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.“My housemaster’s,” explained Irvine as he did up the buttons, answering George’s unasked question.“Stop trying to make me feel so old,” said George.Irvine laughed.“I’ll fix up your oxygen cylinders while you’re having breakfast.”“A couple of sardines and a short note to Odell, and I’ll be with you.”Outside the tent, the morning sun almost blinded Irvine as it shone down from a clear blue sky.Once George had eaten what was left of the sardines, having ignored the macaroni, he scribbled a quick note to Odell and left it on his sleeping bag.He’d have put money on Odell returning to Camp VI that day.George had slept in four layers of clothes, and he now added a thick woolen vest and a woven silk shirt, followed by a flannel shirt and another silk shirt.He then put on a cotton Burberry jacket known as a Shackleton smock, before pulling on a pair of baggy gabardine trousers.He strapped a pair of cashmere puttees around his ankles, pulled on his boots, and slipped on a pair of woolen mittens that had been knitted by Ruth.He finally put on his brother’s leather flying cap before grabbing the latest pair of goggles, donated by Finch.He was glad there wasn’t a mirror available, although Chomolungma would have agreed that he was correctly dressed for an audience with Her Majesty.George crawled out of the tent to join Irvine, who helped him on with a set of oxygen cylinders.Once they were strapped to his back, George wondered if the extra weight would prove more of a disadvantage than not being able to breathe regularly.But he’d made that decision when he sent Odell back.The last ritual the two men carried out was to smear zinc oxide all over the exposed parts of each other’s faces.Before setting off up the mountain they squinted at the summit, which looked so close.“Be warned,” said George, “she’s a Jezebel.She grows even more alluring the closer you come to her, and this morning she’s even tempting us with a spell of perfect weather.But like any woman, it’s her privilege to change her mind.” He checked his watch: 5:07.He would have liked to start a little earlier.“Come on, young man,” he said.“In the words of my beloved father, it’s time to put our best foot forward.” He adjusted his mouthpiece and turned on the oxygen supply.If only Hinks could see me now, thought Odell as he climbed the last few feet to Camp VI.When he reached the tent he fell on his knees and pulled back the flap, to encounter the sort of mess one might expect after having left two children to spend the night in a treehouse: a plate of unfinished macaroni, an empty sardine tin, and a compass that George must have left behind.Odell chuckled as he crawled in and set about tidying up.It wouldn’t have been Mallory’s tent if he hadn’t left something behind.Odell was placing the Bovril and a couple of bars of Kendal Mint Cake on George’s sleeping bag when he spotted the two envelopes—one addressed to Mrs.George Mallory, The Holt, Godalming, Surrey, England, which he put in an inside pocket, and one with his own name scrawled across it.He tore the envelope open.Dear Odell,Awfully sorry to have left things in such a mess.Perfect weather for the job.Start looking for us either crossing the rock band or going up the skyline.See you tomorrow.Yours ever,GeorgeOdell smiled, and once he’d double-checked that everything was in place for the returning heroes, he crawled out of the tent backward, then stood and stretched his arms above his head as he looked up at the highest peak in the world.The weather was so perfect that for a moment he was even tempted to follow them, as he couldn’t help feeling a little envious of his two colleagues who must by now be approaching the summit.And then suddenly he spotted two figures silhouetted against the skyline.As he watched, the taller of the two walked across to join the other.He could see that they were standing on the Second Step, about 600 feet from the summit.He checked his watch: 12:50.They still had more than enough time to reach the top and be back in their little tent before the last rays of sunlight disappeared.He couldn’t stop himself from leaping up and down with joy as he watched them stride into a cloud of mist, and disappear from sight.Once Irvine had reached the top of the Second Step, he clambered over a jagged piece of rock and joined George.“We’ve got about another 600 feet to go,” said George, checking his altimeter.“But remember, that’s equivalent to at least a mile, and without oxygen Norton could only manage about 125 feet an hour.So it could take us another three hours,” he added between breaths, “which means we can’t afford to waste any time, because when we start back down that rock face later this afternoon,” he said, pointing upward, “I want to be sure I can still see several feet in front of me.”As George replaced his mouthpiece, Irvine gave him the thumbs-up sign.Then they began the slow trek along a ridgeline no man had ever trodden before.CHAPTER SIXTY2:07 P.M., SUNDAY, JUNE 8TH, 1924WHEN GEORGE LOOKED up again, it appeared as if the peak was within touching distance, despite the altimeter warning him that they still had over 300 feet to climb.So breathtakingly close, even if it had taken far longer than he had bargained for.Once they had conquered the Second Step, the two of them chipped, pushed and pulled their way slowly up the narrow northeast ridgeline, aware that the snow on either side of them was like the eaves of a roof, with nothing below but air.They would only have to stray a few feet either way, and…The inviting-looking fresh, untrodden snow had turned out to be two feet deep, making it almost impossible to take a step forward, and when they did, their feet only advanced a few inches before sinking once again into the snow.Two hundred and eleven steps later—George counted every one of them—and they were finally released from the snowdrift, only to be confronted by a sheer rock face that would have been a challenge for him on a warm summer’s morning at 3,000 feet, let alone when his body was soaked with sweat, his limbs almost frozen, and he was so exhausted that all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, even though he knew that at minus forty degrees, if he was to stay still for more than a few moments, he would freeze to death.George even considered turning back while there was still a good chance that they would be safely under canvas before sunset.But then he would have had to spend the rest of his life explaining why he’d let the prize slip from his grasp at the last moment and, worse, when he fell asleep, each night he would dream of climbing those last 300 feet, only to wake from the nightmare in a cold sweat.He turned around to see an exhausted Irvine pulling his foot out of the snow, only to stare in disbelief at the rock face that stood in front of them.For a moment George hesitated.Did he have the right to risk Irvine’s life as well as his own? Should he, even now, suggest that the young man turn back while he went on alone, or rest and wait for him to return? He banished the thought from his mind.After all, Irvine had surely earned the right to share the spoils of triumph with him.George removed his mouthpiece and said, “We’re nearly there, old chap.This rock will be the last obstacle before we reach the top.” Irvine gave him a thin smile.George turned around to face a vertical rock, covered with ice that never melted from one year to the next.He searched for somewhere he could gain a toehold
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