Page 9 of The Bedlam Stacks

‘Oh, did they, good,’ I said. ‘And you two think you’ll get through it all if you go at the pace of someone with only one working leg?’

‘Proper organisation, that’s all that’s required,’ Clem said firmly. ‘You don’t mind a few mad Indians, do you?’

‘It’s more the two of you I’m worried about.’

‘Kind but unnecessary,’ he said, waving his hand. ‘Anyway, you make it sound like we haven’t the foggiest where to look. But we’ve got a pretty good idea of where the things are. It’s round here.’

He was circling a point right on the edge of the map with his knuckle.

When I touched it too, my fingertip, rough from digging and seeds, scratched against the paper. I clenched my hand, then motioned between us. ‘We would stand out, in the interior highlands of Peru. If the monopoly is what you say then they’re watching for white men.’

‘We say we’re mapmakers. And we will be. The India Office has asked for an accurate map of the region as well as the plants. If we have to take any planty-type equipment, we’re also collecting rare types of . . . something that grows in the same conditions at the same altitude?’ he finished hopefully.

‘Coffee,’ I provided. ‘But I doubt anyone would believe that.’

‘Well, that brings me to what I wanted to ask you. Your father lived round there for a while, didn’t he?’

‘An Indian mission village called New Bethlehem. It’s about here.’ I touched the map just by the Bolivian border. ‘My grandfather was collecting quinine for one of the early runs but he was caught and he had to hide for a while. They took him in. Dad went back for other things, orchids mostly. And some coffee, actually. Frost-resistant stuff up there. He used to live there four or five months of the year.’ I hesitated. ‘But we’d have to ask around for it, once we were over the Andes. Neither of them ever put it on a map. Dad said there are things that shouldn’t go on maps. He got cross when I tried to make him tell me once. It’s the only time he ever snapped at me that I remember.’

‘Oh dear, how useful.’

‘Oh, well.’ I had to wave my hand to encompass all the things about Dad that hadn’t been very useful. He had been made mostly of fly-fishing techniques and Peruvian stories, and since he wasn’t a capacious person to begin with, there hadn’t been much leftover room for cartography or finance. Getting annoyed about it was like blaming a butterfly for not being able to spin a web.

‘Did he ever say why?’

‘No.’ I tried to think about it. At the time I’d taken it at face value. ‘But he was born there. I think he was trying to protect the Indians. Or something.’

‘Well, that’s not an ignoble thing. We do have a habit of barging in and stealing all their cocoa. Do you suppose anyone there would still remember him?’ Clem said. ‘Anyone willing to help us?’

‘Should do. But I wouldn’t be confident of getting a letter out there,’ I said, looking up.

‘No need,’ he said. ‘We can sort out a guide and details when we arrive; in fact it’s better that way. No paper trail, no letters, no evidence. We’ll cross the Andes, find someone who can take us to the village, then we’ll be roughly in the right place and if they recognise you they might just help. They don’t know anyone else from Adam and we’re going to need native help if we’re going to find these wretched trees.’

‘I’m not him. Even if the same people are there, I don’t speak Quechua—’

‘I do. Listen, I don’t want you just for that. The idea is this. The guide and I will go up to the cinchona woods and bring back seeds or cuttings or whatever, and then you’ll look after them from there on in. If the path is decent you could even come up to the woods with us.’ He lifted his eyebrows at me, because I’d started to shake my head while he was still talking. ‘I’d be a lot more confident about the specimens if I knew you’d chosen them. I suspect you know how to look after them?’

‘I could make an educated guess,’ I said, hedgingly.

‘Good. So what do you think? Don’t think about the leg. That isn’t a reason not to do anything.’

‘Well, it is.’

‘I’m logistics. Let me worry about that,’ he said over me. ‘Merrick, the India Office put you at the top of the list. It isn’t only me who wants you to do this. They haven’t forgotten about you.’

‘I’m sure they haven’t. But I really can’t walk. Perhaps it will be a bit better in good company doing something useful, but not much.’

‘Can you ride?’

‘Yes—’

‘Good then. Em, I want your brain and your family connections. If you keep those in good order, I’ll worry about getting the rest of you there. Don’t think I imagine you’ll spring up like a lamb, I know you won’t, but the difficulty of getting you over there is paltry in comparison to the value of your presence – do you understand?’

‘Do you mean it?’

‘No, I’m lying, and so is the India Office, which of course is well known for its sentimental approach to all things.’

I looked between him and Minna and wanted to insist that it was a terrible idea. In the best of all possible worlds, Clem was going to realise it was a mistake and I’d have to stay like a fifth wheel in Arequipa or Azangaro to wait for him while he crossed the Andes, and in the worst, there was going to come a moment when we would have to run from someone with a gun and I wouldn’t be able to.