The Amazing Adventure of Amanderella Gottsnobbler Chapter 14

Chapter 14:

Cookery lessons and Lectures.

     Next morning Amanderella told the explorers that she had finally managed to find and sketch the fabled Whistling Blue Monkeys. At first they were full of congratulations and pleasure, then Professor Thimblewhack held up a hand to silence them.

“This means , then fair lady, that you are going to leaves us as is usual when someone finds the object of their quest.”

Amanderella nodded.

The explorers gathered round the fire, breakfast plates in hand, faces long. They had begged her to stay, voices overlapping, but Amanderella only smiled faintly and shook her head, “I cannot stay,” she said. “But before I go, I will teach you to cook properly.”

At once they brightened, Colonel Jibberjack muttered, “Explorers march on glory, not fritters,” but his stomach growled louder than his words.

Professor Thimblewhack cleared his throat, tape dangling from his pocket “The last time we ate properly,” he began, “was when there was a French chap here — Monsewer Jack Custard, or something like that. He made lovely food, once we stopped him from adding garlic to everything—”

“Garlic!” spluttered Reverend Tiddlewink. “The very smell of it was sacrilege!”

“And snails!” cried Doctor Porridgepump, waving his spoon. “He tried to make us eat snails!”

“Disgraceful,” muttered Lord Crankleboot, tapping his cane. “Explorers do not eat garden pests.”

The Professor raised his voice again.
“Yes, yes, but once we stopped him, the food was excellent. Still, he left, and since then…” He gestured helplessly at the pot of worms from the last time he had tried to make supper.

He went on, “Jack came with nets and pans, declaring to all that he would find the talking fish of the Amazon. He swore they would chatter like parrots, sing like choirs, and answer questions in Latin.

Week after week  he fished, hauling them from the river one by one. He fried them, boiled them, roasted them, but each time the fish said nothing. They stared at him with blank eyes, sizzled in silence, and gave him only supper.

At last, he grew weary. “If they will not talk,” he muttered, “then I will not listen.” He packed his nets, left his pans by the riverbank, and went home. His food was good though.”

Amanderella laughed softly. She opened Ramone’s supplies, rummaging through the heaps. The packets were ruined, moulded and torn, but the tins gleamed, stacked high: fruit, beans, fish, rice, jungle cheese.

“Look,” she said, “this is what you should use. The tins are safe. The packets are not.”

She showed them how to open the tins without spilling, how to fry fritters in her tin cup, how to stir rice with dried fish, how to melt jungle cheese over bread. The smell drifted across the camp, stronger than the smoke.

The explorers leaned in, eyes wide, bowls ready. Colonel Jibberjack whispered, “Glory can wait.” Reverend Tiddlewink muttered, “Ribbons can wait.” Even Lord Crankleboot tapped his cane in approval.

They ate heartily, their pompous speeches silenced.

Amanderella sat quietly, her notebook closed, her knapsack packed. She would carry on teaching  them to cook, given them what they needed. The next time Ramone came she would leave, but today the camp was full of laughter, clinking bowls, and the smell of jungle cheese.

As dawn broke on her last morning, Amanderella packed her knapsack, notebook hidden deep inside. The explorers were still complaining about their failures, cups raised, oblivious. She slipped down to the riverbank where Ramone was waiting with his boat.  

She told him all about finding the monkeys.

“Well done,” he said. “And now you are going home.”

She laughed. “Back to Gottsnobbler Hall and my parents?” She tapped her vest which clinked nicely. “No way. I have enough money to do as I please thanks to the Grewpug group paying for everything.”

“The Pedal Power ship is due in harbour in a few days, your passage home will be paid for so you will have plenty of money,” he said.

He checked the engine, then paused. “You should help them you know. “

She looked at him, puzzled. ”How, I cannot say anything about their quests?”

“I know, but from what you have told me, you found your monkeys because you changed the way you  looked. The Commodore found the whoopee birds because he changed his routine. You could suggest that they, “ he waved towards the men in the camp. “They could change the way they look. You would not be breaking the rule by doing that.”

Amanderella nodded. “They probably won’t listen, but I can try.” She walked back up the beach to the camp where the explorers were busy finishing their self-cooked breakfast.

“I am going home now,” she said. “It has been  a great pleasure meeting you all. I know that I cannot say anything about the quests you are on, but I think I am safe in suggesting that you change the way you search and think about how the Commodore eventually found the whoopee birds.”

For a moment there was silence. Then Colonel Jibberjack leapt to his feet, beetle‑sketches fluttering from his pockets.

“Change the way we search? Change the way we search? Nonsense! I have thundered about beetles for twenty years, and I shall thunder about them for twenty more!”

Lord Crankleboot banged his cup on the table. “Stones sink! Stones always sink! If I change the way I search, they will still sink!”

Professor Thimblewhack adjusted his spectacles, peering mournfully into his cup. “I have measured worms in every conceivable manner. If I change the way I search, they will only look shorter.”

Reverend Tiddlewink sniffed. “My ribbons have done me proud for years. The bird will be found without changing anything.”

The chorus rose, overlapping, absurd:
“Beetles march!”
“Stones sink!”
“Worms shrink!”

“Birds flutter!”

They clinked their bowls together, half‑hearted, and their old refrain returned: ‘Nothing. Nothing.’

 Amanderella smiled faintly, her knapsack heavy with secrets. She had tried. The jungle cheese smoked in the pan, the explorers groaned their failures, and the camp was once again full of comic noise.

Amanderella climbed aboard Ramone’s boat. “I tried,” she said.

“You did indeed,” he agreed.

As the campfire smoke mingled with the scent of the first meal they had cooked for themselves.

Professor Thimblewhack jotted their words in his old book, noting food and farewells in the Grewpug Explorers’ minutes as he did at the end of every day.