Seahorse in the Sky

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE RIVER REMAINED broad. At a distance of half a kilometre, the mist barrier hung formidable and motionless across it like a great white cliff of ice. It was truly awe-inspiring. Because the river was wide, there was less chance of the boat lodging against the banks with its three frozen occupants remaining frozen until the wall of mist was dispersed—if ever. But, also because the river was now wide, it was dangerously shallow; and consequently the risk of running aground was increased.

Russell surveyed the great barrier, and felt rivulets of sweat running down his body. He was cold inside, but his body was drenched with perspiration. He was wearing two shirts, three sweaters, two pairs of trousers, three pairs of socks and held in his hand a long woollen scarf which he presently intended to wind round his head.

Anna and Farn zem Marur were similarly muffled. Looking at them, Russell was incongruously reminded of a Christmas game he had played long ago as a child. He could not remember the details, but it involved being dressed in a great variety of old clothes and trying to eat a bar of chocolate with a knife and fork while somebody threw dice for a double six.

He laughed at the memory. Farn and Anna gazed at him in amazement.

“Lord Russell,” said Farn, “it seems to me that there is little for laughter in yonder prospect. The cold is such that I have not known its like before. Nor, if we pass through the mist and live, shall I be eager to know its like again.”

“I am sorry, Farn,” said Russell contritely. “I was reminded by our clothing of a game that I once played as a child… Is the cabin free of all our belongings?”

“Lord, I have placed everything at the head of the boat, as you ordered.”

“It is well. The cabin will scarce hold the three of us, even when it is cleared.” He gazed at the small pile of equipment that Farn zem Marur had stowed methodically.

The weapons were all piled together—the pathfinder’s sword, poniard and short spear, the knives, the two arbalests with their quivers of bolts, and the gunpowder grenades that belonged to Anna and Russell. By the weapons lay the boxes of canned foods and the bottles of hotel water that Anna and Russell drank in preference to river water. There were also the binoculars, Farn zem Marur’s lodestone, two coils of rope, a box of makeshift bandages and the instant picture camera.

What an odd collection of equipment, thought Russell. To mount an expedition like this with two men, one woman and such a sorry heap of possessions one must surely be half crazy, half in love with death, or both. Even assuming they passed safely through the mist barrier—and that was a very big assumption—there was no knowing what lay on the other side.

Suppose the zoo, prison or whatever had been conceived as a refuge or reservation in a wilderness of predatory beasts? Suppose there was nothing but featureless desert? Suppose the spider robots, or some other type of watchdogs, had orders to destroy all who attempted to escape. Suppose, suppose, suppose…

“Russell, hold me,” said Anna, looking now like a fat rag doll. “Hold me close, very close.”

Russell gazed at the great wall of mist, now no more than a hundred metres away. He fancied he could already feel its coldness striking his face.

“I’ll hold you when we get in the cabin,” he said. “I’ll hold you as tight as you wish.” He turned to Farn zem Marur. “Pathfinder, these are my orders. When I give the word we will all crawl into the cabin, lying very close together, covering our heads and using our own breath to stay warm. If, as I hope, we should remain conscious during the penetration of the mist, and if the boat should run aground because the water is very shallow, we shall first attempt to dislodge it by rocking our bodies. If that should fail, you will crawl out of the cabin and try to move it with a paddle. But you must not open your eyes. If you cannot move it alone, I will join you in the effort. If the two of us cannot move it, the lady Anna will help us. And if the three of us cannot move it, the journey is at an end.”

“Lord,” said the pathfinder. “You have spoken. I am content.”

The great white wall was now only twenty metres away. In the bright sunlight it was dazzling, hypnotic. But the sheer weight of its coldness was already apparent.

With a last glance, Russell assured himself that the boat was in midstream on a straight course.

The rest was in the lap of the gods.

“Now,” he said, “let us crawl into the cabin. The lady Anna shall lie between us… And press close, Farn zem Marur, for in this there can be no disrespect.” He kissed Anna lightly on the lips. “You first, love. Go and get yourself comfortable. And for God’s sake keep your nightdress or whatever it is well over your head.” Then he added flippantly: “And don’t mind if two gentlemen become a trifle familiar.”

“I think I love you,” said Anna simply.

“I should hope so. This is no time for an estrangement.” He watched her crawl into the cabin, then he motioned to Farn zem Marur.

“Lord Russell,” said the pathfinder, “let us hope that this shall be a story for our children’s children. Whatever befalls, know that I am honoured by your presence.”

“Get along with you, ruffian. We shall live to toast each other under the table.” Russell’s voice was light even as the mist closed about him and the first ice crystals formed on his lips.

The boat had already drifted inside the opaque white wall as he scrambled after Farn into the cabin and held the shapeless bundle that was Anna in a vice-like grip.