Explorers on Witch Mountain

by Alex Bell

  Soon enough, the jungle fairies ran out of napkins and fluttered free of the rope. They decided to perch on Stella’s shoulders, casually swinging their heels and reaching up to give her an encouraging pat on the head from time to time.

  A moment later, there was the sound of a long, low, plaintive moo from above. When Stella looked up she saw that Margaret had wandered to the railings and was staring at them over the side with a heartbroken expression in her big brown eyes.

  ‘We forgot about Margaret!’ Stella called down to the boys.

  ‘Who’s Margaret?’ Ethan replied.

  ‘The cow.’

  ‘Oh, who cares about a cow?’ the magician replied. ‘This is hard enough as it is. We can’t exactly climb down a rope with a cow strapped to our backs, can we? And it’s not as if any of us intend to stay on Witch Mountain for longer than we need to. She’ll be fine.’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Shay suddenly said. He had finally reached the end of the rope.

  ‘What?’ Stella called.

  ‘We’ve run out of rope and, um, we’re still a bit high,’ he called back.

  The others looked down. Stella’s breath caught in her throat, Ethan made a strangled sort of noise and Beanie groaned. ‘A bit high’ was an understatement. The end of the rope dangled some fifty feet from the snowy ground below, far too high for any of them to let go without injuring themselves, except for Gideon, who would no doubt bounce harmlessly in his wonky squish-squish frog form.

  ‘Whose stupid idea was this anyway?’ Ethan demanded.

  ‘It was worth a try,’ Beanie said glumly.

  ‘Now what?’ Shay said.

  ‘We’re going to have to climb back up,’ Beanie replied.

  Stella felt a cold feeling of dread. It had taken all her strength to climb down and she was already exhausted. Climbing back up would be even more difficult and she worried she might not have the strength to physically do it. Besides which, the blankets were starting to strain under their weight. More than once she had felt something slip. The knots had held out up until now, but it would only take one to unravel and they would all drop to the ground like stones.

  Going back to the dirigible seemed to be the only option available. Stella remembered the explorer’s pledge she’d taken when she’d first been initiated back at the Polar Bear Explorers’ Club: I shall keep a stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on regardless … even when experiencing those narrow escapes and close shaves that are the unavoidable experience of intrepid gentlemen explorers across the globe.

  She gritted her teeth against the icy air. Explorers didn’t dangle helplessly from ropes and admit defeat – they got on and did what needed to be done. So, slowly but surely, hand over hand, Stella began the long, hard climb back up to the dirigible. Her arms felt like they were on fire, and it took all her will power not to groan aloud. When she looked up, hoping she was almost there, she saw that she wasn’t even halfway, especially when another blanket’s knot loosened beneath her grip and lengthened the rope. Margaret’s face gazed patiently back at her from a significant distance away.

  A particularly savage gust of air blew the rope around wildly, and Stella heard Ethan’s sharp intake of breath below her as they all held on for grim life.

  ‘It’s no good,’ the magician called. ‘We’re never going to make it. The rope is unravelling. I say our best bet is if I turn us all into wonky squish-squish frogs and we take our chances.’

  This suggestion was met with a chorus of loud protests.

  ‘Well, it’s better than dying, isn’t it?’ Ethan demanded.

  ‘Is it?’ Beanie asked. ‘Our lives as people would be over because there’d be no one to turn us back into humans again.’

  ‘Perhaps we could find a witch to do it,’ Ethan said. ‘We are at Witch Mountain, after all.’

  ‘If five frogs go hopping into a witch’s cave, I don’t think her first thought will be about how she can help them,’ Shay said. ‘More likely she’d chuck the lot of us straight into a bubbling cauldron.’

  ‘Wonky squish-squish frogs can actually be set on fire without getting hurt, you know,’ Beanie said. ‘Ethan was right about that. So they can probably survive boiling water too. If she threw us into a cauldron we’d be able to hop right back out again quite unharmed.’

  ‘But still frogs,’ Shay pointed out.

  Another gust of wind blew the rope, and Stella tightened her grip desperately. Her hands were going so numb in the cold that she could barely feel her fingers. Between her frozen hands, and all this talk of turning themselves into frogs, she was starting to feel a little panicked. But then, quite suddenly, out of nowhere, something incredible appeared before her – something so marvellous that, for a moment, she thought she must be imagining it.

  It was a magic carpet, floating serenely, so close that she could have reached out and touched it with her fingers had she taken her hand off the rope. It was woven in a hundred different shades of purple, from lilac to indigo to plum, along with jewel-bright teal and turquoise. Intricate drawings of camels and genie lamps were stitched across its surface, and there was a shiny gold trim at the edges, along with tassels in each of the four corners. It jiggled these at her now in a way that was, somehow, unmistakably friendly.

  Below her, the boys were still squabbling about the pros and cons of the wonky squish-squish frog plan, so Stella called down to get their attention.

  ‘Hey!’ she shouted. ‘Look what’s just appeared. Right when we needed it!’

  The other explorers stopped their argument and looked up. Shay and Beanie were immediately delighted but Ethan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Nothing just turns up right when you need it,’ he said. ‘Expeditions don’t work like that. This could be a trap.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t got much choice,’ Stella said, making up her mind. ‘We can’t stay dangling from the end of this rope forever.’

  She was just about to release one hand and reach out for the carpet when the jungle fairies all fluttered from her shoulders and settled themselves on the edge of it. Unfortunately, one of the fairies had unzipped Buster’s pocket, and the little dinosaur lunged after them. T-Rex legs aren’t really made for jumping, though, and he certainly would have plunged to his death if Mustafah hadn’t fluttered forwards to grab him.

  He set the dinosaur down on the rug and then, before anyone could stop them, Harriet and Humphrey each grabbed a corner of the magic carpet, turned it upwards, and shot away back to the dirigible.

  ‘Hey!’ Ethan shouted after them. ‘Come back here! Blasted things – what are they doing now?’

  The explorers watched, dismayed, as the flying carpet sailed right over the side of the dirigible, and disappeared from sight, along with Margaret.

  ‘I’m going to wring their scrawny necks!’ Ethan exclaimed.

  ‘Stella, why don’t you try calling them?’ Shay suggested. ‘They seem to listen to you.’

  Stella was just about to do so when the magic carpet burst straight through the side of the dirigible with such force that splinters of wood came raining down on the four explorers. The carpet went sailing past them carrying Buster, the four jungle fairies and, rather precariously, Margaret. The cow only just managed to fit on the carpet and didn’t seem too happy about the arrangement. Her panic-stricken moos carried back to them all the way down to the ground.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Ethan exclaimed. ‘This is turning out to be the most ill-fated expedition in the history of exploration. A wonderful, miraculous magic carpet appears, only to rescue a cow and a bunch of fairies!’

  ‘Five seconds ago you were saying that the carpet was probably a trap,’ Stella replied.

  It was hard not to feel frustrated as the magic carpet flew down and out of their sight on the other side of the dirigible, though. Less than a minute later, however, it was back, minus the cow, fairies and dinosaur.

  ‘They’ve probably been gobbled up by whatever awful monster is lurking below,’ Ethan said. ‘Is there blood on
the carpet? Blood is a sure sign of treachery.’

  Stella ignored him and grabbed the magic carpet with both hands, dragging herself onto it in one smooth motion. Her grey skirt puffed out around her as she sat down, and she felt the magic carpet shift a little under her weight, but it seemed able to carry her perfectly easily. It moved down so they could pick up the others – Stella noticed that Ethan climbed onto it quickly enough, despite his complaints and suspicions. Shay was next and, finally, Beanie. He stepped on not a moment too soon because, seconds later, one of the knots in the rope finally gave out and the entire thing fluttered to the ground in one long coil.

  Once they were all aboard, the magic carpet swooped down so fast that Stella’s long white hair was lifted right off her neck, and they all had to grab on to one of the edges for support. Soon enough, the magic carpet deposited them on solid ground, right beside the rest of their party. Margaret, the jungle fairies and Buster all stood in a row, waiting for them patiently.

  ‘Oh good,’ Stella said. ‘We’re all still here.’ She glanced at Ethan and said, ‘See? I told you it wasn’t a trap.’

  At that exact moment, a shadow suddenly fell across them. ‘Well, well, well,’ a deep voice said from behind. ‘I’m glad to see that my magic carpet found you all right.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The four explorers slowly turned to find themselves looking up at the most enormous man any of them had ever seen. Stella’s first thought was that he must be a pirate. He had a black bushy beard, huge arms covered in tattoos of mermaids and what looked very much like a pirate’s hat perched on top of his wild head of hair.

  ‘Welcome,’ he boomed, ‘to Weenus’s Trading Post – a fantastical emporium designed to meet all your needs in the field of expedition and exploration. I am Munch Mendelsson, at your service.’

  He swept his arm back to gesture behind him and the four explorers peered past to see a wooden stall set up on the snow. A striped awning had been erected above it, and the words ‘Weenus’s Trading Post’ were carved into a crooked sign hanging there. The little wooden tables were filled with all manner of things, including what looked like a selection of antique rifles, a crate of Captain Ishmael’s Expedition-Strength Salted Rum, several genie lamps and a rather shabby camel that gazed at them with a haughty expression before flaring its nostrils and spitting loudly.

  Stella had heard of Weenus’s Trading Post before, many times, from Felix. He’d told her that an entrepreneur named Wilfred Weenus had set up these trading posts all over the globe, no matter how remote the location, anywhere he thought explorers, hunters and adventurers were likely to pass through and find themselves in need of supplies. A Weenus’s Trading Post could be a lifesaver. But Wilfred Weenus was a twitchy little man, by all accounts, and a mongoose whisperer to boot, which Felix said was always a sign of bad character. A Weenus’s Trading Post might well provide you with just what you needed, right when you needed it, but there was always a price, and Mr Weenus would have the shirt off your back if he could.

  ‘Don’t usually get explorers around here,’ Munch Mendelsson said. ‘Witch hunters, mostly. Or prisoners – some chap crash-landed a witch’s vulture nearby just yesterday, so no doubt he’s a prisoner, destined for the cauldrons.’

  ‘Oh, that must have been Felix!’ Stella said eagerly. ‘What did he look like?’

  Munch shrugged. ‘Landed too far away to tell. Set off straight up the mountain, though, so there’s another one who’ll never be seen or heard from again, you mark my words. Witches send their vultures to bring back prisoners from time to time, but it’s a long journey across the sea and the birds are often plum worn out by the time they get here, so they make their way up the mountain on foot. Of course, their prisoners usually run away if that happens. This one must have had a death wish.’

  Stella was delighted. She’d feared that Felix may have simply flown straight to the top and could be confronting the witch at this very moment, but it appeared he was only a day ahead of them.

  ‘We had a lost Desert Jackal expedition passing through just the other day too,’ Munch went on. ‘That’s where the flying carpet came from, as a matter of fact. And the camel. You kids don’t want a camel, do you? Bad-tempered thing, constantly spitting at me, and any customer that comes near.’

  ‘We could do with some supplies,’ Stella said. ‘But I guess it depends how much everything costs.’

  Munch gazed down at her and said, ‘Well, now, that’s just details, me hearties, just details. I’m sure we can reach an agreement easily enough.’ He glanced over at Margaret and said, ‘Fresh out of magic beans, though, which I guess is what you was hoping for when you brought the cow along. Plenty more to tempt you with, even so.’

  He hustled them over to the stall, which was an absolute treasure trove of supplies, knickknacks, curiosities and equipment.

  ‘We have a fine selection of magic suitcases.’ Munch gestured to one corner where there was, indeed, a little cluster of magic cases. You could tell they were magic because they were all shuffling around and moving about on their own. Some had wings, others had legs and some even had fins.

  ‘You’ll never have to carry your own equipment again with these beauties,’ Munch said, patting the nearest one affectionately. They were rather beaten-up and battered, with an extremely interesting array of stickers on their leather surfaces. Other cases, rather alarmingly, had warning stickers on them announcing that the luggage trunks would bite porters if not handled with care and respect.

  ‘Great for carrying valuables and breakables, these ones,’ Munch said, seeing Stella looking. ‘If you’ve got any fancy delicates you want to transport up the mountain then this is the luggage for you. It’ll take the hand clean off anyone who tries to ignore any “Fragile” labels and just chucks it onto a trolley.’

  ‘Where did they come from?’ Ethan asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

  ‘Traded ’em,’ Munch said promptly. ‘From passing travellers.’

  ‘Not scavenged from dead bodies and doomed expeditions?’

  Munch laughed. ‘Course not,’ he said. ‘No one goes on expeditions up Witch Mountain. Far too dangerous. Even before all them poisonous bunnies arrived.’

  Stella realised that Munch must be the trader who’d sent the report about the rabbits.

  ‘Are they roaming the mountain?’ she asked.

  ‘Not likely,’ Munch replied. ‘Even witches would kick up a fuss about that. That batty old witch just keeps ’em as pets, I reckon.’

  ‘Was it a witch with burnt feet?’ Stella asked quickly.

  ‘Don’t know. Never seen her. But I chatted to the pirate what delivered ’em and he told me the witch’s name was Jezzybella and that she was mad as a hare. But never mind about her. How about some bath bubbles? Imagine you probably like to stay clean on the road?’

  ‘A bubble bath would be lovely,’ Stella said. ‘But not much use if there are no bathtubs around.’

  Munch shook his head. ‘Not bubble bath,’ he said. ‘Magic bath bubbles.’ He leaned over to a nearby helmet that was resting upside down and scooped up a handful of shiny purple bubbles. They were fat, round and smelled faintly of gooseberries. ‘Burst one of these against your head and you’ll be clean as a whistle and smelling of roses for goodness knows how long,’ he said. ‘Look here.’

  He proceeded to walk over to the camel, which immediately curled back its lips and bared its teeth in a menacing sort of way.

  ‘Now, now, Nigel,’ Munch said. ‘Don’t make a fuss in front of our guests.’ He reached up and pressed the bubble against Nigel’s bony head. It popped and the camel was transformed. His shabby fur became glossy, his eyelashes were long and curled, his teeth gleamed white, his gold anklets shone and his tasselled headdress and leather saddle looked polished and new. Around the ears, his fur even puffed out into fetching ringlets. Nigel responded by shaking his head and spitting at Munch in an outraged fashion.

  Stella looked longingly at the bath b
ubbles. They certainly would come in handy during an expedition, especially if they cleaned your clothes as well. Her explorer’s cloak had quickly got incredibly grubby last time, and boots tended to become caked with snow and mud. She was rather fond of her grey travelling dress and would have preferred to keep it nice.

  ‘If you’re going up the mountain then maybe you might like one of these.’ Munch thrust what appeared to be a mouldy old blanket at her.

  ‘Ew,’ Stella wrinkled her nose. ‘What would I want with this?’

  ‘Ain’t you never heard of a magic fort blanket, girl?’ Munch exclaimed. He shook his shaggy head. ‘Good grief. Dead keen on ’em in the Desert Jackal Explorers’ Club, they are. Crawling with jumping cactuses, it was, when I first got hold of it, but I think I got ’em all cleared out now. Best not go sticking your hands into any dark corners, though. Better safe than sorry when it comes to cactuses, my brother always said.’ He scratched the back of his neck, gave a hearty sigh and said, ‘Got ate by a whale in the end, did Crunch.’

  ‘I’ve never heard such a load of tall tales in my life,’ Ethan scoffed. His own older brother, Julian, had been killed by a screeching red devil squid in the Poison Tentacle Sea, and Ethan was a little touchy about deep-sea-monster stories. ‘You can’t honestly expect us to believe you had a brother called Crunch, let alone that he was eaten by a whale.’

  ‘What’s wrong with the name Crunch?’ Munch asked, looked genuinely puzzled.

  ‘There are twenty-nine types of man-eating whale in the world, you know,’ Beanie said. ‘Including the fat-man-gobbler whale from the Frozen North Sea, the head-crunching terror whale from the Voltic, and the one-gulp giant blue whale from the—

  ‘Don’t try to tell me about whales!’ Ethan snapped. ‘I’m from the Ocean Squid Explorers’ Club – I know all about the dangerous things in the sea that can kill you.’