Clara Poole and the Long Way Round by Taylor Tyng

Author:Taylor Tyng [Tyng, Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2023-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A PLACE WITH NO PEOPLE

CLARA CLUTCHED HER COAT as she huddled low in the balloon’s snow-caked basket. She was sure WOOBA would send help when Amelia failed to return. But after what felt like hours of waiting and listening for helicopters, her hope had frozen like the rest of her. Maybe it was too risky now for anyone to fly—if it hadn’t been all along. As far as she could tell, the weather had only gotten worse since their crash.

Clara jerked her collar high over her nose and looked at the ice cube shapes across from her, her focus moving from Gildersleeve to Bob to Mayhem, and then—

“W-W-Where’s Houdini?”

Gildersleeve’s eyes lifted. “He’s right over—”

Suddenly, the old pilot was up and stumbling around the basket, flipping broken panels of wicker and upended crates. She called out for the little monkey over and over—“Houdini! Houdini!”—but only the wind called back. “Bob, Mayhem.” Her voice was strained. “We have to find him.”

Without another word, the trio clambered from the listing basket and disappeared into the snowfield, hollering and barking for their lost friend. Clara closed her eyes and listened to their voices blend with the wind, until all she could hear was the envelope tugging against the snow-locked Amelia.

I should go below deck, she told herself. It will be warmer there.

But before she could move, something stirred behind a pile of crates heaped on the far side of the deck. It sounded like crinkling followed by a small pop, and then the distinct sound of crunching.

“Bob? Is that you?”

The noise stopped abruptly, then started after a few moments.

“Seriously, Bob? I hope you’re n-n-not doing what I th-think you are?”

Suddenly, the top crate shot off the side of the basket, vanishing with a thunk. Clara rushed to the edge as fast as her frozen bones would allow, only to see the shape of something hairy disappear into the swirling storm.

“It’s your f-f-funeral, Bob! You know what Ms. G-G-Gildersleeve will do to you if she c-c-catches you eating her p-p-potato chips again!”

“Who are you talking to, child?”

Clara spun to see Gildersleeve climbing into the basket behind her, followed a moment later by Mayhem, Bob, and finally Houdini. They slumped slack-jawed, gasping for breath, frosty-white like a family of snowmen.

“He was in the snowfield…with this,” panted Gildersleeve, holding up a red cloth labeled #3.

“He f-found the th-third flag!” cried Clara.

The old woman nodded and coughed. “I’ll give him this…he’s one competitive monkey.”

“But w-wait,” Clara said, pointing back in the other direction. “If you were all in the s-s-snowfield over there, then wh-who was just h-h-here?”

“What are you talking about, child?”

“Whoever it w-was that took that c-c-crate?”

Gildersleeve stiffened, then staggered to the side of the basket. “Someone took a crate? Where? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I th-thought it was B-Bob. There was all this c-c-crunching and then one of the crates just z-zipped off the—”

“Quick,” said the old woman. “Bob, Mayhem, open a few bags of potato chips and scatter them around Amelia.”

She worked urgently, popping the lids off crates and tossing bags to the monkey.

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