Chapter Text
It seemed a simple enough idea; a flexible telescopic ladder, small enough to be carried in the Whirlyped, but when fully extended it could arc high over the Dreammaker’s wall to the top of the tower and then through the window to the Dreamstone below. It worked perfectly, until the Wuts arrived. Now there is nothing on Nug’s mind other than self-preservation; that is, a full-speed dash to the relative safety of the Whirlyped, dodging blasts from their magical glowing orbs. Just when he thinks he is running as fast as he can possibly go, a sharp burn to the tail sends him charging through the pain barrier to the steps of the Whirlyped. Already a pair of Wuts are swooping around it on their leaves, blasting at the rotors and the windows and any joints that could be weak spots; the lights flicker and the metal shudders with every hit, but Nug slumps to the floor with relief, gasping for breath.
He doesn’t have long to recover. Blob is next through the hatch.
“On your bikes, men,” he commands through wheezing breaths as he stumbles up to the controls, “get pedalling!”
“Frizz isn’t here yet, Sarge.”
“Then we’ll have to abbreviate him, or we’ll all be violated! Get pedalling!”
The increasing frequency and intensity of the blasts from the Wuts’ globes persuades Nug to carry out his orders. Although the casing is dented and some of the wires are sparking, the rotors begin to turn as he pedals. The Wuts scatter as the flying machine lifts off, slightly wobbly and trailing black smoke, but still just about functional.
“Looks like they’re letting us go, Sarge,” pants Nug.
“Yes indeed Nug, it is a hasty retreat what they is beating now our vehicular conveyance is in motion.”
“So are we going back for Frizz then?”
“Absolutely not! I would be highly illusionary to be engendering the two of us in the hope of rescuing the one of him, would I not, Nug?”
He tries to trust the sergeant’s logic. The Whirlyped certainly couldn’t stand much more bombardment, and one soldier down sounds better than three. But the chair opposite is looking very empty indeed. Horrifically, tragically empty. The rattle and drone of the machinery is deafeningly loud without the familiar overlay of Frizz’s fretting and complaining and astute criticisms of the leadership. He’s not here, and they’re just going home...
“He’s my best mate though, Sarge,” says Nug. Just like the Whirlyped, he is barely holding himself together.
“We’ll get you another one. It’ll be good for you to broaden your social horizons. People might extrapolate about you if you spend all your life with one friend. How about...”
“But Sarge, what if they’re taking him prisoner? What if they torture him to get information?”
“I wouldn’t worry, Nug, Frizz never knew nothing about nowt. No introspection will be fortuitous from him.”
“What if he’s hurt? What if he’s lost? Sarge, what if he’s... what if he’s... he’s dead, Sarge?!”
“Will you be quiet and keep pedalling?! All this expectoration is getting us nowhere.”
“But – but Sarge – we’ve lost Frizz!”
“Aah, but we has gained the Dreamstone, has we not, Nug? You and I shall henceforth be what is known as the heroes of Viltheed. You’ll have more friends than you knows what to be doing with. ”
“Sarge?”
“What is it, Nug?”
“Frizz was carrying it.”
* * *
Frizz does not open his eyes. He is aware of terrible pain, so intense it makes him feel light-headed. Someone close by is making a long, low, animalistic groan; he comes to the realisation that it is himself, but he is powerless to stop. He is lying on grass. It hurts. Everything hurts. Even the vocalisation coming out of his mouth hurts. As he becomes conscious of this, the sound subsides and he relaxes slightly; but relaxing hurts as well. Tensing up hurts, trying to move hurts, lying still again hurts. The only solution that springs to mind is to cry out for Nug, but that hurts too. It’s like a cruel joke.
Then there are voices around him, moving closer. Wuttish voices. They must be coming to kill him, to feed him to their frazznats or whatever equivalent they have instead. He can’t move, he can’t shout, he can’t reach his dagger, no-one is coming. This is the end of Frizz. Goodbye, cruel world, and good riddance. It’s been a complete waste of time.
“There’s the one that had the Dreamstone,” says one Wut, “Pildit stunned him and he fell off their big ladder.”
“He’s injured,” says another, “look how his leg’s bent! It shouldn’t go that way.”
“He’s breathing, and there doesn’t seem to be too much blood.”
“Are we going to kill him?”
“No, Spildit. No-one’s getting killed.”
“We ought to take that dagger off him, and check if he’s got any other weapons.”
“What shall we do with him?”
“We’ll take him to the Dreammaker and see what he thinks. Bring a leaf so we can carry him in.”
“Aah, here’s the Dreamstone, under this rose bush!”
“I’ve got a Happy Hoop here. Might make things a bit easier?”
“Good idea!”
A warm golden glow wells up on the underside of Frizz’s eyelids. All of a sudden, he realises that none of it is really all that bad. Everything is actually very nice. The pain is happening far away, and he is surrounded by lovely new friends. He opens his eyes to look at their pretty smiles, and finds that he is lying on the lawn in the Dreammaker’s garden, surrounded by the twisted remains of the telescopic ladder. It gleams beautifully in the copper light of the sunset. How exciting! He’d love to run off and look at all the pretty autumn leaves, but for some reason his right arm and leg aren’t moving. Strange. Never mind, all the nice Wuts are gathering around to lift him up. They’re putting him on one of those magical floating leaves. How very clever of them! The leaf feels lovely and soft, and sways gently. Very relaxing. Ooh, he’s being taken indoors, up into the tower. He’s been here many times before, but never actually been invited in, never had time to admire the décor. It’s very nice, clouds and sparkly stars and things. And here’s the Dreammaker himself! What an honour, to meet him at last. Oh, where’s he gone? Ah, he’s back! And he has some glittery red powder in his hand. Frizz grins and giggles as he is sprinkled with it, and falls into complete oblivion.
No time, no space, just wave after wave of gently undulating multicoloured light. He is floating, an orchestra is playing, he dances like a prima ballerina and a crowd of Wuts are applauding. Encore after encore. He is showered with flowers as he pirouettes again through all the colours of the rainbow, but the music is fading away. The admiring crowd disperses, the pain is back. It’s all down his right side, in his wrist, his chest, but mostly his leg. Surely it wasn’t this bad before? A room is gradually becoming visible behind the colourful fog; not a cave, a room in a building, though he can’t make out details without his glasses. Window with curtains drawn, door, light, figures moving around. One is leaning over him, holding him down. Green face, white coat. Not a good combination. Frizz does not like green people with white coats, and especially doesn’t want one near him when he is in such a vulnerable position. Inhaling to scream jabs sharply in his chest, only a weak little groan comes out of his mouth. In desperation he feels for his dagger with his left hand, but it is gone. He realises that his armour is gone too. All he has left is flailing his good hand at the green face looming overhead, trying to aim for the eyes.
His hand connects with something warm and furry. Long, coarse fur like a Noop. He recoils, puzzled, as the green person laughs a deep, gruff chuckle.
“Well, Dreammaker, I think we can safely say the dream powder’s wearing off. I wouldn’t use any more of that, we want him to stay still as much as possible. Now, I’ll admit I don’t have much experience of prescribing for Urpneys, I wouldn’t know how they react to pain relief...”
“Pain relief, yes!” Frizz gasps weakly, “Urpneys love pain relief!”
“And do you happen to know what drugs your doctors prescribe?”
“I just want some pain relief – make it go away, I want pain relief – I’m in agony, Noop Doctor!”
“I’ll see if there’s any recommendations in my books,” says the doctor, chuckling again, “For now, just try to keep still. If we take good care of this leg now, there’s a chance you might walk on it again. If the healing process is anything like a Noop’s, that is. I can’t promise anything.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” whimpers Frizz, struggling to control his sobbing, “just... do it now. No, I don’t want to be... to be waiting round... with that hanging over me. I’ve got... got no affairs to... set in order just... just tell Nug that I don’t blame him for running off, I’d have done the same. And... and tell my mum... I’m sorry I didn’t write more often. No... no, finish me quick. Do it now!”
“Shh, you’re not going to die,” says a gentle, feminine voice off to the left, “the doctor just doesn’t know yet if you’ll walk normally again. We’ll look after you.”
Frizz glances round as sharply as he is able. The voice sounds familiar, but he can’t place it. He squints again, struggling to make out more than a fuzzy khaki-coloured blob through his tears.
“Oh, of course, you’ll need your glasses,” says the kindly voice, “we took them off while you were dreaming.”
She puts his glasses on for him, everything is clearer; the doctor to the right, the Dreammaker and his fish hovering around in the background, and to the left –
“Noop Girl?” Frizz says, more confused than ever, “but why wouldn’t you kill me? The number of times I’ve tried to kidnap you – you fought me – your teeth are sharp! You nearly took my finger off once!”
“We don’t do that kind of thing here,” says the Dreammaker, calmly but firmly.
“Not even – not even if I can’t walk again?”
“Is that what they’d do in Viltheed?!” gasps the Noop Girl, horrified.
“What else would they do? The Frazznats need feeding.”
“Oh no, that’s awful! No, there are no Frazznats here. No-one’s going to kill you. We’re going to take care of you until you’re better.”
“Why, though?” Frizz asks, befuddled, “Why would you be nice to me? After all I’ve done? You caught me trying to steal the Dreamstone – I had it in my hands – and you’re still being nice to me!”
“You’re in the Land of Dreams now,” says the Dreammaker, drifting to the foot of the bed, “we treat others with respect by default. There also seems little to gain by causing you further harm, whereas if we earn your trust, you may be of service to us. You are not a prisoner.”
“I’ve got no information, if that’s what you mean. No-one tells me what’s going on. It’s just ‘do this, do that’ every day. ‘get in that rocket, jump over that ravine, drink this poison, or you’ll be fed to the Frazznats’. I don’t know nothing. I’d tell you if I did, but I don’t.”
“Oh, you poor thing!” coos the Noop Girl sympathetically, and strokes his arm with her furry green hand.
Frizz looks up at her, big-eyed. He’s never been called a Poor Thing before, and he likes it. He imagines he could be quite good at being a Poor Thing.
“What shall we call you?” she asks, “My name is Amberley.”
“Err- I’m Frizz.”
“Fritz?”
“Frizz.”
“Heh, these Urpney names!” sighs the doctor, shaking his head.
“What’s wrong with Urpney names?” says Frizz sharply, scowling. He begins to turn to face the doctor, but his broken rib reminds him harshly of its presence, and he stays on his back.
“I’d better be going, anyway,” says the doctor, “I’ll look into pain relief and healing times for Urpneys. They’re usually exceptionally tough little things, this one must have had a particularly nasty fall.”
“But what’s wrong with our names?” Frizz insists.
“Didn’t mean any offence by it,” says the doctor breezily, “Hopefully I’ll be back in the morning with something to ease the pain a little. Cheerio!”
“I’ll see you out,” says the Dreammaker, “I must thank you again for turning out so late, It’s been a long night for all of us.”
The doctor leaves the room, and the Dreammaker follows with Albert.
“He won’t be back,” says Frizz, “he thinks I’m scum, doesn’t he? He likes me being in agony. The red powder made me feel better, but he says I can’t have that. He’s got it in for me!”
“The powder made you want to dance – you can’t heal a broken leg if you’re trying to dance on it.”
“So he says. What did the Wuts give me? That was nice too.”
“That’d be Happy Hoops. We don’t have any of those here, but I can ask the Wuts in the morning. It’s only a couple of hours, it’s nearly dawn now.”
“In the morning? I can’t wait until morning, I need pain relief! I’m being tortured by my own bones!”
“I’ll bring you some tea,” says Amberley.
“Tea? What’s tea?”
“Don’t you have it in Viltheed? It’s a hot drink. It’s nice and relaxing.”
“Hm. Do you have any slime?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Gunge?”
“How do you make it? Maybe I can mix some up.”
“Err – someone told me it’s a kind of seaweed.”
“Ah. That’s going to be difficult.”
“Alright, I’ll try some... tea.”
“Would you like some toast as well?”
“What’s toast?”
“It’s... Well, I’ll bring you some, and you can see if you like it.”
“I can see if I like it.”
She gives his arm another little squeeze before leaving him alone with his thoughts. First, he surveys the damage. His right wrist has a support strapped to it, and the right leg of his standard issue waders has been cut off and replaced with bandages and plaster all the way up to the mid-thigh. He can’t complain about that, but he wishes someone would do something about his rib that twinges with every breath and jabs with every movement. Also, although the bed is very soft and cosy, his tail is feeling crushed up on the mattress. Very carefully, using his right elbow and left arm, he manages to ease himself up to sitting so he can swish it free. Sitting actually seems less painful than lying if he leans on his good hand, so he stays upright whilst he waits for Amberley. How surreal to be sitting in a little bedroom in the Land of Dreams, waiting for his old nemesis the Noop Girl to bring some of her strange foreign delicacies for him to try! He can’t wait to tell Nug all about it.
Nug. Last seen running for his life. Is he here too? Did he make it to the Whirlyped? What if he didn’t? Could the Wuts have... killed him, whatever their rules?
“Nug?” Frizz call out, as loud as he can manage, “Nug, are you there? Nug!”
No answer. Without a friend to cling to, Frizz wraps himself in his own tail as he shakes and sobs. Even the stabbing of his rib isn’t enough to quieten his weeping any more. He is alone, alone...
Amberley returns with a tray of tea things and a plate of toast, which she sets down on the bedside table. He doesn’t look up.
“Here, drink this,” she says gently, holding the cup to his lips, “It’ll make you feel better.”
He looks up into her face. He does not altogether trust her. Yes, she seems friendly enough now, but they have been enemies for so long – what if it’s a trap? What if her people killed his best mate last night?
“Where’s Nug?” he says quietly.
“Where’s what, sorry?”
“Nug. My friend. What happened to Nug?”
“Oh, both the other Urpneys got away in the flying machine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, positive. You were the only one who was hurt. Here, drink your tea. Tea solves everything.”
Reassured, he opens his mouth and takes a sip. It is the most delicious thing he has ever tasted, and sets his mind, body and soul zinging. It doesn’t take the pain away, but he feels much more at ease emotionally. He downs the rest of the cup in one go, and asks for another. Dawn finds the pair of them drinking tea and munching toast together, giggling about the weirdness of the situation and how they could have been having a nice time together all these years if only they hadn’t been on opposing sides in the endless war.