My Dear Lady Misericordia,

I hope this letter finds you well. If it finds you at all. I am not at all sure how I am going to post this to you, out here in the wilds, but I feel I ought to continue writing, to record our adventures.

I wonder what you are doing today? I know the Christmas Ball will be approaching, but I cannot believe that you would waste time with a thing like that with your Father, Baronet Oxshott and your tutor (whatever you think of him) lost somewhere out in the Arctic Circle on a mission of mystery and danger.

Your thoughts, I know, will be with us, and that cheers me considerably.

We, on the other hand, have now truly travelled beyond civilisation and beyond, even, wilderness. Jim, our guide, tells me that no one has ever been in this country before and I can believe him. We have reached, finally, the Unknown.

On the Professor’s maps, this place is just a blank white space, partly because no one has ever been here to map it and partly, I suspect, because this is simply a blank white place. Snow covers everything. Even the trees are half invisible, only the bottom of the branches showing a dark green under their layer of snow. Above us even the mountains show only their steepest parts in dark stone, where the snow has slid off in great avalanches.

The Professor, however, becomes happier and happier the further we go. He is positively enjoying the cloak of secrecy he has drawn about this adventure. He refuses even to let me draw the simplest map to plot our journey, so keen is he that no one else should know of our whereabouts.

His only regret is, apparently, that he could not bring his daughter with him. Harry asked him why he didn’t bring her and he looked astonished.

“First priniciples, my boy, think it through logically,” he has a tendency to lecture, “She is my daughter, ergo, she is a woman - there, you see? Science tells us a female could not take the strain of a mission such as this - the mental strain alone would be too much for their nervous systems, let alone the physical challenge. Its simply obvious.”

“But, Professor,” protested Harry, “Women are no strangers to mental strain - do you not think that sitting at home, wondering how, where her father is is not placing immense mental strain on your daughter?”

But the Professor would hear none of it. I must say, althought I lean towards the Professor’s opinion, I rather admire Harry for his independence of thought, liberty of spirit and willingness to argue for what he believes.

All the more so, given the Professor’s actions this morning, which have made me wonder, a little, at what kind of errand he has led us on.

We have arrived in the foothills of a great mountain range that sweeps around us in a wide, jagged curve. We must cross this mountain range, says the Professor, to reach our goal.

To this end, he had Jim lead us into a narrow valley running down from the peaks above, at the bottom of which was a small river. It was at the river bank that he unveiled his great surprise. For, packed away in our supplies were two collapsible boats. With these, the Professor declared, we could easily travel along the river, over the mountains.

We stood and stared at the Professor, beaming at his boats, and I felt I had to point out one or two minor flaws in his plan.

“But Professor,” I said, “This river flows down from the mountains - that means we would have to travel up river, against the stream, up, probably, steep, white water rapids and even waterfalls. Also, and more importantly from a water travel point of view, the river is frozen quite solid.”

The poor Professor looked so disconsolate at this that I almost regretted having said anything. Harry, in particular, looked daggers at me. But there was nothing for it, the river was nothing more than a curving sweep of thick white ice, and the boats were useless.

“Could your steam sleds climb it?” asked Lord Daunt.

“Some of it, perhaps,” I ventured, “But much of it would be too steep, I fear, and they would be awfully heavy to carry.”

“Well, this is a bally fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Professor,” growled Oxshott.

“It’s no good just standing around and complaining, you great oaf,” snapped Harry, “I don’t see you having having any bright ideas to get us out.”

Oxshott stiffened at this. but before he could do anything rash, I spotted something else among the Professor’s supplies.

“The Baronet might not have any bright ideas, but I think I might,” I said, “Professor, those crates labelled ‘Atmospheric Conditions Measuring Balloons’ - what’s in them?”

What was in them was, unsurprisingly, Atmospheric Conditions Measuring Balloons: enormous silvery balloons made of some resilient, rubbery material of the Professor’s own devising, extremely strong but extremely light, along with cannisters of a powerful lifting gas, again of the Professor’s concoction.

The balloons were designed to lift scientific devices high into the atmosphere to measure weather conditions - and if they could carry all that equipment, could they also carry us?

Harry and I soon discovered that all the balloons together would be able to lift one of the boats, just big enough for all of us to ride in, and with room only for enough supplies to see us over the mountains - enough to reach our goal, if the Professor is to be believed.

There was no time to debate, however, since the weather was still fine and clear and, knowing from the episode with the Sami how quickly a storm can blow up in these Arctic wastes, we knew we ought to take advantage of it while we could.

And so we tethered the balloons to the boat, raising the small sail to take advantage of what wind there was, and clambered aboard. Then we loosed the ropes and the boat began to rise slowly into the air, drifting forward on the breeze, up towards the mountains.

We waved goodbye to the frankly astonished Jim, who would return to civilisation on one of the steam sleds, as he disappeared into a single dark dot on the snowy wastes, and then we were in among the mountains themselves.

Oh! What a strange, eerie, silent journey that was, bobbing along between the great walls of ice and stone that reared around us. I had become so used to the constant hiss and crunch of snow under sleigh and sled and boot that the peculiar quiet of the floating canoe was bewildering. The only sounds were the occassional  creak and squeak of the ropes and balloons, or the groaning and cracking of the mountains themselves.

We barely talked ourselves, so intent were we on the balance of the boat in its constant swaying and the passing grandeur. And what grandeur it was: there we sailed, right between the topmost peaks and crags of the mountains, sheer drops of black granite and great sky fields of untouched snow drifts, where no foot would ever stand, no eye would ever see, except ours.

The magnificent desolation held us spellbound, bewitched by the awful, harsh beauty. I can see how men might strive to be the first to set foot on an unconquered peak, or some unexplored land, but how more extraordinary was this - to see this hidden, unimagined wilderness and to drift past, like a cloud, and leave it behind, still untouched, lonely and pure.

The wind blew up into a high pass between two lofty peaks, leaving us to float down between them into a long, cavernous valley that wound between steep cliffs, the wind now gusting us along, up towards a high plateau, a wide and windswept valley hidden away in the heavens.

And as the wind bore us up towards the valley opening it brought with it an astonishing sound from behind us, the first noise we had heard for some hours, a rhythmic, happy honking.

We all craned round at the noise and there, coming up the valley behind us, was a ragged ‘V’ of geese, gliding up on the wind, calling to each other as they travelled.

I cannot describe to you how welcome the sound of those geese was after the terrible silence of the mountains: a merry, animal sound and it cheered us all immensely.

Most cheered of all was Baronett Oxshott, who began to swing round in his seat to try and get a good look at them. Then he tried to stand, sending the boat swaying and lurching as we all clutched desperately at the sides.

“Come here, you blighters!” He was shouting, “Come closer, where I can get at you!” And he flailed his great fists out at them, and the boat rocked under him.

At a particularly violent swing, the boat jumped and Harry lost his grip, stumbling sideways, half over the edge. I grabbed hold of him, hanging onto him for dear life, trying desperately to pull him back inside.

“For God’s sake, Oxshott!” bellowed Lord Daunt, “You’ll have us all over!”

But Oxshott wasn’t listening. As the geese passed overhead, squawking defiantly at the Baronet, he suddenly snatched his shotgun from under his seat and reared up, swinging the gun up at them.

“Oxshott!” I shouted, seeing what was about to happen, “No!”

But I was too late, the shot rang out, the boat shuddered and with a great bang, a balloon burst.

For a moment the whole world seemed to stand still, and then the boat dropped suddenly, pitching Harry back again into my lap.

“Oxshott!” roared Lord Daunt, and the boat, listing, began to plunge downwards, “Oxshott!”

“Dashed…” Oxshott stood, swaying for a moment, unable to take in what he had done, and then: “Must lighten the load…” And before anyone could do anything, he leapt over the side of the vessel and was gone.

With Oxshott gone our makeshift craft lifted a little, and began to swing sideways. Lord Daunt grabbed the nearest object to him and threw it over the side, trying to keep us in the air. Before any of the rest of could help, however, the boat suddenly pitched up and jolted forward: it had hit the snow! We had reached the plateau!

The sudden movement knocked Lord Daunt off his feet and he went over the side, into a snow drift. The boat lifted again and began to skim across the snow, buoyed up by the balloons. Harry, the Professor and I scrambled to bring in the sail and release the balloons, letting them float up and away into the empty sky as the boat slid to a final, gentle stop.

Harry and I quickly ran back, as fast as we could through the deep drifts, to try and find Lord Daunt. Fortunately he had had a soft landing in the snow and was already trying to retrieve the stove he had thrown overboard as we were dropping.

“What about Oxshott?” I asked.

“Stove’s more important than that lunatic,” snapped back his Lordship, “Although I suppose we could always trying burning him for warmth.”

“But we can’t have been far above the ground when he jumped,” I pointed out, “He may well have survived.”

His Lordship sighed.

“Very well, then, I suppose we ought to go and look, I daresay my daughter would never forgive if I didn’t, although God knows why I should worry about that empty-headed chit’s opinions.”

“Well now, my Lord,” I said began, “I’m not sure…”

“Oh, no reflection on your tutoring, Hope, old chap - you did the best you could: it would take a stubborn man with a strong arm to teach that child anything - someone like Oxshott, I suppose - although I can tell you now, the stable boy has a better chance of marrying my daughter than that bally oaf after today’s performance.”

I must have betrayed my emotions on hearing this statement, because his Lordship continued.

“For goodness’ sake, Hope, my dashed daughter may be too good for the likes of Oxshott, but she’s nowhere near good enough for you: you need a wife with sense and wit, not some preening ninny like Misericordia… Aha! Good Lord - look at this…”

We had come across a deep snow drift with a great hole let into it: a hole exactly the size and shape of a falling Baronet.

“This must be where the idiot landed,” said Lord Daunt, and we peered down into the hole. It was empty.

“The idiot has gone.”

We stood and gazed around at the featureless white of the valley floor where it stetched out to the wall of encircling mountains. Nothing moved. There was no sign of life.

“Quite gone,” continued his Lordship, “Ah, well.” And he turned and began walking back towards the boat, and Harry and I followed him.

Back at the boat we discovered that the Professor had unpacked some of his equipment, including a sextant and a telescope and was now doing a delighted little jig in the snow.

“We’re here!” he shouted to us, “We’re here!”

“We’re where?” demanded Lord Daunt.

“Here! Right where I said we would be!” and the Professor thrust the telescope into his hands, “Look over there, below that mountain in the middle.”

Lord Daunt took the telescope sceptically, but as he gazed through it, I heard him gasp.

“Is that it? Are you sure, Professor?”

“It must be, it matches all the measurements, all the predictions.”

“Then we’ve done it, Hedley, old man, we’ve done it, just as you said we would,” and Lord Daunt shook the Professor warmly by the hand.

“Its too far off to get there today, we’ll have to camp here tonight,” continued his Lordship.

“And then tomorrow…” said the Professor.

“Tomorrow, we shall see,” said his Lordship.

“Can I have a look, Professor?” I asked, burning with curiosity.

“Oh, of course, dear boy, of course, can’t hurt, have a look,” and the Professor handed me the telescope as he and his Lordship stamped off to begind setting up camp.

I scanned the horizon in vain, trying to see what had delighted them so, but it was Harry that found it in the end. Far across the other side of the valley, nestled in under the lowering mountains, was a glow, a light that could only have come from a fire or many lamps and, climbing up from it, up into the darkening night air, was a single, curling strand of smoke.

It could only mean one thing: a house, a settlement! But whose, out here? And why were we going to it? What did it mean?

Well, tomorrow, I suppose, as his Lordship said, we shall see

Yours

In trepidation and mystery

Timothy Hope

PS I do hope you can forgive your father for his harsh words, he was terribly cross with Oxshott, after all.

My Dear Lady Misericordia,

I hope this letter finds you well. Now we have gone beyond the reach of the postal service, I will simply have to imagine how you are getting along.

So, I imagine you sitting in the drawing room, with your Pekinese lap dog Knife curled up at your feet, a blazing fire in the grate and tea being served. You are not, I think, hurtling across the freezing ice behind a pack of yelling dogs with nothing but wind-dried herring to chew on.

I, however, am.

I have to say, I’m afraid, that travel by dog-sled is not nearly as delightful as travel by reindeer sleigh. For one thing, these are not friendly English dogs - but then neither is your dog Knife, who has earned his name by shredding the cuffs of at least three pairs of my trousers.

Also, the weather has changed. For the last day the sky has been overcast, one great expanse of monotone cloud, and I cannot describe the dullness that settles in the heart at this endless, rattling travel over a white ground, under a grey sky towards an ever retreating horizon of black mountains.

Fortunately I have been sharing a sled with Professor Cumulus, who has provided many cheerful hours of rambling conversation on all subjects under the sun. Except one: where we are going and why. Although he has been very complimentary about my contribution to our venture so far and continually drops dark hints that I may be very useful where we are going, he still refuses to be drawn on what, exactly, we are doing here.

I gather, from some of what he says, that he believes that he is on the track of some new fuel or energy source that will revolutionise modern industry, but, when I question him further, however delicately, he simply grins, impishly, and changes the subject.

I simply cannot imagine what he is about: of course there may be untold minerals hidden away in this great icy expanse, but even if we could find them, how one would go about extracting and transporting them in this vast wilderness is beyond my skill.

But that is one mystery that we may soon discover the secret of, as the Professor assures me that we don’t have far to go now.

Which is just as well, considering the ruckus we have had in camp this evening. We had all had a rather pitiful supper around the fire, which did little to keep out the cold of the night, and a night-cap of brandy, which did, and had retreated to our tents to try and sleep. Or, in Baronet Oxshott’s case to complain loudly about the food.

I am sharing a tent with Harry, with whom I have managed to make friends with, again, after our disagreement and our adventure with the kite, and we talked for a little while, speculating on where our journey might be taking us. Eventually we both dropped off to sleep and I dreamt happily of Latin lessons until I suddenly found myself being shaken awake by Harry.

“Mr Hope, there’s something up!” Indeed there was - the camp was alive with shouting and bellowing.

We leapt from our sleeping bags and out into the snow (we all sleep fully clothed here, what with the cold, and Harry even keeps his cap on in bed, I have discovered) and there, in the dying firelight, came upon the most spectacular tableau.

There in the centre of the camp, surrounded by the dogs, all snarling and barking, was Baronet Oxshott, in nothing but his red flannel underclothes and, facing him, a huge Polar Bear!

It was quite the most enormous creature I have ever seen, a great powerful mountain of white fur, that lumbered to and fro round the fire, confused and annoyed by the lights and the noise. Oxshott was holding a frying pan in one hand and there was half cooked bacon on the snow at his feet.

He had obviously been cooking a midnight snack for himself and the smell had attracted the bear!

The great head lunged forward at the bacon and, without thinking, Oxshott punched it squarely on the nose!

Taken completely by surprise the bear reared back, its massive paws, like soup plates with claws on, flailing around, and then it turned and lolloped off into the night.
“Blighter was trying to steal my bacon,” explained Oxshott, gruffly.

“My bacon,” pointed out Lord Daunt, “It was trying to steal the bacon you had stolen from my supplies.”

“Dashed hungry,” mumbled Oxshott

“So was he,” interjected the Professor, “The world’s largest land predator, the Polar Bear - needs a lot of meat, I should imagine.”

“Must be hungry, yes,” said Jim, our Finnish guide, “Never this far south, only when has hungry.”

“Largest, is he?” Oxshott gazed off into the darkness where the bear, “Big head, wasn’t it?”

“Well, if you’ve quite finished larking about, Oxshott,” said Lord Daunt, who was evidently still upset about the bacon, “Perhaps we can all get back to bed, busy day tomorrow.”

“Dashed well will be,” said Oxshott, mysteriously, and dived back into his tent.

Later: When we awoke this morning, all was peaceful. Too peaceful - the dogs had gone. And so had Oxshott.

Jim the Finn told us that he had woken up in the early dawn to discover Oxshott untying all the dogs. Before he had been able to do anything, Oxshott had run off, the dogs running after him in a pack.

“He goes hunting, he said,” Jim shook his head, confused, “But nothing there is to hunt here. Nothing.”

“What’s the bally fool playing at now?” scowled Lord Daunt.

“The polar bear,” said Harry, “He’s gone after the polar bear!”

Indeed he had, but he didn’t get very far. He stumped back into camp when we were still eating breakfast, managing to look both cross and shamefaced all at once.

“Dogs ran away. Lost the scent,” he said, and sat down, sulkily, “Move dashed fast, those bears.”

“Run away?” Lord Daunt was aghast, “What do you mean, run away? You’ve lost the dogs?”

“Don’t think they liked the bear,” said Oxshott.

“Very sensible of them,” said the Professor, fiddling with the little camping stove he was using to fix his porridge.

“This is true, they are not liking the bear, these dogs,” said Jim despondently, “They will run far away. They will not come back.”

“Not come back?” roared Lord Daunt, “You mean this bally idiot has lost the dogs and they won’t be coming back! How are we going to continue our journey now?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the Professor’s camping stove.

“I think, my Lord,” I said, “I might have an idea.”

It was Harry who had the truly clever idea, however. My plan was to use the Professor’s camping stove (and a couple of others we had packed) to create small steam engines - we certainly had enough snow to keep them supplied with steam. We could then use those engines to power the sleds across the snow.

The problem was: how? Wheels were useless on the powdery snow and ski’s would just slide and give us enough grip to push forward. Which was when Harry had his really very ingenious idea.

Harry and I quickly set about building the steam engines, while the rest of the party spent a couple of hours hammering nails through the long leather straps we had been using to secure our supplies onto the sleds, Oxshott complaining bitterly all the while.

Once they were done, though, we could use the straps as tracks, the nails digging into the snow as they whizzed round, driving the sleds along.

We had one slight hiccup, though, when it came to actually joining the tracks to the engines, as we had no drive belts to pass the spinning of the engine to the wheel that turned the tracks. It was here that Harry once more came to the rescue with, strangely enough, a couple of pairs of ladies’ stockings.

He always keeps some around, apparently, because they are extraordinarily useful. We laughed and ribbed him somewhat but he is quite right - he showed me how to use one as a fine filter and also that they made exceptionally strong and elastic bindings. And, most importantly, they made excellent drive belts.

He really is a most inventive and resourceful young man. The Professor has promised us both jobs with him when we return and I look forward to working with Harry immensely.

And so, with our engines fitted, we were soon off, chugging over the great white expanse, our little engines huffing and rattling away as we kept them happily supplied with fresh snow.

The weather was starting to clear and we set out once more under a perfect bright blue sky, sending up our own little white clouds as we went along.

Jim in particular was very taken by my ’snow-steam-train’, as he called it, and whooped and laughed as he shovelled snow, much to the annoyance of Oxshott, who was travelling on his sled.

I am, I must admit, becoming worried about Oxshott. He is hardly a friend of mine, but he seems so sad and bad-tempered that it is hard not to feel a little sorry for him. I’m not sure whether it’s your father’s harsh words that have upset him so much, or the escape of the polar bear.

Given how angry your father is with him, after all, there seems little point in him capturing all these trophies to send home to you - I cannot now believe your father would ever let him marry you, he has disgraced himself so much.

But then, I am not wholly sure that he is collecting all these heads for you. I mean, I am sure he will present them to you (whether you want them or not) but I think he would be collecting them anyway - it has become an obsession with him, a mania.

Tonight, as we were setting up camp, for example, I heard him bark with delight and then shout at me to:

“Stand still, you blighter!”

Before I knew what he was doing, he bounded over and, with a delicacy I wouldn’t have expected from him, flicked something away from my cheek. A mosquito!

Oxshott had flicked it on the proboscis with his nail and stunned the thing. He now bent down and gingerly picked it up from the snow.

“Need a specially small plaque for this little swine,” he said, beaming at me. I assumed he was joking, but he bore the tiny thing away cupped in his hand like it was a precious jewel.

Later, while we were eating supper, he was feverishly at work on something, whittling away at some tiny bit of wood in his lap, barely paying attention to his food (which was something of a relief, I must admit, as our meal times previously had been accompanied by a constant stream of complaint from Oxshott about both the quantity and quality of the food).

Then, after our meal, he gathered us all round the fire and showed us what he had made: a tiny wooden shield lay in the centre of his palm and, in the middle of it, a barely visible speck - the head of mosquito, carefully removed and mounted on the plaque. Beneath in miniscule and careful letters: ‘Mosquito. Arctic Circle.‘

Lord Daunt just clucked his tongue and retreated to his tent, but Harry and I tried to be as encouraging as possible. I don’t think Oxshott was interested in what we thought, though. He remained perfectly happy with his evening’s work and returned to his tent with his little plaque, singing drinking songs under his breath.

We are going to bed ourselves now. The Professor assures us that we only have to cross the mountains to reach our final destination. So near and yet so far!

Yours,

In hope that the polar bear does not come back again

Timothy Hope

PS Jim, our Finn, is to leave us tomorrow - I believe the Professor wants to keep knowledge of our destination as secret as possible. I shall give Jim this letter to bring back with him.

My dear Lady Misericordia,

I hope this letter finds you well. You certainly do seem to be having a jolly time at the tea table with Viscount Fox while we are away. I know that I have not always been approving of your friendship with that young man - but I must say he can be very clever at times.

His remark that you repeat about it being difficult to tell which is the more dangerous wild animal, the shark, the wolf or Baronet Oxshott, is very witty and observant. Tell him well done from me.

Of course you are right that it was very brave and kind of Oxshott to save me from that wolf, but that doesn’t excuse him hanging its mounted head outside of my cabin on the train so that it gave me a shock everytime I went out to the restaurant car.

Anyway, Oxshott has had to pack his heads away now because our train has gone as far as it can and I woke up this morning to discover that we had long ago crossed the Arctic Circle and were already deep into the Finnmark.

But you told me in your last letter that now you didn’t have a tutor any more, you didn’t need any more geography lessons - so perhaps what happened next will interest you more. For there, waiting for us as we disembarked from the train, were drawn up sleighs, genuine reindeer drawn sleighs.

The Professor had, evidentially, made arrangements with a tribe of local Lapplanders, or Sami as I discovered they are properly called. They were to convey us by sleigh to their camp, where they would furnish us with a guide and we would pursue our journey onwards by dog sled.

But, those sleighs! I would try and describe to you just how cunningly and pleasingly they were made, how well they ran, how comfortable and excellently sprung they were, but I suspect that might sound a little too much like a lesson for you. And, anyway, none of that can describe the sheer delight of that journey.

The clear, keen air in your face, the huffing and snorting of the reindeer, their breath steaming out behind them, rime forming on their antlers. The jingling of the tiny bells on their harness ringing in time to the crunch of the snow under the runners. The joyous red and blue clothes of our Sami guides against the limitless and untouched white horizon. The bright, distant sun high, high over head in an endless and perfect blue sky.

It was a journey out of a childhood dream, and quite one of the most wonderful experiences of my life.

There was only one small fly in the ointment. The boy Harry and I shared a sleigh with some of the scientific equipment and we managed to have a completely unneccessary and foolish argument for no reason at all.

We were revelling in the simple joy of our sleigh ride, when I happened to remark that I thought that you, my Lady, would also enjoy it immensely. To my surprise the lad turned suddenly bad tempered and said, rather fiercely, that he suspected that you would probably only “complain about the cold, and the smell of the deer, and the brightness of the sun and a thousand other things and would probably be happier stuck inside some drawing room somewhere playing cards with a load of gossips.”

Well, I can assure you that I reprimanded the fellow in the strongest possible terms, reminding him that it was not his place to speak such of a lady, and anyway that he was quite mistaken. At this he simply pulled his cap down over his eyes (he never seems to take the silly thing off) and fell into a sulk.

Quite an inexplicable outburst and one which left me hurt, for your sake, and rather confused. How the young man could have got such an impression, I cannot guess. I must admit, as must you, my Lady, that you are not unacquainted with the drawing room and the card table, but how he can know anything about it, I don’t know. Besides, who could not enjoy such a pastime as a sleigh ride?

I will admit, however, that I wouldn’t wish what happened next on anyone, and especially not on you.

As we travelled across the snow, I became aware that the once clear horizon was becoming harder to make out. Clouds were massing ahead of us, slate grey and heavy, growing rapidly into a storm front.

As we reached the Sami encampment - a group of tents pitched in the lee of a small wood - the sky had become dark and close, as the storm slid across the sun, casting everything into shadow, and the wind began to whip the tree tops, creaking and slashing them together.

Then the storm broke upon us, a great whirling, whipping snowstorm and in moment the world was nothing but a solid maelstrom of white, and great wall of snowy wind that tore through the encampment with unstoppable fury.

We blundered about in the blizzard, trying to secure everything we had brought with us, not least the reindeer, before stumbling into the tents and collapsing into a exhausted heap while the tempest battered the canvas around us and howled louder than any of us could shout.

There was nothing for it but to wait the storm out, as slowly the thudding of the wind grew less, due to the snow building up round the tent, creating a wall against the fury. We huddled together to keep warm and shared out hot drinks from the flasks we had brought from the train, and dried meat from the Sami, who split everything with us freely and happily.

Eventually the storm passed and we dug ourselves out of the collected snow with picks, shovels and hands. In the wake of the blizzard the whole landscape had been recreated anew, all marks and traces of human traffic vanished, the wood beside us buried under snow. And the reindeer gone.

At first we assumed that they must have taken shelter in the wood, as the Sami were sure that they would not have moved far in the storm, but they were not there, nor were they anywhere to be seen in the empty expanse of the valley around us.

And as the clouds cleared from the sky, the sun once more became dazzling, so that it was hard to make out anything in the distance. What’s more the camp was in a small dip or bowl under the trees, so that we had to climb up through the powdery freshly fallen snow, making each step and arduous haul.

As the Sami spread out in search of their animals, I set about checking the equipment that we had so hastily stowed before the storm and as I secured a tarpaulin that was flapping in the falling wind, an idea came to me.

I pulled the tarpaulin from the sleigh and dug out a quantity of stout, heavy rope and then I went in search of Harry.

I must say this in favour of the lad, no matter what our disagreements of earlier, he agreed to my plan eagerly.

Together we secured the tarpaulin to a rude frame constructed from parts of our packs and then made it fast to the rope. Then Harry tied the rope firmly round his own waist, folding the tarpaulin around him and, with me on the other end of the rope, began to climb the nearest tree.

It was, I must admit, a good thing that Oxshott was nearby and heard my shouting in time, otherwise Harry might have been lost forever to the endless Arctic skies.

The wind was a good deal stronger at the top of the tree than we had supposed and the moment Harry unfurled the tarpaulin, it snapped open wide in the wind and he was hauled upwards on our man-sized kite, up, up into the air.

Caught by surprise as I was trying to secure the rope to a sleigh, I was pulled off my feet by the force, pulled helter skelter along the ground, face first, spluttering out cries for help between mouthfuls of snow.

All of a sudden I was pulled up short against an immoveable object: Oxshott, who had grabbed hold of the rope and was hauling at the giant kite, like a boy in the park.

“Wait, wait,” shouted Harry against the wind, “Don’t pull me down yet, I can see something.”

I scrambled up and tied the rope off around a tree and then returned to the crowd that was now gathering around Oxshott as he tried the control the kite with Harry dangling below it, as it twisted to and fro in the wind.

“Bring him down this instant!” bellowed Lord Daunt, stamping down through the snow.

“Not yet, not yet!” shouted Harry, “Just stop it spinning, I need to get my bearings!”

Oxshott strained every muscle, pulling the kite up into the wind.

“There they are! There they are! I can see the reindeer, away to the east!” and with one hand hold his cap on Harry pointed out over the snow into the blinding distance.

With an answering shout the Sami were off in pursuit and the rest of us leapt upon the rope, all heaving with Oxshott until Harry was safely back on terra firma.

“That was the single most terrifying and exciting thing I have ever done!”

“That,” said Lord Daunt, “Was the single most courageous and idiotic thing I have ever seen. I suppose that was your idea, Hope?”

“It was, sir,” I said, for I must admit I was rather proud of it.

Lord Daunt then proceded to let me know just how idiotic he thought it was and just how little he thought I had to be proud of. I must admit I was glad when the Sami returned with the reindeer and interrupted his tirade as, as far as I could tell, he had every intention of going on all night.

The Sami were, it seemed, still having trouble with one bull reindeer, who was evidently the one who had led the herd off during the storm and was now very determined not to be brought back into camp.

As they approached the tents he broke away from the other animals and, snorting and pawing at the ground, came hurtling at us through the encampment, tossing his great sweeping antlers this way and that.

Without a second’s hesitation, Oxshott stepped into his path and seized him by the antlers, bringing him to a dead stop. For a moment the animal was caught by surprise but then it shook itself and tossed its great head, straining against Oxshott’s grip. With that the Baronet let go with one hand and neatly punched the reindeer on the nose.

The poor creature staggered backwards and, knowing what was likely to happen next now that his blood was up, I rushed forward to grab Oxshott before he could finish it. He shook me off into the snow as if I was barely there, but within moments the Sami had hold of him, hauling him back away from the reindeer and he struggled against them.

“Oxshott, stop playing the bally idiot!” roared Lord Daunt, “We’ve had enough stupidity for one day. You’ve given that poor reindeer a red nose, leave the bally thing alone!”

Reluctantly, and with a fierce look for the both the reindeer and me, Baronet Oxshott shrugged off the Sami and stomped away through the snow.

It was not long after this that our guide, a cheerful and weather-beaten Finn called Jaakko, who insists we call him Jim, at last arrived with the dog sleds that are to be our transport further north. The dogs were a boisterous, noisy pack, full of life and energy, who look more than eager to be ready to start tomorrow morning.

Finally, just as we were packing everything for the night, preparing for an early departure in the morning, Oxshott returned in the company of two of the Sami and in a slightly improved mood. It turned out that the three of them had gone fishing, making a hole in the ice of a nearby lake and dropping their lines through it into the water beneath.

Oxshott had managed to catch a single, small fish, and he proudly removed its head, waggling it at me on the end of his finger like a puppet, explaining how he was going to have to make an extra small plaque to mount it on.

I am growing, much against my instincts, a little worried about Baronet Oxshott.

Anyway, I shall close now, so that I can send this letter back with one of the Sami in the morning. The wind is blowing once more, flapping the skins of the tent back and forth but Oxshott and the Sami are singing songs at each other over the noise. Outside the reindeer are ruminating and the dogs barking and whining to each other and the snow is hissing against the trees and it is all a curious comforting sound - I do believe I am becoming quite the adventurer after all.

Yours,

Your kite-flying and sleigh-riding

Timothy Hope

PS Jim tells me that polar bears have been spotted coming much further south than usual this season. Imagine if we actually see one!

My Dear Lady Misericordia,

I hope this letter finds you well. Its lucky that you have Viscount Fox there with you to make such funny jokes about schools of fish devouring their teachers. I’m not sure that he’s quite as funny as he seems to think he is. I’d like to see him hanging on for dear life over the briney deep while a shark snaps at his feet.

And I’m sure Baronet Oxshott will be delighted that you thought him terribly brave and daring. I will be sure to tell him. At some point. I’m sure I won’t forget.

Anyway, Oxshott is not popular with the rest of us at the moment, ever since we had to leave town in something of a hurry. Fortunately your father was able to use his Parliamentary debating skills and, more importantly, his ducal gold, to persuade the train driver to leave several hours early, otherwise we might have been in serious trouble.

The port we landed in was a small town huddled down by the shore at the end of a valley, surrounded by majestic and awesome mountains, rearing up into forest and snow all around - what the locals call a fjord. It seemed like such a wild place, these few wooden buildings admidst this great and overpowering scenery, but it was a bustling and homely little town, just the place to complete our stocks and prepare for out journey into the north.

Until, that is, the argument about the shark.

As I mentioned in my last letter, the Baronet was determined to preserve the head of the shark he killed so that he could give to you as a present. He said that it was the kind of present that only he could give, and I could only agree with him that no one else was ever likely to give you a a fish head as a gift.

This did not go down well and the Baronet threatened to send you my head instead.

Anyway, Oxshott went on to summon the cook of the inn we were staying in and tried to explain to him with shouting and hand waving what he wanted done with the beast. I offered to help translate, since I have already picked up a smattering of Norwegian, but Oxshott offered to have my tongue in a sandwich, so I left him to it.

The cook, frightened and confused by Oxshott’s yelling and gesturing, gathered the rest of the staff of the inn around him, then passers-by join the crowd, and neighbours started popping out of their doors to see what the commotion was, until almost the whole town came running to join the growing throng.

After much muttered and frantic debate the cook and the Town Mayor apparently came to a decision, bowed to Oxshott and shook his hand, mustered some strong men and carted the enormous dead fish away.

We got on with collecting our provisions and preparing the specially commissioned train which was to take us inland, away to the North.

Finally lunchtime came and the Mayor reappeared, along with a delegation of elders, who ushered us all to a long, low building that could only be the town hall. There we discovered all the townspeople, all sitting down, ready to eat, with a top table set exclusively for us as guests of honour.

We were, of course, touched and delighted by this and took out places. There followed a number of speeches from various people I can only assume were important locals and from members of our group, including his Lordship (your father) and the Professor. Of we couldn’t understand them and they couldn’t understand us, but everyone seemed jolly pleased with themselves and, more importantly, with the prospect of lunch.

At last the cook from the inn came out, once again with the group of strong men who had carried off the shark, but this time carrying a huge cooking pot. The pot was set down in front of our table and, with a proud flourish, the cook lifted the lid.

We all stood up to peer inside, only to see a hearty looking stew, full of vegetables and bubbling away heartily. We raised our hands to applaud the chef, but, as one, we froze in mid clap as, out of the broth, bobbed the boiled and gleaming teeth of the shark.

Dripping pieces of carrot and herb, the head of the fish rose up through the steam, turning a single reproachful eye on us before dropping back out of sight beneath the potatoes.

We stood and stared at the pot with our hands still raised, barely sure of what we had just seen.

Then Oxshott went berserk.

Picking up his chair, he flung at the cook’s head, who only just ducked in time, letting it smash into the table behind him, upsetting plates and cups all over the people sitting there. Then Oxshott heaved at our table, turning it upside down in front of him, scattering knives and forks everywhere. And then he was over it and leaping at the cook with his hands outstreched, a howl on his lips and a murderous gleam in his eye.

Before we knew what was happening, the men who had brought in the cauldron had leapt to the cook’s defence, and then the people hit by the chair and then everyone else, the whole town, their hospitality rejected, their dining room upset and their cook assaulted, descended on Oxshott in one great pile.

Thinking fast, his Lordship grabbed me and together, with Harry’s help, we dragged Oxshott from the mayhem and beat a hasty retreat through an open window and made for the train station as fast as we could.

Oxshott was not to be denied, however, and as the town ran for the exit to follow us, he ran round the rear of the building, in through the kitchen door and grabbed hold of the pot before anyone had spotted him.

While his Lordship persuaded the driver with large amounts of money, we all boarded the train and were treated to the sight of Oxshott staggering up the main street, dragging the great cooking pot behind, the shark’s head swishing about inside, stew slopping around in his wake as the townspeople came swarming up behind him, waving spoons and forks in a threatening manner.

At the last moment he climbed onto the platform, threw the pot into the luggage van and hurled himself on after it as we huffed our way out of the town, the curses and shouts of the outraged townspeople following after us as a goodbye.

Oxshott, still smelling strongly of fish stew, has been confined to the luggage van in disgrace ever since, but he is quite happy in there, cleaning turnips out of his shark’s head and getting it ready for preservation.

The train is now climbing up through the most incredible and dramatic landscape. Great cliffs rear above, barren walls of ruthless stone, all shaggy at the top with pine trees that hang down, darkly, over the precipice.

The valleys and slopes around us are filling up with snow and the sir is getting sharper and colder. It is easier to believe now that we are heading into the far north, into distant, uncharted, unfriendly icy wastes that will challenge all our abilities.

But I must go to supper now and hope that it is not fish.

Later: It was fish, as it always appears to be in this country, but we had hardly had a chance to take a mouthful of it before the train came to a sudden and screeching stop.

We all leapt up, determined to discover what the trouble was and it wasn’t hard to find out. A great snowdrift had come roaring down the mountain in an avalanche and covered the the tracks ahead in deep and uncrossable snow.

We were stuck in this remote pass until we could dig ourselves free, which might take hours, if not days. Oxshott was allowed out of the luggage van and, with the rest of us, handed a shovel. We would all have to start digging.

We quickly fell into a rhythm. Although the work was warm, the snow and the night were immensely cold and I soon found that I needed to warm my feet and hands to keep the dreadful frost at bay. I joined the driver in the cab of the engine and he set about making us a jug of coffee, grabbing a handful of snow and stuffing it into a kettle which he placed on the coals where it quickly started to steam.

I stared at it in wonder. How could I have been so stupid? Stomping about out there in the cold when here was an easy and, more importantly, warm way to get rid of snow?

“Stop, everyone, stop digging!