The Riddle of the Frozen Phantom

by Margaret Mahy

  “You’re right!” he cried. “Why should I copy Scott and Shackleton? Why shouldn’t I be the first explorer to take my children with me? I want to look after you kids. I long to try out my new Riddle theory. And I absolutely need to answer that cry of ‘Help!’ I’ll do all three things at once. It’s settled. We’ll all go south!”

  “Hooray!” shouted Edward and Sophie, while Hotspur chortled like a happy magpie. “We’ll pack at once.”

  “You will need thermal underwear,” their father shouted after them.

  “You gave us some last Christmas,” Sophie called back. “And the Christmas before that.”

  Bonniface smiled proudly, thinking what a good father he had been.

  “What I really wanted was a reflecting telescope,” Edward muttered. Still, it was no use worrying about past disappointments.

  “And do you have polypropylene jerkins?” Bonniface shouted again.

  “You gave us jerkins and jackets for our birthdays,” Edward’s voice came back faintly. “We have complete sets of explorer clothes! And mukluks! Even Hotspur has mukluks – though he really wanted trainer skates.”

  Hotspur! Bonniface suddenly frowned. The older children might be useful. They could cook, do up their own jerkins and jackets and mukluks. But Hotspur!

  “Perhaps we should send Hotspur to Granny’s,” he suggested. But this suggestion made Hotspur squawk like an angry seagull.

  “Dad!” cried Sophie. “We can’t leave Hotspur behind. I know he’s little, but every little helps.”

  Oh well, thought Bonniface, there wouldn’t be too much work in looking after anyone as small as Hotspur. He ran to his fax machine, planning to contact Scott Base on Ross Island, on the very edge of the great, frozen continent. He wanted to let them know he was coming and to order a particularly good skiddoo – a sort of Antarctic motor-sledge.

  “It must be a state-of-the-art skiddoo!” he muttered to himself. “Nothing but the best will do. And when they hear that I’m bringing the kids, they’ll make sure that I get the very best. After all, it’s nearly Christmas. They’ll want the children to be safe as well as happy at Christmas. There might, after all, be great advantages in taking the kids with me.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Unexpected Air Travel

  The Sapwood children always travelled by plane when they visited their grandmother. They were used to airline seatbelts, and looked forward to free aeroplane lollies. But the inside of the Hercules aircraft (which was waiting to take explorers and scientists to Antarctica) took them by surprise. For travelling by Hercules turned out to be rather like flying in a second-hand-clothes-and-general-junk shop. There were seats, of course (you didn’t have to stand all the way to the Antarctic), but they weren’t like ordinary aeroplane seats. They were made of a curious orange webbing and they ran around the edge of the Hercules cabin. You strapped yourself in and sat there, staring inwards towards the middle of the plane. And down the middle of that cabin ran tall racks on which people hung coats and slung luggage. A man in an orange-coloured overall and headphones moved around, handing out plastic bags. Sophie thought perhaps they were being given large bags full of sweets, or something to be sick into, but it turned out he was handing ear-muffs to everyone.

  Of course, the Hercules was full of people all going to Antarctica and, while they waited for the journey to start, Bonniface pointed them out to his children… helicopter pilots, geologists, penguin experts, drill-operators, and so on.

  “It’s almost as good as going to another planet,” Edward whispered to Sophie, who nodded in a rather distracted way. As she had climbed on to the plane, suddenly the pendant, hidden under layers of warm clothes, had shifted against her skin as if it were startled. She had the odd idea that, even through layers of jerseys and jackets, it had recognised someone, and that somewhere in the Hercules, someone smiling and cheerful had also recognised – not the invisible pendant, perhaps, but certainly the whole Sapwood family, and had stopped smiling. Sophie peered around anxiously, but there wasn’t a single person looking disturbed, dismayed, or disgusted by the sight of a famous explorer taking three children on a dangerous expedition.

  The Sapwood family settled down on the webbing seats and strapped themselves in. A merry crowd of Antarctic helicopter pilots were settling themselves opposite, and singing a fine old Antarctic helicopter-pilot’s song.

  “Oh, let us meander

  Out over Lake Vanda

  Where we’ll take a gander

  At prospects of snow.

  Or we may be nosier

  And make for Cape Crozier

  The prospect is rosier

  At forty below!”

  Sophie touched the front of her jacket under which the pendant was nestling – a warm tear just over her heart. Then something caught her eye. A cluster of bright orange waterproof coats with hoods was hanging almost opposite her, billowing out over the end of an empty section of seating, and below these coats she saw a pair of mukluks that looked as if they might have real feet in them. It was hard to be sure. But, feet or not, these mukluks were particularly interesting in themselves. They were blue, and decorated with gold and silver stars. Sophie liked the look of them. She liked the idea of someone taking starry strides across the Antarctic. But was there someone concealed by those coats… someone sleeping or, perhaps, hiding under them? It was hard to tell.

  “There aren’t many windows,” muttered Edward interrupting Sophie’s thoughts.

  “Where’s the air hostess?” she asked her father.

  “There aren’t any air hostesses on an Antarctic Hercules,” cried Bonniface scornfully. “We’re not tourists!”

  But just then the Hercules started up, and the cabin immediately became far too noisy for any of them to hear a word. Bonniface hastily slid ear-muffs on to Hotspur’s head, and gestured to Edward and Sophie to put on their ear-muffs as well. He pointed at the bag of books dangling from the rack that ran down the middle of the plane, meaning that they were both to read quietly because it was going to be too hard to talk during the flight.

  Edward pulled a pen and a little notebook out of his pocket and scribbled away, busily taking notes for his future famous novel, but Sophie sat still until the plane had levelled out. Then, when other people began standing up and stretching and wandering around, Sophie stood, stretched and wandered too, until she found a small round window at the very end of the cabin. Standing on tiptoes, she peered out eagerly.

  There wasn’t much to see. A rippling carpet of greyish cloud rolled out under the Hercules and, staring ahead, Sophie found they were flying into a blueness that seemed to go on forever. She gazed into that blueness, filling her head with it, and suddenly she glimpsed, from the very corner of her eye, something flying a little above them. Some hawk? Some high-flying albatross? No, thought Sophie, squinting upwards. No bird ever flew quite as high as the Hercules was flying.

  She peered even harder, pressing her nose against the glass. Yes! There, one whole layer of the sky above them – say, a thousand feet – was another plane… a black one. It looked a little threatening, thought Sophie, almost as if it were secretly planning to swoop down on them.

  But the Hercules flew steadily onwards, and Sophie soon lost sight of the black plane altogether.

  CHAPTER 12

  Wicked Plans in Black Planes

  Funnily enough, a thousand feet above the Sapwood family, in that very black plane, someone was telling two people an Antarctic story. However, the long cabin of the black plane was entirely different from the cabin of the Hercules. Its soft seats were covered in black velvet and there were television screens set about the walls. You could watch several videos at the same time. At the far end of the cabin stood a bar where orange juice was served, or champagne, or whatever you felt like drinking, and through the windows all passengers had wonderful, stretching views of sky and cloud. What’s more, this cabin was not only warm but quiet. There was no need for any of the three people in the cabin to wear ear-muffs
or mukluks or any compulsory Antarctic clothing. Indeed, one of the three men was wearing black shorts and black sandals, because this man (his name was Rancid Swarthy) loved to cloak himself in darkness, even in midsummer.

  At that moment Rancid Swarthy was highly delighted with his velvet chairs and his champagne, but mostly, he was delighted with himself. He longed to smile broadly, but he was a man who had to be careful when it came to smiling, because even his very sweetest smile (his Number Six smile) made people uneasy. As for his Number Two smile – that one was so mean and threatening that when he used it, people crouched down with their hands over their eyes. And he only used his Number One smile when he was looking at himself in the mirror. He was the only person in the world who could bear it. It was like a secret weapon.

  So he sat there struggling with himself, for though he was longing to grin like a wolverine, and to boast about his riches and his cleverness, he knew that a boasting man says too much. He must be careful and cunning.

  “I’m searching for a ship,” he told the two men opposite him. “It was lost in the Antarctic during my grandfather’s day. You may have heard of it. It was called The Riddle. My grandfather, Escher Black, was The Riddle’s First Mate.”

  “Do you want me to explode this ship when you find it?” asked the bigger of his two companions, but in rather an absent-minded tone of voice. Rancid frowned. This man was not paying proper attention. Indeed, he seemed far more interested in fooling around with something that looked like a firework.

  “If your grandfather was called ‘Black’, how is it that you are called ‘Swarthy’?” asked the other man, who did seem to be listening intently. His name was Whizzy Tambo and he was the secretary of the company. Explosions Ltd. At least he seemed to be full of the deepest respect for Rancid Swarthy. Reassured, Rancid relaxed once more and went on with his story.

  “My grandfather, Escher Black, renamed himself ‘Swarthy’ when he grew rich and successful,” he explained with quiet dignity. “‘Swarthy’ sounds so sinuous and stylish…” (“It does! It does!” agreed Whizzy Crambo.) “…and it means, more or less, the same thing as ‘Black’.”

  At this moment there was a small explosion. The big man had set off his firework. It leaped into the air, broke into sparks and fell on the cabin carpet. The man who had set it off quickly stamped on it. Since the carpet was so very dark, it was hard to tell if any spark had actually burned a hole.

  Then the firework man looked over at Rancid Swarthy and grinned. “Just practising!” he said.

  Rancid smiled back at him. He used a Number Three smile – one that usually frightened people and made them quiet and obedient. But it seemed to have no effect on that third man who swelled up in his black velvet chair, looking extremely pleased with himself. This big man was Whizzy Tambo’s brother, Crambo Tambo – his little brother, which was a bit of a joke since he was actually twice as big as Whizzy.

  “This is not the time for explosions!” said Rancid Swarthy, speaking very quietly but managing to sound fearsome. He was highly pleased with his own terrorising skill but, to his surprise, Crambo answered back.

  “Any time is the time for an explosion,” he declared. Rancid could hardly believe it. Crambo was close to contradicting him.

  “And just being honest, Sir,” Whizzy put in quickly, “you have brought us along because you do want us to blow someone up, don’t you? I mean my brother and I are Explosions Ltd.”

  “Huge explosions are our specialty,” added Crambo in a pious voice. “Dangerous work! We must practise constantly.”

  “But not up here,” said Rancid. “It’s such a long way to fall.”

  “This Escher Black, your noble ancestor who changed his name, was he the one who made the family fortune?” Whizzy asked, snatching up his glass and slurping his champagne.

  “He started it off,” admitted Rancid Swarthy slowly, wondering, just for a moment, if he had done the right thing in employing Explosions Ltd. But of course he had! He was not a man who made mistakes.

  “Do go on,” said Whizzy quickly. “I am fascinated by your tale.”

  Rancid felt easy once more. After all, if the Tambos should get out of hand he could always smile his Number One smile – his most terrible smile – at them. That always worked. Sitting forward, he cleared his throat, preparing to boast a little.

  “Well, Escher Black was not only an explorer; he was a collector too. For instance, he brought a great collection of stones back from the Antarctic with him. Wonderful stones! He treasured every one of them.”

  The Tambo brothers looked astonished. You could tell at a glance that they would have thrown all stones from the Antarctic away – probably aiming them at nearby penguins or seals.

  “Kept a lot of stones?” Whizzy Tambo asked uneasily. “Wasn’t that a little odd – a shade eccentric – Sir?”

  “Mind you, stones can be interesting once you set a bomb off under them!” Crambo Tambo sounded suddenly enthusiastic.

  Rancid smiled again, his Number Three smile, which was so unpleasant that Whizzy pretended he had a bit of grit in his eyes and began blinking and pulling his upper eyelid over the lower one. But he did not stop listening. A smile like that had to mean something important.

  “As it turned out, most of the stones were diamonds,” Rancid said casually, “so it’s just as well he didn’t throw them away or even explode them, isn’t it?”

  “Diamonds!” cried both Tambo brothers greedily. Whizzy stopped holding down his eyelid, and even Crambo began listening properly at last. Rancid was totally in charge once more.

  “If we do a bit of exploding out on the ice, are we likely to find diamonds ourselves?” asked Whizzy eagerly.

  “There is to be no exploding unless I say so,” replied Rancid. “Understand this! I will take a hundred dollars off your fee for every unauthorised explosion.”

  “Oh, you’re a hard man,” cried Whizzy in the sort of fawning voice Rancid loved to hear.

  “My grandfather, Escher Black, has always been my model,” he went on, relaxing in his chair again. “He sold a few diamonds, set up in business, and soon he was being really helpful to poor, struggling bank managers, bomb experts like yourselves, and other needy people. And he trained me to do good in the same way.”

  “Oh, what a wonderful man!” said Whizzy, nodding his head, but Crambo was already a little bored. He slid another firework out of his pocket and looked at it wistfully.

  “Mind you, nobody’s perfect. He did make one bad mistake,” admitted Rancid with a deep sigh. “He never told either my father, or me, exactly where he had found those diamonds in the first place. I have always been curious about that. And I rather think that if we find the ship on which he was sailing at the time – that missing ship, The Riddle – we might find a few diamond clues. The ship’s logbook, for example, might well be full of useful information. Just think! Wouldn’t it be fun to know exactly where those diamonds had been found?”

  “Wonderful fun!” cried Whizzy, raising his glass to toast Rancid.

  There was sudden suspicious bang from Crambo’s direction.

  “Yeah! Wonderful fun,” Crambo promptly cried, nodding his head and hastily treading something into the black carpet. “That’s not an explosion,” he added, looking over at Rancid. “Well, not what I’d call an explosion. When I really explode something there’s absolutely no doubt about it.” True enthusiasm crept into his voice and he flexed his muscles. Rancid gritted his teeth, holding back his most terrible smiles.

  “It is true,” he said carefully, “that I may need to explode a few things in the Antarctic. Even an explorer or two! You have those explosions to look forward to.”

  “Hooray!” cheered both Tambo brothers, but Crambo actually went on thinking – something that didn’t happen very often.

  “A bit earlier,” he said frowning, “you mentioned this particular explorer who we are in pursuit of… what was his name?” He immediately answered himself. “Bonniface Sapwood! Now, do you
reckon he might lead us to those diamonds?”

  Rancid nodded. “He just might.”

  “Right!” agreed Whizzy. “And I suppose, if he does find that Riddle we’ll drop down on him so you can lay claim to the ship’s logbook – or any spare diamonds that might be lying around. After all, they are really yours, aren’t they? I mean it was your grandfather who found them in the first place.”

  “If Bonniface should find The Riddle, any logbooks or spare diamonds will certainly belong to me,” agreed Rancid Swarthy, beaming at his companions, though this time he was using a there Number Five smile, easy to bear as long as the person being smiled at didn’t look too closely.

  “But what if he argues? I read somewhere that Antarctic explorers can be very quarrelsome,” said Crambo, absent-mindedly bending his silver spoon into a horseshoe shape.

  Rancid’s Number Five smile changed to a Number Three. Whizzy quickly looked out of the window, but Crambo took no notice at all.

  “Bonniface Sapwood has his children with him,” Rancid sighed. “He wouldn’t want to see his children exploded, would he? Even if he is silly enough to argue with us, I’m sure he won’t argue for long.”

  “We can always explode them after he’s passed the logbook over,” said Crambo.

  “I’m glad we understand one another,” said Rancid.

  He lay back in his black chair in which parts of him became almost invisible. Lounging there, he looked entirely at ease with himself. Yet, secretly, something was troubling him. Why was it that Crambo Tambo had seemed to take no notice of his wicked smiles? That was bothersome. I might be forced to use my Number One smile on Crambo, thought Rancid. That will certainly pull him into line.

  Then, as Rancid lay there brooding, a spark – just a little one – leaped from between Crambo’s hands. There was a crack like a whip and for the third time Crambo quickly wiped his foot over something smouldering in the black carpet. Rancid took a breath, and began a Number One smile as he turned towards Crambo. However, he was interrupted.