Десмонд Бэгли - High Citadel

‘Which way do we go?’ asked Forester.

Rohde pointed. ‘Beyond that mountain is the pass. We go round the base of the peak and then over the pass and down the other side. It is this side which will be difficult — the other side is nothing.’

The mountain Rohde had indicated seemed so close in the clear morning air that Forester felt that he could put out his hand and touch it. He sighed with relief. ‘It doesn’t look too bad.’

Rohde snorted. ‘It will be worse than you ever dreamed,’ he said and turned away. ‘We must eat again.’

Peabody refused food again and Forester, after a significant glance from Rohde, said, ‘You’ll eat even if I have to cram the stuff down your gullet. I’ve stood enough nonsense from you, Peabody; you’re not going to louse this up by passing out through lack of food. But I warn you, if you do — if you hold us up for as little as one minute — we’ll leave you.’

Peabody looked at him with venom but took the warmed-up can and began to eat with difficulty. Forester said, ‘How are your boots?’

‘Okay, I guess,’ said Peabody ungraciously.

‘Don’t guess,’ said Forester sharply. ‘I don’t care if they pinch your toes off and cut your feet to pieces — I don’t care if they raise blisters as big as golf balls — I don’t care as far as you’re concerned. But I am concerned about you holding us up. If those boots don’t fit properly, say so now.’

‘They’re all right,’ said Peabody. ‘They fit all right.’

Rohde said, ‘We must go. Get your packs on.’

Forester picked up the suitcase and fastened the straps about his body. He padded the side of the case with the blanket material of his old pack so that it fitted snugly against his back, and he felt very pleased with his ingenuity.

Rohde took the primitive ice-axe and stuck the short axe from the Dakota into his belt. He eased the pack on his back so that it rested comfortably and looked pointedly at Peabody, who scrambled over to the corner where his pack lay. As he did so, something dropped with a clatter to the floor.

It was O’Hara’s flask.

Forester stooped and picked it up, then fixed Peabody with a cold stare. ‘So you’re a goddam thief, too.’

‘I’m not,’ yelled Peabody. ‘O’Hara gave it to me.’

‘O’Hara wouldn’t give you the time of day,’ snarled Forester. He shook the flask and found it empty. ‘You little shit,’ he shouted, and hurled the flask at Peabody. Peabody ducked, but was too late and the flask hit him over the right eye.

Rohde thumped the butt of the ice-axe on the floor. ‘Enough,’ he commanded. ‘This man cannot come with us — we cannot trust him.’

Peabody looked at him in horror, his hand dabbing at his forehead. ‘But you gotta take me,’ he whispered. ‘You gotta. You can’t leave me to those bastards down the mountain.’

Rohde’s lips tightened implacably and Peabody whimpered. Forester took a deep breath and said, ‘If we leave him here he’ll only go back to O’Hara; and he’s sure to balls things up down there.’

‘I don’t like it,’ said Rohde. ‘He is likely to kill us on the mountain.’

Forester felt the weight of the gun in his pocket and came to a decision. ‘You’re coming with us, Peabody,’ he said harshly. ‘But one more fast move and you’re a dead duck.’ He turned to Rohde. ‘He won’t hold us up — not for one minute, I promise you.’ He looked Rohde in the eye and Rohde nodded with understanding.

‘Get your pack on, Peabody,’ said Forester. ‘And get out of that door on the double.’

Peabody lurched away from the wall and seemed to cringe as he picked up his pack. He scuttled across the hut, running wide of Forester, and bolted through the door. Forester pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil from his pocket. ‘I’ll leave a note for Tim, telling him of the right tunnel. Then we’ll go.’

It was comparatively easy at first, at least to Forester’s later recollection. Although they had left the road and were striking across the mountainside, they made good time. Rohde was in the lead with Peabody following and Forester at the rear, ready to flail Peabody if he lagged. But to begin with there was no need for that; Peabody walked as though he had the devil at his heels.

At first the snow was shallow, dry and powdery, but then it began to get deeper, with a hard crust on top. It was then that Rohde stopped. ‘We must use the ropes.’

They got out their pitiful lengths of rotten rope and Rohde carefully tested every knot. Then they tied themselves together, still in the same order, and carried on. Forester looked up at the steep white slope which seemed to stretch unendingly to the sky and thought that Rohde had been right — this wasn’t going to be easy.

They plodded on, Rohde as trailbreaker and the other two thankful that he had broken a path for them in the thickening snow. The slope they were crossing was steep and swept dizzyingly below them and Forester found himself wondering what would happen if one of them fell. It was likely that he would drag down the other two and they would all slide, a tangled string of men and ropes, down the thousands of feet to the sharp rocks below.

Then he shook himself irritably. It wouldn’t be like that at all. That was the reason for the ropes, so that a man’s fall could be arrested.

From ahead he heard a rumble like thunder and Rohde paused. ‘What is it?’ shouted Forester.

‘Avalanche,’ replied Rohde. He said no more and resumed his even pace.

My God, thought Forester; I hadn’t thought of avalanches. This could be goddam dangerous. Then he laughed to himself. He was in no more danger than O’Hara and the others down by the bridge — possibly less. His mind played about with the relativity of things and presently he was not thinking at all, just putting one foot in front of the other with mindless precision, an automaton toiling across the vast white expanse of snow like an ant crawling across a bed sheet.

He was jolted into consciousness by stumbling over Peabody, who lay sprawled in the snow, panting stertorously, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. ‘Get up, Peabody,’ he mumbled. ‘I told you what would happen if you held us up. Get up, damn you.’

‘Rohde’s... Rohde’s stopped,’ panted Peabody.

Forester looked up and squinted against a vast dazzle. Specks danced in front of his eyes and coalesced into a vague shape moving towards him. ‘I am sorry,’ said Rohde, unexpectedly closely. ‘I am a fool. I forgot this.’

Forester rubbed his eyes. I’m going blind, he thought in an access of terror; I’m losing my sight.

‘Relax,’ said Rohde. ‘Close your eyes; rest them.’

Forester sank into the snow and closed his eyes. It felt as though there were hundreds of grains of sand beneath the lids and he felt the cold touch of tears on his cheeks. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘Ice glare,’ said Rohde. ‘Don’t worry; it will be all right. Just keep your eyes closed for a few minutes.’

He kept his eyes closed and gradually felt his muscles lose tension and he was grateful for this pause. He felt tired — more tired than he had ever felt in his life — and he wondered how far they had come. ‘How far have we come?’ he asked.

‘Not far,’ said Rohde.

‘What time is it?’

There was a pause, then Rohde said, ‘Nine o’clock.’

Forester was shocked. ‘Is that all?’ He felt as though he had been walking all day.

‘I’m going to rub something on your eyes,’ said Rohde, and Forester felt cold fingers massaging his eyelids with a substance at once soft and gritty.

‘What is it, Miguel?’

‘Wood ash. It is black — it will cut the glare, I think. I have heard it is an old Eskimo practice; I hope it will work.’