Paddington 3, page 3
Paddington suddenly appeared, full of energy. “Morning, everyone. I know where Aunt Lucy’s gone!” He slammed down an ancient-looking chart. It was a hand-drawn map of the Amazon. He tapped it with authority and said, “It’s a place called Rumi Rock, and it’s only a few days upriver.”
The Browns were stunned into silence. Paddington slapped some marmalade on a sandwich and popped it under his hat. “We can take breakfast with us,” he said.
“Wait, wait! Paddington, what’s going on? Where did you get this old map?” asked Mrs. Brown.
“I found it in Aunt Lucy’s room,” said Paddington. “In fact, I rather think she wanted me to find it.”
“Rumi Rock? What makes you think we should start the search there?” asked Mr. Brown.
Judy was studying the map. “Well, Aunt Lucy has made a note,” she said, pointing. “‘Start search here,’ it says.” The words were scribbled in Aunt Lucy’s handwriting, right next to a spot in the jungle labeled “Rumi Rock,” which she seemed to have circled.
The Browns exchanged an intrigued glance.
They took the chart straight to the Reverend Mother. She picked up a magnifying glass and studied the map carefully. “The Lord be praised!” she cried. “I knew something would turn up.”
“What is this ‘Rumi Rock’?” asked Mr. Brown.
“It’s a sacred Inca stone circle deep in the jungle,” the Reverend Mother explained.
“What’s so special about it?” asked Mrs. Brown.
The Reverend Mother shrugged. “No idea. Sacred Inca monuments are not really a nun thing.” She put her hand on Paddington’s paw. “But,” she continued, sounding excited, “it’s a clue to finding Aunt Lucy. Seek out what she was looking for and it may lead you to her. If anyone can do it, it’s you, young bear.”
Paddington was looking thoughtful. “Aunt Lucy always says, ‘When skies are gray, hope is the way.’ A long time ago, she found me. Now it’s my turn to find her.”
Mr. Brown butted in. “Now hang on a minute—surely someone here”—he looked pointedly at the Reverend Mother—“would be in a better position to . . .”
The Reverend Mother shook her head sadly. “I no longer permit myself or my nuns to enter the jungle,” she said, “because I find it somewhat . . .” She broke off and glanced anxiously at a painting high up on her office wall. She hesitated, her eyes roaming over the image of mysterious creatures made of leaves. “It’s best I stay here and tend my flock,” she said eventually. “But I commend your bravery and have faith you will survive!”
Mrs. Bird shot a doubtful glance sideways at Mrs. Brown.
“Well, that’s reassuring,” said Mr. Brown.
“Mr. Brown,” said Paddington, making himself brave, “if you feel you can’t come, I shall go on my own.”
Mrs. Brown looked pointedly at her husband.
“Right,” said Mr. Brown, giving in. It was clear the decision had been made for him. “Obviously the Brown family are exactly the right people—with all the requisite skills—to go and find a lost bear in the jungle.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brown,” said Paddington.
The Reverend Mother produced her guitar and strummed a chord. “Hallelujah! And don’t forget these . . .” She handed Paddington Aunt Lucy’s glasses. “You can give them to your aunt when you find her,” she said.
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington.
“Maybe someone should, like, chill here,” suggested Jonathan, “in case Aunt Lucy comes back?”
“Aye,” said Mrs. Bird. “I’ll man base camp and make sure everything’s shipshape for when she returns.” She turned to the Reverend Mother. “I had a peek at your fuse board. Rustier than my grandmother’s bedpan.”
The Reverend Mother looked shocked and said, “No need for that, Mrs. Bird. Better for you to relax.”
The Browns were about to leave when the Reverend Mother took Mrs. Brown aside. “Oh, Mary—just one thing . . .”
Mrs. Brown paused and turned around to see the Reverend Mother was holding out a silver St. Christopher medallion on a chain.
“Forgive an old nun her comforts . . .” The Reverend Mother slipped the chain over Mrs. Brown’s head. “St. Christopher, the patron saint of travel. I truly believe he will keep your family safe. Keep him close?”
Mrs. Brown looked at the medallion around her neck. “Of course, Reverend Mother. Thank you. We need all the help we can get.”
The Reverend Mother touched Mrs. Brown’s cheek and nodded gratefully.
Chapter Eight
The Best Boat on the River
Later that day, Paddington and the Browns were making their way through a bustling marketplace at the docks. It was full of stalls selling all sorts of things from boat equipment to clothes to food. There were piles and piles of all kinds of fruit and vegetables and freshly caught fish. There were tables covered in bolts of multicolored fabrics, neatly folded ponchos, wide-brimmed Peruvian hats, beautiful bags made from woven material, and rows and rows of brightly painted pottery. Everything was very tempting, but today was not the day to go shopping.
“We just need to find a boat that will take us upriver,” said Paddington.
As he was speaking, he saw someone walking toward him carrying a wooden canoe. The person turned sharply, and Paddington had to dive underneath the canoe before it hit him.
The Browns didn’t notice. Mrs. Brown was fussing over Judy and Jonathan, trying to smear their faces with sunscreen. They were protesting loudly!
“I can do my own sunscreen!” Judy cried.
“. . . behind your ears!” Mrs. Brown added, much to the children’s annoyance.
Mr. Brown puffed out his chest and strutted around, trying to sound tough. “Everyone, listen up! We are on the threshold of the actual Amazon—a place full of risk. So we’re going to have to embrace that.”
“Mr. Brown, why are you walking like that?” asked Paddington.
Mrs. Brown tried to bite back a smile. “It’s his ‘hard walk,’” she explained.
Mr. Brown looked offended. “It’s a perfectly normal walk,” he said.
Judy sniggered. “He does it when the plumber comes around.”
“I do not!” said Mr. Brown. He turned to address the family, the docks behind him. “Whatever boat we find, it’s not exactly going to be the pride of the regatta, okay?”
At that moment, a beautiful vintage sailing boat cruised into view. Mr. Brown had his back to it, so he didn’t see it.
“Er, Mr. Brown?” Paddington tried to get his attention, but Mr. Brown wasn’t listening.
“All I’m saying is: be prepared to row,” Mr. Brown went on.
Paddington pointed at the beautiful boat. “Mr. Brown—look!”
Mr. Brown turned around to see the boat, and his eyes widened. The boat was incredible! And on deck there was an elegant gentleman in a cream linen suit who seemed as if he might be the perfect captain.
“Ooh, what a handsome . . .” Mrs. Brown caught Mr. Brown’s eye and added quickly, “. . . boat.”
“Ahoy there!” called the captain.
“Excuse me, sir?” said Paddington. “Is this boat for hire?”
“For hire?” the man said, looking surprised. “Señor Bear, it is your lucky day!” He glided effortlessly across the deck. He hopped nimbly forward on to the jetty, tied up the boat with a flourish, and came to shake Paddington by the paw.
“This is the best boat on the river!” The captain patted the boat, and a porthole window swung awkwardly from its hinge. He cleared his throat and quickly shut the porthole.
Mr. Brown raised an eyebrow at his wife, but she had not noticed the broken porthole.
“Part of the charm,” said the captain hastily. He looked wistfully at his boat and ran his hand along it. “Strong, smooth, not so bad on the eyes. And that’s just the boat!” He laughed at his own joke, then said, “Captain Hunter Cabot at your service.” With that, he thumped the hull of the ship and shouted, “GINA!”
A young woman popped up from the engine room, holding a wrench. Her dungarees were covered in oil.
“My daughter, Gina,” the captain explained. “Gina, these people are here for a tour!”
“TOUR? ¡Hola! ¡Buenos días!” she cried. “We have many tours available. We could see the pink dolphins?”
“Take in some Inca ruins?” Hunter chimed in.
“Feed the piranhas . . .” added Gina.
Then together they chorused: “Although it may cost you an arm and a leg!”
They both paused for a laugh that didn’t come.
Paddington pulled out the map. “We need to go to somewhere called Rumi Rock.”
The atmosphere darkened and Hunter and Gina’s smiles faded.
“. . . Rumi Rock?” Hunter repeated.
“We don’t go to Rumi Rock,” said Gina firmly.
Hunter said in an aside to Gina, “Gina, we could do with a tour . . .”
“We don’t need this one,” Gina replied.
Hunter sighed and turned to Paddington. “I’m sorry, little bear, but you’ll have to take your sightseeing somewhere else.”
Paddington was insistent. “No, we’re not sightseers. It’s an emergency. My Aunt Lucy has gone missing. Now she’s out there somewhere, all alone.”
“We don’t go to Rumi Rock,” said Gina even more firmly than before.
But Paddington was not giving up. “I’m her only family, and I’ve lost her. Please can you make an exception, just this once?”
Hunter looked at Gina and Gina looked at Paddington, his big brown eyes pleading.
A short time later, Gina was maneuvering the boat into the river, while talking into the loudspeaker. “Welcome aboard for your once-in-a-lifetime, never-to-be-repeated trip to Rumi Rock.”
As she said this, Hunter was fiddling with a gold signet ring on his finger, which had his family’s crest engraved on it. He seemed distracted as the boat set sail upriver through the brightly colored rainforest.
Judy began recording her travelogue again, speaking into her Dictaphone. “Day two. We head off the tourist trail and into the jungle—our fate in the hands of the charming Captain Cabot, who seems oddly familiar . . .”
Mr. Brown was at the prow of the boat, staring out at the majestic Amazon River and the rich greens and blues of the rainforest and the sky. “Hey, Judy,” he said, turning back to his daughter. He spread his arms, gesturing to the breathtaking view. “Take a photo with all this, for the dudes back at the office.”
“Dudes?” Judy repeated, making a face.
“Just take the photo,” said Mr. Brown. He slipped on his new sunglasses, ready to pose for the picture.
Standing by the rail, Paddington was breathing in the jungle, full of wonder.
“Good to be back?” Mrs. Brown asked him.
“It will be,” said Paddington. “When we find Aunt Lucy.” He looked out into the dense jungle on the nearby riverbank.
“What was it?” said Mrs. Brown. “‘When skies are . . .’?”
“‘When skies are gray, hope is the way,’” said Paddington, desperately wishing it to be true.
Chapter Nine
Mr. Brown Tries to Be Brave
“Your cabins are ready now!” Hunter said, appearing on deck. “Step where I step—to the inexperienced, a boat can pose many hazards –”
Gina suddenly shouted out, “BOOM!”
Hunter immediately ducked as a large boom pole swung across the deck. He stood up again. “Thanks, Gina!” he called back. Then, shaking his head, he said, “She has to warn me. Every time!” He swooped below deck, sliding down the ladder rungs smoothly, and shouted, “Come below deck to your quarters!”
The Browns and Paddington followed Hunter down the ladder into the saloon. They admired the beautiful room. There was even a ship’s piano in the corner! Hunter tinkled a quick tune for them. He was surprisingly good at it! Then he cheekily raised his hands to show that the instrument was in fact a player piano—it could play tunes on its own without a pianist to play the keys!
Hunter stopped next to a large antique globe and gave it a spin. “En route to your destination,” he said, “other stops can include . . .” The globe popped open to reveal a drinks cabinet inside. He held up a bottle of whisky, then rum. “Scotland . . . or even Jamaica!”
“Who are these people?” Judy asked.
There was a series of old framed photos and portraits on the wall featuring historical figures grouped around a coat of arms. All the people in the pictures looked very much like Hunter.
“Ah, those are my ancestors,” Hunter said. “The Cabotos—they like to keep an eye on me,” he added. He made his voice light and jokey and went on, “To make sure I bring glory to the family!”
Mrs. Brown nodded to the coat of arms. “That’s like your tattoo,” she said.
“Good spot, Mary,” said Hunter.
Mr. Brown eyed his wife. “What tattoo?”
“The fist of gold—the Cabot family crest,” said Hunter, rolling up his sleeve to reveal it.
“Very observant,” said Mr. Brown. “Drunken night in Cuzco, was it?”
Hunter was suddenly serious. He gave the piano a kick, so that it stopped playing. “No,” he growled. “It is a badge of pride. ALL Cabots have this tattoo.”
Mr. Brown looked embarrassed.
Hunter pulled up his shirt, cheerfully. “THIS was a drunken night in Cuzco,” he said. Then he opened the door to a spacious room. “And finally—the Darwin Suite,” he announced.
Mr. and Mrs. Brown peered inside. The walls were decorated with stuffed animals in glass cases and some framed drawings of plants. There was a hat on a stand that looked like the type an explorer would wear. Mr. Brown stepped into the room and looked around admiringly.
“Oh yes, this is quite— Whoa!” He had come face-to-face with a stuffed purple-kneed tarantula in a glass case on the wall opposite the bed. “The old purple-kneed tarantula,” he said, trying to sound as if he wasn’t bothered by it.
Mrs. Brown said, “My husband’s got a bit of a thing about spiders. And bugs. In fact, he’s got a whole folder—”
Mr. Brown interrupted hastily. “DON’T bother the captain with all that, darling!” He was trying to act casual, but was clearly feeling very uncomfortable.
“Maybe I should . . . remove it?” Hunter suggested.
Mr. Brown tried to cover up his nerves and sound brave. “No, no! Superb specimen. I’ll enjoy looking at all these of an evening.”
He fired a look at his wife to try to tell her not to say any more about his fears. Mrs. Brown could not help smiling.
Hunter left and headed toward his own cabin. He paused outside, taking a deep breath before he entered, looking nervously at the portrait of Gonzalo Caboto, as if waiting for it to speak to him.
Chapter Ten
A Twinge in the Knees
Mrs. Brown and Paddington both clutched the receiver of a satellite phone while Mr. Brown looked on.
Paddington was speaking loudly into the receiver. “I can’t talk for long, Mrs. Bird. Mr. Brown says these satellite phone calls are very expensive.”
Back in the Home for Retired Bears, Mrs. Bird had the phone in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. She was giving the wall a lick of paint. The Reverend Mother was next to her, looking concerned as she listened in on the phone call.
“The line’s breaking up, dear,” said Mrs. Bird.
“The calls,” Paddington repeated, raising his voice. “They’re very expensive.”
“Pardon?” said Mrs. Bird.
“Expensive! E, X, P . . .” Paddington began to spell it out while Mr. Brown rolled his eyes and then headed below deck.
The line crackled and a throbbing, humming noise could be heard.
“Ach, it’s gone again,” said Mrs. Bird.
“Well, these satellite phones are very temperamental,” said the Reverend Mother.
“It’s nae that,” said Mrs. Bird impatiently. “It’s like this building is filled with electrical interference.”
“It’s just a very old building, Mrs. Bird,” said the Reverend Mother. “There’s nothing suspicious about it.”
“Suspicious?” asked Mrs. Bird, eyeing the Reverend Mother closely.
The Reverend Mother beamed and silently glided away.
Mrs. Bird felt a twinge in her knees. “Oh, knees, what are you telling me?” she asked, bobbing up and down.
Suddenly the phone sparked to life again and Mrs. Bird snapped back to attention.
It was Mrs. Brown, on the boat. “Has there been any sign of Aunt Lucy?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not, no,” said Mrs. Bird.
Mrs. Brown gave Paddington a sympathetic look and put her hand on his arm. “We’ll find her, Paddington,” she said.
Judy was sitting at the table in her cabin with her headphones on. Mrs. Brown came in, clutching the Travel Scrabble set, and started to say something to Judy. She gestured that she couldn’t hear, and that Mrs. Brown should wait while she took off her headphones.
“Hi, darling,” said Mrs. Brown. “I was going through my bag and I completely forgot I packed this. Your favorite, isn’t it?” She held out the Scrabble set proudly.
Judy barely looked at the board game.
Mrs. Brown tried again. “Quick game?”
Judy sighed. “I really need to work on my travelogue.”
“Travelogue,” said Mrs. Brown, pointing at the Scrabble set. “Fourteen points, and that’s without the triple word score.” She beamed.
Judy rolled her eyes and put her headphones back on.
Mrs. Brown tried not to look hurt and said to herself, “All right, darling. No, you carry on.”
Chapter Eleven
The Legend of El Dorado
It was evening and the boat was moored up for the night. Inside, it was lit up with lots of twinkly lights and a delicious-looking colorful dinner of local vegetables and fruits was laid out for the Browns by their hosts. The family murmured with delight as they took their places at the table.
