Fleeced

by Hazel Edwards

What did that mean? The door banged and Big Jon was in the Drying Room.

  ‘What are you trying to dry?’ He draped his extra-large top over the highest rack.

  The sleeves dangled to the floor.

  ‘Just a letter.’ Amy hadn’t quite finished reading it.

  ‘From a boyfriend?’

  ‘No. Belongs to Gertrude.’

  ‘Why have you got it?’

  ‘She gave me the stamp.’

  ‘Collector ,are you? She’s in the hut next to me. D’you want me to give it back to her?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Amy turned over the envelope and noticed the sender’s name and address. ‘See you later .’

  ‘Oh, I’d forgotten there was a letter inside. Thanks dear,’ said Gertrude as Amy returned the letter. She didn’t seem upset or act as if there was anything to hide.

  Perhaps Gertrude was a good actor? Or just forgetful?

  Especially since the return address said Todd, Prison Farm.’

  Chapter 5

  Kea Snack Attack

  Something was at the door!

  Down low, there was a tapping. The night was still black. Christopher tried to read his watch.

  It was either quarter past two or ten past three. He couldn’t remember where they’d left the torch.

  There was snoring from the bunk above. The bunk creaked as the sleeper turned over. There were six bunks in hut 18 at the end. Dad and Christopher had tossed a coin. Dad won. He went up on top.

  ‘You can poke me if I snore.’

  The good thing about being on top was that no-one climbed over you. The bad thing about the top bunk was falling out. Christopher often dreamed in moving pictures. Dreams about running or jumping or getting away from monsters were Christopher’s favourites. That could be dangerous on the top bunk. So he didn’t mind being below.

  A bunk creaked. Someone in the bunk opposite was getting out. Legs waved as the person slipped from the top bunk and landed on the floor.

  Christopher couldn’t remember who had that bunk. He’d been asleep by the time that person came to bed.

  Wrapped up in sleeping bag hoods it was hard to tell who was who. There was a squeak and a whirr as the spring door opened and whirred shut. Was someone going to the toilet? Or perhaps he was going outside for some other reason? It might have been Stan. Christopher decided to follow.

  His sleeping bag zip was stiff. At last he squirmed out of his sleeping bag. He felt for his boots. No, he’d go in his socks.

  The wooden veranda between the huts was wet. Even the railing was damp.

  Christopher could feel damp boards through his thick socks.

  Rain drummed on the tin roof. Christopher heard it drip down the overhanging branches. With so much rain, all night, the track would be very slippery.

  He opened the bathroom hut door. It zinged shut, just missing his fingers.

  Then he remembered Zoe’s warning.

  ‘Don’t leave anything outside. They will get it.’

  He’d left his damp boots outside the sleeping hut. The drying room was mainly for clothes. Anyway, it was full by the time he got there. So he’d left his boots neatly outside the door of hut 18.

  A scuffling noise outside. His boots!

  He’d have to get them back! Apart from those boots, he had no shoes. No way was he climbing 33 1/2 miles of the Milford Track in bare feet or even in socks ...

  He tiptoed in soggy socks, past hut 16 where Amy woke up with a jerk.

  She’d been dreaming about trekking through a Money Forest . On the trees were bank note leaves, and gold coins filled the creek. Somehow, her pocket money got mixed up with the rest. Even in her dream she felt anxious. Amy liked to know exactly where her money was and how much belonged to her. When she grew up she planned to own an international bank.

  ‘Hey!’ Scuffling noises followed.

  The commotion outside the huts woke everybody. Even Mum in the lower bunk.

  Amy had the upper bunk, ‘Because you’re lighter.’ Mum had said. So she fell out further! ‘Aw!’

  Outside, a kea was dragging a boot across the veranda. That was the noise Amy heard.

  Christopher tugged. ‘Hey!’ There was a tussle.

  The result. Kea nil. Christopher one boot, left with nibbles around laces.

  ‘What’s wrong out there?’

  ‘Just a kea snack attack!’

  ‘Go back to bed!’

  Christopher tied his boots by the laces to his bed leg as the door zinged shut behind him.

  ‘Birds got your boots, did they? Clever keas. Birdbrains they are. Not like stupidhuman boys’ Stan climbed back into his top bunk. And Christopher quietly tied together Stan’s laces, with double knots. He wasn’t a birdbrain!

  Meanwhile, Amy felt someone moving in her hut. A shadowy figure was creeping around. The door creaked. Thieves out there now? Or keas Amy felt for her torch. She aimed at the biggest shadow. Click. The light beam cut through the dark.

  ‘Stop!’ she called.

  Kyoto and her friend stopped. Their torches went on. ‘Sorry to wake you Aimee.

  We are going to see the stars . Zoe said they are beautiful at 3 am The sky is black and stars shine. Do you want to come too?’

  Breakfast was ace. Porridge, which Amy didn’t like at home, eggs, sausages, bacon, juice and lots of toast. ‘Hot chocolate for breakfast!’

  Stan was late for breakfast. Someone had tied his laces together and he had to borrow a nail file from First Aid to get them undone. He’d also mislaid a contact lense.

  ‘Collect your lunch on the way out,’ Dad reminded them. So far, their parents had been busy filming and left the twins to look after themselves.

  On the table, were piles of sandwiches. A basket of oranges and slabs of fruitcake were labelled ‘help-yourself’. Each sandwich packet was sealed. But two had names written on the outside. Gertrude. Stan. Amy wondered about that. Why did those two people have special vegetarian lunches? Last night, they both ate meat.

  ‘Here’s your special lunch Gertrude. Your name’s on it.’

  ‘Thanks dear.’ But Gertrude didn’t say what might be in her sandwiches.

  Before he left, Dr Al signed the Visitors’ Book and left it open on the table. Amy flicked through earlier pages.

  She couldn’t find Big Jon’s name, but some of the scrawls were hard to read. If you were famous, perhaps you wrote so often that your name became unreadable?

  ‘What’s Gertrude’s surname?’

  ‘Don’t know. Only the first names are on the name tags, ‘ said Christopher.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Amy remembered Todd written on the back of that envelope. Mother and son surnames should match. Unless it was a step- family. Amy found one squiggle that could have been Todd. On the 1/2 .

  Zoe’s name as leader was on the top of the page. Dates and comments were written after the walkers’ names.

  Great food. It rained hard. Or A wonderful experience. Nobody seemed to write bad things. Perhaps they didn’t write anything if they were unhappy.

  ‘D’you know Gertrude’s geologist son was here on the first of February.’

  ‘No, he wasn’t,’ said Zoe.

  ‘But his name is here in the Visitors’ Book. Under your name as tour guide.’ said Amy. Why was Zoe telling a lie? ‘Was his surname Todd?’

  Zoe nodded. ‘ Yes.’

  ‘There’s a Todd here, I think.’

  Zoe swung the book around so she could read the names. ‘You’ve got the date wrong.’

  ‘But is says 1/2 . That’s the first of February.’

  ‘Gertrude’s family is American.’

  ‘Can’t they count?’ joked Stan.

  Zoe gave a tight smile. ‘ Americans write the month first, and then the day. Todd went through with my group on the second
of January this year. He was the geologist who was interested in nuggets. Ready to go? I’ll be at the back today. Mack, our other guide, is upfront.’

  Only the Japanese group was left. They liked to leave late. They were so fit, they overtook most of the walkers before the drinks stop. They marched in single file, like colourful butterflies in their light-weight gear.

  The twins’ parents had already gone. They wanted to film Dr Al climbing up the path. That was the hardest part of today’s climb. So they wanted to be above him, and film Dr Al as he climbed up.

  ‘Got my stick. Just in case you want me to fast -forward,’ joked Dr Al.

  Trampers, such as Stan , used their walking sticks in-between rocks as they crossed the river. Stan’s still looked suspiciously top heavy, thought Christopher. And it still rattled.

  ‘Used to be a few nuggets around here,’ Dr Al looked closely at the path.

  Despite the rain, bird noises could be heard. Beyond a bend in the track , there was the swift flowing river. Markers showed where the path was supposed to go. But the water level was halfway up the markers and the path had vanished.

  Trampers perched from rock to rock. Often the rocks wobbled and Amy slipped.

  Balancing with his camera, Dad slipped on a wobbly rock. He put out his hand, grabbed Stan’s arm, and Stan fell sideways, his right hand grabbing a branch. They steadied each other. Stan’s stick in his left hand saved him, and Dad.

  That’s when Christopher realised that Stan was left-handed. Well co-ordinated, Big Jon just strode across, helping those with shorter legs or poor balance.

  It was rocky fun! Like an adventure course on a T.V.gameshow.

  ‘Thanks Stan. I’ll dress Claud in a plastic bag now.’ Dad wrapped one of the black plastic bags around the camera. The rain increased. But he was also concerned about falling in the river.

  ‘Lost my contact lenses.’ Stan scrabbled around and found it. ‘Just new. Not used to them yet.’

  Across the river, the path was clearly marked. Amy felt disappointed. When her parents had talked about ‘The Track’ she’d imagined ‘bush-bashing’ through the undergrowth and making her own track. Here, someone had even slashed the long, wet weeds at the side of the track.

  The pathway was wide enough for two backpackers to talk and walk alongside.

  Each time Big Jon took a stride, Christopher took two to keep up. Below his baggy, purple shorts, Jon had the thickest and longest legs around.

  ‘Does your hand get tired autographing for fans?’

  Big Jon lifted his trunk-like neck. A smile split his wide face. Ultra white, his teeth were like those in T.V. toothpaste commercials.’ Not really. No one can read my name anyway. One kid complained that I’d scribbled on his autograph book. That was my proper signature. Another one got me to write on his broken arm. I collect signatures myself. It’s a hobby.’

  ‘Amy, my sister collects phone cards. How many of you got?’

  ‘Phone cards or autographs?’

  ‘Autographs. Whose?’

  ‘I write to interesting people in the news. Sometimes they write back. Then I’ve got their signatures for my collection. Sometimes they even send autographed photos. I’m a hard core collector. Got thousands. I send off about four letters a day.’

  ‘Do they cost a lot? ‘

  ‘Usually the cost of two stamps.’

  ‘Why two stamps? Oh, you send them a stamped self addressed envelope?’

  Big Jon nodded. ‘ Email is no good. Need the original signature. Selling historical letters and documents is big business. I can spot the difference between an authentic signature and one written by a secretary or an ‘auto-pen’. That’s a machine which gives a signature in ink. I’ve written to politicians, gurus and pop stars.’

  ‘Have you written to ‘The Mouth?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t write back. Or he hasn’t yet.’

  That was neat, thought Christopher. A famous rugby player who collected other famous autographs. ‘We met

  ‘The Mouth’ on one flight. We thought he was trying to smuggle his famous dog Bozo. But he wasn’t.

  What’s an autograph worth?’ asked Christopher.

  ‘Depends whose it is. And whether they’re alive or dead.’

  ‘What’s yours worth?’

  ‘Depends if it’s on a cheque or not?’ Big Jon laughed.

  ‘Have you signed the Visitors’ Book?’

  ‘Did it before.’ Big Jon just shrugged. ‘Look.’ He pointed down.

  Christopher’d never seen so much water . The river boiled to a white froth on the rocks. Christopher looked over the handrail of the bridge. What if he slipped? Or if he were pushed? Below, the water had a life of its own.

  ‘Heard the news?’ Big Jon looked at the powerful water. ‘Zoe told me.’

  ‘What news?’

  Out on the Track, there were no television news programs or newspapers. But Zoe was in radio contact.

  ‘Someone in the group ahead has broken his leg. Avalanche destroyed the path and he slipped over the edge.

  Has to be flown out by helicopter from the heli-pad at the next hut.’

  ‘Will we have to walk that path too?’

  ‘There’s an alternative path the other side of the Pass. Pretty rough though.’

  Like a gun on her hip, Zoe wore her radio. The aerial stuck out, wobbling when she climbed. From behind, Zoe’s legs in shorts were like ruddy-coloured

  Christmas hams, thought Christopher.

  The guides kept in radio contact and were mainly interested in the weather forecasts. If the cloud was down, or snow was coming, trampers mightn’t be able to walk through.

  ‘This is the last group of the season,’ explained Zoe. ‘ We can’t walk any later than this, or we might have to fly the whole group out by helicopter.’

  Meanwhile, Stan was birdwatching.His bird book was in the outside pocket of his backpack. He wore binoculars around his neck. He hung back with the last walkers, stopping often to match birds to photos in his book.

  ‘D’you think Stan is looking for more than birds? ‘ asked Christopher suspiciously.

  Amy thought Christopher was getting her ‘mystery-itus’ But Stan was one of the last into the toilet stop hut.

  ‘Oh, are you still here?’ Stan said.

  ‘Blister.’ Amy put on a bandaid. Drips trickled inside her yellow oilskin.

  ‘This is where the Freedom Walkers stay overnight. They do their own cooking. Anyone else still here?’ asked Stan.

  Amy peered inside. It was like a big shed, with bunks. A kitchen was at the other end. Outside, the toilets had warnings about the need to wash hands.

  ‘I am.’ The Freedom Walker they’d seen yesterday, appeared . ‘Just tightening my pack. Hi. I’m Bertha Tree

  Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Stan,’ said Stan as if he’d just met her.

  ‘Aren’t you late starting?’ asked Amy . The Freedom Walkers were supposed to be several hours in front, or behind the organised groups.

  This Freedom Walker was behaving strangely. Was she wanting to speak to Stan secretly? Did she know him before? Or maybe she was another bird watcher?

  ‘Were you worried during the bomb scare?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Which bomb scare?’

  ‘On our flight from Sydney.’

  ‘Might have been.’ The Freedom Walker then ignored Amy. “Must get started now.’

  Stan followed Bertha up the track leaving behind Amy who had trouble pulling her boot back on.

  They disappeared around the bend, together.

  Ms Tree was a mystery, thought Amy.

  Chapter 6

  Lunch on Legs

  Excitedly, Big Jon knelt at the water’s edge.

  ‘What is it?’ Christopher’s backpack almost tipped him into the
river. At the bottom, speckles showed. Sand or gold specks?

  ‘Fish! Just about catch them with your hands.’ It was so clear. ‘Great place for fishing,’ Jon unfolded his fishing rod. ‘You go on. Catch up with you later.’

  ‘Is that gold?’ Christopher pointed to the specks.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘If I found a nugget, I’d buy the latest music by The Mouth, millions of hamburgers whenever I wanted them and...’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘If gold’s found here, in the National Park, it belongs to the Government, not the person who finds it. Some American guy was written up in the papers a few weeks ago for trying to smuggle out nuggets. Been sentenced.’

  ‘Oh. What about fish? Can you take them out?’

  ‘If you’ve got a licence. Or eat them here.’ Big Jon smiled down at Christopher. ‘The cook at the next hut will grill them if you smile sweetly. Fish get to be a bit smelly if you carry them out in your pack for three days.’

  Deciding to share the facts about gold nuggets with Amy, Christopher had another thought.

  If Big Jon had been out of the country playing rugby, how did he know about the American smuggler of New Zealand gold nuggets?

  ‘Wait until you get to the Bus Stop.’ Zoe smiled strangely as they strode along. Rain shone like diamonds on the ferns.

  Amy used her walking stick she’d made from a fallen branch. Christopher had found one too. His was longer.

  ‘What kind of buses come out here? Water taxis? Air buses?’ asked Stan. Whenever Zoe spoke, Stan listened with exaggerated attention. Maybe he was getting keen on her?

  ‘Have a look when you get there. It’s marked on your map.’ Zoe didn’t say any more.

  Each walker had been given a map by Zoe. And Amy still had the folded one which had been left in backpack 108. They’d already walked past the first two crosses on that map. Nothing special there. The first cross was the swing bridge outside the first hut. Perhaps the crosses were for dangerous places? Remembering Ms Tree, perhaps the warning should be for walkers’ weight not the number of them. The second cross was at a waterfall. The Japanese mountaineers had called this’ a photo opportunity’. They walked very fast and detoured to photograph every scenic spot.