Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

September chuckled. “All right, lad, have it your way.” He turned and walked past Ethan… and clipped him neatly on the jaw as he passed. He knelt, scooped up the slumping body, and threw it over his shoulder.

“Let’s go.” He took a last glance over his shoulder, muttered so low no one could hear him, “Shana… forgive me,” and started out of the tunnel.

The run back to the raft turned into a nightmare, with groanings and heavings and cyclopean creakings alternating with distant detonations. One was powerful enough to throw them off their feet. It bloodied September’s nose. He uttered a few choice curses, hefted Ethan higher on his shoulder, and continued forward at a jog.

If anything, their emergence from the cavern into clean daylight inspired them to move faster. They were met at the shoreline by Balavere and a party from the ship.

“All be thanked!” said the old General, clasping Hunnar by the shoulders. “We thought the mountain had got you.” Then he noticed the scrapes and bruises and Ethan’s unmoving form. “What did happen in there?”

“I shall tell you later, honored General,” replied Hunnar, “if I still believe in it myself, then.”

There was an awesome roar behind them and they were nearly thrown again.

“But if that interesting talk is to take place, we must depart this accursed island now. Quickly!”

They hurried to the ice. Two of the soldiers carried Ethan between them. They moved much faster on the ice than September could have.

“Put your men aloft, captain!” Hunnar bellowed as they boarded the raft. But it wasn’t needed. Ta-hoding had heard the explosions and was moving over the deck like a frightened k’nith, swearing tearfully that though he lived a thousand years he’d never see this befouled ship fully repaired.

The ice-anchors were brought in. Wind caught the sails and the Slanderscree moved.

Drawn by the noise, the du Kanes emerged on deck. Colette looked at the volcano and turned to question September. Then she saw Ethan’s unconscious form.

“What happened to him?” she asked casually—a little too casually, September thought. He squinted down at her as another explosion—they were growing more frequent—drowned out all possibility of communication.

When it had died slightly, he shouted, “He… ah… bumped his head coming out of the tunnel.” He shoved the limp form at her. “Why don’t you take care of him?”

Colette backed away a step. “Me? I’m not a damned nurse. Let Williams or Eer-Meesach look after him.”

“Oh, just watch him for a minute, hey?”

She considered, chewing her lower lip. “Oh, all right, give him here.” September bent and passed the dead weight to Colette. She handled it easily and sat down next to the mast with him, studying his face. September grunted appreciatively.

They’d rounded the last spur of black earth and were leaving the volcano astern. The smoke now billowing from the cone was tinged with crimson and seemed to have grown greatly in volume.

There was a tremendous ear-shattering explosion, coupled with a moaning, ripping sound. The Slanderscree was lifted off the ice and slammed down a dozen meters on. A few spars cracked. Somehow, the runners held.

Tran were picking themselves up off the deck, some of them very slowly. One had been thrown from the rigging and was now a grotesque tangle of arms and legs near one hatch.

“Bedamned!” sputtered September, shaking the wrist he’d fallen on as he pulled himself off the planking. Ethan had come around just in time to get thrown into Colette. He bounced off.

“Green clay,” he mumbled, then looked confused. “There was something about green clay… but I’ve forgotten.”

“What happened to me?”

“You hit your head coming out of the tunnel,” supplied Colette. She gently but firmly moved him off her legs. “And I don’t know anything about any green clay.”

Ethan rubbed his jaw… funny place to fall on… and thought hard. He looked up at her and she was staring down at him strangely.

“Oh well… couldn’t have been very important,” he said.

“How would you like to be rich beyond your wildest dreams?”

“Huh?”

“Marry me.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss du Kane?”

“Under the circumstances, you may call me Colette. Well?”

“Wait a minute, Wait a minute.” He must still be dazed. “I didn’t even think you liked me… let alone loved me.”

Those startling green (green?) eyes stared down at him. “Who said anything about love? I’m asking you to marry me! You’re reasonably attractive, reasonably intelligent—and kinder than most. The only people who ask me to marry them are money-hunters. I can read the contempt in their eyes. There’s no contempt in yours. A little pity, but I’m used to that. Well?”

Ethan thought. “This is too fast and I’m still dazed. Let me… let me think it over. What would your father say?”

She gave him a twisted smile. “Father? Father’s been intermittently insane for the past four years.” She stood up and stared down at him from a great height. “Who do you think’s been running du Kane Enterprises for the last four years, Ethan Fortune?”

“Look to the mountain!” yelled a voice. Those who could staggered to the rail.

A kilometer or so up the side of the volcano, a huge fissure dozens of meters wide had cleft the mountainside like an ax-blow. A broad river of fiery red and yellow spilled from the gaping fissure, overflowing the edges of the break.

The amber stream gained the ice. Immediately a jet of superheated steam roared skywards, obscuring much of the peak from view.

“Quite a sight,” said September appreciatively. There was a loud yelp behind him.

Williams was absolutely terrified. He was flailing and gesturing as though he’d lost control of his arms.

“Easy, schoolmaster. What’s the matter? Spirits?”

“We’ve got to put on more sail!” he piped frantically. “Tell the crew to blow into them, if we must! We’ve got to… to get away from here!”

“Why?” September glanced behind them. “We’ve got a little wind with us now. At this rate we’ll be out of sight of the island before dark.”

“Not… not good enough!” panted the out-of-breath Williams.

“Now look, surely we’re in no danger from the lava. I’m no geologist, but…”

“Not the lava. Not the lava!” Williams was pleading. Ta-hoding had walked over and was now an interested listener. So was Hunnar.

“You don’t understand! The lava will melt the ice. And that fissure may have cracked the whole island. If the cold sea water beneath the ice reaches the core… the pressure… incalculable…” He subsided, out of breath.

“What does the small wizard mean?” asked Hunnar uncertainly. September rubbed the full crop of whiskers that now coated that jutting chin under his face shield.

“He says the mountain’s going to blow up, I think.”

“Blow-up?” Ta-hoding’s fat face was comical. His anxiety was not. “Blow-up?” he repeated stupidly. Then he whirled and began rattling off hysterical orders and commands. The deck of the Slanderscree became a madhouse.

The crew strove to mount every square centimeter of sail left in the lockers. They were even stringing it from rigging to hatch covers. Green-brown pika-pina sailcloth went up everywhere, until the Slanderscree resembled a moving island.

Nothing happened all the rest of that day, nor all night. They were still running rapidly to the southwest the next morning when it happened. The volcano was far astern and long out of sight. But they heard the rumble. There was a crackling.