Paddington 3, page 6
Unfortunately, he had sat right on the spiky red plant. Paddington leaped up, clutching his bottom. He opened his mouth and let out a mighty roar of pain.
“ROARRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHH!”
The roar bounced around the stone circle and became louder and louder. The force of the roar sent a shockwave through the jungle. Birds burst out of the trees, cawing loudly.
The shockwave even reached the sleeping Browns. Jonathan’s bangs were blown into the air. He sleepily patted them back down again. The exhausted family stirred, but didn’t wake up.
Back at Rumi Rock, Hunter was taken aback by the roar. Indeed, Paddington seemed to have shocked himself.
He looked down at the plant and tutted. “Please excuse me, Mr. Hunter. It seems I sat on the Spiky Red One.”
And then the strangest thing happened. They heard, very faintly in the distance, someone roaring back!
“What was that?” Hunter asked, shocked.
Paddington looked ahead dreamily and repeated Aunt Lucy’s words to himself in a whisper: “‘If you ever get lost again, just roar, and I’ll roar right back.’”
He stepped into the middle of the circle and roared again. The roar echoed around the jungle. Paddington waited and listened. Then there was another even louder reply.
Paddington gasped. “Aunt Lucy! She can hear me! Aunt Lucy!” Paddington roared again.
And the roar replied!
“That’s how we find her, Mr. Hunter,” said Paddington excitedly. “Like she always said. Follow her roars!”
Suddenly the ghost of Gonzalo Caboto the gold hunter appeared to Hunter, smiling darkly. “The bear shows the way,” he muttered.
“Yes!” said Hunter. “We follow the roars, and the gold will be OURS! Yours, your aunt’s . . .” He hurriedly corrected himself, smiling at Paddington. “We’ll find your Aunt Gold. I mean . . . Aunt Lucy! Let’s go!”
There was a sudden crash of thunder, and Hunter was saved from Paddington seeing just how guilty he looked as they rushed into the jungle . . .
Chapter Seventeen
The Secret Room
The thunder could be heard all the way over on the other side of the jungle in the Home for Retired Bears. The Reverend Mother poked her head around the door to Mrs. Bird’s cabin to check on her. It seemed that she was soundly asleep in her bed, undisturbed by the thunder. However, the moment the Reverend Mother left, Mrs. Bird’s eyes opened—she had been faking all along!
“Come on, knees,” said Mrs. Bird, “let’s get to the bottom of this!” She jumped up and slipped out of the bedroom, silently following the Reverend Mother as she hurried through the cloisters.
The Reverend Mother disappeared around a corner. Mrs. Bird followed . . . but the Reverend Mother was nowhere to be seen! There was only the organ, which was glowing all around its edges with a strange red light. Mrs. Bird approached it and noticed one of the buttons was more worn than the others. She pulled it and the entire organ flipped around like a revolving door, taking Mrs. Bird into . . . a secret room! It looked like somewhere a spy might hide—there were maps all over the walls, lots of computer screens, and red lights flashing everywhere.
“What in God’s name . . . ?” cried Mrs. Bird.
The Reverend Mother suddenly turned in her seat. “Language, Mrs. Bird!” she scolded.
“Pardon me, Reverend Mother,” said Mrs. Bird. “But this place . . . it . . . kind of looks like an evil lair.”
“I can assure you it’s not.”
“Then what is it?” asked Mrs. Bird.
“What it is, is a . . . perfectly innocent secret surveillance control center,” said the Reverend Mother hurriedly.
Mrs. Bird narrowed her eyes. “And why exactly would you need one of those?” she asked.
The Reverend Mother wrung her hands. “I confess! I have sinned, Mrs. Bird! I have been deceitful, in a way most unbecoming of a nun! I can only pray for your forgiveness!”
“What have you done?” asked Mrs. Bird, astonished.
“The St. Christopher medallion I gave Mary—it . . . was actually a secret tracking device.” The Reverend Mother flicked some switches on a control panel. “I couldn’t let what happened to poor Aunt Lucy ever happen again . . . so I’ve been keeping an eye on them.”
She pressed a button and a map on the wall lit up with bleeping lights.
“This is a canny bit of kit!” said Mrs. Bird in wonder. “Someone’s been a busy nun.”
“Thank goodness I have,” said the Reverend Mother. “Look . . .” She pointed to the map. “This is Rumi Rock, and this is the Browns’ course. They were heading the right way—but now, they’ve turned north into uncharted, dangerous jungle . . . and I fear for their safety.”
Mrs. Bird reached for a phone. “I’ll notify the authorities. We’ll mount a rescue party!”
The Reverend Mother put her hand over Mrs. Bird’s. “No!” she shouted, then quickly pulled herself together. “They will be too slow. We must go ourselves,” she said more calmly.
“But I thought you didnae go trekking in the jungle? Thought it gave ye the heebie-jeebies?” said Mrs. Bird.
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on trekking . . .” said the Reverend Mother. She held up a set of keys and shook them.
Mrs. Bird looked intrigued.
In the jungle the next morning, Mr. Brown was sleeping blissfully among the roots of a giant kapok tree. He was so fast asleep that when someone started nuzzling and licking his face he thought it was Mrs. Brown trying to wake him with a morning kiss!
“Mmm, Mary . . . not with the kids around—” He opened his eyes and saw that he was face to face with an anteater.
It squealed.
Mr. Brown shrieked.
The anteater charged off into the jungle!
“Shhhh!” said Mrs. Brown. She looked up, her finger to her lips, and pointed into the undergrowth. “There’s something big out there . . .”
Something was crashing toward them. Mrs. Brown slowly reached down to the forest floor and groped around for something she might be able to use as a weapon.
“Hello . . . ?” she called out. “Whatever you are, you should know I’ve got a”—she glanced at what she was holding—“a . . . twig . . . and I’m not afraid to use it.” She tried to sound brave.
“It could be the forest spirits!” said Judy nervously.
The bushes immediately burst into life! The family jolted in shock, and Mrs. Brown ran into the bushes with a war cry.
“YAAAAAAAARRRRHHHH!”
The bushes thrashed about and there was a loud BONK! followed by an “OW.”
“Oh my gosh,” Mrs. Brown said politely. “I’m SO sorry. My mistake.” She retreated apologetically.
It was Gina! She emerged, rubbing her head. “¡Hola, Browns!” She made the sign of the cross on her chest and added gratefully, “¡Gracias a Dios! You’re okay.”
“Pretty pleased to see you too,” said Mr. Brown, relieved. He joined the children. Jonathan realized his hair was sticking up and quickly patted it back down as they all gathered around Gina.
“It was very clever to use Jonathan’s insect repellent as an odor trail,” said Gina.
“Oh, yeah, I mean . . . that was the idea,” said Jonathan, trying to sound impressive.
Judy shot him a knowing glance.
“Where on earth did you go?” asked Mr. Brown. “You and your father abandoned us. On a ship! Which we had to abandon!”
“Yes . . . my father,” said Gina, pulling a face. “I’m afraid there is something about him . . . about us . . . that I should have told you from the very beginning.” She sank on to a log, looking troubled. The Browns waited for her to continue, intrigued. “My family is cursed with a dreadful disease,” she said. “They call it oro loco—gold madness. A lust for gold that cannot be satisfied. It began with my ancestor Gonzalo Caboto . . .”
“The famous conquistador,” said Judy. “That’s why he seemed familiar!”
“Gonzalo was greedy and ruthless. And when he heard the legend of El Dorado he came looking for it in the jungle, searching endlessly, driving his men to exhaustion. But it was pointless. Instead of riches, all he passed on to his descendants was greed. Generation after generation of fools, obsessed by their pursuit of El Dorado. The Cabot family gold hunters traveled from every corner of the globe.” She began counting off on her fingers: “There was the Edwardian explorer, Colonel Clive Cabeaufort; the gold prospector, Calamity Caboot; the Swedish airwoman, Cagnetta Cabot-Cabotstrom, and the missionary, Reverend Cuthbert McCabotty. They came from all walks of life, but all any of them found was death.
“My father was different. Mama died when I was young so it was always just us. He was determined to beat the family curse. But when he heard of Rumi Rock it took hold of him. He disappeared into the jungle and I was left alone . . . for years. When he returned a broken man, he promised he would keep away from the jungle and its ghosts. He would stick to the river and never love gold more than me. And I believed him. Seems I was a fool.”
“Oh, Gina . . .” Mrs. Brown said sadly. Then she noticed Mr. Brown shrugging. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” said Mr. Brown innocently. “Just goes to show you should never trust a handsome river captain.”
“I never said he was handsome,” said Mrs. Brown.
“You were thinking it!” said Mr. Brown indignantly.
“Now oro loco has taken him,” Gina went on, ignoring Mr. Brown, “he is haunted by the ghosts of ancestors and will do anything to find the gold. I must get you and Paddington to safety,” she said firmly.
“Hang on, where is Paddington?” Jonathan asked, looking around.
The Browns exchanged anxious glances. No one had seen Paddington for hours!
Chapter Eighteen
Following Roars
Paddington was, in fact, making his way through the jungle, roaring loudly!
“RRRROOOARRRR!”
He was up a tree, striking a confident pose as he roared into the mountain air. After a short pause there was a faint ROAR back!
Hunter was behind Paddington, crossing a rope bridge over a wide river. In the distance he could hear Paddington calling, “THIS WAY, MR. HUNTER!”
Hunter yelled back. “I’LL BE RIGHT WITH YOU!” But he held up his machete and was just about to cut the bridge! Then he stopped, as though having second thoughts, but the ghost of Caboto urged him on.
“That’s right! Don’t let them follow us!” Caboto encouraged him.
“But we won’t be able to go back,” Hunter argued.
“WE CAN BUY OUR WAY BACK!” Caboto cried.
Hunter nodded and hacked down the supports of the rope bridge. They collapsed into the water and started to sink. Then, grim faced, he set off in Paddington’s direction.
A little while later, Hunter and Paddington were resting by a newly lit fire. Hunter was boiling some drinking water. Paddington was expertly tearing open some jungle fruit, slurping out the good bits and discarding the husks. He started speaking with his mouth full.
“And you’re sure the River Taxi Service will have rescued the Browns by now, Mr. Hunter?” asked Paddington.
“Yes, of course,” said Hunter shiftily, not quite meeting Paddington’s eyes.
“Oh, that’s good. Mr. Brown did have some rather wet socks!” said Paddington, spitting out another bit of husk. “We’re getting close now, Mr. Hunter. I can feel it! One more push and we’ll be with Aunt Lucy!”
“And all the gold of El Dorado!” muttered Hunter.
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten about all that,” said Paddington with a shrug.
“You genuinely don’t care about the gold, do you?” Hunter asked. He sounded surprised.
“There are far more important things than gold, Mr. Hunter. Aunt Lucy is missing—you’d feel the same if it was Gina,” said Paddington.
“She is . . . my treasure,” Hunter agreed. He stared into the fire, battling with himself. He could hear Caboto saying, “CRINGY! The real treasure is the gold. DON’T GET SENTIMENTAL!”
“I know what I have to do!” Hunter argued back irritably.
Paddington thought Hunter was talking to him, as he couldn’t see the ghost of Caboto. “Everything okay, Mr. Hunter?”
Hunter gave himself a shake and tried to ignore Caboto. “Yes. Just, there are . . . expectations from my family,” he said.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had other family,” said Paddington. “Do you see them much?”
“All the time.” Hunter looked up. He could see what Paddington could not—that the ghosts of all his gold-obsessed ancestors were gathered around him. They waved in a friendly fashion.
“How lovely,” said Paddington, taking another bite.
Hunter shrugged. “You know how families can be.”
“Yes,” said Paddington. “Well, sort of. The only family I’ve known is the Browns. And Aunt Lucy. Before that I don’t really know. All I remember is my parents died when I was very young . . .”
“Oh, boo hoo!” sneered Caboto to Hunter. “It’s a sob story so you give him the gold!”
The other ghosts all chimed in too. The Edwardian explorer warned Hunter, “Don’t let that bear steal our gold!”
The missionary said, “Amen to that.”
The gold prospector added hungrily, “Maybe it’s time to cook some bear stew!”
All the ancestors dissolved into fits of laughter, none of which Paddington could hear.
Hunter scowled at them. “Shh! We can’t eat him yet,” he said.
Paddington looked alarmed. “What?”
Hunter looked confused. “What?”
“You said something about . . . eating someone?” said Paddington nervously.
“Did I?” said Hunter, trying to ignore his ancestors. “Probably just the altitude.”
“Shall we get back to finding Aunt Lucy?” Paddington suggested politely. He leaped up, eager to get on with the journey.
Hunter nodded and gathered his things while Caboto hissed in his ear, “Don’t lose your nerve.”
“Maybe there’s another way?” Hunter whispered, desperate to persuade Caboto to come up with another plan.
“We’re too close for you to throw it all away with your stupid FEELINGS!” sneered Caboto. “Stick to the plan!” He grabbed Hunter by his collar. “You follow the bear, you find the gold, you eat bear stew!” He started slapping Hunter. “Follow bear! [SLAP] Find gold! [SLAP] Eat stew! [SLAP] BEAR! [SLAP] GOLD! [SLAP] STEW! [SLAP].”
“Are you coming, Mr. Hunter?” Paddington called out.
Hunter realized that, as far as Paddington could see, he had been slapping himself! He pulled himself together. “Right behind you!” he called. As he left, he picked up the machete.
And Paddington continued on his uphill journey to find his aunt, following her roars.
Meanwhile, on the edge of the jungle, Gina was up a tall tree, searching the jungle with her binoculars to see if she could spot Paddington and her father. Suddenly she noticed smoke rising from the forest!
“Their campfire!” she cried. “It’s not far—on the other side of the valley.” She followed the line of the river and looked over to the opposite riverbank. “But the bridge is down.” She added to herself, sadly, “Oh, Papa . . .” She understood in an instant that Caboto must have persuaded him to destroy the bridge.
The family looked at the vast expanse of water.
“We’ll never get across that river,” said Mr. Brown.
Mrs. Brown desperately clutched her St. Christopher medallion. “We need a miracle.”
At that very moment they heard the buzz of an engine. They looked up to see a small, rather battered seaplane approaching with the words “The Miracle” emblazoned on the side! Mrs. Brown looked at the medallion, then at Mr. Brown. They couldn’t believe their luck!
Mrs. Bird was waving enthusiastically from the cockpit as the Reverend Mother piloted the plane down on to the water . . .
Chapter Nineteen
The Miracle
As the sun rose over the vast, misty mountain range rising from the jungle, a tiny figure scrambled up a slope through the vegetation. It was Paddington. He roared. Ahead of him on the trail, a herd of wild llamas scattered into the undergrowth. Paddington gasped because, once the llamas had gone, he could see some ancient and overgrown stone steps, winding upward. And a roar came back in return! Paddington’s eyes widened, and he ran toward the sound.
“Aunt Lucy!” he shouted.
Paddington finally burst through the undergrowth into a long-abandoned Inca city, built into the mountainside. Paddington looked at the half-collapsed slabs of stone and the crumbling wood structures. Is this El Dorado? he wondered. He gave one more roar . . . and a reply came from inside the maze of ruins, even louder than before! Paddington sprinted along the ancient alleyways, excited to find his aunt.
“Aunt Lucy, I’m here!”
He ran up some steep, carved steps and emerged into a giant stone amphitheater to find . . . that it was completely deserted.
He spun around in puzzled circles, crying out, “Aunt Lucy?”
But it was his own voice that bounced back off the walls of the amphitheater.
“Lucy . . . Lucy . . . Lucy.”
Paddington gave a long, loud, desperate roar in response. The sound went around the smooth stone structure and came back again as a series of even louder echoed roars.
Paddington’s face fell. It was just a trick.
“You mean . . . all this time . . . you were just an echo?” he cried.
“. . . ECHO . . . ECHO . . . ECHO . . . !”
Paddington slumped against the wall in despair and sank down to the ground. In his paws were Aunt Lucy’s broken glasses, and he clutched them mournfully—the glasses and the bracelet were all he had left of his aunt.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Lucy. You found me all those years ago, but now I can’t find you,” he sobbed, holding the glasses close to his chest.
A sinister voice came out of the shadows: “So, the bear showed the way.”
