Crossing the Black Ice Bridge Page 12

  The others joined her up on the deck, but the next moment the sound faded away.

  “It was there,” Stella insisted. “I heard it.”

  Shay frowned. “But if you heard its heartbeat, then whatever it is must be enormous,” he said.

  “That’s another theory about the bridge,” Beanie said. “That it was built by giants. And those giants are responsible for all the explorers who’ve gone missing. They gobble them up, you see. According to the rumors.”

  “I really hope it’s not giants,” Ethan said with a shudder. “I’d rather not have my bones ground down for bread.”

  Stella shook her head. “If giants took the explorers, wouldn’t they leave more of a sign? The explorers’ camps always look in perfect order, as if they’d just left. Giants would mess the camps up with their huge feet and whatnot.”

  Stella gave the order to the gargoyles and they continued on their way. The sun was starting to set by the time Beanie—whose turn it was to be on watch—called the others up on deck.

  “Is it the heartbeat again?” Stella asked, but immediately had the answer to her question.

  She told the gargoyles to stop, and the four explorers stood and listened to the mournful sound of bells coming from beneath the bridge.

  “It’s the ship graveyard,” said Beanie. “Just like in my father’s journal.”

  The fog had started to draw back in as the sun set, but it wasn’t yet so thick that they couldn’t see the forest of masts rising up from below.

  “Good Lord,” Melville said, gawping through his monocle. “How astonishing.”

  There must have been hundreds of ships. Some of them still carried the tattered remains of flags, while others were little more than hulks of rust—hollowed-out hulls that were already being reclaimed by the sea, covered in strings of seaweed, crusty patches of barnacles, and the odd confused starfish. There were all kinds of vessels down there—smuggler ships, pirate galleons, and whaler boats, clippers and icebreakers, merchant ships and longboats.

  Stella saw one mermaid-spotting boat that had clearly been claimed by actual mermaids, for the deck had been turned into a makeshift beauty parlor, with coral combs and shell bras and sea-flower hair accessories scattered all over the deck. In fact, the mermaids seemed to have claimed several of the ships, although there was no sign of the mermaids themselves.

  “Looks like they’ve turned that icebreaker into a seahorse grooming platform,” Shay said, pointing. “And the ship next to it is a sunbathing deck, and the one next to that is a manicure boat.”

  There even seemed to be a few antique explorers’ ships down there.

  “Look at that one.” Ethan pointed at a ship with tall masts and an abundance of shredded sails. “It’s got an explorers’ crest, but what’s the animal on it? A phoenix?” He looked at the others. “There’s never been a phoenix club, has there?”

  They all looked at Beanie, who easily had the most knowledge about explorers and their history.

  He frowned and said, “I’ve heard of the Sky Phoenix Explorers’ Club, but I thought it was just an urban myth. There’s this story that once, many years ago, there were five clubs. But the Sky Phoenix Explorers’ Club were a bit stupid, always ‘discovering’ places that didn’t really exist. Not very good explorers at all.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Plus, it was said they used giant phoenixes to travel, and there’s no evidence they ever existed, either. It sounds like they were just an exaggerated version of firebirds, which are extinct now too. I don’t think anyone believes the club was ever real. I always thought they were a scapegoat made up by the other clubs to take the blame for mistakes made on maps and errors in log reports and so on.”

  “If they were never real, then how do you explain that?” Ethan pointed at the ship. The phoenix rising from the flames was still just about visible on the tattered remains of the flags.

  Beanie shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “You know, we have a saying on the Islet of Gentleman Flamingos that history is written by the victors,” Melville said, squinting through his monocle. “Perhaps your clubs have rewritten history to suit themselves a bit?”

  “I hope that’s not it,” Shay said, frowning. “How did all these ships get here in the first place?”

  “Could they have been trying to get to the other side of the bridge?” Stella asked.

  “Some of them, maybe,” Beanie said. “But not all of them.” He pointed out a nearby ship and said, “That’s the Water Witch. I recognize it from books. It belonged to Captain Conrad Conway Twythe. His expedition was attacked by a giant kraken and the ship sank in Crystal Cove, which is hundreds and hundreds of miles away. Sunken ships from all around the world have turned up here, but it’s a mystery as to how or why.”

  It occurred to Stella that they seemed to be surrounded by mysteries: vanishing islands, materializing shipwrecks, missing explorers, gigantic bridges, ghostly snow queens, and of course, the enigmatic Collector himself, the man responsible for killing Stella’s birth parents and stealing the Book of Frost, and they didn’t even know what his name was.

  There was something indescribably sad about the sight of so many sunken ships, especially as some of them still had their bells, and the melancholy peals carried over to them through the gathering mist. The explorers continued onward, glad to leave the ship graveyard behind them.

  The sun was just disappearing below the horizon by the time they reached the ruins of the abandoned camp belonging to Beanie’s father.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE CAMP WAS SHROUDED in ghostly sea mist, almost like a mirage. The rescue party that had gone after Adrian Albert Smith had snatched up some of the explorers’ personal possessions to take back with them but otherwise hadn’t lingered for too long. No one wanted to test their luck or tempt fate on the Black Ice Bridge.

  There were five tents, a couple of which had collapsed, but the other three remained standing, as if a dazed explorer might crawl out of one at any moment. In fact, the whole camp had the air of a place that had only just been left. There were still piles of supplies scattered around, such as rifles, camping mugs, and coils of rope, and the freezing temperatures had kept everything well preserved. There were even still iced gems inside the sacks of unicorn food.

  The explorers poked around inside one of the tents to see if there was anything useful they could take with them. They found an entire untouched plate of food, perfectly frozen, as well as a rickety desk with a map and a magnifying glass still set out on it. Some of the stuff outside had been covered up by fresh snowfall, but they could still just about see the outlines.

  Stella noticed that Beanie had a pale, pinched look about him, and she knew it must be difficult for him to come here, to the last known place where his father had been.

  “Shall we go on a little farther and then set up camp for the night?” she asked.

  Beanie shook his head. “We should check all the tents before we leave,” he said. “There might be something useful here.”

  Stella didn’t think that was too likely—even the rifles had rusted beyond repair. She suspected Beanie just wanted to search for signs of his father. Nevertheless, they went through the collapsed ruins of the two crumpled tents and found nothing but a few empty cans of Spam.

  “There aren’t enough tents here,” Beanie said with a frown. “There were more expedition members than this.”

  “Perhaps they fell down and got covered by snow?” Ethan suggested. “Or perhaps they didn’t get around to putting all the tents up before whatever happened… happened.”

  “Maybe,” Beanie replied, although he still looked dubious.

  Finally, they reached the last tent.

  “Nothing in this one, either,” Beanie said glumly.

  “Hang on,” Stella said, peering into the corner. “What’s that?”

  “It’s just a stone,” Shay replied.

  “It’s a stone with a hole in it,” Stella said. “That means it belongs to
fairies. They use them as little bags sometimes—I’ve seen them do it in the backyard at home. They use the hole in the rock to tie a piece of string through, like a handle.” She scooped up the stone. “You just have to know where to press.…”

  She removed her glove to feel around the stone, and the next second it sprang open with a soft snap.

  “I was right!” Stella exclaimed as the others crowded around to get a better look. The stone contained several explorer items, including a pair of tiny binoculars, a perfectly preserved lump of mint cake, and a miniature camera about the size of Stella’s thumb. She picked it up and peered at it. “Goodness. How do you think this came to be here?” She looked at Beanie. “Were there any fairies on the expedition?”

  He nodded. “One,” he said. “He was accompanying Henry Gulliver Rowling, the team fairyologist. These must be his things. I guess the rescue party missed it because they saw it as just a useless stone.”

  “I wonder what happened to the pictures,” Stella said. “They might hold some clue as to what happened to everyone out here.”

  Before Beanie could reply, Shay said sharply, “What was that noise?”

  The others remained silent for a moment.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Ethan finally said. “It was probably just the wind.”

  Shay shook his head. “No. There’s someone out there. I saw their silhouette pass by the canvas.”

  Stella stuffed the fairy belongings into her dress pocket, and they all hurried from the tent to scan their eyes over the camp.

  “You see?” Ethan said. “Nobody.”

  Shay turned toward the magician, and to Stella’s surprise his face was pale with dread.

  “Are you joking?” Shay said hoarsely. When everyone stared back at him blankly, he said, “There’s a man. Surely you can see him? He’s right there.”

  He pointed to the middle of the camp.

  “There’s no one there,” Stella whispered.

  She looked at Shay and saw that one of his eyes had turned that white silvery color once again.

  “Who are you?” Shay asked, stepping forward.

  The others frowned in concern, wondering whether Shay was having some kind of hallucination.

  Then Shay glanced back at them. “He says his name is Henry Gulliver Rowling. The fairyologist.”

  “Perhaps you’d better sit down,” Ethan suggested.

  Shay shook off his hand impatiently. “I’m not imagining things, you idiot,” he snapped. “He’s really there. He says that he hid when the ice lady came, but he froze to death just a few paces from here.” Seeing the others still looked unconvinced, Shay turned around again and said, “Why am I the only one who can see you?”

  There was a brief silence; then Shay said to the others, “He says he doesn’t know. I think perhaps it’s something to do with the witch wolf’s bite. They feed on souls, don’t they? I sensed him before I saw him.”

  “Your eye has gone silver again,” Stella admitted.

  “What nonsense!” Ethan exclaimed, while Beanie tugged fearfully at his pom-pom hat. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Can you do something?” Shay asked, looking back at the empty space in front of them. “To prove to the others that you’re really there?” He was quiet for a moment; then he turned back to the others and said, “He’s going to switch the gramophone on.”

  Ethan shook his head. Melville—who was still stuffed down the front of Ethan’s sweater—stared with eyes like saucers. Stella and Beanie waited nervously. They all looked at the gramophone frozen outside one of the tents.

  “That thing probably doesn’t even work anymore,” Ethan said. “Look at it! It’s all rusted and—”

  He broke off as, before their eyes, the needle started to move and the next moment music drifted out from the machine. It was tinny and crackly, and the record itself was clearly badly scratched, but it was playing just the same.

  “There,” Shay said, sounding pleased. “Now do you believe me?”

  “Ask him if he knows what happened,” Beanie said at once. “To the expedition.”

  Shay looked back at the snow next to the gramophone, listened for a moment, then frowned and turned to the others. “He says he hid when something attacked the camp, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He managed to escape, but froze to death in the blizzard that came later. He just keeps saying that we should get off the bridge and go back while we still can.”

  “We can’t do that,” Stella said firmly. “There’s something on the other side that we need. More than one person’s life is at stake. Please, Mr. Rowling, if you know anything about what lies ahead, then you have to tell us.”

  They waited while the ghost of the fairyologist gave his response to Shay.

  “He says that we should look at the photos inside the fairy’s camera—”

  Shay broke off as Koa suddenly leapt, snarling, into the space where the ghost must have been. There was a savage, hungry look in her eyes that Stella had never seen before, and it made her blood run cold. But Shay shot out his hand, grabbed the scruff of Koa’s neck and thrust her back. A second later, a strange current of air whipped up the snow around them, making everyone shiver.

  “He’s gone,” Shay said to Koa. “It’s too late. He’s gone.”

  The shadow wolf growled low in the back of her throat before turning and slinking away into the fog, her newly solid form leaving footprints in the snow.

  “Are you okay?” Stella asked, reaching out to Shay.

  He gave her a desperate look. “She wanted to consume the ghost,” he said. “I think she’s turning into a witch wolf. And turning me into… I don’t even know what. Rowling’s gone—she frightened him away. But at least we know the photos are in the fairy’s camera.”

  Hastily, Stella took the camera from her pocket, and the others crowded around her as she prized off the back. The fairyologist had been right. There was indeed a neat little stack of photographs tucked away inside the camera. Stella gently tipped them out on to her palm, taking care that they weren’t plucked away by the wind. There were perhaps twenty photos there, but they were so small they could barely make them out.

  “There was a magnifying glass in one of the tents,” Ethan said.

  The magician hurried to fetch it. Even with the aid of the magnifier, the photos were still quite hard to see, but at least they could just about make out the images now.

  They could tell they were in chronological order because the photos started with a traditional group shot of all the explorers assembled at the entrance to the Black Ice Bridge beside the Polar Bear Explorers’ Club flag. The photos went on to document the screeching red devil squid tree and the ship graveyard.

  And then they got to the camp. It seemed as if the fairy had taken the photos from inside the tent because there was a flap of canvas fabric partially obscuring the view. Stella and the others all leaned forward eagerly to get a better look. These must be the last photos ever taken of the expedition. Perhaps they really were about to find out what had happened and finally solve the mystery of why so many people disappeared on the bridge without a trace.

  Beanie took the photos from Stella and raised them closer to his face. “Something’s already happening in this one,” he said. “Look, the explorers aren’t just milling around—they’ve seen something. They’re scared.”

  Stella saw he was right. There were three explorers in the photo: Two were running back toward their tents, while a third had picked up a rifle and was pointing it straight into the fog. The final explorer was Beanie’s father. It was impossible to make out their expressions clearly in the tiny photos, but something about their body language made it obvious they were afraid as they faced the mist.

  “They can see something we can’t,” Shay said. “Or else they heard something.”

  “Perhaps it was the screeching red devil squid?” Stella suggested. “Maybe it pursued them across the bridge?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Th
e squid don’t hunt like that. They wouldn’t travel across land—they’re most vulnerable there.”

  “Go on to the next photo,” Shay urged. “Perhaps it will show us something.”

  Beanie flicked to the next photo. In this one, three other explorers had joined Beanie’s father. They stood shoulder to shoulder, all holding rifles aimed in the same direction.

  “There!” Ethan cried, pointing at a spot in the photo. “There’s something right there.”

  The others all squinted down at the picture and saw he was right. A shape was emerging from the fog, but it was no tentacled monster or fearsome giant. In fact, it was a woman.

  “There’s the edge of her skirt,” Beanie said. “And that’s a hand.”

  There was indeed a pale, slim hand pointing through the mist at the explorers.

  Beanie flicked forward to the next photo and, suddenly, everything was transformed. The explorers were gone and their rifles lay upon the snow, still smoking. A single person now occupied the photo.

  “Queen Portia.” Stella groaned.

  They all stared at the snow queen. It looked as if the fairy had caught her in the act of performing some kind of spell. She was midwhirl, with her long skirts flying around her, one hand stretched out, her beautiful face in profile.

  “But… but that’s not possible,” Ethan said. “She looks young—exactly like she did in the paintings back at the castle. But if she was here on the bridge eight years ago, she would have been in her hundreds.”

  “Perhaps snow queens age differently,” Stella said. “Nobody knows for sure, do they?”

  “She must have done something to the explorers,” Beanie said. “Used magic on them somehow.”

  He flicked quickly forward to the next photo, which showed Queen Portia standing motionless, hunched protectively over something she seemed to be clasping to her chest. She had her back to them, though, so they couldn’t see what it was.

  “There’s only one photo left,” Beanie said, flicking to it.

  It was almost identical to the photo before it, except in this one, Queen Portia was looking over her shoulder, directly at the camera. It seemed like she was staring right out of the photo at them, and Stella couldn’t help shivering.