‘Fleeced? ‘ muttered Stan. ‘Of course I have.’
‘To fleece ‘ also means to rip off. Like a scam, ‘ Mum smiled. Because she spoke several languages, Mum often collected extra meanings. She thought in English, but sometimes she pictured ideas in Mandarin. In that way, Christopher and Mum were alike. They both thought in pictures.
‘These walking sticks look like real sticks,’ said Christopher.’D’you reckon we could make our own?’ With so much wood in the forest, why ‘buy’ more?
‘Sure.’ Dr Al explained. ‘Sometime a stick is helpful on the wobbly rocks. It’s like a third leg.’
Stan had placed his walking stick against the wall. It fell. When Christopher picked it up, Stan turned on him.’ That’s mine! It’s special. Don’t touch it! I didn’t buy it here.’
Stan’s walking stick had a very heavy head. Perhaps there would be a chance later to have a closer look? Something was rattling around in there. Could something be hidden inside?
Suddenly Christopher feel more cheerful. Instead of just walking for four days, perhaps he could ‘track’ the mysterious Stan. As long as he stayed out of earshot!
Amy was more interested in why Big Jon had returned to walk the Track again? Last time he had been the Celebrity Walker. Why was he doing it a second time, so soon? If he’d just finished playing international rugby in South Africa, he didn’t need the exercise. He wasn’t pleased about Stan asking for the autograph. He seemed to want to keep in the background. Amy might shadow him, if she could keep up.
‘Load your bags please,’ ordered Zoe. ‘The bus is ready.’
After the bus trip as they climbed out at the jetty, Amy grabbed the nearest pack. It wasn’t hers. This really was 801. ‘Mine,’ called Gertrude, watching Amy.
‘Just grab any backpack,’ called Zoe. ‘We’ll sort them out at the other end.’
A quick boat trip dropped them at the jetty on the other side of the lake.
‘Grab your own this time,’ called Zoe as the twins stared around. They had to collect their parents’ bags too.
Mum and Dad were already filming Dr Al as he climbed out of the boat.
Ahead was a marker.
START OF THE MILFORD TRACK. 1.6 km to Glade House.
‘Known as the first mile of the Milford Track,’ smiled Zoe . Dad started to pan across the sign, but Stan got in the way. Annoyed, Dad swung the camera to frame Dr Al walking up the Track.
‘Hey, put it back on me!’ Stan especially wanted his photo taken in front of the sign.
‘Proof,’ he muttered.
Proof he had started the trek. Or proof of something else?
‘Sorry. Claud has a mind of his own.’ Dad walked away, filming.
Chapter 4
The Freedom Walker
Below them was a narrow ,swing bridge. It hung from steel ropes.
ONE PERSON ONLY AT A TIME said the notice. Underneath, the water bubbled. Further up, they could hear the waterfall. A heavily loaded backpacker was just putting her foot on the bridge. It started to swing. She clung to the hand ropes and then took another step forward.
‘Who’s she?’ shouted Christopher above the water noise. From the back, she looked a little familiar.
‘Never seen her in my life before,’ said Stan firmly.
‘She’s carrying a bedroll,’ observed Amy. ‘We don’t have to do that.’
‘She’s a Freedom Walker,’ Zoe caught up to them and explained that Freedom
Walkers carried full packs with all their food and bedding.
‘No tents, because they stay in the sleeping huts ,’ said Zoe.
From the back, this woman had legs like tree trunks. They couldn’t see her face. The mug attached to her pack rattled as she trod solidly across the swing bridge. The swing was getting bigger. The steel ropes took the strain.
What if something broke? There were rocks underneath, poking through the fast flowing water. Amy looked down. She could swim well, but swimming wasn’t enough down there. You’d need to be on stilts to miss the rocks.
‘Look down, Amy . We want a background, establishing shot,’ called Mum.
Dad usually handled the camera, but Mum chose the locations, set up the shots and often acted as audio-technician. Dr Al ,’doing his thirteenth Milford Track’ was their subject. Showing ‘bits’ of the walk as well as interviewing him on camera was necessary.
‘Thanks. Go on, We’ll catch up later,’ called Mum.
The golden brown track wound through ferny forest. Christopher sniffed.
An earthy damp smell. But something was troubling him. He’d seen that Freedom Walker before. He remembered body shapes as well as faces. Those balloon arms.
She was the one who tore out the map. So she was on the plane during the bomb scare! And it was her rucksack which leaked. Christopher looked around at the goblin fern which was like a fairyland. Thick ferns coiled around trees.
Occasionally a wooden marker showed in miles and kilometres how far they had come.
That marker reminded Amy of the torn photo. Perhaps she would be able to match the marker to the real place. Of course, it might not be on the Milford Track.
‘Christopher. I just thought of something. Remember that half photo?’
Christopher frowned. He pushed back his glasses. ‘Yes but I recognise that Freedom Walker.
Amy just nodded, more interested in the photo. Why leave half a photo? Was it torn by accident or deliberately?
Zoe was just ahead now. Amy caught up with her.’ Could I have another look at that photo, please? The one left in my backpack?’
‘What’s the big interest? Hairy legs? ‘ Zoe pulled the torn photo from her pocket and Amy examined it as she walked.
The edges looked torn, rather than cut. Did someone need to match it with another half? Had it been accidentally ripped? If so, by whom?
‘Does the photo look like a place you know?’ Amy asked Zoe.
‘Could be. The vegetation’s familiar. Just a short way to the lodge now,’’ called Zoe. ‘ Drinks on the veranda then.’
Was Zoe avoiding the question? She was a good observer. She noticed birds and had already told them about wekas, kiwis and keas. Surely she’d know a local setting?
Was there some reason why she wasn’t telling? Or was she just too busy with her job of getting people to the first hut? Mostly people walked in twos. Carrying packs made everybody wider, so only skinny people could fit three across. Mum and Dad and the camera made three.
In front of them, Gertrude’s knee length, baggy shorts didn’t quite reach the long, red socks with black writing printed on them.
Amy squirmed sideways to read the socks. ‘A HOLE IN ONE’ was printed in black
‘Did you get a hole in one?’ Amy asked, walking alongside.
‘How did you know darling?’ Gertrude looked pleased. “Of course, I’m famous at home, but I didn’t think New Zealanders would have heard of Golfer Gertrude.’
‘I’m Australian,’ said Amy quickly.
‘Australian know about golf too. Wonderful.’
An I LOVE GOLF badge was pinned on her floppy hat. ‘Hate leaving my clubs behind,’ she told Amy as they strode along. ‘Brought them all this way from L.A. to play the New Zealand courses. Six in seven days. And another four in the North Island after this.’
‘Are you a professional golfer?’
‘No darling. Just an amateur. For fun. Golf is the love of my life.’
‘Do Customs check what’s inside golf bags?’ asked Christopher catching up.
‘Yes. Sometimes I buy a seat for my clubs,’ said Gertrude. ‘Don’t want them to get knocked around.’
Why were those clubs on the carousel if the bag had had a seat in the plane?
‘Like musicians,’ suggested Amy. Once, the twins had flown with the pop singer
called The Mouth. He bought a seat for his guitar. The air ticket said Mr Gee.
‘Did you have Mr Club on your air ticket?’ asked Christopher.
Gertrude nodded. ‘How clever of you to work that out. Ms G. Club. My clubs are female. Yes, that’s what I often do. ‘ She let out a loud laugh. ‘But this flight, they travelled underneath with the baggage.
‘That’s why I saw them on the carousel,’ said Christopher quietly. ‘The ones with the cartoon stickers on the head covers.’
‘I collect stickers, stickers and retro-phone cards. D’you have any American stamps?’ asked Amy. ‘I could swap if you like.’
Gertrude fumbled in her side pocket. ‘Usually he emails me. But I have a letter here from my son somewhere.
That should have a stamp on it. Here’s the empty envelope dear. Keep it.’
‘Thanks.’ The stamp was bright blue and one Amy didn’t have.
The track wound around and Amy could hear the roar of the water. Voices carried from the path below on the other side of the river.
Stan was talking to the Freedom Walker. He must have crossed the river. She nodded a lot, and her pack wobbled. They stood, their bodies close, as if they knew each other. Then Stan turned . The woman said something. He shook his head as if he were strongly disagreeing and then strode away, back in their direction
The Freedom Walker watched him go, sighed and turned to walk away down the track. If they knew each other, why were they talking out here? Was Stan trying to hide something?
‘Come on. There’s the lodge.’ Gertrude was panting.
Glade House had a big veranda. Nearby was a river with a swing bridge. Tomorrow morning ,they would cross that bridge, Zoe told them, smiling. She wasn’t even puffing and she smiled a lot.
Being ‘nice’ for four days to people like Stan must be a hard job.
‘Zoe, after the season finishes here, what do you do?’ Mum switched off the camera.
‘I work in ‘The Goldfields.’ replied Zoe.
‘The Goldfields?’ Christopher imagined going down mine shafts.
‘A restaurant in Johannesburg.’ smiled Zoe. ‘Same city where Big Jon played rugby.
My step-dad’s South African. He owns the restaurant.’
‘D’you get paid in gold?’ joked Christopher.
‘Johannesburg’s got diamonds.’ Amy did a diamond project last term.
‘Miners have to be searched so they don’t smuggle any out of the mines.’
‘Gold nuggets come from there too,’ said Zoe.’Miners have to shower after their shifts. Gold dust is collected from their clothes and bodies when they shower. It adds up over the month.’
Christopher thought about drawing a gold- recycling shower in his sketch pad.
‘Probably nuggets here too, in the rivers,’ Dad looked through his view finder.
‘There’s gold colour in that water.’
Zoe nodded. ‘Perhaps. The odd nugget has been found. Because it’s a national park, any gold nuggets found, belong to the Government.’
‘An American guy was arrested for smuggling gold nuggets out of New Zealand, just recently.’ Mum read every newspaper. ‘Had them made into nails and put in a box. Looked just like brass nails.’
‘Hammered?’ asked Christopher wondering if they’d break.
‘No. Holes were drilled first.’
‘Was Big Jon playing rugby in Johannesburg when you were there?’ asked Amy.
She knew South Africa was a big place, like Australia, but ...
‘Wrong season’ replied Zoe, ‘But he hit the headlines. Fans stole clothing from his hotel room. A belt or watch or something.’
Amy remembered that later. Solving a mystery was like doing a jigsaw. At first you just had coloured bits that didn’t fit. Later, piece by piece, you started to see the picture.
While they rested their packs on the veranda, hut- numbers and bunks were given out. Unluckily, Christopher was in with Stan and four others. Amy was in a female dormitory.
‘Dinner at 6, sharp!’ said Zoe. They wandered off to find their bunks, unpack, shower or just relax in the Rec. Room.
With a flourish, Stan signed the Visitors’ Book on the front table. After Amy signed her name, she flicked through. Each page had the date and the tour guide’s name.
Would the Loser’s name be in here somewhere? How many groups ago? How would she find Ex -108 with the not-very hairy legs? Would a diabetic have a special diet?
Maybe she could chat to the cook?
Stan was in the shower. Christopher could hear the water running. Stan’s backpack was open on the lower bunk. His bum-bag was unzipped. His passportwas half way out of the bum-bag. Stan was a very careless traveller.
Christopher glanced around. The others had gone. Quickly he opened the passport.
Stan hadn’t visited many countries, at least on this passport. The twins had far more stamps. That photo did NOT look like Stan. Could he be someone else?
Was he just pretending to be Stan the Dork?
Minutes later, in the hut bathroom , Amy carefully soaked off the American stamp.
The envelope floated. It seemed a bit thick. There was a piece of paper inside. A letter. But now it was all soggy. The ink was smudged and unreadable. How could she dry it quickly?
Mum disapproved of reading others’ mail. But how could you be a sleuth without sleuthing?
Minutes later, Amy pushed open the Drying Room door. Inside were racks with boots, tops, and rows of socks. A damp heat wrapped around her. Two hot air blowers were working in the corner. Carefully Amy hung the damp envelope across one of the racks. The sheet was still stuck inside. After dinner, it should be dry enough to read!
In the Rec Hut , Amy poured herself a juice. On the wall , a local map had a cross with black lettering YOU ARE HER An E was missing.
‘You are here,’ muttered Amy. Fumbling in her pocket, she matched the folded, creased map she’d found in the backpack pocket. She stared at the crosses. There was one on the bridge just out the front of this hut. Or was it the river?
‘What are you doing?’
At first, she hadn’t noticed Stan curled up on the sofa, looking at a bird book. Books and puzzles were piled on the shelf. The last book was about New Zealand birds. Someone must have been looking at it. The page was open to keas.
‘Going to do some bird watching .’ Stan touched the binoculars slung around his neck.
‘Oh yeah,’ Amy drank her juice. ‘Why would someone put crosses on a map?’
‘To mark something, of course. Like on that wall. Swing bridges. Places of interest.’
Amy wondered if No 108 had been a bird watcher. Could the crosses have been where special birds were seen? Or something else was found? Like gold nuggets?
Dinner was a noisy affair. You could sit anywhere at the tables.
‘Please, sit with us, if you wish.’
The Japanese leader’s moustache was so spiky thin, you could see individual bristles, like a broom. He stood and bowed and Amy felt herself bowing back.
So Amy sat with climbers from the Japanese chemical factory. They all belonged to the Mountaineering Club at their factory in Tokyo. They were very polite and wanted to practice their English. Each asked the same sort of questions.
‘Where are you from?’
‘Are you enjoying your holiday?’
It was like answering a phrase book. Kyoto, a girl from Amy’s hut, was more interested in talking than eating. But Amy was hungry.
Onion soup. Roast New Zealand lamb with pumpkin, cauliflower, potato and peas hiding under gravy. Thick apple pie with cream, ice-cream or both. Amy had a second helping. So did Stan.
In-between courses, you dipped your plates and cutlery into a big basin of hot water, which steamed.
‘Do you make special meals for p
eople?’ Amy asked the cook whose white jacket covered black and white check pants. He was serving second helpings.
‘Why, are you vegetarian?’
‘No.’
‘We serve the same meal every night. The staff have a different one of course. But if there are any vegetarians in the group, we make them non-meat meals.
Their lunchtime sandwiches don’t have any meat. Usually the guide tells us, and we write the person’s name on their sandwich. Why, is there some food you don’t like?’
‘No, the dinner was ace,’ said Amy. ‘Have you ever had a diabetic to cook for?’
‘Yes. A few groups ago.’
‘D’you remember the name?’
The cook shook his head. ‘Never looked. Just a special plate. It’s all numbers for us.’
‘Roast kea tomorrow night , ‘ joked Zoe pointing to a photograph on the wall.
A browny bird with bluey green under feathers and a large beak peered back from the photo. The eyes seemed to follow Amy. Kyoto looked worried until Zoe assured her, ‘roast kea’ was a joke.
‘Are keas that big?’ Christopher was surprised. ‘Mum had photos, but..’
‘Almost. Clever thieves too. Wait until we get to Pompoloma Hut. Not safe to leave your boots outside.’
‘They wear boots?’ Amy ‘d heard of the non flying kiwi but a bird in boots sounded fun.
‘That was the bird on the kea watch,’ Christopher reminded her.’ Someone’s keen on collecting keas.’
Later, in the Drying Room ,Amy couldn’t see the letter .It wasn’t on the drying rack. The light was murky. Then she felt around on the floor. Yes. There it was. The hot paper was crinkled like parchment. Amy hadn’t liked to return the wet letter to Gertrude. The golfer hadn’t wanted the stamped envelope back, but she’d probably need the letter from her son. Since the letter started ‘Dear Mum’, that would be a pretty good bet.
Amy was a superfast reader. Otherwise she wouldn’t have read down as far as the bit about the gold. Gertrude’s geologist son had told her to look out for the nuggets.
Fleeced Page 3
