IT TOOK A month just to discover where Bartlett was. It took another month for a messenger to reach him, hanging from a rope above the Piuong Glacier, the most treacherous slope in the Northern Alps. Altogether, it was three months before Bartlett appeared at Court.
But once he arrived he didn’t waste a second. Bartlett was not the sort of person to squander his time on long Hellos and lingering Goodbyes. He went straight to the palace, pausing only to drop in on Sutton Pufrock, who insisted on going with him. But Bartlett wasn’t going to wait until the Queen’s footmen could be summoned. Together with his companion, Jacques le Grand, he hoisted Sutton Pufrock onto his stretcher and carried him there himself.
Sir Hugh Lough was not impressed. Sir Hugh was never impressed if a man was not dashing, and this famous Bartlett was about as dashing as a milkman. He had freckles on his face and his hair was obviously not very friendly with his comb. His fingers were knobbly. He came to see the Queen in a plain shirt, patched trousers and a pair of worn leather boots that were as creased and creviced as a turtle’s neck. And besides, he was thin and wiry. Sir Hugh thought that there was nothing more dashing than a man with bulging muscles. You could see the muscles bulge in Sir Hugh’s arms every time he raised a cup to his lips. But Bartlett’s muscles were knotted and stringly. Sir Hugh almost pitied him.
The fellow who came with him, however, carrying the other end of Sutton Pufrock’s stretcher, was a different type altogether. He was tall and broad. His powerful shoulders were covered by a long fur coat that came down to his knees. He had curly black hair and a broad nose, and he looked around the Throne-room with a simple expression on his face. With a bit of work, thought Sir Hugh, this fellow could be very dashing indeed. He would need some new clothes, of course, and a haircut, and he would certainly need a new expression on his face, something less gentle. But then, thought Sir Hugh, imagining the change, he would be almost frighteningly dashing, almost as dashing—although it was hard to believe it was possible—as Sir Hugh himself!
The Queen was already on her throne.
‘Bartlett,’ she said, after Sutton Pufrock’s stretcher had been put down, ‘I am very pleased to see you. We began to wonder if you weren’t coming. Step closer.’
She was talking to Jacques le Grand.
Sutton Pufrock cackled with delight. ‘The other one, Your Highness.’
‘Oh,’ said the Queen. ‘Are you sure?’
Sutton Pufrock laughed until he almost fell off the table.
‘You are Bartlett?’ the Queen said to the wiry one.
‘I am,’ said Bartlett. ‘They told me I was wanted.’
‘Indeed you are,’ said the Queen. ‘Well, if you really are Bartlett, come forward.’
Bartlett walked closer to the Queen. All around him the courtiers watched curiously, examining him from top to toe. They had never seen anyone approach the Queen in such plain clothes and with such an unprepared appearance.
‘Would you like to sit, Mr Bartlett?’ asked the Queen, pointing to a chair that had been placed in front of her.
‘No,’ replied Bartlett. ‘I’d rather stand, if it’s all the same to you.’
The courtiers smiled behind their hands. Sir Hugh Lough smirked. It was a very great favour to be allowed to sit in the Queen’s presence in the Throne-room. No one ever refused it. It wasn’t only Bartlett’s boots that needed polishing. His manners could do with some work as well.
‘As you wish, Mr Bartlett,’ said the Queen. ‘Now, the reason I have sent for you is quite simple: melidrops. I want to taste one. I have never tasted a melidrop, and I think it is about time I did.’
The Queen paused, waiting for Bartlett to respond. She was hoping he would say ‘That’s no problem’, or ‘I’ll just pop out and get you one’, or something like that. But Bartlett stared at her silently with a thoughtful expression on his face.
‘You do know what a melidrop is, don’t you?’ asked the Queen eventually.
‘Of course he does,’ shouted Sutton Pufrock merrily, ‘he’s spent days lying under melidrop trees, picking them to his heart’s content.’
‘Well?’ said the Queen.
‘I can get you there,’ said Bartlett. ‘That’s no problem. But I don’t see why you needed to send for me. All you need is a sea captain and a ship.’
Again there were sniggers in the Throne-room. But Lord Ronald of Tull, who was standing amongst the courtiers, nodded to himself. This fellow Bartlett said what he thought, and meant what he said. Others would have fallen at the Queen’s feet and thanked her for summoning them, even if there were no particular reason for them to have been called.
The Queen was beginning to wonder whether it had been worth waiting three months for this.
‘I can’t go there!’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘You don’t understand, Mr Bartlett. I am a Queen.’
‘I can see that.’
‘Good. Well, now, a Queen simply cannot pack up and go off travelling for months on end. Is that what you think? No, it’s quite out of the question. I need someone to bring a melidrop back for me.’
Bartlett glanced over his shoulder at Jacques le Grand who replied silently to his gaze.
Bartlett turned back to the Queen. ‘Well, you’re in trouble. The fruit rots a day after it’s picked. Hasn’t anyone told you? It’s all that sweetness in them. Too sweet for me. Never liked them much myself.’
‘I didn’t ask you whether you liked them, Mr Bartlett,’ the Queen said tartly. ‘I didn’t ask you to bring one back for yourself, I asked you to bring one for me. I happen to like melidrops very much indeed.’
‘But I thought you said you’d never tasted one.’
The Queen stared rigidly at Bartlett. Sir Hugh Lough all but laughed out loud. Bartlett may have been good at yodelling in the Alps, but he didn’t know much about talking to queens.
Lord Ronald smiled. He liked Bartlett’s plain speaking more and more.
‘Your messenger should have told me what this was all about when he came to get me,’ said Bartlett. ‘Top secret: For the Queen’, that’s all he’d say. I could have told him then and there and saved us both a lot of trouble. The fruit rots! That’s all there is to it.’
The Queen could have shrieked in exasperation. ‘I know it rots,’ she exclaimed, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. ‘We all know it rots, Bartlett. Even tiny children know it rots. You’re not here to tell me that. We want somebody who will find a way to get one back before it rots. There is a perfectly able gentleman who was prepared to go three months ago. But Sutton Pufrock convinced me to wait for you.’
Bartlett shrugged. ‘You should probably send your gentleman, then, if he thinks he can do it.’
‘Madam,’ cried Sir Hugh in his most dashing fashion, striding forward with a grand sweep of his cape and one hand raised gallantly in the air.
‘Have we not seen enough of this man? Allow me to go and I shall soon return with the object of your heart’s desire. Just say the word.’
Bartlett glanced at Sir Hugh. ‘Is this your gentleman?’ he asked.
‘It is,’ replied the Queen.
‘Well, I can see why you didn’t send him. Listen, Madam, I can’t guarantee that I could get you a melidrop even if I tried, but I can say this: don’t trust any man who promises he can. He’s a either a liar or a fool.’
Sir Hugh Lough could barely believe his ears. His nostrils flared in rage. Either a liar or a fool? The courtiers began to titter. Even the Queen could not suppress a smile.
‘Well,’ said Bartlett to the Queen, ‘if it’s all the same to you, I’d best be going. It’s a long way back to the Alps.’
He turned to go.
‘No!’
Bartlett stopped. The Queen had jumped off her throne. The courtiers had never seen such a thing.
‘Mr Bartlett, do you understand? I am asking you to go for a melidrop.’
‘That’s very nice of you, Madam, but Jacques and I, we’re not really the right people for the job. You see, we’re explorers. Adventurers, you might say. And going for a melidrop, well, it’s just a matter of getting a fruit, isn’t it? Not really a job for explorers like us.’
‘But no one has ever brought one back. Isn’t that something?’
It was the voice of Lord Ronald of Tull. By now he was convinced that Bartlett was the one for the job. Experience had taught Lord Ronald that a person who at first refuses the flattery of a queen’s request is the one who will finally perform it better than anybody else.
‘Yes, it is something,’ said Bartlett, talking to the old man who had spoken from across the room. ‘But it’s still only a fruit.’
‘Bartlett, I could order you to go,’ said the Queen, clenching her fists.
‘Yes, but you can’t order me to succeed,’ Bartlett pointed out. ‘It will take more than an order to bring back a melidrop, Madam, it will take Inventiveness.’
‘And Desperation and Perseverance,’ shouted Sutton Pufrock.
‘Maybe, Sutt,’ said Bartlett, grinning, although he suspected that Inventiveness alone would be enough to bring back a fruit.
The Queen slumped on her throne. She couldn’t bear to look at Bartlett or Sir Hugh or Lord Ronald, or at anyone, or even to open her eyes, in case she started to see melidrops hanging in the air again. When she discovered that Sutton Pufrock was standing next to her, having left his stretcher and wobbled his way across the floor, she could have reached out and strangled him. After all, it was his idea to wait for Bartlett, and she had never met anyone more frustrating in her whole life.
‘What do you want?’ she hissed.
Sutton Pufrock leaned closer. The Queen stared up in horror as he began to topple towards her. A footman rushed forward and grabbed him just in time. Then he began to speak in a very low tone. No one else could hear what he was saying. The expression on the Queen’s face gradually changed. Finally she looked up at the old explorer and nodded with understanding.
Sutton Pufrock shrugged off the footman’s arm and wobbled back towards Bartlett.
‘Bartlett,’ said the Queen, ‘Sutton Pufrock has just told me something very interesting about explorers. It seems that the one thing that is certain to make them set off on an adventure, is if they know it will lead to another adventure later on.’
Sutton Pufrock cackled, nudging Bartlett in the ribs.
‘So, what is the adventure that you want?’
Bartlett glanced at Jacques le Grand. They both knew, without having to exchange a single word.
‘The Margoulis Caverns.’
‘The Margoulis Caverns!’ cried Sutton Pufrock, whirling his walking-stick and swatting an earring off a lady who was too slow to jump out of the way.
‘Are you sure?’ said the Queen, wincing as the earring flew over her head and cracked one of the crystals on her chandelier.
Bartlett nodded. The Margoulis Caverns consisted of the longest, deepest chain of caves ever found, with bottomless pools and echoing chambers, but only a fraction of them had been explored. To descend into the earth and map the entire group was one of the great challenges of discovery. They would need a whole team of assistants, equipment, provisions, as well as fourteen mules that had been reared underground and never seen the sun.
‘All right,’ said the Queen. ‘Bring me a melidrop to eat, and I will provide everything you need to make your expedition.’
Bartlett smiled. ‘That’s very fair, Madam.’ He glanced at Jacques to see if he agreed. ‘All right, it’s a deal.’
The Queen screwed up her nose. She did not make deals with people. ‘How long will it take you to bring the melidrop?’
Bartlett considered. ‘Five months, or seven. Depends if they’re in season.’
The Queen stifled a gasp. ‘Seven months?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Well, since we are making deals, Bartlett, if you fail to bring a melidrop, then I will send my gentleman. And if I have to send him, the deal is off, and you will get nothing for your expedition. Does that sound fair?’
Bartlett glanced at Sir Hugh, grinning to show that there were no hard feelings. Sir Hugh’s nostrils flared again. Obviously there were some hard feelings.
Bartlett shrugged. He didn’t have the time to worry about touchy gentlemen who couldn’t take a joke.
‘Very fair,’ he said, turning back to the Queen.
‘Good. As for getting the melidrop,’ said the Queen, motioning to a footman who approached Bartlett with a small leather pouch on a velvet cushion, ‘take this purse. Use whatever you need.’
Bartlett took the pouch. He opened it. Rubies and gold coins glinted in the light.
‘Is it enough?’ asked the Queen.
‘More than enough. There’ll be plenty of change.’
‘Don’t worry about the change, Mr Bartlett. Worry about the melidrop.’
Bartlett put the pouch in his pocket and took one last look at the courtiers around him. They were watching him as if he were some kind of strange, scary cat, who might suddenly leap into the air and land on top of them. He turned and marched straight past them to the door.
Bartlett and Jacques stopped as soon as they had crossed the bridge over the palace moat. There was a market there where people sold snacks to courtiers who got hungry while waiting for the Queen. They bought some marmalade buns. Then they sat down on the bank of the moat. Below, frogs croaked in the reeds. Green lilies floated on the water.
‘I know,’ said Bartlett, ‘it’s not a proper exploration. It’s not even an adventure. But after that—the Margoulis Caverns, Jacques: just imagine! We’ve dreamed of it for years.’
Jacques le Grand didn’t reply. He munched one of the buns. Jacques was one of those people who rarely speak, but for every word that passed his lips he thought ten times as many thoughts as any other person. He and Bartlett had been friends for so long that when Jacques wanted to say something to him, a glance was usually enough. It was Bartlett who did the talking.
‘And she is spoiled. I know, Jacques; just a spoiled Queen who doesn’t deserve our help. Wants to taste a melidrop but can’t be bothered to go and get one. And that gentleman, Jacques. Have you ever seen a more ridiculous fellow?’
Jacques grinned.
‘Just say the word,’ Bartlett said very grandly, raising one hand gallantly in imitation of Sir Hugh Lough. ‘What word, I’d like to know. Well, we showed him, didn’t we?’
Bartlett bit into a bun. Jacques began to eat another.
‘By the way, Jacques,’ said Bartlett, ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea how to get a melidrop back here?’
Jacques shook his head.
‘No,’ said Bartlett, ‘neither have I.’
Neither did the gentleman who had been so ridiculous. But now, as Bartlett and Jacques le Grand walked away from the palace, munching the last of their marmalade buns, Sir Hugh Lough was still fuming with rage. The Queen had left, and all around him in the Throne-room the courtiers were excitedly discussing the two explorers who had bargained with her. But Sir Hugh didn’t say a word to anyone. Over and over he thought about the adventurer who had dared to approach the Queen dressed like a ragamuffin, and of the way he had insulted him. Even the Queen had laughed, he had seen her. The more he thought, the more his anger grew. Well, there was another lesson that he could have taught Bartlett about life at Court: it was a dangerous thing to make an enemy there, especially if you were going on a long journey and there was no one to defend you while you were away.