Magnus Mills - Explorers of the New Century

Carefully, Chase brushed his clothes and swept the dust outside; then he clambered into his own corner of the tent and got ready to go to sleep. “It’s the morning dew that I miss,” he said.

“Really, Chase?” said Johns. “So you’re a bit of a romantic at heart then?”

“Not really, sir,” came the reply. “But normally when it’s dewy in the morning it turns out nice later.”

“There’s not much chance of that happening round this place,” put in Scagg. “The weather’s always horrible.”

“I suppose it’s why no one’s bothered coming here before us,” said Johns. “Apart from our friend Tostig, of course.”

“Tostig?” said Chase. “Oh, yes: I’d forgotten all about him. I wonder how he’s getting on.”

“Same as we are, probably,” murmured Scagg.

Thereafter the discussion subsided. Chase and Scagg settled down quietly beneath their blankets, and within minutes the forlorn roar of the night had lulled them both into deep slumbers. Johns, though, stayed awake a little longer. For a while he sat motionless, his journal in his hand, gazing at the flickering lamplight. Along with the rest of his comrades, he had now grown a beard: not a grizzly one like Scagg’s, but, nonetheless, one that showed he’d been travelling for many weeks. It had been an arduous time. Behind him were stacked the depleted remains of his once vast range of equipment. His men were tired. The fabric of the tent was worn thin, and, outside, the flag was in tatters on its flimsy staff.

Johns’s reverie ceased when a sudden draught of air caused the lamp to flare up momentarily. He glanced down at his journal. Then, opening it on a new page, he took his pen and wrote:

Morale very good despite worsening conditions. Latest hazard has arrived in the form of flying dust. Most unwelcome .

Inadvertently mentioned Tostig this evening during talk with men. Hope it does not prove to be an unlucky slip. Feel we are nearing our goal and should hate for them to be disappointed .

At the close of the following day, just after supper, Johns asked for Summerfield to come and see him in the command tent. He arranged for Scagg and Chase to make themselves temporarily absent, then sat and awaited his visitor.

Summerfield was prompt. “You wanted to see me, Mr Johns?”

“Yes, Summerfield, do come in out of the cold.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Summerfield entered and removed his woolly helmet.

“Now, Summerfield, I’m not going to beat about the bush,” said Johns. “It’s about this mule. The female.”

“Oh yes?”

“You seem to have won her trust.”

“I’ve tried to, yes, sir. I thought it might be of benefit to the expedition, given the circumstances.”

“Really?” Johns considered the explanation for some time. “Yes, well I suppose I can understand your line of reasoning,” he resumed. “The problem is, Summerfield, that in the past we’ve always kept the mules very much at arm’s length.”

“I know, sir.”

“Yet I’ve been reliably informed you’ve been conversing with this one, and have even gone so far as to give her a name.”

“Actually, sir, she already had a name.”

“Good heavens!”

“They all have names,” said Summerfield. “She’s called Gribble, which quite suits her, I think. And you remember the one who was crushed under the tugboat? That was her brother: his name was Thrip. Then she lost two cousins in the river. They were called Vetch and Madder. And the four…”

“Summerfield! Summerfield!” interrupted Johns. “What on earth are you trying to prove by all this?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“But you know very well you’re not supposed to have dealings of any sort with the mules, not even to talk to them, let alone learn their family history!”

Summerfield bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mr Johns, and I hope you can forgive me. I know my conduct must appear somewhat aberrant. It’s just that over the last few days I’ve come to see qualities in the mules I thought only we possessed: humour, companionship and so forth; and it’s made me realise they’re hardly different from ourselves.”

“Nevertheless, in the final analysis they are different,” said Johns. “It’s a scientific fact: their minds operate differently to ours; therefore, they behave differently. That’s why we classify them as mules; and that’s why they’re being sent away.”

“And well they know it.”

“What?!” exclaimed Johns. “I hope you haven’t disclosed any details!”

“There was no need,” said Summerfield. “They’re not fools: they’ve already worked it out for themselves.”

Johns sighed and shook his head.

“Such a dreadful state of affairs!” he uttered. “I really must insist you put an end to this fraternising at once. Apart from it being most unseemly, I fear you may be creating extra difficulties for all of us in terms of both discipline and control. Yes, Summerfield, I know you meant well, but it has got to stop immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Good,” said Johns. “Then we’ll draw a line under the matter.” He leaned back and smiled broadly at Summerfield. “On a lighter note, you’ll be pleased to hear that your cherished ambition will soon be within reach.”

A moment passed.

“Beg your pardon, Mr Johns,” said Summerfield. “What cherished ambition?”

“Why, to be first to reach the Furthest Point, of course.”

“Oh that. Er…yes, I am quite looking forward to it.”

The smile disappeared.

“Quite looking forward to it?” Johns repeated. “Surely you can summon up a bit more enthusiasm than that, Summerfield; after all, you’ve been our keenest trailblazer thus far.”

“I’m as eager as ever,” came the reply.

“Well, try to show it, can’t you?” snapped Johns. “It’s not much to ask.”

“No, sir. Sorry. Will that be all?”

“For now, yes.”

“All right, then. Good night.”

“Night.”

Johns did not look at Summerfield as he headed outside. After he’d gone, however, he glanced towards the doorway. “Damn and blast,” he murmured to himself.

§

The next morning dawned cold and bleak. In the south a dense bank of clouds obliterated the sunrise; in the north the sky was clear, but the air was flecked with incoming particles of dust. The two tents stood parallel to one another, with a space in between. The space was empty. When Seddon emerged he headed straight for the makeshift cooking area, buttoning his coat as he went. Struggling in the wind, he got the stove lit and put a pan on before turning back towards the tents. Only then did he notice the mules were missing. Immediately he went to the command tent and woke Johns, who rose quickly and initiated a search.

“They can’t have got far in one night,” he asserted. “The trouble is we don’t know which direction they took off in.”

“Back the way we came?” suggested Scagg. “Unlikely,” said Johns. “They wouldn’t want to cross that river on their own. Yet there are no obvious tracks going anywhere else.”

“They must have covered them over.”

“Possibly, Scagg; or more probably the dust did.”

“Mr Johns!” called Plover. “There’s one of them!” He was pointing to the west of the camp, where a short distance away Gribble could be seen wandering slowly about, picking up pebbles from the ground, examining them closely and then discarding them again. She seemed oblivious to the hue and cry that was going on all around her, and showed not the slightest sign of being a potential runaway.

“Keep your eye on her, Plover!” ordered Johns. “The rest of us will have to spread out and see if we can trace the others. We’ll meet back here in one hour’s time.” Before proceeding, Plover went back into the tent and exchanged his woolly helmet for the high-peaked cap he’d worn during the early part of the expedition. This gave him rather an official bearing, especially as he’d taken care to keep his beard neatly trimmed during the past weeks. With a determined stride, he marched out of the camp towards Gribble. She was now only a hundred yards away; he covered the distance in less than a minute. As he approached she turned her back as if she hadn’t seen him coming, and moved a little further off. Plover followed, dogging her resolutely until at last she drew to a halt.