The Puppet Master Read online

  ‘Thank you, Braemar,’ I said, stamping my feet and rubbing my hands to ease the pins and needles. ‘Thank you so much.’ But Braemar was no longer at my side; he lay by some bunk beds at the far end of the hut. ‘Come and get warm, boy,’ I called, but the wolf didn’t even look up. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the stove for the gloom at the back of the room.

  The wolf looked up at me with doleful eyes and then at the piles of blankets on the bottom bunk.

  ‘What is it, boy?’ I said as I lifted the corner of one of the covers. Oh my goodness! A human arm, stiff and sinewy, dropped down, slapping me across the knees.

  ‘Yikes!’ I cried, leaping back in shock. ‘It’s a body!’ and I ran for the door.

  Pull yourself together, I said to myself, once I had calmed down a bit. It can’t hurt you … can it? I crept slowly back to the bunk beds, calling out ‘Hello!’ and ‘Don’t worry, I’m a friend,’ but there was no reply from the heap of bedclothes.

  I pulled the covers back in horror and, oh boy, I was right. There lay the body of Braemar’s late master. It was impossible to say how long he had been there, for the cold had preserved his body. He was as deep frozen as a block of ice. The skin stretched over his face was thin and papery, a bit like the mummies I had seen on one of our museum trips at St Beckham’s.

  He was dressed in hunting clothes, his head topped with a large fur hat. A belt, which lay across his chest, was stuffed with knives of all shapes and sizes. He must have been a trapper, I thought, and these were the tools of his trade. Next to one of his hands was a piece of paper, and cautiously, not daring to breathe in case he moved again, I reached over and took it. It was a letter, the last wishes of a dying man. Still in shock, I read it with shaking hands. This is what it said:

  Well, I did what Trapper Blane asked. I dug a deep hole in the snow and gently laid the old man to rest, wrapped in his blankets. I found a piece of wood, wrote his name on it and stuck it in the ground for a headstone.

  It was a sad and unpleasant job, but shooing away Braemar was nearly more than I could manage. I gave him a good meal from the tins on Trapper Blane’s shelf, then opened the door and chased him off, banging the empty tins together. The wolf looked at me, trying to understand why I was sending him away. Whether he understood or not I don’t know, but all of a sudden, he threw back his head and howled into the white sky. His cry echoed across the snow dunes and then faded. Then, in the distance another howl rose in the sky. Braemar looked at me once, barked, then shot off through the snow in the direction of the answering call.

  ‘Goodbye, Braemar,’ I shouted. ‘And good luck!’ The wolf did not turn round again, but carried on running until I could no longer distinguish his white fur from the snow-covered ground.

  That evening I threw every available log into the stove, and soon the hut was warm and snug. I laid out my sodden clothes to dry in front of the fire, choosing some of Trapper Blane’s cold-weather clothing to put on instead.

  There was a cupboard full of trousers and jackets fashioned from fur and hides. I knew that animal trapping was not a nice thing, but as soon as I had pulled on the animal furs I realized how much more effective they were than my tattered jeans and trainers.

  The trousers were a bit long but I could roll them up, and I stuffed some old paper into the boots that were a size too big and my toes were soon as warm as toast.

  Now I have eaten my fill from the tins – Spam and baked beans, yum, the best meal I’ve had since leaving the Betty Mae! I’ve had a proper look around, and my heart leaped when I found a map among a lot of other notes and papers pinned to the wall of the hut; a map that shows a village maybe only a day’s walk away. A village with proper houses and shops and people … And who knows, maybe there’ll be a railway station with a train that could take me home! This is the very map that I have found.

  Surely nothing can stop me now!

  I was so pleased earlier, that I took my mobile from my pocket and phoned home. The line was full of static when Mum finally answered. For her it always seems to be the day that I left to go exploring, and she’s still expecting me home for tea!

  ‘Mum!’ I cried when she answered the phone.

  ‘Oh, hello, darling, is everything all right?’

  ‘Well, things have been better, Mum! I’m in a dead trapper’s hut in the middle of a huge frozen wasteland.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful, dear,’ Mum said. ‘Oh, wait a minute, Charlie. Here’s your dad just come in. Now remember, don’t be late for tea …’

  ‘No, Mum, I don’t think I will. There’s a village a little way off and I’m hoping to get a train back … Mum?’ But Mum rang off. Well, I know she can’t really hear me. She was still having the same conversation I’d had with her years ago; soon after I had shot over the waterfall on the back of a massive crocodile and ended up in Gorilla City. But it still feels good to have heard her voice, and one day, perhaps, she will hear me and I’ll know that I’m getting nearer home.

  Now my journal is up to date. I plan on getting a good night’s sleep, for I have a day’s heavy trekking ahead of me and will need all my strength. Maybe my next entry will be written in the village … or, fingers crossed, on a train home!

  By the light of the moon and with a safe distance between the arches and me, I am jotting down my latest adventures. I am absolutely famished; I haven’t eaten anything since this morning so I’ve opened a can of baked beans and am eating them cold out of the tin. Lovely!

  The scale of the map must be wrong. It’s taken me all day to reach the great Icicle Arches, which are only about halfway to the village. It’s going to take me longer than I thought, even though I’ve been travelling much faster than I ever expected.

  In a cupboard I’d found Trapper Blane’s toolbox, and behind the hut was a pile of old wood. Inspecting the various scraps of wood, I chose a long, narrow plank that had been warped by the wet snow so that one end curved upwards. I was able to plane and sand and polish the plank until it was as smooth as glass. Then with some other scraps of wood, I screwed one piece at right angles to the plank, about three quarters of the way along, and to that I fixed some handles that I had unbolted from a couple of large saucepans. In no time at all I had made myself a snow scooter. This is what it looked like:

  My rucksack was bulging with fresh supplies. I took some tins of food, the box of matches, a screwdriver, an old transistor radio, some new pencils, a large magnifying glass and a vicious-looking spring-trap that I thought might come in useful one day. With my old clothes stuffed at the bottom of my bag, I pulled on the hunter’s heavy fur coat and a spare hat that I found hanging on a hook. With a last look around the cabin, I touched a lighted match to a pile of rags, closed the door and pushed off on my snow scooter.

  It worked! The plank slid effortlessly over the snow and I was soon whipping along at a fair old lick. Behind me the burning hut sent a column of smoke curling up into the wide sky. In front of me the fresh, white snow stretched forward to the horizon. It felt good to be travelling again and I scooted to the top of one snow dune, careered down the other side and up to the top of the next.

  I was soon eating up the miles, but the sun was already starting to set when I saw the huge arches of ice, looming ahead of me.

  A few small columns of ice started to appear; they grew taller and more numerous as I continued to scoot along. Soon these angular columns of ice were all around me, climbing twenty metres into the sky like the pillars of some huge ice cathedral. Then, as the sun touched the horizon and its red fire bled across the landscape, I scooted round a massive pillar and saw the Icicle Arches ahead of me.

  They were magnificent; three huge arcs of blue ice, with rainbow colours flashing along their sides where they were caught by the setting sun. A mass of icicles, ten metres long, hung under the archways, glinting and pulsing with light as if they were alive. I dropped my scooter and ran under one of the arches. Its high, sloping roof sparkled and glittered li
ke a fairytale grotto, curving towards the ground to form an enormous icy cavern. It would be a wonderful shelter for the night!

  I walked further into the arcade of ice, amazed at the beautiful and colourful shapes all around me. All of a sudden, I got a terrible tickle at the back of my throat, making my eyes water. I doubled over, racked by a coughing fit, and the sound echoed through the arch. Then, a strange noise came from above, as if a pile of leaves had been disturbed by the wind. I looked around to see if there was anyone there; I couldn’t see anything amid the great ice stalactites, but then I heard the rustling noise again.

  ‘Hello?’ I called softly. Then louder, ‘Is there anybody there?’ My voice echoed up to the roof, and the icicles started to shake and rattle like glasses on a tray. I looked up just as one massive shard cracked and fell away from the ceiling. Whoa! I tried to leap out of the way as it fell like a glass javelin towards the ground.

  Crash! I wasn’t fast enough and the icicle pierced my big fur coat, knocking me down and pinning me to the ground. Just then, the roof of the arch filled with a noise like a thousand umbrellas being opened and closed again and again, and as I looked up, a flock of bloodsucking bats swooped down towards me.

  ‘Help!’ I screamed, pulling the thick fur collar of my coat up around my ears.

  They came like a squadron of fighter planes, their leathery wings flapping and their high-pitched squeals splitting the air. Eeep, Eeep, Eeep!

  The bats flew straight at me like kamikaze pilots, battering me and knocking me this way and that. I tried to pull the icicle out of the ground but it was stuck fast and I was trapped, a human sacrifice to a bunch of blood-guzzling flying rats! I covered my head as the vicious animals streamed over me, taking small chunks out of the backs of my hands with their needle-like fangs.

  ‘Yeagh!’ I cried, flailing my arms around wildly; but still they came, in a never-ending barrage. What could I do? How could I stop them? Think, Charlie, I said to myself, think!

  But it isn’t easy to think when your head is lost in a cloud of battering, biting bats.

  Then I suddenly remembered: bats find their way by sonar. Their high-pitched squeals bounce off any surrounding objects and they can lock in on their prey with the accuracy of a radar-guided missile. I knew just how to upset their radar!

  I shrugged off my rucksack as fast as I could and pulled it underneath me. The bats continued to attack, dive-bombing and hitting me with sickening thuds. They screamed and squealed, ripping mouthfuls of fur from my coat and peppering my back with bruises. Then, retreating under my hunter’s coat as far as possible, I hunched over the rucksack and scrabbled around inside, pulling out one thing after another. Finally, my hands found Trapper Blane’s old radio. I extended the aerial, turned the volume up full and then, twisting the tuning dial back and forth, made the radio squeal and scream.

  The strident noises echoed around the arch, making my ears buzz with pain. I just hoped it would have the same effect on the bats!

  Almost immediately the animals became confused. Their sonar jammed and they began to career into each other, crashing at full speed into the cavern walls. I turned the screeching dial and the flock of bats rose into the air, smashing their way amongst the icicles, which snapped and dropped like a shower of daggers. I remained crouched on the floor as the shards thudded into the ground all around me. Clink, thud, clink, clang! Gradually, everything became quiet and I cautiously lifted my head and looked around at the devastation.

  Everywhere, huge icy stalactites had pierced the ground, each one stabbing a rampaging bat clean through the middle. I felt sorry for the beasts, but then, remembering how they had swarmed down from the roof to attack me, and looking down at my bleeding hands, I quickly changed my mind. I turned my squawking radio off and, slipping out of my fur coat, which was still pinned to the ground, I got shakily to my feet.

  I had never seen bats like this before and in true explorer style I have decided to name this undiscovered species.

  The Barbarous Icicle Bat

  A large, grey bat the size of a rabbit, with a span of leathery wings about one-and-a-half metres across. They have needle-like fangs, three centimetres long. When hanging from the roof of the cave, with their large, pale wings folded around them, they look just like icicles, becoming perfectly camouflaged in the roof of an ice cave. They are aggressive flesh eaters and attack en masse, thousands at a time, giving their prey little chance of escape. They have the scariest faces I’ve ever seen since starting out on my adventures.

  Having defeated the barbarous bats, I took a flying kick at the vicious-looking icicle that still speared my coat to the floor. I managed to snap the icicle off at the base, and I quickly put my thick fur coat back on. My teeth were chattering like castanets with the cold, but I soon started to warm up again.

  I had no desire to hang around the arch any longer than I had to. There might have been another squadron of bats hanging somewhere up in the roof, ready to attack; so I quickly gathered my stuff, threw my rucksack over my back and ran into the night.

  On my way out, I noticed a pile of small bones amongst some of the stalagmites. Crouching down, I saw that it was a sort of bat graveyard, and picking up a long fanged skull, I popped it into my rucksack. What better evidence of my encounter with these disgusting beasts could I find? My friends at home will be really impressed!

  Now, it’s time to leave here. I’ve got a map, my compass and a torch, so I’m going to continue my journey through the night. Retrieving my scooter and checking my compass, I am ready to skate out into the unknown once again.

  The sky is alive with twinkling stars from one horizon to the other. Meteors rip across the velvety blackness, trailing tails of yellow fire, and a fat, waxy moon is floating high above me. Let’s go!

  This is amazing! You’ll never guess where I am now. The most remarkable thing happened, and just in the nick of time, or my journey would already be over. I am aboard an incredible … No, first I must explain how I got here!

  I had raced on through the night, leaving the glow of the icicle arches far behind. The moon lit up the ground in front of me as I tirelessly followed my compass west towards the village and civilization. I ignored the strange noises emanating from the shadows either side of me and closed my eyes to the frightful, flapping silhouettes that occasionally flew across the moon; but when I saw the ground ahead of me move and buckle and bulge, I turned my scooter into a skid and came to an abrupt halt.

  What was it? Maybe it was the start of an earthquake and the ground would open up in front of me. I watched, fascinated, as the snow rose and fell, billowing like a huge sheet in the wind. Then the snow started to break up, and just below the surface I saw the smooth back of an animal coil forward. Everywhere the snow was collapsing and suddenly one, two, three, no! … A hundred stubby heads reared up and sniffed the wind.

  They were worms – massive pale pink worms about eight metres long – and they stopped and tested the air with their noses. The one nearest to me lowered his big blunt head and gently nudged my stomach. I held my breath, remaining perfectly still as it bumped and prodded, sniffing away like a huge short-sighted vacuum cleaner hose.

  Glancing around, I noticed that the other worms were starting to slowly but surely make their way towards me. In another few minutes I would be surrounded. If I had been quicker, and made a break for it then, I might have made it. But I hesitated and soon the worms were advancing in too great a number to dodge. I was being encircled by a solid wall of worms! What could I do?

  The nearest worm sniffed and nudged me again. As he tried to focus with his tiny little eyes, I realized the worms relied more on their sense of smell than on their poor eyesight. I stepped back, and for a second the worm lost me. His head swayed to the left and right, sniffing at the air. But then he caught my whiff again and started forward.

  I took another few steps back, my hand searching through my trusty explorer’s kit. If it was something whiffy they wanted, then I had just the thi
ng! I found my tatty, pongy pyjamas and pulled them out. Stepping as far away from the nearest worm as possible without getting too close to the others, I kneeled down in the snow. The worms were closing in from all directions.

  I started to push and pile the snow up and in double-quick time I made a very rough snowman, about the same size as me. As the worms ploughed closer and closer, I dressed the snow-Charlie in my pyjamas. I’d been wearing them at bedtime ever since my journey started and they were now more than a little smelly.

  Immediately, the worms caught the ripe scent of my pyjamas, and their noses wrinkled in excitement. They slid forward as quickly as their huge bulks would allow, and I flattened myself down in the snow. The worms crowded around my decoy and attacked. Luckily they were soon in a ferocious feeding frenzy and I could push my way out between two of the big, blubbery bits of fish bait without being noticed.

  Using their great blunt heads as battering rams, the worms pounded the snowman flat. Picking up the pyjamas in their toothless but powerful jaws, they pulled and squabbled and tore the material to shreds. As soon as I had crawled clear of them, I shakily and silently crept over to my scooter. With a final look behind me at the battling snow worms, I scooted off as fast as I could go. Fantastic, I thought; saved by a pair of smelly pyjamas!

  As the sun rose the following morning, I reached the top of a low hill and found myself looking across a great, frozen lake; a lake as wide and empty as an ocean. In the far distance I could see a faint blue smudge that was the Slate Hills. I knew that somewhere, nestled in a valley amongst those hills, was the village. I scooted out onto the ice. Nothing could stop me now.