Magnus Mills - Explorers of the New Century

After Thegn had retired, Tostig and Guthrum spent some time examining Thorsson’s map, which they’d laid out on top of a large flat boulder. Much detail had been added in the past few days, although it was still far from complete. By lamplight they studied the latest additions: namely, the Lintel Rock and the rapids beyond. Thorsson had made extensive use of the light-blue pen to mark the course of the dry river bed, with a darker hue for the river itself.

“It’s getting to be quite a tour de force,” remarked Guthrum.

“Without doubt,” concurred Tostig. “Thorsson has done a very thorough job. Yet there’s one thing that worries me about this map of ours. I’m concerned that the finished version could become a cause of mistrust between ourselves and our comrades. After all, whoever controls the map controls the route.”

“Indeed.”

“Therefore, I propose that when we reach our destination the map should be divided into separate sections, one for each man. This could be four or five, depending on the outcome of Thegn’s jaunt tomorrow. I think you’ll agree that it will probably be better not to mention the matter to Thorsson for the time being. He may lose heart if he discovers his masterpiece is going to be cut up. Then there’s the question of Thegn himself…”

As he spoke, Tostig casually reached into the pocket containing Thegn’s silver star. “Hello, what’s this?” he said, pulling out a folded sheet of notepaper. Holding it to the lamp, he peered at it closely before uttering a surprised, “Well, well, well.”

“What is it?” asked Guthrum.

“See for yourself,” Tostig answered, handing it over. “I thought all my correspondence had been filed away when we sailed, but this must have somehow shpped through the net.”

Guthrum took the note and read:

My dear Tostig

I have just received your message and now hasten to reply. Yes, by all means feel free to make full use of the blockhouse. Clark and I built it for the very purpose of providing a staging post for those who arrive at that desolate shore. Needless to say, I am delighted you’ve decided to give Commander Johns a run for his money. Maybe at last this issue can be settled once and for all. I wish both parties good luck in their endeavours .

Yours sincerely

R.F. Younghusband

“Written in his own hand,” observed Guthrum, returning the note. “You were highly honoured.”

“A courteous rejoinder to a polite enquiry,” said Tostig. “Just as one would expect from the great man.”

“An adventurer of the old school.”

“Unquestionably.”

“Why did he and Clark turn back? I never quite understood the reason.”

“You might well ask. The official explanation was given as ‘navigational difficulties’, but the truth was that they lost all their mules whilst still at sea. Apparently the wretched creatures succumbed to a form of melancholia during a storm: you know how easily they can become dispirited. One by one they died and had to be thrown overboard. A very trying episode, as you might imagine. Nevertheless, the voyagers pressed on and eventually made land. By building the blockhouse Younghusband and Clark greatly improved the chances of their successors, but in terms of their own plans the expedition was a disaster. They never got beyond the beachhead. Naturally, the cause of the failure was suppressed as long as possible for fear of undermining the Theory.”

“Naturally.”

“And I’m afraid the story has a sad postscript: poor Clark died on the homeward journey. I gather he was buried at sea.”

In silence, Tostig and Guthrum resumed their perusal of the map. For several minutes neither spoke, and the only sound was the distant roar of the river. Then, at last, approaching footsteps indicated the return of Snaebjorn and Thorsson from their duties at the water’s edge. After reporting that all the canisters were now fully replenished, Snaebjorn went off with Guthrum to feed the mules and erect the remaining tents. In the meantime, Tostig took Thorsson to one side.

“I’d like a quiet word, if you don’t mind,” he murmured. “While our colleagues are otherwise engaged.”

“Nothing wrong, I hope?” said Thorsson. “Surely not a mistake with the map?”

“No, no, of course not,” replied Tostig. “I merely wish to sound you out in a general way, that’s all. You are no doubt aware that Thegn is planning to assay the rapids tomorrow?”

“I guessed as much.”

“Well, I was wondering if there was anything you wanted to tell me before he sallies forth? Any salient fact or omission, for example, which you feel I’ve overlooked and should be brought to my attention; any rumour circulating without my knowledge; any weakness in the chain of command?”

“None that I can think of.”

“And you’ll agree that in our current circumstances each member of the party is dependent on everyone else?”

“Indeed.”

“Then tell me, Thorsson, would you invest Thegn with your life at the end of a rope?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Equally Snaebjorn?”

“Without hesitation.”

“And they you?”

“I should certainly like to think so.”

“Excellent. Quite excellent.” Tostig returned to the map and gave it a final inspection before rolling it up for the evening. Then he looked across at his navigator. “Thorsson,” he said. “You remain my trusted Number Three.”

“Thank you, sir,” came the reply.

§

The following day around about noon, four men watched as a coil of rope gradually unwound. One end was anchored to a pillar of rock overlooking the river; the other had been tied round Thegn’s waist before he disappeared into the gloom.

“Now we can only wait,” said Tostig.

His voice was all but drowned out by the continuous din that rose up from the waters below. Thegn had chosen to begin the crossing by descending a flight of natural steps he’d discovered a short distance upriver from the camp. Leaving his belongings with Snaebjorn, he’d asked them all to wish him luck before carefully starting down. Hereafter the only indication of his progress would be the slowly moving rope that slithered over the rocks and into nothingness.

Little by little the coil diminished, sometimes in a steady flow, sometimes in a series of fitful jerks interspersed with long halts. Thegn was clearly being very cautious. Presently the rope went slack along its entire length, as if he was coming back towards them. Everyone waited; a minute passed, then another, but still the rope remained slack.

“Shall I take some in?” suggested Guthrum.

“Good idea,” Tostig replied.

Guthrum stepped forward to seize the rope, but at the same instant it tautened and was off once more, uncoiling wildly as it coursed over the rocks, all the time pulling to the right. While this was happening they heard no cry from Thegn: only the ceaseless roar of the rapids. Within moments the rope had reached its full extent, coming to an abrupt halt and straining hard at its anchor. Immediately, Tostig gave the order for a second line to be added to the first. It was paid out steadily, and by degrees the tension lessened until at last the rope lay freely across the void. Then, after a further period of waiting, they received two sharp tugs from the other end.

“That was the agreed signal,” announced Tostig. “He has made it safely.”

To celebrate, he asked Thorsson to return to the Lintel Rock and fetch a flask of spirits from the supply tent. Also four little cups. A few minutes later they stood above the torrent and toasted the triumphs of the voyage so far. Then Snaebjorn asked if he could speak to Tostig in private.

“It may be of minor importance,” he said. “But there’s something I think you ought to know.”