Chapter 11
Botherworth unlocked the door and they stepped through.
Before them was a landscape that looked as if it had been dug by a million giant moles working together with a million giant rabbits. There were hollows and mounds and after that yet more hollows and mounds, all much higher and deeper than a man is tall. The mounds consisted of rocks and rubble and other stuff that had obviously been dug out of the hollows. It was a daunting landscape and one that would require strength and energy to cross.
“It looks like a giant Arraranx has been at work,” Botherworth said.
“What’s one of those?” Oliver asked.
“You don’t want to know… You really don’t want to know…,” Botherworth said.
“Look, you’re always trying to put us off doing things,” Oliver told him, “Perhaps its time for a more positive attitude, eh? Look at Brother Goodwill—” and the brother smiled.
Botherworth responded, “It’s looking at him so joyful that makes me miserable….” He turned to Roland, “Anyway, I suppose I really ought to wish you ‘good luck’ on your quest. You’re certainly going to need it! Now, I got things to do so if you’ll excuse me…”
“And where are you off to?” Roland asked.
“Downstairs, where my job is, where I’ve got things to do - when I am not being pestered by kids and other nuisances…”
“What!” Gasped Oliver, “Aren’t you afraid of those black cloud things! After what we’ve just been through!”
But Botherworth just brandished his broom defiantly, “Next time I’ll bring a dust pan as well!”
“You’re coming with us,” Roland said.
“Oh no I’m not,” said Botherworth. I said I’d come to the top of the tower and that’s all! I left the kettle on downstairs and it’s time for my tea so if you’ll excuse me…”
“The lift may only be fit for one more journey – and you’re not taking it without us. You’re coming with us to make sure you don’t.”
“Oh no…!” Botherworth insisted “I’m not moving! I know what’s out there!”
“Great! In that case you will be our guide!”
“Well, err… I don’t really know that much, actually…”
“You either come with us or stay here,” Roland told him, “because I will lock the door and take the key,” and he grabbed the key, with Botherworth still attached, “I am sure we can find a way to get it off the chain!”
“Do you want to stay alone here, possibly with a giant Arraranx?” Oliver asked.
“Rrrrrr!” Savitri said loudly, having crept up behind Botherworth. He jumped slightly.
Roland took the key — together with the attached caretaker — to the door, which he locked, “There. Now no one can use it but us.”
Savitri and Oliver both grabbed Botherworth by the shoulders and started to move him in a positive direction.
“This is the way,” said Oliver.
“Alight, alright, I’ll come,” said Botherworth, realising he had no choice, “just don’t expect me to be happy about it.”
“I don’t think we’d ever expect that of you!” Oliver said. The others all laughed.
The struggle to climb up and down the mounds and in and out of the hollows nearly knocked the cheerfulness out of all of them. Their pace became slower as they stumbled more and began to curse every step. It was also a depressing landscape, with not a tree or a flower or any kind of living creature, despite the appearance that it had been made by animals. It was as if nature had made a mess of it and then got fed up with the state it had created and deserted it, presumably to go off and ruin somewhere else. It was a depressing idea and they all thought something like it but all kept it to themselves – even Botherworth.
“Does it ever end?” Oliver asked, after a couple of hours.
“One can only hope,” Roland said.
“And have faith,” Brother Goodwill said, “It really isn't that bad! For an absolutely awful place it is rather pleasant, as absolutely awful places go!”
“Name a more awful, awful place,” Botherworth challenged.
“Errmmm,” said Goodwill, who just couldn’t think of one.
“I knew it!” Botherworth said, as triumphantly as he dismally could, “He doesn’t know how awful things can really get!”
"Worse than this?" Roland asked.
“Much worse!” Botherworth said.
“Then you think Goodwill is right – you think there are more awful, awful places, so therefore this place isn’t that bad in comparison!”
“I didn’t say that!”
“It is a logical deduction from what you said!”
Botherworth grumbled under his breath, “Youngsters and their tricks. I’ll show ‘em!”
Proving Botherworth wrong cheered them all up – everyone except Botherworth, of course, but even he seemed to get a bit of grit after the discussion - presumably from irritation.
Their cheerfulness, and Botherworth’s grit, were nearly used up completely by the time they reached the top of the last, and by far the largest, of the mounds. Once at the top they found that they were looking across at a neighbouring hill with a village on it. This village looked a most strange affair, consisting of a single street that went straight up to the top of the hill and straight down the other side. The houses along it were built as two continuous rows facing each other across the street, all the way up and all the way down.
“A typical mining town,” Brother Goodwill said, “– filled with hardworking people joyous in their daily toil!”
"Slaves to the system more like," Botherworth said, in a bolshie tone.
“We can ask directions there,” Roland said, “It’s not far!”
“It’s out of our way!” Botherworth said firmly, “Beware the Nollynocks and the Grimbles!”
“So that’s where they are!” Roland said.
That’s where they are, and where we oughtn’t to go!” Botherworth said, and he repeated, “Beware the Nollynocks and the Grimbles!”
“Firebrace said that too.”
“And he was right! Beware the Nollynocks and the Grimbles!”
“Why? What can they do?” Roland asked, intrigued more than worried.
“Its more a matter of what they can make you think you can do,” Botherworth said, cryptically.
“Well, we’ll just have to deal with it,” Roland said, “If they start any trouble, we will have to fight our way out, won’t we Savitri?” and he looked at her.
“Absolutely!” she said, and wielded her sword.
“Some folks can only learn by experience,” Botherworth said, rolling his eyes, “If I refuse to go, I suppose you’ll just drag me…”
“Quite right,” Oliver said.
Botherworth muttered something in a janitorial tone.
As they grew closer to the village they saw that a washing line was stretched out in a zigzag pattern back and forth across the street, threaded through the upper storeys of the houses. It continued up to the brow of the hill and over it, out of sight. Along it items of laundry were being pulled in the direction of the hill top, passing over it to the other side. Occasionally the line reversed direction and items came back again. The companions watched as the laundry zigzagged its way up and down.
“What on earth is going on?” Roland asked.
“It’s a sort of code,” Brother Goodwill said, “How wonderful! If only I had quill and parchment! Never mind, I think I can do without. Now let’s see, two pairs of underpants, one sock, a shirt, a jerkin, errrm…. Yes! Something about the strangers they have been expecting – prepare a big welcome – very big – great excitement – do something or other to mark their way as they come along the street!”
“You can tell all that from moving laundry?” Oliver asked.
“I have a gift,” Goodwill said – “which came in very useful in times past.”
It was too intriguing to pass up. With Botherworth still muttering warnings under his breath, they
headed for the village.
As they entered the street a short pair of long pants appeared at a window and was hauled across the street on the line, starting on its zigzag way up the street. It was followed by a line of bunting. As they walked up the cobbled street the short pair of long pants kept pace with them, always ahead, like a herald. Behind them the bunting was stretching out so that the whole street was becoming festooned. When they got to the brow of the hill the people in the houses rushed to the windows, cheering, waving excitedly and throwing long pretty coloured streamers down on them. Right at the top of the hill a line of musicians came out of one of the houses, all playing a jolly tune on brass instruments together with a big, booming bass drum. The band marched down the street behind the short long johns and in front of Roland and his friends. People started to come out of the houses and follow them so that there was a crowd behind them, all cheering.
They all arrived at the end of the street to be greeted by a group of small men in smart, dark coloured suits and dome shaped hats with brims. Some of the men were unable to stand completely upright, whilst the others were almost bent double. It looked as if they had all spent a long time in a place with very low ceilings.
“That’s what being underground for a long long time does to you – hundreds of years,” – Botherworth explained, “The ones that can stand nearly upright – them’s the Nollynocks. They do the hard work at the mine face, with pick and shovel. The ones that can’t stand up straight at all – them with the very long forearms – them's the Grimbles – they’re the ones who push the mine carts in and out of the mines.”
As Botherworth finished speaking the group of suited men parted in the middle and one of the Nollynocks made his way to front. He wore golden chains around his neck and acted as if he were very important.
“Welcome!” he said “We have been anticipating your arrival for centuries! Finally! Outsiders inspired to invest in our little venture,” and he put his hands together and clapped, starting a round of applause that rippled through the group of suited men right out to the crowds of people. The important-acting Nollynock puffed himself up and continued, “On behalf of the Parish Council and people and folk of The Parish of Saint Caragdeweller the Great and Less And somewhere-in-between I am pleased to welcome you to our humble yet proud habit-it-tu-tude-it-it-tations and to grant you the freedom of the borough,” and again there was applause as the suited men parted once more and a mine cart pushed by some of the Grimbles made its way through to the front.
The important-acting Nollynock picked up an enormous golden key that was placed on the rocks in the mine cart. He nearly buckled under its weight and quickly handed it to Roland who managed to hold it for a second before he passed it to both Savitri and Oliver to struggle with.
“Many happy returns!” The important-acting Nollynock said. “I now pronounce us all man and wife!” and there was a burst of very loud applause from all of the attending Nollynocks and Grimbles.
“Thank you,” Roland said, “but in truth we came here for another purpose. We are looking for The Whales Of The Sky…”
“A quest!” Said the man, “Then you’ll be needing inspiration!” he said, looking at the cart.
“No, we need directions,” Oliver said.
“But a bit of inspiration won’t go amiss,” the man persisted, hopefully.
“Depends whether we want to be inspired,” said Botherworth, “Or need to be…”
“Anyway, we don’t even know your names,” said the man.
“Don’t give them your names,” Botherworth said.
“Why not?” Roland asked.
“The fairies are tricky with names…”
Roland told Botherworth “Firstly, they don’t look like fairies, and second, telling them our names is a proper courtesy and will do no harm. He turned to the man, “My name is Roland and these are my friends, Oliver, Savitri and Brother Goodwill, and this is, err , well… This is Mister Botherworth.”
Botherworth grunted.
“Welcome! We have prepared a feast for you!” said the important acting Nollynock, and the men in front of them parted to reveal an entranceway that led into a grassy mound. The important-acting Nollynock indicated that this was the way that they should go.
“I regret we don’t have the time,” Roland said, “We have a castle and a village to save from some very nasty people, and we have a friend who could be executed at any time…”
“And don’t forget some vengeance!” said Savitri, swinging her sword in her usual way.
“And the vengeance, too,” Roland added.
“Mustn’t forget the vengeance,” Oliver said, facetiously.
“Sounds important,” said the man, “but I am afraid we really don’t know where these ‘sky whales’ are. Of course, if you came in and spent some time in merriment, eating and drinking, then meanwhile we can ask around and maybe find out about them for you.”
“Alright,” said Roland, “but if you can’t find out anything we must be on our way. Meanwhile, a little food can’t do us any harm. I for one am hungry. After all, getting here was hard work!”
Botherworth grunted and rolled his eyes.
They followed the man into the mound and down a very long, narrow, low-ceilinged passage lit with flaming torches. At the end was a long hall, again with a very low ceiling. In it long benches were arranged lengthwise. At the far end was a table raised up on a dais beneath a very low ceiling. They were ushered forwards to it, bending over so as not to bump their heads. The important-acting Nollynock with the golden chains joined them at the table along with the other men in the dark suits, whilst the rest of the villagers filled the rows of long benches. Almost as soon as they had sat bowls of steaming soup were rushed out and placed in front of them.
“Looks good,” Oliver said
“Don’t eat the fairy food!” Botherworth warned in a low but audible voice, “It’s page one of The Underworld Explorers Guide! It’s a Code C Two-Eleven red alert in the Great Stith’s handbook!”
“It’s just food,” Oliver said, and tucked in. The others did the same. Botherworth sat and grimaced as he watched them.
Plates of meat and vegetables and flagons of drink were brought and consumed, then more and yet more. It seemed as if the meal would never end. Oliver turned to Botherworth, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not as hungry as you must be by now."
Oliver wondered what he meant, then he realised that he felt as if he hadn’t eaten a thing.
The visitors were too busy eating to notice that the villagers were melting away into the darkness, gradually, one by one. By that time they were far too happy to care….
“This is a wonderful place,” Roland declared, “It makes me want to create – to realise my dreams!”
“I shall write a poem and set it to music!” said Oliver.
“And I shall paint a picture!” said Savitri.
“And I shall build the most marvellous new monastery!” said Goodwill.
“Uh oh,” said Botherworth, rolling his eyes again.
Roland said, “I have always wanted to be a sculptor. Imagine before me is a great block of stone, I am walking around it now! I shall start to break off bits here – and here – and here! The statue is already in there, waiting for me to free it, to give it form, to give it life!”
“What are you sculpting?” asked Savitri.
“You shall see,” said Roland, taking up an imaginary chisel.
“I have never even played a musical instrument,” Oliver said, “but I can hear the tune already in my head. All I need is the means to write it down, if can figure out how to write the notes - what about you Savitri?”
“Oh yes!” said Savitri, “I can already see the painting in my mind. All I need is brush and canvas – what about you Brother Goodwill?”
“First I must plan my great monastery,” said Goodwill – “It will have all mod-cons for the most modern and up to date monastic brotherhood - whilst still living in p
overty, of course. A hospital for the sick, worship areas for all faiths and denominations, and a great big room for pure joy itself – imagine – a room just for JOY!”
“Oh dear - oh dear - oh dear,” said Botherworth.
“How long do we have?” asked Oliver.
“As long as we need!” said Roland, “As long as we need! We are free to create, to dream, to revel in our fantasies!”
“Dear - oh dear - oh dear - oh deary, deary me,” said Botherworth. Shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
Roland started chipping away at his imaginary block of stone.. In his mind he could already see the finished sculpture – a fine replica of his father, looking like the proud hero Roland always imagined him as; sword drawn, ready to defend the defenceless and vanquish those who oppressed them.
As Roland chipped he did not notice the broom that came up behind him, the broom with which he was hit over the head with a ‘doink!’ The head of the broom was then neatly hooked around his neck and he was dragged away.
Meanwhile Oliver was composing the loveliest tune that had ever been heard – it involved harps and dulcimers and citherns and all the other most beautiful, delightful sounding instruments he could think of. He was composing it so that they would all sing together in magnificent harmony that would reach up, up - up to the very heavens so that the angels themselves would hear it and start to sing along. The words he set to it were of shepherds and shepherdesses in a pastoral idyll, where Great Pan played his pipes to soothe all of his creatures.
He didn’t notice the broom either. Again it was sneaked up behind and he was hit on the head with a ‘doink!’ It was then hooked around his neck. He was dragged away.
Savitri was imagining; it was to be a bloody scene painted with slashing brush strokes, every stroke most satisfying as it did bloody violence to one of the figures in the painting.
Like Roland and Oliver before her, Savitri did not notice the broom come from behind. It struck her with a ‘doink!’ as it had done the two boys.
Brother Goodwill was thoroughly into planning his monastery. He envisaged in his mind an enormous building, “A monastery fit for a king!” he proclaimed, “although we would not be so immodest and grand to think so.”
As with the other three, he did not notice the broom that came up behind him, knocked him on the head and which then dragged him off.
As he started to come round Roland was having difficulty thinking about his statue. He now had a nagging feeling that there was something more important that he was neglecting. The feeling was growing inside him and made him feel very uncomfortable. His dream seemed to be fading like soap bubbles bursting and something was intruding into it. The something couldn’t quite make up its mind what it was. It was like a bright light, but it was also like a strong, sharp irritating sound that kept on insistently. It was slowly making up its mind that it was a squeaking, squealing noise, punctuated by an occasional grunt.
“My beautiful poem!” Oliver cried, feeling it seeping from his mind, like sand flowing through his fingers. He was experiencing the same as Roland; his dreams of music and poetry now totally interrupted and destroyed by a sullen feeing that it wasn’t what he should be doing, punctuated by a terrible squeaking noise that ripped right through his concentration.
Savitri was finding herself getting more and more annoyed. She wanted to express her anger in painting, yet now felt that there was something not right about it at all, that the real battle was not with brush and canvas but with a real sword, on a real battlefield, with real enemies. Then there was that terribly annoying scraping, squeaking noise that kept intruding right into her brain, stopping her thinking.
Where is my lovely, beautiful, joyous monastery going, thought Brother Goodwill, who felt it running away from him just as if it were on wheels, running downhill, starting slowly but speeding up, always out of his grasp as he frantically chased after it. At the same time the feeling was growing within him that this was the wrong time, the wrong place for such a project. There was something else far more important that had to be done first.
“But the monastery would have been so wonderful,” he wailed, “so wonderful!”
“Wouldn’t it just!” Botherworth’s rude voice intruded. Goodwill awoke and looked about him. He was in a wooden cart – a mine cart, being bumped along a track. Roland, Savitri and Oliver were piled in with him.
Botherworth was pushing them in the mine cart. It was a bumpy journey and it had helped to shake them all awake. Then there was that insistent, squeaking-scraping sound made by one of the cart’s wheels that got right into your head… Slowly their heads began to clear and they all began to look around and take in their new situation. They struggled out of the cart and staggered around, recovering their senses.
Oliver was the first to fully realise what had happened. “You rescued us?!” he asked Botherworth, incredulously.
“Yep!” said Botherworth, in a matter of fact way.
Roland asked, “Rescued us from what? What happened?”
Botherworth explained, “That back there is an inspiration mine, mining pure inspiration. The Nollynocks and the Grimbles have built up an unhealthy tolerance of it, but it doesn’t stop them wanting to share it with others…”
“But I don’t understand. You could have gone just back to the tower and left us…”
Botherworth told them, “Folks up the tower is my responsibility. Whatever the mess they get into through their own folly and despite my warnings, my job is to come and sort it out and rescue ‘em. If they get stuck in the loos, I have to come and free ‘em, if they eat a dose of pure inspiration, I got to come and hit ‘em over the head with this – ‘ere broom,” —and he brandished it — “and hoik ‘em out before any real harm can come to ‘em…”
“You did your job very well,” said Roland, “very well indeed. Thank you, though I must confess that I am not really sure what came over you.”
“It’s obvious,” Oliver said, “He was inspired to! He was inspired enough to do his job without any extra inspiration!”
“Do me a favour!” Botherworth said, and they all laughed.
“Anyone got anything to eat?” Oliver asked, “I’m starving…”