Blue Fire and Ice Read Online Free PDF Page B

bit dirty, Brian.’ Tek pointed at Brian’s clothes with the small screwdriver she always carried. It had a little clip like a pen and she liked to take it out of her shirt pocket just so she could slide it back again. She thought it looked professional. Tek ran the town’s electronics shop and knew that the most important skill required was to look professional.
    ‘You’ve had a fall, haven’t you?’ Tek pushed her screwdriver back into her shirt pocket, the way she did when she told her customers what was wrong with their toaster.
    All the Beadles who had gathered around Brian spoke at once.
    ‘That’s mud on his coat.’
    ‘And on his bottom.’
    ‘What’s he been sitting in mud for, d’yer think?’
    ‘Why doesn’t he take off the other shoe? Then he’d be straighter.’
    ‘Oh dear, his toenails need cutting,’ said Trimsy, the beautician.
    In order to understand just how difficult all this was for Brian, you have to know not just how Beadles sounded, but how they looked.
    Beadles look just like anyone else but rounder. They are not very tall (there are stories of a Beadle who lived many years ago and who was said to be over five foot six inches tall, though sensible Beadles believe no such thing), but what they lack in height, they make up for with the size of their waist. They dress their portly bodies in simple, dull clothes, mostly dark green, black or charcoal grey. In fact, a queue of Beadles very much resembles a cucumber. It is often wished by their neighbours, the Muddles, that the sun would rise in the west instead of the east, for by rising in the east it has to pass over Beadledom first and by the time it gets to Muddlemarsh it is quite worn out from trying to make Beadledom a look a little brighter.
    It surprises people who have just met a Beadle how fast they talk. They are able to maintain a good rate of knots when they speak by keeping their sentences short and maintaining strict limits on how many different words they use. Over a hundred years ago, one of Beadledom’s great teachers, Professor Verity, declared that ‘Synonym is just another word for confusion. Everything only has one meaning and there should be only one word for each thing.’ The following year he published a new dictionary in which every word had just one definition and every thing had just one word to describe it. It is still used in their schools today.
    At the best of times, Beadles do not like to stand out. To be the centre of attention and have all the other Beadles pointing and talking to you at the same time is an unpleasant experience. For Brian, who was tired, muddy and wearing only one shoe, it was particularly unpleasant. He just wanted to go home, have a bath, put on his slippers and fall asleep in his favourite armchair.
    ‘What’s happening here? What’s all the fuss?’ A stern voice at the back of the crowd rose above the chatter. ‘Let me through,’ the voice demanded. The other Beadles made way, and the body that belonged to the voice pushed through to the front. He saw Brian, stopped and glared.
    As High Councillor of Beadledom, Bligh was used to glaring. It was what he did best, apart from shaking hands and kissing babies. His eyes went from the top of Brian’s untidy hair right down to his toenails (which, to give Trimsy her due, were in need of attention). He stared at Brian’s shoeless foot, then slowly raised his eyes until they were staring straight into Brian’s.
    Brian’s heart sank. He had hoped to be able to get cleaned, rested and changed before he had to explain his failure. Bligh was bound to make him explain right here, in front of all the other townsfolk. He looked back at Bligh.
    As glares go, this was one of Bligh’s better ones. His eyebrows came together in two dark arches, like a pair of eagle wings. His eyelids drew closer together, leaving only the pinpoints of his pupils visible. The dark points fixed on Brian.
    ‘You’re muddy,’ said Bligh. ‘And you are