The Mapmakers' Race

by Eirlys Hunter

  Sal exchanged looks with Francie. Francie obviously hated the sulphurous smell and the gritty dust as much as she did.

  “Are you folk actual explorers?” asked Beckett.

  Joe explained. “Ma and Pa are, but they stopped racing when we were born so this is our first real race. But we’ve done loads of mapping—we mapped the Nerys Islands with them, and the Dorland Alps. And we did the Talbert Traverse when Humphrey was a baby.”

  “Heck!” Beckett sounded properly impressed.

  “I was only little,” said Humphrey.

  “So where are your parents now?” Beckett asked.

  “They—” Humphrey began, but before he could explain, Sal gripped his arm.

  “Shh! You mustn’t tell people. Else we might not get dinner.”

  “We’ll all get dinner, I’ll make sure of it,” said Beckett. “I’ve heard about this race. It’s to find a route through to New Coalhaven, isn’t it?”

  Sal repeated what their mother had told them. “It’s because of all the coal mines there. The only way to get the coal out and supplies in is by boat. But the port is too dangerous. There are rocks and sandbanks, and lots of ships get wrecked. The race is a competition to find an overland route, first for a horse track, but then for a railway.”

  “A railway?” Beckett pushed back his hat and narrowed his eyes. “This competition is to find a route for a railway from here through to New Coalhaven?”

  “Yes,” said Sal. “I just said.”

  “A railway! A railway through the mountains.” Beckett grinned. “I think that might just change everything.”

  “Why does it?” asked Humph. “What does it change? Why?”

  “I need to do some thinking—then I’ll tell you.” Beckett’s voice was drowned out by the thunder of a load of logs being tipped off a cart.

  Francie shuddered and put her fingers in her ears. Grand Prospect was too noisy. There were people everywhere, busy, busy, busy, and this part of the town still seemed to be under construction, with stacks of timber on every corner, and lots of shouting, sawing and banging.

  Beckett beamed. “At this rate, Grand Prospect’s going to be a city in a year or two. What a place!”

  They all looked at him.

  “You like this noise and all these people?” Sal was astonished. Beckett seemed a perfectly ordinary, nice person—how could he possibly like this town?

  Beckett nodded. “Certainly do! It’s progress. It’s the future unrolling.” And he turned Plodder into the town square.

  *

  The square was criss-crossed with strings of coloured bunting, and a stage had been built at one end. It looked very important. There were more people milling about than Sal had ever seen in one place.

  Beckett stopped the dray next to a statue of a frowning man in a top hat who was pointing at the sky. Joe and Humph climbed down and went to investigate a long table covered with piles of food under white cloths, but a red-faced man bellowed at them, “Hey you! Speeches first.”

  They came slinking back.

  From the top of the dray, Sal had a good view of the people sitting on the stage, the women in wide hats, and the men in tall hats and tail coats.

  First the mayor and then the chairman of the Railway Company spoke about Heroic Endeavour, Glorious Railways, the Challenge of Gradients, and the Miracles of Modern Steam Power. He went on and on. Sal yawned. Joe and Humph were trying to balance on the top rail of the fence around the square, Beckett’s eyes were closed, and Francie was drawing Carrot, who was dozing on Beckett’s shoulder.

  Finally, the chairman finished and the crowd applauded in relief, but the mayor stood up to speak again.

  “Let me remind you of the extraordinary prizes being offered in this unique competition.”

  Sal called to Joe to come and listen.

  “The first team to arrive in New Coalhaven will receive five hundred guineas.” The crowd clapped and the mayor nodded graciously. “In addition, the team that produces the best route for a horse track, complete with maps, will receive one thousand guineas.” The crowd cheered. “AND if their route proves suitable for a railway line, they will receive a further two thousand guineas, provided—” he held up his hand for silence, “they arrive at the finish line before sunset on St Solitude’s Day, twenty-eight days from today.”

  Sal gasped. Twenty-eight days! Actually no, only twenty-seven from tomorrow. Just finding a route could take twice that long, let alone surveying it—no wonder they could offer such a huge prize. So little time. But so much money. If they won they’d easily have enough money to buy a boat and sail off and search for Pa.

  If only Ma had trusted Joe and stayed on the train.

  The mayor picked up a pile of envelopes. “And now, the team leaders will come up to receive their race instructions. First up, please welcome Roger Rumpledown, team leader of Roger’s Ruffians.”

  Roger Rumpledown stumbled up the steps, smiling and waving at no one in particular. He took the large envelope the mayor gave him and ignored the hand being held out for him to shake.

  Sal hadn’t realised someone might have to go up onto the platform in front of everybody. Her knees suddenly felt too wobbly to take her anywhere.

  “Next, it is my privilege to introduce you to the world-renowned explorer, Mr Cody S. Cole the Third, leading his team Cody’s Cowboys.”

  There was a stir as the crowd parted for Cody S. Cole III. It was the tobacco-spitting giant from the train. He sauntered onto the platform, shook the mayor’s hand and took his envelope.

  “Cody Cole is serious competition,” Sal said. “Do you remember Ma and Pa talking about him, Joe? They beat him by a whisker in that race to find a route through Lauratia.”

  “And next I’d like to introduce the Solemn Team, which stands for the Society of Logical Explorers, Mappers and Navigators, led by Mr Keith Skinner. These men are scientific!”

  A thin young man who had been doing star jumps at the back of the crowd ran forward, took his envelope and nodded a tiny bow.

  Carrot scratched her head with a long claw. “Hip, hip, hoo. Hip, hip, hoo.”

  “And now, it is my great honour to introduce to you Sir Montague Basingstoke-Black, leader of Monty’s Mountaineers.”

  Sir Monty heaved himself out of a folding chair and climbed the steps to the platform in a cloud of pipe smoke. His team all had pipes clamped between their teeth. They called out “here here” and “jolly good show”.

  “Isn’t he the one who crossed some desert and found that ruined city?” Beckett whistled. “He’s famous.”

  Joe nodded. “The Desolo Desert. But our Ma says Sir Monty spends so much time being a World Famous Explorer nowadays that he’s stopped doing actual exploring. With a bit of luck, he’ll have forgotten how.”

  The mayor cleared his throat. “And next, in the spirit of a new age, we have the ladies from the Association of Women Explorers. Mind you’re not AWE-struck, gentlemen!”

  Some of the men in the crowd laughed, and a woman wearing a white dress and a sun hat as wide as a carriage wheel cleared a path for herself by waving a walking stick in front of her.

  “The name is Agatha Amersham,” her voice boomed out. “When we win this race, we will use the prize money to endow a college for young women to study surveying and engineering.”

  The crowd cheered and jeered in equal numbers.

  Sal stared. “I didn’t even know they were things you could study.” She jabbed Joe. “Did you know that?”

  “Shh—listen.”

  The mayor peered at his notes. “And finally, the Santander family.”

  People looked around.

  “No show by the Santanders?” said the mayor. “In that case we move on to—”

  Sal had to be brave. “Wait!” She took a deep breath, jumped off the dray and scuttled through the crowd to the platform. She wiped her hand on her skirt and stuck it out for the mayor to shake.

  “MynameisSalvatoraClementinaElsieMaySantander.”
>
  “I beg your pardon?” He raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at her.

  The crowd laughed.

  She tried again more slowly, though her mouth was dry and she felt hot and prickly under her skin. “My name is Salvatora Clementina Elsie-May Santander.”

  The mayor towered over her, even though Sal stood as tall as she could. “Is this a joke?” he boomed. “First, a team of women, and now a team of children. It’s ridiculous. This is emphatically not a race for juveniles.”

  “The Santander family will be racing.” Sal’s voice wobbled but she spoke very loudly so everyone could hear. “Our parents are delayed right now, but you confirmed our entry. The Santander team will start tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  CREAM CAKE AND JELLIED EELS

  “Brilliant! You did it!” Joe gave Sal a hand up onto the dray. He hugged her and Humph did too. “Santanders forever!”

  Sal huffed out a big breath that set her fringe fluttering. “That was terrifying!”

  “But you showed that horrible mayor.” Joe laughed. “We’re still in the race!”

  Sal gave the envelope to Francie. “You never lose anything so you’d better look after it.”

  Francie nodded and slipped the envelope into her sketchbook.

  “That was brave,” said Beckett.

  “Thanks!” Sal looked embarrassed but pleased.

  “It must be food time, now. I could eat fifty feasts.” Joe jumped off the dray but before he could get to the food table, a hand reached out of the crowd and clamped down on his shoulder. It squeezed too hard to be friendly.

  “A junior Santander!” Cody Cole sneered at Joe. He was chewing slowly, and he wasn’t smiling. “What d’ya think, boys? A bit scrawny, but I guess a hungry wolf ain’t that fussy?”

  The other Cowboys laughed, and one of them started to howl like a wolf.

  “You’ll meet wolves and worse out there,” Cody Cole drawled. “Best trot home on your hobby horse, kiddo.”

  Joe found that he knew just what to say. “You must think we’re serious competition, else why would you bother to try and frighten me?” He wriggled free and shouted, “Thanks for the compliment!” as he ran off.

  Who cared about the stupid Cowboys? The covers were being lifted off the food at last. But immediately the table disappeared behind a wall of explorers and organisers, leaning and reaching and filling their plates. And there they stayed, talking and eating.

  Sal joined Joe behind the row of backs. “Excuse me,” she called. “Hey! Excuse me!” but everyone behaved as if they were invisible.

  “My tummy can’t wait another minute,” said Joe. “Let’s go caving.”

  He bent down and pushed between the black woollen trouser legs and rustling skirts until he was under the long table, which was made of planks resting on trestles. Sal squeaked “No!” but she followed. Joe pulled an empty flour sack out of his pocket and gave it to her to hold, then he reached up around the tablecloth and ran his fingers along the edge of the table until they felt something. He lifted it down carefully. A bowl of plums. He put one in his mouth and tipped the rest into the sack. Sal added a plate of sandwiches. Fishpaste! They clambered over the trestles and crept under the length of the table, snaffling vegetable fritters, hard-boiled eggs, slices of beef, a plate of buttered bread and a tray of cheese tarts as they went. Then Sal lifted down an oozing cream sponge.

  “I’ll take it separately,” she whispered.

  They crawled out right near the Solemn men. “What have you heard about the Santanders?” Keith Skinner was saying, as he hacked at a ham.

  “He died,” said one.

  “She walked out,” said another.

  “One of the girls is doolally. Completely dumb.”

  “No competition there, then!”

  They snorted and sniggered—until Sal thrust the cream cake at Joe and seized a dish of jellied eels in both hands.

  “Liars! That’s not true at all,” she gasped, and upended the eels over Mr Skinner’s knickerbockers. Then she picked up the ham and shoved her way out through the crowd.

  Joe followed, clutching the cake and the bulging sack and laughing so hard he nearly dropped everything.

  He was laughing too much to explain, so Sal had to tell the others.

  “That Mr Skinner will surely reek,” said Beckett approvingly.

  When he was absolutely full, Joe licked his fingers. He stretched and lay back on the dray next to Francie, who had a cream moustache. “Best picnic ever. And loads of leftovers.”

  “Which is just as well,” said Sal. “Seeing as how Ma took her purse with her.”

  Joe was jumping up and down like one of the Solemns, trying to make room for a second slice of cake, when Roger Rumpledown wandered over, nodding like a buoy on a bumpy sea.

  “If it isn’t Santander’s brood, by jove!” he shook his head. “Sad business. Sad, sad business.” He smelled vinegary, like The Jolly Swagman before Ma had mopped the floors.

  “I’m not sad!” Humphrey said. “I’m going ’sploring to New Coalhaven.”

  “Dear little fellow.” Roger ruffled Humphrey’s hair and shambled off again, mumbling, “What a waste. Short life.”

  Sal was furious. “They’re all at it. I wanted to ask Agatha Amersham about her college but she just said, ‘A mapping race is no place for children, my dear, go home.’ And Sir Monty blew pipe smoke into my face and called me a brainless idiot. None of them think we can do it. We’ll show them!”

  She packed up the picnic with great ferocity, slamming down tin lids and slapping out cloths.

  “Oy. You.” A grumpy-looking middle-aged woman hailed them from the road. She was leading two skinny horses. “You know Angelica Santander?”

  “She’s our mother.” Joe climbed onto the railing to talk to her. “We’re the Santander team.”

  “Well, where is she?”

  Joe stroked the nose of one of the horses. Its eyes were yellowish and sticky. “She’s held up. She’ll be here in a day or two.”

  “She ordered two horses and three sovs’ worth of dried food. Meat, fruit, vegies. You better give me my money.”

  This was awkward. And she hadn’t finished.

  “Plus, the hire of the horses and the deposit. Fifty-three all up.”

  Sal leaned on the fence, her mouth hanging open. “Fifty-three sovereigns? But we can’t—”

  “Sorry,” said Joe, “we haven’t got any money. Not so much as a penny.”

  The woman turned on Sal. She looked as if she were about to explode with rage, and gobs of spittle flew as she shrieked, “Cheats! Liars! Shouldn’t be allowed. I’ll get the organisers onto you.”

  Sal went rigid; people were staring. Luckily Beckett came back just then. He knew what to say about the horses and he said it in his slow, peaceable voice:

  “Hello, you two. What sad old nags. Poor things, too weak to even flick away those flies.”

  The woman blustered some more, but a man who’d been watching called out that those horses would have a hard time getting back to their paddock, let alone over a mountain. And when Sal promised, cross her heart, that Ma was coming, and would pay for the food, the woman clomped away, dragging the reluctant horses after her.

  Beckett saw Sal’s face. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of folk with money around here. They’ll buy her food and she’ll end up getting paid twice. But I’ve scrounged some for nothing.”

  He’d been helping to clear the tables and been rewarded with two loaves of bread, a wheel of cheese, two pork pies (hardly started), a currant pudding, most of a jar of pickled cucumbers and a small sack of apples to add to their supplies.

  “Oh my goodness, thank you! This’ll feed us for a week,” said Sal.

  He looked doubtful. “Three days, perhaps.”

  “But what exactly are we going to do now, with no pack-horses?” Joe considered their baggage from every angle. “Can we just carry what we need?”

  Beckett laughed. “I
f you were the Hercules family, maybe.”

  Francie emerged from behind the tent canvas where she’d been hiding away from the shouting. She tried to lift the sack of tent poles. Heavy.

  “How about donkeys?” said Beckett. “I know a man who has some donkeys.”

  “I like donkeys,” said Humphrey, sharing an apple with Carrot.

  Beckett had one condition. “I can borrow some donkeys for you, right enough, but I’ll have to come with you to look after them.”

  Sal shook her head. “You can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Beckett hooted. “Do I look like a mollycoddled mumpkin?”

  Sal’s cheeks turned beetroot red. “It’s just, I don’t know—Ma, what she’ll say—we need to ask—”

  “Ma needs to make the important decisions, not us,” Joe explained.

  “But she isn’t here, is she?” Beckett looked at the heap of baggage on the dray. “It’s simple. We take the dray, go to my village, I borrow us some donkeys, then we’ll be all ready to go over the mountains when your mother catches up.”

  “Mollycoggled mumkin!” Humph chuckled around his thumb.

  “Why would you want to?” Sal demanded. She’d climbed onto the dray and was pulling the bags about as though she expected them to decide for themselves which could be left and which must be taken. “Most people seem to want to stay at home, not go exploring. And you said that you’d come to Grand Prospect to earn money for your family, which you won’t be doing if you come over the mountains.”

  “Unless we win,” said Joe.

  “Unless we win.”

  Beckett stroked Plodder’s neck. “Well, the first reason is, I’ve been having a closer look at those other teams and they’re all pompous asses. It would be a right shame if one of them won all that money.”

  “Pompous asses!” Humph danced around the dray. “Pompy, pompy, pomp.”

  Sal rolled her eyes at Beckett. “And?”

  “And I reckon it’s past time I had an adventure.”

  “And?”