Owen Burgoyne
Chapter 1: Brigadoon!
The wind whipped the rain through the desolate streets of Ankh-Morpork. It was days like these that made its residents glad they had roofs. The storm had been brewing for the past week, dark clouds forming in the skies towards Klatch, and within an hour had turned the river Ankh into a solid thing covered with water. Clouds swirled in the sky like a bad liquid-based special effect.
Wee Mad Arthur sped down a small stream on the back of a drowned rat through the Shades. "See yoo!" he yelled, as an old tomcat took a swipe at his speeding rodent.
But somewhere on the Disc, out from the Circle Sea, towards the Brown Islands, the sea boiled and bubbled. A small fish swam near the steaming water and turned into a spoon. A high magical field was forming, and it wasn't messing about.
Something was going to happen and it was going to happen soon...
As the rain settled down, a horse-drawn carriage slowly trotted down Rope Street. It stopped outside a small cake shop and the coachman jumped down and opened the door. A young man stepped out, bag over his shoulder, and looked nervously around. He walked up to the shop, opened the door and stepped in.
"Erm..." He looked at the elderly woman standing behind the counter.
"Can I help you dear?" she asked.
"Er, I've come for the Guild," he said. "I have come to the right place, haven't I? Only I thought it would be in a large old building. Like the Assassins' Guild or something."
"Oh, this is the right place all right," she said. "If you take the stairs up round the back and knock on the first door you come to, I think Mr Michelmas may be in there, and he'll be able to help you."
"Thank you," said the young man. He picked up his one and only bag, and headed up the staircase. He reached the small rug-covered landing and knocked on the door.
"Come in," said a voice from within.
The young man turned the handle and walked in. It had the look of a room that had been well lived-in. There was a small semi-circle of wooden chairs around a table by the window and a large wooden chest at the other. Two of the walls were covered in maps and charts. Against the wall opposite the window stood a large bookcase. There were, however, no books on it. It seemed only to contain row upon row of strange little artefacts. Small wooden men, strange animal skulls, a dead fern in a pot, and various other pieces of bric-a-brac scattered the shelves.
And on one of the chairs sat Mr Michelmas. He was an elderly man with ruffled brown hair parted down the centre. He smiled at the young man. "Can I help you my good fellow?" he asked.
"Erm, I believe you received a letter a few weeks ago. About a new student, sir."
"Can't say I remember a letter I'm afraid," said Michelmas. "Still, it may be filed on the shelf over there. I'll go and have a look for you." He walked over to the bookcase and picked up a small stack of papers. "Let's see," he said to himself. Mr Michelmas shuffled through them and picked one out. "Are you, by any chance, called Stony McPeake?"
"Er, no sir."
"Oh, hang on. Ah ha! Here it is!" exclaimed Michelmas. "You must be young Herringsway."
"That's right, sir," said Herringsway. "I'm here to enrol at the Guild."
"Enrol ... right. I'll just get the right forms and you can fill them in." Michelmas walked over to the old wooden chest, opened it and pulled out a old dusty folder. He handed Herringsway a few sheets of yellowing paper and an old quill pen. "Right you are then. If you wouldn't mind filling these in, I'll just--"
Suddenly the door slammed open and two men strode in; a third man walked in quietly and sat down. The first, a man of a similar age to Mr Michelmas, had a thick white beard. He wore a thick green jerkin, rugged brown trousers with off-white socks pulled over and up to the knees. Battered old boots adorned his feet and, in one hand, he carried a long wooden walking stick.
He turned and looked at Michelmas. "What's going on here then, Phillip?" he said. His voiced boomed around the room, lifting dust off the shelves.
"He's come to enrol."
"New recruit, eh?" He walked over to Herringsway. "Always wanted to see the world then, son? Liked the thought of going to foreign climes, eh? Seeing things ordinary folk only ever dream about? Well lad?" he shouted.
"'s sir," mumbled Herringsway.
"Good," said the man. "The name's General Edward J. N. Blest. Welcome to the Guild of Explorers!"
As the open expanse of sea Hubwards of the Brown Islands sloshed about, a shoal of knives and forks darted amongst the seaweed. A giant sieve swam through them, draining plankton through its fine mesh. And then it happened.
It was over in an instant, leaving an unassuming albatross blinded by the flash. The newly-created mass sat there, as if it had been there all along.
It was an island.
The one thing that there is to understand about news is that it travels fast, and on the Discworld this is no exception. The news of the island reached Ankh-Morpork within two days of its appearance.
General Blest, head of the Explorers' Guild, burst into the Guild's front room; the other four members currently not on expeditions sat bolt upright. Kevin, the only member that Herringsway hadn't spoken to yet, was busy updating a map.
"Right then chaps, I want you to listen up," he said. "I'm sure you've all heard about this new island that's just popped up near Fourecks. Now, I'm not a rash man, but--"
One of the others quietly laughed to himself in the manner of someone who doesn't quite believe what they're hearing. This man looked, due to his thick black moustache, like a neatly groomed walrus. His skin complexion also had similar qualities.
"Thank you, Mr Jones," said Blest. "Anyway, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, a new island seems to have appeared out of nowhe--"
"It could be a brigadoon," said Mr Jones. He had a gruff Llamedesian accent. "Get a lot of 'em about, y'know. Appearin' here and there."
"He's right Edward," said Mr Michelmas. "It just could be a brigadoon."
"Hmmm, maybe," said the General. "Anyway, the question I was originally going to ask was who'd like to come with me to claim it in the name of Civilization? If we're there before any of those damned foreigners it would be a triumph for the Guild." He stuck his chest out like a pigeon, proud of the work that he'd put into giving the Guild of Explorers a good name. "Well?"
"I think it sounds like a thoroughly good idea, Edward!" exclaimed Mr Michelmas.
"Worth a shot, I suppose," added Jones. "Can't be worse than last time."
"Would it be all right if I came along?" asked Herringsway. "I've been itching to get out into the world."
"Oh really?" said Blest. "That's what young Kevin said when he first joined. Now look at him. Hasn't spoken a word since the incident in Klatch two years ago."
"Why? What happened?" asked Herringsway.
"Haven't a clue," said Jones, "but he did discover an entirely new breed of pig. Bloody strange it was too; all tusks and trotters and piss."
"This is beside the point!" bellowed Blest.
"I was only sayin'," said Jones defensively.
"Look! Do you, or do you not, want to go to this damned island?!"
The other four, sat in silence, nodded dumbly in agreement.
"Right then gentlemen," said General Blest, "best get your rucksacks packed and ready; we leave first thing in the morning."
"Grumble in the Jungle" is copyright (C) Owen Burgoyne 2002. Discworld (R) is a trade mark registered by Terry Pratchett. All the characters in this story are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.