after injured or abandoned creatures. Eagle fledglings that fall from nests. Elephant babies whose mothers have been killed by poachers for their tusks. Injured leguaans.”
Ollie stared at the strange-shaped boxes. What exactly was a leguaan? Wasn’t it a scaly, prehistoric dragon?
“How dangerous is a leguaan?”
“Dangerous enough.”
Ollie kept his mouth shut as his eyes darted about. How dangerous was dangerous enough? “What else have you got?”
Zinzi shrugged. “Jumping spiders. Huge, hairy ones. Like tarantulas. They’re called baboon spiders because they’re so hairy. Bobo doesn’t like them. I keep them boxed while we’re travelling.”
Bobo must have heard her name because she popped out above the top button of Zinzi’s shirt again. Zinzi tickled her under her chin. Her huge, dark eyes flicked open then closed again.
“Her leg’s broken. See. It’s splinted. When it’s fixed she’ll be able to go back into the wild. She’s not exactly a pet. You never really own a wild animal. I offered to look after these ones during the holidays because they weren’t ready to go back into the wild.”
“Won’t your mum be upset?”
Zinzi shrugged. “She’s used to it. She’s a bush doctor.”
“A bush doctor?”
“A wild animal vet. What about you? Why are you here?”
“I’ve come to find my father. He studies frogs. He’s called a herp–”
“Herpetologist.” Zinzi interrupted.
Ollie bit his lip. Compared to a python, leguaans and baboon spiders, frogs seemed even sillier than stick insects but he wanted to defend his father. He didn’t want to let him down. “He knows quite a bit. There’s the orange-legged monkey-frog. The fire-bellied toad. The ghost frog. The poison dart frog …” he trailed off. Suddenly even the names didn’t seem so impressive.
“So what’s he doing in Botswana?”
“He’s collecting data about a small frog. It’s so small it hardly covers a thumb.”
Zinzi nodded. “Probably the painted reed frog. Pale cream, with pinkish dots on it. Sometimes with small dark patches that make it look like a death-head skull.”
A death-head skull? Ollie gave her a look. There wasn’t much this girl didn’t know.
“So where exactly in Botswana is your father?”
Ollie shrugged. “That’s the problem. I don’t know. He’s disappeared. And I’m worried.”
There was a sudden roar as the train dived through a tunnel and the compartment was plunged into darkness. Then with a whoosh they were out the other side. Someone rattled the compartment door then flung it open. A smell of curried chicken and burnt coffee wafted in from the steward’s trolley in the corridor.
“You hungry?” Zinzi asked.
Ollie nodded.
The setting sun made a fire across the sky that leapt into their compartment as they ate at the small fold-out table. He was hungrier than he thought even though the chicken seemed to have pieces of orange pumpkin mixed in with it. Then just as quickly the fire went out of the sky and the trees turned into dark silhouettes.
Ollie climbed onto his bunk and lay up close to the window and stared out through his reflection into the greenish light. The moon was coming up already: a huge round mother-of-pearl button stuck on a pale velvet coat against an outline of trees with flat tops and even stranger ones that seemed to be growing upside down with their roots in the air.
It was odd. Here he was in Africa watching the moon and Grandma was watching the same moon rising over the rooftops in Tooting.
Tooting suddenly seemed a zillion, million miles away.
Everything was odd.
It was odd his aunt hadn’t been there to meet him.
It was odd to be hurtling across Africa on a train.
And odd to be sharing a compartment with a girl.
Zinzi had already settled down with her earphones glued to her ears. He took out his notebook and his torch, then discovered there was a little overhead reading light, so he slipped his torch into his shirt pocket.
It probably wasn’t a good idea to tell Grandma about the python or baboon spiders or that Aunt Hortense hadn’t been at the airport to meet him.
He nibbled his pencil and then began writing.
He tore the page from his notebook, folded it and stuffed it into an envelope he had brought along. Then without bothering to get undressed or brush his teeth he switched off the light and lay back and listened to the wheels of the train singing …
We’re going to I-la-la. We’re going to find your fa-ther.
We’re going to I-la-la. We’re going to find your fa-ther.
Zinzi was right. The top bunk was exactly like being up in a tree.
He snuggled deeper into his sleeping bag.
He woke with a start as something landed on his stomach. He lay dead still, not even moving an eyelid, and waited. It wasn’t heavy enough to be a python.
He sat up and bumped his head on the ceiling.
“Ouch!”
There was a squeal and a small shape went flying up into the luggage rack above him.
He felt for his torch in his pocket. Two luminous yellow eyes reflected back at him in the dark like two bright torch lights.
“Bobo!” he hissed as she leapt to the rack on the opposite side of the compartment. The splint on her leg didn’t seem to bother her in the least.
Ollie leant down from his bunk. “Zinzi! Wake up!”
The lump on the bunk below stirred. “What?”
“Bobo’s jumping about.”
“That’s what bushbabies do at night.”
“All night?”
“Go to sleep, Ollie,” Zinzi mumbled.
“I can’t. Not with her flying about.”
“She’ll settle down when the sun comes up.”
Ollie peered out through the window into the night. “That’s not for ages.”
“If you sing her a lemur lullaby, she’ll quieten down.”
A
