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60 pages

English

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The silence of the night was shattered by a series of screams … a white figure, almost six feet tall, appeared out of nowhere, screaming at the top of its voice and flailing its arms … When Nisha and Ram are sent off to spend their holiday with Nose Uncle at his farm, they are not too happy. After all, Nose Uncle is old, and he is an archaeologist, so how much fun would they have? The brother and sister were never more wrong. Because when Nose Uncle is around, there’s not a dull moment. Using his magnificent nose which resembles the prow of a mighty battleship, Uncle can sniff out both ancient ruins and modern criminals. While digging in a field, looking for signs of an ancient Roman port, Uncle and his young assistants are hurled into a series of mystifying and extraordinarily dangerous adventures. Is Professor Andre Rigolet, of the Free University of Central Quebec, really what he claims to be? Why is he in danger? Who are the shadowy people digging in the dark night near their archeological dig? Then the children are kidnapped by a ruthless gang of smugglers, and it is up to Nose Uncle and his faithful ally, his nose, to get answers to these intriguing questions, solve the mystery and rescue the children. A racy adventure story, Nose Uncle marks the exciting debut of a delightful, eccentric detective.

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Publié par	Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd
Date de parution	20 mars 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184758122
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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JASPAR UTLEY
Nose Uncle
PUFFIN BOOKS
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Copyright Page
PUFFIN BOOKS
NOSE UNCLE
Jaspar Utley was Director of the British Council in Chennai from 1995 to 2001. Before that he worked in Hong Kong, Thailand, Ghana, Greece, China and Namibia. He has written five books previously, and is currently writing another adventure of Nose Uncle.
He lives in the south of England, but visits Chennai every year.
For Aysha Rau, Jayraj Rau, Rohini Rau and Ajay Rau, and Supriya Cheriyan
Chapter 1
No one ever used Nose Uncle s real name, including the villagers. He did not mind. Indeed, at times he insisted on it.
Call me Nose Uncle, he would growl. That s a name to remember. Forget anything else.
He was the much older brother of Nisha and Ram s father. They had been sent to stay with him while their parents were in England. They were not very happy about it.
We ve never met him, complained Nisha.
He s very old, said Ram.
It won t be much fun, declared Nisha.
You never know, said their father, smiling secretly, fully aware of his brother s nature. Until then, Nisha and Ram had only heard about him, but their father had described him so clearly that they would surely recognize him when they saw him. They would look out for the nearly bald head and the half-moon glasses but above all, his nose. Father had told them all about the nose.
There is no nose like it in south India, he had said, and, possibly, in the whole world. The first time they saw it, when they got off the train, they both gasped in awe and admiration.
It was not just a prince or a king among noses, but a mighty emperor, a magnificent organ that would have been the envy of Julius Caesar or Chief Sitting Bull. In shape it was not swollen or ugly, but looked like the proud beak of an eagle, or, better, the prow of a mighty battleship. It stood out on Uncle s face, but did not make you ignore his other features. Instead, it made them shine all the more in such wonderful company. Even his bald head, with only a few wisps of white hair remaining around his ears, managed to look hugely impressive.
Nose Uncle s nose was also likely to change colour according to his mood.
Just like a chameleon, he would say, only smarter. If I m on the track of something and suddenly I get close to the heart of things, then my friend, he always called his nose my friend - glows the colour of a bougainvillea flower, a wonderful deep magenta. That, children, is the colour of truth. And this was true; it was a clever nose, as if with a brain of its own. It was a most useful nose, as it helped Nose Uncle make his living. He was an archaeologist by profession and a detective by chance; both involved, he would say, smelling out things.
Ancient ruins or modern criminals, it s all the same to us, he said. Me and my friend can find em out and track em down. We make a grand team.
They did, too, and never more so than in the Case of the Roman Dig.
It all began soon after Nisha and Ram arrived at his little house, set in a mango grove not far from the sea. This would be no ordinary holiday.
Nose Uncle had begun by examining their faces, like a stern school principal looking at new arrivals. He had taken in Nisha s pigtails and the braces on her teeth. He had gazed at her little brother s bright eyes behind his large spectacles. Then he had come to a decision.
You can help me with my work, he said, peeling a mango. He must have seen the expression on their faces. Don t worry, I m not going to ask you to clean the house or weed the plants, nor do the cooking and washing up. He paused and licked his fingers. We re going to dig, he said.
What for? said Nisha.
Are we going to look for buried treasure? asked Ram.
In a way, said Nose Uncle. Come on, I ll show you.
They walked through the mango orchard. Each tree had been neatly planted at an exact distance from the next, and lovingly watered and weeded, according to Nose Uncle s instructions. They turned off down a small track that led round the village, from which the smoke of a score of cooking fires drifted up into the sky, and into a large open space. It was like a field, but mostly sand, though there were lots of small plants and a few coconut palms. The sea was not far away, and they could hear the roar of waves breaking on the shore.
We re going to dig here, said Nose Uncle.
The children looked round the empty field.
For treasure? Here? said Ram.
Yes, here, said Nose Uncle. And he explained. This was once a Roman port, he said. I discovered it myself.
The children looked again at the open space. All they could see was sand.
A port? said Nisha.
Nose Uncle looked at her over his half-moon spectacles. What did you expect? he said. Streets, docks, houses? No, of course not. They all vanished, hundreds of years ago. But their ghosts are still here.
Ghosts? said Ram and moved closer to his sister.
Look again, said Uncle. Is the land flat? No, it s covered with bumps and lumps, and it is bumps and lumps that are all that is left of the past. However, for us archaeologists, it s more than enough. We uncover them and, in so doing, uncover the secrets of what went on all those years ago. These lumps and bumps are all that is left of a Roman port.
How did you find it? asked Nisha.
Nose Uncle smiled. It was simple, really, he said. I just read the old texts from the West and those from our own Sangam literature. I then added local folklore that I had heard from the people around here. Then we got to work.
We? said Ram.
Yes, said Nose Uncle impatiently. Nose and me. We soon found out where the port might have been and then started looking around. It wasn t long before we found lots of bumps and lumps in this piece of land. And when we asked local farmers if they had found any old bits of pottery, well, you should have seen what they brought us-loads of stuff and most of it Roman! So I started having a closer look and, lo and behold, I found what we had been looking for. How long are you two here?
Ram looked at Nisha. She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.
I m sorry, Ram said. Mama and Papa are visiting Britain on business
Nose Uncle snorted. Say no more, he commanded. Business makes its own time. That s no problem. You can stay as long as you like, provided you make yourselves useful. All right?
Yes, sir.
Hmm. Good. Now here s what you can do.
Nose Uncle asked Nisha and Ram to help with clearing the ground. A few villagers also helped, but most of them were busy looking after their fields or working in the salt ponds. It was February, so the weather was quite cool, but all the same, they were soon sweating heavily. They had to stop frequently for a drink of water and to wipe their faces. All day long, they could hear the surf breaking on the beach and taste the salt hanging in the air. It was not easy work. They could do nothing about the few palm trees, but were forced to bend low to pull thorn bushes out by their roots in the sandy soil. Then they had to use spades to dig out the tufts of thick grass. Every now and then they stopped, while a snake or a scorpion slithered out of the way, often to be then grabbed by one of the cattle egrets on watch in the thorn trees, marking the field s edge. By the second day, all was going well and Nose Uncle was already using his nose to sniff out where they should start what he called proper digging.
Over there, I think, he said, pointing to a corner of the field as his nose glowed a little. They d have built a warehouse there. You see that ditch? I am guessing that it was once full of water and led directly to the sea. The boats would have unloaded their goods right there. Let s see if I m right. Bring your shovels, both of you.
But before they had a chance even to dig the first hole, trouble arrived. A small group of people was making its way towards them across the field.
Chapter 2
Hullo, said Uncle. I might have known that that old Lentil Brain would show up sooner or later.
Lentil Brain? Ram said. Which one is he?
Is he the thin one, with the droopy moustache? asked Nisha.
That s him. He s the official busybody. It s his job to interfere with anyone who s doing a decent day s work. You wait and see.
By now the group had come closer and they could see that there were four of them altogether. They included not only Lentil Brain but also a small round sweaty man holding a briefcase and behind him were two foreigners. One of them was a tall muscular man with hair pulled back into a pigtail. The other was a blonde woman wearing sunglasses. She said nothing while they were there. Possibly, she did not speak English.
Nose Uncle did not look up and, instead, fell on to his knees and began examining the ground. His magnificent nose was dangerously close to a small thorn bush that had not yet been uprooted. Nisha and Ram did the same, aware of the group that was now no more than a foot or two away.
Professor, said Lentil Brain in a surprisingly deep voice. Please stop what you are doing.
Uncle sat back on his heels while Nisha and Ram looked at each other. Professor? Since when had Uncle been a professor? Was there something he had not told them? If so, why?
Oh, it s you, Chandrasekar, said Nose Uncle, looking up. What s the matter, lost your way? Not for the first time, if memory serves me right. Well, take the path over there; it ll lead you straight to the village.
The thin man, who the children would always think of as Lentil Brain, smiled weakly.
Very funny, Professor, he said. Now kindly tell me what you are doing.
Nose Uncle stood up, brushing the dust from his trousers.
If you must know,