she one day would order for her garden and her potting shed. The potting shed in question was where she did most of her gardening. By growing plants from seed, and selling them at the local farmers market, she was able to make a little spare cash, for a rainy day. The rainy day in question never came, but today would make Noah think twice.

Chapter 4

Cyril meets Clay Potter

That was impressive said Clay, pardon responded Cyril, Your landing that was impressive, I would have thought only a corps could have survived that wreckage, answered Clay. Cyril slowly took in the vision before him gradually distinguishing from the mass of mud, a pair of legs, arms, a head and a pair of eyes and a mouth. Oh sorry I did not see you there he finally managed to answer, having decided that the mud laden figure before him was indeed of human origin. Don’t worry, it’s the mud, it clings to everything, mind you it does make good camouflage if you wanted to blend in with the surroundings said Clay. I think I have blended in to the surroundings, but hopefully I will not be here long enough to make it a permanent feature, As soon as I can get my transporter fixed, I will be leaving replied Cyril, ever the optimist. By the way what is this place? Clay went into a long and detailed explanation of how he found the mud planet and set up a very profitable business mining the mud and turning it into flower pots, In turn Cyril introduced himself as the international model currently being features in this months Gnomes and Gardens magazine, Clay ended his narrative with In that case I think we may be able to help each other, I have a little proposition for you. What do you have in mind? Enquired Cyril, Clay went on to explain that the market was right for terra cotta garden Gnomes. But as nobody on Terra Aqua had actually seen a Gnome, their efforts at replicating one left a lot to the imagination and very little to reality . Would you be interested in modeling for our studio? He then added as an afterthought, for a fee naturally. Gnomes are famous for hording precious metals and more famous for their love of money, so the mention of a fee was immediately seized upon and a deal struck. Clay rose to his feet, accompanied by Cyril they both set off towards the mud man’s factory. Cyril carried what he could salvage from the wreck of his intergalactic explorer. As they trudged through soft mud, hard mud, sticky mud, and well mud of every form and constituency.

Eventually they found themselves at the bottom of a small hill, to keep up his sprits Cyril started to sing Mud glorious mud nothing quite like it for……err something, having forgotten the words he decided to remain silent. Why are you singing our national anthem asked Clay. I thought it was just a song, something I picked up in my travels replied Cyril. Well it’s not, and we only sing it on special occasions, came the terse reply you learn something new each day answered Cyril. Knowledge doesn’t always equate to wisdom said Clay as they reached the top of the hill.

Stretching out before them was a large plane of mud. In the distance Cyril could just make out a peak rising above the flat wasteland. What is that? he asked. That is the forbidden mountain, the home of the Keeper, and the artifacts of the seen and unseen universes. Clay replied. Sounds an interesting sort of chap said Cyril. He is a recluse, keeps himself to himself so we don’t bother him, and he doesn’t bother us, we have an unspoken agreement. Came Clay's response Look". Clay stopped and pointed to a small settlement that had just come into view as they rounded the side of the hill.

Set in a great crater that had been formed when the planet had an unfortunate encounter with a large passing asteroid, this resulted in the creation of a huge muddy hole on the surface of the sphere.

The settlement comprised of several blocks of houses and adjoining them was pathways that lead off to a couple of large buildings these were emitting an orange glow that illuminated the low cloud base above the complex. Rail lines could be seen linking these large structures to what appeared to Cyril to be a landing area, the whole complex gave the impression of a bicycle wheel with the buildings at its centre and radiating off from them were what appeared to be rail tracks. The whole place was alive with frantic activity .From his vantage point Cyril could see that a massive freight transporter was coming into land. Transporters carry the finished bricks and flower pots to a distribution centre for onward delivery explained Clay.

As they spoke, another much larger craft was preparing to take off this spacecraft was a lot different to the transporter that Cyril had seen, it had, Cyril thought a massive storage container on its underside, and the workers around it were wearing protective materials and holding long metallic rods. What are those used for? Cyril asked, pointing to the waiting spacecraft. They are very special, they are our fuel transporters. They bring us the fuel for our furnace and kilns, the fuel is very eco-friendly and doesn’t give off any carbon emissions. Something other worlds may one day come to use as well" responded Clay,

You may appreciate that not being on any charts we don’t get many visitors, and being virtually invisible to the outside world, we don’t get any merchants wishing to trade with us, so we have to make use of what natural resources we can find. Apart from the odd lost traveler such as yourself we have very few visitors Well I’m definitely a lost traveler replied Cyril I was on my way to Earth, when your planet crossed my flight path. Yes it would do that, answered Clay; we don’t have a set orbit as such so we are at the mercy of the gravitational pull of whichever planet is nearest. A bit like a ball in a cosmic pinball machine observed Cyril.

On their arrival at the mud men’s complex Clay led Cyril to a small cabin just aside from the main collection of buildings. You can make yourself at home in here said Clay as he turned to leave. Upon entering the cabin Cyril noticed that it was furnished in a basic but comfortable style. With an on suite shower and W.C. situated just off the main room. On the wall opposite he was a small sign that read Our world is Mud. And Mud is our world. Very inspiring "he said to himself, I think these boys are in need of a good marketing executive.

He made himself comfy ,and proceeded to unpack some of the things that he was able to salvage from his wrecked spacecraft, amongst which was a mark 2 intergalactic universal translator something, that he had picked up in his travels for a very modest price. When it was sold to him he was assured by the seller that that it would translate every known language, and make an educated guess at any unknown tongue.

Chapter 5

The Garden Shed

Dame Petunia stirred from her chair, and trundled to the kitchen. When her ladyship moved from place to place she appeared to do so without any visible bodily movement. It was as if she was gliding on a set of well-oiled yet unseen wheels concealed beneath her flowing outer garments.

On her way past the portrait of the dowager duchess she remarked I’ll just have another cupper before I pop out to the shed to see how this year’s seedlings are doing she addressed this sentence to the picture. Despite of, or because of, her title Dame Petunia was no shrinking violet. She reached down to pop a tea bag into a large mug that the builders on the site next door would have been proud to own. While at the same time donning an old battered bee keeper’s hat that had seen better days, not only seen them but survived them, as bourn out by its battered and war torn appearance.

Making her way from her kitchen to the potting shed she side steeped some of the deeper puddles left as a calling card by the recent downpour. Carefully avoiding the larger puddles, knowing that her rubber boots would offer her no protection