Part 4 (1/2)

'Do I?' That fl.u.s.tered her. 'Are you sure that's not the cats?

Or the ether?'

Mrs Cywynski nodded. 'That's possible. The ether is very turbulent at the moment. Gives me no peace.' She sniffed.

'Come. If you like, I will read you the cards.'

Victoria flinched. 'Oh, no. That's very kind, Roxana, but not now. The future can be complicated enough without knowing it in advance.' Besides which her father, and the Doctor too, had always insisted on a scientific approach to everything. 'Fiddle-faddle' father had called it once, when he had caught the maid consulting the tea-leaves.

'How unadventurous. Still, if you don't have expectations, you can't have disappointments,' retorted the landlady. 'How are you getting on with the book on astral projection I lent you?'

'Well, it's quite quite interesting,' floundered Victoria. 'But I don't think I really believe in out-of-body experiences.' interesting,' floundered Victoria. 'But I don't think I really believe in out-of-body experiences.'

'Not scientifically proven?'

'Not yet, anyway.'

'Of course, dear. Nothing exists until it's discovered.' Mrs Cywynski shrugged. 'So you must find other means of travel.

It must be a holiday then.'

'I don't need a holiday. Who would I go with anyway?'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, there must be someone. Some nice young man... or professor.'

'I don't think so.'

'No excuses. I can't think why you've never travelled.'

'Well, actually...'

'A holiday for you must be something cultural. Italy or Greece?'

'Oh no, not the Grand Tour. Everybody goes on that.'

'Then where would you really like to go?'

Victoria lifted one of the saucepan lids and stirred the rich brown chutney. 'Tibet,' she smiled. 'That's where I want to go.'

When she had glided up to Lukla, the village had looked no more than a few houses bunched on the green mountain slopes around the airstrip. A high cl.u.s.ter of white buildings with blue and green windows. But today was the day of the bazaar and the place was suddenly alive with Sherpa in coloured hats and dealers with bamboo baskets selling rice and fruit.

It had taken a night to recover from the b.u.mpy flight from Kathmandu. The little Twin Otter craft had been tossed about in the air as if the clouds were playing tennis with it. Victoria felt as if her stomach was still somewhere over the middle of Nepal.

She sat outside the local teahouse content to drink tea and watch the comings and goings of the market. There was no sign of the Sherpa guide she had arranged to meet, but Eric, who ran the teahouse, said that there were delays on the road north and he would arrive soon. Eric was wiry with long grey hair tied in a ponytail and had a vaguely American accent. On the walls, he had dog-eared posters of John Lennon and a man with a moustache and a beret, who was called Che. When she told Eric where she was going, he seemed startled. 'Bad karma, man,' he said and went back to his kitchen. Still, the mountain air outside was so sharp and clean, and the sun so warm, that she began to doze.

' Dzu-teh, dzu-teh! Dzu-teh, dzu-teh! ' '

The voice startled her awake. She saw the squinting brown eyes of an old man only inches from her face.

' Dzu-teh, Dzu-teh, ' he insisted through broken teeth. He was waving a brown object in his hand. It was desiccated and covered in matted grey hair. ' he insisted through broken teeth. He was waving a brown object in his hand. It was desiccated and covered in matted grey hair.

'No. Sorry, I'm not interested,' she said, pulling back as far as she could, but he only persisted, chattering in Nepali and waving the object in her face. Around the street, other villagers turned and stared without intervening.

' Dzu-teh, dzu-teh! Dzu-teh, dzu-teh! ' '

'No. I said I don't want it. Leave me alone!'

' Pa gyu! Pa gyu! ' Another voice cut across the street. 'Go on, you heard me. ' Another voice cut across the street. 'Go on, you heard me. Pa gyu. Pa gyu. The young lady doesn't want to buy it.' The young lady doesn't want to buy it.'

The old man faltered and turned. He fell back as the newcomer approached.

'That's right. No sale. Bidaa chha. Bidaa chha. Thank you.' Thank you.'

She swallowed hard and turned to look up at her rescuer.

His hand was reaching out to take her arm. 'Sorry about that,'

he said. 'That was a phrasebook mixture of Nepali and Tibetan. It did the job anyway.'

For a moment she thought she knew him. His sandy hair was brushed over his high forehead and his eyes were fiercely penetrating. He wore khaki shorts and looked like an overgrown school prefect. 'Are you trekking on your own?' he asked.

'Yes,' she said, taken aback.

'That's brave.' He glanced after the old man. 'You'll have to put up a better fight than that, though.'

'I think he wanted me to buy that thing he had.'

'It was a yeti scalp.'

'A yeti?'

'You look startled.'

'Well, yes. I thought yeti were terribly rare.'

'Very nearly extinct in the wild. And only a few in captivity.' He plunged his hands into his pockets and grinned enthusiastically. 'Don't worry, the scalp was almost certainly a fake. Goat hair, I expect. He's probably got dozens.'

'Thank goodness,' Victoria said.

'That's right,' he nodded and sat down next to her. 'You see, Yeti are a bit of a hobbyhorse as far as I'm concerned.'

She smiled and said cautiously, 'I only know what I've read about them in books.'

His eyes lit up. 'Ah well, the three different types are protected species, of course. Which is why our friend there scarpered pretty sharp-ish. The mih-teh mih-teh and the and the Dzu-teh Dzu-teh, they're both closer to apes as species, while the Ye-teh Ye-teh, aka Yeti Traversii Yeti Traversii, is more bearlike and particularly timid.