Bartlett and the Ice Voyage Read online

  ‘When will we see it?’ asked Gozo anxiously.

  ‘Later.’

  ‘It might be gone later.’

  ‘It won’t be gone. Not without me, that’s for sure. Now, come on, get up. We’ve got to get going.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘To Mordi’s farm. We need a melidrop. The freshest and plumpest we can find.’

  Chapter 15

  EVERYONE WAS STILL asleep at Mordi’s farm when they arrived. There was no rush to get up. It was Monday, and the bazaar would be closed tomorrow, so they would not be harvesting that night.

  Gozo unharnessed the horses and took them into the stable. Bartlett walked over to the well. He looked down into its dark depths. Then he tossed the bucket in and heard it land with a splash. He hauled it up and tasted the pure, icy water that kept Mordi’s melidrops fresh and made them the best in the bazaar.

  ‘Good and cold, eh?’ said Mordi, who must have been woken up by the sound of the wagon, and was now standing in the doorway of the house, wearing only his trousers. He laughed his big, booming laugh and scratched his belly. ‘So you’re back, Bartlett?’

  Bartlett nodded, grinning.

  ‘They’ve got the ice-rock, Uncle Mo!’ shouted Gozo, poking his head round the stable doorway.

  ‘The ice-rock! Have you seen it, Gozo?’

  ‘No, but I will.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Bartlett.

  ‘Tomorrow!’ shouted Gozo, disappearing into the stable again.

  Mordi came over to the well. He hauled up a bucket and emptied it over his head, doing his cold water dance and shouting ‘I love it, I love it!’ as the water ran down his back. Bartlett watched him with a grin.

  ‘That boy,’ said Mordi eventually, giving one last shiver and shake, ‘hasn’t stopped talking about the ice-rock since you left. Not a day goes by when he doesn’t say: ‘Do you think Mr Bartlett will be back today with the ice-rock?’ Every day he says it, before he goes to the bazaar.’

  ‘Iceberg, Mordi. It’s called an iceberg.’

  Mordi shrugged. ‘Is there really such a thing? I know what you explorers are like, Bartlett, always telling stories. Each mountain you climb is bigger than the last. The boy will be disappointed if you’ve been making fun of him. He won’t just be disappointed, he’ll be crushed. I don’t know what I’ll say to him.’

  ‘I haven’t been making fun of him,’ said Bartlett. ‘The iceberg’s there all right, floating in the harbour. Gozo will see it tomorrow.’

  ‘He wants to be a traveller now. He wants to be an explorer. Every day, before he goes to the bazaar, he says: “I wish I was an explorer like Mr Bartlett.” ’

  ‘I thought he asks about the iceberg.’

  ‘After he asks about the iceberg.’ Mordi smiled. ‘So, Bartlett, it’s nice to see you back safe again. But what can we do for you here on the farm? Shouldn’t you be off to see the Queen.’

  ‘He’s come for a melidrop, Uncle Mo,’ shouted Gozo, tearing out of the stable.

  ‘Couldn’t you get one at the bazaar?’

  Bartlett shook his head. Nothing but the freshest melidrop from Mordi’s orchard would do.

  Before sunset, Bartlett, Gozo and Mordi went into the orchard. It was the end of the season, but there were still some remarkable fruit, splashes of red and gold, hanging amongst the dark leaves of the melidrop trees. Mordi glanced left and right as they walked, pointing out melidrops that looked especially promising and making a note in his mind of the trees on which they hung. He knew each tree in his orchard as if it were a person.

  ‘What does the Queen want?’ he inquired. ‘Taste, perfume, texture, colour?’ He stopped and pointed to a plump orange melidrop hanging high in a tree. ‘Now, that’s a melidrop you would want for its perfume. Its taste would have medium sweetness, but its scent would be powerful and long-lasting.’

  Bartlett stared at the orange melidrop. It was like a spot of bright, flaming paint dabbed on the dark leaves.

  ‘Now, what is it that you want?’ said Mordi.

  Bartlett considered. Perfume? Colour? Taste? He had never thought about it before. A melidrop was a melidrop.

  Mordi glanced at Gozo. ‘They just don’t understand melidrops over there’ he murmured, shaking his head, and Gozo shook his head as well.

  ‘Taste,’ said Bartlett. ‘If it has to be something, it’s taste.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Bartlett nodded.

  ‘All right,’ said Mordi, ‘taste it is.’

  Now Mordi began to walk faster, with a frown of concentration as he peered from side to side. ‘Taste … taste,’ he muttered. ‘Strong and spicy or creamy and sweet? Sweetly spiced? Strongly creamed?’ Half an hour later he was still leading them through the orchard, peering around and muttering, occasionally stroking his beard in thought.

  Bartlett was beginning to wonder if it really were so important. After all, the Queen had never eaten a melidrop before. She wasn’t an expert. How would she know if she were eating a special one or an ordinary one?

  Suddenly Mordi stopped. ‘We’ve seen enough.’

  Bartlett agreed. They were deep in the orchard. He had lost track of where they were.

  ‘It’s that yellow one, isn’t it, Uncle Mo?’ demanded Gozo, pointing excitedly to a large melidrop hanging on a tree not far from where they had stopped.

  ‘Not bad, Gozo,’ said Mordi. ‘That would have been my second choice. But my first choice is back at the place where Grandma Zole broke her leg.’

  Gozo wrinkled his nose. ‘I can’t remember a good one there.’

  ‘You weren’t looking hard enough,’ said Mordi, and he set off back through the trees, with Bartlett and Gozo following.

  Now Mordi did not look around, as if he did not want to be distracted once he had made his decision. He led them rapidly through the orchard. Five minutes later he stopped.

  ‘Is this the place where Grandma Zole broke her leg?’ asked Bartlett.

  ‘Just over there, she tripped over that root,’ said Mordi.

  Bartlett felt sorry for Grandma Zole.

  ‘She’s dead now,’ said Gozo. ‘Where’s the melidrop, Uncle Mo?’

  ‘Can’t you see it?’

  Gozo looked around. Mordi watched him keenly. Gozo’s face was growing more and more perplexed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gozo said eventually.

  ‘Can’t guess?’

  Gozo shook his head.

  Mordi took a step towards the tree closest to Bartlett. Triumphantly, he swept aside a branch. There, just three feet off the ground, hung a red melidrop. Mordi must have caught no more than a glimpse of it when they walked past earlier.

  Gozo frowned. ‘I didn’t see it, Uncle Mo.’

  Bartlett took a step closer and peered at the melidrop. It wasn’t the biggest one he had seen. There were narrow yellow streaks on its red skin, and a tiny wrinkle as well. Bartlett wasn’t impressed. After all the melidrops they had seen, was this the one that was fit for a Queen?

  Mordi saw the look on Bartlett’s face and he threw his head back, filling the orchard with his booming laughter. ‘Taste, Bartlett. That’s what you wanted. If it’s looks you want, we’ll get you another. But if it’s taste—if it’s flavour—this is the one. It will taste … like spiced currants dipped in sweet wine and rolled in date powder…’

  ‘And creamy,’ added Gozo.

  ‘Yes … as if it were mixed with honey and made into a custard with a touch of vanilla and a hint of rosewater.’

  Bartlett stared at the melidrop doubtfully. How could one little fruit have so many flavours?

  ‘This is the one, Bartlett. Trust me. I wouldn’t even send it to the bazaar. This one, I would give to Vara.’

  Bartlett glanced at Mordi. Then he reached out for the melidrop.

  Mordi grabbed Bartlett’s arm before he could touch it.

  ‘Not now,’ he said. ‘At dawn, when the air is coolest, when the water is coldest. That’s the
time to pick it.’

  Chapter 16

  THEY PICKED THE Queen’s melidrop at dawn. Mordi, carrying a lantern, led the whole family through the darkness of the orchard to the place where Grandma Zole broke her leg. He pulled back the branch to reveal the red melidrop with yellow streaks.

  ‘Bartlett is going to take this melidrop to the Queen’ he said.

  Everyone stared solemnly at the melidrop. They all knew that Bartlett was taking it to the Queen, but somehow Mordi’s statement seemed to give the melidrop even more importance.

  Mordi handed his lantern to Vara. The deep shadows of the trees danced as the flame wavered. Mordi pulled a thin silver knife from a scabbard that was attached to his belt and crouched under a branch. Now his hands were in darkness behind the leaves and no one could see what he was doing. Suddenly he gave a single sharp, sure flick of the wrist. When he stood up again he was holding the melidrop.

  They carried it straight back to the yard and plunged it into a bucket of cold, freshly drawn water. Gozo’s horses were already hitched to the wagon and ready to go. Gozo jumped up. Bartlett climbed aboard and Mordi joined them, carrying the bucket with the melidrop. Everyone else piled into the back. No one wanted to miss out on seeing the iceberg. Even the three men who worked for Mordi during the harvest were coming along.

  The bazaar was closed for the day and the road should have been empty, but a long column of carts and wagons stretched in front of them. News of the iceberg had obviously spread. All the way Gozo asked questions about the iceberg. How had they captured it? How had they brought it back? He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know about other trips Bartlett had made. He wanted to know where the Queen lived and how Bartlett and Jacques le Grand were going to get there. He wanted to know how Bartlett had become an explorer. Bartlett chuckled and answered each of Gozo’s questions. Finally Gozo looked at him hesitantly and asked whether Bartlett thought it would be possible for someone like him, Gozo, to be an explorer as well.

  Bartlett smiled. Yes, he said, he thought it would be possible for someone like Gozo to be an explorer.

  Gozo drove straight to the quay when they arrived at the town. As they came around the corner and caught their first sight of the iceberg, everybody gasped. Gozo stopped the horses and stared. Everyone in the back stared as well. They stood up and stared some more. In the distance, the iceberg floated placidly behind the three masts of the Fortune Bey. Under the bright morning sun it was so white, clean, pure, its jagged outline looked so crisp, it was like something that had come from a different world.

  There was already a crowd at the waterfront. Even the scholar had returned, but this time he was staying on dry land. He sat on a folding stool at the edge of the quay, balancing a big pad of paper on his knees and sketching the iceberg. On his left there was a man holding an umbrella to protect him from the sun, and on his right someone else was holding a tray of breakfast delicacies.

  Bartlett found a boat to take him out to the Fortune Bey. Gozo and Mordi went with him. Mordi refused to let go of the bucket until the Queen’s melidrop was safely stored, and Gozo wouldn’t be satisfied unless he could set foot on the ice himself. He wanted to see the Fortune Bey as well. Jacques le Grand was waiting on the ship. He welcomed Bartlett with an unusually grumpy expression on his face. He had spent the whole of the previous day chasing souvenir hunters off the iceberg, and no sooner had he left it at night than a swarm of shadowy figures returned and the click-click-click of chisels was heard once more. So back Jacques went. He had spent the whole night on the ice without a wink of sleep, and had left it only an hour before.

  ‘Well, Jacques,’ said Bartlett, nodding towards the iceberg, ‘it’s time to go back!’

  While Bartlett had been away, Captain Wrick had sent Michael to find a large drill in the town. It was like a gigantic corkscrew, six feet long and with a tip of iron. They took it with them in the boat. As soon as they drew up beside the ice Gozo leapt out. He jumped on it with all his weight and couldn’t believe that it was really made of water. Bartlett, Jacques and Mordi got out onto the ice as well, watched by the people circling in boats. At first Mordi was very tentative. After all, if Bartlett were to be believed, he was standing on water! What was to stop it becoming liquid again? Only after a long time was he confident enough to put down the bucket with the melidrop, and even then he continued to stand alongside it, just in case it started to sink.

  By this time Bartlett had punched a hole in the ice with a hammer. Then he and Jacques took hold of the drill. They pointed it into the hole and worked opposite one another to turn it. The ice was hard and they had to strain with all the strength of their arms and push down with all the weight of their bodies to drive it in. Slowly the drill ground down into the ice, churning up a mound of glistening slivers as it bored deeper and deeper.

  The drill went down five feet and made a hole as wide as a fist. When it was finished, Mordi took the melidrop out of the bucket. He raised it and paused to take one last good look. The water from the dripping melidrop ran down his arm.

  ‘I hope the Queen enjoys it,’ he said. He spoke as if the melidrop were almost too precious to let go.

  ‘She will,’ said Bartlett. ‘Come on, Mordi, it’s only a fruit. We haven’t got all day. If we don’t get it frozen soon it won’t be any good.’

  Mordi crouched beside the hole with the melidrop in his hand. He put his arm in as far as it would go. When his arm came out, his hand was empty. The melidrop was gone.

  Bartlett peered into the hole. He could just glimpse a hint of red in the depths. He pushed back the slivers of ice. Now the melidrop could not be seen at all.

  They went back to the Fortune Bey. Jacques took the tools and climbed back up the rope ladder. Bartlett turned to say goodbye to Gozo and Mordi, but suddenly Gozo leapt onto the ladder, scampered up the side of the ship and disappeared over the ship’s rail. A moment later his face looked down at them.

  ‘I’m not going back, Uncle Mo!’ he shouted.

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Mordi. He had jumped to his feet and the boat rocked as his voice thundered.

  ‘I’m not going back!’ shouted Gozo. ‘I’m going with Bartlett. I’m going to see the Queen.’

  Mordi turned angrily to Bartlett. ‘What have you been saying to him?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Bartlett was as surprised as Mordi.

  ‘What have you promised him?’

  ‘Nothing. You said yourself he wanted to be a traveller.’

  ‘I didn’t say he could be a traveller! What will I tell his mother? Excuse me, Gozo went on a journey with a fruit and a rock made out of water. Bartlett, I’m meant to look after him! That’s why his mother lets him drive for me during the harvest.’ Mordi looked up at the ship again. ‘Come down now, Gozo. Come down this instant!’

  ‘No!’ shouted Gozo, ‘I’m going with Bartlett.’

  Mordi sat down with his head in his hands. ‘I thought this might happen,’ he mumbled. ‘I told Vara last night, we shouldn’t let him come today. I told her. But she said the boy would never forgive us if we didn’t let him see the iceberg. She said we would just have to keep an eye on him.’

  Other faces were appearing over the ship’s rail to see what was going to happen. Soon the whole crew was looking down at the boat, where Mordi was shaking his head anxiously.

  ‘I should go and get Vara,’ he muttered, glancing towards the shore with a worried look. ‘Vara would know how to get him down.’ Mordi jumped to his feet again. ‘What about the wagon?’ he shouted. ‘Who’s going to drive it?’

  ‘Selig,’ shouted Gozo, ‘he wants to drive it.’

  ‘Selig harvests. That’s what Selig does.’

  ‘You can spare him. The harvest’s almost over.’

  Mordi shook his head despairingly again. ‘And what about next season?’ he shouted suddenly. ‘What about next season?’

  ‘I’ll be back next season,’ shouted Gozo. ‘I’m only going to see the Queen.’

 
Mordi looked at Bartlett. ‘Will he be back?’ he asked quietly.

  Bartlett shrugged. Gozo was peering down at them with a frown, straining to hear what they were saying. ‘If he wants to,’ said Bartlett.

  Mordi sighed. ‘All right,’ he shouted. ‘All right, Gozo, but—’

  Mordi couldn’t be heard. Captain Wrick’s men were cheering. ‘Good for you, Uncle Mo!’ one of them shouted. Even Mordi grinned at that. But the grin didn’t last long.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say to his mother,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe I should go up and get him! Maybe I should just go up there and grab him!’

  ‘You’ll have to catch him first,’ said Bartlett.

  ‘Maybe I should go and get Vara. Vara would get him down.’

  ‘Is she faster than you?’

  ‘No, but she’s a lot more frightening when she wants to be.’

  Bartlett laughed.

  ‘You’d better tell your captain to get going as soon as I leave,’ said Mordi with a sigh, ‘because Vara will be after him the second she finds out. She’s never been near a boat before, but that won’t stop her. And if she catches you, I hate to think what she’ll do!’

  Bartlett grinned.

  ‘Will you look after him, Bartlett?’ Mordi said, looking at him seriously.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Properly? I have to be able to tell his mother.’

  ‘Properly,’ said Bartlett.

  Mordi nodded. ‘How long will it take you to get to the Queen?’

  ‘Nine weeks, Mordi. A bit more or a bit less, depending on the winds.’

  ‘Nine weeks! That’s an awfully long time to be on a ship.’

  ‘Not so long,’ said Bartlett.

  ‘Gozo’s never been on a ship before, you know.’

  ‘No one’s ever been on a ship before they’ve been on one,’ said Bartlett.

  ‘No, I suppose not. But it’s a long time. The Queen must be a very patient person. How long is it since you left her?’

  ‘Four or five months,’ said Bartlett, who hadn’t been counting.

  ‘Well, I suppose she’ll be happy to see you after all this time.’