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.