The Mine of Inspiration

‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?’ gasped Ludo.

‘It’s hollow,’ said Mel. ‘The whole mountain’s hollow.’

‘It’s like an enormous sculpture,’ said Wren.

Bright shafts of daylight streamed down from openings high above in a ceiling supported by hundreds of columns hewn from the living rock. Between these columns, and covering most of the vast floor space, were dozens of carved islands with square-rigged, stone ships plying back and forth across a stony sea. Stone beaches gently rose to support a confusion of sculpted mangrove roots. Nestling within the honeycomb formed from the leafless, twisted limbs of the mangrove trees were a mind-numbing assortment of items in every imaginable shape, size and colour. There were jellyfish and sycamore trees, clouds and unicycles, Ferris-wheels and dinosaurs, cathedrals and euphoniums. High above the islands, suspended from a network of cables, hung bullet-shaped silver craft that cruised the upper reaches of the mine.

At least, that’s what it would all have looked like if the house had not already been there. What the friends saw as they stood on a ruined pier that projected into the mine was altogether different. To either side, the mine still retained its original design, but right through the centre was a broad swathe of destruction. Many of the islands forming the archipelago had been flattened, and their inspirational contents were now so much flotsam and jetsam bobbing on the carved waves of the stone floor. Shipwrecked mariners clung to this wreckage or to the floating remains of their foundered vessels. Some of the sounder craft plucked their unfortunate colleagues from the mineral waves or fended off circling stone sharks. Several of the overhead cable cars had lowered rope ladders to the distressed seamen and were ferrying them to intact islands. It was a scene of great activity and utter confusion.

‘Ow!’ A rope ladder had fallen from above and hit Wren a glancing blow on her shoulder. Above them, swaying gently, was one of the cable cars. ‘Perhaps we’re meant to climb up into that contraption,’ she said. ‘It’s the only way off this pier.’

Just then, the lips briefly appeared on the lowest rung of the ladder. ‘Come along now, don’t dilly-dally. There’s work to be done.’

‘Hang on. Where’s Ludo?’

‘He was here a moment ago,’ said Wren. ‘Perhaps he’s gone back outside.’

‘I’m right here,’ said Ludo, hurrying back to his friends. ‘You needn’t think I’m going down there,’ he said, pointing out into the sea of flagstones and disorder.

‘It looks like we have to take the cable car if we plan on finding out more,’ said Mel as he began to climb the ladder.

The cable car was covered in sheets of polished metal riveted together. It had sweeping fins, large air scoops and exhaust pipes along its sides, which anyone could see were just for show. Inside, the car was constructed like a rowing boat with several bench-like seats running from side to side. Where the oarlocks would have been there were stout pulleys which were attached to the cables from which the car dangled. At the front was a small, semicircular glass windshield and beneath it, at an angle, was a polished and riveted dashboard. In the centre of this was a button, above which were embossed the words ‘push for attention’.

Mel pushed the button. There came the sound like a door opening on rusty hinges and the same face appeared, but this time formed from the polished metal around the button, with ‘push for attention’ for a brow. The rivets looked like pimples.

‘Oh, there you are. You took your time.’ It sounded harassed. ‘So, what’ve you got?’

‘Got?’ said Mel, puzzled.

‘Oh, really! You’re making a delivery,’ said the face tetchily. ‘Remember?’

The cable car took them out to one of the undamaged islands. One by one, they were lowered down to vacant cells in the sculpted mangrove tree. Inside each was an odd metal helmet that looked like an upturned pudding basin encrusted with coils, dials and coloured lights. As instructed, they placed these on their heads, closed their eyes and imagined something. The helmets hummed, causing their scalps to tingle and the lights to flash and then, with a sound like a nightingale trapped inside an accordion, the object they imagined materialised in front of them. It was like making art without any of the hard work of drawing or painting.

When they were all back inside the cable car once more Mel pushed the button again.

‘Very nice, very nice indeed,’ said the face as it reemerged. ‘You may only have a single brain cell between the three of you but that’s some quality inspiration, I must say. We could do with a lot more of that – to replace the damaged stock.’

‘We wish we could stick around and help some more but we must be after the house,’ said Mel.

‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me right. I said, “we could do with a lot more of that ”.’

‘I’m sorry, but we haven’t the time right now. We have to go.’

‘Go? You’re not going anywhere. Not until all the stock’s been replenished. That house you seem to be so friendly with was the cause of all this damage. And now you’re going to put it to rights.’

‘I thought you said you hadn’t seen the house,’ said Ludo.

‘I didn’t say I had and I didn’t say I hadn’t.’

‘But we have to go,’ pleaded Wren. ‘We’ve already spent far too long here as it is. If you could just show us the way out, we’d be ever so grateful. Please.’

‘Oh well, if you have to go, you have to go,’ said the face, relenting. ‘It’s a pity. We sure could have used your inspiration. You don’t see quality like that every day. Hold tight.’ The face vanished and the cable car sped off with a lurching motion, into the heart of the mine.

They headed for an island towards the periphery of the flagstone sea. This one had a large, cone-shaped volcano on it rather than the ubiquitous mangrove trees. When the car was immediately over the volcano it came to a swaying halt and the face re-emerged from the dashboard.

‘Here we are.’

‘Where?’ asked Wren. ‘This doesn’t look like a way out to me.’

‘Way out, ducky? Whatever could have given you that idea?’ asked the face. ‘Like I told you, you won’t be going anywhere until the mine’s been restocked. I’ll find out what’s needed and come back for you. Until then, you can keep the other one company. He looks like one of your lot. Alley-oop!’

‘What other – ?’

Mel’s question was cut short by a whirring noise as the pulleys all along one side of the car engaged and the whole conveyance abruptly tipped upside down. The friends spilled out of the car and through the air into the volcano. Down and down they tumbled, landing on a great pile of junk that filled most of the interior. The debris broke their fall and they clattered helter-skelter down the slope, landing in a heap on the floor.

Mel looked up and saw the mouth of the crater, a disc of light no bigger than the full moon, high above them.

‘That lying scrot,’ said Ludo as he staggered to his feet, dusting himself down.

‘We shouldn’t have been so inspirational.’ Mel angrily kicked a piece of junk.

‘What’re we going to do now?’ said Ludo.

‘We need to find a way out – in a hurry. Before too long we’re going to become sick again, remember?’ said Mel. ‘Perhaps we can find something to help us in all this rubbish.’

‘I suppose a ladder would be too much to hope for,’ said Ludo, sorting through the junk.

‘It’d need to be a really long ladder,’ said Wren. ‘Even from the top of the heap it’d never reach the opening.’

‘This is all junk,’ said Ludo. ‘Everything’s broken or useless.’

‘It must be the mine’s dump,’ said Wren

‘I’ve found a kettle. Yuck, it’s made from butter.’ Mel wiped his greasy hands on his doublet.

‘Here’s a chocolate frying pan,’ said Ludo. ‘And a teapot made from feathers. What have you found, Wren?’

‘I’ve got a velvet cartwheel, an elastic spanner and a sewing machine that seems to be made out of smoke. Nothing here’s the least bit useful.’ Wren sat down on the scrapheap.

‘There’s got to be a way out,’ said Mel as he knelt and unfastened his satchel. He withdrew the telescope and began to pan around the interior of the dimly lit volcano but there was very little to see in the feeble light filtering down from above. The far side of the volcano was obscured by the scrapheap. Even using the magnifier, he could find nothing. The only way out was the mouth of the crater high over their heads.

‘Ahem!’ A polite cough sounded behind the friends. ‘Young sirs, miss, if I might be so bold as to venture a small suggestion?’

‘This is more like it, eh, Mumchance? Who’s doing the running away now? Look at that cowardly cottage run!’

The High-Bailiff looked down from the cabin of his flying command vehicle at his men-at-arms far below, thundering across the Mirrorscape in their newly plundered conveyances. Fleeing before them in a cloud of dust was the house.

‘Amazing what one can find inside a mountain these days. These machines are just the job.’ Adolfus Spute gazed admiringly at his fleet of bizarre vehicles, taken from the Mine of Inspiration. ‘Mumchance, we’re losing altitude. Adjust the buoyancy, my little man. Give us a trifle more elevation, if you please.’

The dwarf mounted a ladder and opened a trapdoor in the roof of their weird flying machine. From the outside it resembled the rotting carcass of a rhinoceros. He blew a violent blast on his silver whistle. Above his head flew a huge flock of birds attached to the passenger compartment with myriad fine wires. When his whistle blast had no effect he reached inside his scarlet robe and withdrew a small catapult. Fitting a pebble into the sling, he took aim and fired into the midst of the flock. There was an enraged cawing and a cloud of shed feathers as his missile hit its mark. The birds flapped harder and the vehicle rose.

‘Ah, that’s better. Not long now, my manky miniature. Soon we’ll have Ambrosius Blenk in our hands once more.’