‘This cursed car!
‘Now, now. There’s to be no swearing in this car,’ Bryony said, smirking at the look on Lewis’s face. The engine churned again before the two cylinders kicked in. The engine trembled, screeched then whizzed and popped at idle.
‘Just when I think I’ve got it, I forget where the gears are. Okay, come on, you little furry pain, let’s get going.’
‘It’s quite minimalist in here, isn’t it?’
‘That’s one word to describe it. I can think of a few others that aren’t suitable for prime-time viewing,’ he added as the Citroën lurched around the car park.
‘The seats are comfortable though. They’re really wide and softly sprung. I’m slumped in mine like it’s an overused sofa.’
‘They have to be large and comfy to soak up all the bumps and bounces. Aha! I’m sorted now. I’m going to drive this tin shed like it’s never been driven before. Are you sure you don’t want to have a go at driving?’
‘I’ll drive if you don’t fancy it but I am probably the best person to read the files and sort out the clues. I can speed read – it’s one of the skills I picked up while studying at university. I’ll be able to get through the information quickly.’
Lewis pursed his lips and let out a slow whistle. ‘Brains, looks and can speed read. I’m impressed. Of course, I’ve driven around Silverstone Grand Prix circuit so clearly, I’m more suited to driving.’
‘Did you really?’
‘I took an Aston Martin around the circuit on one of those track days where lots of petrol-heads turn up wanting to screech around the track like racing drivers. You could almost taste the testosterone in the briefing room before we went out onto the circuit. I managed about three laps in ten seconds. At least, that’s what it felt like. It was probably ten minutes. I was terrified. I think I drove the last lap with my eyes shut! Which pretty much accounts for why I was so good at yesterday’s challenge. Can you read out the first clue again? I’m ready to tackle the road.’
‘Locate the flying flea then search for the elephant to discover your first clue.’
‘Wasn’t the flying flea some sort of aeroplane?’ asked Lewis, furrowing his brow.
‘Known as “pou du ciel” in French,’ replied Bryony. ‘They were home-made aircraft built in the 1930s, I believe.’
Lewis shook his head and laughed. ‘You never fail to astound me. How do you know all this stuff?’
‘Too much time spent with my nose in a book. Although, you can never have too much time reading,’ she answered. ‘I’m not sure where I picked up that particular piece of information. Dad enjoys watching documentaries on television, especially those about history.’ For a second an image of her father filled her head.
Bryony relegated the memory to the back of her mind. ‘I expect it was something I learnt from one of those. He was invariably glued to one documentary or another,’ she added absently as she chewed her lip. The pair worked through the file and bandied about ideas until finally Bryony tapped her head with her forefinger.
‘Got it!’ she exclaimed, eyes alight with excitement. ‘It’s mentioned in these notes. “Les Machines de l’île built within the once-decaying shipyards of the Isle of Nantes.” I bet we’ll discover a flying flea there along with a few other strange creatures. Come on, chauffeur, let’s go!’ she shouted waving her notes.
‘Go to the top of the class, Bryony,’ Lewis replied, and pressing the accelerator pedal to the floor, they exited the car park towards Nantes.
Thanks to some excellent signage, Lewis and Bryony had no difficulty in finding the old shipping area which had become a tourist hotspot. No sooner had they exited the car than they found themselves trailed by a cameraman, one of a group of three, who’d been waiting for their arrival. They followed the queue of visitors into the world of Les Machines de l’île, towards a carousel unlike any other Bryony had witnessed.
Lewis read out the leaflet picked up at the ticket office. ‘My goodness, this place is incredible!’ he declared, his nose buried in the leaflet. ‘It’s full of mechanical marvels. Aha! Here it is. It’s as we suspected. Get this,’ he continued, ‘“Pay attention when you enter the Galerie des Machines for an enormous heron will swoop over your heads. Dodge the giant ant scurrying past you – and try not to scratch and squirm at the sight of a giant flea,”’ he read. ‘“The wind tunnel flight simulator used to test all the amazing flying machines is unique in the world. You can watch as a machinist takes the control of a flying flea, straps on a seat belt, helmet and goggles, and flies at speeds of more than one hundred kilometres an hour.” This is both amazing and weird. It’s like Avatar meets Disneyland.’
Bryony was no longer listening. She stopped in her tracks and reached for Lewis’s arm. ‘There!’ she gasped. Emerging from the vast old steel and glass warehouses of the island’s past, eyes blinking in the daylight, trunk spraying water and packed with amazed joyriders, was a gigantic mechanical elephant.
The elephant raised its enormous trunk and trumpeted. Parents and children stood agog as the lumbering beast advanced, placing each enormous mechanical foot deliberately on the ground. Bystanders as small as beetles in comparison to the huge creature snapped away at it with cameras and phones.
Some thirty or so passengers seated the equivalent of four storeys high under a canopy on the elephant’s back were taking in the view of the former shipyards from their lofty position while others stood either side of the animal, where a saddle might fit, and observed the ogling crowds or the gears being operated by a machinist.
‘That’s where we’ll find our next clue,’ she shouted and tugged at Lewis’s arm. They approached the behemoth with caution as it ambled towards the carousel where it stopped, trumpeting loudly. The tourists began to disembark and headed towards the carousel while others waited to fill their places. The crowds filled with excitable children and parents eager to entertain them clustered around the beast.
Lewis threw up his hands. ‘What now?’
‘Climb on board and see if there’s a clue hidden up there,’ suggested Bryony.
‘I’m game for that. This is the coolest theme park I’ve been in and not a Mickey Mouse in sight.’
‘No Mickey Mouse but guess who I can see?’ replied Bryony, a large grin spreading across her face. Laura stood near the carousel. She was brandishing an envelope. A girl holding a reflective dish that resembled an umbrella without its handle said something to her and along with a third individual, they advanced towards Bryony and Lewis. Without being instructed, the girl angled the dish and received mumbled thanks from the cameraman. A shaven-headed young man carrying a large furry microphone held it over the pair.
Laura beamed at them. ‘Congratulations! You’re the first team to work out the clue and arrive here. Isn’t it an amazing place?’
Lewis offered her a broad smile in return. ‘It certainly is. I hope there’ll be time to explore before we leave.’
‘You could stay here and enjoy all that it has to offer or you could carry on to the next checkpoint ahead of the others,’ she joked. ‘The choice is yours.’
‘Next checkpoint,’ said Bryony. ‘Definitely. We want to win, don’t we, Lewis?’ Lewis nodded obediently while pulling a face like a reluctant child. Bryony nudged him in the ribs.
‘It’s like being married,’ he complained. ‘She’s such a taskmaster.’
‘No comment. Did you find the treasure on the way here?’
‘Oh yes, although we were tempted to scoff them ourselves,’ replied Lewis, extracting a packet of chocolate biscuits from a carrier bag.’
‘Aha! You’ve brought a packet of LU Petit écolier – the little schoolboy,’ said Laura, eyeing up the red box. These are my all-time favourite French chocolate biscuits.’
‘And mine too. It was an easy clue for two biscuit lovers. Bryony eats her own weight in chocolate biscuits per day,’ said Lewis, grimacing as he received a sharp prod in the ribs from his teammate.
‘I think you’re the chocoholic biscuit-muncher in this team. Who travelled here with three packs as emergency rations?’
Lewis raised his hands. ‘Guilty.’
‘Okay, folks, to earn your second destination clue you must answer the following question: once a knight and lord from Brittany, a leader in the French army, and a companion-in-arms of Joan of Arc, this self-confessed serial killer of children, believed to be the inspiration for the 1697 fairy tale “Bluebeard” by Charles Perrault, was hung in the city of Nantes. Who is he?’
Bryony beamed. ‘Reading the file in the car paid off. It was Gilles de Rais,’ she answered with confidence.
Lewis held up his hand and she high-fived it.
‘Good thing I wasn’t driving and had plenty of time to research a little.’
‘It was a good thing you weren’t driving. End of sentence,’ said Lewis, earning himself a friendly punch on the arm.
‘That’s the correct answer, Bryony,’ said Laura and handed them a white envelope. ‘Here’s your second clue. Open it when you’re back in your car. Good luck.’
They raced out of the park as quickly as they possibly could all-the-while avoiding huge groups of people headed towards them in a steady flow.
Lewis stuck out his bottom lip. ‘Shame. I’d have liked a quick ride on that gigantic elephant.’
‘I’ll treat you to an entire day here when we win. Now, let’s get this envelope opened and on the road.’
Back inside the Citroën, Bryony waved the envelope at the camera secreted in one corner of the car before ripping it open. ‘“We three queens are still sailing today but where was the flagship of the Cunard Line built? Your next clue will be at the old submarine base,”’ she read, lines of concentration furrowing her brow.
‘I think the question refers to the ocean liners the Queen Elizabeth, Queen Mary II and Queen Victoria,’ declared Lewis. ‘Which one of them is Cunard’s flagship?’
‘I have a feeling it’s the Queen Mary II. She replaced Queen Elizabeth. She was designed for transatlantic crossings and at the time was the largest liner ever built.’
‘Don’t tell me. You watched a documentary about cruise ships.’
Bryony nodded. ‘You got it. I have my dad to thank for that piece of knowledge too.’
‘This is turning out to be a breeze for us. Hope all the other clues are as easy. We now need to work out whereabouts it was built. Pass me the map. It must be along the coast somewhere.’
Heads almost touching, they examined the map together. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body. He smelt of lavender and oak moss – a heady woody and herbaceous scent – reminiscent of her parents’ garden and a fleeting memory of being a young girl curled up on a blanket beside the well-tended borders, reading Alice in Wonderland. The memory vanished as Lewis stubbed his finger against the map, making it rustle and fold under the pressure. ‘Saint-Nazaire,’ he cried triumphantly. ‘It’s a large French port. I bet that’s where we need to go. Check in the file.’
Bryony thumbed through to the appropriate page and skimmed through the notes:
‘“Chantiers de l'Atlantique yard, Saint-Nazaire,”’ she recited. ‘“Located at the mouth of the Loire, it is one of the world’s largest shipyards. The iconic Queen Mary II was floated in 2003.” And, get this, there’s a huge submarine active during the cold war that is open to the visiting public and a museum that’s set up like a liner. We’ve worked it out. We are the A-team!’ she shouted. Her victory was short-lived as she spotted the arrival of the black and yellow Citroën.
‘Quick. Get going. Oscar and Jim are hot on our tails. We don’t want to lose our lead. Foot down. Don’t spare the deux chevaux.’
‘Oui, madame!’ shouted Lewis in response, as he put the car into gear and drew away into the traffic.