Unlike Malcolm and Molly, they’d had a good landing. Their parachutes tangled in the trees, but miraculously, they were deposited in a clearing. Micky detangled the parachutes, knowing that they would be useful. Lily had been most unhelpful. Shocked by the fall, she simply sat shivering under a tree. So it was Micky who’d braved the branches and rescued the bundles of material. While Lily sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, he hunted for shelter and found a cave. He’d laid the parachutes out like sleeping bags. Then they’d sat close together and stared at the dark night, listening to the creatures of the jungle. It was dawn before they fell asleep, and an afternoon sun was high in the sky when they woke.
For the rest of the day, the hot sun shone down on the children’s clothes that Micky had put on rocks to dry. Lily sat in her underwear, huddled and scared, while Micky focused his mind. He knew that they might not meet another human for weeks and that it was essential that he find a way for them to stay alive in the forest.
He had read many adventure stories. In fact, he had read both fictional and factual accounts of survival stories, set on mountains and out at sea, in deserts and in the jungle. Even though it was scary to be in such strange terrain, with no knowledge of what plants around them were poisonous or whether there were dangerous insects or snakes about, he found the whole business quite exciting.
Micky knew that he and Lily might have to eat grubs and insects, and there was fruit on the trees. That afternoon he spent a lot of time foraging and digging.
“Why don’t we just walk somewhere and get
“Walk where?” Micky replied. “We don’t know how big this forest is or if we
“I am
“You might have to,” Micky retorted. “And Lily, you should try to drink as much as you can. It’s in the leaves, look, there’s tons of it everywhere. You may be getting altitude sickness. You see, we’re very high up.” He tapped the altimeter. “We are at about three thousand feet, and that can make some people feel funny.”
“I don’t feel funny. But you look funny.”
“Ha, ha. Why don’t you come and help me dig for potatoes?”
“No way. I’ll get dirty,” she said, taking her clothes from the rocks. “Dry clean only.”
Micky laughed. “Dry clean only? Are they allowed to go through the washing machine of a whirlwind storm? Come on, Lily, get a grip. Come and help.”
But Lily shook her head and went to sit back under her tree.
That night, Micky lit a fire. He cooked the roots, and though they were black with char, Lily, now starving hungry, helped him gobble them up. The smoke from the campfire kept the insects at bay. And as a modicum of comfort crept back into their lives, both Micky and Lily felt a little bit better.
“Well done for remembering the matches,” Lily said, nodding toward the fire. She reached into her parka pocket and passed Micky something small and silvery. “Chocolate?” she offered.
“You’re joking.”
“No, always carry it. Never know when you might need it.” Micky took the chocolate gratefully, and they both unwrapped the sweets. “Mmm. Tastes a million times better here, doesn’t it?” said Lily.
“Yup,” Micky said. “Thanks.”
“No, it’s me who should say thanks,” said Lily. “I’m really sorry. I’ll try not to be so useless tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry,” said Micky. “It was the shock of the jump. Crazy, wasn’t it?”
“Really frightening.” Lily shivered. “I think we ought to start looking for the others tomorrow.”
“Agreed,” Micky replied, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“Do you think they’re still alive?” Lily asked. Micky shrugged. Inside he had a strange feeling that Molly and Petula were all right, since they seemed to have a habit of falling on their feet. “If we use our compasses and follow the coordinates to the stones, I’m sure we’ll find them. Now let’s get some sleep. Yam for breakfast?”
Lily groaned. “Again?” She closed her eyes. “Chocolate croissant!” she murmured dreamily.
“Sausage roll,” Micky replied.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Lily suggested.
“Chocolate cupcakes.”
“Grilled cheese sandwich…”
Miss Speal sat on a little wooden stool in some bushes high above the camp. She liked this place because it was very private, and yet it had a good view of everything that was happening in the clearing below. She pulled out her blue stone and then hugged it to her chest. “Oh, my dear stone. What shall I do without you?” She began to weep. “I shall miss you.” Then she sat up. She’d heard a noise and voices.
“I vill put a nice hidden trap here,” Miss Oakkton was saying. “Then it’s not too far to walk to check it.”
“And a pit would be good here,” Miss Teriyaki said, slapping away an insect.
Miss Speal jumped up in alarm. She tried to think whether she was doing anything that she might get in trouble for. She was doing nothing. That could get her into Miss Hunroe’s bad books. She quickly shoved her blue stone back into her pocket and, making haste, pushed past the bushes to take the shortcut back to the camp.
The blue stone lay on the ground by the wooden stool. It had not quite dropped into Miss Speal’s pocket. The pocket’s flap had obstructed its entry, and as the woman had hurried away, the movement had tossed out the stone.
Twenty-seven
Petula trotted after Canis, who moved swiftly up the mountain paths. They had been walking since before dawn.
“How much farther, Canis?” Petula called after him. Hearing her panting, Canis stopped.
“We’ll rest now,” he said. “Look, there’s a nice pool of water in the dip of that rock, if you’re thirsty.”
Petula lapped up the sweet cloud-forest water and wiped her muzzle with a wet paw. “We’ve been gone for hours,” she said. “I wonder whether I should have woken Molly to explain.”
“She never would have understood what you were saying,” Canis replied. “Besides, these people are dangerous. Before you involve your mistress, you must see whether they have anything to do with the crazy women you told me about.”
“How many of them did you say there were?” Petula asked, scratching her neck where an insect had bitten her just under her collar.
“Two, but I smelled more in the distance,” Canis replied. “And there was definitely a hint of flowers about them. I smelled the scent of rose thorn and orange blossom. And blood. That’s how I found them in the first place. I found a rabbit that they’d trapped,” he said, getting even more serious. “It hung by its noosed legs, from the branch of a tree.” Petula shivered.
“Let’s hope we don’t step in one of those traps ourselves,” she said.
After a brief rest, they set off again, up the mountain path.
Petula decided she would find out for sure whether this lead of Canis’s was a good one. Then she would report back to Molly before nightfall.
“Smell the barbecue?” Canis asked, sniffing the air with his wet nose. “They must be having a meal.” Petula could detect the whiff of cooked meat—curried cooked meat—on the air. It made her mouth water. Trying to ignore this, she sniffed the wind more, searching for a hint of orange blossom and thorn and rose. She found it.
“It’s them,” she gasped.
“Good work, eh?” Canis gave a short
The dogs now trod stealthily through the undergrowth, following their noses and reading the air. The smoke from a fire became stronger and stronger, mixed with the smell of baking and the stench of dead animals. And then, just like a car stopping unexpectedly at a dead end, Petula and Canis arrived at a rocky outcropping. It was obviously a place humans liked to be, for there was a wooden stool there and, what was more, the smell of mothballs from someone who had been there only shortly before hung in the air. The person had been scared, too, for the odd smell of electric lemon lingered. Down below was a clearing with eight huts. The two dogs surveyed the
