Fleeced

by Hazel Edwards

  ‘Not possible with these letters.’ said Mum. ‘Let’s pair up and play in English.’

  Each pair had a person whose second language was English. That made the game just possible. Hiroshi was really good. When he and Amy had seven letters, they made up a word.

  ‘Seven letters! we’ve got them all out. F.L.E.E.C.E.D, That’s worth an extra fifty.’ said Amy excitedly.

  Hiroshi bowed. ‘Last time I walked the Track, I wear feet fleece. Very warm.’

  ‘What’s ‘fleeced’ mean? Is that a real word?’ Kyoto was paired with Mum.

  ‘Fleeced’ also means ripped off,’ explained Mum.

  ‘What is ‘ripped off?’ Kyoto scribbled in her notebook. She collected English words. Her climbing gear was the latest fashion. In the evenings she wore soft slippers and a ‘I Walked Milford Track’ long shirt which she wore to bed. Most walkers carried only two sets of clothes. The wet ones were in the drying room.

  ‘If you rip someone off, you take advantage of them.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Christopher liked Picturegram better. The game was played in pairs. You had to draw pictures as clues for your partner. One would draw and the other would guess the word. He was always trying to find partners. But no-one seemed keen on being his partner. Not everybody thought in Christopher’s kind of pictures.

  Christopher asked Stan.’ If you had a choice of a hamburger or chicken, which would you eat?’

  Stan looked puzzled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just a game Amy and I made up.’

  ‘We did?’ Amy nearly messed up his investigation.

  ‘Er, chicken I guess,’ said Stan.

  ‘But I thought you were a vegetarian?’ Christopher said quickly. ‘You have special sandwiches.’

  Stan was startled. ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Why only sometimes?’

  ‘None of your business young lady.’ Stan got up. ‘I’ll let you two pack up the game. I’m going to check the drying room. My socks were still damp before.’

  Why was he pretending to be a bird watcher? Was that just an excuse to carry the binoculars? Was he just pretending to be vegetarian? But why?

  The bathrooms in this hut were uni-sex. The shower was running. Gertrude was inside. He could tell from the golfing towel flung over the shower door. Along the shower stall ledge , like a black caterpillar, he noticed her inside out watch band.

  So she did take it off to have a shower!

  Only someone whose watch wasn’t waterproof would do that! It might just be a habit. Perhaps Gertrude always took off everything? Once when they were camping, Amy how showered in her clothes to save time, water and soap.

  But this was different.

  Was that proof, the watch was no longer waterproof? Had the back been taken off for some reason? Had something else been put inside? It couldn’t be kea smuggling!

  But what about nuggets?

  ‘We were just star gazing,’ said Stan. ‘And watching the keas.’

  The twins weren’t sure about that. Above them, pin points of stars stuck out in the blackness. Maybe star gazing was just an excuse? What else had Stan been doing? Night-bird photos? He had a flash attached to his camera. And there was a rustle as someone walked away, down the track.

  Who was the ‘we’ he mentioned? Was the mysterious Ms Tree involved?

  Next morning, sandwiches were piled on the table. Trampers were supposed to take one lunch packet plus any cake or fruit they wished. Two sandwiches at the side had names textaed in black.

  STAN and GERTRUDE

  ‘Why do they get special sandwiches?’ asked Amy.

  ‘Are they vegetarian or something?’ asked Christopher.

  The cook nodded.

  ‘But Stan ate meat last night?’ said Christopher.

  ‘Not my problem,’ The cook wiped down the bench. ‘ I just get the names and orders. Two vegetarian with those names.’

  ‘Well, some people don’t like killing animals for food.’ suggested Amy.

  ‘What about killing birds for money? What about smuggled birds which die in transit?

  ‘Is that different?’

  ‘D’you think Stan is smuggling keas?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Chapter 8

  Zig Zags

  The zig zags were getting shorter and steeper. Amy looked upwards. The mountain path was so steep. Straight up was impossible. Straight down was

  frightening. Just ahead of them, Gertrude was taking a rest. Still panting, her face was tomato-red.

  ‘Zig Zag Number 5. How many more?’

  Amy looked down. Ant-figures were climbing slowly. She could see the bright yellow of Stan’s hat. He was talking to someone.

  ‘Isn’t that the Freedom Walker? ‘ Christopher pointed. ‘They’re talking again.’

  ‘Ms Tree,’ agreed Amy.

  Christopher borrowed Zoe’s bird-watching binoculars. He trained them on Stan.

  A light glinted. Stan was looking upwards, using his binoculars.

  ‘Probably just looking at the view,’ suggested Amy. ‘Or watching a bird.’

  Bird watching could be a handy excuse , thought Amy. Time to move on.

  More zig zags and they were at the top of the pass. Dad had been waiting to film Dr Al with the alpine lookout behind him. But then the mist rolled in. The view of the valley was blotted out. A wall of white hung below them.

  ‘Let’s keep moving.’

  As they walked along the ridge, Christopher told jokes in the misty cloud. They could hear his voice, but not always make out his shape.

  ‘What’s a kiwi burger?’ asked the ghostly joke-teller.

  ‘A hamburger that doesn’t fly,’ called Mum. ‘Hey, there’s the top. The cairn.’

  At the explorers’ memorial cairn, Hiroshi was taking a ‘photo opportunity’. All the Japanese mountaineers were photographing each other. Dr Al just smiled. He’d reached here many times before.

  Zoe offered a vacuum flask of hot chocolate. A couple of sips each from the cup.

  ‘Just a bit further. One more kilometer. On to the Pass Hut.’ She pointed across the top of the ridge.’

  ‘I’m hot inside and wet outside.’ Christopher took off his yellow oilskin. The rain kept falling.

  Doggedly Amy followed her brother’s legs on the path ahead . One foot in front of the other. Further back, Dad was trying to keep the camera dry.

  Ahead was a wooden mileage marker. That sign reminded her of the photo torn in half. Had the Loser taken that photo here? Or maybe he took the photo on one trip, printed or developed it and brought it back on a second trip?

  If so, why was that place important? Were the legs in the photo those of the Loser? Or a friend?

  ‘There’s the hut!’

  ‘Gothic!’ said Christopher in delight.’ Aunty Viv would love this.’

  The dark stained- wood Pass Hut roughly built and from the last century. Mist swirled around.

  ‘ ‘Hot drinks inside. Then try the Loo With a View’, ‘ suggested Zoe.

  As people spoke, inside the Pass Hut, their breath puffed in white clouds. Adam, another guide had walked in from the other side of the mountain. He had boiled up the water for tea and prepared the soup. Eating was a fulltime job on this trip.

  ‘Thanks,’ Amy sipped her best -ever soup, and the steam went up her nose. ‘D’you still have that half photo,

  Zoe?’

  ‘Can’t remember where I put it.’ Zoe fumbled, her fingers pink-cold and stiff. ‘Ah.’

  She undid the zipped pocket. ‘ Want to look at the watch again too?’

  They examined the photo. ‘D’you think it’s a man’s legs.’

  After staring hard, Christopher realised something they’d missed. If No 108 was IN the photo, then she or he didn’t take it.


  ‘Oh,’ agreed Amy. ‘ You’re right. So what about the boots?’

  ‘Like most peoples around here.’

  Most trampers had uni-sex climbing boots. Many were the same greeny colour.. When Amy first got hers, they felt so big. Now her feet felt like toast inside the thick woollen socks.

  ‘Boots help to keep your ankles on,’ joked Big Jon looking down. His boots were enormous. Not like Stan’s.

  So the Loser must have had a helper. Or someone who took the photo. But that wasn’t suspicious. The Japanese mountaineers were always taking ‘photo opportunities’ with each others’ cameras.

  ‘I’m going to the loo outside’ said Amy. Two big keas watched her walk across the rocky yard. The Loo door opened outwards with a creak. Inside was an old fashioned toilet with a wooden lid. In one wall was a window which was white.

  Paint or fog , thought Amy? She peered out. Must be cloud. No view.

  ‘The Loo With No View’, she said to Kyoto , who was next in the queue.

  ‘Have you signed book yet?’ asked Kyoto

  On the rough table was a guests’ comment book. Christopher flicked through. Any rude comments? But most people tended to say ‘nice’ things.

  Some of the writing was boxed, square shaped in Japanese ink. Hiroshi had already signed in Japanese and English. So had the rest of his mountaineering club.

  With her cold fingers, Amy flicked the pages.’ Look, there’s a date on the top of the page 1/2 . Does this mean the first of February? Or the second of January this year? American or Australian? The name Todd is here twice.’ Amy had been checking.

  ‘Are you sure it’s the same person? Some people’s writing is messy.’

  ‘D’you know what Big Jon wrote last time?’ Amy giggled.

  ‘Roses are red, violets are blue,

  Heaps of cloud, so no view.’

  Amy searched earlier pages. Each guide wrote his or her name and the trek number on the top of a page. Occasionally the list was longer than one page. Then people wrote dates alongside their names.

  ‘That’s only the order they signed. It mightn’t be the order they arrived in the hut.’ said Christopher.

  Asking Gunter, if he was going to sign, Amy found out an interesting fact.

  ‘Europeans don’t write in guest books. Only if they’re in the alps . Or it’s dangerous country,’ said Gunter.

  ‘Here’s my business card, instead.’

  Amy stared at the business card. It was in German. City, street, then number.

  ‘Japanese sign the day, month and then year,’ observed Amy as Kyoto wrote hers.

  ‘So maybe a walker could ‘do’ the Milford Track and not sign the book. But they would be in the group photo available at the end. With names. Amy decided to check that later.

  Then , Zoe shared the bad news. ‘ Due to the avalanche and rock falls on the main track, we must take the alternative path. It’s very steep. So take your time. I’ll be at the back. Adam will lead.’

  Amy knew she must be alert. Just ahead on the steep path, was the third cross on that map. Who would be paying special attention to that place? The Freedom Walker, Stan, Zoe , Big Jon or no-one?

  Chapter 9

  Photo Opportunity

  Mist separated walkers and Amy found herself alone. She stopped and listened. Boots were hitting the track somewhere behind her. Crack! A branch broke as a boot landed. Someone was moving faster than her. Someone was catching up.

  Panting, Amy stood at the edge of the track. Ahead was a steep drop. Water streamed down between the rough rocks of the path. It was like climbing down a rocky waterfall.

  Amy paused, working out the best way to go. She took one step. Her left foot slipped. She grasped at the overhanging branch. She fell. Her side hit a slippery rock. Her ankle twisted. Firmly grabbing a branch, she hauled herself up. Her feet slithered. But she was back on the flat.

  The rain was getting heavier. From a sprinkle on her face, the rain was now like a tap full-on. Amy looked down. There was a log across a deep ravine. The log wobbled as she put her weight on.

  She couldn’t go back. She had to go forward. It was the only way across. From the muddy foot prints, other people must have gone over safely. She took another step.

  The wood was slippery, damp and rotten in parts. A hand wire had been tied around the tree. She grasped it.

  With her left hand on the hand-wire , she looked over the edge. Frothy water boiled on the rocks beneath.

  If she did fall in, head first, the rocks would split her head open. She wouldn’t know anything after that, so why worry? The power of the water fascinated her. The water tumbled like a living thing. She was just a visitor. The water and the trees belonged to this place. They were the forest.

  An intruder was coming at a steady pace. Big boots hit the rocks, the water or the muddy ferns. Someone just kept going. Amy liked to pick her way between the slippery rocks. Because her head was down, working out the next rock big enough to hold her weight, she banged her head against an overhanging branch.

  Crack! Aw!

  ‘Are you okay? Just look at that!’

  Bent under her full pack, Bertha waved in the direction of the mountain on the other side of the pass.

  ‘See those birds.’ Her arm swept across.

  ‘Why are you here?’ asked Amy. ‘Shouldn’t you be on further?’

  Below them was the steep slope. Rubble had closed the other track. Although Amy could hear occasional sounds of the other walkers, she was alone with Big Bertha whose woollen scarf wound around where her neck should have been. Bertha’s upper arms bulged , placing a strain on her oilskin sleeves. Her tin billy tied to the bottom of the rucksack frame, tinkled as she moved.

  ‘Look!’ They were both standing on the edge of a steep drop. Bertha swung around.

  So did her pack! Suddenly Amy felt a heavy blow to her head. She fell forward. She fell over the edge, sideways.

  Her arm hit a rock in passing. She tumbled. The weight of her backpack kept her off balance. She stuck out at the back. Her shoulders were pinned by the weight. She was out of control. She heard a scream. But was that only in her head?

  ‘Hang on!’ screamed Bertha.

  What does she think I’m doing? Amy hung grimly to a stubby bush. Her left foot found something. But it was slippery rock. Her boot started to slide. Her weight was off balance. The backpack was too heavy. She couldn’t swing herself back over the ledge.

  Mounds of slippery rock were between her and the ledge above. She put out her hand to grip something. More slippery rock. She couldn’t get a hand hold.

  ‘Help!’ she yelled. This time she knew she screamed it aloud.

  The giant face of Big Bertha loomed over the edge.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘NO!’ She was falling down the side of a mountain and the person who pushed her was Big Bertha.

  Deliberate push or an accident didn’t matter now. Anything to be upright on the path, not sideways on a steep mountain slope, dangling!

  ‘Help!’ screamed Amy.

  Chapter 10

  Water Proof

  Meanwhile, Christopher flipped through his sketch pad, checking. Yes. All the suspect trekkers had unusually big watches. Was that important? Or couldn’t they read small ones?

  The Freedom Walker had a man’s fob watch, with a chain. Gertrude had her sheep watch. Big Jon had a fake Rolex. If it was fake? Could something be hidden inside a big watch? Like nuggets?

  Big Jon knew the Track. What if he’d found some nuggets when he was fishing? Jon knew that a gold nugget found in the Fiordland National Park would belong to the Government. He knew about diamonds and gold from South Africa.

  Time to check on Stan. Christopher caught up with Stan walking alone.

  ‘Shhhh.’ Stan pointed at a very ordinary , middle-sized
bird in the under growth.

  ‘What’s that?’ whispered Christopher.

  ‘A bird,’ Stan flicked through his bird book.

  That’s when Christopher decided that Stan was too stupid to be a smuggler. Or else he was a very good actor.

  ‘Is it a bellbird, tui, weka or native pigeon?’ Zoe had told them about those birds last night. With her Kiwi accent, he thought she’d been saying ‘wicket’ like in cricket, not ‘weka’ the bird. That’s why he especially remembered the names. And she’d shown slides too.

  ‘Wait till I check in my bird-book.’

  ‘What’s the time please?’

  Stan looked at his large-faced copy watch, and told him.

  ‘Found it! A weka looks like a chicken. It’s unafraid of humans. Makes a noise like a Siamese cat. Can you hear it?’

  ‘No. Thanks.’ Christopher moved down the rocky path, to Suspect Gertrude.

  Beside the track, a backpack had been left. Christopher squinted at the now familiar 801, as Gertrude emerged from the bushes.

  ‘I just went to the Bathroom.’

  ‘Bathroom?’

  Zoe had talked about the Boat House and the Bus Stop. For a moment, Christopher wondered if there was a real Bathroom somewhere. Then he realised.

  ‘That’s what Americans call the toilet, isn’t it? Going in the bushes.’

  ‘Zoe said to leave your backpack as a marker. A toilet stop.’

  Gertrude repinned her sheep-watch on her chest. Now the band had broken, a giant safety pin made the watch into a brooch.

  Christopher continued his sleuthing.’ Did your watch fall off?’

  ‘No I was just fixing the back,’ replied Gertrude who looked flushed. Perhaps she was just embarrassed at going to the toilet in the bushes.

  ‘What’s the time please?’ he asked her.

  ‘Haven’t you got a watch?’ Gertrude slipped a sandwich wrapper into her pocket.

  Zoe nodded approvingly. No litter on the track.

  ‘Still on Australian time. Did the water get in your watch when you fell in the creek?’