Noreen Neckwood tripped down the Old Grey Road, singing to herself, and to anyone else that may have been in the vicinity.

‘Love is a prize sought by everyone, but I’ll take soap instead.’

Noreen collected soaps. She carried them around in a twenty kilo bag, and she had names for every one of them. Smelling nice was one of Gad’s Rules For Living, of which there were eleven, and Noreen was a Gad-fearing woman.

Gad – or Godfrey Adam Dervish – was the head rulemaker and keeper of doors in the Great Echoey Upstairs, a destination to which all good Gad-fearing folk were sure to go once they bounded off.

Noreen had a very impressive collection, but she would never be satisfied until she had collected the five rarest soaps in existence. Legend had it that the one who was in possession of the Ring Of Soap would be moved into the penthouse suite on the two thousandth floor of the Great Echoey Upstairs the minute they bounded off. The penthouse boasted an uninterupted view of the O-Shun, and a sixteen-person rosewater hot tub. 

Noreen had set out on her quest three days ago, and had just reached the t intersection where the Grey road ended and the khaki road began, when an obstacle was thrown down in her path. 

A green tortoiseshell boot with a yellow fleece cuff and a diamond heel. Such distinguished footwear could only belong to one person.

‘Madame Maelstrom?’

‘Na.’ A scrawny young lad came out from behind a frapture tree. He was presently picking away at a rather large scab on his forehead. 

‘Who the dimville are you?’

‘It don’t matter who I am, point is I’ve got her boot, and you know what that means.’

‘It means I have to recite the pledge of cleanliness.’

‘Backwards,’ nodded the Scrawny Lad.

Noreen swallowed. This was the first of the Taxing Trials, of which there were three, and there was no way round it. Noreen took a deep breath, then closed her eyes.

‘oN trid llahs ekac dniheb ym srae, fi i dluohs evil a dnasuoht sraey.’

‘Nice,’ said the scrawny lad. ‘Now I’ll just have that kiss and you can be getting on.’

‘I’ve read everything there is to read about the Taxing Trials, and I’ve never come accross anything about kissing a scabby youth.’

The scrawny lad gave Noreen a wan smile.

‘Right you are then,’ he removed the boot.

Noreen thought she heard a catch in the lad’s throat, and she couldn’t help but pity him. She gave him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. The scrawny lad’s face reddened, and Noreen caught a slight up turning at the corners of his mouth as he reached inside the boot and pulled out a plain white, oval bar of soap. He handed it to her.

‘Soap number one: the Bar Of Plainness. Take it with the blessing of Madame Maelstrom. Oh, and you can have this too and all…’

The scrawny lad reached down, peeled off his right sock and gave it to Noreen with a bow.

Noreen took the soap and the sock, discreetly dropping the latter into the paper bag she brought with her in which to store her garbage for later disposal. She thanked the boy, who really did seem to have bestowed the disgusting gift upon her from the bottom of his heart, and went on her way. She walked for another day until she came to another t intersection, this one marked by a traffic light. 

The Flash of Fear, as it was known, had a red don’t walk signal that was on almost constantly, allowing no pedestrians to cross unless they proved themselves in need of the hot springs that awaited them on the other side. 

Noreen was still squeeky clean, thanks to the dry wash powder she always carried in case of emergencies. She was scratching her head, trying to think, when her fingernail dug into something bumpy and she pulled her compact mirror out of her pocket.

She held up the mirror with one hand, pushed back her fringe with the other, and squeeled, half with delight and half with revulsion. She pressed her forehead against the call button on the light and in a matter of seconds the red don’t walk signal disappeared and was replaced with the word SCRUB!!! in neon green.

Such was Noreen’s terror at the thought of a ripe, pustulent boil throbbing away on her head that she began crossing the road at a run, and very nearly belly flopped into a pit of filthy bath water that had just opened up in the tarmac.

Noreen held out her arms, steadied herself, and very nearly toppled over a second time when a voice boomed over her head.

‘DROP AN OFFERING INTO THE TUB OF FILTH!’

Noreen struggled for a moment to think of anything on her person that was revolting enough to appease the filmy, foamy, waste-coloured water. Then she remembered the scrawny lad’s sock. She pulled the steaming piece of nylon out of the bag, being sure to grip it as gingerly as possible with the nails of her thumb and forefinger, and dropped it in. 

The muddy foam rose like freshly opened soft drink and accepted the offering, then the water ebbed and was calm again. Before the trap closed, a pink, lacy square of soap flew up and almost hit Noreen in the chin. 

‘Soap number two: the Bar Of Pity. With the blessing of Madame Maelstrom.’

Noreen thanked the voice, looking all around her as she did so, unsure as to where exactly it was coming from until she looked up to the top of the light and saw a creature perched there. It was covered in thin feathers the colour of gun metal that barely cloaked its angry, patchy skin, and it had a long nose that closely resembled a question mark. 

Noreen reached into her bag, took out a small bottle of healing conditioner and shimmeyed up the pole to where the creature was crouching. She handed it the creature, shimmyed back down to the ground and completed her crossing, walking as orderly as possible. The creature fairwelled her with the sweetest song Noreen had ever heard.

She was passing through an archway of black-leafed trees on the other side when the second tree along dropped its largest branch and blocked her way.

‘Sorry, Miss, but I haven’t had water in weeks. It’s all I can do to keep my roots from dying.’

Noreen pulled the three large bottles of cleansing dew water she bottled especially for the trip out of her bag, opened them and emptied them out over the forlorn looking roots of the tree. With a large crack, not unline the sound of someone stretching first thing in the morning, the tree lifted its branch and let out a satisfied sigh of contentment.

‘Oh thank you, Miss!’

Large, dome-shaped fruits sprouted and grew on the tree, and one of them fell down onto the ground at Noreen’s feet. She picked it up and tried to eat it, but it tasted like soap. She looked closely at it and noticed four words etched into its skin.

The Bar Of Generosity.

Noreen put the soap in her bag passed through the rest of the archway and took in a huge breath at the sight of the steaming, candy-floss scented water that bubbled away inside a kidney-shaped pool.

Noreen tapped the trunks of the two closest trees and, just as she’d read, all of the trees lowered their branches, providing Noreen with a modesty screen so as to let her bathe contendedly for as long as it took for the next stage of her journey to begin.

Four hours later, a single errant soap bubble rose out of the water and hovered in front of her before speaking in a tissue-paper-soft voice that couldn’t have been further from the towering, timbering voice that had Noreen trembling at the crossing.

‘Show me your dearest wish.’

Noreen closed her eyes and tried to picture being welcomed into the Great Echoey Upstairs by Gad himself, and the clean, bright, sweet-smelling delights that awaited her there, but instead of this, the faces of the creatures she had encountered on her journey so far floated before her, refusing to go away no matter how hard she poked at their bubbles.

Then a larger bubble appeared, gently nudging the others away, and on its glistening surface she saw her own reflection. The boil was gone.

‘For removing the blemish of self interest, please accept soap number four: the bar of sacrifice.’

A rectangular, parcel-brown bar of soap rose up and dropped into Noreen’s hands when the bubble it was encased in burst. Noreen threw it into her bag, which was sitting on a stone beside the pool, and the bubbles of the spring began to recede.

Noteen had just crossed the street and stepped onto the Amber Road when a large zebra crossing spread out in front of her. A lady stood on the other side. 

She was dressed head to toe in an outfit of slate and white stripes that left Noreen wondering where the crossing ended and the lady began.

‘Answer three questions and you may cross.’

‘Alright then,’ said Noreen, confident that her book smartness would never fail her.

‘Question one: How many stripes do you see before you?’

Noreen made a quick estimate in her head, then answered.

‘Thirty three.’

The striped lady bade her a quarter of the way across, then held up her stop sign.

‘Question two: What is the prize you are seeking?’

‘The Ring Of Soap,’ Noreen answered haughtily, wondering whether Madame Maelstrom had employed this ridiculous woman because she owed her a favour.

‘Question three: Who holds the key that will unlock the door that will allow you access to the Great Echoey Upstairs?’

‘Gad, of course,’ huffed Noreen, who was finding this leg of the quest rather tiresome.

‘Incorrect!’ bellowed the striped lady.

‘What do you mean, incorrect? Who else would have it?’

Noreen thought back on everything she had ever read about the Great Echoey Upstairs, and the quest for the Ring Of Soap, and came up empty. Then the illicit smile of the scrawny lad came to her, followed by the sweet song of the creature on the traffic light, and the contented sigh of the black-leafed tree.

Every reward she had received on the journey thus far, every path that had been cleared to allow her to progress, had been thanks to one person.

‘I do,’ she said.

The zebra crossing rolled up like carpet until it reached the striped lady’s collar, then disappeared completely. The striped lady was now draped in a glittering magenta cloak and matching hat, with boots that were identical to the one the scrawny lad had thrown in her path.

Madame Maelstrom, who was now standing right next to Noreen, held out her hand.

‘Come with me, child.’

Noreen took her hand, and suddenly found herself in a baby-blue room with a matching celing and a gold floor. The Gold Road.

This road led to the final stop: Madame Maelstrom’s castle. Noreen was expecting to be invited inside the large purple door, but Madame Maelstrom just pointed to an inscription on a small glass window that sat underneath the doorbell.

In case of worthiness, shatter glass.

Madame Maelstrom lifted her right leg and kicked the window with the razor-sharp diamond heel of her boot. Once every last jagged piece of glass flew away in all directions, a small piece of gold soap was left behind. Noreen reached in and took it.

‘Soap number five: the Bar Of Realisation.’

Madame Maelstrom asked Noreen to hand her all five soaps, which Noreen did without question. Madame Maelstrom produced a piece of gold string and threaded each of the soaps onto it, then tied it around Noreen’s neck.

‘Now you must go back the way you came and give four of these soaps to the three creatures you have met on your journey.’

‘But, I’ve earned them, and that doesn’t make any kind of mathematical sense!’

Distraught, Noreen did as she was told, thinking she must have failed somehow. She gave the Bar Of Generosity to the tree, in the hopes it would be blessed with enough water to see it through a lifetime of drought, she gave the Bar Of Plainness to the creature on the traffic light, in the hopes that it would find being plaina blissful relief from the ugliness with which it had been cursed, and she gave the scrawny lad the Bars Of Realisation and Pity, in the hopes that he would stop pitying himself, and realise that he was worth more than the thankless job with which he’d been saddled.

She kept the Bar Of Sacrifice for herself, and as the only valuable she owned, it was this she wore around her neck on the night of her ninety fifth birthday, when she bounded off, and was welcomed into the Great Echoey Upstairs by  Gad himself. He took the necklace from her and turned it into a bottle of perfume.

Noreen was delighted to find that it smelled exactly like home.