Alan Foster - The Icerigger Trilogy

“Neither would I, Hunnar.” September scratched at the back of his head, trying to run his fingers through his hair, then remembered the new survival suit he wore now. “Maybe it was too much of a temptation for ’em. They would’ve done all right, too, if we’d only had swords to fight with.”

A mate approached Hunnar, chatted with him a moment, then moved on, holding a bandaged arm.

“Our losses are not severe,” Hunnar informed them. “We may encounter more such assaults, friends. I would hope such sacrifices are not in vain.”

“I hope so, too, friend Hunnar.” Ethan was glad it was night. He didn’t have to watch the sailors using meltwater to swab the blood from the decks.

Cleaning the decks produced three bodies who’d been offspring of Sofold. In accordance with custom, the deceased were carried into the body of the ship. They would remain in the unheated under deck until the Slanderscree returned home, preserved by the sub-freezing temperatures. Following departure ceremonies attended by their families, the corpses would be defrosted and reduced to a fine meal which would be spread across the cultivated fields of inner Sofold. Thus would the dead enrich the soil of their homeland which had supplied food to nourish them when alive. This was a necessary as well as spiritual tradition. The island states of Tran-ky-ky were not rich in natural fertilizers.

Tradition likewise deemed the bodies of the fallen enemy unhealthy. Being likely to spiritually poison the fields, these chilled torsos were unceremoniously dumped over the side. While the ship’s shaman repaired fleshy wounds, her carpenter set about fixing the railings where the sky-outlanders’ light knives had burnt through.

Repair operations under way, a far larger and more alert guard was mounted and the rest of the crew returned to their hammocks or supper, whatever they were doing when interrupted.

When everyone else had resumed downing cold food, an empty seat was noted in the chamber. The seat was the one located between Hunnar and Ethan.

“Who has last seen the Landgrave’s daughter?” Hunnar’s gaze met the curious stares of knights, squires and mates. Individual denials combined to create an air of anxiety in the room. It seemed that no one could remember seeing Elfa since they had first come to eat.

One sailor ventured that he’d seen her on deck fighting with the rest of the crew. Being occupied fully with preserving his own life, he hadn’t been able to watch her for long.

Hunnar rose. “Search the ship. Begin with the three cabins, then the interdeck storage bins, then the rigging.”

For a second time the meal was abandoned as the inhabitants of the chamber spread out across the vessel. Every centimeter of wood was examined, every yard and sail locker combed. What the last areas searched lacked in likelihood, they made up for in the unanimity of response they produced.

Elfa Kurdagh-Vlata was no longer on the ship.

It was suggested she’d fallen or been knocked over the side. Scrambling over lines and ladders, the crew flooded the ice around and beneath the icerigger. September, Ethan and Hunnar quickly joined the search. Oil lamps carried by chivaning sailors suggested a conclave of fireflies, darting and weaving irregular search patterns over the ice. Several followed the line of inert forms stretching unevenly toward the nearby cliffs.

Once more all reports were negative. Elfa was neither alive aboard ship nor dead on the ice.

“They would not—” Hunnar paused, collected himself. “They would not have taken her corpse.” His teeth showed and he was not smiling. “She would be of no use to anyone in any… capacity… if dead. We must assume she had been taken by those who escaped.”

Senior warrior among all the assembled Tran, Balavere Longax half-grinned in the direction of the dark island. “Sympathy to them, then.”

“Suaxus, Budjir, choose twenty crew, volunteers all, for an attempt.” Hunnar glanced at the quiescent icerigger. “We can spare that many and still leave the ship safely protected, should this abduction be a diversion to weaken our defenses.”

“You realize,” September growled, raising his voice to make himself heard above the wind, “that if they hole up in any kind of fortified camp, we’re going to have a helluva time worming her out.”

“Would you think of not trying?” Hunnar spoke calmly, but Ethan could see the knight was holding himself together with great effort.

“Of course not.” Ethan couldn’t tell if the big man was being sarcastic or not, and he couldn’t see his expression beneath the survival suit mask. He tapped the tiny weapon attached to his waist. “If you’re going to have any kind of chance, you’ll need our firepower.” Hunnar turned his attention to Ethan.

“This is not your fight, my friend.”

“Hunnar, in the eighteen months I’ve known you, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

Hunnar’s expression said thanks, his gratitude no less eloquent for being nonverbal.

“We must get the other things we brought with us from Brass Monkey,” Ethan continued. “It won’t take us a minute to get ready.”

“It will take time to assemble the party,” Balavere said.

The two humans reboarded the ship. On returning to the ice, they sat down and began to do strange things with their feet. Hunnar’s curiosity took his mind off Elfa for a moment.

“Williams will stay on board,” Ethan told him, puffing with the effort of what he was doing. “We should leave at least one beamer on the ship in case they try another attack.”

“I do not think they will,” said Hunnar, staring at Ethan’s feet. “But it is a wise man who leaves one trap by the door of his house when he goes hunting.” Unable to resist any longer, he gestured at September.

“What is it you do to your feet?”

Ethan stood, rocked awkwardly, but kept himself upright. “They’re called ice skates, Hunnar.” He bent, adjusted a strap. “They’re artificial chiv, that fit over our own chivless feet. These are kind of special. We found out some of the workers in Brass Monkey had them made in the station metal-forming shop. They have gyroscopic compensators built into the soles.”

“I do not understand this gyoscopek. But what do they compensate for?”

“For our clumsiness.” He stumbled, seemed about to fall, when his feet suddenly shifted fluidly to help him regain his balance.

Hunnar wondered if they would compensate enough. Perhaps they needed more gysocopeks.

The assembled crewmembers wore uniformly grim expressions.

“I think this expedition will run smoother,” September said, “if Ethan and I concentrate on just stayin’ upright.”

“I understand.” Hunnar called up to someone leaning over the railing. Several lengths of pika-pina cable were tossed over the side.

One end of both cables were braided together. Hunnar handed the thick joined end to Ethan. Two sailors picked up the other two ends, opened their arms. Wind filled their dan, and Ethan found himself starting to move forward. September was alongside, likewise making use of the tow.

And suddenly they were racing toward the cliffs at nearly sixty kilometers an hour.

Ethan gritted his teeth behind the mask. If he lost his balance or his grip at this speed, a rough place on the ice ocean might rip even the tough material of the survival suit, admitting air cold enough to freeze skin on contact. Somehow he managed, though his bent knees ached and his hands throbbed.

Suaxus yelled at him from nearby. “Ready, friend Ethan! We are going to turn.”

He tried to strengthen his grip, but his hands were numb from the strain and he couldn’t tell if his grip was growing any stronger. On command, every Tran in the group dropped his or her left arm, leaned to the right, and swerved sharply in that direction.