Poppy Pym and the Beastly Blizzard

by Laura Wood

  Kip, Ingrid and I were hanging on his every word now.

  “So … they were real yeti bones?” Kip breathed.

  “Who knows?” Professor Tweep said, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Shortly after this discovery the rest of the hand was stolen from the monastery. It just completely disappeared. No one knows where it is now and the mystery remains unsolved.”

  “Wow,” I said, slumping down in my seat.

  “Indeed,” the professor said, his eyes lit up. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go off and explore these far-flung places? Unfortunately, you’d have to have plenty of money like Tom Slick did to be able to do it.” He sighed wistfully. “Oh yes, I’d love to go off and have a big adventure.” His eyes misted over as though he was imagining himself scaling mountains and visiting Buddhist villages.

  “So yetis could be real.” I pressed, returning to the important matter at hand.

  Professor Tweep smiled. “The universe is full of infinite possibility, Miss Pym, and we know very little about only one very small corner of it.”

  “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Ingrid intoned in a very serious voice.

  “Quite so, Miss Blammel,” Professor Tweep beamed, his jowls jigging with delight.

  “Horatio?” Kip asked. “Is that your name, Professor Tweep? Bit strange,” he muttered.

  “No, no, Mr Kapur.” The professor shook his head. “Miss Blammel was quoting the Bard.”

  Kip looked more confused. I was too. I didn’t know who this Bart fellow was but I wondered if he had lots of experience hunting yetis.

  “It’s Shakespeare,” Ingrid said helpfully. “From Hamlet. It just means that there’s a lot more stuff in the universe than our brains can possibly comprehend.”

  “Ah yes,” Kip nodded wisely. “This is very true. I heard that in America you can get squirty cheese in a can. MIND. BLOWN.” He mimed an explosion with his hands and made some accompanying sound effects.

  “Er, yes. Exactly,” Professor Tweep agreed.

  “So,” I said, steering the conversation back on track, “now that we’ve established that yetis could exist, have you ever heard of a yeti anywhere closer to home?”

  “India, do you mean?” he asked.

  “I was thinking more like … England,” I said.

  The professor chuckled. “Well that would be something … although with weather like this you can almost believe it, can’t you?”

  “Mmmmm,” I murmured, thinking that he had no idea.

  “So, say you were about to get attacked by some kind of ferocious yeti creature,” Kip said. “How do you reckon you’d defend yourself? Wooden stake? Silver bullet? Garlic bread?”

  “I’m not sure there’s much information about surviving an attack,” Professor Tweep said. “There’s no recorded evidence of such a thing happening. But I suspect the yeti would be more susceptible to the kinds of weapons with which you might defend yourself from a bear, nothing supernatural.”

  Kip was nodding seriously. “I see,” he said. “So the garlic bread’s not going to cut it.” He pulled out his Dictaphone and pressed record. “Garlic bread: delicious snack but terrible weapon,” he muttered into it.

  “Your guess is really as good as mine,” Professor Tweep said, and a sly smile tugged at his mouth. “Of course, there could be another reason that we haven’t ever heard tales from yeti attack survivors … perhaps there aren’t any.”

  There was an audible gulp from the three of us.

  Professor Tweep laughed again. “Don’t look so worried, you three. There’s hardly likely to be a yeti attack in Brimwell, is there?”

  “Hahahahahaha!” I laughed weakly. Kip looked as though he had accidentally eaten a worm and Ingrid was silent and pale.

  Fortunately, we were interrupted by Boris bringing his meaty fist down on the Monopoly board.

  “You can’t do that!” he thundered.

  Letty fluffed her hair, her eyes innocent. “It’s not my fault that you keep landing on all my hotels.”

  “But how do you have so many?” Sharp-Eye Sheila’s voice was frustrated.

  Letty shrugged. “I’m just an astute businesswoman.” She began fanning herself with wads of Monopoly money. Mei was staying quiet, a small smile on her lips.

  Just then, Mr Blammel jumped to his feet in excitement.

  “But that’s just it!” he cried, addressing Great-Aunt Hortence. “It’s in absolutely mint condition.”

  Ingrid groaned. “Here we go,” she muttered.

  “I would like to see this stamp very much,” Great-Aunt Hortence said firmly. “I am quite a keen philatelist myself, you know.”

  “Indeed,” Mr Blammel said, jumping to his feet, his eyes shining. “I took you for a lady of discerning tastes the moment I saw you.” He reached into the pocket of his baggy corduroy trousers and pulled out a small battered tin that may have once housed humbugs or something similar. I saw Kip perk up at this. “I carry it with me at all times, of course.” Ingrid’s dad continued, reverently opening the tin and placing it on the table by the window. “It’s very valuable, you see. Worth tens of thousands of pounds.”

  Inside the tin was a small stamp, set in a thin square of hard plastic. This was the Blammel’s famous Penny Black, their most prized possession.

  “What a beauty!” Professor Tweep exclaimed, standing up to get a better look. “But something so small… It’s hard to believe it’s really worth all that money.”

  “Oh, thanks to its quality and the interesting printing error, it is very, very valuable,” Mr Blammel said, pointing more closely to the stamp. “You see here,” he whispered, reverently. “The Queen is actually facing the wrong way. As far as we know this stamp is the only one of its kind.” He gave a delighted shiver as he gazed happily at his beloved stamp. “But we’re not really in it for the money,” he continued, “it’s the thrill of having such a wonder that we love. Nothing could possibly compare to the joy of owning it ourselves.”

  “This is really excellent quality,” Hortence said, examining the stamp in the light from the window, and her cool eyes lit up making her look about a hundred years younger. “Truly mint condition. It would look wonderful in my own collection… I wonder, would you ever think about selling it? I’d be very interested.”

  The Blammels looked horrified. “Never,” Ingrid’s mum shuddered. “We could never part with it.”

  Mr Blammel took the stamp from Hortence and placed it back in the tin on the table beside him. “It would be like losing a member of the family.”

  “I think they like that stamp better than me,” Ingrid grumbled under her breath.

  “We think of the stamp as our baby,” Mr Blammel cooed, rather proving Ingrid’s point. I gave her arm a friendly squeeze.

  “I think you’re WAY better than a stamp,” I whispered.

  “Who’s for tea?” Miss Baxter voice sang out as she sailed into the room with a laden tray. And all heads swung in her direction, particularly as Inspector Hartley was close behind with another tray full of excellent fruit cake. Just then, Miss Baxter caught her toe on the rug and tripped. Things appeared to go into slow motion, and then, before she could right herself, all of the teacups came flying off the tray, crashing towards the floor where they smashed noisily into smithereens. Everyone leapt forward to help clear things up, and in the chaos Boris “accidentally” knocked over the Monopoly board, sending the pieces scattering. Letty made a noise like a hissing cat.

  “Oops,” Boris beamed innocently.

  “Oh dear,” Miss Baxter grimaced. “Forgive me, I’m so clumsy.” She moved to a cupboard at the side of the room, pulling out a dustpan and brush. Inspector Hartley had deposited the tray of cake and, after checking that Miss Baxter hadn’t hurt herself when she tripped, he hurried downstairs for more cups.

  I noticed that Mr Blammel turned back to the shining tin sitting on the table by the window. He picked it up and dropped it back into his
pocket. “You can’t be too careful!” he sang, giving his trouser leg a pat. “I carry it with me everywhere,” he said again.

  I thought I heard Ingrid muttering something quite rude under her breath.

  It took a while for us to get things tidied up and for the inspector to return with a fresh tray of crockery, but then all thoughts of yetis and stamps were swiftly abandoned as we reached for the rich, marzipany morsels. After all, when a good cake comes along it’s very rude not to make it a priority.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Our merry tea party quickly extended to include Miss Susan and Mr Grant, who tumbled in, both bundled up in all their mad winter gear. Their cheeks were pink and their eyes were bright and they were holding hands. My eyes pinged on to their interlocked, gloved fingers like a laser beam.

  Following my gaze, Miss Susan blushed and quickly let go of Mr Grant’s hand, fluffing her hair instead.

  Too late, I thought with a smirk.

  Then I realized that I needed to introduce my aunt and my great-aunt to one another. This family business was getting quite complicated. “This is my Aunt Elaine,” I said, tugging her over to where Great-Aunt Hortence was sitting.

  Great-Aunt Hortence gave Miss Susan an eagle-eyed once-over.

  “It’s very kind of you to have me to stay with you for the holidays,” Miss Susan said nervously.

  “I’ve been accused of being a lot of things, my dear,” Hortence sniffed, “but kind is not one of them. After all, you’re family.”

  Miss Susan looked rather pleased by this remark and stammered something incoherent. I’d never seen her so flustered before, but then Great-Aunt Hortence did seem to have that effect on people.

  “Besides which,” Great-Aunt Hortence sniffed, turning her steely gaze towards the window where, framed by the heavy red and gold curtains, the snow continued to fall. “It looks as though we might struggle to make it to Burnshire Hall at all at this rate.”

  “There is a severe weather warning in place,” Inspector Hartley said, topping up Hortence’s teacup. “It seems pretty certain that no one will be going anywhere today.”

  “We’ve managed to clear paths and put salt down between the main building and the dorms, but we gave up on the driveway,” Mr Grant agreed, helping himself to a piece of cake. “The snow was coming down almost as fast as we were moving it.”

  “What about my parents?” Letty asked from behind the restored Monopoly board where she seemed to be building some kind of property empire and everyone else was in prison.

  “We’ve managed to contact everyone and tell them to stay put for the time being,” Miss Baxter said. “The weather forecast is for things to calm down, and the snowploughs are out clearing the roads. It looks as if you’ll all be on your way tomorrow, but until then we’ll all be hunkering down here.” She took in the gloomy looks around the room. “Don’t worry, it will be fun!” she finished brightly.

  Nobody looked convinced.

  To my surprise it was Great-Aunt Hortence who came to the rescue. “Miss Baxter is quite right,” she said crisply. “There’s nothing to be gained from sulking.” She got to her feet and pulled herself up to her full height (which wasn’t actually terribly high, but still managed to look quite intimidating.) “I think it’s about time we got ourselves properly into the festive spirit. I intend to make our time here special. I will, of course, be serving my traditional Christmas puddings, which thankfully travelled in the hamper, but we will need further efforts to make this celebration the spectacle that we all deserve.” She scanned the room. “Now, is there anyone here who has the truly impeccable organizational skills we require to knock the rest of the group into shape?”

  There was a moment’s silence and then Letty rose slowly to her feet. Her face was glowing, and even the ends of her curly hair seemed to be trembling. “I … am … that … person,” she said, and it was as if everything she’d ever done had been leading to this moment.

  Great-Aunt Hortence treated Letty to one of her patented all-seeing stares and then dipped her head, just a little, as though bestowing her approval. “Excellent,” she said. “Carols, I think. And table decorations.”

  Letty nodded briskly. “I understand,” she said. “You can leave it with me.” She swung around, looking for troops to enlist. “Boris, Sheila and Mei, you’re with me. To the drama department!” and she raised an arm and charged out of the room as though leading her troops on to victory.

  Boris and Sharp-Eye Sheila exchanged looks and shrugged, leaving after Letty with a reasonable amount of enthusiasm.

  Mei looked more reluctant. “I was hoping to stay with you guys,” she said, her words directed at me but her eyes flickering over towards Kip, who was frowning over the now-empty cake plate.

  “I wouldn’t disobey a direct order from Letty if I were you,” I said quickly, with what I hoped was a sympathetic smile. Mei reluctantly followed after the others but not before casting another lovelorn glance in Kip’s direction. He, of course, was completely oblivious. Sometimes it’s strange how unobservant boys can be. But I didn’t have time to dwell on the mysterious ways of boys… not when there was a more pressing issue at hand. The next thing on our to-do list was to show Doris the beetle as secretly as possible.

  As if I had willed her to arrive with only the power of my own mind, Doris walked through the door with Chuckles the clown and Luigi right at that very moment. (Isn’t it spooky when things like that happen?)

  “Ah, excellent timing, Lord Lucas,” Great-Aunt Hortence said, sailing towards him. “I require your assistance with the hampers downstairs.” She turned to Miss Susan. “You may show me to the kitchens,” she said as though bestowing a great favour upon her. I thought for a second that Miss Susan was going to follow in Ingrid’s footsteps and curtsey as well.

  Fortunately, she wasn’t given time to do so, as Hortence swept out of the room in a rustle of black silk, followed by Luigi and Miss Susan. Chuckles made his way mournfully to the sofa, where he slumped down in a dejected heap. This could have been because he felt left out, or it could have just been because Chuckles is generally quite a silent, melancholy creature. He produced some black balloons from his pockets and set about blowing them up and making some rather bleak-looking balloon models of crows.

  “What a state you lot keep leaving this room in,” Miss Baxter said, picking up a pile of cushions and blankets from the floor, shaking them out and folding them neatly. “I’m going to have to have a word when everyone gets back about the importance of keeping things tidy,” she said firmly. “Not that I’m really one to talk.” She grinned ruefully, holding out her ink-stained hands and rather ruining the serious headteacherly effect.

  “Doris,” I whispered in her ear. “There’s something important we need to talk to you about. It’s an emergency!”

  Doris didn’t betray any surprise, her face remaining as bland and undisturbed as a bowl of rice pudding. “Understood,” she whispered. “Where and when?”

  “My dorm,” I replied. “Right now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “So,” I said, some time later, “can you fix it?”

  The four of us were standing in our room, huddled around the beetle device that Doris held in the palm of her hand.

  Doris pushed her glasses up her nose. Once again her face was hard to read.

  “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “Where did you get this one?”

  “It ran right in front of us,” I said. “I caught it, but it got a bit squished in the process.”

  “Hmmmm,” Doris said, poking at the beetle’s legs and turning it over to examine the exposed wires. There was a big silence that seemed to stretch out like a piece of chewing gum.

  “Well?!” I burst out finally. “Is it another spying device? It’s got a camera in its antennae, hasn’t it?”

  Doris nodded. “It does seem to be some kind of recording device, the same as the last one,” she said, but reluctantly, as though she didn’t really want to sh
are this information with us. “There is also a small microphone here.” She pointed to the jumbled innards. “It appears to be capable of recording short bursts of audio and taking pictures.”

  I sat down on my bed with a thump. Even though we had already deduced what it was, it was strange to have our suspicions confirmed. Someone really was spying on us.

  “Is it still working now?” I asked. “I mean, can it still record stuff?”

  “No,” Doris said, much to my relief. “I’m afraid it’s broken.”

  “And do you think it would be remote-controlled?” Ingrid asked.

  “Almost certainly,” Doris said thoughtfully. “But it’s not particularly long-range. The operator would have to be fairly close to work it.”

  “Right,” Kip gulped.

  “I’m sure it’s just a toy,” Doris said and her voice had a forced lightness to it, but a small frown flickered across her brow.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said, giving Kip and Ingrid a look that I hoped conveyed that they too should keep any disagreement to themselves..

  Doris didn’t seem to hear me anyway; she was still poking intently at the beetle. “I think I had better take it away and have a proper look,” she said finally, looking up at us. “If you don’t mind? I might even be able to fix it.”

  “That would be good,” I said carefully. “Would we be able to see any of the photos it took, do you think?” Doris looked at me with what can only be described as a beady eye. “So that we can maybe track down the owner,” I said quickly. “It must be an expensive toy to lose.”

  “Hmmmm,” Doris said again. “I don’t think the pictures will be recoverable in its current state, but I can try.”

  “Great,” I said brightly.

  We were interrupted then by the appearance of Letty. “There you are!” she exclaimed, peering around the door. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your great-aunt wants you,” she said, a look of pure admiration in her eyes. “What a woman,” she murmured. “She’s got everyone doing exactly as she says. Colin wouldn’t stand a chance against her.”