The Riddle of the Frozen Phantom

“That’s funny!” he mumbled. “I thought I heard someone calling for help.”

But his room was full of peaceful, yellow sunshine, and he could hear the distant voices of his children drifting in from the lawn. As he lay there blinking and mumbling, the telephone beside his bed let out a shrill cry Bonniface jumped as if he had been stabbed, then grabbed the receiver. He usually began the day by yawning and stretching – something he was good at – but this morning, with the ghostly word “Help!” still echoing in his head, he felt too sharp – too adventurous – for even a single yawn.

“Bonniface Sapwood!” he announced down the phone, almost expecting to hear someone shouting for help at the other end. But there was no shouting.

“Is it really you, Bonniface,” said an oily voice. “The great Bonniface? The Antarctic explorer who almost discovered the long lost Riddle some years ago?”

“Who is this?” demanded Bonniface crossly. “I was just working out an important dream and you’ve interrupted me.”

“Never mind who I am,” said the voice. “I am a secret admirer. That should be enough for you.”

It was almost enough. Bonniface relaxed and smiled, pleased to think he had a secret admirer. The voice went on.

“I thought you should know that Corona Wottley (that other famous Antarctic explorer) decided (about twenty minutes ago) to visit the Antarctic once more.”

“She is probably going to do more penguin research,” said Bonniface. “She is very sound on penguins.”

“I was just talking to her on the phone, and she is already packing her thermal underwear. She was boasting a little bit, I’m sorry to say – boasting that she would be the one to discover the lost Riddle!” said the oily voice.

Bonniface jumped as if he had been stung.

“How can she?” he cried. “I’m the one with the map – well, not a map, exactly. But I’m the one with ideas. I’m the one who nearly found it last time. And only five minutes ago I decided to set out and search for it all over again.”

“Five minutes ago?” asked the oily voice. It chuckled. Somehow that chuckle had a very dark sound about it. “Five minutes is already a long time ago when it comes to an Antarctic race.”

“Corona Wottley won’t find The Riddle!” shouted Bonniface. “She’s only a junior explorer. I should know, because I’m the one who gave her her first exploring lessons. Anyhow, as it happens, I’m leaving for the Antarctic myself. I know it’s nearly Christmas, but I’ve been at home for four Christmases now, and besides, my children have Daffodil, our housekeeper, to look after them, so they’ll be OK for a little while. And think how proud of me they’ll be when I come home in triumph. It’ll be a wonderful present for them.”

He slammed the phone down and leaped to his feet, so excited that just for a moment he found himself dancing on the spot.

“Tonight will be too late!” he muttered to himself, looking at his watch. “I must go immediately!” he cried. “Or even sooner! No one must find the lost Riddle but me.”

CHAPTER 6 On the Trampoline (#ulink_117b2b67-9ac2-5105-8a13-4a12e38526c7)

Up and down… up and down… the three Sapwood children were out on the big blue trampoline, all enjoying a bit of early-morning bouncing while the early-morning blackbirds sang They were having fun. As usual, Edward and Sophie were trying to outbounce one another. Edward zoomed up, turning a somersault as he did so and feeling like a spaceman on a low-gravity planet. It seemed like practice for space travel and Edward longed to be a space traveller. In fact he was writing a science fiction novel just to go on with, and felt that bouncing on the trampoline was good practice for science fiction as well as space travel.

As Edward zoomed up, Sophie was zapping down. Boing! She hit the trampoline. Up she went, high into the air while Edward zapped down. It was all zap-and-zoom, zap-and-zoom with Sophie and Edward. Meanwhile, to one side of the big blue trampoline, Hotspur did a few little-kid-bum-bounces. He was a beautiful child – everyone said so – with black curls and long black lashes fringing big, blue eyes, but he was slightly strange as well. He was four years old, but had never said a word that anyone could understand. Mind you, he had plenty to say, but he sang and squawked and quacked and crowed and cawed and cooed and clucked and cackled. The trees close to the trampoline were crowded with sparrows and blackbirds all listening intently to Hotspur whistling and chirping as he did his bum-bounces.

Higher! Higher! Higher! went Edward. Higher! went Sophie! Higher, and then higher still! It felt wonderful.

“I’m going into orbit!” cried Edward, turning his usual somersault at the top of his bounce, then diving down again. He was longing to take notes for his science fiction adventure book, but it is hard to take notes when you are actually bouncing. It would be too easy to stick a pen in your eye.

“I can see Daffodil cooking breakfast!” Sophie sang, shooting up past him.

“I almost looked in at Dad’s bedroom window that time,” Edward boasted a moment later.

“And I am looking through Dad’s bedroom window,” Sophie shouted another moment later. “He’s on the phone.”

They kept on shouting cheerfully to one another as they zapped and zoomed.

“He’s just slammed the phone down…” cried Edward.

“…looking excited…” screamed Sophie

“…rushing to the wardrobe…” (Edward)

“…dragging out his explorer clothes…” (Sophie)

“…his explorer clothes and his brown suitcase,” Edward exclaimed. “Wow!”

“Oh-oh!” Sophie and Edward groaned in chorus as they accidentally bounced on top of one another. “This means trouble.” But it wasn’t their collision they were groaning about.

Off to one side, Hotspur whistled in apprehension and every bird in every nearby tree joined in too.

CHAPTER 7 Mukluk Kissing (#ulink_27a63b69-60ef-56ed-a345-8dcf99d115d9)

Bonniface was packing quickly. Explorers are good packers. Quickly, quickly he packed seven pairs of underpants, one pair for each day of the week. Quickly quickly he pulled on his favourite red thermal underwear, then lovingly folded his second-best blue thermal underwear and pushed it in beside his underpants. He packed his long johns (top and bottom), his second-best long johns, his woollen shirts (one red, one blue and one green) and his best explorer’s padded waistcoat made of polypropylene.

“I’ll be cosy, I’ll be clean, in my polypropylene,” he sang as he folded this splendid garment. On top of his waistcoat, he packed woollen outer socks, vapour-barrier liner socks and a pair of thin polar-fleeced socks to go inside the other two. He packed sweaters, a fleecy inner jacket, an outer survival jacket, three balaclavas and a neck gaiter (which covered the part of his neck where his collar left off and his balaclava began). He also packed inner gloves, outer windproof mitts, sunglasses and snow goggles.

“But what about my feet?” he cried aloud, and began a feverish search, tossing there sandals and sneakers left and right in his desperation. “Where are my fleecy salopettes? Where, oh where, are my mukluks?”

Shoes flew out behind him in all directions.

“Aha!” he cried in rapture a there moment later. “Mukluks! My mukluks! Marvellous!”

Soaring up from the trampoline and looking through the window yet again, Sophie saw her father hugging two tall, tough, hard-and-heavy laced-up, bright blue boots, especially made for walking in snow. She saw him plant smacking kisses on either shiny toe.

“Dad’s kissing his mukluks,” she cried as she plunged back to the trampoline.

“Uh-oh!” cried Edward, shooting up to see for himself. “Mukluk kissing means trouble. Not just ordinary trouble either. Mukluk kissing means real trouble.”

Little Hotspur gave the cry of a particularly worried thrush.

But then all three children fell down and began rolling around on the trampoline, giggling their heads off. Something exciting was about to happen and, naturally, they loved excitement.

CHAPTER 8 Two Different Careers (#ulink_83bc2884-8c10-562c-970a-bb5861fa8426)

Bonniface Sapwood grabbed his passport, some spare money and his notebook, along with various lists and maps which he then packed safely. He unlocked the safe in the corner of his room and took out a covered green folder filled with maps and pages covered with scribbles and question marks.

“Ready to go!” he cried happily and danced downstairs.

Sophie and Edward were trying to tell little Hotspur what was going on. It was hard to know if he could understand them, but they told him just the same.

“Dad’s packed his terminal underwear!” cried Sophie.

“Thermal, not terminal,” Edward said. “Get it right!”

“Terminal means the end of something, and it might be the end of Dad,” argued Sophie. “It nearly was, last time.”