Magnus Mills: Explorers of the New Century

Pausing only long enough to take a deep breath, Summerfield turned and headed back.

In his absence, the other members of the party had risen and were all occupied making preparations for the day’s march.

“I really must have a word with Summerfield,” Johns remarked, when he was spotted moving around on the ridge. “It’s all very well him scouting ahead all the time, but if he’s not careful he’s going to expend all his energy before we get anywhere.”

“Do you want me to speak to him?” asked Scagg.

“No, it’s all right, thank you, Scagg,” said Johns. “It only requires a gentle word.”

§

“Gentle word, my Aunt Molly,” declared Cook. He’d been working near to Johns and Scagg, and had overheard their discussion. A short while later, as he and Sargent packed their tent, he gave forth his own particular opinion. “It was Summerfield’s blessed fault we got on to this scree in the first place. If he’d only given Johns a chance to make a decision we could have done a detour; gone round the side or whatever it demanded, instead of ploughing straight through the middle. That was the worst night I’ve ever had, lying on all those blinking stones. I never slept a wink.”

“Why were you snoring so much then?” asked Sargent.

“Who was?”

“You were. You kept waking me up. And Medleycott.”

“Well, Medleycott can hardly complain about me. He spent half an hour folding his clothes away before he put the light out.”

“He didn’t complain.”

“Oh.”

“Shared his chocolate with us, actually.”

“Yes, I’ll give him that,” conceded Cook. “He did share his chocolate.”

§

By the time they left Summerfield’s Depression, as the site had now been named, the sun was already partway through its slow crawl along the southern horizon. It appeared as a dull red orb, offering little in the way of warmth, and providing light for only a few short hours. Faced with this scarcity, they continued travelling in a straight line.

“We can assume,” said Johns, “that the terrain is bound to change eventually.”

“Why has he turned it into such a struggle?” said Tostig. “We’ve established a perfectly good trail along our river bed, clearly marked at frequent intervals, yet for some reason he has to go and take a different route altogether. Completely unnecessary.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a race of it,” said Guthrum.

“You think so?”

“The evidence certainly suggests he is.”

“Indeed it does, Guthrum, indeed it does. So that’s his game, eh? All right then: if it’s a race he wants he can damn well have one!”

Tostig raised his field glasses and continued to watch as the distant, tiny figures inched across the scree. “Eleven men,” he said. “And two dozen mules. Roughly two dozen. Far more than he needs, I would have thought, unless he’s counting on heavy losses.”

“He’s making very good speed,” Guthrum remarked. “That surface must be hell to travel on.”

“I’m not surprised at all,” answered Tostig. “They’re a wayfaring people, just as we are, and a stretch of slow-going won’t daunt their spirits. Hardship means nothing to them.”

“Will you tell the others we have a rival?”

“Yes, of course. They should be informed at once. Come on.”

Without a further word the two men turned and made their way down from their viewpoint. They had been standing on a natural abutment that rose up on one side of the dry watercourse. Below them, on the sandy bed, their three companions were breaking camp. The river had narrowed considerably since the start of the journey; its meanderings were frequent; and its arid banks had crumbled in many places. Nonetheless, it persisted in providing a ready-made route inland. Tostig’s passage, thus far, had been an easy one. Now, on his return, he had an announcement to make.

“Johns and his party have finally made an appearance,” he began. “We’ve just sighted them about twelve miles to our west, cutting directly across an area of scree. We’re still ahead of them but it’s clear they’ve gained substantial ground. Whether they’ll be able to sustain their progress is another matter entirely. From what we can make out, they are transporting a huge amount of supplies and equipment, so I think we can safely assume that this is more than a half-hearted sortie. It’s plain that Johns and Company mean business.”

Tostig paused and allowed his men a few moments to discuss the news amongst themselves. Then he went on.

“Now as you probably know, Johns manned his expedition entirely with volunteers, whereas we, of course, are all professionals. In addition, we have the advantage of being a smaller group. The lightness of our gear allows us to move more swiftly, and even though we’re not kitted out for a long stay at our destination I’ve no doubt we’ll be able to obtain the required facts in good time. Meanwhile, I suggest we follow this river bed as far as we possibly can. Have you taken some bearings, Thorsson?”

“Yes, I have,” came the reply. “We’re still on our correct course.”

“That’s good.” Tostig nodded his approval. “And from now on,” he added, “we can dispense with leaving helpful markers behind us.”

This produced a round of laughter from the assembled men, who quickly resumed their former activities. The camp comprised five pocket tents, one for each member of the team. There was also a slightly larger tent for storage. All could be folded away at a moment’s notice. Tostig was travelling with a total of ten mules, and great care was taken to ensure that their loads were distributed equally. This having been done, Tostig and Thegn led the way forward, with Snaebjorn, Thorsson and Guthrum following close on. It was still early morning.

All five were clad in pea jackets. The party had not yet encountered the sort of harsh weather conditions that were prevalent further west, and for the time being had no need for woollen headgear. Instead they each wore a navy cap with a red band. Tostig’s was distinguished by three silver stars, Guthrum’s by two, while the others had one star apiece.

§

“So how are you enjoying our battle with the famous Mr Johns?”

Tostig had addressed his question to Thegn, who was doing his best to keep pace alongside him.

“Oh, it’s a great honour, sir,” he replied. “I’m in your debt for allowing me to take part.”

“Nonsense,” said Tostig. “You owe me nothing. You’re here on your own merit, the same as everybody else.”

“Well, I’ll do my best to help us succeed.”

“If our good fortune continues I’m certain we will.”

Thegn paused and glanced back at the line of mules moving slowly along in their wake. Then he doubled his step and again caught up with his leader.

“Is it true you met Johns a few years ago?” he asked.

“No,” rejoined Tostig. “We’ve never spoken.”

“But I thought you both attended the first conference.”

“We did, but to tell you the truth I barely even caught sight of him. From the outset he kept a very low profile and made little or no attempt to ‘confer’ in the true sense of the word. At the time I was quite unaware that the two of us were pursuing similar ideas. An introduction would have been mutually beneficial, but I’m afraid it wasn’t to be. As you know, he didn’t bother with the second conference.”

“‘Time for Action not Words’,” said Thegn.

“Indeed.”

“Blowing his own trumpet, more like.”

“Oh, I didn’t begrudge him his blaze of publicity,” said Tostig. “The world at large needed to know what was proposed. But he seemed to take it as a foregone conclusion that he alone was going to light the way. Which was when I decided to come along and see what could be done. It just happened that we landed before he did.”