Furnaces of Forge (The Land's Tale) (10 page)

‘Cres,’ Touch said, ‘you don’t suppose they’ve heard . . .’

‘I would say that’s likely, Touch,’ she replied. ‘Look.’

There is a word in Myrmidia for a group of Myrmidots: a ‘fix’. And, standing at a respectful distance, a very large fix of Myrmidots had gathered round their wagons. When they saw Touch and Cres approach, the Myrmidots clapped, and some even cheered. Many came forward and hugged them.

‘Well done!’ said one.

‘It must have been quite a journey!’ said another.

‘You’ll have to come down to Brew’s tonight and tell us all about it!’ said a third.

‘How’s the hand, Touch?’ asked yet another.

Touch began to feel much happier. He acknowledged everyone’s greeting and returned every hug. In fact, it surprised him when he realised that he was feeling a little self-conscious. Cres, too, found herself embarrassed at all the attention. She was relieved when Copper appeared and held up his hand for some quiet.

‘Friends, I am sure that Touch and Cres appreciate your congratulations. Yes, they did travel to the High Mountains and they did bring back some of the rock of blue fire. And yes, they have a plan to use it to provide endless power in our furnaces. And yes, I am sure they will have time to tell you all about their adventure when working hours are over. Right now, we have work to do.’

There is nothing Myrmidots understand so well as having work to do. With calls of ‘good luck’ and a few extra hugs, they drifted back to their own work, leaving Copper with the two apprentices.

‘Well, youngsters, let’s go in and plan how we’re going to do this,’ said Copper. ‘The day’s half over –’ though it was not yet eleven o’clock – ‘and we have a lot of work ahead of us.’

They followed Copper into the workshop. In the middle was a large drafting desk. From a drawer that ran the full width of the desk, Copper took a new sheet of paper.

Copper spoke as he fixed the paper to the desk. ‘I have a few questions before we start planning. We’ll just wait for – ah, here she is,’ he said.

Dot walked towards them from the other side of the workshop.

‘Hello, Cres. Hello, Touch,’ she said . ‘I’m glad you’re back safely.’

Touch’s euphoria disappeared. Having Copper in charge was one thing; having a third-year apprentice who was entitled to tell Touch and Cres what to do was worse. Even if it was Dot. ‘It isn’t fair,’ he thought. ‘Why doesn’t anyone trust us?’

‘OK,’ said Copper. ‘Touch, Cres, this is your plan, not mine, nor Dot’s. We’re here to help, not to tell you what to do. Why don’t you explain to me what you intend and then you can draft the plans. Dot will assist you with that.’ As long as I see you’re doing things the right way I’ll not interfere.’

Touch couldn’t believe it. Copper was leaving it to Cres and him to decide. And Touch had no intention of letting Copper regret his decision. He looked at Cres and saw the mixture of relief and determination in her eyes. This time they’d get it right. But there was something Touch had to know.

‘Are you saying that you agree with this, Copper? I sort of thought that you weren’t in favour of bringing the blue fire to Forge.’

‘I wasn’t and I’m still not, Touch,’ said Copper. ‘But it’s been done and the best I can do is to make sure it is as safe as it can be. Now, tell us what you have in mind.’

Together, Touch and Cres told Copper the plan. The engineer listened without interrupting. When the apprentices had finished, he nodded and said, ‘Sounds fine. Let’s get to it.’

‘Hadn’t we better move the stone to a safer container first?’ asked Cres. ‘I’m not sure how long it will last in that one.’

‘That old cast metal oven from the old foundry should do,’ Copper suggested. ‘How do you intend to get it from the wagon into the oven?’

‘Tongs,’ replied Touch. ‘We’ll lift it with iron tongs.’

‘I think what Copper meant, Touch, was: how do we get it from the wagon into the oven without it bursting into flames?’ Dot said.

Touch and Cres looked at her blankly.

‘Blue fire rock explodes into flames when it’s exposed to air. As soon as we unseal the wagon we’ll be in all sorts of trouble,’ Copper explained.

‘Of course,’ said Touch, embarrassed. ‘But we hadn’t quite worked out that bit of the plan yet.’

Cres raised her hand hesitantly. ‘Can I make a suggestion?’ she asked. ‘Why don’t we just put the whole wagon in? The oven’s big enough. That’ll give us a few days to work out how to move it safely.’

Copper looked at her for a few seconds, then grinned. ‘Sounds like a good idea to me, Cres. You OK with that, Touch?’

Relief spread across Touch’s face. He gave Cres a look of gratitude. ‘Very OK,’ he said.

‘Maybe we should have asked Hazlitt and Edith some more questions,’ said Cres.

‘That might have been wise,’ Copper agreed, ‘but I have a feeling they told you just what they wanted you to know.’

‘Too late now,’ said Touch. ‘They’re probably on their way back to where they came from. We’ll never see them again, I bet.’

≈

North-east of Home, the land swells into gentle hills covered in coffee trees. The hills rise and dip, falling away into a lush green valley that extends all the way to Beadledom. At the northern end of the valley is a meadow, with long green grass and a blanket of wild flowers. At the top of the meadow, hidden among the trees, is a beautiful, small lake fed by a trickling stream that escaped from the Salvation River many kilometres away. As the day broke, the first rays of the sun lit two figures by the side of the lake, washing their hands and faces.

‘Those two should be back in Forge by now. Provided they didn’t dilly-dally,’ said Edith. ‘Oh! That’s cold!’

‘If they dilly too long or dally too much, they’ll find themselves in more than just hot water.’ Hazlitt chuckled.

‘I wish we had hot water,’ Edith sighed. ‘Maybe we should have brought a Beadle or two with us.’

‘Don’t worry. We shall soon have one.’

‘We will, won’t we?’ said Edith, brightening considerably.

They finished washing and headed back to the campsite.

‘What do you say we have a peek at the Muddles before we head off? They’ll be harvesting that coffee of theirs and the plantation isn’t that far off,’ Hazlitt suggested.

‘Very well. But only a quick peek. All Muddles look the same to me,’ Edith replied. And they burst out laughing.

≈

The morning was filled with the chatter of Muddles as they walked to the plantation. The crisp, early air rang with their laughter, as clear and sharp as the call of the bellbirds that dotted the orchards. No one noticed the two figures hidden among the trees on the ridge to the north, watching the Muddles make their way to the plantation for the day’s work. Of all the Muddles, only Crimson felt a burden that morning. The unexpected pain of the day before had worried her. Today, that worry was made worse by a familiar but unwelcome feeling.

It had descended on her as she’d been making her way through the woods. It was the same feeling she’d had in the High Mountains, when Amelia had been watching her. Crimson stopped and scanned the woods and hills around her. Then, as abruptly as it had come, the feeling disappeared.

≈

Hazlitt and Edith kicked their mounts to an easy trot and headed due east, towards Mint, the second town of Beadledom.

Chapter 6

A Rescue

F
or the rest of that day, Crimson helped with the harvest alongside her friends. The work and the companionship soon banished the memory of yesterday’s pain and the morning’s uneasy sensation. An hour or so past noon, not long after the Muddles had finished lunch and gone back to their jobs, Reach and Crimson were lifting one of the large buckets of freshly picked cherries when Wave flashed into the clearing on his bike. He had been riding hard and sweat dripped from his face on to his shirt. He brought his bike to a stop, the back wheel locking and sliding. A cloud of dust erupted around him.

Wave was breathing hard, his head bent as he gasped for breath. He lifted his head and Crimson’s heart lurched. Wave’s eyes were bright were fear.

The Muddles stopped and gathered round the young surfer. He took a large swallow of air and began to speak in hoarse bursts.

‘Leaf! She’s had . . . an . . . accident!’

There was a moment’s silence, and then the Muddles bombarded the surfer with questions.

‘Where?’

‘Is she hurt?’

‘How?’

‘When?’

Crimson made her way to Wave. She could see his distress and she laid her hand on his shoulder. She turned to the other Muddles.

‘Wait! Let him catch his breath,’ she said firmly. The Muddles fell silent.

Wave’s lungs were returning to normal. He lifted his head and looked at Crimson. Tears filled his eyes.

‘Oh, Crimson! She might be . . . I couldn’t reach her . . . We have to get her . . .’ The words tumbled out of him.

The panic in Crimson’s chest grew. She forced herself to stay calm. In a voice as steady and soothing as she could manage, she asked, ‘Wave, where is Leaf? What’s happened to her?’

Crimson’s steadiness helped Wave. His voice trembled, but he answered calmly, ‘At the top of the hill, beyond the new coffee trees. There’s a steep cliff past the grove. She’s at the bottom of the cliff.’

Dread flooded into Crimson, washing away the panic and replacing it with fear. For an instant she stood frozen to the spot, unable to believe what Wave was saying.

‘I know the place,’ she said at last. ‘Do you know what state she’s in?’

Wave shook his head. ‘No, I tried to find a way down, but the cliff’s too sheer. I didn’t want to spend too much time looking. I thought it better to come and get help.’

Grunge stepped forward and patted his friend’s shoulder. ‘You did the right thing,’ he reassured him.

Crimson fought the urge to cry. Instead, she turned to the silent Muddles. ‘We have to get to her right away,’ she said.

Immediately, every Muddle moved. ‘Wait!’ yelled Crimson. ‘I know every one of you is worried about Leaf and wants to help, but it doesn’t need all of us. It’s better if just a few go.’ She surveyed the Muddles. ‘Reach, we’ll need you. We’ll have to pull her up the cliff face,’ she said.

‘Where’s Bright?’ asked Grunge. ‘She’d better come, too.’

Crimson nodded. ‘And Slight and Japes. With Wave, that should be enough of us to carry her.’

The ballerina, the magician and the jester came and stood next to Crimson and Wave.

Patch came forward. ‘I’ll not wait to be asked. I’m comin’. I cain’t jist sit ’ere and wait fer youse. Not when it’s Leaf. I ’ave ta help.’

‘Yes, you can help, Patch, but not by coming. Can you find Miniver, please, and tell her what’s happened? Tell her where we’ve gone,’ Crimson replied, giving the pirate a gentle smile.

Patch nodded. ‘If that’s what you think’s best, Crimson. I s’pose yer right. If weese don’t tell Miniver about young Leaf, weese’ll all be needin’ Bright’s bandages when Miniver finds out, I reckons.’ Patch pushed through the crowd and disappeared into the forest.

‘Right, Poke, Kite, Chip – can you please fetch some rope? Lots of it. That cliff is at least twenty metres high,’ said Grunge.

The three young Muddles nodded and sprinted towards Home as fast as their legs could carry them.

‘What’s this about Leaf?’ Bright’s gentle voice trembled as she made her way to Crimson. ‘She’s hurt?’

‘Yes. We don’t know how badly. She fell down a cliff. We need to rescue her. We need you to come. Have you got your bag with you?’

‘Yes, here,’ said the nurse, the quiver in her voice under control. ‘I hope I . . . you know . . . I’m not much good . . .’

‘You’ll be fine, Bright,’ Crimson reassured her. ‘Now we’ll probably have to carry Leaf back, so we’ll need a stretcher. We can’t wait to go back to the hospital to get one.’ She looked around. ‘I have an idea. Grunge, can you help me, please?’

A few minutes later, Crimson and Grunge had taken two poles from the drying nets and a large piece of strong cloth used to make bags for the beans. Just as they finished putting together the makeshift stretcher, the three teenagers returned with a thick coil of rope.

‘Right,’ said Crimson. ‘Let’s get Leaf.’

The rescuers moved as quickly as they could through the plantation. No one wasted breath and energy on talking. All thoughts were on Leaf. Crimson refused to believe that the Muddle scout could be seriously injured. It didn’t fit the picture in her head of Leaf. Leaf was always impeccably dressed, her scout uniform always spotless and perfectly pressed. Her nails were just the right length and precisely manicured and her make-up never more than that which befitted a fourteen-year old young lady.

Leaf loved Nature, but preferred it when Nature behaved itself. Her most essential camping items were her make-up kit, her books and the new CarryTune box the Myrmidots had invented. And her tent was unanimously considered to have the most original decoration of any scout’s tent.

Dust and dirt coated Bright’s pure white shoes as she ran. For once, she didn’t mind. Over and over she repeated to herself, ‘Leaf will be OK. I won’t faint. Leaf will be OK. I’ll remember what to do. Leaf will be OK. I won’t faint . . .’