by Susan Moore
A soldier stepped forward holding a tray on which were placed several glasses of ice-cold vodka.
Burilgi took one, held up his glass in a toast and swallowed it in a single gulp.
“Prost.”
Chapter Forty-Four
THE STEPPE
Nat put on her sunglasses and picked Fizz up off her lap. Only his green snout was peeping out of the all-in-one yellow fake-fur super-heater robot suit that Altan had found for him at the night bazaar on the outskirts of Ulan Bator.
It was a bit of a loose fit, since it was made for the newer robot models. Nat had to tie the heat connectors on to Fizz’s wings with string but it was better than nothing.
She climbed stiffly out of the back of the Overrider into the cold air. Even with sunglasses, the light was intense. The flat snowscape stretched out before her as far as the eye could see. There was not a tree, hill, village, person or building in sight. Above, the sky was a clear, piercing blue. A quiver of excitement ran through her. She was finally in Jamuka’s homeland.
“A white desert,” said Fred. “Just like they said.”
Fred was clomping through the snow in her oversized man boots, also picked up by Altan in the night bazaar. They were four sizes too big but at least she could get her feet into them. He had found her a bigger coat too, in red. Out on the snow, Fred looked like a lost Father Christmas.
Nat watched her kneel down and start digging in the snow, like a dog searching for its bone. Altan and the driver were leaning against the Overrider drinking hot tea, looking on with interest.
“Assistant, bring my bag!” she called.
Nat grabbed Fred’s leather bag from the back seat and started to tramp across the snow. Her boot slipped on some ice. She landed hard.
“Careful. That bag’s got glass in it!” roared Fred.
“Need help, Princess?” said Altan, appearing at her side. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“No, thank you,” she said sharply.
He picked up the bag and carried it over to Fred. Nat pushed herself up off the ground and brushed the snow off her coat. Snow! She was going to have to get used to it.
“Fizz, call Wen,” she said, brushing down his furry suit.
The tip of his snout glowed orange.
“Heya, Nat, I can’t see you,” said Wen through Fizz’s speakers.
“Fizz is in a robot-warmer suit so he can’t open his wings.”
“That sounds ding! How is it going?”
Nat leaned closer in towards Fizz’s snout. She didn’t want anyone to hear her, especially Altan.
“Freezing but beautiful. Everything’s white. I’ve been told we’re going to be out of range soon. No one has bothered to put up any comms links out here so this is probably the last time we can talk.”
“Got it. Listen – the wicked witch is up to very bad tricks. You don’t have long to find Jamuka and bring him back to stop her.”
“Assistant, test tube!” shouted Fred.
Nat looked across the snow. Fred had reached ground level and was scraping off shavings of earth with her penknife.
“And be quick about it!”
“Ai yah! Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” said Wen.
“Zoinks, between her and this Altan boy it’s not exactly a bag of laughs.”
“Hurry up!” warbled Fred.
“You’d better go,” said Wen. “Help Fred. Try calling me later, and if it doesn’t work, just find Jamuka FAST.”
Wen cut the call. Nat headed across the snow to Fred. She fumbled with the bag’s buckles, reached inside and pulled out a wooden box. To unhook the top she had to take off her gloves. The cold bit into her fingers. She grabbed a clean test tube from a rack and handed it to Fred.
“About time,” said Fred, grabbing it off her and shoving the earth inside. She held the filled test tube up triumphantly in the air. “Our first specimen!” she sang at the top of her voice.
Altan and the driver burst out laughing. Fred was oblivious.
“Truck ready. We go!” shouted Altan.
Nat silently groaned as she climbed back into the Overrider. She had to fold in her legs to fit behind Fred’s seat, which Fred had insisted on pushing back as far as it would go to make herself more comfortable. It was like being squashed in a sardine can.
“Want, Princess?” said Altan, reaching across the seats with a packet of peanut cookies.
“Thanks.”
She bit into one and promptly spat it out. It was like eating a piece of old, damp cardboard. She looked at Altan, giving him the evil eye that she had practised so often and so effectively on Henry, but to her surprise he wasn’t grinning. His eyes were wide with surprise.
“You no like?”
“No,” she said, waiting for him to laugh at her.
He picked one from the top of the packet and crunched down on it.
“They good.”
“No they’re not, they’re inedible.”
“Not eat?”
“Exactly. They are utterly not eatable.”
Altan frowned, snatching back the packet.
“Oh no you don’t,” said Fred, grabbing it mid-air. “They’ll do very well for me.”
Nat’s stomach grumbled. If that was the standard of food, she was going to starve.
Chapter Forty-Five
MUTTON STEW
Nat woke up to find that the Overrider had pulled up next to a round white tent. It was a real ger, just like the ones she’d seen in photos. Next to it huddled a flock of sheep in a small covered corral. An old motorbike was propped up against the railings. A man and little girl stepped out of the door. They had wide, rosy-cheeked faces and both were dressed in long grey coats. Behind them lay a thick forest.
Altan leapt out of the passenger seat and ran over to them. The man embraced him heartily. They were smiling and laughing.
“Let’s hope they’ve got something on the stove,” said Fred, heaving herself out. “I’m starving.”
Nat picked Fizz up off her lap.
“Call Wen.”
“Out of range, no communication possible,” said Fizz, his voice weak.
She sighed. This was it. She was on her own. She pushed down the back of Fred’s seat, climbed over and out to the open air.
“Princess,” called Altan, waving her over.
She was going to ignore him but the man at his side was smiling broadly at her.
“Sain baina uu?” said Nat, with a bow of her head towards the man.
Altan raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Sain,” replied the man, returning the bow.
“You speak Mongolian?” whispered Altan.
“A little,” she replied.
“Day one in the life of a native Mongol begins,” sang Fred, notebook in hand.
The man’s daughter grabbed Nat’s hand, pulling her towards the ger. They passed in through the door. Inside, the wooden tent frame was painted bright red, with thick felt lining the walls. The stove sat in the middle. Wisps of white smoke drifted upwards and out through the flue. A row of simple beds stood against the walls with an old red dresser beside the largest bed.
Nat’s nose wrinkled. The whole tent stank of boiled meat.
The man’s wife was sitting stirring a bubbling stew in an ancient cauldron over the central stove. She nodded a greeting.
“Sit,” said Altan, signalling for them to take a seat on the cushions that lined the floor.
Altan and the man spoke in low voices while Fred was bent over her notebook. The mother passed Nat a steaming bowl. She bowed her head in thanks and looked at the pale milky liquid swirling around inside. A stink of bad cheese wafted up.
She took a sip. Its smoky, salty taste made her gag. Fred, however, gulped hers down in one go.
“Delicious!” she sang, handing the bowl back to the mother. “More, please!”
The mother looked up in alarm. Then she stood up and began to ladle steaming hot, brown, oily stew into bowls. Grey balls of
something were floating, half submerged, on top. Altan and the man started to slurp it down. Fred and the little girl tucked in too.
Nat tentatively pushed one of the balls to the edge of the bowl. Using her finger she rolled it up into her mouth. She bit into it. A hot spurt of fat filled her mouth. The dough ball contained old mutton. It tasted like elastic bands. If the salty tea was bad then this was a thousand times worse. She quietly spat the half-chewed fatty lump out into her hand and popped it in her pocket. The little girl giggled.
“Princess not like?” said Altan.
Nat blushed. She’d been caught out, and of all people it had to be by Altan. Everyone was staring at her now. There was only thing for it. She put on her best smile, dipped her finger into the stew and fished out another mutton ball. Keeping her smile fixed she opened her mouth and dropped the ball into her mouth.
She bit down into it, trying to convince herself that she was really eating a potsticker at the Lucky Cat restaurant.
“Mmm,” she managed to murmur.
A big Mongolian man came barrelling in through the door. While everyone turned to him Nat swiftly took the fat ball out of her mouth and stuffed it into her pocket with the other one.
“We go,” said Altan, already on his feet. “Horses.”
“Horses?” said Nat in alarm.
Altan clicked his tongue as if urging an imaginary horse into a trot.
“Horses,” he said.
“They have minds of their own, if you ask me,” grumbled Fred.
Nat swallowed hard. No one had mentioned anything about having to ride a horse.
“Go,” said Altan, heading out of the door.
Nat handed her bowl back to the mother. She followed Altan to find three men wearing tall fur hats and ankle-length coats now standing at the treeline. They greeted Altan warmly and launched into a loud conversation, waving their arms about, pointing at Fred and Nat.
“Come, singer and Princess!” shouted Altan, waving her and Fred over.
“This boy takes a few liberties, doesn’t he? I think we should find a suitable name for him too,” said Fred.
Nat smiled. Monkey-brain was the first name that sprang to mind, but she bit back the words. There would be plenty of time to think of a better one. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and started to trudge through the deep snow.
The driver revved the Overrider’s engine and drove off, leaving a deep stillness in his wake. Nat stepped into the gloom of the forest. Three dark, stocky horses with thick coats stood waiting, swishing their tails backwards and forwards, their breath forming mini clouds of crystals in the air. They were tacked up, ready to ride.
“You don’t seriously expect us to use wooden saddles, do you?” said Fred.
Altan frowned in confusion. Fred approached the closest horse, tapped its saddle and pointed to the trees.
“Wood,” he said with a shrug.
Fred snorted. A nearby horse danced back in alarm. Altan held up his hand. “Quiet. Horses scared. Princess, come.”
Nat grunted and headed over to where he was holding a small brown horse. Fear gripped her, but she didn’t want Altan to see. This was a real, live animal, just like Dragon Khan. It wasn’t a robot or a Slider.
The horse swung its head round, sizing her up. Nat gulped.
“Up,” said Altan, holding the stirrup for her.
She lifted her boot and slotted it into the stirrup. The horse moved forward, forcing her to hop alongside. She felt a hand push her up, launching her over into the saddle. The horse moved again. She grabbed on to the reins, terrified she might fall.
Altan steadied the horse. “Princess no ride?”
His eyes were wide with amazement. Nat shook her head. She wasn’t going to tell him about her asthma, her allergies and lack of any real contact ever with live animals except for Jamuka’s songbird, Gobi.
Altan walked the horse forward a couple of paces. Nat lurched backwards in the saddle.
“Like this,” he said, showing her how to use the reins.
Nat dearly wished she had brought her Slider with her. In high hover mode, it could easily have travelled over the snow.
“Temperature below zero. Function impaired,” bleated Fizz, who she’d just clipped on to the side of her coat.
She glanced down to see that his eyes had changed from green to pale blue. Even with the super robot-warmer suit he was fading fast. Holding the reins in one hand, she used the other to stuff him back inside her fur coat, close to her chest.
“I will crush it!” said Fred.
Nat turned to see Fred sizing up the biggest of the horses. Its ears were pinned back as it rolled its eyes at her. A second later a man appeared leading a huge carthorse through the trees.
“Big horse for big singer,” said Altan.
The horse train moved off. Altan led the way with Nat following. Her horse was walking at a snail’s pace, which suited her perfectly.
“Kick it on!” urged Fred, riding up behind her.
“No,” said Nat.
Fred trotted alongside her, leaned down and gave Nat’s horse a slap on the rear. It shot forward like a rocket.
“Help!” cried Nat.
She clutched on to the pommel of the saddle. Luckily she could not fall off because Altan had tied her boots to the stirrups.
Chapter Forty-Six
ALMOST ENCOUNTER
“Now, here we are in the magnificent turn-of-the-century sitting room. It commands a glorious central position in the house and, of course, boasts breathtaking views over the harbour,” said Mr Wing, directing them over to the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Henry traipsed after Prissy and Aunt Vera as they squealed in delight. Their sharp heels dug into the priceless rug as they rushed over to take in the view. They had been looking at houses since eight o’clock in the morning; it was now late afternoon. Henry was bored and exhausted.
Mr Wing, estate agent to the rich and famous, wore a grey silk suit and a white shirt with a purple tie, and everything about him reminded Henry of sharks circling, hunting their prey, in those nature films on Channel Fifty-Six.
“This is, like, so it!” shrieked Prissy, her glitter cat robot clipped on to her shoulder, filming everything. “Just wait till I show Candy. She’s going to be so jealous!”
Aunt Vera clapped her hands. “We’ll take it, Mr Wing. It feels like home already.”
Mr Wing smiled, flashing his pearly-white, perfect teeth, and looked down at his gold watch. “I think a celebration is in order. I suggest we move to The Peninsula where we can discuss details over some champagne – my treat, of course, ladies.”
Henry sighed. The day had just got a lot longer.
The hotel manager greeted Mr Wing like an old friend and escorted them to a central table in the bar. Aunt Vera’s eyes lit up when she saw a bottle of vintage Dom Perignon in a silver ice bucket awaiting them.
“Mr Wing, you rotten spoiler,” she said, giggling girlishly.
Henry slumped down in a blue velvet armchair. One sip of champagne and he knew his mother would want to stay for hours. The waiter carefully popped the cork and poured their glasses.
“Henry darling, a Shirley Temple for being such a good boy?”
Henry’s cheeks burned at the humiliation of being offered such a girly drink and he took a quick look around the bar in case any of his friends might be there.
“A Popko juice, please,” he said.
“Sir, I see you have your robot with you. Might you enjoy this?” said the waiter, leaning across to press the under arm of Henry’s chair.
The velvet cover slid back to reveal a flat, disc-shaped screen. Henry placed NutNut on top. The robot’s eyes lit up bright blue. His tail flattened against his back and his screen appeared.
“Wow, it’s the latest Scowler Stone!” said Henry, reading the movie listings.
“All the latest releases. Welcome to The Peninsula,” said the waiter.
Maybe being at The Peninsula wasn’t so bad
after all. Henry lounged back in his chair.
“Henry. Take my photo,” snapped Prissy, thrusting her glitter cat at him.
“I’m busy.”
Prissy pouted. He sighed and pointed the cat’s eyes at her.
“Not so close,” she said.
He leaned back. Prissy held up her glass, tossed back her hair and smiled, all for the camera. He took a load of shots and handed the glitter cat back. She immediately checked them out.
“Hmm, take a couple more. Make sure you get some background so my friends know where I am.”
Henry lifted the cat again. Suddenly, to his horror, through the holographic viewfinder he spotted Doctor Tang sitting a few seats away. She was with two friends, sipping tea from a china cup. Henry reached under the glitter cat’s neck and switched it to manual. He scrolled through the pictures and used the blur function to mask out Doctor Tang’s face. Thank goodness Prissy hadn’t noticed.
“Here,” he said.
Prissy had a look.
“Ku. It’s obvious where I am,” she said. “Candy and Caprice are going to be, like, green with envy.”
Aunt Vera and Mr Wing had their heads bent over a piece of paper on which they were negotiating the price of the house. There were so many zeros, it made Henry’s mind boggle.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” said Prissy, getting to her feet. “I bet there’ll be loads of freebies.”
Henry panicked. She would spot Doctor Tang. He jumped up.
“Me too.”
“Come on then,” said Prissy irritably.
Prissy turned right but Henry leapt into her path and barged into her, pushing her in the other direction.
“Henry, stop it!” she said, brushing him off.
“But I want to go by the kaleidoscope.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, take him by the kaleidoscope, Prissy. And stop causing a scene,” said Aunt Vera, glancing up over the top of her reading glasses.
Prissy huffed and stomped off with Henry beside her. Henry knew she was furious with him for cramping her style as she sashayed through the room, but he stuck to her like glue.