Cloud-cuckoo-land Chapter 8.

Chapter Eight.

 

Across the Pool of Ideas.

 

“What makes it go?” inquired Lemmy.

Over the roar of the engines, George had to shout to explain. “These are data‑crunching engines,” he shouted. “They suck in ideas from the Pool, grind them up into little bits and spit them out at the back, and that pushes us along.”

“Why do you have two engines?” Lemmy wanted to know.

“They help us steer the raft. It means we do not need a rudder. It is best to go across the Pool in a straight line, but sometimes we have to avoid patches of dried‑up ideas which could overturn the raft.” This time it was Charlie who answered. “If we slow down my engine and speed up George’s engine, the raft turns to the right, and if we slow George’s and speed up mine, we turn to the left. Simple really.”

“And why all the blankets and the water?” Lemmy was letting his curiosity get the better of him. His mother complained about his continual questioning. Lemmy’s father defended his son’s curiosity. He always said, “If you don’t ask, you don’t get told.”

“They are for your safety,” answered George. “Sometimes the ideas manage to get on board. If they do, you have to soak one of those blankets in water and throw it over the idea. There is nothing like a wet blanket to kill an idea.”

Suddenly, ahead of them, the surface of the Pool began to boil as dozens of almost invisible blobs fell out of the sky.

Quickly, George slowed down his data‑cruncher while Charlie turned his up. The raft turned away from the disturbed water. Then the rafters straightened it up and they carried on towards the distant shore.

“What was that?” asked Lemmy.

“That was a group of people having a brainstorming session. All the ideas they come up with fall into the Pool at once,” said Charlie.

“We were lucky that time,” added George. “Sometimes the storm is right over the raft and the ideas fall on us instead of into the Pool. You have to be pretty nippy with the wet blankets when that happens.”

As they were speaking, there was a splash alongside, and something bounced onto the raft. The Cuckoo grabbed a blanket, dipped it in a water tank and threw it over the idea. Lemmy fancied that he heard a quiet squeak before the blanket stopped moving as the idea was put out.

The Cuckoo lifted the blanket and Lemmy took a closer look at the now‑extinguished idea. There were some faint words on it. He read them out. “Put the rabbits in with the lions.” The words faded, and the idea rapidly dried to a splinter.

“That is a stupid idea,” said Lemmy.

“It most definitely is,” said George. “But silly ideas like that are the easiest ones to deal with. You may throw it overboard safely now that it has dried up.”

They were now about three‑quarters of the way across the Pool. For some reason, the sound of the Great Grandfather clock was much louder here. Tock‑tick, tock‑tick. Then it struck four. The “Gnobs” echoed across the Pool.

“Time is getting short,” said the Cuckoo. “Can’t we go faster?”

As an idea fell from the sky, there was a splash in the water.

“No,” said George, “and that was your idea dropping into the Pool.”

“More haste, less speed,” added Charlie. “The faster we go, the more ideas will splash onto the raft. If you go and look at the front of the raft, you will see just how much we are churning up the surface. We are bringing up ideas which have not seen the light of day for years.”

Sure enough, one of them splashed onto the raft. “There are canals on Mars,” it read. Lemmy threw a wet blanket over it.

“That seemed a good idea at the time,” remarked the Cuckoo.

Before anyone could speak, there was a very loud fluttering sort of noise coming from just where the raft was heading.

“Look out!” shouted George. “Lie down and cover yourselves with blankets. Stay under until we tell you it is safe.”

As quickly as they could, the Cuckoo and Lemmy grabbed a blanket each and covered themselves.

Before he pulled the blanket over his head, Lemmy called, “What is it?”

“It is a pack of lies,” shouted Charlie. “Cover up and hold tight. We are going to have to do some fancy driving to get past them.”

True to his word, the raft swerved from side to side. Lemmy clung to the boards and hoped that he was not going to be seasick.

After what seemed like hours of being flung from side to side, the raft steadied and the blanket was lifted off him.

“Safe now,” said George.

“What was that?” asked Lemmy.

“As I said, a pack of lies,” answered Charlie.

“What’s a pack of lies?” Lemmy demanded to know.

It was the Cuckoo who answered. “No‑one is really sure. It is a bit like a flock of gulls, but the pack is not made up of birds. They come up out of the Pool when there are a lot of utterly stupid and false ideas all together in the same place.”

“Is it dangerous?” Lemmy asked, looking round to make sure that the pack had really gone.

“Very,” said the Cuckoo. “If you get caught by a pack of lies, you may never be able to tell fact from fiction ever again. You would begin to believe everything you were told, whether it was true or not.”

He turned to the rafters. “How do you manage to carry on steering the boat when the pack is around you?”

“We try not to go right through the middle of it,” replied George. “But in any case, we have been doing this for long enough to know the difference between what is real and what isn’t.”

“Trouble is now, though,” added Charlie. “Dodging the pack has driven us off course. We are going to have to land a bit further away from the centre than we had intended. Sorry.”

“Cannot be helped,” said the Cuckoo.

The raft was driven up onto the shore. Lemmy and the Cuckoo carefully climbed out, making sure that they did not touch the Pool or the splashes of ideas on the front of the raft.

“Thank you,” said the Cuckoo. “I hope you can get back safely with just the two of you on the raft.”

“Glad to be of service,” said Charlie. “And not to worry, there are always folks who need to cross the Pool to the other side, so we can sail along the shore to our usual spot and just wait there until someone needs us. We have a hut there for when we need it.”

“Onwards and upwards then,” said Lemmy, which was another one of his mother’s favourite sayings when they set out on a journey.

“Onwards, at least,” said the Cuckoo. “And not so much mention of the upwards, if you don’t mind.”

“In that case, best foot forward,” said Lemmy, remembering another of his mother’s favourites.

“That’s me,” said his right shoe rather smugly. His left shoe just gave a loud derisive sniff.

“How far have we got to go now?” asked Lemmy.

“Don’t start with the ‘Are we there yet?’ thing,” said the Cuckoo.

Lemmy laughed. That was another of his parents’ complaints when they went on a trip. “We’ll get there when we get there,” was his mother’s answer each time. Lemmy had to confess that he often asked, just to be annoying not because he really wanted to know. He actually rather enjoyed travelling.