11 Under Sail
At dawn the next morning a blizzard blew in a great white sheet across the city and the forest of ships, heaping snow on the decks of the Ice Spirit till the schooner strained at her anchor lines. Sky and land were indistinguishable and only occasionally were the masts of the other vessels to be seen, outlined in black against the sweeping wall of snow. The temperature had fallen below zero. Ice had formed on the rigging and in the folds of the sails. Particles of ice, whipped by the wind, flew in the air like bullets; it was almost impossible to move against the blustering pressure of the storm. Loose canvas flapped like the broken flippers of seals; the wind shrilled and moaned through the tall masts and boats swung and creaked in their davits.
As a muffled tolling proclaimed two bells in the morning watch, Konrad Arflane, wearing a bandage over his mouth and nose and a snow visor over his eyes, stepped from his cabin below the bridge. Through a mist of driving snow he made his way forward to the bow and peered ahead; it was impossible to see anything in the swirling wall of whiteness. He returned to his cabin, passing Petchnyoff, the officer of the watch, without a word.
Petchnyoff stared after his skipper as the door of the cabin closed. There was a strange, resentful look in the first officer’s eyes.
By six-thirty in the morning, as the bell rang five, the driving snow had eased and weak sunshine was filtering through the clouds. Hinsen stood beside Arflane on the bridge, a megaphone in his hand. The crew were climbing into the shrouds, their thickly clad bodies moving slowly up the ratlines. On the deck by the mainmast stood Urquart, his head covered by a tall hood, in charge of the men in the yards. The anchor men stood by their mooring lines, watching the bridge and ready to let go.
Arflane glanced at Hinsen. ‘All prepared, Mr Hinsen?’
Hinsen nodded.
Aware that Rorsefne and the Ulsenns were still sleeping below, Arflane said, ‘Let go the anchor lines.’
‘Let go the anchor lines!’ Hinsen’s voice boomed over the ship, and the men sprang to release the cables. The taut lines whipped away and the schooner lurched forward.
‘Set upper and lower fore to’g’l’nts.’
The order was repeated and obeyed.
‘Set stays’ls.’
The staysails blossomed out.
‘Set upper and lower main to’g’l’nts and upper tops’l.’
The sails billowed and swelled as they caught the wind, curving like the wings of monstrous birds, pulling the ship gradually away. Snow sprayed as the runners sliced through the surface and the schooner began to move from the port, passing the still-anchored ships near her, dipping her bowsprit as she descended a slight incline in the ice, surging as she felt the rise on the other side. Kites squawked, swooping and circling excitedly around the top trees where the grandiose standard of the Rorsefne stood straight in the breeze. In her wake the ship left deep twin scars in the churned snow and ice. A huge, graceful creature, making her stately way out of port in the early morning under only a fraction of her sail, the ice in the rigging melting and falling off like a shower of diamonds, the Ice Spirit left Friesgalt behind and moved north beneath the lowering sky.
‘All plain sail, Mr Hinsen.’ Sheet by sheet the sails were set until the ship sped over the ice under full canvas. Hinsen glanced at Arflane questioningly; it was unusual to get so much canvas while leaving port. But then he noticed Arflane’s face as the ship began to gain speed. The captain was relaxing visibly. His expression was softening, there seemed to be a trace of a smile on his lips, and his eyes were beginning to brighten.
Arflane breathed heavily and pushed back his visor, exhilarated by the wind on his face, the rolling of the deck beneath his feet. For the first time since Ulrica Ulsenn had rejected him he felt a lifting of the weight that had descended on him. He half smiled at Hinsen. ‘She’s a real ship, Mr Hinsen.’
Old Kristoff, overjoyed at the change in his master, grinned broadly, more in relief than in agreement. ‘Aye, sir. She can move.’
Arflane stretched his body as the ship lunged forward over the seemingly endless plateau of ice, piercing the thinning curtain of snow. Below him on the decks, and above in the rigging, sailors moved like dark ghosts through the drifting whiteness, working under the calm, fixed eye of Long Lance Urquart as he strode up and down the deck, his harpoon resting in its usual place in the crook of his arm. Sometimes Urquart would jump up into the lower shrouds to help a man in difficulties with a piece of tackle. The cold and the snow, combined with the need to wear particularly thick gloves, made it difficult for even the whale men to work, though they were better used to the conditions than were merchant sailors.
Arflane had hardly spoken to Urquart since the man had come aboard to sign on. Arflane had been happy to accept the harpooner, offering him the berth of third officer. It had vaguely occurred to him to wonder why Urquart should want to sail with him, since the tall harpooner could have no idea of where the ship was bound; but his own obsessions had driven the question out of his head. Now, as he relaxed, he glanced curiously at Urquart. The man caught his eye as he turned from giving instructions to a sailor. He nodded gravely to Arflane.
Arflane had instinctively trusted Urquart’s ability to command, knowing that the harpooner had great prestige among the whalers; he had no doubts about his decision, but now he wondered again why Urquart had joined the ship. He had come, uninvited, on the whale hunt. That was understandable maybe; but there was no logical reason why a professional harpooner should wish to sail on a mysterious voyage of exploration. Perhaps Urquart felt protective towards his dead father’s daughter and nephew, had decided to come with them to be sure of their safety on the trip; the image of the Long Lance at old Rorsefne’s graveside suddenly came back to Arflane. Perhaps, though, Urquart felt friendship towards him personally. After all, only Urquart had seemed instinctively to respect Arflane’s troubled state of mind over the past weeks and to understand his need for solitude. Of all the ship’s complement, Arflane felt comradeship only towards Urquart, who was still a stranger to him. Hinsen he liked and admired, but since their original disagreement on the Ice Spirit over two months earlier, he had not been able to feel quite the same towards him as he might have done.
Arflane leaned on the rail, watching the men at work. The ship was in no real danger until she had to descend the plateau, and they would not reach the edge for several days sailing at full speed; he gave himself the pleasure of forgetting everything but the motion of the ship beneath him, the sight of the snow spray spurting from the runners, the long streamers of clouds above him breaking up now and letting through the early morning sunlight and glimpses of a pale red and yellow sky reflected by the ice.
There was an old saying among sailors that a ship beneath a man was as good as a woman, and Arflane began to feel that he could agree. Once the schooner had got under way, his mood had lifted. He was still concerned about Ulrica; but he did not feel the same despair, the same hatred for all humanity that had possessed him while the ship was being readied for the voyage. He began to feel guilty, now that he thought back, that he had been so ill-mannered towards his officers and so irrational in his dealings with the crew. Manfred Rorsefne had been concerned that his mood would continue. Arflane had rejected the idea that he was in any kind of abnormal mood, but now he realized the truth of Rorsefne’s statement of the night before; he would have been in no state to command the ship if his temper had not changed. It puzzled him that mere physical sensation, like the ship’s passage over the ice, could so alter a man’s mental attitudes within the space of an hour. Admittedly in the past he had always been restless and ill-tempered when not on board ship, but he had never gone so far as to behave unfairly towards the men serving under him. His self-possession was his pride. He had lost it; now he had found it again.
Perhaps he did not realize at that point that it would take only a glimpse or two of Ulrica Ulsenn to make him once more lose that self-possession in a different way. Even when he looked a
round to see Janek Ulsenn being helped up to the bridge by Petchnyoff, his spirits were unimpaired; he smiled at Ulsenn in sardonic good humour.
‘Well, we’re under way, Lord Ulsenn. Hope we didn’t wake you.’
Petchnyoff looked surprised. He had become so used to the skipper’s surly manner that any sign of joviality was bound to set him back.
‘You did wake us,’ Ulsenn began, but Arflane interrupted him to address Petchnyoff.
‘Your took the middle watch and half the morning watch, I believe, Mr Petchnyoff.’
Petchnyoff nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I would have thought it would have suited you to be in your bunk by now,’ Arflane said as pleasantly as he could. He did not want an officer who was going to be half asleep when his watch came round again.
Petchnyoff shrugged. ‘I’d planned to get some rest in, sir, after I’d eaten. Then I met Lord Ulsenn coming out of his cabin . . .’
Arflane gestured with his hand. ‘I see. You’d better go to your bunk now, Mr Petchnyoff.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Petchnyoff backed down the companionway and disappeared. Ulsenn was left alone. Arflane had deliberately ignored him and Ulsenn was aware of it; he stared balefully at Arflane.
‘You may have complete command of this ship, captain, but it would seem to me that you could show courtesy both to your officers and your passengers. Petchnyoff has told me how you have behaved since you took charge. Your boorishness is a watchword in all Friesgalt. Because you have been given a responsibility that elevates you above your fellows, it is no excuse for taking the opportunity . . .’
Arflane sighed. ‘I have made sure that the ship is in the best possible order, if that’s what Petchnyoff means,’ he commented reasonably. He was surprised that Petchnyoff should show such disloyalty; but perhaps the man’s ties were, after all, closer to the ruling class of Friesgalt than to a foreign skipper. His own surliness over the past weeks must in any case have helped turn Petchnyoff against him. He shrugged. If the first officer was offended then he could remain so, as long as he performed his duties efficiently.
Ulsenn had seen the slight shrug and misinterpreted it. ‘You are not aware of what your men are saying about you, captain?’
Arflane leaned casually with his back against the rail, pretending an interest with the racing ice to starboard. ‘The men always grumble about the skipper. It’s the extent of their grumbling and how it affects their work that’s the thing to worry about. I’ve hired whaling men for this voyage, Lord Ulsenn - wild whaling men. I’d expect them to complain.’
‘They’re saying that you carry a curse,’ Ulsenn murmured, looking cunningly at Arflane.
Arflane laughed. ‘They’re a superstitious lot. It gives them satisfaction to believe in curses. They wouldn’t follow a skipper unless they could colour his character in some way. It appeals to their sense of drama. Calm down, Lord Ulsenn. Go back to your cabin and rest your legs.’
Ulsenn’s lean face twitched in anger. ‘You are an impertinent boor, captain!’
‘I am also adamant, Lord Ulsenn. I’m in full command of this expedition and any attempt to oust my authority will be dealt with in the normal manner.’ Arflane relished the opportunity to threaten the man. ‘Have the goodness to leave the bridge!’
‘What if the officers and crew aren’t satisfied with your command? What if they feel you are mishandling the ship?’ Ulsenn leaned forward, his voice high-pitched.
Having so recently regained his own self-control, Arflane felt a somewhat ignoble enjoyment in witnessing Ulsenn losing his. He smiled again. ‘Calm yourself, my lord. There is an accepted procedure they may take if they are dissatisfied with my command. They could mutiny, which would be unwise; or they could vote for a temporary command and appeal to me to relinquish my post. In which case they must abandon the expedition, return immediately to a friendly city, and make a formal report.’ Arflane gestured impatiently. ‘Really, sir, you must accept my command once and for all. Our journey will be a long one and conflicts of this kind are best avoided.’
‘You have produced the conflict, captain.’
Arflane shrugged in contempt and did not bother to reply.
‘I reserve the right to countermand your orders if I feel they are not in keeping with the best interests of this expedition,’ Ulsenn continued.
‘And I reserve the right, sir, to hang you if you try. I’ll have to warn the crew that they’re to accept only my orders. That would embarrass you, I think.’
Ulsenn snorted. ‘You’re aware, surely, that most of your crew, including your officers, are Friesgaltians? I am the man they will listen to before they take such orders from - a foreign - ‘
‘Possibly,’ Arflane said equably. ‘In which case, my rights as commander of this ship entitle me, as I believe I’ve pointed out, to punish any attempt to usurp my authority, whether in word or deed.’
‘You know your rights, captain,’ Ulsenn retaliated with attempted sarcasm, ‘but they are artificial. Mine are the rights of blood - to command the men of Friesgalt.’
Beside Arflane, Hinsen chuckled. The sound was totally unexpected; both men turned to stare. Hinsen looked away, covering his mouth a trifle ostentatiously with one gloved hand.
The interruption had, however, produced its effect. Ulsenn was completely deflated. Arflane moved forward and took his arm, helping him towards the companion-way.
‘Possibly all our rights are artificial, Lord Ulsenn, but mine are designed to keep discipline on a ship and make sure that it is run as smoothly as possible.’
Ulsenn began to clamber down the companionway. Arflane motioned Hinsen forward to help him; but when the older man attempted to take his arm, Ulsenn shook him off and made something of a show of controlling his pain as he limped unaided across the deck.
Hinsen grinned at Arflane. The captain pursed his lips in disapproval. The sky was lightening now, turning to a bright, pale blue that was reflected in the flat ice to either side, as the last shreds of clouds disappeared.
The ship moved smoothly, sharply outlined against a mirror amalgam of sky and ice. Looking forward, Arflane saw the men relaxing, gathering in knots and groups on the deck. Through them, moving purposefully, Urquart was shouldering his way towards the bridge.
12 Over the Edge
Vaguely surprised, Arflane watched the harpooner climb to the poop. Perhaps Urquart sensed that his mood had changed now and that he would be ready to see him. The harpooner nodded curtly to Hinsen and presented himself before Arflane, stamping the butt of his great weapon down on the deck and leaning on it broodingly. He pushed back the hood of his coat, revealing his heap of matted black hair. The clear blue eyes regarded Arflane steadily; the gaunt, red face was as immobile as ever. From him came a faint stink of whale blood and blubber.
‘Well, sir.’ His voice was harsh but low. ‘We are under way.’ There was a note of expectancy in his tone.
‘You want to know where we’re bound, Mr Urquart?’ Arflane said on impulse. ‘We’re bound for New York.’
Hinsen, standing behind Urquart, raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘New York!’
‘This is confidential,’ Arflane warned him. ‘I don’t propose to tell the men just yet. Only the officers.’
Over Urquart’s grim features there spread a slow smile. When he spun his lance and drove it point first into the deck it seemed to be a gesture of approval. The smile quickly disappeared, but the blue eyes were brighter. ‘So we sail to the Ice Mother, captain.’ He did not question the existence of the mythical city; quite plainly he believed firmly in its reality. But Hinsen’s old, rugged face bore a look of heavy scepticism.
‘Why do we sail to New York, sir? Or is the voyage simply to discover if such a place does exist?’
Arflane, more absorbed in studying Urquart’s reaction, answered abstractedly. ‘The Lord Pyotr Rorsefne discovered the city, but was forced to turn back before he could explore it. We have charts. I think the city exists.�
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‘And the Ice Mother’s in residence?’ Hinsen could not avoid the hint of irony in his question.
‘We’ll know that when we get there, Mr Hinsen.’ For a moment Arflane turned his full attention to his second officer.
‘She’ll be there,’ Urquart said with conviction.
Arflane looked curiously at the tall harpooner, then addressed Kristoff Hinsen again. ‘Remember, Mr Hinsen, I’ve told you this in confidence.’
‘Aye, sir.’ Hinsen paused. Then he said tactfully, ‘I’ll take a tour about the ship, sir, if Mr Urquart wants a word with you. Better have someone keeping an eye on the men.’
‘Quite right, Mr Hinsen. Thank you.’
When Hinsen had left the bridge, the two men stood there in silence for a while, .neither feeling the need to speak. Urquart wrested his harpoon from the deck and walked towards the rail. Arflane joined him.
‘Happy with the voyage, Mr Urquart?’ he asked at length.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You really think we’ll find the Ice Mother?’
‘Don’t you, captain?’
Arflane gestured uncertainly. ‘Three months ago, Mr Urquart - three months ago I would have said yes, there would be evidence in New York to support the doctrine. Now . . .’ He paused helplessly. ‘They say that the scientists have disproved the doctrine. The Ice Mother is dying.’
Urquart shifted his weight. ‘Then she’ll need our help, sir. Maybe that’s why we’re sailing. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe she’s calling for us.’
‘Maybe.’ Arflane sounded doubtful.
‘I think so, captain. Pyotr Rorsefne was her messenger, you see. He was sent to you - that’s why you found him on the ice - and when he had delivered his message to us, he died. Don’t you see, sir?’
‘It could be true,’ Arflane agreed.
Urquart’s mysticism was disconcerting, even to Arflane. He looked directly at the harpooner and saw the fanaticism in the face, the utter conviction in his eyes. Not so long ago he had had a similar conviction. He shook his head sadly.
The Complete Ice Schooner Page 11
