Philip Pullman: Once Upon a time in the North

'Let me get this clear,' said Lee. 'First they hit you with a new kind of charge for storing your cargo, and then they refuse to let you load it, and then they threaten to impound it if you don't?'

'That's it. They want to send me mad.'

'Why? What is this cargo?'

'Drilling machinery and rock samples.'

'Rock samples . . . Wait a minute. Would that have anything to do with oil?'

Van Breda dragged his gaze away from the schooner and looked at Lee directly for a moment.

'You're right. See, that's what it's all about, at bottom. Oil and money.'

'Who's the shipper?'

'An oil company from Bergen. See, I have the bill of lading...'

He fished another document out of his pocket.

'You sign the bill of lading before you load the cargo?'

'That's the system here. When the cargo is delivered to the warehouse it becomes the carrier's responsibility and the bill of lading is signed there and then. That's

the problem, see. I've already taken responsibility for this cargo, and I can't get the damn...can't even...'

He swallowed the rum convulsively.

'Why don't you talk to the Customs?' said Lee after a moment. 'I understand they're the law around here.'

'I tried. Not a Customs matter. All the Customs papers are in order. They wrote me a letter to say they're not concerned.'

'How long would it take to load?'

'A couple of hours. Not long.'

'And once it was on board, could you leave right away? Would you have to engage a tug, or a pilot?'

'No. I have an auxiliary engine, and enough fuel, and pilotage is not compulsory.'

'What about your crew?'

'All on board, but they won't be for long. They know the fix I'm in.'

'Because, you see,' said Lee, stubbing out his little black cigarillo, 'if you had the cover, you could take the cargo and run.'

Van Breda stared at him. He didn't seem to understand. His expression trembled between hope and despair.

'What are you saying?' he said.

'I'm saying I don't like Poliakov. I don't like the way he talks and I especially don't like the men he keeps company with. And I'm saying if you want to load that cargo, Captain, I'll stand guard for you while you do it. All you have to do is open the warehouse door.'

He pushed back his chair and went to the bar to

pay for their drinks.

A thought occurred to him and he said to the bartender, 'Say, do you know a man called Oskar Sigurdsson?'

'The journalist?' said the bartender. 'Ja, I know him. You a friend of his?'

'No. Just curious.'

'Then I tell you. He is poison. Pure poison.'

'Thanks,' said Lee.

He joined the Captain on the pavement outside.

He was about to turn towards the Harbour Master's office when he had a surprise. The bear by the bollard stood up, turned to them, and said:

'You.'

He was looking directly at Lee. His voice was profound. Lee felt himself startled witless for a moment, and then gathered himself and crossed the road to the waterside. Hester stayed very close to his feet, and Lee picked her up.

'You want me?' Lee said.

Face to face, the bear was formidable. He was young, as far as Lee could judge; his body was enormous, and his small black eyes quite unreadable. His ivory- coloured fur waved in ripples as the brisk wind played over it. Lee could feel Hester's little heart beating fast close to his.

The bear said, 'You gonna help him?' He looked briefly at the Captain, watching them from across the road, and then back at Lee.

'That's my intention,' said Lee carefully.

'Then I help you.'

'Do you know Captain van Breda then?'

'I know his enemy is my enemy.'

'Well then, Mr.. .Mr Bear -'

Torek Byrnison,' said the bear.

'York Burningson, the Captain needs to get at a cargo that's locked in the warehouse, and load it on his ship, and get away. And his enemy, who's my enemy too, as well as yours, wants to stop him. I reckon we got a short time to do it in, and then we're in trouble. Patience and caution are my watchwords, Mr Burningson, but sometimes we have to take a risk. You willing to risk trouble?'

'Yes.'

'Now I heard that your people make armour for themselves,' Lee said. 'Do you have armour?'

'A helmet. No more.'

The bear reached down past the edge of the stone wharf to the top of the flight of steps, and lifted up a battered, clumsy iron sheet of a curious shape and curvature. A chain hung from one corner, and Lee blinked with surprise as the bear deftly swung it over his head and hooked the chain from one corner to another under his throat. Suddenly the metal didn't look clumsy any more: it fitted him perfectly. The bear's black eyes glittered in the depths of the two great eye-holes.

Lee was aware that they were attracting attention. People were pointing, windows opening, and a little crowd of onlookers had gathered across the road. When Iorek Byrnison put the helmet on, there was an audible intake of breath, and Lee remembered the poet saying that the bears were not allowed to wear their armour in town.

The Captain joined them, looking at Lee questioningly.

'The odds just got better, Captain,' Lee said. 'This is York Burningson, and he's going to ride shotgun with us.'

'Byrnison,' said the bear.

'Byrnison. Beg your pardon. Now the first thing we have to do is get past the Harbour Master, so you leave the talking to me. Let's go down the quay, gentlemen, and open a warehouse.'

Lee led the way along the waterfront, and turned on to the quay itself. By this time the number of spectators had grown to thirty or so, and more were coming out f rom the side streets that led down to the harbour. They followed a short distance behind, pointing, talking excitedly, beckoning others to come and join them. Lee was aware of that, but not distracted: his eye was on the Harbour Master's office, where the door had opened briefly to let the man look out, and then closed again.

'You got that letter, Captain?' he said. 'Better let me have it.'

The Captain handed it over.

'Thanks. Now I'm going to be spinning a yarn, York Byrnison, so my attention will be kind of occupied, and I'd be obliged if you'd keep an eye out for any trouble.'

'I will,' said the bear.

They reached the building that housed the Harbour Master's office, and the door opened again. Mr Aagaard came out, fumbling with the last button of his uniform, and stood in the centre of the quay facing them.

'Good day, Mr Aagaard,' said Lee cheerfully. 'I hope this fine morning finds you well. Step aside, if you would, and Captain van Breda and my associate will go about our lawful business.'

'You have no business on this quay.'

'Oh, I don't think you're in a position to say that, sir. As an attorney-at-law I have every kind of business on this quay. My client -'

'Attorney? You are no attorney. You came to me yesterday claiming to be an aeronaut.'

'And so I am. As well. Now let me refer you to this letter, which my client has received from your office. Is this your signature?'

'Of course. What do you - ?'

'Well, Mr Aagaard,' said Lee, improvising happily, 'I think you should keep your law up to date. This letter is correct as far as the Merchant Shipping Act 11.303. (5) is concerned, absolutely correct, sir, and I congratulate you on the terse and manly eloquence with which you have expressed this fragment of correspondence. However, let me remind you that a subsequent piece of legislation, the Carriage of Goods and Cargoes Act of 1911, Part 3, Subsection 4, Miscellaneous Provisions, specifically and by name supersedes the Merchant Shipping Act by stating that the right of a carrier to load his cargo once the bill of lading has been signed and countersigned, and I stress that, shall in no way be impeded, obstructed, or prevented by any provision of any previous Act, notwithstanding any local interpretations that shall be put in place. Now, Captain van Breda, have you such a bill of lading?'