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  ‘Can I finish this first?’ said Fidge, but the Pinks were already making their way through the crowd towards the Oranges. The noise level rose.

  ‘If you can just try and listen,’ continued Fidge, ‘the really worrying thing is—’

  ‘What you are saying is unclear.

  We’re at the back. We cannot hear.’

  ‘OK,’ said Fidge, raising her voice to a near-shout of frustration. ‘What’s completely terrifying is that the normal bit of Wimbley Land is shrinking and anyone who goes near the edge gets all the colour and personality totally sucked out of them!!!’

  There was a huge, collective gasp of horror. Fidge’s gaze met a sea of boggling eyes.

  ‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘But that’s what’s happening.’

  There was instant chaos: screaming, hysterical laughter, shouts, wails and the thuds of fainting Yellows.

  ‘Woe!’ chanted the Purples, starting to dance in a circle, waving scarves.

  ‘Woe! Woe to all in Wimbley Land.

  As colours fade and life turns bland.

  So surely this will be the doom

  Of every Wimbley in this room.’

  ‘But we’ve got a really good plan!’ shouted Fidge. ‘If you’d just listen …’

  Three Oranges had got stuck in the exit door, and the Yellows were piling up behind them, and the Greens were bellowing for them to move, and panic seemed to have filled the hall like smoke.

  Fidge turned, shamefaced, to her companions.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘That went a bit wrong.’

  It was Ella who stepped forward, arms outstretched, trunk raised, her voice mellow and rich and radiating authority.

  ‘Breathe everybody,’ she said. ‘Deep breaths. Deeeeeep, slowwwww breaths. Let’s do some lovely, relaxing visualization – close your eyes. All of you, darlings. Yes, even the Oranges. No talking. Close your eyes and imagine you’re in a lovely meadow, the sun setting, the light like molten gold. Let that lovely golden light fill you up like a jar being filled with honey. That’s it – some very good work from the Pinks over there – imagine everyone calming down at the end of a long, tiring day, the birds tucking themselves into their nests, the bees settling down in the hives, the rabbits—’

  There was a burst of screaming.

  ‘No rabbits,’ said Ella, hastily. ‘And there’s a warm breeze stirring the golden grasses and you feel completely happy and unworried and ready to listen. And now … open your eyes.’

  A hall full of calm Wimblies blinked back at her, and there was silence apart from a gentle snore from a collapsed Yellow.

  ‘Right,’ said Ella, modestly stepping back, ‘I think Fidge can carry on now.’

  ‘That was amazing,’ said Graham, awestruck. ‘Totally amazing.’

  ‘And that,’ said Dr Carrot, to Graham, ‘was a very nice thing to say to someone.’

  Graham looked embarrassed, but pleased.

  ‘Someone else should tell them the plan,’ said Fidge. ‘I mucked it up the first time.’

  Graham shook his head, still feeling rather warm inside. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  Fidge gave him a narrow look; she wasn’t quite sure if she believed in an amiable Graham. ‘Let’s do it together,’ she suggested. ‘You can start.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was dawn, three hours later, with the sky just beginning to lighten and the first birds tentatively twittering. Fidge was standing on a hump-backed bridge overlooking the railway track and with her was a team of Greens, who claimed to have a foolproof plan for stopping the train. In the far distance they could just see the roof of the station, where Graham and Ella and the Oldest and Wisest of the Greys were waiting.

  ‘It’s coming,’ said Fidge. From behind she could hear the approaching roar of the train, and she lifted her wrist and focused on her luminous watch dial. As the engine dived under the bridge, she started timing.

  The train full of Greys disappeared into the distance, off on another circuit, the noise dwindled and for a minute or two there was nothing to hear but birdsong. Then faintly, from behind, the roar began again. As the engine neared, Fidge began to count aloud.

  ‘Four minutes thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.’ The last four numbers of the count were almost drowned out by the thunder of the train passing beneath them once again.

  One of the Greens stepped towards the parapet of the bridge, leaned over it for a long moment, staring at the track below, and then turned to Fidge.

  ‘I’m going to jump onto the train

  The next time it comes round again.

  Once on the roof, I’ll climb inside

  And find the brake and stop the ride.

  Can you count downwards, one by one

  The last ten seconds of this run?

  I’ll make the leap when you reach “three”

  And that should do it.

  Hopefully.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Fidge, keeping her eyes fixed on the watch, and making frantic mental calculations. ‘It sounds unbelievably dangerous. Just over a minute left before it comes round again,’ she added. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Green climbing onto the parapet, and positioning itself right on the edge.

  ‘Fifty seconds to go,’ said Fidge.

  The Wimbley turned and spoke to the other Greens, who had clustered close by.

  ‘If I don’t make it, try once more

  But next time make the jump at “four”.

  If that should fail, try “one” or “two”—’

  ‘No, no,’ shouted another of the Greens, ‘we want to jump with you!

  For whether we leap at “ten” or “zero”

  Let’s die a team or live a hero!’

  And the whole bunch of Greens started scrambling onto the narrow parapet, elbowing each other, fighting for space.

  ‘Twenty seconds to go,’ said Fidge. ‘Please be careful!’

  The train noise was tremendous now, the bridge vibrating.

  ‘Ten seconds,’ shouted Fidge. ‘Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five—’

  With a great shout, one of the Greens overbalanced, grabbed onto the others, and the entire lot disappeared over the side. Fidge ran forward into a faceful of steam, and by the time it cleared she could just see the tail lights of the train snaking away into the distance.

  ‘Hello?’ she shouted. ‘Anyone hurt?’

  There was no reply.

  The sun had edged over the horizon now, and in the greyish light, Fidge could spot the small anxious crowd on the station platform. The banners they’d brought with them were streaks of white in the gloom.

  She crossed her fingers, and waited for the train to come back round. It seemed to take longer than before, but at last, the faint, familiar noise began again, except that this time there was another note to it, a hideous, high-pitched, grinding screech that grew shriller and louder and more and more unbearable until it sounded like someone pushing a giant fridge very slowly across a concrete floor.

  The brakes! thought Fidge, stuffing her fingers into her ears. The train came gradually into view and as it passed beneath the bridge she could see Greens clinging onto the roof, and a green arm waving from the cab at the front. And as the train drew into the station, the wave turned into a triumphant thumbs-up.

  Fidge ran.

  By the time she got there, the platform was full of Greys, all of them looking rather dazed and wobbly, and all of them keen to stop and thank her, at tremendous length, for saving them from the train.

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ she kept saying, ‘it was the Greens.’ And as she spoke, she was helping Graham and Ella to unfurl the banners they’d made, and then to tie them along the side of the train. There was a banner for each of the six carriages, the messages written in huge letters:

  ‘All right,’ shouted Graham. ‘They’re secure!’

  The Green in the engine cab gave a wave, there was a hiss and a great huff of ste
am, and the train pulled slowly out of the station.

  Someone tugged at Fidge’s sleeve, and she turned to see an anxious-looking Grey.

  ‘This is no time for games and fun!

  We need to summon everyone

  For now that you have freed us all

  It is imperative we call

  A meeting where we’ll give our views

  On how we should confront the Blues.’

  ‘We’ve already had a meeting,’ said Fidge. ‘The Games are part of the plan – it didn’t take long to think it up. You see, the train’s going to travel really slowly so that all the Blues on guard at the castle will see the banners and then they’ll … What’s the matter?’ she asked; the Greys were all staring at her, shocked.

  ‘But “thinking” is the job of Greys,’ said one of them, voice squeaking with outrage.

  ‘And planning should take several days.

  Before we act, we really must

  Make sure that everything’s discussed.’

  ‘But we don’t have several days,’ said Fidge. ‘Not any more. And the plan’s already happening – all the other Wimblies have worked right through the night preparing the sports field.’

  ‘And you can’t swan in and take over everything just because you think you’re clever,’ added Graham.

  ‘And, anyway, we had a Grey with us, the one who was in jail,’ said Fidge, pointing over at Ella and her companion. ‘Let’s hear what the Oldest and Wisest of you all has to say about it.’

  Ella leaned over and whispered in the ear of the Oldest and Wisest – Fidge heard the word ‘brief’ – and it nodded, and stepped up onto a luggage trolley, so as to be visible to the crowd. There was a moment’s silence, and then it spoke.

  ‘I’m a fan

  Of the plan

  And so

  Let’s go.’

  It climbed back down off the trolley, to total silence, apart from a whoop and a high-five from Ella.

  The other Greys looked as if they’d been hit with a sandbag. Fidge caught Graham’s eye and snorted with laughter, before recovering herself.

  ‘You heard what the Oldest and Wisest said,’ she called. ‘Let’s go!’

  TWENTY-NINE

  ‘You’ve done an absolutely marvellous job,’ said Ella, surveying the sports field. ‘Well done everyone, splendid work.’

  While Fidge and the others had been at the station, the rest of the Wimblies had finished preparing the competition area. On one side of the field was a large striped tent, labelled WINNERS! and decorated with balloons and hastily painted pictures of sweets. Silver streamers dangled over the entrance, so that nothing could be seen of the interior.

  Next to it was a sad little roped-off patch of grass, labelled LOSERS’ ENCLOSURE.

  On the opposite side of the field, several rows of spectator benches were lined up and beside them was the Judge’s Platform, dominated by a schedule board.

  On the field, two identical obstacle-race courses had been set up next to each other. There were tunnels to climb through, hurdles to step over, bars to crawl under, bollards to weave around, bells to ring, balloons to burst and trays of glue to avoid. A group of Greens was warming up close by, swapping deafening fitness tips as they jogged in circles.

  ‘So all we need now is for some Blues to arrive,’ said Dr Carrot. ‘I wonder if Graham’s spotted any yet?’

  Graham had startled everyone by offering to take first shift as look-out. ‘I just want to help,’ he’d said modestly, but the real reason was a sudden longing for some time on his own. He wasn’t used to being part of a crowd, and though all the praise he’d been getting was very pleasant – and, of course, totally deserved – the effort of being nicer than usual was beginning to exhaust him. And now that he’d climbed what felt like a thousand steps to the terrace at the top of the king’s column in the Town Square, he was feeling even more exhausted. He rested his elbows on the railing and trained his binoculars on the castle. It was immediately obvious that something was going on: clusters of Blues were standing on the steep slopes of the castle mound, looking towards where the railway track passed closest to the moat. After a minute or two, the train puffed slowly into view, banners rippling in the wind. The Blues pointed excitedly and a small group broke away from the others and set off towards the bridge. Graham waited until they were safely across the moat and heading towards Wimbley Town before he took a piece of paper and scribbled:

  He wrapped the paper round a small stone.

  ‘Hey,’ he shouted, over the railing, ‘I’ve got a message for Fidge.’

  A Yellow, stationed underneath, waved and stepped back as Graham dropped the stone. Catching it neatly, it mounted a taxi-bike and sped off.

  Graham checked the castle again and saw the great door swing open as another group of Blues came out. In the moment before it shut again, he glimpsed the interior, and frowned. What he’d expected to see was the courtyard. What he actually saw was a colour: a deep, velvety red – shapeless and sinister.

  Uneasily, he swung the binoculars round to look at the countryside and his heart skipped with fear. Wimbley Land was disappearing so fast, the border was now no more than a mile away from where he stood; beyond it was a world like a blank page.

  The train was shunting round again and Blues were starting to stream over the moat and towards the town, dozens of them.

  Graham scribbled another note, and waited for the taxi-cyclist to return. In the distance, he could see the first Blues arriving at the sports field.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Dr Carrot, to the teams assembled for the first race. ‘I shall be setting out the rules for each of the competitions. We have two teams of six lining up here for the obstacle race. Five members of each team will be blindfolded, and the sixth member will be responsible for calling out the instructions. Competitors go one at a time along the course. First team to get all five blindfolded members safely home, wins. To avoid confusion, the teams will start from opposite ends of the course. Any questions? No? Good. Before we start, our judge would like to give a speech.’

  There was a stifled groan of boredom from one of the Wimblies. The Oldest and Wisest of the Greys stepped forward. It gazed solemnly at the six Blues and the six Greens, and then spoke.

  ‘Fair play.

  OK?’

  It stepped back.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Dr Carrot. ‘So let’s begin.’

  Fidge, meanwhile, was in the Winners’ Tent. Nobody had won anything yet, but it was the only place where she could have a private chat with a crowd of panicking Yellows.

  ‘You’re not fighting the Blues, you’re just going to race them,’ she said, for what felt like the hundredth time. ‘You’re great at cycling, you’ll easily beat them.’

  One of the Yellows raised a hand, and spoke tremulously:

  ‘But we don’t want to beat the Blues

  We’d feel much safer if we lose.’

  There was mass nodding.

  ‘But you can’t lose,’ said Fidge, her voice cracking with desperation. ‘If you lose, then the Blues will realize that there are no sweets for the winners and then the whole plan’s ruined. We have to keep them shut up in the Losers’ Enclosure. It’s not hard, all you have to do is pedal!’

  ‘No,’ said Ella, from behind her. ‘All they have to do is believe in themselves. I think I should conduct a little workshop.’ She raised her voice. ‘Everyone find a nice spot and lie down – anywhere will do, you don’t have to be next to your friends. Ready? All right, now I want you to close your eyes and repeat after me: “I am Yellow. I am Mighty”.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘They can’t say it unless it rhymes,’ whispered Fidge.

  ‘Repeat after me,’ said Ella, not missing a beat. ‘I am Yellow. I am Mighty, I am brave and never Frighty.’

  ‘I didn’t think “Frighty” was a word,’ said Fidge.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to go and see how the others are getting on,’ suggested Ella, with a slight edge t
o her voice. ‘Give me ten minutes.’

  Fidge went outside and sat on a spectator bench, and then stood up again and paced around. The obstacle race was just about to begin, and she felt hugely nervous; it would be the first test of their plan.

  ‘On your marks,’ called Dr Carrot.

  The Greens were lined up at one end of the field, the first blindfolded team member standing just in front of their first obstacle, a narrow crawl-through tunnel.

  At the opposite end of the field, a line of blindfolded Blues were standing in front of their first obstacle, a series of glue-filled trays.

  ‘Get set.’

  The competitors tensed themselves. The Wimblies who were going to be shouting the instructions each took a deep breath.

  ‘Go!’

  ‘First you must—’ began the Blue instructor, before being totally and completely drowned out by the Green bellowing from the other end of the field:

  ‘Now listen! Quickly, first of all

  Lie down upon the ground and crawl.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Fidge, as the blindfolded Blue obediently lay down full length in a tray of glue. The blindfolded Green sped through the tunnel and arrived at a balloon pit.

  ‘Don’t—’ began the Blue instructor.

  ‘Balloons are lying on the ground

  So now stand up and jump around.’

  The Green competitor started bursting the balloons, quickly and efficiently, while at the other end of the field there was utter chaos, the blindfolded Blue staggering around with a tray stuck to its front and another one on each foot. It tripped on the next obstacle, a bollard, and fell over, thrashing feebly.