FOR A WHILE AT least the forest slopes seemed somehow less foreboding around Miss Plazenby's to Vetta whenever the botany mistress Miss Zacharim took some first years out to interrogate flowers and chase squirrels.

Her brief time with the blue-haired girl, where strange stories of a wandering life were told in that remote cabin as they had shared a memorable meal of soupy vegetables and three day old bread, gave her a sense she was never alone among the trees. She would always be safe.

"Don't step there!" came a sudden shout as Vetta wandered along an amble path well within bounds, reminding her indeed she was not alone that misty morning a few days later.

"Oh!" she gasped and looked down at a cluster of leaves, a protruding root and a very small pink flower. She realised the flower would have been crushed by her foot and she paused.

"Thank you, Anthera, for warning me. It would have been a shame to spoil such a tiny little thing like that," and she carefully manoeuvred around the plant. A crunching sound seconds later made several girls cackle with laughter, for in avoiding one thing she had blundered into another, namely a snail shell.

"Oh," she sighed, checking her shoe for slime. It had been an empty shell thankfully.

"I think one of those twins from Dorm Flare left it there," Meresinth said, consoling the Poldorama girl for the mishap.

"They are such big, energetic girls," Vetta said. "I do not like to admit it, but they frighten me sometimes. They are so boisterous."

"They mean no harm I'm sure."

"Yaaaah!" came a sudden cry as a dark figure with an enormous mass of hair leapt out upon the two girls from behind a tree.

"That Evernight creature on the other hand I'm not so sure about," Meresinth added as the aforementioned creature hooted with delight at startling others and then ran off to seek further shadows to lurk in. The land she came from was well named for it was always dark among the thick endless forests of Evernight. As a result the girl had a pale and ghostly complexion which she managed to cultivate even in the sunny land of Frangea by always seeking shade.

"One day Vetta she's going to catch a glimpse of herself in a mirror and frighten herself half to death. Vetta?"

Meresinth looked around and found she was speaking to herself. Her nervous friend had been thoroughly alarmed and scampered off somewhere herself.

***

ALONE AND WITH a rapidly beating heart Vetta pondered her experiences in this strange woodland so full of surprises, secrets and marvels.

Soon after returning from the cabin that past evening by routes which now seemed familiar and friendly among the many paths upon the slopes of Mount Syzywyg, Vetta had wanted very much to check to see if indeed the stolen statuette had been returned to its rightful place.

It was not that she doubted the word of the wandering girl. It was more a sense of completeness, to assure herself the world was as it should be. She wanted the joy of seeing a promise fulfilled, a perfect balance amid the incongruities of this strange land she was endeavouring to learn from. It would make her a better person eventually, so her father had suggested, though the thought of the knocks and blows and occasional misunderstandings would be a trial.

"So long as you can rely on the five wellsprings of joy," he had said, "you can never stray from contentment."

The shiny figurine was indeed back in its place, though mischievously facing the wrong way as if ashamed of its temporary absence. Truancy had told her she often went into book shops and turned volumes upside down at random as a reminder that there were more ways to look at things than convention insisted.

Vetta remembered this as she went to correct the position of the statuette and her hand paused. No. There was a message there, if one were able perhaps to read it. Thus she had left the corridor without changing anything, happy that she had found such an expansive soul like Truancy Mundane.

As she had run terrified from the shrieking girl with midnight hair, the sense of seeking safety at that mysterious cabin came back to her but strangely she could not find it. Instead her locator wristlet pinged to remind her she should return to where Miss Zacharim was waiting with the other girls so they could continue their brief botanical expedition.

"Ah, there you are," Miss Zacharim said as Vetta trotted into view a little out of breath. "Thought you might have been kidnapped and held to ransom."

"Not this time, miss," Vetta said without thinking and there was smothered laughter from the others who heard.

Once the trip had ended and everyone returned to school Vetta remained a little distracted by her experiences. Unusually for her she refused the company of others at lunchtime and took her own way down to Cherryball Flats to explore the various stalls and listen to conversations, especially if anyone mentioned the Blue Hair Clan.

Listening was one thing. Watching very much another.

***

IT WAS A CURIOUS thing to see a man take up a plate, drop it upon the ground so that it shattered and then with such painstaking care gather the pieces together in an almost loving embrace.

"Now, what are you hoping to achieve there Wackie?" another man said as he watched on, beer can in hand.

"For once in my life a sense of completeness, Mold," he replied sullenly.

"Kind of cheating though, ain't it?" his friend replied before sipping his beer, belching, and then reaching down to retrieve a missed fragment which he handed to the other without comment.

"Bless you," Wackie said. "You are a true friend, Mold."

They began to move off then before someone stopped them.

"You going to pay for that broken plate?" an irate shopkeeper asked reasonably. "Crockery don't grow on trees you know."

"Thank goodness," Wackie replied. "Imagine how noisy autumn would be right now." He handed over some coins and the two men shuffled away without further word.

Vetta watched them with growing dread.

She had seen something neither of them had for she watched the plate descend with horrified fascination, its perfect round shape doomed to destruction. The pieces scattered over a wide area on the pavement outside the shop and she saw it all unblinkingly, every bit of it. Including one particular piece. By chance it had a roundness to it which let it roll some distance from its fellow fragments as if determined to flee the scene of a ceramic crime.

It rolled down a slope to where Vetta stood looking at some picture books on a stand. The little thing, a couple of inches in diameter actually bumped her shoe before settling to rest.

The two men had gone through the odd pantomime of retrieving the pieces, except this one. They did not even glance in her direction.

With trembling fingers Vetta picked up the pale blue piece with yellow edges that revealed its original biscuit colour beneath the glaze. By the time she looked up the men were out of sight.

The thought seized her intensely these men somehow needed the piece she had picked up for the plate would forever be incomplete without it. In her hand she held the key to some kind of happiness. It was a happiness she admitted she did not understand. That did not make it any less significant.

Thus she ran.

The two men were so far ahead of her by this time she could very easily have lost them but the strange terraced nature of the coastal strip helped her in her endeavour for her pursuit was down hill towards the beach front where that huge body of water swelled up like a restless wall of glistening blue. Thus from her higher position she could see the two hats below, one grey and ragged, the other a dirty kind of red with a narrow brim. So long as she could keep them in sight she would be able to catch up with them and give them the missing piece.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Yet by the time she reached the lowest terrace there was no sign of them.

"Unburstable beach ball miss?" a man said, seeing someone pausing within his selling circle.

Vetta looked at him a little confused.

"You are kind," she spluttered and he looked hopeful. "No, thank you," she then added when she realised what he meant and he paused in offering a big round globe he had in netting which he had been dragging up and down his strip of the beach front in search of customers.

Clutching the small piece of ceramic in front of her as if it were some curious compass, Vetta looked along the terrace earnestly.

The man noticed what she was holding and sighed.

"You're looking for Wackie Mandrake, miss?" he said.

"I don't know," Vetta replied truthfully.

"The guy who likes broken pots and things? We call him the dream puzzler. Always trying to fix stuff what other folk simply throw away. Darned if I know why. He should concentrate on unbreakable things, or beach balls that cannot be burst," and once again the man indicated his colourful collection of items for sale. "Five coins for three, just in case you know, you lose one or two."

Vetta looked hopefully at the ball seller.

"Do you know where I can find this man who fixes broken things?" she said eagerly and the man sighed again. He looked at the little bit of plate she held.

"Well, he's not likely to be able to fix that," he said with a slightly sarcastic chuckle, "but if you follow along the terrace just beyond the crab pie stall, Mosie's shell jewellery stall and Lemon Curl's doom predictor stall, turn left, go up three flights of steps, turn a little to your right and between two small piles of empty beer cans is a shiny metal door. If it's not open bang on it and shout for Wackie like you have a pottery crisis needing sorting out. He's bound to answer. It's in his blood."

"Thank you, you are kind."

She could not help herself of course and after parting with two coins she found herself in possession of a small piece of ceramic plate and a soft round peach-coloured globe that smelt of rubber and was a little awkward to carry as she followed instructions.

"Slice of crab miss?" the crab seller said as she passed.

"You are kind," Vetta replied from behind the beach ball, but did not stop walking until she saw the sparkly jewellery made from sea shells gathered on the beach. A notice in vivid colours assured her all items were handcrafted there on the beach itself and she paused to admire the workmanship.

"Scallop earrings dearie?" the lady called Mosie said. She rattled with examples of her wares as she tried to peer past the peach-coloured sphere that hid a potential customer.

"You are very kind," Vetta managed to say. "I am busy at the moment and cannot stop." Thus she moved on.

Then there was a scream.

"Doom!" came a high pitched wail that made Vetta drop her ball. It bounced along the terrace and came up against some steps.

"The world is doomed," came a second wail. "It will end, it will end." Then the voice lowered to more normal levels. "Fancy a trip up into the glorious mountains of Frangea missy? We got all sorts of trips laid on, you know, to enjoy what's left of the future before it's too late."

Keeping half an eye on her rogue beach ball, Vetta peered at the brochure the rather thin lady held out for her perusal.

"Oh," she said with a relieved stutter. "I have just come from there. It is very beautiful."

"But not eternal," came a slight shriek from the lady with very bright yellow hair.

"Papa says, nothing lasts forever, and as there is more loveliness in this world than any one person can enjoy in a lifetime the best thing to do is take things as they come."

Lemon Curl grimaced a little at this but could think of nothing to oppose it. She looked beyond the bright-faced girl at the emerald and blue light that danced among the waters, the golden glow of sea mist and the infinite lightness of soft clouds drifting overhead. To her left purple and grey cliffs in candy-stripes rose up in a multitude of fascinating shapes and along the terrace between palm trees and flowering shrubs were the bright colours of a happy people going about the daily business of enjoying life, or what was left of the lives they all might have, be it long or short.

By the time she glanced back down at the strange girl the latter had departed, gathering up her beach ball after two attempts and then skipping up steps and out of sight.

"Doomsaying is doomed when there are little optimists like that running around spoiling it for everyone," she said to no one in particular.

Vetta meanwhile was glad to get away from the scary lady as she huffed and puffed her way up the three flights of steps. She knew she would never get used to so many of these changes of levels in this land of Frangea but was glad to reach what appeared a more reasonable flat platform with buildings rising above it and some even below her now where she could if she wished peer into small garden enclosures or the private spaces of people's homes.

Remembering to turn a little to her right, she sought beer cans.

They were unmissable for each pile was higher than herself, forming a sort of entranceway to a yard at the end of the platform where she could indeed see a shiny metallic door gleaming in the sunshine.

It was closed.

Vetta slowly approached the door and placed her beach ball at her feet. Timidly she rapped on the metal plating. The sound seemed to reverberate like theatrical thunder and she took a step back, tripping over the ball, which rolled off to one side.

The door opened. It was the man in the ragged grey hat who appeared in the doorway, holding a beer can. He paused, looked puzzled as there appeared to be no one there and then caught sight of the girl endeavouring to get to her feet.

"Blessed be," he said. "Can I help, ma'am?" he said and with a sudden gesture sent the now empty beer can to join the others in the entranceway with a clatter.

"I..." Vetta began and looked around her.

"Lost your ball? It's over there being eyed by at least three seagulls," Mold Ampit said kindly.

"Thank you."

Vetta dusted herself down and with fearful timidity retrieved the soft peach globe from beneath the angry yellow gaze of a row of gulls upon the rooftop above. When she turned the door had been closed again so in a moment of panic she threw the ball at it.

The clatter was tremendous. The seagulls took flight and the beach ball leapt over the fence and down upon rooftops, over walls to eventually disappear among some rocks near the sea wall.

Mold Ampit stood in the doorway again with a new can of beer which he sipped thoughtfully.

"Well," he said. "Here you are again."

"I..." and Vetta fumbled with the piece of plate, the reason for her visit. Mold caught sight of the fragment and his indulgent expression changed.

"Blessed be," he gasped. "Wherever did you get that?"

"I..." Vetta attempted to explain but the man was not listening. He had turned back into the cabin and was shouting.

A second man appeared in the doorway with one magnified eye and a pair of tweezers in one hand. The reddish hat he had been wearing was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm right in the middle of my toils, Mold," he said in an exasperated voice. Then he too caught sight of the trembling girl holding the pale blue fragment. He gulped, disappeared a moment and then came out at a rush that made Vetta take several steps back.

"Gently, Wackie," his friend said. "I apologise for my friend ma'am, he's in a bit of an intense mood at the moment."

Wackie had brought another, larger piece of the plate he had broken earlier. He touched it against the fragment Vetta still held bravely forward as if wishing someone would relieve her of it.

"It is!" Wackie crowed in delight. Then he reset. "How did you get this? Did you steal it?"

Vetta looked suitably shocked.

"I..." she began again. By this time Mold had figured out the way things were.

"Wackie," he said gently. "I think you owe this young lady an apology. If I'm not much mistaken, though I often might be, she found this little bit of a plate and by some miracle knew who was most in need of it. Am I right, ma'am?"

This galvanised the Poldorama girl somewhat.

"It was no miracle sir," she managed to say. "I saw the plate broken and the pieces scatter. I saw you so carefully gather up the fragments and walk off with them. Only," and she swallowed at this vital moment. "Only not all the pieces were found. This one came over to where I was and before I could let you know about it you were gone."

"And so you found us," Mold said with an encouraging smile, "and brought us the missing fragment."

"It seemed so important," Vetta said with a gasp. "I just had to."

With that she placed the round piece, blue glaze uppermost, in the large hand of Wackie Mandrake.

"I hope you have all the pieces now," she said and made to walk away.

"Wait!" Wackie croaked suddenly. He searched his pockets with his free hand but Mold, ahead of the game again, put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Vetta, having heard the request to halt in her departure, stood looking at the two men a moment. Her mission was fulfilled and there was a sense of calm repose about her.

To her surprise Wackie knelt down in front of her, took one of her small hands and made a small sob.

"I am most terribly sorry," he said. "We're just ignorant struggling folk hereabouts. I am more grateful than you can imagine for bringing me this little thing. Thank you for taking the trouble you did."

With that he released her hand and wandered back into the cabin a little dazed as it seemed to Vetta.

"Like I said," Mold added. "He's a little intense at the moment. Things not being quite as he might wish. What you did just then will go a long way to setting him right so I thank you too. It might seem to some a little thing indeed but I've known Wackie for many years."

"Why did he break that lovely plate?" Vetta said, searching for answers to this strange adventure. The more she knew, the more she could help.

"An unattainable dream," Mold said prosaically. "He's like an amateur Tinker. When something's broken he wants to fix it. Look around you ma'am. See how many broken things there are in this world. He can't fix 'em all. But he can try his little bit by rediscovering things of beauty among the fragments around him. That plate was a utilitarian thing, by that I mean it did what it was made for without taking on any airs. Yet you called it a lovely plate."

"There is a niceness in circles," Vetta said, taking in only parts of what the man was saying.

"And a completeness. Breaking a circle and then fixing it again was to him like a quest. All the years he's tried and all the years he's failed to complete a single broken thing of any significance." Mold pondered the ashtray which showed so much promise. "The plate was meant to be a chance, in his eyes, to at least complete something."

Vetta went pale. She realised he would have failed if she had not brought the overlooked fragment.

"That's it, ma'am, you understand it a bit," Mold said. "That's why I thank you too, because he's my dearest friend."

"I am glad," Vetta said.

"Now, seems to me you've lost your ball again. Only fair I help you find it. Wackie'll be happy by himself for a bit with that plate, tweezers and glue."

They searched the sand and rocks below where the cabin stood but no sign of the peach-coloured thing could be found so Vetta returned to Miss Plazenby's two coins lighter but unimaginably richer within.