Joan Vinge - The Snow Queen

Blodwed moved away to the other animal cages she had piled by the cave entrance. She picked up the first one, unfastening the lock. “And I’m dumping all these damn wild ones, they don’t even like you,” defiantly. Gray-winged birds fluttered out, tumbled astonished to the ground. They picked themselves up from the snow and flew away, crying their freedom. She jerked open a second cage; white furred conics leaped out in a mass, tumbling over their snowshoe feet, and bounded into the moonlight making no sound at all.

She opened the last cage, shook it; the elf fox cub rolled out, spitting its indignation. She pushed it with her foot out into the snow. “Go on, damn it!” The cub sat bleating in confusion, its silver-limned fur standing on end; picked itself up again, shuddering, and struggled back toward warmth and shelter. It found Blodwed’s foot in its way, crawled up onto the fur-and-leather of her boot, whimpering.

Blodwed swore, bent down to pick it up. “All right, then…” her voice cracked. “I’m keeping the rest!” She looked back at Moon. “But I know how to keep them better now. They’ll want to stay with me.”

Moon nodded, not trusting her own voice.

“I guess you got everything.” Blodwed stroked the cub’s head selfconsciously. “Even the distance-finder. You better hope you fixed it right, Blue.”

“What are you going to do now?” Gundhalinu said. “When you don’t have anybody to fix these things — or any way to get more? You’ve forgotten how to live like real herders and hunters any more-like anything besides parasites.”

“I haven’t.” Blodwed tossed her head. “I know the old ways too. Ma’s not going to live forever, no matter what she thinks. I can take care of myself — and everybody else, once I’m in charge. I don’t need you, foreigner!” She rubbed her eyes. “Or you.” She threw her arms around Moon suddenly. “So you better get out of here. You better go find him, before it’s too late!”

Moon hugged her, all wrongs forgotten, all forgiven; felt the elf fox squirm between them. “I will!”

Together they pushed the sledge out onto the open snow, and Moon settled behind the controls. She started the power unit, following Gundhalinu’s grudgingly surrendered instructions.

“Hey, Blodwed.” Gundhalinu twisted to look over his shoulder at her. “Here.” He tossed her the battered novel. “I don’t expect I’ll ever want to read that again.” He didn’t smile.

“I can’t read it either, it’s in your language!”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Get out of here, damn you.” She waved the book like a threat; but Moon saw her smile.

Moon switched on the headlamp, and they began the final journey northward.

Arienrhod sat enthroned in the audience hall, where before another fortnight had passed she would be receiving the Prime Minister of the entire Hegemony on his last official visit. She wondered idly whether he would pity her. But today it was merely the Commander of Police, and it did not require much imagination to guess the reason for her visit. It must be a sign of how well Starbuck had succeeded that PalaThion had come here herself.

PalaThion left her escort among the gossiping nobles at the far side of the hall, presumably so the two men would not be required to kneel. She was no longer willing to kneel herself, now that she had become Commander — a small victory she had won, the only one. Arienrhod smiled to herself as PalaThion removed her helmet and bowed formally before her. “Your Majesty.”

“Commander PalaThion. You look terrible, Commander — you must be working too hard. Your people’s departure from Tiamat isn’t the end of the world, you know. You should take care of yourself, or you’ll be old before your time.”

PalaThion looked up at her with ill-concealed hatred, and barely detectable despair. “There are worse things than growing old, Your Majesty.”

“I can’t imagine one.” She leaned back. “To what do I owe this visit, Commander?”

“Two things which I consider worse, Your Majesty: murder, and the illegal slaughter of mers.” She sounded as though she believed there shouldn’t be any distinction. “I’ve come with a warrant for the arrest of Starbuck, on charges of murder and of killing mers on land belonging to an off worlder named Ngenet. He has forbidden the Hunt on his plantation, as you know.” Her eyes snapped with accusation.

Arienrhod raised her eyebrows, not entirely feigning surprise. “Murder? There must be some mistake, some other explanation.”

“I saw one body myself. And the bodies of the mers.” PalaThion blinked as the memory came back to her, and her mouth pulled down. “There was no mistake, and there’s no other explanation. I want Starbuck, and I want him now… Your Majesty.”

“Of course, Commander. I want to question him about the charges myself.” She had not learned any more about Moon’s fleeting reappearance in the short time since it had happened. But now — “Sparks!” She looked away across the whiteness of the room, to where he stood among the nobles who had been displaying their Festival costumes for her perusal. With the resourcefulness of the rich, they had already managed to claim the most beautiful and elaborate specimens of the mask makers art, and had costumes designed to match. They stood together like a gathering of beautifully misbegotten beasts, their mutant totem-faces gazing at her impassively, creatures out of a drug fantasy.

Sparks came quickly at her call. She watched him move, seeing how his blue sleeveless jerkin and tight-fitting pants accentuated the litheness of his movement. But his expression was a false face, his listless mourning made him as much of a stranger as any festival mask. He kneeled before her with silent subservience, ignoring PalaThion utterly. She was not certain whether his rudeness was calculated or only guilty; knowing that he felt guilt toward the woman but never understanding why. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He looked up.

She gestured for him to rise. “Where is Starbuck, Sparks?”

He gaped at her, recovered himself hastily. “I — uh, I don’t know, Your Majesty. He’s left the palace. He didn’t tell me when he’d be back.” He showed her a sardonic hidden smile, and his curiosity. “He doesn’t talk to me.”

“Commander PalaThion has come to arrest him for murder.”

“For murder?” Sparks turned to PalaThion.

Poison showed in PalaThion’s eyes as she looked back at him; the poison was still there as she lifted her head again. “How very well he timed that.”

“Come now, Commander,” irritably. “Do you think I’m a mind reader? And I don’t condone murder among my subjects.” PalaThion’s expression said that she wouldn’t be surprised at either one. “I want to know more about this. You said you saw the bodies yourself? Whose bodies?”

“I saw one body — if you don’t include the corpses of the mers.” PalaThion swallowed, as though it was more to her than simply an unpleasant memory. Sparks toyed with the agates at his belt ends, striking them against his thigh like a whip, grimacing at each blow. “It was the body of a dillyp.”

“A Hound!” She couldn’t keep the disdain out of her relief.

“No, Your Majesty,” coldly. “A dillyp. A free citizen of the Hegemony, a guest of Citizen Ngenet. He had been stabbed. According to Ngenet another of his guests was missing, and she is also presumed to be dead. She was a citizen of this world, a Summer woman named Moon Dawntreader. The mer bodies had been mutilated.” She made it as ugly as she could.

“Mutilated?” Sparks said, too loudly.

Arienrhod felt the spotlight of PalaThion’s gaze on her as she spoke Moon’s name: She suspects. But she was prepared for this, and she kept her polite disgust unchanging. “The name is vaguely familiar to me… Is she a relative of yours, Sparks?”