by Odo Hirsch
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.
Chapter 17
AFTER THE GARDEN party, Lord Ronald of Tull didn’t have tea with the Queen for weeks. One Thursday she sent word that she was unwell, and told him to stay home. The next week she sent word that the Chancellor of the University was very upset about the way the students were behaving and wanted to see her at once. One week she didn’t send word at all, and Lord Ronald arrived at the palace only to find that she was out riding. The next day she sent to say that she had forgotten. Forgotten! They had been having tea together on Thursday afternoons for years. If the Queen had forgotten about tea on Thursday afternoons she would be forgetting that she was a Queen next. Already she was behaving not exactly as a Queen ought.
But this week the Queen did not send a footman with an excuse, and she was not out riding, and nothing else out of the ordinary had happened. Lord Ronald found himself sitting in the familiar panelled room with the table and the crisp white tablecloth. The Queen poured the tea as usual. Everything seemed to be just as it always was. But everything was not as it always was, and Lord Ronald could see it at once.
‘It’s only the Queen who’s waiting,’ the Queen said eventually. ‘That’s what people are saying, Lord Ronald. I know it is hard to believe that people could say this, but I am told that it is true. Lord Ronald, this cannot be good, for people to be saying such things. If this is what they are saying now, heaven knows what they will be saying next.’
‘That the Queen is patient?’ said Lord Ronald, reaching for a cake. He stared. There were lemon slices on the plate! Where were the butter cakes? What had the Queen done with the butter cakes?
‘Is something wrong, Lord Ronald?’ asked the Queen.
‘No, Madam,’ said Lord Ronald. ‘I was merely surprised. I thought there would be butter cakes.’
‘Ah. Well, if you want butter cakes, Lord Ronald, you will have to wait. I’m sorry. Perhaps next week. Or the week after. Or perhaps in seven months.’
Lord Ronald nodded. He even smiled. He hated lemon slices. He had always hated lemon slices. He hated lemons, and putting them in slices didn’t make them any better.
‘Very nice, Madam,’ he said, taking a bite and wincing at the taste. He put the rest of the cake down on his plate. It was the bitterest lemon slice he had ever eaten.
‘Yes, I like them,’ said the Queen, taking a tiny nibble of one.
‘Madam, waiting is never easy—’
‘I can wait, Lord Ronald. Seven months?’ the Queen laughed unconvincingly. ‘Of course I can wait! But what if they come back with nothing at the end of it. What then? ’
‘That would be difficult, I admit.’
‘Difficult? Difficult? No, difficult is not the word. Impossible. No, not impossible. Intolerable! And horrible. Yes, horrible and intolerable—those are the words.’
‘And insufferable?’
‘Insufferable. Yes. That’s another good word. A very good word, Lord Ronald. It would be insufferable. But not for my sake, Lord Ronald. Goodness, no. I’m only thinking of my people. What will they think, if they see their Queen waiting for seven months—for nothing? They would be disappointed, distraught …’
‘Devastated?’
‘Yes, devastated. That’s a good word for it. That is exactly what they would be. Devastated. I cannot let that happen to my people.’
‘Of course not,’ said Lord Ronald, wondering if even the Queen herself believed what she was saying. ‘But what do you want to do, Madam?’
The Queen did not reply. She glanced hesitantly at Lord Ronald.
‘Madam, do you want to know what I think?’
‘Lord Ronald,’ said the Queen, who could tell when he was getting into the mood to make one of his fiery speeches, ‘I don’t think that is the right tone—’
‘I think it is Sir Hugh Lough who has been putting these thoughts into your head.’
‘Lord Ronald!’
‘He disliked Bartlett from the very moment he saw him. He cannot bear anyone else to outshine him. He wouldn’t know how to get you a raspberry, much less a melidrop. But send someone else to get it and he will do anything he can to prevent it.’
‘Is that what you think, Lord Ronald?’
‘It is!’ Nothing could stop Lord Ronald now. ‘And what about all that nonsense at the garden party? Throwing his arm around! On his knees! I believe he is still there waiting for the word.’
‘Of course he isn’t! Do you think I would let the poor man stay there in the rain and the wind?’
‘No, Madam. It’s just as well! He would only be in the way if he were allowed to stay there.’
‘He would not be in the way,’ the Queen said impatiently. Suddenly she became curious. ‘Whose way do you think he would be in?’
‘The rhinoceros’s way.’
The Queen thought for a moment. ‘True. He might be in the rhinoceros’s way.’
‘Or the water buffalo’s.’
‘No. He was nowhere near the water buffalo. They always stay by the lake.’
Lord Ronald shook his head. ‘I hear that Sir Hugh intends to travel through the air and bring you a melidrop in his heart.’
‘There is nothing Sir Hugh would not do for me, Lord Ronald,’ the Queen informed him in her sternest tone. ‘It would not hurt if others occasionally recalled their duty to their Queen.’
‘Then send him, Madam, at once. By all means. I have not seen a man fly for a long time.’
The Queen stared at Lord Ronald icily.
‘And as for melidrops in a heart,’ said Lord Ronald, ‘I doubt that has been done since the world began.’
The Queen picked up the plate of cakes. ‘Do have another lemon slice, Lord Ronald.’
‘No, thank you. One is quite enough, and I have not completely finished it yet.’
‘Do have another,’ said the Queen, almost pushing the plate into Lord Ronald’s chest, ‘you always eat at least four butter cakes.’
Lord Ronald reluctantly took a lemon slice.
‘Now eat it, Lord Ronald.’
‘Madam …’
‘Eat!’
Lord Ronald ate. There were tears in his eyes. The Queen watched him until the last bitter morsel had been swallowed.
Lord Ronald gulped a mouthful of tea. He gulped another, and another, until the taste of the lemon slice had gone.
Suddenly the Queen laughed mischievously. ‘Oh, Lord Ronald. I can see that you too would do anything for me.’
‘Almost anything, Madam,’ he replied hoarsely. ‘If you want someone to eat another lemon slice, you had better call Sir Hugh.’
‘They aren’t very nice, are they?’
‘No. They are not.’
‘I made them myself, you know.’
‘I am very sorry to hear it.’ Lord Ronald reached for the teapot and poured himself another cup of tea. He became serious once more. ‘Madam, you know that you cannot send Sir Hugh.’
‘Why not? I said that I would send him if Bartlett did not bring back a melidrop, and Bartlett has not brought back a
melidrop.’
‘But he told you it might take seven months. And it is only five months.’
‘And how do I know that he is even trying? How do I know he hasn’t gone to an island to dive for oysters.’
Lord Ronald shook his head. ‘Oysters? Only Sir Hugh could think of that.’
The Queen shrugged. ‘Besides, Sir Hugh does not demand anything. Bartlett demands an expedition to … those caverns. Is that the way to speak to a Queen, making demands? Sir Hugh, of course, asks for nothing.’
‘Sir Hugh will do nothing. Besides, Madam, Bartlett did not demand. You offered.’
‘Lord Ronald, I don’t think that has—’
‘You made a deal.’
‘Lord Ronald!’ cried the Queen, and she looked as if she were going to force him to eat another lemon slice.
‘Well, it’s true, Madam.’
‘Well, if it is true, Lord Ronald, it is also true that I said I would not give him an expedition if I sent Sir Hugh. And I did not say when I might send him.’
‘But Bartlett told you it might take seven—’
‘I did not say when I might send him!’ the Queen repeated sharply.
The Queen and Lord Ronald stared at one another, each breathing heavily.
‘Madam,’ Lord Ronald said softly, ‘the whole country knows that you were told it might take seven months. Your people expect you to wait. If you think Sir Hugh is doing you a favour by asking to be sent, you are mistaken. Greatly mistaken. If you send him now, you will seem too impatient. Ask yourself what your people will be saying about you then!
The Queen tapped her fingers, very fast, considering. Her rings flashed in Lord Ronald’s eyes.
‘Madam, Sir Hugh has not forgiven Bartlett for his insult.’
‘And he should not have insulted him!’
‘True. But in his revenge against Bartlett, he is using you.’
‘Me? The Queen? He cannot use a Queen!’
Lord Ronald raised an eyebrow. ‘No? Do not be too sure. There is no one who cannot be used. Each of us has a weakness that can be exploited by others. Your father, the King, used to say that himself.’
‘Lord Ronald, are you saying—’
‘Impatient, Madam?’ Lord Ronald glanced at the footman beside the door. The footman looked away suddenly, as if he had not been listening. ‘Am I saying that you are sometimes just a tiny bit too impatient? Am I saying that this is something which others may use for their own purposes? Madam, you amaze me. You have worked it all out for yourself!’
The Queen narrowed her eyes, gazing at Lord Ronald. There was no one quite like Lord Ronald to find a way of saying what he chose, even when one didn’t want to hear it.
‘Madam,’ said Lord Ronald softly, ‘do not send him within the seven months.’
‘It is two months more to wait!’
‘It is only two months more. Much less than you have already waited.’
The Queen considered. Her rings flashed.
‘Wait, Madam. For your people’s sake.’
The Queen frowned. Eventually she sighed. ‘All right, Lord Ronald. I will wait two months more—but not a day longer. When the seven months are up, on that very morning, at the exact time that Bartlett left, I will send Sir Hugh. And if they have not brought me a melidrop by then, Bartlett and his friend will get nothing for their expedition.’
Chapter 18
ONCE MORE THE Fortune Bey was far from land. It plunged through the waves, leading the iceberg across the ocean. By now Captain Wrick had learned all the skills of an iceberg-tower: he could tell how the ice would move when the ship sailed into a fresh current or when the wind changed direction and picked up speed, how it would pitch when the waves rose or a storm appeared on the horizon. Sometimes he let out the chains and allowed more slack for the iceberg to float further away, and at other times he ordered his men to wind the chains in until it trailed close behind. He began to feel as if he had been towing icebergs all his life.
But for Bartlett, this part of the journey was not the same as before. Before, it had been an adventure, wondering how they could get a melidrop, then whether they could capture an iceberg, then whether they could tow it. Perhaps he had not really believed that it could be done. But now, they did have an iceberg, and they were towing it, and there was a melidrop inside it. The difficulties had been overcome, the adventurous part was over. Yet there was still a whole ocean to be crossed before the melidrop could be delivered.
One day, when they had already been sailing for two weeks, another ship appeared in the distance. It changed course and came closer. Suddenly a row of coloured flags appeared amongst its sails. Captain Wrick put his telescope to his eye. He muttered an order to Michael, and a moment later a row of flags answered from the mast of the Fortune Bey.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Bartlett.
‘The other captain’s coming aboard.’ Captain Wrick laughed. ‘He would like to drink the Queen’s health. He says that he will bring the whisky if I supply the ice!’
Two of Captain Wrick’s men rowed out to the iceberg and cut a bucket full of ice-cubes, which were put into the excellent whisky that Captain Trobottam, the captain from the other ship, brought with him. Captain Wrick, Michael, Captain Trobottam, Bartlett and Jacques le Grand solemnly raised their glasses to the Queen’s health and settled back in their chairs in Captain Wrick’s cabin to enjoy their whisky. Even Gozo had a glass, although he coughed and spluttered each time he swallowed. Everybody was enjoying the occasion immensely and obviously thought they were extremely clever to have found a way of drinking whisky and ice at sea. Only Bartlett felt ill at ease, and kept glancing at Jacques le Grand who was shovelling another load of ice-cubes into his glass and pouring himself seconds. It wasn’t the whisky that Bartlett was worried about. It was the ice.
The iceberg was melting. Really melting.
Of course everyone knew that the ice was going to melt, and everyone knew that it had started to melt even before they had stopped to pick up the melidrop, but somehow back then the iceberg was still so big that it just wasn’t possible to imagine it melting away to nothing. But now you could see the difference day by day. Each day the jagged edges of the iceberg looked a little smoother, it became a little smaller, and the smaller it became the more quickly it appeared to diminish.
A couple of weeks later Bartlett woke up in a cold sweat. He had just had a terrible dream: the iceberg had broken up into five little pieces and each of the pieces was floating off by itself and melting away five times as fast as the single block would have done. He rushed up on deck. The iceberg was still there in one piece, drifting behind the ship and gleaming in the moonlight. But what would happen if it really did break up? And how quickly would it melt even if it stayed in one piece? They were still not even halfway across the ocean. Even if the winds were favourable, there were still another four weeks of sailing to go. Who could tell if the iceberg would last?
Captain Wrick, of course, thought he could. Smoking his pipe, he made all sorts of calculations and came up with a different answer every day. Half the time he was sure the iceberg would make it—the rest of the time he was sure it wouldn’t. The day he agreed to chop icecubes for Captain Trobottam was one of the days when he thought it would. The next morning he emerged from his cabin and apologised to Bartlett. There were new calculations! He had forgotten to take into account the fact that seabirds sometimes landed on the iceberg, warming it up with the heat of their bodies. The iceberg, Captain Wrick announced, would therefore melt faster than he had calculated. In fact, there was no hope. No hope, he said. He wished now that he had never given the order to cut ice-cubes from it. But an order cannot be taken back once it has been given, just as whisky is gone once it is drunk. There was no point wishing otherwise. In fact, he said, trying to cheer Bartlett up, if the iceberg wasn’t going to make it, it couldn’t hurt to chop off a few ice-cubes while they still had the chance!
Bartlett stopped listening to Captain Wrick’s pr
edictions. He just asked him to drink his whisky without ice.
They had to drill a new hole for the melidrop because the ice melted so much that it was now only a few inches below the surface. Ten days later it was almost at the surface again. This time, when they drilled, a hunk of ice broke off and floated away. When they tried in a different place, the end of the drill broke through the bottom and the hole filled with water. So they cut some ice and put it in a barrel with the frozen melidrop and took it back on board the Fortune Bey.
After that, someone had to row across to the iceberg each day and cut a fresh supply of ice. The ship was making slow progress. Bartlett hardly slept. Ten times a day he went to the back of the ship to look at the iceberg and remind himself how much was left. All night he lay awake in his hammock, wondering how much would remain in the morning. He could hardly bear to think of the magnificent iceberg that they had captured all those long weeks before, when it was big enough to have sunk a ship and large enough for a whole family of seals to roll around on. Now, it could not even hold a melidrop.
It was a question of time. Would the iceberg last long enough? Would the melidrop spoil? It was no longer the expedition to the Margoulis Caverns that made Bartlett want to succeed—he hadn’t thought about that for a long time. Getting the melidrop had been a real adventure in itself. Just as Sutton Pufrock had predicted, it had required all the tools of the explorer: Inventiveness, Desperation and Perseverance. But now it was out of his hands. Now there was nothing to do but wait as the Fortune Bey made its way across the sea. It was all a question of time. And as the iceberg melted, time was running out.
Chapter 19
NOTHING CAPTAIN WRICK could do could make the Fortune Bey go faster. When the wind died down he just had to wait until it picked up again. When the current turned he had to alter course. These were the laws of the sea and no one could change them. In the meantime, the iceberg got smaller and smaller. Two of the harpoons attaching it to the chains fell out. Captain Wrick reeled in the last chain until the iceberg was only a short distance behind the ship. It didn’t look big enough now to do any damage, even if it crashed into the hull with all its weight. It didn’t look big enough to do much damage to a rowboat. It looked like something that had fallen overboard by mistake.
