Wild Moose Chase (11 page)

 

The Whisker Club

The wide crack opened up in front of the twins, deafening them with the sound of imploding rocks. There was nowhere to go. They desperately looked from left to right when a loud thumping noise came from high above them. They looked up to see Mr Zola dangling from a rope attached to a large military helicopter. He swung in and caught hold of Bert, who grabbed Cam just as the ground beneath them disappeared into a black hole. The twins clung to each other, the wind twirling them around as they were slowly winched aboard.

*

They sat panting on the helicopter floor. Cam began coughing and couldn't stop. A young man dressed in an RAF uniform patted her on the back and wrapped them both up in a silver blanket. He handed them mugs of steaming tea.

“You'll be OK,” he said to Cam. “You've just breathed in a bit of dust. Drink plenty and don't worry about coughing. It's just your body getting rid of all that dirt.”

“Thank you, Flight Lieutenant,” said Mr Zola, accepting a mug from him.

The young man nodded and took a seat next to the pilot at the front of the helicopter. Mr Zola inspected the twins over his tea.

“That was a close shave,” he said. “How was it down there?”

“It was horrible,” spluttered Cam. “Full of cockroaches.”

Mr Zola pulled a face and covered his moustache with both hands.

“Thank goodness Monty wasn't there,” he said in a loud whisper. “He has a thing about bugs, especially … hair lice.”

“Cockroaches are about a hundred times bigger than lice,” said Bert, “and a lot smellier.”

“Too much information,” gasped Mr Zola. “Let's move on. Did you get the salt?”

“The salt?” repeated Cam. “Yes, but more importantly we got away with our lives … thanks to Bert.”

She smiled at her brother. “Good job,” she said. “Maybe you're not such a yak brain.”

“Don't thank him, thank me,” said Mr Zola. “I'm the one who got you out of there. Our pilot today is Captain Mouthbrow-Smythe, an old friend from my RAF Whisker Club days. All members swear an oath to help fellow comrades in need. He and his fine nose fringe will be flying us back to Cheddar Gorge.”

The pilot turned around and smiled at the twins, his thick black moustache twitching proudly.

They grinned back.

“We're going home,” coughed Cam. “Back to Cheddar Gorge, back to Whey Farm, back to…” She stopped coughing and looked anxiously at Bert.

“…Gramps,” he finished. “He's going to be furious.”

Mr Zola looked from one twin to the other. “Why will he be furious? You said your grandfather sent you on this mission. I ticked the parental consent box and you gave me a letter.”

Cam turned bright red. She hoped Mr Zola didn't notice under all the dust she was still caked in.

“When I said he sent us,” she muttered, “what I meant was … he
didn't
send us. I wrote that note.”

Mr Zola's white skin grew visibly paler beneath the black swirls of Monty. “But if your grandfather hasn't given his consent, then you'll be disqualified. We won't be able to make the moose cheese and I'll be in trouble with the Queen. You have deceived me!”

Bert bit his lip. “Once Gramps sees that we've got all the ingredients,” he said, “I'm sure he'll give his consent.”

“Especially if
the Royal Cheesemaker asks him,” added Cam. “He's a sucker for anything royal.”

Mr Zola seemed to calm down slightly. Bert thought he could actually see his brain ticking over.

“I can be very persuasive when I want to be,” Mr Zola said, eventually. “OK, I will sort out this mess when we arrive in Cheddar Gorge. I assume there's a dairy at your farm?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Cam.

“We're running out of time,” said Mr Zola.
“The State Banquet is the day after tomorrow. So, if we can make the moose cheese on your farm when we get back, then let it mature overnight in the caves at Cheddar Gorge, it will be ready just in time. Let's hope your grandfather forgives you when he sees you're going to win the competition.”

“That's if Primula Mold doesn't get there first,” said Bert.

Mr Zola checked his Cheesemaker-Locator. “This helicopter flies at two hundred and seventy-five miles per hour,” he said. “We should be passing her in precisely twenty-three minutes.”

Cam threw off her blanket and began dancing around the helicopter, completely forgetting about her cough.

“I can't believe we've done it,” she said. “We've beaten everyone. We're going to win.”

“Lord Curd,” sighed Bert. “I think I should present the moose cheese to the Queen. After all, I got two out of the three ingredients.”

Cam stopped dancing. “So?” she snapped. “I won the rennet, which was the hardest ingredient to get.”

“What? Harder than getting salt from a collapsing mine?” cried Bert. “Which
I
had to rescue you from!”

“The only reason you had to rescue me was because
you
made the whole thing come crashing down. And besides,
I
saved you when you nearly fell off the Trans-Siberian train.”

Mr Zola sighed and unravelled the curling stems of his new bushy moustache. They were very long when they were straightened out and he managed to stuff both ends into his ears.

“I saved you, no
I
saved
you,
” he mimicked. “I was hoping that working together would put a stop to all this bickering. Actually, Monty and I saved both of you from being swallowed up by the ground and sometimes we wonder why. Don't we, Monty?”

“I suppose that's because we just happen to have some Siberian moose milk, Mongolian rennet and Kazakh salt!” said Cam.

“Sorry, can't hear you properly,” muttered Mr Zola, reaching for a flask and pouring out three bowls of hot tomato soup. “No more arguing. Eat up your soup. By the time we've had some supper and a decent night's sleep, we'll be home.”

The twins forgot their argument and tucked in. They hadn't eaten since that morning and they were very hungry. As the helicopter flew across Western Asia and on over Europe, Bert imagined what it would be like to be Lord Curd. First of all, he would ban Primula Mold from coming anywhere near their farm. Fungus could visit, though. Then he might build an animal sanctuary. They could have all sorts of animals – cows, goats, cats, dogs. Gramps would like that.

Cam was thinking about winning too. She would expand the farm. Maybe bring some yaks over from Mongolia. Attila could help them. Yak cheese was delicious. It was bound to sell well. Gramps would be so proud.

They were going to win. Nothing could go wrong now.

 

Making a Moose Cheese

(One day to go…)

Bert rubbed his eyes. He was still dusty from the previous day. He sat listening to the buzz of the helicopter blades. Mr Zola was talking into his red phone.

“Yes, ma'am … the two children from Cheddar Gorge … they are the new leaders… The moose cheese should be ready in plenty of time. It only needs twelve hours to mature… I will, ma'am… Thank you, ma'am…”

Bert peered out of the window. A valley of green spread out beneath them.

“Cam!” he cried. “Look, we're home. We're home!”

Cam opened her eyes and sat up, yawning loudly. “Are we here already?” she mumbled as the flight lieutenant came into the cabin.

“Captain Mouthbrow-Smythe would like to inform you that we will be landing in Cheddar Gorge in approximately three minutes,” he said.

“Thank you, Flight Lieutenant,” said Mr Zola.

Cam jumped up and looked out. “I can see the gorge!”

Cheddar Gorge looked even more impressive from the air. The enormous cleft split the green hills into two jagged halves. The limestone cliffs were surrounded on three sides by a glorious lush quilt of rolling fields and woodland with the village of Cheddar snuggled into the west side.

“There's the reservoir,” cried Bert, pointing to a completely round lake glinting like a huge penny. “And there's our farm, right on top of the gorge. I can see the cows. Hello, cows! I've missed you!”

The cattle moved hurriedly away as the helicopter came in to land on a field beside Whey Farm. It began to rain. Mr Zola and the twins jumped out, covering their ears as the wind from the revolving blades whisked up the raindrops. Cam and Bert waved to Captain Mouthbrow-Smythe and the flight lieutenant, who were sitting in the cockpit. The flight lieutenant saluted and Captain Mouthbrow-Smythe twiddled his fine moustache as the great machine rose back up into the sky. Mr Zola stood to attention and twiddled back. When the helicopter was out of sight, they began to make their way over to the farmhouse.

“I'm really looking forward to seeing Gramps again,” said Cam. “But I'm dreading it too.”

“I think I had better talk to him first,” said Mr Zola. “You take the ingredients over to the dairy while I explain to your grandfather what has happened and get his permission. I'll smooth everything over. I might be some time, though, so you had better get started. Break up the rock salt. It must be ground into a fine powder. But don't do anything else. I shall heat the milk and add the rennet when I return. It's a delicate procedure and if you do it wrong then the whole cheese will be ruined. Do I make myself clear?”

They both nodded. Mr Zola strode off through the rain in the direction of the farmhouse. The twins ran over to the large outbuilding that was their dairy.

“I hope Gramps isn't too mad,” said Cam, pulling open the huge door.

“I know,” sighed Bert. “I can almost hear his pocket change jingling from here.”

 

The dairy had been converted from an old barn and still had the high vaulted ceiling and big wooden beams. They walked through the cattle stalls. Each one had a trough full of hay at the front and a milking stool and bucket behind. Gramps still preferred to milk the cows by hand and refused to invest in the latest milking machines. A large kitchen lay through a door at the far end. A wooden table took up most of the room, with a green range cooker filling the back wall. Various cheeses hung from the beams, tied up tightly in white muslin.

“Ah, it's good to be home,” said Bert, sniffing the air. “Right, let's get going.”

He took the rock crystal out of his pocket and handed it to Cam. It was still muddy and dusty. She held it under the tap at the deep sink. As the dirt slid away, a shaft of light pierced through the window and bounced off the gleaming crystal, lighting up the whole room.

“Wow!” she cried. “It's beautiful! It's like a diamond. No wonder it's so valuable.”

“Yeah,” sniffed Bert, squinting against the brightness. “Bash it up, then.”

Cam sighed and dried the salt crystal.

“It seems such a shame,” she said, placing it gently on the table. “I can see a rainbow inside it.”

“Yeah, rainbow,” said Bert, bringing a huge rolling pin smashing down on top of it.

CRASH!

Fragments of salt flew across the table as the crystal splintered into hundreds of pieces.

“Bert!” cried Cam. “You're such a gorilla!”

He gave the remaining piece of salt another big bash.

“We haven't got time for all this
ooh isn't it beautiful
rubbish,” he said. “Once we've added the milk and rennet, we have to let the curds separate from the whey and then we've got to mature it overnight. I bet Primula Mold is nearly home. She could still beat us.”

Cam marched past him to the range. “You do the salt then,” she muttered, getting a steel pan down from the wall. “I'll get everything else ready.”

 

An hour passed. Bert had finished breaking up the salt and was scraping every last grain off the table into a bowl. Cam anxiously fiddled with a large wooden spoon.

“Where are they?” she said.

“I bet Gramps is still furious,” replied Bert. “He's going to take a lot of persuading. I'll go and see what's going on.”

But just as he reached the door, Mr Zola came bursting through. He was very wet and his jacket was torn. Monty was a tangled mess and drooped sadly down his chin.

“What's happened?” cried Bert. “Where's Gramps?”

“Don't worry, everything is fine,” panted Mr Zola. “We finally have your grandfather's consent, so can continue making the moose cheese.”

“Where is he?” asked Cam. “Was he angry?”

“Yes he was,” said Mr Zola. “But when he found out that you were en route to winning the competition he soon changed his mind. He even took me down to the caves of Cheddar Gorge to show me a good place to mature the moose cheese overnight. That's why I'm in such a state. All this rain has made everything very wet and I slipped whilst trying to climb back up, ripped my clothes and terrified poor Monty. Your grandfather is still down there arranging some of his own cave-aged cheddars. He said to meet him there when the moose cheese is finished. How's the salt looking?”

He walked over to the table and ran his fingers through the ground salt.

“Doesn't Gramps want to come and help make it?” asked Bert, his face falling.

“No,” replied Mr Zola. “He said he would leave it to me because I know how Her Majesty likes it. Now let's get going. We haven't got much time. That salt is perfect, well done. We'll need seven cups of milk to make a good-sized cheese. Have we got that much?”

“Just,” said Cam, measuring it out into the steel pan.

“Next, heat the moose milk very gradually to sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. It must be precise. The production of moose cheese is an exact science. Any hotter, any colder, and it will be ruined. Do you understand?”

“Of course I do,” said Cam, stirring it gently with the wooden spoon. “I know how to make cheese. I was Junior Cheddar Champion, remember?”

“Runner-up!” corrected Bert, grabbing a thermometer.

“Moose cheese has to be perfect,” said Mr Zola. “There's no room for mistakes.”

Cam continued stirring while Bert checked the temperature.

“OK,” he said after a couple of minutes, “we're up to temp in five, four, three, two, one!”

“Right, add the salt,” barked Mr Zola. “Three level teaspoons. Make sure they're level! Keep stirring! Not too fast! Not too slow! Don't stop!”

Cam glanced up at Mr Zola as she stirred the milk. His face was flushed and Monty was fluttering so rapidly, there was a slight breeze.

“Now, for the rennet,” cried Mr Zola. “I'll do this bit.”

A bead of sweat trickled from his forehead and fell on to the stove, narrowly missing the moose-cheese mix.

“If you two could just leave me alone for a moment,” he said, grabbing the wooden spoon from Cam. “I need to concentrate.”

“But you haven't got any rennet,” said Cam. “I have.”

Mr Zola stopped stirring for a moment and stared at her.

“Yes … yes, of course you have,” he said. “Well, hand it over.”

Cam reached into her inside pocket and gave him the small ceramic pot.

“Off you go, then,” he said, slipping it into his own pocket.

The twins hesitated at the door.

“But I want to help you add the rennet,” said Bert.

“It's just a brown liquid,” replied Mr Zola. “Nothing that you haven't seen before. Go on, you're putting me off already. Remember, this cheese has to be made to the Queen's exact taste and she's very fussy about her rennet. I'll call you when I'm done.”

Cam and Bert wandered out of the kitchen, shutting the door behind them.

“Strange,” said Cam. “He couldn't get rid of us quick enough.”

She grabbed hold of Bert's arm, making him jump in the air.

“Bert!” she cried. “What if he's planning to steal our cheese?”