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.’
Bartlett grinned. ‘I’m sure she will.’
‘All right, Bartlett. All right,’ said Mordi, shaking his head. ‘Just don’t let him say anything silly to the Queen. Gozo’s quite excitable, you know.’
Bartlett laughed. He put a foot on the rope-ladder and hoisted himself up. The boatman pushed away from the side of the ship.
‘Mordi,’ called Bartlett, swinging from the rope-ladder.
‘What?’
‘Thanks for the melidrop.’
Mordi nodded. For a second his face was still serious. Then he grinned. He began to laugh. The sound boomed out of his beard. It rolled across the water, bounced against the ship, streamed up the side and flooded over the deck, echoing in Bartlett’s ears as he climbed aboard.
Captain Wrick was already at the wheel. The men were already unfurling the sails. The anchor came up. Even before Mordi reached shore, the Fortune Bey turned and headed out to sea, taking the magical, impossible rock of ice with it.