The Plumber, the Pipes and the Great Reset
By Roderick “Whiskers” McNibble, currently reporting from a cavern beneath McFookit Peak via a mysterious paw-held device found in a wallaby's kneecap. In my absence, the Editor records these updates from my dispatches.
This is based on real events. Some events may have been invented for purposes of dramatisation.
Act I - The Mouse at the Signpost
Dusty McFookit was considering his plight.
Mrs McFookit was locked in the Wrong Tower, he had an emu called Tony as a house guest, and there was nobody to cook him dinner. Except Tony.
Last time Maureen had been away, Dusty had undertaken what he later described as “a straightforward sausage operation.”
It was not.
So when Mavis Thomson arrived with a thermos of tea and a plate of scones, his spirits rose considerably.
Tony, who had been outside collecting insects for what he clearly regarded as a thoughtful contribution to supper, was temporarily forgotten.
While clearly disappointed, Tony understood that food was a very personal choice.
Mavis rarely arrived anywhere empty-handed. The CWA had survived wars, shortages, blackouts and enough official advice to fill a warehouse. A thermos and a plate of scones were well within its capabilities.
The whereabouts of a proper dinner, however, remained a matter for further investigation. The pub was currently experiencing an identity crisis, being uncertain whether it was the Dusty Dingo or the Rusty Flamingo, while rumours persisted that a flamingo had escaped Florida's latest storm.
Mavis poured the tea, then produced a small folded message.
“I've had word from below ground,” she said.
Dusty put down his cup.
The message was brief.
BRING SINK SPANNER AND PLUMBING GEAR. DO NOT USE UTE.
He looked towards his white Hilux, GULCH1. The Honklanders were watching for him, and taking the ute out again would be an excellent way of telling them exactly where he was going.
Besides, there had been suggestions lately that tradies ought to abandon their utes and find alternative transport.
Dusty considered this advice.
Then he looked at Tony the Emu.
Tony shrugged and went to fetch his saddle.
“Well,” Dusty said, “at least you don't need a bicycle lane.”
After his well-deserved and much-appreciated sustenance, Dusty packed his plumbing gear and checked that his trusted sink spanner was secure. Mavis wrapped the remaining scones for the journey.
“Tell them I sent these,” she said.
“I expect they'll be appreciated.” replied Dusty. She added “See that they are. There's no point saving the town if everyone goes hungry.”
Dusty jumped on Tony's back, and the two set off through the scrub towards the meeting place. Despite the signpost out of town no longer making any sense, Dusty knew the way well.
Lulu the little mouse was waiting there, her hairpin ready.
Dusty dismounted and reported his progress.
“The town is still blue. Prentis is away, but the Honklanders are guarding Maureen in the Wrong Tower. The fish in the potholes are getting restless, Feline Force Five are missing, Mavis and the CWA girls are making sonic pineapples, Tony the Emu is learning to cook, and there's a rusty flamingo on the loose.”
Lulu nodded gravely.
“Still, it could be worse.”
Dusty considered this. In Dusty Gulch, that was generally a dangerous thing to say.
He was now in full plumber mode, ready to do what he was trained to do: fix stuff that needed fixing.
“Right,” he said. “I've brought the tools. I've left the ute behind. I've got the tea and scones.”
He looked at Lulu.
“Now, where's the pipe that needs fixing?”
Lulu indicated the way down.
Somewhere beneath McFookit Peak, Roderick and Trevor were running out of options.
Dusty McFookit, plumber, mayor and reluctant participant in the latest transport revolution, had arrived to save the town. We hoped.
And all of Dusty Gulch hoped that he had brought the right spanner.
Act II - The Mystery of the Muddy Filter
Meanwhile, in the cavern beneath McFookit Peak, we anxiously awaited the arrival of Dusty.
By now, the WDP machine had stopped shrieking and screaming. It had calmed down to a wince and the occasional groan, which was not exactly reassuring.
Throughout the cavern, pipes clunked and vibrated. Trevor's knees were jumping erratically, and my whiskers were twitching in a most unseemly fashion.
Everything was out of whack.
We hoped that a good thump in the right place from a competent plumber might restore some order to the proceedings. Whatever had happened, the trouble was affecting the plumbing throughout Dusty Gulch, not merely the WDP unit.
The Old Cassowary and the Old Emu had spread ancient schematic drawings across a huge stone slab. In the dim light, they studied the layout, tracing the pipes from the water tower through the town and onwards to the old mine.
They murmured to each other, occasionally pointing at a junction or tapping a particularly complicated section of the drawings. Their lamps, mounted on their freshly acquired hard hats, glowed like fireflies in the darkness.
Leonard the camel had announced his boredom with the entire affair. He wished he were a parrot pining for the fjords rather than a camel pining for a date palm or two.
Suddenly, we heard the echo of approaching footsteps.
Dusty and Lulu had arrived.
“Well, lads,” Dusty announced. “I'm here. What seems to be the problem?”
The Old Cassowary beckoned him towards the drawings and explained the pipework, the strange noises coming from the WDP machinery, and the contamination found in the emergency diesel supply.
Dusty listened without interrupting.
Then he rolled up his sleeves.
“I see. I'll have a look.”
He began tapping the pipes, listening to their vibrations, testing the joints and examining the connections. Every so often he stopped, frowned, and muttered something to himself.
Time passed.
The clock was no longer merely ticking. Every five minutes it gave an alarm bell, as though it had decided that the situation required more shouting.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity measured in plumbing billable hours, Dusty straightened up.
“I know the problem.”
We all gathered around.
“There’s a blockage at the junction where the emergency diesel generator feeds into the main fuel line to the WDP machine. The filter is clogged, and the fuel isn't getting through properly.”
Dusty produced his trusted sink spanner and opened the inspection hatch.
The fuel filter was filthy.
It was as dirty as a Honklander after the annual Bulldust Worship Festival's mudslinging final of '25.
“Look at this,” Dusty said. “No wonder the machine's struggling.”
Then he stopped.
“Hang on. Something else is wrong.”
He pointed to a valve.
“This valve should have closed and prevented the contaminated fuel from getting through. But look here.”
We peered closer.
The washer was missing.
Dusty examined the valve again, turning it carefully with his spanner.
“ Without that washer, this valve couldn’t seal properly. The contaminated fuel has got past it and clogged the filter.”
He looked around the cavern.
“And if this washer was supposed to be here, someone needs to explain why it isn't.”
The room fell silent.
“This looks suspicious,” Dusty continued. “The contamination might have caused the blockage, but the missing washer means we can't simply blame dirty fuel. Someone may have arranged for this system to fail when the emergency generator was needed.”
We gasped.
Trevor stared at the valve with a peculiar expression, as though he were remembering something he had forgotten but really ought not to have forgotten.
The Old Cassowary scratched his chin.
“If the trouble extends through the town's pipework, we need to know what's happening up top.”
I sent a communication to Mavis as quickly as the mysterious device would allow.
Her reply arrived within minutes.
SITUATION CRITICAL. MAUREEN IS IN THE WATER TOWER, NOT HONK TOWER. SHE IS IN THE WRONG TOWER. THE TOWER IS SWAYING AND MAY BURST. FLOODING THREATENS THE TOWN. SONIC PINEAPPLE MISSION ON HOLD. PLUMBING EMERGENCY.
We read the message twice.
The situation had become considerably worse.
Maureen was still trapped. The water tower was under dangerous pressure. And if it burst, the town could be flooded before anyone had time to argue about whose department was responsible.
Dusty looked at the message, then at the pipes before him. His beloved Maureen was in danger. Besides, the prospect of Tony cooking his dinner was too awful to contemplate.
“I can't leave this system half-diagnosed,” he said. “But the tower needs a plumber, too.”
He paused.
“I only know one other plumber who can handle a job like that.”
Trevor's ears shot up.
“Dracula the Emu! I know him!”
“Can you contact him?” I asked.
“Yeah. I've got his card somewhere.”
Trevor reached into his small pouch and rummaged about. After some considerable searching, he produced a crumpled business card.
A strange barcode was printed across it.
I held the mysterious communications device over the card and scanned it.
The device lit up.
A voice crackled through the speaker.
“Drac Plumbing here. Yoah, Trev, me old mate. What can I do you for?”
“There's a job for you,” Trevor replied. “We need you to see Mavis at the CWA. She's got the details.”
"Is this a Drac job or a DRACULA job?
Trevor responded. " I reckon it is a captial letter one with bells on and a cape. "
“On my way.”
Click.
Trevor tucked the card away, looking rather pleased with himself.
Dusty returned to the fuel filter. He had a blockage to clear, a faulty valve to investigate, and a machine that needed to run properly before the town's plumbing could be trusted again.
Above us, Maureen remained imprisoned in the swaying water tower.
The sonic pineapples were on standby. Dracula with a captital D and a cape was on his way. The WDP continued to wheeze, and the pipes clunked ominously as pressure built in the system.
We stared at one another in grim silence.
Somewhere above ground, the water tower was running out of time.
And Tony had been working on his menu for when Dusty came home....
And in Dusty Gulch, a missing washer was beginning to look a great deal more important than anyone had imagined.
This is Roderick ( Whiskers ) McNibble signing out. I suggest you keep twitching to a minimum for the moment. Just in case. And do not let Tony anywhere near the kitchen.
