A sweltering day, but at least we have plenty of flying on the timetable. I took my Sand Flea up in formation with Prudence’s dorm and we practiced aerobatics with mixed aircraft – far harder than it sounds. A great surprise was when our formation became truly mixed, as one of the Italian Caproni floatplanes came up to join the fun! This is hardly in the regulations, but what Maria says about her countryfolk seems to be perfectly true, especially for fighter pilots. It made a fascinating formation: a home-built Flea, four factory-built Tiger Moths and an experimental Schneider Racer. Actually the biplanes were far more manoeuvrable at a hundred knots, as the Caproni has about three tonnes of engine and gearbox in the nose and wings no bigger than it has to. After five minutes the pilot waved, closed his cockpit and opened the throttle – leaving us wallowing behind like a pack of overweight dachshunds at a greyhound race.

One of the locals was up as well, in that very odd-looking Gee-Bee floatplane. Unlike the very slender Caproni, this one subscribes to the ideal of “take the biggest possible engine and try and hide the smallest possible aircraft behind it.” I know which one I would rather fly; Maria would be gratified.

We had to be back for our gate guard chores, which I am on three nights a week now; there are ways our Tutors use to express disapproval without docking marks from us. This includes feeding and watering the guard dogs, whose large and fierce presence adds a certain seriousness to the wires and fences. One of the reasons why we are not allowed visitors in the compound is to make it obvious to them who do not belong; we are told earlier years had tried smuggling friends in, but they did not get far undetected. There is a new local cook starting this week, who has been duly sniffed and recognised.

I took over from Jasbir, who had a fairly quiet shift apart from one oddity. She mentions a canine lady in Euro costume who had been talking to the guard dogs at the far end of the compound; of course we are aware of the dangers of our defenders being slipped drugged meat and the like, and went to investigate.

It was very curious – the stranger was very keen on the guard dogs’ health, asked if they had plenty of water in this heat, and when they had last been checked by the Eastern Island vet. Anyone would think there was some truth in that horror story of Beryl’s about their pedigree! There is obviously a perfectly simple and innocent explanation, somewhere.

(Later) Just when I thought we had enough to do, another plain postcard with an island view and five-cowry stamp was waiting for me in the post racks. Mr. Sapohatan evidently has his paws full in tourist season, and would like to see us. When I went to tell Miss Devinski, she looked rather sourly at me and reminded me that second-years have exams too, which we are quite capable of failing if we do not study for it. Still, given the choice between a blind-flying navigation test and doing some good for the local law and order, the navigation test can get lost!

Helen is still walking around looking extremely happy; she is not the type to show off but wears her Tailfast ring everywhere except in the shower, where she hides it in her shoe. She has definitely taken the Wild Priest’s cautions to heart, and anyone trying to take it off her would regret it very briefly. Not that anyone would, except for pranksters such as Beryl (who has been severely warned.)

Beryl hardly seems to take anything seriously except money, and even that she says is just a way of keeping score. As to religion, she treats it with definite amusement and would put on a nun’s costume if someone told her that was the way to get the church silver. She does mark her books and things now with an odd bow-tie sort of symbol – I think it might be a rune, and must ask Greta about it as she is our only Scandinavian.

Then – she does have some odd details of knowledge that one would hardly suspect; it rather puts one in mind of a rather inverted Sherlock Hound. I am sure she could publish a monograph on the various kinds of window and door catch if she felt like spreading her knowledge of opening them. Even in classics, she quoted her old Saint T’s badminton team Latin motto; I translated it as “Never excessive violence.” A very suitable motto, and surprising in its own right for that place – until she corrected my translation. Instead of “never” the first word actually comes out as “no such thing as.” And that is just the badminton, not Saint T’s Ladies’ rugby squad.
 

Friday 26th June, 1936

Definitely a day of interesting news – this morning I received a letter all the way from Switzerland, from Mabel who is finishing her finishing school next month. It seems to have done its job well for her; she writes that she is engaged to a younger son of a major banking family, and invites me to the wedding in England! I will have to disappoint her on that, I fear. In fact I would probably disappoint her in other ways, as she writes rather gushingly about it being such a pity there can be nobody for me in “those far islands” as she calls them.

Well, I really doubt she would be quite happy with my prospects here – hopefully a mix of high adventure and domestic life in a palm-thatched longhouse. Still, she has what she wants, and no doubt the finishing school has groomed her to be a polished society girl who can be received at all the highest places in the land (and I do not mean on top of the Alps.) She would be horrified at the idea of me “muckying my ticket” as Prudence would say, with a Native whose pedigree is only known on the island. One hears it whispered as one of the classic “fates worse than death” for a girl of good family to end up somewhere beyond civilisation and hope of rescue, sleeping on the floor of a mud or thatched hut. Rather worse from Mabel’s point of view that I would actually choose it over a respectable match back Home.

I had little time to think about it this morning, as we had quite a treat considering we were first-year herding. Our Tutors are always keen that we keep up with world events, and we get to see all the newsreels. This morning they arranged with one of the Casino Island cinemas, with the first two years of Songmark getting an exclusive showing of the opening of the Olympics! Actually it happened last week, but film editing and travel from Berlin takes time. It was broadcast live across Germany by the new super-iconoscope system that they are keen on – which sadly does not have much range. Newsreels are better at condensing the important bits into a compact performance – I can hardly see people sitting down all evening to watch a super-iconoscope broadcast.

It was a very impressive piece of filming, with the Olympic torch carried from the airport to the stadium by a silver-grey wolf who hardly seemed to even get out of breath. We saw the nations lining the processional way – I looked but could not spot the Spontoon team, who are in a joint effort with Rain Island.

I must say, some folk seem to have planned this in advance. The games were opened by their Chancellor, looking very striking in an utterly plain suit that is cut like a uniform without markings. He seems to have kept his interest in antiques up, as he still held that old spear as if he was going to enter himself for the javelin contest. In fact, on Erica’s last postcard he was dressed up as if for a fancy-dress party, in a shining suit of absolutely mirror-bright armour, less like an actual mediaeval suit from the museum than an ideal of what it should look like. Our politicians are awfully dowdy in comparison, spend not a farthing on film presentations, and look more like the board-room of a jam factory.

All in all it was quite spectacular, and bodes well for a memorable Olympics. Just think, six teams of our own Spontoonies are there, including the bobsled team. Even in July there is enough packed snow on the North wall of the Gross Glockner to build a suitably dangerous bobsled run; personally I would not get onboard one of those without a parachute.

The general newsreel was full of the Spanish war, which looks as if it will not be over in a hurry. There was one item from Home, only a minute or so (which shows folks’ priorities over here) of our Royal Wedding, with our dear King Edward the Eighth ennobling his American bride. I had seen the controversy in the newspapers, with some folk saying he would have to abdicate the throne to marry a divorced lady. But our Archbishop Crowley saved the day again, as he put his foot down most firmly on the rest of the Church – he was a marvellous mountaineer in his younger days and has not thrown away his crampons.

As we left the cinema, I could see the posters going up for the Barx Brothers’ “Parrot Hooves” which they must have really hurried into finishing off, after shooting some scenes here. I would love to see that one, and catch up with the latest antics of Blotto Barx. Unlike some film stars he can walk around the streets without being mobbed by any but the most observant fans; his trademark black snout stripe is not actually his own fur but put on with wash-out dye before every filming session! I can certainly appreciate that idea – looking at my reflection in the big plate-glass window, I imagined my alternative pattern looking back at me. One does not wear a party dress to strip down engines, but to enjoy oneself in – and a half-Siamese feline could use some fresh air.

There was no more time to wool-gather, as Miss Cardroy told me and Helen to head out to the Rainbow Bridge on an errand for her – we have seen the signs before, and were not amazed to meet Mr. Sapohatan on the bridge. There was a shoal of iridescent “Jacob’s Coat fish” under the bridge leaping and hunting for fragments of food he was tossing them from a paper bag like any other tourist.

Helen whispered that a lot of secret agents ended up feeding the fishes. Not the way I would have put it, but I know what she means.

Mr. Sapohatan looks as if he is getting a lot of work and not much sleep; I expect the tourist season is awfully busy for his line of work, with the ease anyone can slip onto the islands as part of a tour boat. Even the registered shipping lines straight from Hawaii and America often have folk who come aboard at the last minute, and as long as they can buy a ticket some ships ask no other questions.

He was unfailingly polite as ever, and enquired if we would be interested in another little job. I could sense Helen gritting her teeth, so volunteered us both on the spot. He began by explaining that although Spontoon had a good record for law and order, a lot of the neighbouring islands had more trouble with raiders. It is all too easy for a heavily armed crew to simply land one dark night and “hold up” a village, running off with the valuables, sometimes including the choicest inhabitants. There is a village in the Mare’s Nest Shoals that was attacked last week, and nobody has found where eight of the inhabitants were taken. Not something that was in the newspaper! Of course the relevant folk know, and are decidedly taking steps, but if there are any headlines they will be in the native language editions where the tourists will not see.

I know why Miss Devinski was happy to let me carry my Webley-Fosbury last weekend, even armed with the rather illegal ammunition. I think she knew no harm was going to befall Haio Beach while I was alive to do anything about it. Mr. Sapohatan mentioned that some but not all of the raids were on occasions when the islands were partly empty – in the Mare’s Nest crime, it was when most of the villagers had left to attend a wedding on a nearby island and returned to find a definitely robbed nest.

What this means, is there must be some local contact who can pass the information in advance. I asked if the wedding had been announced in the native edition of the “Daily Elele”, but of course he had already considered that and there was no mention. He did mention this is the first time the islands have had the problem since Molly was captured in the Papeete Flu outbreak a year and a half ago. There are hard decisions to make as to where to use the official police force, and they have to give top priority to protecting the tourists and visitors. I can imagine the effect of one unsolved crime hitting the headlines just when folk are deciding where to go for next year’s holidays; although the tourists may be loud and messy geese at times, they definitely provide the golden eggs around here. Depending on holiday fashions is a chancy business, and there are many decayed resorts around the world that simply went out of style.

Helen enquired what we would be wanted for, as the islands have a perfectly good militia and they are hardly likely to be short of volunteers for this sort of job. In fact, the islands are full of folk as well qualified as we are, with more local knowledge besides. I would be surprised to learn that I was really the only defender of Haio Beach last weekend, even though there was nobody else visible to a prospective thief or kidnapper.

Exactly what we are needed for is likely to be decided nearer the time, we were told – as soon as folk get any hard information they will be able to plan traps for the raiders. I doubt we will exactly be the tethered goats of a rogue tiger hunt, but something risky will probably come our way. At least, we are warned, and if Miss Devinski gets us out of bed at four in the morning for a “surprise drill” we will not be amazed. Nothing our Tutors do amazes us any more. These days, rather than complaining I have learned to count my blessings, and if we are shaken awake at four in the morning, I can at least be grateful that it was not three a.m.

Anyway, we promised to do our best whenever he calls – at which he smiled and bade us good day.

Although it is exactly the kind of good deed anyone would be proud of, Helen says she has her doubts about this one. She points out that the only real advantage we have over other folk he might call on is that we are not islanders – but how that will help here is rather hard to see right now. If someone is acting as a spotter for opportunities to raid the remoter islands, it will have to be someone who is familiar with them (like us) and who travels quite a lot (like us.) I cannot imagine any native doing such a thing, unless one counts being from Krupmark as “native.”

When Molly was kidnapped, they caught the crew of that yacht but there was no mention of it or any sort of public trial in the newspapers I never saw the ship again, though I looked hard and expected the usual things such as renaming and repainting. Helen says, and I have to agree, that if Mr. Sapohatan handles this through the Police it becomes a matter of public record, and word gets out. I should imagine anyone caught in this will not get a public trial or punishment either.

(Later) We took Molly and Maria into our confidence on this, as it is hardly a Spontoon secret except to the tourists, some of whom we wish really would vanish. After spending their holiday money, of course. Maria is of course doing Journalism and Reporting, and is getting very good at putting facts together. She quite rightly worked out what was heading our way, in terms of the Parsifal voyage and Lars’ pursuers, and promises to put her talents onto this one for us. Her first thought was that such an enterprise would need a lot of mobility and good communications; one can hardly dash in on three hours notice on a freighter that takes a day to get between islands. So we are looking for aircraft, flying boats in particular.

All well and good, but this is Spontoon. There are nearly as many flying boats and floatplanes in these islands as cars, if one counts the ones passing through in a year. Molly agrees that the Police will probably not be the ones to catch the raiders and we will probably not see any trials in public. She mentions having heard of some fellow Chicago dwellers not being allowed to surrender, as they were puritans. At least that was how I interpreted it at first, folk who frown on other people enjoying themselves – until Helen explained what “thrill killers” actually means.
 

Saturday 27th June, 1936

Quite an island celebration today; we woke to hear the headlines of the Daily Elele being shouted by young newshounds outside – the Spontoon team have gained a bronze medal in the hundred metre freestyle swimming. Definitely an encouragement, and no doubt folk on Main Island will be celebrating tonight. Molly grumbled that it is a pity she has no shares in the Nootnops factory, as they are liable to sell a lot this weekend. Any good publicity that puts Spontoon on the map is something for the tourist board and hotels to celebrate.

Breakfast on Saturdays was far quieter than usual as a dozen copies of the paper were divided up and passed around to be eagerly read. Hannah Meier and Ada were looking extremely pleased; Ada tapped a paper and commented that one medal presentation would probably not get into the newsreels if the local Berlin camera teams were the only ones filming. New South Zion has won gold in the long-jump event – even though the athlete was a kangaroo breed aboriginal rather than a recent colonist, Ada says the local authorities would rather pull put their own finger-claws than present that medal.

Whatever Ada says about their Chancellor, he does seem to be a great believer in reviving good old folk traditions. There is a picture of him presenting prizes to some junior teams dressed in country costumes crowned with wreathes of ivy and flowers, with a great stone altar and the kind of distinctive maypoles one sees in Goatswood in the background. Our Archbishop Crowley would approve.

The first-years had a rather lively debate on the Chancellor being conspicuously nice in public with Tatiana pointing out that most leaders do; whatever folk say about him, Ioseph Starling is a family man as well. Liberty gave rather a nasty chuckle and agreed, rather surprisingly supporting her I thought by adding that even the dreaded Comrade Bearia is well-known for liking cubs. For some reason, though she hardly denied that Tatiana did not appreciate it.

Our dance classes were fine as ever – except for some tourists who were getting rather rowdy and over-friendly. From their point of view, we are part of the scenery and local charm they have paid for – as some of their comments suggested. It takes great strength of will to keep smiling, and unlike the native Spontoonies, we are not bound by “the customer is always right” where rich tourists are concerned.

Molly and Maria were definitely heading towards breaking point, and I had to calm them down; although we are not Spontoonies we do live here, and I doubt our Tutors would be too impressed at us using the self-defence skills they patiently taught us, to leave paying island visitors looking like “three cans of pet food spattered on the sidewalk” as Molly muttered under her breath.

Still, the dance instructors managed to clear the area by roping off that side of the beach and calling for five shells’ entrance fee for a “special dance exhibition”. There was no such event, but none of the unwelcome guests hung around long enough to find out.

Having some shells to spend and a free afternoon for once, we managed to see the Barx Brothers! All five of us (Beryl was tagging along to watch the male dancers) almost laughed our snouts off at the film, especially Dipso Barx impersonating the evil hypnotist. Beryl claims the father of one of her school chums is a fully qualified Evil Hypnotist, instantly recognisable in his union-approved uniform of black opera cloak and top hat, and taught his daughter all he knew. I would not of course believe her, except that Beryl complained the talent was really not as useful as the films claim, and that nobody could be made to do anything against their nature. I suppose she means that she could be made to try and rob a bank, disregarding her usual caution, as that is something she would like to do (if she could get away with.) But the same command would definitely shatter on my front armour. For some reason, the whole idea made me feel most peculiar.

Beryl is full of plans for the Summer, and says she has invited out some more old school friends to help. If the Casino staff are wise they will renew last year’s ban on letting her in the place, which may be why she needs to send for suitable colleagues. I think the Authorities will have their paws full; when she did the same last year it took a week to track the last of them down. Saint T’s is not such a bad start for a Songmark career, in some respects – she certainly learned a few things a regular public school (wisely) leaves off the timetable. Independence, self-reliance and a definite toughness are very necessary for an Adventuress; it is just a pity I cannot persuade her to use her powers for better projects.

Miss Devinski has already asked us to start making plans for our careers, as by now it seems likely we will get through our course; until now that has been our only concern. Beryl’s notion is to form something like Songmark but with a rather different slant on things – she says it would have made her late Great-Uncle Moriarty proud, though she does not follow all his principles (as she has often said to Molly, she thinks organised crime stifles creativity.) Needless to say, our dear Tutors are not encouraging her. We have had one dorm of Air Pirates already, which is quite enough for Songmark’s reputation.

(Later) it was quite a shocking sight to see our third-years returning from their final big expedition – I would hardly have believed it possible that anyone in their state of fitness could take such a pounding in peacetime. They definitely looked as if they had just been relieved from a month in the trenches. And this was just from one week in Alaska! Their priorities were straight into the showers, grab a bowl of food and straight to bed, some of them hardly able to walk. It is a frightening prospect for the rest of us, and more so for the first-years. Every year in Songmark thinks they are as fit as it is absolutely possible to be, until they start the exercises for their next year and discover their error.

As Helen points out, whatever career they end up in, they are not going to have to learn how to work hard when they start their first paying job. They already have.

Miss Blande was seen to hand over her charges with great relief, then head down towards Mahanish’s having arranged with Jasbir’s dorm to be picked up later, whether she had passed out through fatigue or otherwise - in the circumstances she was not even going to check if the sun was over the yardarm or not. One gets the impression it has been a stressful trip.

I always thought that was a rather odd naval phrase. I can see the sense in it, except that it rather matters what time of year and what latitude one is in, let alone the design of the masts. In Northern European waters, the sun would hardly be over the yardarm till February, and starting from Xmas one could get quite thirsty!
 

Sunday 28th June, 1936

A whole day on South Island, much to our delight – Helen and I donned our grass skirts and went to help out at the beach with Jirry and his relatives. The tourist season is really in full swing now, and everyone is prowling around with cameras hoping to spot a secret Native ritual. Actually that is something the South Islanders provide them, by having a dance floor just fifty yards into the jungle and carefully removing traces of previous tourist trails having “found” it. We all joined in one of the hula dances with Violobe and her friends, trying to ignore the clicking of cameras from the undergrowth as we vigorously threw ourselves into the “Dance of the Sunburned Tourist”.

This may be how Beryl sees the world, an endless supply of potential mischief. It is a rather complex sort of trick, pretending not to know that relays of tourists are trying hard and unsuccessfully to sneak silently through the trees to watch us – but they have no idea the dance is a rather blunt parody of them. A few quite gave themselves away, forgetting to turn off the magnesium flashes on their cameras, but we managed to contain our laughter except in the Hula language. Everyone wants to have something special the rest of the folk on the tour-boat missed out on; hopefully they will not compare notes till they are on the way home.

Jirry joined in for the last few dances with some of his other guide friends, and as we rested afterwards mentioned they had made quite a pile of shells being “reluctantly persuaded” to lead several folk on secret paths towards the jungle drums to watch the forbidden rituals. Still, everyone goes away happy, which is rather the idea of a holiday resort. We were definitely not observed a mile further in, when we joined Helen and Marti at the waterfall pool for a most pleasant half hour before lunch. Any tourist trailing us would have been diverted to the Waha’nua quicksand patch, which is sometimes used to make the point when someone insists the guides are making it all up about the hazards of the island. It is three feet deep at most and floored with solid rock but folk floundering in it are not to know; anyone heading into that will be staying there until rescued.

Mrs. Hoele’toemi was her usual cheerful self, and fussed good-naturedly about how skinny Helen and I have become this year. Actually we really are trained down like a pair of racehorses – the Songmark regime does that to its students. It is definitely not due to want of good food (nutritious at any rate, in the case of Poi. It will be something to watch the expressions on the snouts of our new first-years when they are introduced to it in September.)

Saimmi dropped in, and mentioned the Althing has approved our expedition to Cranium Island next month, to the extent of providing a flying-boat for transport. Of course, we are only going as a private exploring party, not an expeditionary force with drums beating and flags flying. Not that the locals really do much of that. We will be going with her and a small group, Saimmi being the senior priestess young and fit enough for what she warns may be a difficult and dangerous trip.

It took some persuading for us to get Molly and Maria invited on this one. Maria thinks of the local religion as “folklore” and does not object to anything we do in it – being so grounded in her own faith that the idea of alternatives hardly occurs to her. Molly should enjoy being allowed to carry my T-Gew rifle, at least for the first half mile – although nobody has said much about the island being full of monsters and escaped experiments, nobody has exactly denied it either. The fact that Saimmi is letting us go armed says a lot.

Our training for this trip has already started, in that Saimmi is teaching us various rituals that she says will act as spiritual defences against the fragment we are looking for. It is surprising how well Helen is getting on with this, considering she was never one for church-going before.

Although Saimmi confesses she does not know exactly what the fragment is, it cannot be too large as it was loaded into a canoe and sailed to Cranium Island. Making it safe will be another matter entirely, even after all these centuries. The three pieces were separated in as many ways as possible, being buried “one in water, one in earth and one in fire.” The Spontoon one is at the bottom of Sacred Lake but which site corresponds to the Cranium Island piece, is no longer known. Exactly how one buries anything in fire is a tricky idea, unless you throw it into a volcano – and there are no active ones in the area. Still, five hundred years ago things may have been different. Of all the islands on the local maps, Cranium and Dioon are the least explored and apart from aerial photographs are not exactly mapped; Songmark’s own archives should have something about them, as they did us well on the Mildendo Island trip.

(Later) It seems we are not the only ones with a religious mission around here. We returned to Songmark to find Maria full of praise for a new visitor, a Father Dominicus who arrived direct from Rome yesterday. It looks as if folk are not going to let the South Island chapel be evacuated without a fight!  I recall on Albert Island there was an abandoned mission the Sturdey boys were digging up. That was abolished along with the whole valley by an “Act of God” when the earthquake sunk it – nothing less seems to be acceptable for closing a church down.
 

next