“Perfectly, sir.”
“Good,” said Johns. “Then we’ll draw a line under the matter.” He leaned back and smiled broadly at Summerfield. “On a lighter note, you’ll be pleased to hear that your cherished ambition will soon be within reach.”
A moment passed.
“Beg your pardon, Mr Johns,” said Summerfield. “What cherished ambition?”
“Why, to be first to reach the Furthest Point, of course.”
“Oh that. Er…yes, I am quite looking forward to it.”
The smile disappeared.
“Quite looking forward to it?” Johns repeated. “Surely you can summon up a bit more enthusiasm than that, Summerfield; after all, you’ve been our keenest trailblazer thus far.”
“I’m as eager as ever,” came the reply.
“Well, try to show it, can’t you?” snapped Johns. “It’s not much to ask.”
“No, sir. Sorry. Will that be all?”
“For now, yes.”
“All right, then. Good night.”
“Night.”
Johns did not look at Summerfield as he headed outside. After he’d gone, however, he glanced towards the doorway. “Damn and blast,” he murmured to himself.
§
The next morning dawned cold and bleak. In the south a dense bank of clouds obliterated the sunrise; in the north the sky was clear, but the air was flecked with incoming particles of dust. The two tents stood parallel to one another, with a space in between. The space was empty. When Seddon emerged he headed straight for the makeshift cooking area, buttoning his coat as he went. Struggling in the wind, he got the stove lit and put a pan on before turning back towards the tents. Only then did he notice the mules were missing. Immediately he went to the command tent and woke Johns, who rose quickly and initiated a search.
“They can’t have got far in one night,” he asserted. “The trouble is we don’t know which direction they took off in.”
“Back the way we came?” suggested Scagg. “Unlikely,” said Johns. “They wouldn’t want to cross that river on their own. Yet there are no obvious tracks going anywhere else.”
“They must have covered them over.”
“Possibly, Scagg; or more probably the dust did.”
“Mr Johns!” called Plover. “There’s one of them!” He was pointing to the west of the camp, where a short distance away Gribble could be seen wandering slowly about, picking up pebbles from the ground, examining them closely and then discarding them again. She seemed oblivious to the hue and cry that was going on all around her, and showed not the slightest sign of being a potential runaway.
“Keep your eye on her, Plover!” ordered Johns. “The rest of us will have to spread out and see if we can trace the others. We’ll meet back here in one hour’s time.” Before proceeding, Plover went back into the tent and exchanged his woolly helmet for the high-peaked cap he’d worn during the early part of the expedition. This gave him rather an official bearing, especially as he’d taken care to keep his beard neatly trimmed during the past weeks. With a determined stride, he marched out of the camp towards Gribble. She was now only a hundred yards away; he covered the distance in less than a minute. As he approached she turned her back as if she hadn’t seen him coming, and moved a little further off. Plover followed, dogging her resolutely until at last she drew to a halt.
“Up to your usual tricks?” he remarked.
Gribble said nothing.
“I suppose you think you’re very clever, don’t you?” Plover continued. “Helping the others to sneak off.”
“It wasn’t me,” she replied.
“Who was it then?”
“Don’t know.”
“Of course it was you,” he said. “You were the only one who wasn’t tied up. I knew you couldn’t be trusted: we gave you an inch and look what happened. Well, you’ll be sorry this time. They’ll have a rope round your neck sure as I’m standing here, and that’ll put an end to your fun and games.”
Gribble turned and peered towards the camp.
“Is breakfast ready yet?” she asked.
“No, it isn’t!” retorted Plover. “In case you hadn’t noticed, everybody’s busy seeking the rest of the fugitives. You’ll just have to go without.”
“As usual.”
“What was that?”
“I said I’ll have to go without as usual.”
“You get your full provender,” said Plover. “What is it you imagine you go without exactly?”
“Comfort,” answered Gribble. “Warmth; sympathy; kindness.”
Plover broke in. “Oh, don’t try making me feel pity for you,” he said. “It just won’t wash at all; your situation is of your own making and no one else’s.”
“Our own making?!” she cried. “How can you say that when you held us down for generations!”
“You held yourselves down!” countered Plover. “It had nothing to do with us! The simple truth is that your ancestors sat idly in the sun, while ours toiled and sweated in preparation for winter. Then when they fell behind they put the blame on everybody but themselves. They curled up, covered their heads and hoped it would get better, which it didn’t. Now you and your kind are paying the price: you were born feckless, and feckless you will always remain.”
“So we’re being punished because of who we are,” said Gribble.
“Because of what you are,” answered Plover. “And I tell you: the sooner you’ve all been shipped out the better.”
“Then you’ll be happy, will you?”
“Life will be vastly improved, yes.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Don’t be impertinent!!” Plover raised his voice and instantly Gribble fell silent. For some moments the two of them glared at each other in open hostility; then Plover turned abruptly away and strode back to the camp. Gribble followed at a distance, having now lapsed into a wordless sulk. She passed the next hour arranging her collection of pebbles in a small pile. These numbered half a dozen, all blue in colour, and all roughly the same size. Meanwhile, Plover tinkered with the stove. Seddon had extinguished the flame when he went off to join the search party, and, try as he might, Plover was unable to get it going again. Eventually, he gave the priming mechanism a dismissive prod, as if to suggest it might be faulty, and turned his attention elsewhere. By this time one or two of his comrades were beginning to return. Chase and Sargent trudged in from the north-east, shaking their heads when Plover looked at them enquiringly.
“No success?” he said.
“Nothing,” replied Sargent. “They’ve vanished completely.”
“That’s put paid to the expedition then.”
“Not necessarily,” said Chase. “We’ve still got one mule left so I expect Mr Johns will want to press on.”
“Shame the ‘one mule’ is the most awkward of the bunch,” observed Plover.
“You can say that again,” agreed Sargent. “A wily specimen and no mistake.”
“Here’s Mr Johns now,” said Chase.
Johns had appeared in the distance, accompanied by Seddon. Beyond them could be seen the advancing figures of Summerfield and Scagg.
“Obviously no luck either,” said Sargent.
On entering the camp, Johns immediately asked Seddon to prepare a belated breakfast.
“Any food missing?” he queried.
“Not as far as I can tell,” answered Seddon, after sorting through the stock of provisions. “Oh, except for the bag of barley sugar.” He looked a second time. “Yes, that seems to have gone.”
“Well, I don’t know how far they expect to travel on a handful of sweets,” remarked Johns. “What an infantile escapade! Don’t they realise we’re doing this for their sakes as much as ours?”