by R. A. Spratt
Chapter 19
The Art of Dis-orienteering
Friday and Melanie were waiting with their classmates by the edge of the swamp. A Year 10 class, including Christopher, was milling around as well. Mr Maclean, their geography teacher, was about to stage his annual autumn term assignment. He was forcing the students to take part in orienteering. There was a general air of glumness about the group. Geography was bad enough already without adding physical exercise into it.
‘Ah, good morning, geographers,’ called Mr Maclean as he strode across the field, a warm cup of coffee in one hand and a bag full of athletic equipment in the other. ‘Are you ready to put theory into practice in the great outdoors?’
‘No,’ said Mirabella sullenly.
‘Can I be excused, sir?’ asked Peregrine. ‘I’m allergic.’
‘To what?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘Nature,’ said Peregrine.
‘Me too,’ said Melanie.
Other students started putting up their hands.
‘We all are,’ claimed Judith.
‘This is sooo not relevant to our lives,’ said Mirabella. ‘The only type of map I want to be able to read is the floor plan at the mall. Why can’t we do orienteering there?’
There were murmurs of agreement amongst the group.
Mr Maclean ignored them. ‘You will each be given a map of the school grounds and an orienteering card,’ he explained. ‘Your job is to use your map to find five markers. At each marker is a unique punch. You use the punch to put a hole in your card. When you have all five punches you return here.’
‘And this constitutes how much of our final grade?’ asked Friday.
‘One hundred per cent,’ said Mr Maclean. He was very proud to have thought up a way of grading two whole classes of his students all at once, and without having to read any examination papers. (He’d been taking tips from Mrs Cannon.) ‘I’ve prepared a list of teams. Step forward to see who you’re partnered with, then collect your equipment and you can start. The first pair back here with their card fully punched automatically gets an A++.’
Before Friday had time to react, Ian leapt forward. He glanced at the list. ‘Melly Pelly, you’re with me.’
‘Goodness, no,’ said Melanie. ‘Couldn’t I swap and get someone slower-moving?’
Ian ignored her, snatched up the equipment, grabbed Melanie by the hand and took off into the forest at a sprint.
‘Poor Melanie,’ said Friday. ‘I don’t think she’s going to enjoy this.’
‘Come on, let’s go,’ said Christopher as he turned to Friday.
‘Go where?’ asked Friday.
‘Orienteering,’ said Christopher with a smile. ‘We’re a team.’
‘We are?’ Friday noticed Christopher was already holding a map, compass and card. ‘Of course, sorry, my mind stepped out for a moment.’
‘Should we follow Ian?’ asked Christopher.
Friday took the map and looked at it. ‘We could if we wanted to fall off a cliff in about three minutes’ time. If we want to get to the first marker alive, better to take a slightly longer route and go this way.’ Friday led Christopher into the swamp.
‘Are you as good at reading maps as you are at everything else?’ asked Christopher as they walked swiftly through the bush. Friday was not going to run anywhere, not even for an A++.
‘Yes,’ said Friday.
‘Let me guess,’ said Christopher, ‘from years spent in the Girl Scouts?’
‘Goodness, no,’ said Friday. ‘I would never be involved in an organisation whose sole motivating philosophy is based on acquiring cloth patches. No, I learned how to read maps on summer holidays with my family.’
‘Really?’ asked Christopher.
‘My mother read an article on the educational benefits of an outdoor experience,’ explained Friday. ‘So she arranged for our whole family, including my four older brothers and sisters, to go on a two-week kayaking holiday.’
‘You could cover a lot of ground in two weeks,’ said Christopher.
‘My mother is a conscientious woman,’ said Friday. ‘She made sure to find a very long river.’
‘So what happened?’ asked Christopher.
‘A helicopter dropped us up river,’ explained Friday. ‘We were meant to spend the entire holiday paddling down to the estuary. But there was a flash flood on our second night and all our kayaks were swept away.’
‘And you took charge of the situation?’ asked Christopher.
‘You have to understand,’ said Friday, ‘my parents and my brothers and sisters all have PhDs in theoretical physics, so they have absolutely no practical life skills at all. If they had to guide a rocket to Pluto using the gravitational pull of Jupiter as a slingshot, my family would have no problem doing the mathematics. But moving in a straight line through non-theoretical obstacles is beyond them. I walked out, found a town and called the helicopter back to pick up the rest of the family.’
‘Dramatic,’ said Christopher.
‘We never went on a family holiday ever again,’ said Friday. She didn’t know why telling this story brought a lump to her throat. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Christopher.
Christopher nudged Friday so that she would look up at him. ‘You know, sometimes you seem older than I know you are,’ he said softly.
‘So do you,’ said Friday, looking into Christopher’s eyes.
‘Ah, that’s because of my wicked past.’ He grinned.
‘You were wicked?’ asked Friday, smiling at Christopher’s attempt to lighten the mood.
‘I had to repeat Year 8 because of “behavioural issues”,’ said Christopher unrepentantly.
‘What behavioural issues?’ asked Friday.
‘I’ll tell you later. Look, there’s the first marker,’ he called, having spotted the orange and white flag up ahead. They hurried towards it.
‘It looks like we’re going to be first,’ said Friday.
‘No, you’re not,’ said Ian as he brushed past at a sprint, beating them to the flag, finding the control punch and punching a hole in his card.
‘Hey, where’s Melanie?’ asked Friday. ‘You didn’t lead her over the cliff, did you?’
‘No, I asked her if she wanted to sit under a tree taking a nap while I ran around getting all the punches,’ said Ian. ‘Unsurprisingly, she agreed.’ He raced off again. But as he ran he brushed past Christopher, causing him to drop his compass, then Ian, far from accidentally, ground it underfoot.
‘Hey, you broke our compass,’ Christopher yelled. But Ian had already disappeared into the bushes. ‘I’m going to get him.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Friday, ‘I’ve got a wristwatch. We can use that and the sun as a compass.’
‘How?’ asked Christopher.
Friday took off her watch and laid it on her palm. ‘If we line up the twelve with the sun, then north is halfway between the twelve and the hour hand. That way!’
Using Friday’s careful assessments of the best route to take across the landscape and her accurate map reading, she and Christopher had all five holes punches in their card in under one hour and ten minutes.
There was a slight delay at the fifth marker because Friday could not get the punch to work properly. It didn’t help that she had sweaty palms as a result of unaccustomed exercise combined with unaccustomed proximity to a very handsome boy.
Fortunately, Christopher had big strong hands (one of the characteristics of his attractiveness) and he was able to take a firm hold of the punch, cutting through the card with a minimal amount of squeezing and wrestling on the handgrip.
‘Come on,’ said Christopher, ‘let’s run back to the finish. Perhaps we’ll win.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Friday, ‘I’m not very good at running.’
Christopher smiled. ‘You can do it. I’ll help you.’ He took Friday by the hand.
Friday was surprised. No boy had ever held her hand before. It didn’t tingle like in the romance no
vels, but it did feel nice in an explicable, visceral way. Christopher’s hand was large and rough compared to hers. He tugged her hand and took off running. Friday found she quite enjoyed being dragged through the forest.
The terrain wasn’t difficult. There was a fire track to follow, which they ran along for five minutes. Friday had never run for so long in her life. She seriously began to worry that she might suffer from some sort of cardiovascular failure.
‘Stop,’ cried Friday, yanking her hand free and coming to a complete halt.
‘We can’t stop now,’ said Christopher, ‘we’re so close. Look over the treetops, you can see the top of the flagpole on the main building.’
It was a struggle for Friday to speak while she was breathing or, rather, attempting to breathe, so hard. ‘No,’ panted Friday. ‘I mean –’ more panting ‘– it’ll be quicker if we go directly through the bush.’
‘Also more dangerous,’ said Christopher.
‘I like to live dangerously,’ said Friday, finally having some control of her respiration.
Christopher smiled and grabbed her hand again. ‘Let’s go!’
They started thrashing their way through the undergrowth. Six minutes later, they stumbled out the other side of the forest onto the edge of the football field. They were both covered in mud, scratches and insect bites. And Friday’s brown cardigan had so many pulled threads it was even uglier than usual.
‘We made it,’ said Friday.
They looked about. Mr Maclean was standing on his own.
‘We’re going to win,’ said Christopher. ‘Come on!’
Friday and Christopher started running again. But they had only taken a few steps when Ian and Melanie burst out of the bushes ahead of them. They both had leaves and dried grass all over their backs. Ian was actually carrying Melanie, and he was running full tilt. Friday and Christopher ran as fast as they could, but even with the large weight to carry, Ian had such a big lead he easily reached the finish line first.
‘Well done, Mr Wainscott. Miss Pelly, interesting approach,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘But I suppose all’s fair in love and geography. The A++ goes to you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Ian with a smile. ‘I’m just sorry that in the noble pursuit of academic excellence there has to be winners and losers. And yet there does.’
Friday rolled her eyes.
‘He cheated,’ accused Christopher.
‘That’s a shocking allegation,’ said Ian. ‘Sir, surely you must dock his mark for making defamatory statements.’
Mr Maclean confronted Christopher. ‘Can you prove that?’
‘No,’ said Christopher. ‘But I know that he did.’
‘If you can’t back it up, don’t make the accusation,’ chided Mr Maclean. ‘Or you’ll end up with a B.’
‘I can prove it,’ said Friday.
Chapter 20
Proof
‘If you’ve got proof that Wainscott cheated, then spit it out,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘Otherwise, I’m giving you both a C for unsportsmanlike behaviour.’
‘Just look at him,’ said Friday. ‘The course is eight kilometres over difficult terrain. He isn’t puffed or sweaty. Even with moderate exercise, the human body will start to sweat after just ten minutes.’
‘What can I say,’ smirked Ian. ‘I’m in superb physical condition.’
‘He doesn’t have scratch marks on his legs or insect bites,’ continued Friday. ‘But he does have dirt, leaves and dried grass on his back. In fact, so does Melanie.’
‘I do?’ said Melanie.
‘Neither of you look like you’ve been running through the bush for the last hour,’ said Friday. ‘Instead, you both look like you’ve been lying on your back amongst leaf litter and dirt.’
‘I have,’ agreed Melanie. ‘Friday is very clever with her deductions, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is,’ said Christopher.
‘That’s ridiculous tosh,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘Wainscott has every square punched on his card, using the different unique control punches.’
‘May I see his card?’ said Friday.
Ian smirked. ‘Be my guest.’
Friday studied it intently. His card certainly did have all five squares punched.
‘I think you’ll find everything in order,’ said Ian.
‘Chris,’ said Friday, ‘let me see our card.’
‘Oh, it’s “Chris” now, is it?’ said Ian, raising his eyebrows. ‘I saw you two holding hands as you burst out of the bushes. Perhaps we should be asking what you two were doing in the bush for over an hour.’
Friday ignored Ian and looked at his card. ‘I suspected as much,’ she said. ‘Mr Maclean, did you organise the same end of term assignment for your class last year?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘I always send my class out orienteering in the autumn term.’
‘So Ian knew that this test was coming up,’ said Friday. ‘He’s had plenty of time to contact an orienteering organisation and order his own set of control punches, then hide them in the bushes so that he could leave Melanie, make a show of arriving at the first marker then sneak back to his hiding spot, punching the other four holes, before going back to Melanie and finishing the challenge.’
‘That’s very farfetched,’ said Mr Maclean.
‘And entirely unprovable,’ said Ian.
‘Look at his card,’ said Friday. ‘Every single punch mark is cleanly cut.’
‘Proving I went to every marker,’ said Ian.
‘No,’ said Friday. ‘Proving that you didn’t. Because the punch on the fifth marker was blunt, it chewed the card. We had to punch it several times to get the chad out. You did not punch this hole with the same punch we did.’
‘I can’t be punished because I was able to make a tricky punch work better than you did,’ said Ian.
‘No, perhaps not,’ said Friday. ‘Because Mr Maclean is a lazy man who would prefer not to take this further.’
‘Excuse me?’ said Mr Maclean.
‘I don’t mean it as an insult, sir,’ placated Friday. ‘Just an observation of fact. But definitive proof would be if I found where you hid your box of control punches.’
Ian just laughed.
‘It would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack,’ said Chris.
‘Harder,’ said Ian. ‘Because in this case, the needle is not there.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Friday. ‘But it must be hidden somewhere fairly obvious. Near a landmark that is easily identifiable from a distance, or any angle.’ She scanned the treetops. One tree stood higher than the others. It was the Great Oak. The first tree planted by Sebastian Dowell when he founded the school.
‘There,’ said Friday. ‘The Great Oak.’
‘You mean, we’ve got to go bushwalking again?’ asked Melanie.
‘You didn’t do it the first time,’ said Friday.
‘No, but if I had,’ said Melanie, ‘I’d be most put out.’
‘I am not going traipsing through the forest, looking for hypothetical false punches,’ said Mr Maclean.
‘Why not?’ asked Friday. ‘It would be good exercise for you.’
‘I have to wait here for all the other students to return,’ said Mr Maclean.
Just then Peregrine and Mirabella burst out through the bushes. They were both bedraggled. They looked like they’d spent a month living rough, not an hour going for a walk.
‘The others aren’t coming back,’ announced Mirabella.
‘What?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘They’ve all given up,’ said Peregrine. ‘They’re refusing to move until you send in a helicopter.’
‘There you go,’ said Friday. ‘The best use of your time now would be to call the emergency services on your mobile. Get them to send a helicopter to start looking for the missing students. While we’re waiting, we can nip over to the Great Oak and look for the punches.’
Even with the apathy of Mr Maclean and Melanie to contend with, it only took the group fi
ve minutes to hike over to the Great Oak.
‘This is quite the goose chase, Barnes,’ said Ian. ‘I’m thinking of lodging an official complaint for harassment.’
‘You set me up on terrorism charges,’ said Friday. ‘You can hardly get on your high horse when I simply call you out for cheating. Which I know you did, by the way. That’s the difference. You’ve been naughty, I haven’t.’
‘Just because you don’t actually make ricin in your dorm room doesn’t mean you aren’t extremely irritating in many other ways,’ said Ian.
‘I don’t know how you have the breath to bicker,’ said Melanie. ‘All this walking is exhausting.’
‘So where are these punches then?’ asked Mr Maclean.
Friday scanned the clearing around the Great Oak. ‘We have to think like Ian,’ she said.
‘I doubt you have the imagination to conceive what goes on in my brain,’ said Ian.
‘I don’t need to know all the goings-on,’ said Friday. ‘Just the bits about where you would hide a set of punches.’
‘In the ground,’ suggested Chris.
‘No,’ said Friday. ‘Digging would be too much like hard work.’
‘Under a bush,’ suggested Melanie.
‘No,’ said Friday. ‘Too easy to stumble across. The best hiding spot would be somewhere only Ian could find it. And what unique skill does Ian have?’
‘Handsomeness,’ suggested Melanie.
‘In addition to handsomeness,’ said Friday. ‘He is a superb acrobat.’
‘Really?’ asked Chris.
‘Oh yes,’ said Melanie. ‘His father was a graduate of the Barnum and Bailey Circus Skills University. That was a key fact Friday used to prove he committed a bank robbery and have him thrown in jail for seven years.’
‘Your dad is in jail,’ said Chris. ‘Which jail?’
‘I’d prefer not to discuss my personal issues with anyone at any time,’ said Ian. ‘But particularly not with you now.’