The World in Winter

by John Christopher

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’re equal now, aren’t we. David and I? He wants me to sabotage the expedition, and then stay on here. That will leave us both in the same boat. You can make up your mind without pity getting in the way. Isn’t that the way it is?’

  She nodded, not speaking.

  ‘Some women would need time to make their minds up in situations like that – a few days or weeks, perhaps months – but that’s not the case with you. Compassion may confuse you, but you know your mind. Don’t you?’

  ‘Andy,’ she said. ‘Darling Andy …’

  ‘I remember when Abonitu first suggested getting on this expedition. We were sitting, nine tenths drunk, in a sleazy cabaret, and he looked at me out of those solemn bespectacled eyes and said: “You will find your lost love in the land of eternal winter.” Fairy story stuff; he’s very like a child in some ways. The next morning I could see what nonsense it was, but it seemed as simple to go as to stay.’ He smiled. ‘Nothing meant much after you’d gone.’

  She looked at him, a brightness in her eyes that might be tears.

  ‘But the fairy story came true,’ he said. ‘After a strange journey, I found you. As you say, the sort of thing that doesn’t happen. And now it’s happening. Distance and obstacles and dangers between us, followed by a conventional happy ending. I love you, and you love me.’ He paused. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? It is me you love. Not David.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t need time to make your mind up? Those days or weeks – I was right in thinking nothing like that is necessary?’

  ‘Yes, you were right.’

  ‘I’ve imagined it often enough,’ he said, ‘but you can never imagine things the right way. Say it. Say it now.’

  She said: ‘It’s you I love, Andy.’

  He laughed. ‘Then everything’s all right, isn’t it? Will David mind?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Nor do I. He’s never needed you the way I do, as a person. Has he? He’s never needed anyone in that way. Isn’t that right?’

  She said, in a low voice: ‘Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘I haven’t kissed you yet.’

  She came to him at once. Her body, muffled in fur, was real in his arms, her breath warmed his neck. He felt the shudder of her breathing, and saw how pale and thin the dreams had been, against this reality. This reality which mocked him.

  ‘Say it again.’

  ‘I love you. I do love you, Andy.’

  He released her gently. He looked at her, and saw her lip trembling.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. You did it very well. David should be proud of you.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  There was an impulse to be cruel. He had not imagined he could feel this, and it shocked him. Mastering it, he said, choosing his words, striving not to hurt her:

  ‘It was a reasonable thing for David to try. He uses people, and somehow one doesn’t resent it. And I understand that you would always do what he asked. But it wasn’t necessary. I refused him, but you only had to ask me. You should have known that.’

  She saw it now. She said: ‘You think I was deceiving you – that when David came to fetch me to you he told me to pretend I loved you so that you would do as he wanted? And that I did this?’

  He looked at her, not trusting himself to speak. She said, in a whisper:

  ‘Have I ever lied to you, Andy?’

  ‘Has he ever asked you to, before?’

  Her eyes searched his. ‘Why don’t you trust me, Andy? Because I left you, and came back here? Did I lose you then? I regretted it afterwards. I regretted it bitterly.’

  He said, with an effort: ‘Acts have consequences, don’t they? It’s not the going back in itself, but what comes after. You were too quick, Madeleine, too glib. You aren’t the kind of woman who can go from one man’s bed to another’s as easily as that. If you’d asked for time, I might have believed you.’

  ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t. But the supposition’s wrong. I don’t share David’s bed.’

  With bitter irony, he said: ‘After you had left me there, you realized your mistake. So you refused David’s attentions, and sat waiting like Penelope for your true love to come and find you. Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘No. I never thought I’d see you again.’

  ‘Then what? You let me make love to you at a time when you believed you still loved David, out of loneliness. What’s different now?’

  She did not answer at once. Instead, with a gesture part flaunting, part modest, she opened the fur coat she was wearing, and pulled it off in a quick movement. She faced him with the strange rich gravid lines of her body, under a blue jersey dress.

  ‘This,’ she said.

  The realization dazed him. There was a pause before he asked: ‘Is it …?’

  ‘Ours? Yours? Beyond the faintest shadow of a doubt. I had the first warning on the plane that brought me back here.’ She smiled. ‘I put it down to air-sickness. The next morning I had to look for a different explanation. I learned a lot of things then – about how I felt. But it was too late to do anything: the airport had closed and the Pale was breaking up. There was nothing I could do. Except survive. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that, but David kept me going. He’s talked about the child a lot. He’s sure it will be a boy. I think he’s learned something about himself, too. He would like to have a son.’

  ‘Things aren’t going to be easy,’ he said. ‘No hospitals, medical equipment …’

  ‘You’re not to worry. Everything’s going to be all right.’

  The serenity of her confidence reassured him, but he still felt somehow cut off, uncomprehending. His mind went to David – David, in his little nascent empire, feeling at last the need for a son, for continuity. Involuntarily, he said:

  ‘Poor David.’

  She nodded. ‘Poor David.’

  It was this, the small conspiracy of love, that at last enabled him to make contact, to believe. He put his arms out, and she came to him, her body warm and loving and heavy against his own. In his ear, she said:

  ‘You’ve asked a lot. Haven’t you anything to say?’

  ‘Only that I love you.’ He tightened his hold. ‘That I love you both.’

  5

  Abonitu had had a tent set up inside the circle of the Hovercraft. After greeting Andrew on his return he waited until they were alone there, sitting on either side of the small collapsible table, before asking how things had gone.

  ‘Badly.’

  ‘They won’t come to terms?’

  He poured brandy for both of them into small anodized aluminium cups, and pushed one across. Andrew said:

  ‘The only terms are that you get out of London. They would prefer you to get out of the country, but they realize they can’t enforce that.’

  ‘They believe they can enforce the other?’

  ‘Yes. They intend to try.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s obvious enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘Has it occurred to them that if we were to pull out it would not prevent others coming?’

  ‘They seem to regard the present evil as sufficient unto the day. They think they can begin getting the country back on its feet next summer.’

  ‘That sounds optimistic.’

  ‘Yes, it does.’

  Abonitu nodded towards the cup that stood in front of Andrew.

  ‘You aren’t drinking, Andrew. I should have thought you would have welcomed a tot.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He put the cup to his lips and drained it. The drink, warming him, made him realize how cold he was – bitterly cold, and scared.

  ‘What’s it like out there?’ Abonitu asked.

  ‘Frozen,’ he said. ‘Hopeless. But they still go on hoping.’

  ‘Well organized? Disciplined?’

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

&nb
sp; Abonitu poured more drink into their cups, and lifted his own.

  ‘So I must woo my queen with fire and the sword,’ he said. ‘There is no other way.’

  ‘What do you propose to do?’

  ‘What we agreed was sensible – move out until we can contact the supply ship. These are the crucial days; if they overcome us before reinforcements arrive, the whole thing is lost. Later … I’ve been thinking that perhaps the Tower would make a better base. A more ancient seat of sovereignty, and much more easily defensible. What do you think of the idea, Andrew?’

  Andrew nodded. ‘It sounds reasonable.’

  ‘That lacks enthusiasm.’

  ‘A good idea, then.’

  ‘From the Tower we will be able to burn and bomb our way westwards. Along Cannon Street and Lombard Street and Cheapside. We will take St Paul’s, Andrew. Do you think we could find a priest somewhere, to crown me in the Abbey when we get there? King Abonitu the First. How does that strike you?’

  ‘As a joke? A little feeble.’

  ‘Yes. Lagos would not like it. But the rest is serious, is it not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a silence. Andrew heard someone go past the tent, whistling. In the soft glow from the small battery-operated lamp, he saw Abonitu’s face watching his own. The light gleamed off black skin, white teeth between slightly parted lips, and accentuated the heavy negroid lines of feature.

  Abonitu said quietly: ‘What happened, Andrew?’

  ‘Happened? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Out there. Something changed you.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He stared at Abonitu. ‘I found Madeleine.’

  ‘Well?’

  He framed the half truths carefully. In a neutral voice, he said:

  ‘She’s with David. She’s going to have a baby.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s all.’

  After a pause, Abonitu said: ‘Then your quest is ended, the hatred all done with.’

  ‘Hatred?’

  ‘Or love. Does it matter? The desire and hope of possession. That which brought us here, to this cold country.’

  ‘Yes,’ Andrew said. ‘For me, done with. But not for you?’

  ‘Not for me.’ He drank the brandy. ‘As for you, you have always depended too much on people, I think. Why are you smiling?’

  ‘Because it’s true, I suppose.’

  ‘It is true. We all depend on others at times, of course. I have depended on you a great deal, Andrew.’

  ‘Have depended? And don’t now?’ He gestured towards the outside of the tent. ‘Have you got rid of your fear of their fear?’

  ‘I think they are getting over it. Put fire in their hands and they will not be afraid. They will carry their sun with them even here.’

  ‘The sun brings life,’ he said, ‘not death.’

  The light caught Abonitu’s spectacles as his head jerked upwards.

  ‘I was waiting for you to say that,’ he said. ‘What am I to do with you, Andrew?’

  The automatic rifle rested against the table on Abonitu’s side. On the table were the two metal cups and the flask of brandy. It was almost empty. There was another flask, he knew, in the small chest by Abonitu’s camp bed. He drained his cup with a slight shiver.

  ‘Why should you do anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Because I cannot trust you now. There is the chance that you might betray us. And I can take no chances.’

  He smiled. ‘How does Abonitu the First deal with his first traitor? It’s an interesting question.’

  ‘I could send you back across the ice to them.’

  ‘Unwise. I could be useful there.’

  ‘That is true. Then?’

  ‘There’s a much simpler solution.’ Abonitu watched him in silence. ‘Send me back to Africa on the supply ship. You don’t even need an excuse – there are others who can crank a camera. Young Numu. I’ll go back and produce the first programme on the London Expedition. We have quite a lot in the can already.’

  Abonitu nodded slowly. ‘Yes. That is better.’

  ‘And since I’m not to be trusted now, you’d better put a guard on me meanwhile.’ He shivered. ‘I’m still cold. Any more brandy?’ Abonitu poured the remains of the flask into his cup. ‘That’s a thin measure.’

  Abonitu smiled and got up from his chair. He went towards the chest. As his back turned, Andrew reached for the rifle. It made a grating noise, but Abonitu, opening the chest, did not hear it. When he turned again, the rifle was pointing at him.

  Andrew said: ‘No noise. I feel very nervous.’

  ‘This is silly.’ The black face showed nothing. ‘What good can it do?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Do as I tell you. Walk past me and out of the tent. I’ll be behind you. No cries, no warnings. Do you understand?’

  ‘I understand that what you are doing is senseless.’

  ‘I’ll judge it. Now.’

  He stood slightly to one side as Abonitu crossed his path. Moving quickly behind him, he had a sudden panic conviction that he would fail, that the blow would miscarry and give Abonitu a chance to grapple with him or, at least, to cry out. He changed his grip on the rifle, and swung it convulsively. As the butt came down on the side of Abonitu’s head, he thought it was going to glance off ineffectually. But the shock jarred his hands and the heavy body in front of him crumpled and fell in silence.

  He said: ‘I’m sorry, Abo,’ and began dragging the unconscious man out of the way. In the end it was easier to move the bed to cover him. He looked round the tent. It would pass any casual inspection.

  It was quite dark outside. No one paid any attention as he walked towards the nearest Hovercraft. A meal was cooking, and the smell of food was in the air. Someone was singing a song which he recognized as a Fulani lullaby. He climbed into the Hovercraft and looked out towards the city.

  There was starlight in a clear sky, and the moon was rising; one could see the outline of the bridges to east and west and the unforgettable skyline. He looked at the luminous dial of his watch. A quarter of an hour; time enough, but with none to waste. He walked, unchallenged, unremarked, to the front of the craft. The guard glanced idly at him as he wrenched at the lead that fed the searchlights; presumably he thought some kind of maintenance work was in progress. The lead was hard to break: he tugged at it in vain for some little time before he managed to rip it free. He left it with the ends shorting against the metal casing, and moved to the next craft.

  He had dealt with six before the first rattle of fire came across the ice. There were shouts of surprise and despair from the Africans as they tried to switch on the searchlights and found them useless. After that the confusion was extreme, but it did not last long. In ten minutes it was over.

  6

  The morning was bright, brighter by far than it had ever been in London in the old days. The sun’s rays struck white flame from the frozen Thames, and dazzled from the surrounding buildings, still carrying snow from the last fall. Even the absurdly curved roof of the Festival Hall had a kind of dignity. The air was crisp, touched to sharpness by a breeze from the east.

  David had Abonitu brought to him on one of the Hovercraft. He said:

  ‘How are you this morning, General?’

  ‘A headache.’ Abonitu smiled faintly. ‘We black men have thick skulls, as is well known.’

  David grinned. ‘I’m glad it’s no worse.’

  ‘May I ask what you propose doing with us?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. When Harold defeated the Norsemen at Stamford Bridge, he gave them twenty-four ships to enable the survivors to go back home and tell the tale. We can spare you one Hovercraft. You may be a little cramped, but you will be carrying neither arms nor supplies, which will simplify things.’

  Abonitu said: ‘I recall that story. And a few days later he lay dead near Hastings, and William had conquered England.’

  ‘The English can learn from their mistakes, even when they’re a thousand years old. If Harold
had stayed in London while he gathered his strength, the story would have been different.’

  ‘There will be other expeditions. How long will it take you to gather your strength?’

  ‘Not too long, we hope. And perhaps we can discourage visitors in the short term. We are taking your cameras, too. We hope to get an interesting little film of the end of the Nigerian Expedition – the disarmed survivors being packed off back to their supply ship. It will be effective, I think.’

  Abonitu smiled. ‘You have no television transmitters left, and if you had the programmes would not be received in Africa.’

  ‘True. But now we have a Hovercraft squadron, I think it’s time we started making civilized contacts again. I gather the Council of African States has a base at St Nazaire. If we take the film along, I imagine there will be some States who will want to use it, even if Nigeria doesn’t.’

  ‘Yes, that is true.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘This seems a pity. We could have helped you in many ways.’

  David said: ‘You still can. We’re not too proud to accept aid, even aid with strings. Send us your traders, by all means – missionaries, too, if you like. The only thing we require is that you recognize our independence at the beginning, instead of after generations of struggle. It will be easier for you, too.’

  ‘You are asking us, also, to learn from your mistakes?’

  ‘Why not?’ He laughed. ‘Dominion status is the least we’ll accept. Tell them that in Lagos.’

  ‘They may not believe me.’

  ‘If they’re wise, they will.’

  Abonitu nodded. ‘Yes. I think you are right. Perhaps I will return – on a goodwill mission next time. Or as an Ambassador.’

  ‘Ambassador would be better still. Bearing gifts from wealthy Africk’s shores. Tobacco and coffee would go down best, I may say.’

  ‘And brandy,’ Andrew said.

  ‘Yes,’ Abonitu agreed. ‘And brandy.’ He turned to look at Andrew, their eyes meeting for the first time since the previous night. ‘I was right not to trust you, wasn’t I? But careless.’

  Andrew said: ‘I’m sorry. It wasn’t easy, from any point of view.’

  ‘You were careless, too,’ Abonitu said. ‘Or over-scrupulous. You allowed me to realize that your loyalty to me had ended. It was a fair warning. I do not think your friend here would have given such a warning.’