Wild Moose Chase (12 page)

The Cave

Bert clenched his fists and turned back towards the kitchen. “He'd better not,” he fumed.

“Wait,” said Cam. “Let's spy on him through the keyhole.”

The twins jostled for position outside the door.

“He'll hear us,” she whispered. “I'll tell you what's happening.”

She bent down and put her eye to the hole in the lock. Mr Zola was fumbling around in his jacket pocket. He had his back to them so Cam couldn't see his face. Eventually he pulled out two pots, stared at them and returned one to his pocket.

“What's he doing?”

“He's getting the rennet out of his pocket,” said Cam. “Now he's adding one, two, three teaspoons. He's stirring the pan—”

Bert nudged Cam out of the way. “Let me see,” he said, bending his head to the keyhole. “He's turned around. He's laughing. He's walking towards us – quick!”

The twins jumped away from the door just as it was flung open.

“All done!” said Mr Zola, a huge smile still spread across his face. “Now all we have to do is let it cool, separate the curds from the whey, press the curd into a round mould and leave to settle in a cold dark place… Is everything all right?”

The twins looked guiltily up at him.

“We thought you were going to steal our cheese,” admitted Bert.

Mr Zola looked hurt. “My dear boy,” he said. “After everything we've been through together?”

“Sorry,” mumbled Cam. “You just seemed a bit … you know … weird.”

“That's because I am
a-bit-you-know-weird
,” said Mr Zola. “I always get excited when I'm making cheese. Come along; let's get cleaned up and have something to eat while we're waiting for it to cool. It's fine with your grandfather.”

They made their way back to the farmhouse and all had a wash. The twins changed their dirty clothes before finding some bread and jam in the kitchen. When they returned to the dairy, thick clumps of cheese curd had formed in the pot on the range. Mr Zola ladled them out and pushed them into a round mould.

“Have a sniff,” he said. “The sweet smell of moose cheese. The rarest cheese in the world. You may never get to see one again. Savour the moment.”

The moose cheese looked amazing. It was a thick creamy yellow but speckled with tiny fragments of crystal that sparkled in the light, creating a warm glow all around it.

“It looks like a UFO,” shouted Bert, excitedly.

“It's beautiful,” said Cam. “Can we taste a bit?”

“No!” cried Mr Zola. “This is for the Queen, and the Queen alone.”

“And Mr Grand-Fromage,” added Bert.

“Yes, him too,” murmured Mr Zola. “Now, back to the cheddar caves to meet your grandfather. The moose cheese can mature overnight and be ready for the State Banquet tomorrow, where you two will receive your titles.”

 

It had taken all day to make the cheese and it was starting to get dark. The rain still fell heavily. The twins ran ahead of Mr Zola who covered the moose cheese with his coat. They scrambled down a steep path that led to the cheddar caves embedded in the gorge. Mr Zola pointed to a wide crack in the rock face.

“Here we are,” he said. “I took the liberty of bringing a torch from the farmhouse.”

The twins stopped short of the cave entrance.

“That's not the right one,” said Cam. “Gramps won't be in there. We know these cliffs and caves. Gramps says never to go in that one. It's connected to an underground river and can flood.”

“I'm sure it was this one,” said Mr Zola. “Let me just check.”

He stepped into the shallow cave. “You're right, it's not the one your grandfather showed me,” he called. “But it's much better. It's perfect! Exactly the right temperature and humidity for moose cheese – and look! We don't have to go far in. There's a high shelf just inside the opening.”

The twins followed him inside and watched as he placed the moose cheese on a flat shelf of rock that jutted out high up on the wall.

“It should be safe up there,” he said. “It's only for a few hours.”

“But Gramps said never to go in this cave,” insisted Bert.

Mr Zola sighed and turned to face him. “I am the expert on where moose cheese should be matured, young man,” he said. “However, if it would make you feel better, we can investigate this underground river just in case. When we meet up with your grandfather we will double-check with him, OK?”

He flashed the torch to the back of the cave. It was much longer than it first appeared. A narrow tunnel led deeper into the earth. Mr Zola made his way over and peered into it.

“Whispering whiskers! There's an opening at the end of this tunnel,” he said. “And look, I can just make out some stalactites hanging from the ceiling.”

The twins followed him into the tunnel. They were curious, as it was one of the only caves that they hadn't explored. They came out into an immense cavern. Mr Zola shone the torch along a huge tiered wall which was completely covered by a great cascade of multicoloured stalactites. Around the perimeter several colossal stalagmite pillars rose from the floor.

“It's like a cathedral,” whispered Cam.

At the far end of the cavern a shallow pool reflected the jagged ceiling above.

“See, there
is
water in here,” said Bert. “I think we should find another cave.” He turned to go but stopped in his tracks as a faint cry echoed through the cavern.

“What was that?” he whispered.

They all stopped.

“Help!”

“There it is again,” cried Cam. “Someone's down here. HELLO?”

Her voice rebounded off the walls.

“Help!”

“It's coming from over here,” said Mr Zola, heading deeper into the cavern. “Stay close to me; we don't want to get lost. Here, catch hold of this.” He threw a length of rope to Bert.

“It's from the helicopter,” he explained. “If I tie it round your wrist and then around Cam's we won't get separated. I'll hang on to the other end.”

They wound their way around the stalagmites protruding from the ground. The cavern narrowed the further along they went.

“Help!”

“It's getting louder,” said Bert. “HOLD ON. WE'RE COMING.”

They eventually reached a narrow alley.

“You go first, Bert,” said Mr Zola. “I'll shine the light from behind so that we can all see where we're going.”

They squeezed into the thin passage and edged their way along. Mr Zola's torch lit up a small grotto at the end.

“Over here,” called a familiar voice from the chamber.

“Gramps!” yelled the twins together.

They burst into the grotto to see Gramps tied to a rocky stalagmite.

“Cam, Bert!” he shouted, his face lighting up. But it clouded over as Mr Zola followed them in.

“No!” Gramps growled. “Not you!”

 

Revenge

(Twelve hours to go…)

The twins turned to Mr Zola. His eyes were glowing and Monty was standing on end like a startled cat. He caught hold of the other end of the rope that was tying Cam and Bert together and quick as a flash looped it over a tall thin stalagmite.

“Mr Zola!” screamed Cam as he jerked them against the rock. “What are you doing?”

But he had already pulled the rope tight, securing the twins to the stalagmite. He looped the rope around their bodies, squeezing their backs against the hard rock.

“Let us go!” yelled Bert, struggling furiously against the rope.

“Leave them alone!” bellowed Gramps.

“I'm sorry, old chap,” panted Mr Zola. He was sweating from the exertion of binding the twins. “But I want revenge!.”

“What for?” cried Bert. “We've done nothing wrong.”

“Not you, dear boy,” said Mr Zola. “It's nothing personal, you understand.”

He stood by the narrow exit and twiddled Monty back into place.

“It's the Queen,” he announced.

The twins' eyebrows simultaneously pinged to the top of their heads.

“If you touch one quaffed hair on the royal head,” roared Gramps, “then I'll … I'll—”

“Your threats won't dissuade me,” interrupted Mr Zola. “I am going to avenge the death of my father. He died by moose and so shall she. My father was killed whilst trying to milk a moose to make cheese for the Queen. If it wasn't for her then he would still be here. I've been waiting, biding my time, ingratiating myself into the royal circle, ready to take my revenge. When she announced this competition I knew it was my chance. All I had to do was stick with the leaders and make sure I was present when the cheese was prepared. While you two were racing those yaks, trying to win the rennet from the fourth stomach, I was obtaining the rennet from the third stomach.”

“The poisonous one!” cried the twins together.

“Deadly!” said Mr Zola, holding up a red pot with a black skull and crossbones on the label. “Protocol demands that the Queen has the first mouthful of moose cheese. She will then have approximately two point four seconds to live.”

Mr Zola turned to go.

“I knew you were up to something,” cried Gramps. “The moment you walked into the farmhouse and tried to persuade me to let the children make the moose cheese. That's why I wouldn't give my consent.”

“You told us Gramps agreed,” gasped Bert.

Mr Zola rolled his eyes. “I lied,” he said. “Your grandfather was still furious with you for entering the competition. He refused to allow you to take part. That would have ruined my plan and time was running out.”

“I could sense you and your trumped-up moustache were up to no good,” shouted Gramps.

Mr Zola looked furious. “Leave Monty out of this,” he snarled. “If you had given your permission then we wouldn't be here now.”

“If I'd said yes then we would have been blamed for the poisoned moose cheese,” spluttered Gramps.

“Yes, it would have been perfect,” muttered Mr Zola. “But you had to say no. So I have to hide you away down here until the job is done. I shall tell the Queen that you have temporarily gone missing. She won't have time to question me, as Monsieur Grand-Fromage will have arrived by then.”

“You can't keep us here!” cried Cam.

“I'll leave a torch,” said Mr Zola. “My argument is not with you, although you can be very annoying. I shall pass on a note to the authorities detailing your whereabouts. But by that time it will be too late to save the Queen, and Monty and I will have escaped to Acapulco. Mexico is one of the top three moustache-dense countries of the world. We will blend in, never to be seen again.”

Monty fluttered manically as Mr Zola laughed. “Farewell, dear cheese-urchins,” he said, disappearing into the narrow passage. “I don't think I could have done it without you.”

 

Cam looked over at Gramps, who was tied to the stalagmite next to theirs. She could just see his anxious face lit up by the torch left on a nearby boulder.

“We're sorry, Gramps,” she said. “This is all our fault.”

“Yes,” muttered Bert. “Sorry.”

“At least you're safe,” sighed Gramps, “which is more than can be said for the Queen. How long have we got before the State Banquet on top of the gorge?”

“It starts tomorrow morning,” replied Cam.

“That gives us a bit of time,” said Gramps, pulling at the ropes that bound him. “Let's get out of here.”

They spent the next few hours wriggling their wrists, trying unsuccessfully to loosen the knots.

“It's impossible,” said Bert at last. “It's really tight.”

They all drooped against their ropes, exhausted from struggling.

“I'm hungry,” said Bert.

“And I'm thirsty,” added Cam. “So thirsty that I think I can actually hear running water.”

“Me too,” murmured Gramps.

“Me three,” whispered Bert.

They all looked up towards the sound of trickling water. A round hole in the side of the cave was leaking a steady stream of crystal-clear liquid on to the cave floor.

“Heaven help us,” cried Gramps. “It's the underground river. All this rain has caused it to break its banks. We're going to be flooded!”