“What about my burden?” she asked.
“I’ll do everything I can to get it reduced. It may not be straight away but I promise I’ll try. Now, please, can we make a move?”
“I suppose so.”
“Follow me then.”
Without further debate, Summerfield turned and headed back towards the main group. Gribble trailed in his wake, still clasping her blue pebbles. She passed under the critical eye of Scagg, who shook his head but said nothing when Summerfield selected a few lightweight items for her to carry. Soon afterwards the signal to depart was given. United again, the five mules fell into line one behind the other, and the expedition resumed its northward course. Johns was keen to take advantage of the gradually improving light, which had been of great help recently despite the shortages and the ceaseless gales. The days were brief in length, and chiefly overcast, but compared to the weeks of perpetual darkness the situation had improved no end. In this respect, said Johns, they could commend themselves.
“Our original plan is at last approaching fruition,” he told Scagg that evening. “As you know, the idea of the winter journey was so we would reach our destination at the start of spring: the best time of year to establish any kind of settlement. Obviously the success of that remains in the balance, but at least it now appears likely we’ll arrive when we said we would, which is most gratifying.”
“‘The light at the end of the tunnel’,” offered Scagg.
“Indeed yes,” said Johns. “Day by day we’re getting a clearer picture of the type of landscape we’re set to encounter. A blank canvas, I suppose one might call it, on which we hope to make a mark.”
“I’m sure we will, sir.”
“Thank you, Scagg. Your support has been quite invaluable.”
“Have you come to any conclusions about the settlement itself?”
“Only dim ones, I’m afraid; but we must always live in hope. Now I wonder where Chase has got to. He said he was just going out to stretch his legs, but he’s been absent a good half hour.”
“This sounds like him now.”
Some boots scuffed outside; then the tent flaps parted and Chase entered.
“Sony about the delay,” he said, when Johns glanced at his pocket watch. “I detected a change in the atmosphere, a sort of heaviness, and I’ve been trying to define exactly what it is.”
“The possibility of rain?” enquired Johns.
“Sadly, no, sir,” replied Chase. “Rather a dry element, as a matter of fact.” He held out his sleeve to show them. “The air is laden with dust particles,” he explained. “This is a mere half hour’s worth.”
“Dust!” said Johns. “The last thing we need!”
“Blowing down from the north, too,” Chase added.
They listened as the canvas thudded laboriously in the wind.
“We seem to be under constant siege by harsh external forces,” remarked Johns. “Yet I wonder how we’d feel if we woke tomorrow and heard the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the roof? Homesick beyond measure, I don’t doubt.”
Carefully, Chase brushed his clothes and swept the dust outside; then he clambered into his own corner of the tent and got ready to go to sleep. “It’s the morning dew that I miss,” he said.
“Really, Chase?” said Johns. “So you’re a bit of a romantic at heart then?”
“Not really, sir,” came the reply. “But normally when it’s dewy in the morning it turns out nice later.”
“There’s not much chance of that happening round this place,” put in Scagg. “The weather’s always horrible.”
“I suppose it’s why no one’s bothered coming here before us,” said Johns. “Apart from our friend Tostig, of course.”
“Tostig?” said Chase. “Oh, yes: I’d forgotten all about him. I wonder how he’s getting on.”
“Same as we are, probably,” murmured Scagg.
Thereafter the discussion subsided. Chase and Scagg settled down quietly beneath their blankets, and within minutes the forlorn roar of the night had lulled them both into deep slumbers. Johns, though, stayed awake a little longer. For a while he sat motionless, his journal in his hand, gazing at the flickering lamplight. Along with the rest of his comrades, he had now grown a beard: not a grizzly one like Scagg’s, but, nonetheless, one that showed he’d been travelling for many weeks. It had been an arduous time. Behind him were stacked the depleted remains of his once vast range of equipment. His men were tired. The fabric of the tent was worn thin, and, outside, the flag was in tatters on its flimsy staff.
Johns’s reverie ceased when a sudden draught of air caused the lamp to flare up momentarily. He glanced down at his journal. Then, opening it on a new page, he took his pen and wrote:
Morale very good despite worsening conditions. Latest hazard has arrived in the form of flying dust. Most unwelcome.
Inadvertently mentioned Tostig this evening during talk with men. Hope it does not prove to be an unlucky slip. Feel we are nearing our goal and should hate for them to be disappointed.
At the close of the following day, just after supper, Johns asked for Summerfield to come and see him in the command tent. He arranged for Scagg and Chase to make themselves temporarily absent, then sat and awaited his visitor.
Summerfield was prompt. “You wanted to see me, Mr Johns?”
“Yes, Summerfield, do come in out of the cold.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Summerfield entered and removed his woolly helmet.
“Now, Summerfield, I’m not going to beat about the bush,” said Johns. “It’s about this mule. The female.”
“Oh yes?”
“You seem to have won her trust.”
“I’ve tried to, yes, sir. I thought it might be of benefit to the expedition, given the circumstances.”
“Really?” Johns considered the explanation for some time. “Yes, well I suppose I can understand your line of reasoning,” he resumed. “The problem is, Summerfield, that in the past we’ve always kept the mules very much at arm’s length.”
“I know, sir.”
“Yet I’ve been reliably informed you’ve been conversing with this one, and have even gone so far as to give her a name.”
“Actually, sir, she already had a name.”
“Good heavens!”
“They all have names,” said Summerfield. “She’s called Gribble, which quite suits her, I think. And you remember the one who was crushed under the tugboat? That was her brother: his name was Thrip. Then she lost two cousins in the river. They were called Vetch and Madder. And the four…”
“Summerfield! Summerfield!” interrupted Johns. “What on earth are you trying to prove by all this?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“But you know very well you’re not supposed to have dealings of any sort with the mules, not even to talk to them, let alone learn their family history!”
Summerfield bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mr Johns, and I hope you can forgive me. I know my conduct must appear somewhat aberrant. It’s just that over the last few days I’ve come to see qualities in the mules I thought only we possessed: humour, companionship and so forth; and it’s made me realise they’re hardly different from ourselves.”
“Nevertheless, in the final analysis they are different,” said Johns. “It’s a scientific fact: their minds operate differently to ours; therefore, they behave differently. That’s why we classify them as mules; and that’s why they’re being sent away.”
“And well they know it.”
“What?!” exclaimed Johns. “I hope you haven’t disclosed any details!”
“There was no need,” said Summerfield. “They’re not fools: they’ve already worked it out for themselves.”
Johns sighed and shook his head.
“Such a dreadful state of affairs!” he uttered. “I really must insist you put an end to this fraternising at once. Apart from it being most unseemly, I fear you may be creating extra difficulties for all of us in terms of both discipline and control. Yes, Summerfield, I know you meant well, but it has got to stop immediately. Do I make myself clear?”