Blue Fire and Ice (2 page)

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 the blue fire out. 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. When the beans were harvested, they were then 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 warmth of the day had increased 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.