by John Wilson
“That makes sense,” Annabel says. “What would Sam have to do if he wins the tour?”
“Very little. Both of you will need to allow us to use your image in brochures and news articles covering the cruise. We will also ask that Sam be ready for media interviews both before and after the cruise. Nothing too difficult.”
“Okay,” Annabel says. “One final question. What made you select Sam? And how did you find him? There must be many people you could have chosen closer to home.”
“First, let me remind you that no final decision has been made. But Sam fits our needs, and Australia is one of our target markets. Sam’s name came up when one of our researchers came across an article in the Warrnambool Standard. Apparently, he helped find an artifact that had been stolen from the museum. A large bird, I believe.”
“A porcelain peacock,” Annabel says, raising her eyebrows at me. “So what’s the next step?”
“Within the next two weeks, Sam will be informed of the results of the draw. If he is successful and still willing to go, I shall pass on information regarding flights, insurance and what to take. There will also be a contract to sign. Of course, Sam is welcome to pass the document by a lawyer if there are any doubts.”
“This all sounds very organized,” Annabel says and steps away.
“Thank you,” I say.
“It was my pleasure,” Moira says. “I wish you the best of luck in the draw. And if any questions pop into your head after you put the phone down, please don’t hesitate to email or call. It was a pleasure talking with you.”
“Thank you,” I repeat and close my cell. Annabel and I stare at my dad.
“Well,” he says, stroking his chin. “She does seem to be efficient and helpful. I’ll need to check the contract if you are selected. But I must say, it looks like a wonderful opportunity. I don’t suppose you’d take me along.”
“I’d love to, Dad, but I think Annabel would hurt me very badly if I didn’t take her.”
Dad nods. “I thought as much. Good luck.” With a smile, he leaves.
“So, do you still think it’s a scam?” I ask. “Moira answered all your questions.”
“Sort of,” Annabel agrees. “Moira sounds nice, but she avoided the question of how they got your contact information. And she didn’t really answer my question of why you were selected.”
“Don’t you think I deserve to be selected?” I ask jokingly. Annabel doesn’t laugh, so I try again. “She said they saw the article in the Warrnambool newspaper.”
“What are the chances of someone in Canada reading the Warrnambool Standard? And even if they did,” Annabel goes on before I can respond, “it was a short piece. And the article was more about me because of my connection with the museum.” Annabel’s dad runs the museum in Warrnambool. “I would have been the logical contact.”
“There you go again,” I say, my anger and my voice rising. “Pouring cold water on something I like. You don’t have to be right all the time. I think this is a real opportunity, and so does my dad. I’m really, really excited about this trip. If you’re not, I’ll take someone else.”
Annabel looks hurt, but she doesn’t say anything.
I feel lousy. I’ve hurt my favorite person in the whole world. And why? I have doubts about this cruise too. I don’t want to, but it does seem too good to be true. Annabel is only reminding me of my own doubt.
I sigh, step over to Annabel and put my arm around her shoulder. She looks up at me, close to tears. “I’m sorry,” I say. “All you’re doing is being rational.” “Like Mr. Spock,” Annabel says with a weak laugh, wiping her eyes.
I smile and give her a hug. “I need rational sometimes. I’ll have to take you with me to keep me grounded.”
“That’s the most romantic offer of a date I’ve ever had,” Annabel says with a grin. “But I am glad that I won’t have to hurt you.”
“Me too.”
Chapter Four
My cell rings one morning as I’m going into math class. I recognize Moira’s number, so I answer.
“Congratulations, Sam,” she says. “You and Annabel have been selected to go on our Northwest Passage cruise.”
“Awesome!” I say loudly. Several people, including Mr. MacKay, the teacher, look at me. “That’s great news,” I say quietly. “What’s next?”
“When you’re ready, Mr. Butler,” MacKay says, “we can begin the calculus lesson.”
“Sorry,” I mumble as I hurry to my seat.
“Sounds like you’re busy,” Moira says. “I just wanted to give you the good news. I will email with more details. Again, congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I say. I fight the urge to punch the air in triumph.
Anything MacKay says about calculus slides past me as if my brain is made of Teflon. When the bell goes, I head for the door like an Olympic sprinter.
“Mr. Butler.” I skid to a halt in front of MacKay’s desk. “You seem very excited. Is your life more interesting than the assignment that is due today?”
“What? Oh, I haven’t quite finished it,” I say. This isn’t entirely true. I’ve actually forgotten about it. “Can I have an extension, please?”
“I don’t normally give extensions.” MacKay seems to be talking incredibly slowly. “But since you haven’t been late all term, I will give you until the end of the day tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
He isn’t finished. “I take it that you’ve had some good news.”
“Umm, yes, I’ve been selected to go on a cruise through the Northwest Passage.” I look toward the door and see Annabel standing in the hall.
“The Northwest Passage?”
That’s what I said. What else can he want to know?
“I believe, even with global warming, that route is only open in late August and early September.”
“Yes,” I say, fidgeting. “That’s when I’m going.”
“Hmm. I know you haven’t been here very long, Mr. Butler. But you do know that will be right in the middle of our second winter school term in Australia.”
I do know that. It had slipped my mind. “I’ll work something out,” I say.
“I hope so,” MacKay says. “Don’t forget that assignment tomorrow.”
“I won’t. Thank you,” I say as I head across the classroom.
“I’ve been accepted,” I say when I’m barely out the door.
“You mean we’ve been accepted,” Annabel says. “And hello.”
“Hello. I got a phone call just before class.”
Annabel doesn’t look as thrilled as I am. “You don’t still think it’s a scam, do you?” I ask.
Annabel shakes her head. “I don’t think it’s a scam. No one’s asked for any money. But I can’t shake the thought that it is suspicious.”
I struggle not to get annoyed. “When the contract comes, Dad will get his lawyer to look it over.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Annabel says. “I looked up the Crype Foundation on Wikipedia.”
“And?” I ask nervously.
“Oh, it seems genuine enough. It’s an umbrella organization for a number of companies, all of which are legal as far as I can tell.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I googled Crype. It’s an unusual surname in the Midwest. Or it’s a slang term that means marketing and promotion for its own sake—advertising to no purpose. That seems an odd name to call a company.”
“So it must be someone’s surname or a made-up word. You’ve been suspicious all the way through, and each time everything’s worked like we were told. Not everyone has a mind as complex and devious as yours.”
“I suppose,” Annabel says. “It’s just that if something seems odd to me, I can’t help trying to work it out.”
“A modern-day Sherlock Holmes,” I say. But then something Mr. MacKay said sinks into my brain. “But we do have a real problem. The cruise is right in the middle of term.”
“I know,” Annabel says, suddenly g
rinning, “but I’m sure we can work it out. We can do assignments on Franklin, the Arctic and the Inuit. And if there’s as much publicity as Moira suggested, I’m sure the school won’t mind the attention. In fact, I was speaking to Ms. Fortune this morning. She thinks the assignments are a great idea, and she’s prepared to discuss it with the principal.”
“But you didn’t know I was going to be accepted.”
“I never doubted you,” Annabel says, linking arms with me.
“So you’re looking forward to coming on a cruise with me.”
“I’m only preparing for every eventuality.”
“You can’t control everything,” I say.
“But I can control one thing,” Annabel says, heading off down the hall. “There’s Pavlova cake for dessert in the cafeteria. Last one there buys the other a piece to celebrate.”
Chapter Five
It seems as if Annabel and I have spent the past week on planes or in airports. It takes thirty-three hours to go from Adelaide to Vancouver with stops in Brisbane and Los Angeles. Then it’s thirteen more hours from Vancouver to Inuvik via Calgary, Edmonton, Yellowknife and Norman Wells. Annabel doesn’t seem to mind. But she has a backpack loaded with books about Franklin. She has everything from biographies of the man to horror novels. With her memory, she‘ll be a world authority on the Franklin mystery by the end of this cruise.
The final leg of our trip north is with Aklak Air. We fly on a Twin Otter from Inuvik to Sachs Harbour via Paulatuk. The plane is full, which means that there are about twenty people on board. Everyone except for us and an older, loudly dressed couple with American accents is a local.
Annabel is in the window seat beside me. “Look,” she says cheerfully as she points out the window. “A pingo.”
I lean over and peer past her. “It’s a hill,” I say without enthusiasm.
“It’s a special kind of hill. They form in permafrost, where the ground’s frozen all year round. It’s like a frost heave, but it goes on for decades, until a hill forms.”
I barely hear Annabel. Part of me wants to sleep and the other part is taking in the barren landscape. The landscape beneath us seems as much water as solid ground. Lakes of all sizes and shapes are everywhere, like the marks of some horrible disease. Even the rivers seem unable to decide which way they should flow. They meander in twisted patterns.
“We have the largest pingo in the world,” someone says. I turn to look at the old guy in the seat across the aisle from me. He’s short, powerfully built and wearing unlaced work boots, jeans and a combat jacket. His face is weather-beaten, but his dark eyes sparkle with life. “Name’s Jim,” he says with a smile. He holds out a work-roughened hand. “What brings you folks up here?”
I feel the bones in my hand grind together as we shake. “We’re going on a cruise through the Northwest Passage,” I explain. “I’m Sam and this is Annabel.”
“Welcome to the north,” Jim says. “Been up this way before?”
“First time,” I say.
Jim nods as if he’d already worked that out. “I’ve been up north near sixty years. Been to Edmonton a few times but don’t much like it. Awful busy. Inuvik’s as big as I need.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
“Hunting and trapping and a bit of guiding. As a boy I worked on those radar stations the Yanks built to spot the Russian bombers coming over if a war broke out.”
My tired brain can’t think of anything to say, but Annabel fills the silence. “You must fly this route a lot.”
“Yeah, I know it pretty well. Excitement is in May and November, when we stop in Fort McPherson because the road’s closed for break-up and freeze-up.”
The plane banks sharply. “That’s the city of Sachs Harbour,” he says with a laugh, pointing to a collection of buildings scattered along the shore. The landing strip on the hill above the town is as long as the main street. “Population ninety or so. You and your friend will make a difference while you’re here. That your ship?” Jim asks as a large, sleek, three-masted yacht comes into view.
“I guess so,” I say.
Jim leans over and peers hard out the window. “Arctic Spray,” he says.
“How do you know that?” I ask. “You can’t see the name, let alone read it from here.”
“We Inuit are famed for our eyesight. When a polar bear’s stalking you, it’s well camouflaged. The only thing you can see is its black nose. If you want to escape, you have to be able to see the bear one to two miles away.”
“You can see a polar bear’s nose two miles away?” I ask in awe.
“Easy,” Jim says. “On clear days, two and half or three. Of course, it helps if your rifle has a telescopic sight. And if a luxury yacht anchors nearby while you’re sitting at the end of the dock.”
I’m confused—until I notice that the other passengers are chuckling quietly. Even Annabel has trouble keeping a straight face. “Very funny,” I say as I feel my face flush.
“Don’t take it hard,” Jim says. “We only tease people we like. Anyway, it looks like you’ll be traveling in style. When do you sail?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Annabel says.
“You reading about Franklin?” Jim asks, nodding at Annabel’s book. It has a gruesome photograph of the dried body of one of the expedition’s crew on the cover.
“Yes,” Annabel says. “It’s about the three bodies that were dug up on Beechey Island.”
“The lead-poisoning theory,” Jim says. “It’s not the only one, you know.”
“I know,” Annabel says. She’s leaning over me, talking intently to Jim. I feel like I’m trapped between two geeks. “I’m trying to find out as much as I can. The cruise we’re going on is passing right by where they all died.”
“I know a few things that aren’t in any of your books,” Jim says. “If you’re not sailing until tomorrow, drop by my place this evening for some northern hospitality.” Jim is interrupted as we bump along the Sachs Harbour runway. “It’s the blue house on the left at the south end of town. Can’t miss it. I’ll feed you some musk ox and tell you stories about some Kabloonas who tried to do what you’re doing.”
“Kabloonas?” Annabel asks.
“That’s what my ancestors called the first white folks who came up this way.
It means ‘the people with bushy eyebrows.’ Drop by anytime. Door’s always open.”
“Thank you,” Annabel says. “We will.”
We file off the plane and collect our bags. We and the older couple are greeted by an enthusiastic woman dressed in expensive pink-and-blue North Face gear. “Hi,” she says cheerily. “I’m Moira. Welcome to the start of the Northwest Passage.”
Chapter Six
“This is awesome,” I say. The main lounge of the Arctic Spray is all polished wood and brass. We are sitting around a table laden with a mouth-watering selection of food and drink. “I think this ship’s worth more than our house in Adelaide.”
“She is a beauty,” Moira says. “Now to introductions.” She waves an arm at a bearded man in uniform. “This is Captain Phillips. He’s in charge. Everyone has to do exactly what he says.”
“Or I’ll make you walk the plank.” There’s polite laughter at the weak joke.
“This is Sam and Annabel,” Moira goes on. “They’ve come all the way from Australia. Though Sam is originally from Canada. This is Billy and Martha Edwards, our lucky winners from Texas.”
“San Antonio,” Billy says with a wave that includes everyone.
“These two gentlemen are Rob Blair and Terry Mortimer. Their situation is a little different. Rob and Terry are members of KARP—Krill Arctic Research Project. They’re based at Fort McPherson in the summer. They are along to check out the possibility of doing research on our cruises.”
Rob and Terry look uncomfortable, but everyone shakes hands and tucks into the drinks and food. I turn to Rob, who’s sitting beside me. “Have you been here a while?” I ask. “You weren’t on the plane this afternoon.�
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Rob looks startled that I’m talking to him, but Terry answers. “We came up on the flight last week so we could do some preparatory research.”
“You flew up from Fort McPherson?” Annabel asks.
“Yeah,” Terry says. “That’s where we’re based in the summer.”
“Must be interesting work you do,” Annabel goes on. “Krill are so vital to the food chain. It’s hard to believe that something as small as krill can supply enough food for something as big as a beluga whale.”
“Extraordinary,” Terry agrees. “Look, love to talk more, but Rob and I have equipment to check. Catch you later.”
“Yeah, see you later,” Annabel says.
“Nice for you to have a couple of experts to talk with,” I say. I don’t get a flicker of a smile from Annabel.
Moira joins us. “Good so far?” she asks.
“It’s great,” I say through a mouthful of smoked salmon. “The Arctic Spray’s amazing.”
“She’s a beautiful ship. I think you’ll enjoy the voyage.”
“What time do we sail tomorrow?” I ask.
“Sunrise is about 6:00 AM, but it’ll be twilight for two hours before that. Captain Phillips says we’ll lift anchor about 5:00 AM. If you’re early birds, you can watch the sunrise over breakfast as we sail into Amundsen Gulf.”
“Sounds cool,” Annabel says. “Any chance we can go ashore this evening? We met someone on the plane who invited us to visit.”
“No problem,” Moira says. “The Zodiac can take you ashore after the pre-sailing briefing. Rob and Terry want to go ashore in any case.”
“Great. Thanks. Come on, Sam. Let’s go check out our new home.”
Grabbing a final handful of appetizers, I follow Annabel on deck. “What do you think of our companions?” she asks when we’re alone at the bow.
“They seem okay,” I say.
“Rob and Terry?”
“They’re a bit awkward, especially Rob. But they’re geeky scientists, so…”