TO MOST FOLK IT would seem reasonable to think a girl with bright blue hair might stand out in a crowd. Yet somehow one in particular most certainly did not. She was known colloquially as a Blender. Her inborn skill was to blend in wherever she might be for as a member of the Blue Hair Clan her presence would be deemed unwanted at best and positively threatening under most circumstances.

"Rumour has it Blenders are moving through the area," one shopkeeper in Wonky Lane advised his fellow retailers.

"Great. Might be able to create space for all the new secondhand stock I want to shift," another down-at-heel trader replied on hearing this ominous news. Everyone knew the Blenders were a bunch of thieving rascals. Why else were they so secretive, anti-social, and brilliant at never paying rent or taxes like everybody else?

For the Blue Hair Clan however, it was their destiny to be misunderstood, mostly.

What their origins might be no one was really sure. Or why they all had blue hair, unless it was to reinforce some sense of identity. For this was the great issue among the wandering people themselves.

What was their ultimate aim? Why were they destined to wander apart from everyone else? They seemed to stand on the sidelines of society awaiting a calling, a purpose that never seemed to materialise. Thus they looked inward and discovered things about themselves and the world around them that somehow reinforced the separation.

They learned to not be there, or be in more than one place at once. And as they watched and learnt and saw things others could not they acquired an uncanny appreciation of the human condition. Yet none of this answered the ultimate question of what they were seeking for. After generations of wandering all this began to take its toll upon the spirits of many of them as well.

There were even sinister rumours that no one ever left the Blue Hair Clan. If the urge appeared to seek another way of life that urge disappeared with the person who manifested it.

For the children of the Clan things were less intense. They could merely play at being Blenders if they wished, performing impossible feats of hide and seek, catch-if-can and ambush with those of their own age. Only these youngsters ever came close to a normal childhood though they never went to school. Once they reached a certain age however such games no longer seemed appropriate. They had honed their skills to blend in and now those same skills would put them in good stead for that most crucial role of all Clan members, to resolve that yearning for something, to seek in the world they so quietly passed through for that one magical thing which would allow them as a people to end their wanderings and find peace.

Thus it was with Truancy Mundane. She found herself reaching a point in her life when she too needed to ask questions of those around her, not by interaction but simply by observing and learning and trying to understand. Like so many before her she hoped to glimpse some telling answer from the actions of others, those others who filled every spot of Frangea with a zest for life, ambitious dreams and a sense of direction.

This was perplexing. One might map out a person's hopes and dreams to a point yet there was no certainty how one achieved fulfilment while the fire of determination burned at its brightest. Only when that fire dimmed in the twilight years of the elderly did there seem to be a satisfaction in a life lived long and well, for some anyway.

In Frangea though even the elderly could be spotted out jogging, admittedly with little forward motion, but still seeming to wish further achievement so close to the grave.

All the girl with blue hair could do was watch and wonder. Though there was still a little fun to be had along the way.

***

"YOU ARE TRULY named child, for you are a creature of no consequence and never where you should be," Father Dauntless said sternly.

"We blend because we must," the girl replied. "I am Truancy Mundane for a reason."

"Yet you are not a child. Why must you trifle in some toy shop rather than help us seek that which we are looking for? You know, that thing which might give us purpose, direction and meaning to our lives."

"Oh, that thing," Truancy said lightly.

"It will not be found on a shelf in some store so you need not try to take from there."

"I stole naught," the girl declared proudly. "Merely rearranged some things more pleasingly and left a sign that it was done. It's a strange place this toy shop. So full of joyful things for children, yet no child ever seems to be there. Something is missing and I tried to help for it seems a place without a soul."

"I know the place," Father Dauntless said, picturing wooden toys displayed in simple fashion, well crafted and perhaps fascinating in their way, but somehow lacking that magic a child needed to become attached to them. "It is run by a childless couple."

"Yes," Truancy said, frowning. "I felt something of that. They keep missing something, that restless man and his quiet little wife. She knits all the time as if trying to ravel all the wool across the Face of the World into endless soft shapes." Truancy sighed. "They yearn, just like us."

"Not like us child."

"Okay, not like us. Hum."

"Do not give up on your search. You are young. Your spirit is strong, though your ability to concentrate more resembles a cat in a room full of sponge balls."

"I will try my best," Truancy smirked, "or my name's not Truancy Mundane. There is so much to see and do."

"Scratch the do bit," Father Dauntless reminded his energetic pupil. "There is much to observe and learn from. These frenetic people have so much to teach us unwittingly by the way they face life's problems."

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"Well, so far all I've noticed is some face life's problems by getting what these people call smashed while others just stare at the Big Blue Sea as if puzzled by what it might be for."

"The, er, smashed ones clearly cannot face whatever it is they yearn for. It must be something incredibly intense for them to destroy themselves so readily in their despair at ever finding it. Yet in all my years of observing these particular creatures all I can make out is they seek companionship with the nearest person foolhardy enough to pass near them. Be careful of them for their mind-troubled state seems somehow to enhance their perceptions. One even cried on my shoulder once and it took a while to disengage from such an unsavoury embrace."

"I'll remember not to get too close then Father," Truancy said, picturing the dignified elder being slobbered over by a drunken type in search of a new best friend. "They smell funny."

Of course the young girl was new to a lot of the strange sights of Cherryball Flats.

Usually the tribe passed on the outskirts of larger settlements and lingered only a short time. This time though as they made their traditional circuit of the districts of Frangea there were rumours of things most strange in the land. Aside from the sense of foreboding some people seemed to embrace in peculiar fashion, an element of mystery had set usually inconsequential people talking.

Like those inebriated souls who somehow glimpsed veteran Blenders by the wondrous instrumentality of brain pickling, there were other troubled souls among the population of Cherryball Flats for whom insanity was an open door to higher things. Somehow they were aware of matters beyond the usual range of perceptions, the kind of things the Blue Hair Clan were aware of only on the edge of their senses and it made for exciting times.

There could be no more insane folk than the Enders of course. Perhaps they knew something of a mystery that energised beachcombers by the dozen and the occasional Minder patient lost in a moment of intense revelation?

Truancy wandered among these curious folk, seeking answers, but only finding questions.

How could one yearn for the end of the world, even in the abstract? What balance was there to be found between impoverishment on the one hand and enrichment on the other with a shadow looming over all, a doom with the potential to sweep everything away?

These people did yearn for something certainly. It was not oblivion but it was a kind of ending. The end of toil, of hard work, of worry and the striving after wealth so that rest might follow. They had learned from an early age that their path to success was hampered by misfortune and somehow this seeped into their troubled souls whenever they sought a way out of poverty. They could not picture optimism nor shape joy, thus to feed upon the fears of others seemed right and proper.

Wearisome misery then was the motive force behind such conjurings and the fate of their victims was a secondary consideration.

Having observed these doomsmiths for a while and realising their feeding off of prophetic eternity was in fact a short term business, Truancy felt she had learned enough of their narrow ways. It only left her with one abiding question.

Why did that shrieking woman feel the need to scream when softly spoken words would suffice?

***

THE IMMINENT END of the world was of little moment to the Blue Hair Clan. Every second of their existence was a cliffhanger. Yet their condition remained the same, a static wandering kind of existence. Perhaps some magical thing might aide their cause.

Wonky Lane was a place for such ambiguous things. The discards of society seeking new purpose.

Truancy Mundane had long observed the way some folk sought treasures among the detritus of society, as if their skills of interpretation exceeded that of those who participated fully in the world around them. Again it was the special privilege of the observer to see things others did not, others could not, especially if they were themselves deeply involved and too close to catch a glimpse.

From broken crockery to faulty devices, the source of potential was endless for the imagination had no bounds where dreams of success were concerned.

A year before when the blue-haired girl was still deemed a child she was allowed to play deep in the tunnels that threaded through Mount Syzywyg. Old abandoned mines that created legends of hauntings and mysterious things. She knew something of their true purpose and the discards to be found there were like nothing to be seen in the meandering length of Wonky Lane.

Curious stones that sharpened edges with but a caress lay about in some dark sinkhole only she could squeeze into. Foil that burnt and glowed without heat seemed miraculous. And then in a place where poisons seemed to linger in foul ponds a curious device sat, besmeared by muck and choked within so that its function was inhibited. Truancy reached carefully for it to avoid touching the noisome liquid upon which it floated and as she squeezed its rubbery softness it let out a plaintive quack.

Why would a rubber duck find itself in such a hellish place of fetid darkness?

In no time at all Truancy found a clear spring upon a hillside and washed her discovery with growing fascination. In the light of day its bright green colouring seemed a happy shade and as she scrubbed at the textured rubber she could feel the mechanism inside. It quacked several times and each time she felt a strange disjointed sensation as she held it.

With care she eased the internal workings out and examined them minutely in a shaft of sunlight that imbued the metallic device with golden mystery.

What she found was a grandly crafted map with pointers to different lands across the Face of the World. The thing was so small it sat in the palm of her hand. It was a dimensional compass and Truancy borrowed books upon the subject to help unravel the mystery of its purpose by attentive study.

A pin was bent so that the main pointer which was fixed over Frangea would not move whenever the thing was compressed. It would quack and shimmer and no more.

"I am already in Frangea," she said to herself with a laugh and with that she straightened the pin with a fingernail, thereby releasing the pointer. She could not resist shifting it to another land and laughed with childish glee.

This discarded treasure she kept to herself until a worthy trade might be made and in a certain shop in Wonky Lane she placed the green duck so that it might serve a greater purpose. The pledge of the Blue Hair Clan was answered for in that following autumn with her childhood behind her Truancy Mundane found what she sought, some magical thing born of miracles even greater than the potentiality of a dimensional duck. She had found a swirly.

It was a thing of great beauty but its purpose conflicted with her own desires. No sooner had she acquired it than she was obliged to relinquish it to another, as she thought, to achieve a greater good and the lightening of a troubled soul. It was the nature of the world in which she glided that as it swirled around her she would make other discoveries which could enrich her own experiences in a way she had no way of anticipating.

It was terrifying at times. Overwhelming. The great urban sprawl that was Cherryball Flats was too much for someone so sensitive to the nuances of human society. Thus she found herself seeking quieter souls to observe, individuals that appeared among others yet were somehow very much detached from them, just like Truancy herself.

Some years ago when she was still playing the games children play she found among the milling crowds elite folk with an exclusivity that suggested power and focus and purpose, a thing most desired by her tribe. They belonged she discovered to a place high on a mountainside, disdainfully detached from the frenzy of activity that betokened the Flats. A whole world of girls it was.

Now as she sought out these creatures anew, there was one individual among them she could not help take notice of in particular for her hair was pink and she possessed a demeanour that impressed. A brief investigation of who she might be had led to an understanding that even those seemingly in control of their own destiny lacked a certain something.

All this had merited a closer investigation of the place which had the curious but appropriate name of Miss Plazenby's Extremely Exclusive Seminary for Girls.