The twins were glad that he hadn’t noticed his missing moustache yet. They peered over his shoulder, eager to find out who was in the lead. The Cheesemaker-Locator was a large round screen with a map of the world on it. With a tap of Mr Zola’s finger it zoomed in on Siberia. The twins could just make out several flashing dots. Mr Zola then scrolled down to where a flashing dot was heading south. He zoomed in closer.
“There’s a ‘PM’ heading towards Mongolia already,” he said. “Let me just check who that is.”
He tapped the screen again.
“Primula Mold.”
The twins glanced anxiously at each other.
“So, she was heading in the right direction,” sighed Cam. “She must have got the moose milk already.”
“Do you know this Primula Mold?” asked Mr Zola.
“Yes, she’s our neighbour,” said Bert. “She sailed right over us in her yellow hot air balloon.”
“I’m supposed to be keeping pace with the leaders,” Mr Zola sighed. “I have to catch her up, which means heading straight for Mongolia. Unfortunately, this is an overnight train. It doesn’t make a stop till tomorrow. If only we could move carriages.”
“Animal transportation carriages don’t have connecting doors to the rest of the train,” said Cam. “We had to transport some of our cattle last year and I read all about it.”
“She knows everything about everything,” muttered Bert to Mr Zola.
“And the reason the windows are set so high,” she continued, “is so the animals can’t see out, as this might panic them. But they still need light during long journeys.”
“We could always go back on to the roof,” said Bert, pointing towards the hatch above them. “But the problem is getting back in again.”
“I don’t think I can bring myself to go back up there,” said Mr Zola. “We’ll just have to bed down in the hay and go our separate ways in the morning. You two must form a human barrier between me and the beasts. It’s the least you can do after the trauma you’ve put me through.”
Bert looked over to the far corner of the carriage, where the two moose were drinking from the large bucket. He slowly walked over and began to stroke the baby’s fuzzy muzzle. Cam followed.
“How are we going to get to Mongolia from here?” whispered Bert.
“I thought you wanted to split up when we reached Russia,” said Cam.
Bert frowned. “It might be better to do it when we reach Mongolia,” he muttered. “I’m still going to win, though.”
Cam nodded. “Me too,” she said. “But at the moment, I think our best bet is to keep in with Mr Zola. Come on.”
They wandered back to Mr Zola and sank into the hay in front of him.
“We’ll make sure the moose don’t come anywhere near you or Monty,” said Bert, grinning. “We don’t want any more hairy situations.”
Cam glared at Bert, but Mr Zola didn’t seem to notice and settled back into the hay.
“So, have you always been a cheesemaker?” asked Cam, trying to keep his attention away from his missing moustache.
“I wanted to serve my queen and country from a very young age. So I joined the Royal Air Force,” said Mr Zola. “Now, that’s an organization that appreciates a fine piece of nose hair! Monty and I became members of the RAF Whisker Club – a fraternal society that promotes charitable work and aid to our facially fuzzy friends. Unfortunately, it turned out that Monty didn’t like heights, and we had to leave the RAF. So I decided to follow in my father’s footsteps, and took up the art of cheesemaking instead. There must be something in the blood, because I’m really rather good at it.”
“I am too,” said Bert.
“Nearly as good as me,” added Cam. “But our Gramps is the best. I wonder if he won ‘Best Cheese in Show’ at the fair.”
“Apparently it was cancelled,” said Mr Zola, closing his eyes and snuggling deeper into the hay. “Not enough entrants. Everybody was more concerned with making moose cheese, and I can’t say I blame them.”
Cam sighed. Gramps had been relying on winning that competition to boost their international sales. She moved closer to Bert. He was fiddling intently with a piece of straw.
“Poor Gramps,” Bert whispered, glancing over to make sure Mr Zola wasn’t listening. “First of all, we go off without telling him, and then ‘Best Cheese in Show’ is cancelled. He will not be happy.”
“I know,” Cam said in a low voice. “But imagine if we didn’t go. There would be no hope of saving the farm. At least one of us has the chance of getting that prize money now. It’s just made me more determined than ever.”
Bert nodded. “And Lord Curd of Whey Farm does have a certain ring to it.”
Cam snorted and fell back in the hay.
“Not as good as Lady Curd,” she muttered.
The Whirlwind
(Four days to go…)
The following mornin a blood-curdling scream echoed the length of the Trans-Siberian train, rattling all the windows on every carriage.
“NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”
Bert’s eyes flew open. Mr Zola was staring into his hand mirror and screaming. Cam got up and put her arm around him.
“Don’t be upset,” she said. “The other half of Monty will soon grow back.”
“Why Monty?” he howled. “Why didn’t that wretched beast take me instead? Where is the monster?”
He glanced towards the back of the carriage to where the moose was resting against a wall, its baby asleep on the floor.
“If that beast comes anywhere near me, I will not be responsible for my actions. I have a man-bag and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Bert picked up a long rope from the floor and gently looped the two moose together. He secured the rope to a metal ring on the floor.
“There,” he said. “As long as you stay in the far corner then the moose can’t reach you. So no more talk about slapping it with your handbag.”
“It’s a man-bag,” sniffed Mr Zola. “And I will only use it in self-defence.”
He looked in the mirror again and began to make a strange agitated humming noise.
Cam patted him on the back. She didn’t like seeing anyone distressed and felt slightly responsible. They had used the Monty-munching incident to get their moose milk.
“I think half a moustache suits you,” she said. “It’s different – unique. You could start a new fashion.”
Mr Zola fiddled with the hairy remnants.
“Do you really think so?” he asked, staring searchingly into the mirror.
“Absolutely!” said Cam, straightening his hat, which was covered in moosey saliva and hay. “You’re looking good. And before you know it, the other half of your moustache will have grown back bigger and bushier than before.”
Mr Zola continued to gaze into the mirror.
“And you know what they say,” added Bert. “It’s no use crying over spilled moustaches … or even nibbled moustaches.”
“I’ve never heard that saying before,” murmured Mr Zola, “but I shall try and soldier on. It’s what Monty would have wanted.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Cam. “Now, let’s try and put this behind us and get back to business. What’s the quickest way to Mongolia? We’ve only got four days left until the State Banquet.”
“We?” repeated Mr Zola, getting to his feet. “I’m afraid there is no we.”
Cam bit her bottom lip.
A loud thud from outside shook the carriage and interrupted her thoughts. Mr Zola stood on a hay bale and looked out of one of the small windows.
“We’ve just been hit by a tree!” he shouted. “There’s a Siberian storm raging out there.”
Another crash rocked the carriage, disturbing the moose. The mother grunted and moved protectively over her calf.
“That was a branc
h!” cried Mr Zola. “There’s an enormous whirlwind passing right overhead.”
“Thank goodness we’re not on the roof now,” said Cam. “Are we nearly there?”
“We’re approaching the city of Krasnoyarsk,” he said, still staring out of the window.
“A city?” repeated Cam. “I thought Siberia was just a snowy wilderness.”
“A lot of it is,” said Mr Zola. “But there are several large cities too. We’re just about to cross the Krasnoyarsk Bridge, a prime example of a parabolic polygonal truss bridge.”
“Is he talking Russian again?” asked Bert.
“It crosses the Yenisey River, which flows all the way down to the Arctic Ocean in Siberia the Khangai Mountains of Mongolia,” continued Mr Zola. “My research into moose-cheese ingredients has left me with a good knowledge of this region. The train will cross the bridge and pull into the station, where I will be purchasing a first-class ticket on a boat down the Yenisey.”
“What will we do?” asked Cam.
“You’ll have to find your own way to Mongolia,” replied Mr Zola. “I am not a babysitter. My priority is catching up with this Primula Mold.”
“That’s ours too,” said Bert.
“You’ve managed to tag along with me this far,” grumbled Mr Zola. “And you’ve caused me nothing but trouble. I shall be glad of some adult company. However, should you take the lead in the competition, then I’m sure we shall meet again. Although thankfully, I think that’s pretty unlikely.”
“Why?” demanded Bert.
“You’re just children! You were very lucky to get the moose milk but I doubt very much that you will get any rennet. You probably don’t even know what it is.”
“It’s the chemical found in mammals’ stomachs,” said Cam. “It curdles the milk and is an essential ingredient in cheese production.”
“Know-all,” he muttered.
“Told you,” said Bert.
“Anyway,” continued Mr Zola, “it’s time for us to part company.”
As he spoke, something else crashed against the carriage, and the train began to brake. Mr Zola looked out of the window again.
“Good gracious!” he cried. “That was a rubber boat. The whirlwind is flinging all manner of things up from the city. And there goes a tent! The train driver’s going to have to be extra careful crossing the bridge. The wind is extremely strong up here.”
There was a rhythmic clatter as the train slowed to a walking pace. They could hear the wind howling outside. Bert jumped up and down on the hay bale, trying to see out of the high window.
“Give me a leg up, Cam,” he said. “I want to see a Siberian whirlwind.”
“All right, but my turn next.”
Bert clambered on to his sister’s back and looked out of the window. The view was amazing. The Krasnoyarsk Bridge was a symmetrical tangle of intricate ironwork, its main frame curving over the river like a metal rainbow. A large city rose up on the other side, the roofs covered in a thick layer of snow. Fifty metres below the bridge streams of water snaked through the ice. A small ship with a large round hull was forging through the frozen water.
“Look! An icebreaker,” shouted Bert.
But it was the whirlwind tossing things into the air that amazed him the most. He watched as an inflatable tyre, a small shed and even a red bouncy castle were flung around the sky like matchsticks.
“My turn,” said Cam. “I want to see.”
Bert reluctantly climbed down.
“I haven’t finished looking yet,” he said. “If we could just open the outside door a little, then we’ll both see. And I could do with some fresh air. It smells a bit moosey in here.”
“No!” cried Mr Zola. “There’s a huge whirlwind out there, you idiot! We would be blown out of the train!”
But Bert had already unbolted the huge gate and started to slide it back. A tunnel of icy wind roared into the carriage, smashing into the walls and hurling everyone off their feet. Bert made a frantic grab for his sister just as they were all sucked out of the train.
The Bouncy Castle
Cam and Bert were wrenched apart and whipped up into the Siberian sky like crumbs in a vacuum cleaner. Cam lost all sense of her surroundings as the whirlwind sucked the air from her lungs and pounded her face with tiny ice particles. She felt herself being tossed round and round as it roared over the bridge and out on to the river.
Bert managed to catch a breath as the fierce wind eventually lost some of its momentum. He could feel his ears popping as the pressure dropped, and he opened his eyes as the wind died completely. Cam was right beside him, floating in mid-air like a piece of litter blown up in the storm. There was a second of calm before they both dropped like stones, hurtling towards the frozen river below. Bert could hear Cam shrieking, but her scream was drowned out by a much louder one, as Mr Zola tumbled past. Bert reached out for his sister and they managed to link fingers. But just as he thought they would crash into the ice, Mr Zola reappeared in front of them, soaring back up again and still screaming loudly. Bert glanced down just in time to see a mound of red rubber beneath them. There was a loud BOING as the twins fell into the object. Cam hit a wobbling wall and was boosted sideways, knocking into Bert, who bounced into a returning Mr Zola. Eventually, the three of them lay in a rippling heap in the middle of the billowing rubber.
“I don’t believe it!” cried Bert. “We’ve landed on that bouncy castle we saw flying through the air! It must have blown on to the river. Is everyone OK?”
They lay on their backs, panting heavily.
“I think so,” groaned Cam. “But that was terrifying. I thought we were going to die.”
Mr Zola stared fearfully up into the sky. “It’s not too late,” he mumbled. “What about the moose? They could come raining down on us at any moment.”
“They’ll be safe,” said Bert. “I secured them to the carriage, remember? It probably saved their lives.”
Mr Zola tried to get to his feet but the wind picked up again, hitting the back of the bouncy castle and propelling it along the frozen river. He fell back and almost bounced right out.
“We’re going to take off again,” he whimpered, grasping hold of one of the large rubber air-plugs attached to the floor. “This is all your fault! Monty is traumatized and I’ve lost my cheese hat!”
The weight of the two children and Mr Zola kept the bouncy castle from being tossed into the air again. But it sped along the ice at breakneck speed, leaving the Krasnoyarsk Bridge far behind.
“Hold on to one of those plugs,” called Bert to Cam. “But be careful you don’t disturb the seal. We don’t want to lose any air. This is going to be a fast ride.”
After a little while Cam let go and bounced over to a wobbly wall.
“Actually, this isn’t too bad,” she said, looking out on to the river. “Look how far we’ve gone already.”
Bert joined her as the bouncy castle hurtled past an icebreaking ship. He waved to the astonished people on board.
“We’re much faster than them,” he said. “It’s brilliant!”
“Brilliant?” yelped Mr Zola, clinging to his air-plug. “It’s intolerable!”
“We should be grateful,” said Cam. “This bouncy castle saved our lives. What on earth was it doing blowing around?”
“I guess Siberian kids have birthday parties too,” replied Bert. “But what are we going to do when the wind dies down?”
But the wind didn’t die down, and for the rest of the day they sat back for the ride and watched as the pine forests of Siberia gave way to tracts of wilderness with remote villages nestled on the banks. Children dressed in bright colours ran out of their houses, pointing and waving as the castle whizzed by.
“Bouncy castles really are the only way to travel,” said Cam, leaning over the back wall. She almost toppled over and was hauled back by B
ert.
“Careful,” he said. “If you fall out, there’s no turning this thing around.”
“I’m OK,” she said. But she still hung on to Bert as she peeped over the wall.
“Look! What’s going on over there on the far bank?”
A man with red hair was standing on top of a trailer attached to the back of a car. He was surveying the surrounding area with a pair of binoculars.
“It’s Gramps’ friend Lester,” shouted Bert. “Mr Lester, over here. Over here!”
The man swivelled round and fixed them with his binoculars.
“Bert?” he yelled. “Cam? Is that you?”
“Yes. We’re on our way to Mongolia,” shouted Bert. “How about you?”
“Moose stalking,” cried Lester. “Have you found one yet?”
Bert proudly held up his bottle of milk.
“How did you get that?” shouted Lester in disbelief.
“You’ve got to have nous to get the moose juice!” called Bert.
The twins grinned and waved goodbye to the astonished man as the castle whooshed by.
“Well, at least we’re not last,” said Cam. “Has anyone got anything to eat? I’m starving.”
Bert reached into his pocket and threw her a large brown lump.
“What is it?”
“Moose biscuits,” said Bert. “I found them on the train. Thought they might come in handy. Do you want one, Mr Zola?”
“I would rather starve than munch on a moose morsel,” he said, turning up his nose.
“Suit yourself,” said Bert, bouncing up on to the back wall. “Hey! There’s someone following us down the river. It looks like a couple of speed skaters.”
Mr Zola was too scared to bounce up and look but Cam stood on tiptoe and peeked over the wall. Sure enough, two figures were skating in single file, both bent low over the ice and taking huge strides. They flew along the frozen water.
“They’re catching us up!” cried Cam. “I think it’s a couple of bears!”
Mr Zola looked up.
“Are you telling me that we are being approached by two speed-skating bears?” he asked. “What’s in those moose biscuits?”
Wild Moose Chase Page 6