Magnus Mills - Explorers of the New Century

“Up to your usual tricks?” he remarked.

Gribble said nothing.

“I suppose you think you’re very clever, don’t you?” Plover continued. “Helping the others to sneak off.”

“It wasn’t me,” she replied.

“Who was it then?”

“Don’t know.”

“Of course it was you,” he said. “You were the only one who wasn’t tied up. I knew you couldn’t be trusted: we gave you an inch and look what happened. Well, you’ll be sorry this time. They’ll have a rope round your neck sure as I’m standing here, and that’ll put an end to your fun and games.”

Gribble turned and peered towards the camp.

“Is breakfast ready yet?” she asked.

“No, it isn’t!” retorted Plover. “In case you hadn’t noticed, everybody’s busy seeking the rest of the fugitives. You’ll just have to go without.”

“As usual.”

“What was that?”

“I said I’ll have to go without as usual.”

“You get your full provender,” said Plover. “What is it you imagine you go without exactly?”

“Comfort,” answered Gribble. “Warmth; sympathy; kindness.”

Plover broke in. “Oh, don’t try making me feel pity for you,” he said. “It just won’t wash at all; your situation is of your own making and no one else’s.”

“Our own making?!” she cried. “How can you say that when you held us down for generations!”

“You held yourselves down!” countered Plover. “It had nothing to do with us! The simple truth is that your ancestors sat idly in the sun, while ours toiled and sweated in preparation for winter. Then when they fell behind they put the blame on everybody but themselves. They curled up, covered their heads and hoped it would get better, which it didn’t. Now you and your kind are paying the price: you were born feckless, and feckless you will always remain.”

“So we’re being punished because of who we are,” said Gribble.

“Because of what you are,” answered Plover. “And I tell you: the sooner you’ve all been shipped out the better.”

“Then you’ll be happy, will you?”

“Life will be vastly improved, yes.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Don’t be impertinent!!” Plover raised his voice and instantly Gribble fell silent. For some moments the two of them glared at each other in open hostility; then Plover turned abruptly away and strode back to the camp. Gribble followed at a distance, having now lapsed into a wordless sulk. She passed the next hour arranging her collection of pebbles in a small pile. These numbered half a dozen, all blue in colour, and all roughly the same size. Meanwhile, Plover tinkered with the stove. Seddon had extinguished the flame when he went off to join the search party, and, try as he might, Plover was unable to get it going again. Eventually, he gave the priming mechanism a dismissive prod, as if to suggest it might be faulty, and turned his attention elsewhere. By this time one or two of his comrades were beginning to return. Chase and Sargent trudged in from the north-east, shaking their heads when Plover looked at them enquiringly.

“No success?” he said.

“Nothing,” replied Sargent. “They’ve vanished completely.”

“That’s put paid to the expedition then.”

“Not necessarily,” said Chase. “We’ve still got one mule left so I expect Mr Johns will want to press on.”

“Shame the ‘one mule’ is the most awkward of the bunch,” observed Plover.

“You can say that again,” agreed Sargent. “A wily specimen and no mistake.”

“Here’s Mr Johns now,” said Chase.

Johns had appeared in the distance, accompanied by Seddon. Beyond them could be seen the advancing figures of Summerfield and Scagg.

“Obviously no luck either,” said Sargent.

On entering the camp, Johns immediately asked Seddon to prepare a belated breakfast.

“Any food missing?” he queried.

“Not as far as I can tell,” answered Seddon, after sorting through the stock of provisions. “Oh, except for the bag of barley sugar.” He looked a second time. “Yes, that seems to have gone.”

“Well, I don’t know how far they expect to travel on a handful of sweets,” remarked Johns. “What an infantile escapade! Don’t they realise we’re doing this for their sakes as much as ours?”

“Apparently not, sir,” said Seddon.

“They’ll be sorry when they starve to death.”

While Seddon busied himself with his pans, Johns went over and spoke to Scagg.

“Yet another setback,” he said. “Nonetheless, we still have one mule remaining; therefore, I intend to press on. I trust I have your agreement on this?”

“Certainly, Mr Johns,” said Scagg. “I’m determined we’ll get to the Furthest Point, come what may.”

“Good show, Scagg.”

A short time later Seddon announced breakfast.

“Sorry it’s a little overcooked, gentlemen,” he commented. “Someone’s been fiddling with the stove and it was difficult to regulate properly.” As he said this he threw a glance at Plover, who gave no hint of having heard him.

Gribble ate separately at the other side of the camp. Summerfield took her food to her, and was a little while in coming back. When finally he returned his face betrayed anger.

“Plover,” he said. “What on earth did you say to Gribble earlier?”

“I simply reminded her of a few harsh realities,” Plover replied.

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact that the mules have no future in the civilised world.”

“Well, I wish you’d been a little more tactful,” said Summerfield. “Now you’ve gone and upset her.”

“Is this true?” asked Johns. “You’re sure she’s not merely play-acting?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” answered Summerfield. “She really is quite distraught. Furthermore, she says she’s lost the will to go on. She told me she can’t possibly walk another step.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Summerfield shrugged. “There’s not much difference.”

“Then we’ll just have to put the whip behind her,” said Plover.

“I don’t think so,” said Johns. “That won’t help matters at all.”

“What are we going to do then?” enquired Scagg.

“I’m not sure yet. We’ll need to consider it.”

Accordingly, straight after breakfast Johns and Scagg went into the command tent for a consultation. They spent half an hour discussing the various options; then they called in Chase.

“Now then, Chase,” began Johns. “It’s about your instrument case.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I gather it’s your personal property.”

“That’s correct,” said Chase. “The instruments have been in my family for years, as a matter of fact. I come from a long line of navigators.”

“So I’m given to understand,” said Johns. “Actually, it’s not the equipment I’m interested in so much as the case itself.”

“Ah.”

“Looks like a nice piece of timber.”

“Finest mahogany.”

“Really?”

“Specially selected by the manufacturer.”

“Well, Chase, I was wondering if you would be prepared to sacrifice it for the good of the expedition? You see, we urgently need some timber and apart from a few discarded provisions boxes there’s little else available. It would really help us if you’d consent to this; naturally your contribution would be noted in the records.”

“Of course, Mr Johns, you’re most welcome to use it.”

“Thank you, Chase,” said Johns. “Scagg here will provide you with some cloth to wrap your instruments in. That will be all. Can you send in Sargent next, please?”

“Yes, sir.”

A minute later Sargent arrived. “You wanted to see me, Mr Johns?”

“Yes, Sargent. Now when you joined this expedition I remember you described yourself as a jack-of-all-trades.”