Wild Moose Chase

by Siobhan Rowden

  The twins watched in alarm.

  “We weren’t meant to land here,” said Bert. “We blew off course.”

  “And it’s true about the Queen,” added Cam. “So if we’ve accidentally caused any damage then she’ll pay for everything.”

  Officer Sergei attached the other handcuff to his own wrist.

  “My colleague is checking your story with the authorities,” he said, looking over at the other policeman, who was deep in conversation on his radio. “For now, you come to police station.”

  He began pulling Mr Zola towards the police car.

  “But I have to get to Siberia,” wailed Mr Zola.

  Officer Sergei opened the car door just as his colleague replaced the receiver. The two policemen began talking rapidly in Russian. After a minute Officer Sergei unlocked the handcuffs.

  “It seems you tell truth,” he said. “My colleague has confirmed your story with Buckingham Palace, Interpol and Intercheese. But you must still get in car. Your queen is not happy about balloon.”

  He pointed up at the deflated canopy that waved from one of St Basil’s towers like a huge flag.

  “We have instructions to take you to station.”

  “Are you going to arrest us?” asked Bert.

  “Arrest? No! I take you to train station. You are heading north on world-famous Trans-Siberian Railway.”

  Cam clapped her hands. She had read about the Trans-Siberian Railway – the longest track in the world, with links running as far as China to the east and Mongolia to the south. It passed through some of the most beautiful and rugged terrain on earth.

  “Wait a minute,” cried Mr Zola. “It’s me that the Queen needs to get to Siberia, not these two.” He stood in front of the car door, blocking their way. “They’re just stowaways.”

  Officer Sergei frowned deeply. “What am I supposed to do with them?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Mr Zola. “They’re not my responsibility.”

  Officer Sergei took his hat off and glared at Mr Zola.

  “Sir,” he said, sternly, “you arrive in my country with two children and a pet moustache. Are you going to tell me that the moustache is no longer your responsibility too?”

  “Of course not,” answered Mr Zola, grabbing Monty defensively.

  “Then you leave with the moustache and the two children. They are all your responsibility now.”

  Mr Zola grudgingly moved aside so the twins could climb into the back of the police car and squeezed in beside them.

  “If I must,” he sighed.

  The car set off, sirens blasting and lights flashing.

  “Woohoo!” shouted Bert. “I’ve always wanted a ride in a speeding police car.”

  “Ow!” cried Cam. “Mr Zola, you’re hurting my arm.”

  Mr Zola was clinging to Cam’s arm as they sped through the streets of Moscow.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said, “Monty doesn’t like going fast.”

  “You’re getting to know him very well,” whispered Mr Zola. “Do we really need to go at this pace?”

  “Yes, we do,” called Officer Sergei from the driver’s seat. “Your queen has made clear you cannot be missing nine fifteen train from Moscow Central. It leaves in two minutes. The next one isn’t till day after tomorrow. If we fail, she cut off my head.”

  He turned and winked at Cam.

  “How long till we get there?” shrieked Mr Zola as they skidded round a corner, knocking a bin flying and scattering the pedestrians.

  “About three minutes,” said Officer Sergei.

  “But I thought you said the train left in two.”

  “Yes, but I have plan.”

  “Are you going to call ahead and delay departure?” asked Mr Zola, resuming his hold on Cam’s bruised arm.

  “No, no!” shouted Officer Sergei. “No one, not even your queen, can delay Trans-Siberian train. We catch it up and drive beside at exactly the same speed. Then I open hatch in roof of car and you climb out and jump aboard. Easy!”

  “Are you mad?” cried Mr Zola. “We can’t do that!”

  “Then you must wait for next train.”

  Bert tried to swallow, but his mouth was completely dry.

  “We can’t wait that long,” he croaked. “We have no choice.”

  Cam nodded slowly as Mr Zola crumpled in a heap on her lap.

  After a couple of minutes the road turned a bend and ran directly beside the railway track.

  “There she is,” called Officer Sergei.

  The twins looked out of the window to see a train speeding along the track ahead of them. The carriages were white on top, blue in the middle and red on the bottom, just like the Russian flag.

  “We’re catching it up,” cried Bert. “Have you revived Mr Zola yet?”

  “He’s getting there,” said Cam, popping the top back on to the smelling salts. “Mr Zola, if you miss this train then the Queen’s going to be in a right royal rage. We’ve got to do it.”

  Mr Zola sat up and looked at the speeding train. His face was white.

  “OK, we’re up to speed,” shouted Officer Sergei. “Out you go! Good luck!”

  Cam was suddenly glad of Mr Zola’s clinging fingers. The discomfort in her arm was taking her mind off what was to come. Now was definitely not the time to be clumsy. But she had to get to Siberia, and she had to get there fast.

  “I’m going first,” she said, breaking away from Mr Zola and poking her head through the sunroof.

  “No, I am,” cried Bert, pulling her back in. “You’ll just fall off.”

  “I will not!”

  “You’re too clumsy.”

  “I am not! It’s my turn to go first!”

  “For goodness’ sake!” shouted Mr Zola. “I would rather die than listen to you two bicker again! No wonder your poor grandfather sent you to Siberia! I will go first!”

  He pushed past Cam and pulled himself through the hatch and on to the roof of the car. “This is for my dear Papa!” he called.

  “And for our dear Gramps,” gulped Cam, scrambling up after him. Bert followed close behind. The wind screeched past their faces, whipping up their hair. The sound of the roaring train beside them was deafening. Mr Zola was holding on to the flashing light on top of the car. He had secured his cheese hat firmly to his head with the two ear flaps, but Monty was flapping dangerously around his terrified face. He held out his hand to Cam, who in turn grabbed Bert. They managed to get to their feet.

  “OK!” yelled Mr Zola. “JUUUUUUUMP!”

  The Trans-Siberian Railway

  Mr Zola screamed as he let go of Cam’s hand and flung himself at the speeding train. He managed to catch hold of a rail that ran along the roof. Cam jumped next, grabbing the same rail and hauling herself up on to the top of the train. She looked across for Bert. He wasn’t there.

  “BERT!” she shouted in panic. But her cries were lost in the roar of the train and the blast of the wind.

  She lay down flat on her stomach and peered over the edge, still holding tightly to the rail. To her relief, there was Bert, clinging precariously to the top of a window, his legs swinging to the side with the force of the wind. Cam tried to stretch down with her arm but couldn’t reach.

  “Help me,” she cried to Mr Zola. “I can’t reach Bert. My arms aren’t long enough.”

  Mr Zola was clutching the rail with both hands and legs, the tassels on his man-bag thrashing madly in the wind.

  “I would if I had another arm,” he screeched, “but I’m afraid I only have two.”

  Cam looked back down at Bert. To her horror, she realized that he’d lost his grip and was now just clinging on with one hand.

  “Hold on, Bert! I’m coming!”

  She turned around and lowered her legs down, still gripping tightly to the rail. She jam
med her feet just above the window frame.

  “Grab my legs,” she shouted. “I’ve got a good hold.”

  The wind carried her voice away, but Bert could see what she was trying to do and managed to grab her ankle with his spare hand.

  “Climb up me,” she yelled. “Try and get in through the window.”

  Somehow, he pulled himself level with the window and knocked against the glass. He waited for a moment and banged again before continuing to climb up Cam.

  “I’m all right,” he shouted. “But I can’t get the attention of the people inside. We’ll have to get back on the roof.”

  He used Cam’s head as a foothold and pushed himself up. Then he reached down and heaved Cam up beside him. They lay flat on top of the train, gasping for breath.

  “The three men from the Specialist Cheesemakers Association are inside the carriage,” panted Bert. “They didn’t see or hear me because they all had their heads deep in books – How to Catch a Moose, Moose Training Tips and The Three Mooseketeers.”

  “We’ve got to beat them,” puffed Cam. “But how are we going to get inside the train now?”

  “We’ll have to try another window … and Cam … maybe you haven’t got butter-toes after all … thanks.”

  Cam smiled, despite the fact that they were whizzing through the Russian countryside, clinging to the top of a train. She was just getting her breath back when Bert gave a shout and pointed to the sky. She looked up to see a bright yellow balloon sail above them, heading in the opposite direction.

  “Primula Mold!” she cried.

  Bert nodded. “But she’s going the wrong way,” he yelled.

  They were interrupted by a shout from Mr Zola.

  “Over here,” he called.

  He had dragged himself along the rail and was pointing to a hatch in the roof. The twins followed. Bert reached across, undid the bolt and pulled it open. Cam managed to prise Mr Zola off his rail and shove him through the hole. She quickly followed, with Bert right behind. They landed in a large mound of hay.

  “The standard in these Trans-Siberian carriages is not at all what I was expecting,” sniffed Mr Zola, raising his lace hanky to his nose.

  The carriage was dim. The only light came from two small windows set high in the wall. There were no interconnecting doors to the rest of the train, only a huge sliding gate which took up the whole of one side. Thick stalks of straw were scattered on the floor, hiding great lumps of steaming dung. Mr Zola resumed his grasp on Cam’s arm as a large shadow moved across the front of the carriage and a terrible wailing moo-growl burst out of the gloom.

  “Mmmmooooooooaaaahhhhrrrrrr!”

  Mr Zola screamed as a gigantic bulbous muzzle loomed up above them.

  “MOOSE!” he shrieked, frantically trying to jump back up on to the roof.

  Shocked by its unexpected visitors, and unnerved by the thin man jumping up and down in front of it, the moose began to moo-growl louder, stamping its feet and swinging its huge head from side to side.

  “Mmmmooooooooaaaahhhhrrrrrr!”

  “It’s going to charge,” yelled Mr Zola, hopping manically round the carriage. “We were safer on the roof.”

  “Stop it!” shouted Bert. “You’re scaring it.”

  “I’m scaring it?” screamed Mr Zola.

  “Yes, now get a grip!”

  Mr Zola shrank into a corner and covered himself in hay. The moose calmed down and backed off to the rear of the carriage, eyeing the twins warily. It really was the strangest creature they had ever seen. Its four long spindly legs didn’t look strong enough to support the huge body and even bigger head. Two great antlers stuck out from either side, framing a nose the size of a dinner plate.

  “What’s it doing on a train?” asked Bert, looking around the carriage.

  There were several bales of hay and a bucket of water with a couple of empty bottles beside it. The bucket had a panda stamped on the side.

  “Look,” said Cam. “That’s the sign for the World Wildlife Foundation. They must be relocating the moose. Maybe they’re taking it back to the wild.

  Bert slowly walked towards the moose and held out his hand. “It’s OK, big fella,” he said, gently. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  The moose snorted suspiciously before sniffing his hand. Very gently, Bert began stroking its huge muzzle.

  “I see why you’re so nervous,” he whispered. “You’re not a ‘fella’ at all, are you? Cam, come here and look.”

  From out of the gloom a tiny moose calf ventured from beneath its mother, its dark, worried eyes flicking from one child to the other.

  “And where there’s a moose calf…” said Bert.

  “There’s moose milk,” finished Cam.

  Moose Milk

  “Did someone mention moose milk?” asked Mr Zola, popping his head out of the hay.

  “Yes,” said Bert, still gently stroking the enormous moose, “and we have to make friends with this lovely lady if we’re going to get any.”

  “Impossible! I’ve already explained that I’m moose-phobic. Poor Monty will turn white if we have to stay in this carriage a moment longer.”

  “He already has,” giggled Cam.

  Mr Zola whipped out a hand mirror from his man-bag and studied his moustache. It was covered in hay.

  “Monty!” he chided. “You’re a disgrace!”

  He produced a silver pair of tweezers and began picking out every strand of hay. Cam turned to Bert.

  “I can’t believe he’s telling his moustache off,” she whispered.

  “Just let him get on with it,” said Bert. “Let’s concentrate on getting some moose milk. It must be just like milking a cow at home … but bigger … much bigger. I’ll keep her distracted while you milk her.”

  Cam looked around for something to put the milk in and spotted the empty water bottles lying beside the bucket. She grabbed them both and walked slowly towards the mother moose. But when it saw her coming the moose pulled away from Bert and trotted towards its baby with a great, “Mmmmooooooooaaaahhhhrrrrrr!”

  Cam staggered back and Mr Zola disappeared under the hay again. Bert sighed and held his hand out to the baby.

  “C’mon, little one,” he whispered. “If you come closer then maybe your mum will too. We just want to share some of your milk.”

  The calf tottered over on its skinny little legs and nuzzled against Bert. It was closely followed by its mother.

  “There we go,” he said, tickling two pairs of silky ears. “Quickly, Cam. Do it now, while I’ve got both of them.”

  Cam tried again but every time she came close, the mother moose shied away. “She won’t let me near her.”

  “Try harder,” cried Bert. “I can’t do everything myself.”

  “You can’t do anything by yourself!” spluttered Cam. “You wouldn’t have even got this far if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Would.”

  “Wouldn’t.”

  “Would.”

  “You didn’t even know where Siberia was!”

  “Did.”

  “Didn’t.”

  “Did.”

  Suddenly, Mr Zola sprang from the hay.

  “Stop it!” he wailed. “Your incessant bickering is driving me crazy!”

  The mother moose swung her enormous head round and looked straight at Mr Zola. She grunted softly and took a step towards him.

  “She’s staring at Monty,” he gulped, edging back.

  The moose made a low snuffling sound and slowly nudged against him.

  “What does she want?”

  “I think she likes you,” said Bert.

  Mr Zola was now backed against the wall with the huge moose sniffing his cheese hat.

  “She’s going to eat me,” he said in a terrified whisper.

  “Q
uick,” said Bert, “let’s milk her now while she’s distracted. Don’t worry, Mr Zola, she won’t hurt you.”

  Cam handed one of the empty bottles to Bert.

  “Don’t let her see you coming,” he said. “You take the left side and I’ll take the right, and remember to be gentle. Don’t move a muscle, Mr Zola.”

  The twins were used to milking the cows on their farm and soon both their bottles were half full. The moose still had Mr Zola pinned against the wall. She had finished licking his hat and had now turned her attention to his moustache.

  “For the love of mooses, help me!” howled Mr Zola. “She’s nibbling Monty.”

  “Nearly there,” called Cam. “Just a few more squeezes.”

  The calf was not so happy to see its milk disappearing and started pawing the wooden floor.

  “Mooaarrhh,” it called, trying to nudge Bert out of the way.

  “Mooaarrhh, yourself,” said Bert. “There’s plenty left for you, little one.”

  The mother moose turned at the sound of her calf and then trotted away as “God Save the Queen” started up in Mr Zola’s top pocket. He pulled out the red phone with a shaking hand.

  The twins stared at him. His cheese hat was covered in moose slobber, but worst of all, one half of his moustache had completely disappeared.

  “Y-yes, Your Majesty,” he whimpered. “I do apologize about the Crown Balloon… I fully understand how upset you are… I’m sure it can be repaired, but in the meantime, please don’t concern yourself with my transport. I will find my own way of getting around… Yes, ma’am, the Russian police were most helpful. I’m on the Trans-Siberian Railway now … with some younger contestants from Cheddar Gorge. The leader, ma’am? It’s early days yet, but I shall check my Cheesemaker-Locator and get back to you… Yes, ma’am… Straight away, ma’am… Goodbye, ma’am.”

  He put the phone back into his dusty man-bag and pulled out the smelling salts, inhaling deeply.

  “She wants to know who the leaders are,” he said, replacing the small bottle and studying the Cheesemaker-Locator attached to his wrist. “But it’s hard to concentrate when one has just been manhandled by a moose!”