The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “You seem a little preoccupied,” Vestergaard said.

  “It’s just the questions. It brings everything back,” she said. “They drugged me, you know?”

  “Who? Burwardsley?”

  “Who else. I think I’m still working the effects out of my body. The coffee helps,” Fenna said and nodded at Petersen.

  “There’s plenty more,” he said.

  “Please continue, Konstabel,” Vestergaard said with a click of his pen.

  Chapter 7

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  The constant shush of the sledge running across the crusty surface of the snow, hardened by the evaporating effect of the wind, thrilled Fenna. The dogs had found their rhythm, the patrol had established a routine and, with their fourth camp looming, they were making good progress despite the cold, despite the long hours of darkness. The rhythm of life in the far north, Fenna mused, came down to discipline, experience and common sense.

  They skied with short methodical strides, Mikael and Fenna each on opposite sides of the sledge, one hand on the uprights, the nipples already forgotten. Fenna breathed through the ice-laden fleece looped around her neck. She glanced at the yeti skiing beside her and grinned.

  “One more laugh out of you and I swear,” said Mikael.

  Fenna smirked and picked at the ice beading on her eyebrows. She studied the line of dogs before them and picked out the rump of each, noting the position of its tail and gait. Lucifer at the front, just behind Betty.

  “Lucifer is a little lazy today,” she said. “I’ll check his pads tonight.”

  “I checked them this morning, clipped a little more of the fur between his toes. He had a few marble-sized balls of ice at the end of yesterday. We might try him with socks tomorrow.” Mikael’s breath misted before him adding another layer of ice to his weighty beard.

  The sledge slowed, causing Fenna and Mikael to look up and around. Each of the dogs in the team ran with a light-hearted lift of their feet. Tails wagging the dogs stopped pulling and the sledge ground to a languid stop. Betty sniffed and glanced back at Mikael.

  “Go on girl,” said Mikael. “Go on.”

  Fenna scanned the horizon as Mikael slipped his hold of the uprights and skied to the front of the line. His hands unhindered by sledge poles he slid to a stop and took hold of Betty by the ruff of fur around her neck. Mikael glanced back at Fenna.

  Fenna lifted a hand and rested her finger on her nose. “There,” she pointed, arm straight. “Eleven o’clock. A wolf?”

  Mikael stood and looked in the direction Fenna indicated. The sledge shuddered as the dogs tugged. “Hold them, Fenna.”

  Fenna slipped the anchor coil from from around her chest and looped it over the left-hand runner. On her return, halfway along the length of the sledge, the sledge shrugged and slipped past her. Fenna caught the left hand upright and slipped her skis in line behind the sledge. To the right, Mikael hopped towards the sledge as it turned away from him. The anchor coil ploughed the light coating of snow into a shallow furrow, lifting the upright and creating more drag on the surface. Not enough, Fenna realised as the sledge picked up speed when the dogs caught the wolf’s scent, their erratic course dragging the sledge further from Mikael.

  With both hands on the uprights, Fenna braked her broad-bladed skis in a V-shape, the dead man’s rope trailing from the sledge between her legs. The rope tightened as Mikael took hold. It slid along the ice layered within his woollen-gloved palm. He pressed his cold hand into a fist and wrapped the rope twice around it.

  Fenna felt the rope press against the inside of her right boot, travelling up the inside of her leg. She lifted one ski from the ice to free her leg. The rear of the ski caught in the rope, the binding opened and Fenna’s ski cart-wheeled onto the ice.

  “What are you doing?” said Mikael.

  “Nothing. Fuck.”

  Fenna turned her left ski to follow the sledge and pushed the toe of her right boot onto the thwart between the uprights. The sledge increased speed as the dogs pursued the wolf down a slight hill. The wolf loped towards the ice foot and Fenna knew the sledge had to be stopped before it reached the smooth black ice. If they get on the ice, we’ll never stop them.

  “Roll the sledge, Fenna,” Mikael shouted. “Roll it.”

  As the sledge crested the hill, Fenna pulled on the right upright facing downhill. The sledge tipped onto its side and she threw herself clear. Like an anchor the sledge slowed the team, frustrating the dogs to a halt. Mikael skied up to Fenna and offered her a hand.

  “Fucking dogs,” she said.

  “It’s not every day they meet a wolf.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Somewhere beyond that mound – close to the ice foot. Thirty metres, maybe.” Mikael clapped the snow from Fenna’s back. “We’ll see it again.”

  “I thought it would be frightened off.”

  “No chance. We’re the most interesting thing out here. Come on; let’s get the sledge turned around. We’ll be ready next time.”

  Mikael loosened the sledge boxes while Fenna anchored the sledge. The dogs took turns to yawn and curl into a ball, watching Fenna and Mikael through the thick brush of their tails. The wolf lay down and watched from afar. When the sledge was ready, the boxes lashed, the gangline checked, Mikael skied to the end of the line and held Betty by the collar.

  “We’ll try again, shall we?” he said and brushed beads of ice from the lead dog’s eyes.

  “Wait a minute,” Fenna said. “I need my ski.”

  Mikael shook his head. Betty nudged into his legs and he tugged gently at the dog’s ears while they waited.

  “Got it.”

  Mikael roused the dogs with a shout and pulled Betty in an arc, back up the hill. As the dogs turned the sledge, Fenna glanced back at the wolf. It lay with its head down on its front legs stretched flat on the ice. As Fenna kicked off and guided the sledge back on course, the wolf stretched and loped after the team.

  The stars picked at the black canopy, the moon purged the ice of shadow. Fenna fed the dogs in a mist of breath. She pulled her hat firmly onto her head and looked at the tent, smiling as the glow of the tent light painted Mikael’s movements on the dirty canvas walls. Fenna could hear the stove; she could almost smell the evening meal. It was the same routine every night. Tasks were completed in the same order, regardless of the weather. Anchoring the dogs and pitching the tent together before taking it in turns to work outside or inside. Tonight it was her turn to be outside and feed the dogs, while Mikael organised the tent and the evening meal. She smiled as she approached Lucifer. After just four days, despite the wolf, the team was beginning to gel.

  Lucifer whined as she clumped towards him. The other dogs became restless. They had eaten particularly quickly, she had noticed. Faster than usual. Fenna whirled at a glimpse of white as the wolf circled the dogs and the camp. Betty, the bitch, whimpered, jogging in circles at the very limit of her chain. It was not long before the team began to howl. Sporadic and broken at first as the dogs found their voices in the frigid polar air, it became stronger and plaintive as the team found their rhythm. Fenna, her moon shadow cast on the ice before her, threw back her head and howled with the dogs. They stopped; Fenna howled alone for a few moments before the team took up the howl once more. In another unforeseen lull, she heard the answering howl of the wolf. In the far distance, the wolf sat upright between the lines carved by the sledge runners.

  “How’s dinner?” Fenna said as Mikael poked his head out of the tent baffle.

  “Close. Was that the wolf?”

  “Yep. Over there.” Fenna pointed at their tracks in the snow.

  “Got it.” With one last look, Mikael crawled back inside. Fenna gave Lucifer a last hug, secured the dog food on the sledge and made her way to the tent.

  “Bloody hell,” she said as she closed the baffle behind her. “What died?”

  “Your socks. My thermals,” said Mikael. “You decide.”

 
“Dinner ready?”

  “Salt needed, and then we’re good.”

  Fenna pulled off her boots and hung them upside down from the tent loft. She crawled onto her sledge bag and looked around the tent. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

  Mikael grinned and stirred the pot one more time. Steam from the pot evaporated in damp clouds, the vapours clung to the ceiling to form beads of ice.

  “I thought I saw some blood on the trail today,” said Fenna.

  Mikael picked at his beard. “I can’t believe Betty is coming into season. When the hell was she last in heat?”

  Fenna shook her head. “I’ll check the diary.” She reached over to the wooden sledging chest that doubled as both bedside table and office space. While she flipped through the pages, Mikael melted snow for their coffee.

  “Here we go,” she paused for a moment. “Yep, she was last in heat in December. Just before Christmas.” She looked up. “So, we have a problem.”

  “No more than usual,” Mikael shrugged. “We should have thought about it but…”

  “What?”

  “The wolf,” said Mikael.

  “She must be just starting. You want to bring her in the tent tonight?”

  “Not tonight. Give it one night and see what happens.” A wicked grin parted Mikael’s red beard. “Of course, it’s only a myth, but Greenlanders used to tie their bitches out on the ice when they wanted new blood.”

  “Wolf blood,” said Fenna.

  “Not sure what the boys back at Daneborg would have to say about that.”

  “Would they know?”

  “Ever seen a hybrid?”

  Fenna shook her head.

  “Me neither. But it would be interesting to see what we got out of it.”

  “We’re leaving her outside tonight then?”

  “I think so,” Mikael said and handed Fenna her food. He paused at the first howl of the wolf.

  ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  Vestergaard closed his notebook and tapped his pen on the tabletop. He wiped his hand over his face. “This is all very interesting, Konstabel,” he said and inspected his fingers. “But what does it have to do with the mission?”

  “The dogs are the mission,” Fenna said. “Without them we won’t get anywhere, we won’t survive.” She paused and said, “You don’t understand, do you?”

  “I need facts, not an encyclopaedic knowledge of the ins and outs of sledge dog breeding.”

  “That’s funny, because that is exactly what Sirius needs. But, hey,” she said and shrugged. “You’re asking the questions. You wanted to know about the patrol.”

  “Have you forgotten, Konstabel, that you’re being investigated for murder?”

  Fenna slumped into the chair and fidgeted. “No,” she said. “How could I forget?”

  “Then why don’t we get back to the mission, and away from this stuff about wolves and puppies.”

  “Sure, but if I leave something out, you’ll only wonder at it later.”

  “Cut to the chase, Konstabel. Before the fog lifts and you are out of time.”

  Fenna leaned forward and slapped her hand on the table. “When the fog lifts, I expect someone from Sirius to arrive.” She lifted her head and stared at Vestergaard, searching his face for the root of his impatience. “Is that it? You want the details in a hurry before the fog lifts?”

  “I want the facts as they are fresh, so that I can compare them with the British version of events.”

  “Burwardsley,” Fenna said. She struggled to stop her bottom lip from curling. “Who is he anyway?”

  “We’ll get to that,” Vestergaard said and picked up his notebook. He turned to a fresh page and nodded for Fenna to continue. “The wolf then. If we must.”

  Chapter 8

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  Stars of ice fractured from the canvas loft and whispered onto the sleeping bags, showering Fenna and Mikael with intricate crystals. Fenna turned several times in the night. During the coldest hour she woke to see Mikael sitting up straight on his camp bed. He placed a grubby finger upon his lips and nodded toward the wall of the tent. Fenna sat up, shedding the top portion of her sleeping bag and sending a light avalanche of ice onto the tent floor. They listened to the sound of dogs coupling outside the tent.

  “He’s stuck,” Mikael said. “Hear that?”

  Fenna nodded. “Betty’s whimpering.”

  “Now the fun stuff begins. He has to keep the others at bay while they are joined. We should get a photo.”

  Fenna nodded and fumbled inside her sleeping bag for the camera battery. She unzipped it from a pocket within the down hood of the bag. Mikael listened to the dogs as the team began to challenge the wolf. The anchor chains rattled as the wolf turned to face the excited males. The dogs’ complaints increased as Fenna thrust her feet into her boots, glanced at Mikael and untied the tunnel entrance.

  Under the glow of the moon, the white arctic wolf shone greater than its shadow. The wheel dogs anchored next in line to Betty tugged at their chains in frustration and lupine energy. The wolf snapped, incisors bared, nostrils flared and gums pulled so far back its red maw burned in the moonlight. As Betty and the wolf danced to the limit of her chain, Fenna crept closer and exposed the pair. In the sudden glare of the flash, the wolf pulled at the bitch, their hindquarters lapping and overlapping in his frenzy. The team howled and the wolf, maddened with flight instincts, finally ripped its penis from the team’s lead dog and cut a path across the ice, its black shadow three feet to the left of a blur of white.

  Fenna slipped the camera in-between the thermal upper layers of her clothes. As she approached Betty she reached down and stroked a thumb over her nose and between her eyes. Betty nuzzled into Fenna’s legs. She knelt down in the snow and Betty buried her head in the crook of her arm. As Fenna stroked the dog’s fur, cold and dry, encrusted with snow and the wild scents of feral sex, she glimpsed the wolf in the distance, sitting on its haunches, silent, waiting. Fenna slipped free of Betty and retreated to the tent. The smell of coffee drifted through the tunnel entrance as she wormed her way inside.

  “Everything alright?” said Mikael as he handed Fenna a mug of coffee, steaming in the lamplight.

  “They were locked tight,” said Fenna. “You didn’t look?”

  “I stuck my head out of the tent for a bit. Came back in to make another coffee. He was a big fella. His paws must have been the size of my hands,” Mikael said and held them up in the light. “A little scrawny though.”

  “He was,” Fenna said and took a sip from the mug. “Are we getting up?”

  “I thought so. Seeing as we’re all awake.” Mikael collected the ingredients for breakfast. “Besides, I didn’t like the look of the clouds in the east, yesterday. I want to crack on. Let’s get this satellite and get home.”

  “Sure.” Fenna placed her mug on top of a sledging box. “Pass me the diary. I’ll make a note of the day. It’s going to be pretty interesting to see what we’ve got seven weeks from now.”

  Mikael stabbed a spoon in the air between them. “I’ve yet to meet a single fire-breathing hairy bastard that didn’t go week at the knees at the sight of a puppy. You, my friend, are going to be just one more gooey mess of glee when Betty whelps. There, I said it.”

  “And you won’t?”

  “We’re not talking about me, rookie.”

  “Fine,” she said and blew on the surface of the coffee. With her first sip she caught sight of Mikael’s prized Webley revolver, hanging in its holster by the side of his sledging bag. “Shouldn’t that be outside?”

  “What?” Mikael turned in the direction Fenna was pointing. “Oh, the Webley.” Mikael pulled it onto his lap, set his coffee mug down on the box and drew the revolver. “Yeah,” he said. “It might freeze a little, but it’s not as critical as the rifle.” The Enfield lay underneath the right side of the tent, close at hand, but far removed from the condensation within the tent that might freeze the w
orking parts and block the barrel. While the rifle was necessary to protect the patrol from chance encounters with bears, the patrol’s service pistols were used as a last resort to put down a dog that could not complete the patrol.

  “I thought the Glock 20 was our only sidearm?” Fenna commented. Her pistol was secure within a metal sledging chest still fastened to the sledge as ballast in the event of an unexpected arctic storm.

  “It is,” Mikael said and presented the Webley to Fenna, “This is more of an heirloom. A little bit of unnecessary weight passed down from one patrolman to the next.” He smiled as Fenna tested the weight of the pistol. “It’s yours when we’re done with this patrol.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yours to pass on to your first-year patrolman, next year, if you think he deserves it.”

  “If he deserves it, eh?” said Fenna. “He might be a she, you know?”

  “You’re the first woman ever to make it through selection. I won’t hold my breath.”

  “We’ll see. Got any ammunition?”

  “Plenty,” said Mikael. “Well, enough anyway. Never had to use it. And I don’t remember it ever being used for more than target practice. It’s a museum piece you know? Some collectors out there would pay a lot of money for a Webley.”

  “eBay?” said Fenna.

  “eBay? Sod that,” Mikael scoffed. “Anyone selling this would want to put into the classifieds of an international gun magazine or sell it at auction.” Mikael snatched the revolver out of Fenna’s hands. “It’s not yours yet, mate. And you’re not bloody selling it.”

  Fenna held out her hands in apology as Mikael tucked the revolver back in its holster and hung it out of reach. As silence settled once more within the tent they grinned at each other over their mugs.

  “eBay?” Mikael said and shook his head.

  ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  Petersen tugged at the doors of the sticky cupboards in the tiny kitchen, searching for more coffee as Vestergaard read through the last page of his notes. Fenna glanced from the microphone to Vestergaard and back again. She pursed her lips and tapped a finger on the table.