the tale.”
“I can see the likeness,” David said, nodding. He put the snapshot down. “Who photographed the bear?”
“Ah,” said Henry, turning away. “Interesting talebehind that one, boy. Man who took that disappeared in unusual circumstances in 1913. Lost, presumed dead, on an exploration to the Hella glacier.”
“Hella? I’ve heard of that. Isn’t it one of the oldest and largest glaciers in the Arctic? What happened?”
Henry picked a reference book off the shelves. He used a handkerchief to flap some dust off the spine, then flipped the pages, talking as he searched. “No one knows. Bit of a mystery. People say he wandered off to find his watch.”
“What?”
“Had a risky incident a few months before. Found himself stranded near a native settlement with a large male polar bear for company. No rifle, and too far away from camp to summon help. All he had with him was a pocket watch. Played a tune when you opened the casing. Our fellow set it down in front of the bear. Story goes, the beast swaggered up to the watch, sat down, and listened. Our man backed off and escaped to camp. Went back with his comrades twenty minutes later, but the watch and the bear had both disappeared.”
“Who was this man?” David asked nervously.
Henry turned the book around. He pointed to a plate at the bottom of a page. “Third from the left. Fair-haired. Scandinavian.”
David cast his eyes down.
It was Dr. Bergstrom.
16
T O THE L IBRARY G ARDENS
A s David’s mind wrestled with the incredible conundrum of how a man in his forties who lectured at Scrubbley College could look exactly like a polar explorer reported missing in 1913, the house came alive with the trill of telephones. David thought he detected four at least. Henry snapped the book shut and returned it to the shelf. “Something amiss, boy? You look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” said David, “just … thinking, that’s all.” He cupped his hand around Gadzooks and looked through the slatted window blinds. There was a good view of the Pennykettles’ garden from here. He picked out Lucy right away, still by the brambles, puttering about with her hedgehog book. A slightlymoody-looking Bonnington was sitting near the rock garden, paws tucked under his tummy, watching. And in the center of the lawn, as if a cloud had dripped and left a great white blot, lay the hunk of ice that had once been a snowbear, still surviving despite the rain. As Henry lifted a phone and the house became silent, David thought about Lorel and turned to look at the bear print again. For a fleeting moment he became the bear, looking back into the lens of Bergstrom’s camera. And from somewhere between the bear and the man, from the bright cold wilderness of frozen ages, from the leaves of books, from the creaking timbers of icebound vessels, came a voice like a wind from another world, saying,
There was a time when the ice was ruled by nine bears….
“Nine …” David whispered — then nearly hit the ceiling as he took a sharp prod in the ribs from Henry.
“Suzanna. For you.” Henry handed him a phone. “I’ll be downstairs. Don’t touch anything.”
David waited for his pulse to return to normal, then said a clipped hello.
“Rain!” she breezed back. “You called. I’m dazed. You sound kinda toasted. What’re you doing at Henry’s?”
“Liz needed my room for Aunty Gwyneth. I’m staying with Henry till she goes.”
“Gee whiz. Have a medal. What’s happening in dragon land?”
“Lots. We need to meet.”
“Sure. Come to college. Remember college? Big stone building. Holds things called lectures, which you frequently miss on Monday mornings.”
“Too public. I need to see you somewhere quiet.”
“Steady, you’re making my tassels dance.”
“Zanna, get serious. Listen to this: Mr. Bacon’s just shown me a picture of Bergstrom.”
“Bergstrom?”
“Yeah. It’s over ninety years old.”
“Um, right. Time for a slight reality
“I can see the likeness,” David said, nodding. He put the snapshot down. “Who photographed the bear?”
“Ah,” said Henry, turning away. “Interesting talebehind that one, boy. Man who took that disappeared in unusual circumstances in 1913. Lost, presumed dead, on an exploration to the Hella glacier.”
“Hella? I’ve heard of that. Isn’t it one of the oldest and largest glaciers in the Arctic? What happened?”
Henry picked a reference book off the shelves. He used a handkerchief to flap some dust off the spine, then flipped the pages, talking as he searched. “No one knows. Bit of a mystery. People say he wandered off to find his watch.”
“What?”
“Had a risky incident a few months before. Found himself stranded near a native settlement with a large male polar bear for company. No rifle, and too far away from camp to summon help. All he had with him was a pocket watch. Played a tune when you opened the casing. Our fellow set it down in front of the bear. Story goes, the beast swaggered up to the watch, sat down, and listened. Our man backed off and escaped to camp. Went back with his comrades twenty minutes later, but the watch and the bear had both disappeared.”
“Who was this man?” David asked nervously.
Henry turned the book around. He pointed to a plate at the bottom of a page. “Third from the left. Fair-haired. Scandinavian.”
David cast his eyes down.
It was Dr. Bergstrom.
16
T O THE L IBRARY G ARDENS
A s David’s mind wrestled with the incredible conundrum of how a man in his forties who lectured at Scrubbley College could look exactly like a polar explorer reported missing in 1913, the house came alive with the trill of telephones. David thought he detected four at least. Henry snapped the book shut and returned it to the shelf. “Something amiss, boy? You look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” said David, “just … thinking, that’s all.” He cupped his hand around Gadzooks and looked through the slatted window blinds. There was a good view of the Pennykettles’ garden from here. He picked out Lucy right away, still by the brambles, puttering about with her hedgehog book. A slightlymoody-looking Bonnington was sitting near the rock garden, paws tucked under his tummy, watching. And in the center of the lawn, as if a cloud had dripped and left a great white blot, lay the hunk of ice that had once been a snowbear, still surviving despite the rain. As Henry lifted a phone and the house became silent, David thought about Lorel and turned to look at the bear print again. For a fleeting moment he became the bear, looking back into the lens of Bergstrom’s camera. And from somewhere between the bear and the man, from the bright cold wilderness of frozen ages, from the leaves of books, from the creaking timbers of icebound vessels, came a voice like a wind from another world, saying,
There was a time when the ice was ruled by nine bears….
“Nine …” David whispered — then nearly hit the ceiling as he took a sharp prod in the ribs from Henry.
“Suzanna. For you.” Henry handed him a phone. “I’ll be downstairs. Don’t touch anything.”
David waited for his pulse to return to normal, then said a clipped hello.
“Rain!” she breezed back. “You called. I’m dazed. You sound kinda toasted. What’re you doing at Henry’s?”
“Liz needed my room for Aunty Gwyneth. I’m staying with Henry till she goes.”
“Gee whiz. Have a medal. What’s happening in dragon land?”
“Lots. We need to meet.”
“Sure. Come to college. Remember college? Big stone building. Holds things called lectures, which you frequently miss on Monday mornings.”
“Too public. I need to see you somewhere quiet.”
“Steady, you’re making my tassels dance.”
“Zanna, get serious. Listen to this: Mr. Bacon’s just shown me a picture of Bergstrom.”
“Bergstrom?”
“Yeah. It’s over ninety years old.”
“Um, right. Time for a slight reality
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