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.
