by Jenny Colgan
Arthur thought about it. That was about five thirty. It was after midnight now.
‘There are several things hidden you have to pick up on the way – there are clues to what these things might be and where you might find them in these envelopes here.’ He handed huge cardboard folders to Ross and Arthur. ‘Once – and only once – you have everything, you, Maudrin, are setting up camp here and Pendleton, you’re over here. Both settlements are in sight of this point here.’ He pointed to a small sign on the top of a hill. Arthur craned in to see. ‘That is the castle. The following morning you will fight your way in there with the paint guns you’ll find at your campsites and rescue the treasure from within. Then,’ he stood back, ‘then it will be over.’
There was a silence.
‘Not that I mind,’ said Arthur, ‘but did you say, “guns”’?
‘Paintball! Yes!’ said Ross.
‘Uh huh,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s a shame they didn’t throw in ten pin bowling and an Imax cinema, then you could have had the full out of town leisure complex experience.’
‘What!?’ said Ross, his face lighting up. ‘You mean you’ve never done it?’
‘Yeah, nor paintball neither,’ said Dave, sniggering to himself. It was obvious that their team could not contain their glee.
Sven turned puce.
‘Oh, God,’ said Cathy. ‘This is just awful.’
D’Aragon fixed them with a look. ‘And if any team wishes to withdraw at this point, thus forfeiting …’
‘No!’ said Arthur. ‘We’ll be fine.’
‘Very well, then. I suggest you get some sleep. You have a busy couple of days. Remember: five people per team. Oh, and if you were thinking of getting help, your mobiles won’t work up here.’
And with that he left the room and was gone. Arthur listened for a car, but didn’t hear one. And then, by the time he’d turned round, he realized that Ross’s team had already colonized the sleeping platform that ran, warm and dry, entirely around the upper area of the bothy.
‘Goodnight you lot!’ giggled one particularly obnoxious older woman from her sleeping bag.
They looked at each other.
‘No way,’ said Sven. He lifted Sandwiches up in the air. Sandwiches immediately ran to the nearest sleeping bag and made to cock his leg. The man let out a yelp.
‘Get this beast away from me immediately.’
‘Sorry!’ said Sven innocently. ‘Unfortunately, due to a medical condition, Sandwiches always has to pee up high.’
Sandwiches grimaced, trying to look as though he was about to do an enormous crap.
‘Get that filthy dog down at once,’ said Ross.
‘You’re more than welcome to try and hold onto him mid-crap if you like,’ said Sven. ‘I’m not.’
There was a moment of flurry, which Sven watched very carefully in case anyone laid a finger on his dog, in which case they would have to die and the team competition would be over as soon as it began, until, grudgingly, the man slipped down the ladder.
‘Okay,’ said Arthur. ‘Why don’t we say that the women get to sleep up there and the menfolks sleep down here?’
‘Normally I would say that was sexist,’ said Naimh, the nasty-looking woman on Ross’s team, ‘but tonight I’m very grateful.’
‘I’m not trying to be sexist,’ said Arthur. ‘I’m trying to share without blood being spilled.’
‘That’ll do for me,’ said Cathy, hopping up the steps.
‘But what about that dog?’ said Naimh.
‘Hup!’ said Sven, and Sandwiches gracefully launched himself over the platform and into Sven’s arms. ‘I’ll just take him outside …’
Ross swore briefly, but unrolled his sleeping bag on the ground, right next to the fire. ‘I think I’ll save our fights for the next couple of days, eh team?’ he shouted.
‘Yay!’ they shouted.
Marcus looked at Arthur. ‘Have we got anything for dinner?’
Arthur had already thought of this, with growing alarm at his abilities to lead a patrol out in the mountains. ‘No!
‘Right,’ said Marcus. ‘Well, I’m sure we were doing the right thing, passing that pub and not going in.’
Arthur lay down on the hard ground, thinking about sleep, but knowing for a fact he wasn’t going to get any.
The wind was getting up. Gwyneth huddled down in the bucket seat of Rafe’s car as they sped along an almost deserted motorway, hopefully in the right direction.
‘Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,’ she said. ‘There isn’t going to be a lovely country hotel at the end of this, is there?’
‘Nope,’ said Rafe, ‘And I wouldn’t hold your breath for pizza delivery, either.’
Gwyneth stared out of the window. Where was Arthur? What was he thinking?
The elements weren’t on their side as they drew deeper and deeper into Wales. The rain was now driving against the window and visibility was extremely poor. Rafe was pushed forward in his seat, struggling to make out the number of the road ahead.
‘I thought you were Welsh,’ he said to Gwyneth, who was poring over the map.
‘And that means I should have memorized all the roads, does it?’
It was now after two o’clock in the morning; they had been lost six times, and they were finding it very hard going.
‘Look, we’ll just … I mean, either we can stop …’
‘And sleep by the side of the road? Isn’t that how you get yourself murdered? Haven’t you ever heard any urban myths?’
‘I’m sure we could find a hotel.’
‘You’ve never been to rural Wales late at night, have you?’
‘Hmm. Anyway,’ said Rafe, ‘we don’t know what time they’re setting off in the morning. We might miss them altogether.’
‘And then we could find a hotel, having tried our best!’ said Gwyneth. ‘Ooh, we could go to Portmeirion.’
Rafe shot her a look and they continued onwards into the night.
Marcus found himself contorted into an unlikely angle, freezing cold and desperate for the toilet, on cold stone ground in the pitch darkness. At first he had no idea where he might be, or why. It didn’t feel like the kind of place he’d choose to wake up.
‘Get up!’ a voice was screeching. There was groaning and cursing coming from all around him. Perhaps, he mused, he’d died in the night and awoken in the pits of hell. Blinking, he attempted to sit up without removing his arms from his sleeping bag. In the dim light, in various degrees of disarray, the men of his team and Ross’s were sprawled all over the floor. The fire had long gone out, and the straw had proved to be pretty much decorative.
‘Get ready!’ screamed the voice again. Marcus blinked up at the door. There stood a man who appeared to fill the doorway. Next to him was d’Aragon, again looking natty, this time in a slate-coloured anorak.
‘This is your unit commander,’ said d’Aragon. ‘You can call him Sergeant. You do as he says at ALL times. This course may be tough, but we don’t want anybody dead. Well, not literally.’ His mouth curled in a faint smile.
‘Out to the stream and get ready!’ screamed the man again. The men immediately made a burst for the door.
Outside made inside feel like a sauna. It was shockingly cold; it penetrated to their very marrows. It was dark still, with the stars freezing in the sky above them, and one faint line of grey at the edge of the hills to the east.
‘Hey,’ said Arthur, as they both ran round the side of the gate to have a slash. ‘Bet you didn’t think things could get this great when you went to accountancy school, huh?’
Marcus didn’t answer, as they both concentrated on emptying their bladders without snapping off their penises in the cold.
‘I’m worried about food,’ he said eventually, as they knelt by the stream and threw water over their faces, wincing.
‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘I think I’ll go through the Landrover, see if any other intrepid explorers have left some muesli or something behind.’
>
From behind them came the unmistakable smell of bacon frying.
‘Oh, they’re such bastards,’ said Arthur.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay, that wasn’t being a bastard, that was just us being stupid,’ he conceded. ‘But still, I thought these outward bound things were organized by companies. I didn’t think you’d have to bring everything. I was amazed we managed to round up the sleeping bags.’
Suddenly Cathy crept out of the building and wandered over to them shyly. ‘Um, if you want it,’ she said.
‘What?’
She opened the bag in her hand to reveal two bars of Toblerone, a Snickers and a large packet of chocolate buttons.
‘Cathy! You’re a genius!’ said Arthur. ‘Where did you get these?’
‘You don’t think I wear the “I’m A Chocoholic” badge for nothing, do you?’ said Cathy, smiling.
‘I thought you were doing it to be twee,’ said Marcus. ‘I mean, I hadn’t noticed.’
‘And how do you think I got this lovely figure?’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Arthur. ‘Er, I mean, you look great!’
They gratefully took the chocolate and split a bar between them.
‘Better hold on to it,’ said Arthur. ‘This might be all we have to last us. And please, somebody, tell me Rafe and Gwyneth arrived in the night … the earlier night.’
Marcus and Cathy looked at each other and shook their heads.
‘Well,’ said Arthur stoutly. ‘More chocolate to go around, I guess.’
They stared at their small triangles of breakfast, as rich and unpalatable at this time of the morning as a glass of red wine.
‘ATTENTION!’ screamed the sergeant from the door of the hut, so loudly that several neighbouring sheep wandered over to take a peek. Sandwiches eyed them warily.
‘If that poxy dog chases the sheep, they’ll get instantly disqualified, won’t they?’ said Naimh.
‘He’s not a member of the team, it doesn’t count,’ said Arthur.
‘He’ll get shot,’ said Ross.
‘He is a member of the team and he’s not getting shot,’ said Sven. ‘Don’t try to teach my dog about sheep.’
And they watched as Sven picked up Sandwiches and carried him over to the nearest inquisitive sheep. As they grew closer, the dog wagged his stubby tail more and more excitedly and, bizarrely, the sheep started to do the same thing with his hindquarters. It was an extremely odd sight. Then, as they came nose to nose, Sandwiches started licking the sheep’s face with his long rough tongue, and the sheep did the same to him in return.
‘Well, that’s that,’ said the sergeant, as the others stood around in awe. ‘Your dog is gay.’
‘He’s not gay!’ said Sven.
‘He’s a friend of Dolly’s. Everyone shut up and gather round.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Marcus, ‘but one of our team isn’t here.’
‘Well, let’s hope he’s an Indian trail follower,’ said the sergeant, ‘because that’s the only way he’s gonna track you down.’
There was a silence.
‘He’s not, no.’
Gwyneth woke up against Rafe’s neck. The sweet, hay-like smell of his young body was delicious and she sighed pleasurably, before realizing she was in a parked car on a B road in Wales feeling horribly icky and in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
‘Wake up!’ she yelped. ‘There might be a maniac on the roof banging your severed head … or something.’
Rafe blinked awake like a newly born puppy. ‘What …? Oh, hello.’ He smiled at her. ‘Where are we?’
‘That’s what we’re going to find out this morning. You know, we’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours.’
They had searched the B roads and byways until half past three in the freezing rain – bloody mobile reception – until finally Rafe had called it quits, rubbing his red eyes. They’d bedded down in a lay-by off an ancient grey road the width of one vehicle, and made themselves as comfortable as they could. Now the road was beginning to brighten up a little, and a car had swished noisily through the gravel next to them, waking them.
‘Crap – we so need to find them!’ said Gwyneth suddenly. ‘What if it started last night and they’ve gone without us?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Rafe. ‘And hand me that map – we ought to be able to see properly now.’ He studied it closely. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Well, those hills – just over there, slightly to the east – and a double stile … one small stream …’ He scratched his head, then climbed out of the car and walked ten feet across the road.
‘Yuh,’ he said, peering over the old stone wall to the partially hidden bothy, the last remains of the smoke drifting into the early morning air.
‘I’ll leave him a note telling him where we’re going,’ Arthur had said half an hour before.
‘You will not,’ said the sergeant, overhearing. ‘I don’t know who you’ll have turning up with additional supplies and a GPS, but they’re not playing in my game, sunshine.’
‘That is so unfair,’ said Cathy, who instantly shrank back as the sergeant fixed his beady eyes on her.
‘Unfair! Unfair! He gets a good night’s sleep on a soft feather bed at his mummy’s house, no doubt! There’s no room for that in my ar – outward bound team! Now, get on it! Now! Go!’
Thank God they had Marcus, who at least knew the right way up to hold a map. Apparently the sergeant and the dragon were going to shadow each team and make sure one didn’t stray too far into the other’s territory. And, Arthur assumed, rubbing his knuckles together in the paralysing early-morning cold, rescue them from hypothermia. Although he wouldn’t put money on the last bit.
‘If we don’t go exactly the right way we get penalized, apparently,’ said Marcus, peering closely at the paper. ‘And it looks like we have to ford a big river.’
‘What!’ said Arthur.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Sven. ‘I hate getting wet. And cold. And being outside.’
‘But … I mean, there must be another way across,’ said Cathy, looking pale. ‘Do you think they’d notice if we looked for another route? We don’t want to wade into the middle of a river.’
‘Yeah, I mean, how do they know what we do?’ said Sven.
They had come to a halt, and all that could be heard was the whipping of the steely breeze through the copse.
‘I mean, it’s not like anyone is behind us,’ he went on.
‘Mnrgh! Mnrgh! Mnrgh!’ said Sandwiches suddenly.
‘What is it?’ Sven crouched down and looked at his dog.
‘Mnrgh! Mnrgh! Mnrgh!’ repeated Sandwiches.
‘Oh, look at that!’ said Cathy, pointing over the crest of a distant hill. A magnificent hot air balloon, painted entirely black, had gently risen over the top of it. ‘Isn’t it lovely!’
‘Who goes ballooning in February?’ said Arthur.
‘MNRGH!’ said Sandwiches.
‘Are they looking for us?’ said Marcus, his nose still deep in the map.
‘No, don’t be daft,’ said Arthur. The balloon changed direction and started heading straight for them.
‘Unless this is a very very slow version of North by Northwest.’
‘A black balloon,’ said Marcus, glancing up. ‘That’s rare. Next thing you know it’ll have mounted machine guns.’
The beautiful, menacing thing floated even closer.
‘What are those big metal things attached to the side of the basket?’ said Cathy.
Arthur giggled nervously. ‘Um, don’t be ridiculous.’
There was an uncertain silence.
‘Er – there’s the river over there,’ said Marcus. ‘Shall we – you know – just ford it anyway?’
‘Yeah!’ said everyone, and started making swift headway in that direction. The balloon drifted to the east and soon disappeared.
‘There you go – just a coincidence,’ said Arthur.
‘We’re going to be cold, wet, cold and outside,’ said
Sven sadly, unbuttoning his shirt.
In fact, fording the river was clearly considered to be far too easy. As they came out on the banks, the first things they saw were a large yellow envelope attached to a fence post and several long pieces of wood.
The river itself was much wider than Arthur had been expecting – he’d been hoping he’d get something he could actually jump across – and looked deep, clear and icy as it flowed over the brown pebbles.
‘Do you think these things are for us?’ asked Cathy mildly.
‘We’re in exactly the right spot,’ said Marcus proudly.
‘Just take it as read that we know you’re a terrific map reader, Marcus,’ said Arthur. ‘Well done.’ He stepped forward and picked up the envelope.
‘Well, this should be interesting,’ said Gwyneth, looking at the remains of the camp. ‘Did anyone leave a handy sheet of paper saying “we’re all heading in this direction”?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Rafe. He was outside, padding around. ‘I can’t believe Arthur didn’t leave us something.’
‘Maybe he thought we weren’t coming.’ Gwyneth swung by her arms on the doorframe.
Rafe looked up. Instantly she could see the hurt in his eyes.
‘But we told him we were coming.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. Maybe he just thought …’
‘He thought I’d let him down,’ said Rafe. ‘I would never let him down.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t.’
‘Maybe I did. Maybe I have already.’
Gwyneth went up and took his arm. ‘Of course you haven’t. You’ve done everything. We depend on you. And the trams are going to be … they’re going to be the absolute best thing.’
Rafe’s face didn’t soften. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Look at that!’ Gwyneth said suddenly, not letting go of his arm, but pointing with her other hand. ‘Look at that balloon in the distance.’
Rafe squinted. ‘It’s entirely black.’
‘That must be where they are.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because I know Wales and there is FUCK all else out here except other outward bound teams. At the very worst we’ll get rescued by a scout brigade. Come on.’