Danger at Dead Man's Pass Read online

  ‘Thanks for bringing back Belladonna,’ Freya said as he made his way to the door.

  When Hal got into the lift, he pressed the button for the tower, then dropped to the carpeted floor and drew Freya’s strange equipment. He was troubled by her joke about potions and Rada saying she made magic. What was that copper pot for? He couldn’t imagine a use for the things on the desk, unless they hadn’t been joking. Could the copper pot be a type of cauldron?

  *

  In the tower bedroom, Hilda, Ozan and Herman had their faces pressed to the window, talking excitedly to each other in German. The sky was a murky grey, an eiderdown of snow-laden cloud waiting to fall.

  ‘The snow is heavy,’ Ozan said to Hal. ‘Tomorrow we can have a snowball fight and go sledging.’

  Hal went into the turret to join them at the window and saw it was getting dark. He looked at his watch, a gift from his uncle last year when they’d gone travelling across America on the California Comet. It was after five o’clock. He looked out over Dead Man’s Pass and felt a jolt.

  A figure, a black silhouette, was walking away from the house along the railway tracks in the snow. Hal’s breath misted the glass as he leaned closer. He wiped it with his sleeve, and glimpsed the figure disappeared into the cutting.

  ‘Want to play video games?’ Ozan asked him.

  ‘In a bit,’ Hal replied, staring at the space where the dark silhouette had disappeared. He went to his bed and dropped down, suddenly feeling deflated. He’d recognized the gait and shape of the figure in the snow. It was Uncle Nat out there, investigating on his own, just like he had last night in Berlin. Why hadn’t he taken Hal with him?

  ‘Aaaarrrrghhhh! ’ Hilda gave a blood-curdling scream that made Hal jump to his feet and spin round.

  ‘Fledermäuse! Fledermäuse! ’ Ozan was yelling in German, waving his arms.

  Herman was in his bunk, wailing like an air-raid siren.

  Hal locked eyes with what was causing the commotion.

  A large bat was frantically flapping about the room in a panic, bumping into the walls and the furniture, diving down, then swooping up.

  Hilda was curled up in a ball on her bed, staring up at it through the gaps in her fingers, screaming.

  Herman hugged his knees to his chest, calling out for his mama.

  ‘Quick! Open all the windows,’ Hal shouted, throwing himself at the window closest to his bed and struggling with the latch. Hilda sprang to her feet at her window, and Ozan was in the other corner of the room. Herman seemed unable to move.

  As Hal got his window open, he heard something – a distant laugh. A chill shot down his spine, but then he realized to whom it belonged. Storming across the room, Hal bounded up the stairs and yanked open the door to the upstairs room.

  Arnie was on the floor with his arms hugged to his sides, howling with laughter. In one of his hands he was clutching a hessian sack. The room was dark but for the dingy light from the little window and a red glow from the lantern embedded in the model mountainside.

  Hal grabbed Arnie and shook him, shouting, ‘Help us, or the bat will get hurt!’

  Running back down the stairs, Hal pulled Herman to his feet, standing him between Ozan and himself. ‘Put your arms up and clap your hands together, making a noise.’ Hal said, remembering that bats saw sonically. ‘We’ll try and drive it out of the window.’

  Hilda ran, ducking with her hands over her head, to join their line, and a moment later Arnie was there too. The five of them made a wall of clapping, shouting humans, driving the bat towards the window beside Hilda’s bed. The bat looped around the room once, then twice, before flying straight out of the window.

  Ozan ran over and shut it, dropping down on to Hilda’s bed with relief as they all turned to stare at Arnie.

  ‘You should have seen your faces,’ he crowed.

  ‘That was cruel – to the bat,’ Hal said angrily.

  Arnie shrugged, unapologetic. ‘Bats are always getting trapped in here. They hibernate in the tower roof.’

  Hilda punched him as he walked past.

  ‘Ouch!’ Rubbing his arm and chuckling, Arnie pressed the button for the lift, and called out, ‘You’d better make sure that door is closed properly, or when the colony wakes up hungry in the middle of the night, they might suck your blood.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DRAWING AFTER DARK

  Hal closed the windows and Ozan added a log to the fire and stoked it with a poker to warm up the room. Hilda took the throw from her bed and wrapped it round Herman like a cape, then double-checked that the door to the upper room was properly closed.

  ‘Herman, have you read Emil and the Detectives?’ Hilda asked, and Herman shook his head. ‘It’s really good. Would you like me to read a bit to you?’

  Hal went and lay on his bed, listening to Hilda reading in German, and thought how impressive it was that she could speak so many languages. He slipped out his pocketbook and pen, turning to a clean page. He’d been trying not to admit it, but Uncle Nat had been acting weird ever since he’d met him at the school gates. His uncle was keeping something from him, something about his past, and it was an uncomfortable feeling. He wished he’d had the courage to ask him about HANGMAN. Why had Uncle Nat gone out to Dead Man’s Pass on his own? If he wanted to investigate, he could’ve come and found Hal. And where did he go last night in Berlin?

  He leaned his pocketbook on his suitcase, drawing. His doodle turned into the corner of paper he’d seen sticking up out of Bertha’s desk drawer. Was it the missing will?

  It was too dark for him to venture out to Dead Man’s Pass now, and he had no way of knowing where Uncle Nat had gone, so instead he made a list of the things he was going to investigate tomorrow morning:

  1. Dead Man’s Pass

  2. Alexander’s train carriage

  3. Bertha’s desk drawer

  4. Uncle Nat

  ‘What are you doing?’ Hilda asked, approaching his bed and glancing down. ‘Drawing?’

  ‘No, nothing.’ Hal snapped his pocketbook shut. ‘I . . . er . . . it’s private.’

  ‘I understand.’ Hilda perched on the end of the bed. ‘I keep a diary too. What were you writing about?’

  ‘This creepy old house,’ Hal replied.

  ‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ Hilda said, her eyes shining. ‘It’s full of stories. I love it.’

  ‘Tomorrow, I propose we have snowball war!’ Ozan declared from across the room. ‘We’ll divide into two teams, make snowballs, and then –’ he brought his hands together with a clap – ‘fight it out.’

  ‘Let’s do it in Dead Man’s Pass,’ Hal suggested, thinking the snow would give him the perfect cover for a spot of investigating. ‘If we see any witches, we can take them down.’ He mimed throwing a snowball at an imaginary witch, and Herman giggled.

  ‘I want to build a snowman,’ he said.

  ‘Ooh, me too!’ Hilda agreed. ‘We can get a carrot for his nose from the kitchen and coal from the bucket by the fire in the salon for buttons and eyes.’

  Excited chatter about tomorrow’s snow day swept aside all thoughts of the library and Arnie’s bat attack, and spirits rose as Herman told them that he was certain there were two sledges out in the train shed.

  ‘I’d love to get a look at the old tank engine,’ Hal said, thinking he might be able to sneak into Alexander’s train carriage if he was left alone in the shed for long enough.

  ‘Boy, you do like trains,’ Ozan said.

  ‘Trains are awesome,’ Hal replied.

  It was dark, and the moon a hazy circle of light behind the clouds, when Alma arrived with a silver trolley laden with food.

  ‘Dinner is served!’ she announced, wheeling the trolley into the room.

  ‘Aren’t we eating downstairs?’ Hal asked.

  ‘No, the grown-ups will ruin your food with their sour faces and dull conversations,’ Alma said cheerfully. ‘I thought it would be much more fun for you to eat dinner up here by the fire, wi
thout having to listen to our boring talk about the funeral.’

  Herman was smiling and nodding, and Hal could see that Hilda and Ozan were happy with this arrangement too, but his heart sank. He’d been hoping to talk to his uncle at dinner. They’d not had a moment alone together all day. He had questions he wanted answered.

  Herman took the cutlery from the trolley, while Hilda put the pillows from their beds on the rug for them to sit on. Dinner was Käsespätzle, which it turned out was the German equivalent of macaroni cheese, with mini dumplings instead of macaroni. It was tasty, and Hal polished off the lot.

  Alma sat on the edge of Hilda’s bed, happily plaiting her granddaughter’s hair while they ate. ‘What have you children been up to this afternoon?’

  Ozan told her about Arnie’s mean trick with the bat, and she was scandalized on the the bat’s behalf, then Herman told her about Hal getting frightened by Adalwolf, and they all laughed.

  ‘Oma, what do you know about Frau Babelin?’ Hilda asked, and they fell silent, waiting for her response.

  ‘I know that her name is used to scare children into behaving well. I know that she was the woman who cursed the Kratzensteins for the death of her son . . .’ She paused.

  ‘Do you believe in her?’ Ozan pressed.

  Alma thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Ever since I was a girl and first visited this house, I have heard stories of a woman who lives in the woods on the mountain. Those who’ve seen her always describe her the same way: as having a grey, hooded cloak spun from the Brocken mists, a ghostly pale complexion, long black hair, and eyes as dark as tunnels into the underworld. Once, when I was sixteen and we were visiting Arnold, I decided to go for a walk up the mountain on my own. In the forest, I glimpsed a woman with dark eyes, who turned my skin to gooseflesh and then disappeared.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know if it was Frau Babelin – the woman in the woods – or someone just taking a walk, but she turned my blood to ice. I ran all the way back to my mother.’ She shrugged.

  Hal was struck by how similar Alma’s depiction of the witch was to Connie’s description of her encounter with the woman in the forest, and yet there must have been forty years between the two episodes.

  ‘Knock, knock,’ came a sweet voice, and they turned to see Connie entering with an overloaded tray. She was concentrating so hard on not spilling the five hot chocolates she was balancing on the tray that her tongue was sticking out. ‘I come with ice cream, hot chocolate and hot-water bottles.’

  They all cheered, and she beamed as she set down the tray on Hilda’s bed. Pulling a hot-water bottle from the cloth bag slung across her chest, she put it in Hal’s bed, then took one out for Herman’s, another for Ozan’s and finally Hilda’s. ‘It’s going to be a cold night,’ she said.

  ‘How are they getting on downstairs?’ Alma asked with meaning.

  ‘They’re about to serve dinner,’ Connie replied. ‘You should go down and eat. I’ve already eaten. Dinner is family only.’ She picked up two bowls of ice cream. ‘Who wants ice cream?’ she asked, and rewarded Ozan and Herman’s loud cries of ‘Me!’ with a bowl each, as Alma said goodbye and went downstairs.

  ‘It isn’t very friendly of them not to invite you to dinner,’ Herman said to Connie.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Connie replied, putting the tray of drinks on the floor in the middle of them, picking up a mug and sitting down cross-legged. ‘I’ll bet you’re having a lot more fun up here than they are down there.’

  ‘Are Mama and Bertha still cross with each other?’ Herman asked.

  ‘I don’t really know what it’s about,’ Connie replied, not answering the question.

  ‘Papa’s money,’ Herman said matter-of-factly. ‘He had a lot of money and owned most of K-Bahn. Mama is worried Bertha will take all of it, and because she is Opa’s favourite and he loves Arnie better than me we will have to leave our home in Berlin.’

  ‘Herman, that’s not true, is it?’ Hilda gasped.

  ‘I don’t care.’ Herman shrugged as he spooned ice cream into his mouth. ‘I don’t want to own K-Bahn. I want to be a pianist.’

  ‘I’m sure Arnold wouldn’t let Bertha do anything to upset you or your mother,’ Connie reassured him. ‘And he’s very strict about not having favourite grandchildren. He has told me how beautifully you play the piano. He’s very proud of you.’

  Herman blushed with pleasure.

  Hal thought about Alexander’s will. If he had been murdered, the contents of the will could provide a motive. If Herman was right, and the will concerned the shares he owned in K-Bahn, then perhaps he needed to look for someone interested in taking over the rail company. Immediately his mind jumped to Arnie, but surely he wouldn’t want any harm to come to his own father.

  ‘So, what are you children planning to do tomorrow?’ Connie asked, changing the subject. ‘The snow looks nice and deep.’

  ‘We’re going to have a snowball war in Dead Man’s Pass,’ Ozan declared, and Connie laughed at his excitement.

  ‘That sounds fun.’

  ‘I’m going to build a giant snowman,’ Herman told her.

  ‘I want to see the old tank engine,’ Hal said. ‘Do you think Aksel will show it to me?’

  ‘Aksel would enjoy showing the engine to you. He loves that machine.’

  ‘Are Aksel and Arnie good friends?’ Hal asked, surprising her with his question.

  ‘Yes, although Aksel is more like a big brother to Arnie than a friend.’

  ‘I bet Aksel doesn’t believe in Frau Babelin,’ Ozan said.

  ‘No? Then why does he wear a locket round his neck to ward off her evil?’

  ‘A locket?’ Hilda was thrilled. ‘Does he?’

  ‘You look tomorrow, if you don’t believe me,’ Connie said, sipping her drink. ‘He never takes it off.’

  There was a silence as they all thought about a man as big and strong and gruff as Aksel fearing the witch.

  ‘I wish I could go back to Berlin,’ Herman said quietly. ‘I don’t like the Brocken.’

  ‘You don’t think you’ll live in this house one day?’ Connie asked.

  Herman looked horrified. ‘No! I hate it. Mama hates it, even Papa didn’t like to come back here.’

  ‘Thousands of tourists come to the Brocken every year,’ Connie said. ‘It’s considered to be a place of great natural beauty.’

  ‘Yes, but then they go home again, to their nice safe houses,’ Herman said, and she laughed.

  ‘Good point.’ She looked around at the children. ‘It’s nice having people in the house to talk to.’

  Connie suggested a game of charades, but Hal didn’t know any of the German books or TV programmes they acted out, so they decided only to do big American movies, giving him a chance of joining in.

  Alma returned, telling them it was time for bed, and they each took it in turns to clean their teeth in the little bathroom under the stairs.

  Hal found a torch in the drawers beside his bed, and later that night, after they had turned the lights out and he could hear the others breathing heavily, he wriggled down under his duvet and switched it on.

  As the wind howled around the tower, hurling snow at its windows, Hal knelt in the hot-water-bottle warmth of his duvet tent, took out his pocketbook and pen, and drew all the images crowding his head: Arnie hiding up in the tower with the bats; Uncle Nat walking alone in the snow; Arnold looking out of the window at Dead Man’s Pass; Freya clutching her strange cauldron, Belladonna at her feet; and Aksel with a necklace round his neck to ward off evil. Tomorrow he was determined to get answers to every single one of his questions.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  STINKING GOAT

  Hal woke up, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dazzling glow of snow light streaming in the turret windows.

  ‘You are bright awake?’ Ozan whispered from his bunk, and Hal saw he was already dressed, sitting cross-legged.

  ‘It’s wide awake,’ Hal replied sleepily, ‘and no, I’m not.’


  ‘Come on, don’t you want to get out there, in the snow?’

  Hal sat up. He did want to get out there, into Dead Man’s Pass, and investigate. ‘Give me a minute.’ He threw his legs out of bed and pulled on thick socks. Two minutes later, he was dressed in his warmest clothes.

  Ozan clambered down the ladder, whispering, ‘Shall I wake the others?’

  Hal shook his head. ‘Let’s go to the train shed first – see if we can find those sledges?’

  Ozan eyed him suspiciously. ‘You want to see the steam engine.’

  ‘Well, yeah, but, also . . .’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Yesterday, when Hilda was investigating the curse, and Herman told us about his dad looking terrified, it got me wondering. What could have frightened him so badly that he died?’

  ‘Do you think it was the witch? Frau Babelin?’

  ‘We could do a bit of investigating now, before Herman wakes up. There might be a clue in Alexander Kratzenstein’s train carriage. That’s in the train shed too.’

  Ozan’s eyes lit up. He glanced at his sleeping sister. ‘If we find a clue, Hilda will be so jealous.’

  ‘And we’d be helping Herman.’

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  The boys snuck out of the house, the snow crunching under their feet as they followed the half-buried rails out of the cobbled courtyard. Hal hoped they were early enough that no one would be about.

  A noise, like a baby crying out, startled him, and he grabbed Ozan’s arm, stopping dead. ‘What was that?’

  Ozan chuckled and pointed through the lofty fir trees beyond the train shed. Behind a wire fence stood two skinny-legged goats, one white with a beard and horns, the other rust red with pale splotches.

  ‘Goats! Why does old Arnold keep goats?’ Hal exclaimed, hoping Ozan wouldn’t notice his blushing. A line from Uncle Nat’s book Faust came into his head – Over stream and fern, gorse and ditch, Tramp stinking goat and farting witch – but these goats seemed quite cute.