by Alex Bell
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 travelers.”
“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 realized 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 burned feet?” Stella asked quickly.
“Don’t know. Never seen her. But I chatted with 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? I 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 tasseled 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 bubbles. They certainly would come in handy during an expedition, especially if they cleaned your clothes as well. Her explorer’s cloak had quickly gotten incredibly grubby last time, and boots tended to become caked with snow and mud. She was rather fond of her gray traveling dress and would have preferred to keep it nice.
“If you’re going up the mountain, you might like one of these.” Munch thrust what appeared to be a moldy 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 eager 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.”
“It were a fat-man-gobbler what done for Crunch,” Munch said. “Ironic, really, considering he was the skinniest beanpole you ever saw. Could’ve used Crunch to fence with, if you had half a mind.”
“You must have half a mind if you think we’re going to be taken in by this lunacy,” Ethan said. He snatched the blanket from Stella’s fingers, dangled it at Munch, and said, “Did you honestly think you could pass off this bit of old rag as a magic fort blanket?”
Munch gave him a withering look and took the blanket from him. “The password,” he said, “is ‘rattlesnake ragtime.’ ”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, the blanket magically transformed itself into a magnificent fort, which sprang up around them. It was big enough to encompass the five people and the entire trading post. There was even room for Margaret and the camel, which seemed most put out by the sudden appearance of the tent and spat at the wall in an offended manner.
Stella could hardly contain her delight. The huge tent was full of overstuffed cushions, velvet beanbags, gilded ottomans, and billowing silk curtains. There was even a fire pit in the middle of the tent, crackling away warmly. You could tell it was an explorers’ tent from the maps that lined the walls, the rifles slung over the backs of chairs, and the pith helmets and safari hats hanging from pegs in the corner.
“Outsider alert,” Munch said, and the whole thing collapsed back into an old blanket in his hand. He gave Ethan a self-satisfied look. “Well?” he said. “Not so full of smart comments now, are you?”
“This would be incredibly useful,” Shay said. “And so would that magic carpet. How much would you like for them?”
“One hundred pieces of gold for the magic fort blanket,” Munch said promptly. “And five hundred pieces for the magic carpet.”
“We’ve got nowhere near that!” Stella said.
“Well, what have you got?” Munch demanded.
The four explorers did a quick check of their bags and pockets. Then Stella turned back around and said, “We’ve got five pieces of gold.”
“And a wonky squish-squish frog,” Ethan said, pulling Gideon from his pocket and dangling him by his foot.
“We’re not trading Gideon,” Stella hissed. “Put him back.”
“Five pieces of gold!” Munch exclaimed, looking horrified. “Why, that’s not enough to even buy this rusty old compass, and that’s broken besides. I thought explorers were supposed to be loaded. You kids already owe me eighty gold pieces.”
“But we haven’t bought anything from you!” Shay protested.
“You’ve had two magic carpet trips,” Munch said, holding up two fingers. “That ain’t for free, you know. And somebody owes me for an entire crate of Captain Ishmael’s Premium-Grade, Expedition-Strength Salted Rum.”
“We haven’t had any rum, you scoundrel!” Ethan said indignantly.
“No, but they have.” Munch pointed at the jungle fairies, who had passed out in a heap on Margaret’s back, snoring loudly and reeking of booze. “And they’re your fairies, ain’t they?”
“Those fairies do not belong to us,” Ethan said firmly.
“Well, they’re part of your gang, and no one shortchanges Munch,” he said. “No one. Mr. Weenus would have my guts for garters.”
Shay sighed. “We could give you the cow?” he offered.
“If you promise to take care of her,” Stella hastened to add.
Munch eyed Margaret dubiously. “Is she a milking cow?” he asked.
“The best,” Ethan said. “There’s a whole creamery on that dirigible that she’s filled with all kinds of delicious cheeses and—”
Munch snapped his fingers. “That’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll take the dirigible and we’ll call it quits. I’ll even throw in Nigel.”
He gestured at the camel behind him. “We don’t want a camel—” Shay began.
“Neither do I,” Munch said, unlooping the reins and passing them to Stella. “Camels and cows don’t get on—everyone knows that. So if I’m taking the cow, then you’ve got to take Nigel. He’s been nothing but trouble for me since the moment he arrived.”
Nigel seemed to sense he was being talked about, because he peered down his nostrils at Munch with an offended look. Still, at least it meant they’d have something to carry their bags.
“If you’re going to take the entire dirigible, then you’ll have to give us the magic fort blanket too,” Shay said, folding his arms. “It’s not a fair trade otherwise.”
“Naturally, matey, naturally,” Munch said. “Weenus’s Trading Post only deals in fair bargains. Besides which, if you’re heading up the mountain, then all this stuff is guaranteed to come back to me pretty quick anyway.” He thrust the blanket at the wolf whisperer and gave the explorers a toothy grin. “Nice doing business with you kids.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
STELLA CAREFULLY SCOOPED UP the snoring jungle fairies and draped them over one of Nigel’s humps, before tying some of the bags to the camel and putting Buster back in her pocket. They examined the map, but it wasn’t really any help in working out where Jezzybella lived. In fact, it didn’t have much detail on it at all. As President Fogg had said, there was only one expedition that had ever gone to Witch Mountain and almost everyone on it had perished. There were just a few things on the map that the surviving jungle fairy had filled in, but the expedition had taken place more than twenty years ago and things could have moved around since then for all they knew.
But there was only one path winding its way up the mountain, and so the explorers followed it, their boots crunching in the deep snow. When they’d put a decent amount of distance between themselves and Weenus’s Trading Post, they stopped to take stock of their provisions.
They had Stella’s magic tiara, a small selection of food, a pixie lamp, a telescope, a camel, a magic fort blanket, and four drunk jungle fairies. Beanie had brought a bag full of jelly beans, which he’d managed to keep hidden from the fairies, and also a medical kit. Ethan said he had packed all manner of useful supplies in his bag, from weapons to binoculars, but unfortunately, he had somehow picked up Gideon’s bag instead of his own, and this seemed to be filled with napkin rings, hairbrushes, a few pocket mirrors, and some silver tins of Captain Greystoke’s Expedition-Flavor Smoked Caviar.
“Well, there’s no use worrying about that now,” Shay said. “We’re just going to have to make do with what we’ve got.”
“I suppose this witch is bound to live right at the top of the mountain,” Ethan grumbled as they set off. “That would be just our luck.”
“We’re going to have to be extremely careful,” Shay said. His shadow wolf, Koa, was padding along at his side, her pointed ears flat against her head as she sniffed at the air. “This isn’t like before. This time we know exactly what lies ahead, and it’s not good.”
Stella shuddered. Up until now some small part of her hadn’t quite believed that she was really going to come face-to-face with the witch who had murdered her parents and tried to kill her, too. The thought was too big and horrible and wrong. She should be running away from the witch, not toward her. Jezzybella must be extremely powerful to have been able to kill both of Stella’s parents in their own castle
, surrounded by an army of stone trolls. But that was exactly why Stella couldn’t leave Felix to face her alone. And while the witch roamed free, she knew she could never feel safe herself either.
She gazed up at the jagged peaks of Witch Mountain, which reached straight up into the stormy sky, and she couldn’t help thinking that they were just four junior explorers, a camel, and a wonky squish-squish frog. What could they possibly do?
“Don’t think about the entire task,” Felix told her whenever something seemed too difficult or overwhelming to even make a start. “Just think about the first thing you have to do to begin, and go from there. That’s all there is to it. That’s the secret to achieving unachievable things. Just take it one tiny, little, manageable piece at a time.”
Stella knew that the first thing she had to do was take one step up Witch Mountain, then one more, and another one after that, until she found the witch’s lair. And if she was scared at the thought, well, it didn’t matter. She was going to do it anyway.
“Smells like magic,” Ethan said, tilting his pointed nose into the air. “That can’t be a good sign.”
He was quite right. A smell of burned sugar hung about the place, thick as treacle in the air around them.
“It was only to be expected,” Shay said calmly. “We all knew what we were going to find here.”
Stella looked at her friends and felt a burst of gratitude and gladness that they had come with her—had rushed straight to her aid the moment she needed them, in fact. Difficult things were always easier to face when you had good friends at your side.
They trudged on through the snow, pulling their cloaks closer to keep out the cold. Sometimes the path wound around the edge of the mountain—and they very quickly had to turn their eyes away from the sheer drop below—and at other times the path cut right into the black rock, which soared above them steeply.