by Magnus Mills
This being the first occasion the tents had been unpacked since coming ashore, it took a little trial and error to get them properly erected, especially as they could not be pegged down. Instead, they had to be weighted with stones, and by the time the work was finished a couple of lamps needed to be lit. Meanwhile, a field kitchen had been set up, complete with spirit stove, from which Seddon produced an evening meal. This was later described by Johns as ‘miraculous’, and earned Seddon a hearty three cheers. Afterwards Plover went over and offered to help him put away the cooking equipment. Everyone else had retired to their allotted tents, and the only sounds were the muted conversations coming from within. Johns could be seen in silhouette at his camp table, writing his journal by lamplight. Summerfield was already asleep. Plover gathered together a group of nestling pans, then spoke quietly to Seddon.
“You’ve heard what Medleycott’s been doing, have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Seddon replied. “I’ve been too busy.”
“He’s been going round all day asking people which tents they’re in.”
“Well, he didn’t ask me.”
“As a matter of fact he didn’t ask me either,” said Plover. “But apparently he’s made quite an issue of it. Even spoke to Johns himself. Not that he’s gained anything for all his troubles: he’s still ended up stuck with Cook and Sargent.”
During this exchange, Seddon had been folding away a large canvas windbreak. Now he stood up and glared at Plover.
“Meaning what?” he asked.
“What?” said Plover.
“What do you mean ‘stuck with Cook and Sargent’?”
“Well…you know.”
“No, I don’t know!” Seddon snapped. “Look, Plover, I’m not interested in your gossip, so can you just get on and hand me those pans if you’re going to?!”
“All right, all right.”
“And if you really mean to help me you could at least stop getting in my way.”
They completed the rest of the chores in silence, before returning to their shared tent. Seddon entered first, taking care not to wake Summerfield as he did so. Plover stayed outside for a while longer, and added a few extra stones to those already piled along the edges. Then he, too, went to bed.
§
When Summerfield emerged at first light, he noticed that something had disturbed the mules. They were in an agitated state, straining on their tethers, heads all turned in the same direction. As they pressed against one another, each jostling for an advantage, he tried to follow their line of vision. For a moment there appeared a remote glint, perhaps ten miles away to the northeast, and again the mules kicked up. Summerfield blinked and peered once more into the distance, but he saw nothing else. Speaking softly to his charges, he now made a big show of measuring out the quantities for their hot mash, and getting the pot ready. His actions had the desired pacifying effect. Within a few minutes the mules had settled down to a calm anticipation of breakfast. Leaving the pot to boil, Summerfield then set off across the scree towards the next crest. It was more steeply inclined than the previous one, rising quickly to a sharp ridge, which he reached after a quarter of an hour’s hard scrambling. When he made the top his eyes were met by a further vast tract of monotonous stony ground. The oncoming wind had not abated.
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.”
∨ Explorers of the New Century ∧
Two
“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, wherea
s 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.”
“Presumably he’ll be aware of our presence?”
“No doubt at all. There’s only one navigable approach to that coast, so he must have seen our vessel. Besides, he was bound to make use of the blockhouse.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Johns knows we’re here all right.”
Thegn did not pursue the conversation further, as he was now obliged to help encourage the mules to enter a deep cleft where the river banks converged. The visibility was rather poor here, and only after some careful handling by Snaebjorn were they induced into the narrow opening. At this point the sand gave way to sedimentary rock, suggesting that at one time a strong torrent had funnelled through the gap. Tostig watched as the last mule hesitated, pulling back on its rope before finally plunging forth to join the others.
“They’ll have to get accustomed to this gloom sooner or later,” he remarked to Guthrum. “We’ll be travelling in near darkness very shortly.”
“How many days’ sunlight are there left?” Guthrum enquired.
“Fourteen, according to Thorsson’s calculations.”
“And then the real test will begin.”
“Quite.”
Snaebjorn had taken over the leading of the mule train. He cajoled his charges painstakingly along the gorge, avoiding fallen rocks that lay scattered in their path. The river bed soon became sandy again, but it was clear the journey had entered a new phase. In place of crumbling banks there rose on either side steep walls that echoed to every sound.
“So now we are fully committed to our course,” said Tostig. “Henceforward we need not worry whether the route we have chosen is the correct one or not. The topography of the region has made that decision for us, and we can do nothing about it. Instead we must concentrate all our efforts into moving ahead rapidly and efficiently.”
Each of Tostig’s mules had a small bronze bell hung from a collar around the neck. These bells jingled in unison as the little troop wove its way onwards, the march not ceasing until the pervasive dullness had faded into a premature dusk. Then, at last, Tostig gave orders to make camp. Lanterns were lit and the tents erected in a straight row, side by side, at the foot of the rock wall. Meanwhile, Snaebjorn set about preparing supper.
“There’ll be no need to tether the mules tonight,” Tostig announced. “Not in this dismal place. Just turn them loose and they’ll keep near us. Now Guthrum and I are going for a short exploratory stroll.”
A little later, Snaebjorn came out of the supply tent and crossed to the cooking area. Then he returned to the tent once more. Emerging a second time, he was met by Thegn.
“Yes?” he said.
“Looking for these?” asked Thegn. He was holding a set of miniature weighing scales.
“As a matter of fact I am,” replied Snaebjorn. “I’ve been searching all over the place.”
“My apologies.”
“What are you doing with them?”
“I’ve been pursuing a line of enquiry,” said Thegn. “I borrowed them to try something out.”
“I see.”
“You know, it’s marvellous the organisation that’s gone into this voyage of ours. Quite exhaustive! Every aspect was planned beforehand, right down to the finest detail. For example, how do you think the weight of a water canister compares with a tin of biscuits?”
“No idea,” said Snaebjorn.
“Have a guess.”
“I’ve just told you I don’t know.”
“Identical,” Thegn announced. “They both weigh exactly the same.”
“Really.”
“Within an ounce. Apparently there were such huge logistical demands to be met that for purposes of simplification all items were classified in fixed units of weight. You could substitute a folded tent, say, with a coiled rope and it would make no difference to the overall load. The exact method used is described in the Ship’s Manual, if you’re interested.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”
“Appendix B.”
Snaebjorn took the scales and held them up for examination. “You’re very well informed considering you were such a latecomer,” he remarked. “Everything was stowed by the time you came on board.”
“Couldn’t be helped,” Thegn answered. “I arrived as quickly as I could.”
“That’s no excuse for borrowing the scales without permission.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
“They’re for measuring out portions, not conducting experiments.”
“All right, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
There was a movement in the dark and Tostig appeared.
“How’s supper going?” he enquired.
“Won’t be long,” said Snaebjorn. “I’ve broken open the new pouches.”
“The dried
food?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, good,” said Tostig. “Here, Thegn, you should find this most interesting. Come and look.”
They followed Snaebjorn to the cooking area, where a large pot of water was just coming to the boil.
“Dried food is the undoubted miracle of our times,” Tostig continued. “It provides the key to long-distance travel, and removes the need for all those heavy sacks we used to have to carry. Our supplies are the results of limited research, but even at this preliminary stage we’ve managed to make huge reductions. In the near future a whole meal will be stored in a cube no bigger than a gaming dice.”
“Sounds invaluable,” said Thegn.
“Certainly it’s invaluable,” agreed Tostig. “And, of course, there are hidden advantages as well. It means we’ll be spared from having to dine with people we can’t abide. We can simply take our cube and eat alone. What do you say, Snaebjorn?”
“Invaluable,” murmured Snaebjorn, before disappearing into the gloom. Returning with a small linen pouch, he poured the contents into the pot.
“Is that it?” asked Thegn.
“That’s it,” said Tostig. “A meal for five. Better call the others.”
“We’re here,” said Guthrum.
♦
Under normal conditions it took five minutes for a pocket tent to be taken down, folded up and packed away. In twilight the task tended to take a little longer, but nevertheless Tostig insisted that it be practised daily as a precaution in case they ever needed to leave an area quickly. Only Snaebjorn could do it in less than five. The others seldom witnessed this feat because he was always the earliest to rise and he would put his tent away immediately. Their first morning in the gorge found him pacing around as the darkness gradually gave way to a pale dawn light. Having already fed the mules and put the pan on for breakfast, he could now only wait until his companions awoke. He’d found the mules gathered together at the very edge of the camp, a place they’d occupied throughout the long hours of night. During that time the occasional jingling of a bell had indicated one or another of them moving to what it thought was a more comfortable position, before again settling down to rest. Like Snaebjorn, the mules, too, were waiting. After a while he wandered over to the rock wall. Finding a foothold, he climbed a short distance on to a ledge, where he sat for several minutes gazing at the silent row of tents below him. Nothing stirred. No birds. No insects. Nothing. With some difficulty, he got down again and then glanced at the palms of his hands. These now bore a slight blue stain. He was still studying them when Guthrum appeared at the entrance of his tent. Emerging fully clothed, he stood up and put his cap squarely on his head. Then he saw Snaebjorn and gave him a nod. “How are your two stars suiting you?” Snaebjorn enquired.
