The Chocolate Mine

When Freya Chocolate and Iona Dale came round to visit Beverley, I overheard something above the happy chatter that piqued my curiosity. I actively began eavesdropping - naughty of me, you may think, but I needed to know whether or not I'd misheard.

"Uncle Spelunker is funny," said Freya.

"How so?" asked Beverley.

"He does funny voices. He uses them to tell funny stories or sing funny songs."

"What sort of voices?"

"High ones, low ones - sometimes he mimics people. Famous people mainly, but he's taken off my dad too."

Iona chuckled. "I'd like to hear that."

Freya nodded, saying, "I can ask him, but he'll be leaving later today. He wants to catch the canal boat so that he can reach his camp before dark."

"Back at the chocolate mine?" asked Beverley. 

"Yes. He's wants to dig out some more wispachoc tomorrow before he's collected by the sea cats."

There it was. I hadn't misheard. Spelunker Chocolate was a chocolate miner.

I'd heard of chocolate mines but I didn't think they were serious things. I'd put them in the same category as lemonade rivers and sherbert snow. With young Freya clearly being serious about her uncle, I thought I should re-evaluate. Maybe Spelunker was teasing his niece. Or maybe... I could go to Frasier's place and check out Freya's funny uncle. Investigate the truth of the tale.

Wow. I was turning into Darcy Fielding.

o 0 O 0 o

Teri was pleased to see me. "Hello, Jackson! You've not been round for months. Social or business?"

"Hi Teri. Yes, I've been remiss in my socialising lately. I've not had a chat with Frasier since the Melting. Is he about?"

"You've timed it well," she said. "Frazy is taking a break with his cousin Spelunker after taking a delivery. You haven't have met Spel, have you?"

"No. Freya mentioned that her uncle was visiting. Are you sure I won't be intruding?"

"Don't be silly, Jackson. Go on through to the back room."

Introductions were made and we settled down to chat. 

Spelunker was a humorous chap and when he told a couple of anecdotes he did adopt the occasional changes of voice pitch to add colour to his tales. I was deciding how best to ask about chocolate mining but there was no need; the conversation moved in that direction. I took the opportunity to declare my ignorance of the subject.

"It is unusual," said Spelunker. "The mine is probably unique, but who knows?"

I smiled. "I find it incredible that one can dig rocks of chocolate out of the ground. I thought it was made from cacao beans. Do the two chocolates taste similar?"

Frasier laughed. "You're under a misapprehension, Jack. They aren't rocks. Tell him, Spel."

Spelunker Chocolate wriggled to get comfortable before commencing his explanation.

"First, you should know that we only became aware of the mine between ten and fifteen years ago. Prior to that we only saw it as a convenient cave for storage."

"We?"

"Ah. I'll explain. The cacao beans were cargo brought by the sea cats' boats. I'd accompany them and we'd unload the sacks. The thing was - timing of our arrival wasn't fully predictable. We couldn't expect the sea cats to hang about for the cargo to be collected. We addressed this by placing the sacks of beans in the cave, safe from the elements. I could then go and get help to continue transportation."

"Makes sense," I said.

"It does. But something happened after one delivery. I wasn't present that time. Reportedly it was as if the beans had started to grow in the sacks. Some sacks split and the beans fell out, adhering to the rocks. It was a bit of a mess. The story goes that cargo collectors came, cleared the mess and retrieved all the beans - as they thought - and completed their job as normal."

Frasier joined in with the tale. "The beans were a little larger than usual but otherwise no different to those from prior deliveries."

"No one thought anything about it," said Spelunker, "until the next time we came to use the cave a few weeks later. It was full of large blocks of chocolate, effectively akin to processed milk chocolate, fused to the floor and walls of the cave. It was as if they had grown there."

I frowned. "Grown there? How?"

"We didn't know back then. We had some makeshift tools and we cut away some of the blocks so that we could take them away for testing. They dislodged from the rock cleanly. That's when we heard it."

"What?"

"A gentle whispering noise. A bit scary at the time, but then we found out the source of the noise. It was where we'd cut away the blocks of chocolate. The rocks were acquiring a thin brown coating. Similar to lichen on rocks, but accumulating much quicker. The coating was chocolate. It was growing back, and in the initial stages it was making the whispering noise."

"That's where the term wispachoc came from," added Frasier.

"That's right. And when it was confirmed that the cave was producing perfectly edible chocolate, we agreed to mine it, managing it properly. It wasn't just the front of the cave either. It extended further back than we usually go. A lot of wispachoc to administer."

I thought I'd better confirm that I wasn't the victim of a prank. I had hardly begun to air my doubts when Frasier preempted me. "It's not a joke, Jack."

"Really? How do you explain it then?"

"We couldn't," said Spelunker. "That's why we brought in an expert."

Frasier nodded at me as Spelunker continued. "He examined the cave thoroughly, poking about here and there, making measurements, taking notes. When he reported back he advised erecting a barrier at the back of the cave. He showed us where best to do that, writing a list of the materials to use

"He explained that there was a deep, narrow well at rear of the cavern, saying that it appeared to be a conduit for wild energies. He suspected that there must have been a particularly large surge for it to reach the cave. Apparently he considered it very unusual for it to do that.

"The barrier, assembled to his instructions, would provide protection if the energies should ever reappear." 

"These wild energies affected the cacao beans?" I asked.

"That was his conclusion. He commented that, in his experience, mountains in Sylvania tend to exhibit more unusual occurrences than flatlands. Mysterious energies are but one part."

I thought of the minerals that the Polaris family used for creating their coolsalt. I thought of Tara finding unusual plants in the snowfield mountain plateaus. I thought of the speed tunnels that began beneath the mountains. And I recalled a recent visit from Felixor from the Mist Cat tribe and his talk of wild energies. The very term Spelunker said this expert had used.

"Are you okay, Jack?" said Frasier, jerking me out of my thoughts.

"Yes. Sorry, Fraze. Chocolate mines, eh? It's an unusual story."

"All true," said Spelunker. "and that's why I periodically visit the chocolate mine to effectively harvest the wispachoc. It will form a substantial cargo that I can load onto the sea cats' ship ready for export. And some goes to cousin Frasier, of course." 

 

"It is impressive," said Frasier. "I went there once and Spel let me dig some chocolate out."

I stared at them, and they laughed.

"I know, Jack," said Frasier. "It's a weird world."

I had to agree. But a chocolate mine was a nice kind of weird!

o 0 O 0 o

A Small Holiday

I guess it started with something Beverley said. She mentioned that Nichole Maces had returned from a holiday by the sea. She didn't have any ulterior motive; there was no hint of envy - not that I would have expected it. She was simply happy that one of her school friends had enjoyed herself. Nevertheless the remark had me wondering. Were we neglecting our children by not taking them away for holiday?

Yes, I know we travelled to one of the calm strips to stay with Coltsfoot Ivory and his family eighteen months ago. At the time, it was a much-needed break, we avoided a few weeks of winter weather and we could spend time with Cecile's cousin. We enjoyed ourselves. It was also the only real holiday my family had ever taken.

Why? Numerous reasons. A big one is our love of Mellowdene. The variety of people, the feeling of community, a climate that is - for most of the time - mellow; all of this keeps us here from choice. Another reason - never really discussed but at the back of our minds - was the financial considerations. I've said before that a career in songwriting isn't known for generating a large income. An inherited home shared with one's brother provides stability, but there's always an aversion to unnecessary extravagance. Holidays fell into that category, especially given our contentment in Mellowdene. But now?

The last couple of years have been kind. Lionel Grand included three of our songs on one of his long-playing records, and as a best seller it's still generating income. He's recently released another record - accompanied by Roxy Renard - and that contains two more of our songs. Discussions with the baritone Corbert Mulligan has resulted in a commission to write six (yes, six - a wonderful surprise) songs for him. The toothpaste jingle we wrote is continually being used in a series of television advertisements. All this is in addition to the Sylvan River musical. It is not only earning money for us - it has raised our profile and we're getting enquiries for further work.

With this in mind, a holiday could no longer be considered a financial burden. I mentioned it to Cecile.

o 0 O 0 o

"A holiday?" she said, adding with a teasing grin, "but how would that be any different for you, my love?"

I blew her a kiss. "It's nice to be appreciated, bunny cheeks, but I'm serious. Don't you think we deserve some time away?"

 

Cecile wrinkled her nose. "It would have to be special if we stayed any length of time. I do like my own bed and the freedom of being at home. Were you thinking of that museum of music in South Sylvania?"

"I was thinking more about the children. Don't you think the they would like to go on holiday?"

"Brendan would be happy wherever his mind is. And you know Beverley likes to visit her friends. A long stay anywhere might not be the best news for her. Where's this come from? Aren't you happy here?"

 

"Of course I am, Cess. I simply thought it might be nice for the children to generate some good memories in a different place."

Walking towards the kitchen table she seemed to consider. "Is this because Beverley mentioned Nichole's holiday last night?"

 

"That's what got me thinking, yes."

"Well, did your thinking suggest any particular destination?"

"Nothing concrete. That's why I wanted to discuss it with you."

"But you've had some ideas, I can tell."

"You seemed to be interested when Doris Seabreeze was telling you about where they lived on the coast. Her parents still live there, don't they?"

"Mister and Mrs Columbus? Yes," said Cecile, "but no. It might have been nice spending time with Doris when she lived there, but now she and Lawrence live here."

"Oh. Scrap that, then."

"What else?"

"We've got some contacts in Purrchester. And you know I don't just mean the Purrchester Shantymen connection from my songwriting. We mustn't forget the families who tried to help us when Rowan went missing and we went looking. You still keep in touch, don't you?"

"I write, yes, and I'd not forgotten their kindness. I suppose it would be nice to see them. It's a long way to travel though. Is there anywhere closer to home?"

"Well, Horatio regularly goes to Possum Creek in the Marita May. That would sort out the logistics for traveling. We could go there, rent a place and spend days at the beach."

"A few days at a beach might be nice. A week might be a bit long, though. Would it be worth renting a place for less than that?"

 

This was proving more difficult than I thought. I decided to concentrate on the positive.

"You fancy a beach holiday, then?" 

"For two or three days, maybe. But... I know!"

The sudden change in attitude startled me. "What?"

"North Beach! It's not too far."

I wasn't sure about that. According to the Umberhounds, they had come ashore towards the western end of North Beach (*see Arrival - The Umberhounds) and walking to Mellowdene - circumnavigating the end of the mountains - had taken them over six hours. Granted, they won't have been rushing, but we'd need to consider practicalities.  

"But there's nowhere to stay, and it's a long way on foot," I said, aware that the conversation had flipped so that I was the one airing objections. 

"Not if I have a word with Rowan."

I was no wiser.

o 0 O 0 o

All soon became clear. For years, Rowan had traveled around Sylvania with his family, living in their campervan. It was his pride and joy, and despite it having had minimal use since he'd returned to Mellowdene, he'd ensured that it was well maintained. At first, Cecile had worried that this was so that her brother could use the campervan to disappear again, but she soon realised her fears were unwarranted. Now, it was the perfect vehicle - no pun intended - to solve our travel and accommodation requirements.

o 0 O 0 o

It wasn't a long journey to North Beach in a vehicle. Once we had crossed the river bridge, the road would lead us around the last foothills of the mountain range and towards a notable flat rock area known as Gorse Flats. Whilst we would leave the road here, it would continue to wend its long journey along the coast. The road would eventually pass a junction where one could travel inland to Sweet Berry Valley or continue further along the coast to Arcfield and beyond.

Route to North Beach (map based upon Sylvanako's map of Sylvania, with thanks)

The Flats were safe to drive upon, although a little attention was required to avoid gorse bushes and to wind through beds of stonecrop and other native rock plants scattered here and there. Where Gorse Flats ended there were natural paths leading down to a series of small sandy coves. These were the westmost extent of the area we knew as North Beach. To be pedantic, North Beach ran north eastwards, but it wasn't up to me to rename local geographical features. What mattered was that we would reach our final destination. We would park the campervan a safe distance from the edge of Gorse Flats, and using this as our base, we could choose our own tiny private beach.

That was the plan. When we arrived, it appeared that having a beach to ourselves might not be possible. Others had preceded us. There was an private hire bus (empty except for the driver, Stan Bearbury), Gordon Doughty's hamburger wagon, and Dolly Dale with her candy floss tricycle.

 

"We don't need a private beach, Jack," said Cecile.

I shrugged. "It would have been nice, but I can't disagree."

"I wonder who else is here?" said Beverley, looking round. 

 

She pointed towards the hamburger wagon at a uniformed figure in conversation with Gordon. "I can see Mrs Bearbury. She'll know who came on the bus."

 

Brendan gazed towards the Hamburger Wagon and his eyes drifted to other activities nearby.

 

His head snapped back to look at us."It might be a secret," he said. "The passengers might be on a mission."

Beverley looked away trying to stifle a laugh. Brendan noticed but didn't seem offended.

"You may laugh," said Brendan, "but it's our duty to find out. We could question Miss Dale. But we'd need an excuse to go over."

Beverley understood instantly, as did Cecile and I. Our daughter grinned. "Perhaps we could pretend to be her customers."

"No," said Brendan, shaking his head. "Pretending's no good. We'd need to be realistic to maintain our covers."

 

Such inventiveness deserved reward. "Perhaps we could buy you candy flosses," I suggested. A redundant suggestion if ever there was one.

"Great idea, dad," smiled Brendan. He looked down. "And obviously Russell agrees."

o 0 O 0 o

 

As the children devoured their candy flosses, Dolly Dale informed us that she couldn't name all the bus passengers, but she did notice that the bus had been full.

 

 "Did you see if they left any of the beaches empty?" I said, not expecting an affirmative reply.

"I can't be certain," said Dolly, "but there is a secluded beach that most people miss. Do you see that large boulder behind that group of gorse bushes?" She pointed. "Go around the boulder and there's a small path that leads down towards the sea."

 

"That's good of you to tell us," said Cecile.

Dolly nodded towards Beverley. "My niece Iona is friends with your daughter. She'd want me to tell you."

Brendan's voice tentatively interupted. "Dad?"

 

We turned and saw why. Brendan didn't need to explain, but he did.

"Russell's having flossy problems."

o 0 O 0 o

The beach was lovely. It was small, and the u-shaped enclosure extended into the sea, providing a private bathing area.

 

We placed some towels and set up appropriate shade, then settled to enjoy the gentle sun, watching the sea birds skimming the surface of the ocean. Our first summer holiday.

The first couple of hours was glorious and I suspect I dozed through at least a quarter of that. Cecile nudged me awake.

"Wake up dozy," she smiled. "Brendan says he has a question."

I blinked and gave him my attention. "What is it, son?"

 

"Hi dad. I was thinking about my story about Michael..."

"The sea serpent one?"

"Yes. It was because I was looking out to sea and it got me wondering. Could there be any serpents out there?"

"Shouldn't think so. Did you want to go for a swim? I'll come down and watch you if you do."

"Right..." 

He seemed unsure, but he is half Ivory. Sometimes I could see a smattering of his uncle Rowan in him, and there was a noticeable growth in his tendency to play jokes. Inoffensive amusing ones, granted. Was he setting me up? I thought I'd play along.

"Come on, chum - what's troubling you?"

"I thought I saw something in the sea."

"Oh," I said, surreptitiously winking at Cecile. "Then maybe Michael has escaped the underground river network."

Beverley giggled.

Brendan shook his head. "No dad, I made Michael up, remember? I'm not joking, I promise. I really did think I saw something in the sea a few minutes ago." 

We all looked, but I didn’t expect to see anything. But then there was movement beneath the gentle waves. Something was approaching the surface.

 

Cecile took hold of the children. "Do you see it, Jack?"

And then they emerged...

 

o 0 O 0 o

We weren't the first to settle on this particular section of beach. A family had arrived earlier in the morning. The Neptune sea otter family had been enjoying a lengthy swim. 

 

As they left the water, Narissa smiled and pointed towards us. Caspian waved.

"Hello, Cecile, Jackson, all of you. I hope we didn't startle you."

 

I rubbed Brendan's ears. "This one thought you might be sea serpents," I remarked but - although he gave me a sidelong glance - my boy said nothing. 

Young Shelley ambled forward, tiny Sandy by her side. "Maybe we are. What do you think, Sandy?"

Sandy made a subdued roaring noise.

This clearly intrigued Russell as he stared at young Sandy for a few seconds. And then he attempted to echo the sound.

 

Everyone laughed. The Neptunes settled down next to us and we chatted a long while. 

 

Eventually, Caspian suggested we get something to eat from the Hamburger Wagon. As we weren't day trippers, Cecile had brought some food in the camper van to tide us over whilst we were away from home. Of course that didn't prevent us treating ourselves from other culinary establishments. We were on holiday after all.

Yes, I know it wasn't an extravagant summer holiday, but that's not us. We had nice weather. Decent food. A comfortable dwelling. With the unexpected addition of the Neptunes we had enjoyable company and conversation. A little controlled silliness from the children. Good memories for the family.

What more could we ask?

 

Well, Beverley had a suggestion. "You do realise we didn't ask Dolly Dale about the passengers' secret mission? Maybe after we've finished at the wagon we could see her again." 

"Pretend to be customers?" I said, perfectly straight faced.

 

Brendan started to open his mouth but I winked at him. A wide smile was his response.

The Neptunes were totally confused with this talk of secret missions, so Cecile took it upon herself to explain. Sort of.

"There are rumours that some of the bus passengers are not here to simply enjoy the sea and sun. It may be that they are searching for a sea serpent called Michael."

Confirmation that it's fun to be daft, sometimes.

o 0 O 0 o