Once Upon a Time in the North (10 page)

McConville uttered a great cry of rage and pain and fell to the floor behind the barrels. Unable to move, Lee watched the furious struggle between the lashing, coiling, whipping snake and the tense little form of Hester, her claws slipping as she scrabbled on the floor. There was nothing for her to get any purchase on— no good turf, no springy twigs of sage—nothing but smooth boards, and the little rabbit had only half the weight of the snake; and Lee could feel with his daemon the furious power of the twisting, writhing form of McConville's as she flung herself left, right, left, trying to tear her neck out from be Hester's teeth.

"Keep going, gal," Lee whispered. "Hold tight there, sweetheart..." And she dug in, she tightened her trembling jaw, she scrabbled and slipped but she dug in again and tugged, and dragged, and hauled, and little by little pulled McConville's daemon away from him.

McConville's cries were hideous. He scrambled across the floor—Lee could hear his boots slipping, his fingernails scratching—his grunts and roars echoed around the warehouse till the air was full of the noise, and then helplessly he stumbled round the end of the rack of barrels, and Lee shot him.

McConville crashed backwards against the window and slid to the floor. In Hester's mouth his daemon sagged and loosened, but Hester kept on tugging, and it was easier now, and McConville sobbed, "No—no— don't do it—goddamn bitch rabbit—"

His face was the color of dirty paper. His mouth was a sagging red hole and his eyes were bulging.

"McConville," said Lee, "you shot Mike Martinez and Broadus Vinson from a hiding place, like a coward, and then you made little Jimmy Partlett fight you because he didn't want you to think he was a coward. You're a dirty piece of work, and this is the end of you."

And he shot the man through the heart. His daemon vanished, and Hester tumbled back towards Lee, who scooped her up and kissed her and held her close till she stopped trembling.

"You better move, Lee," she whispered. 'You got about ten seconds before you're sitting in a pool of fish oil."

"And now our troubles begin, Hester," Lee muttered, struggling to pull himself upright, and just in time too.

Gingerly he moved his left arm and found, at least, that he could. He put his pistol back in the holster and went to pick up the rifle.

Then he looked out of the window and saw the ship's crew at work covering the forward hatch, so they must have loaded the cargo. But one man lay dead on the deck, under a sheet of canvas, and nearby on the quay a crowd headed by Poliakov was being held at bay by Iorek Byrnison, whose bulk stood foursquare on the flagstones, confronting them. Poliakov was addressing the crowd; Lee could hear the muscular drone of his voice, but not the words. He was trying to get them to move forward and—well, attack the schooner, Lee supposed, but the bear would have stopped a madder, braver crowd than this.

Lee could also hear the chug of the schooner's auxiliary engine and see the exhaust smoke puffing from the pipe amidships. She was nearly ready to leave.

He made his way carefully down the stairs. On the ground floor he found a chaos of torn bundles of skins, broken spars and lengths of timber, and the great steel sheet of the door lying flat beside the entrance.

He walked out into the sunlight and made his way to the bear's side.

"Well, York Byrnison, the trouble's gone from upstairs," he said.

The bear's head swung round to look at him, the black eyes glinting under the great iron ridge.

And then Lee's head swam and he lost his balance for a moment, but the bear's head moved in a flash and seized his coat between his teeth, and gently pulled him upright again.

And then things became confusing.

There was someone shouting from the crowd, or did it come from beyond them? Loud voices bellowing commands, anyway, and then the disciplined quick tramp-tramp-tramp of running feet in heavy boots coming along the quay. Behind him, Lee heard a splash, and then turned carefully to see the bear's helmeted head emerging from the water and moving swiftly away.

But he had to turn round again, because an angry voice was shouting, "You! Drop your weapon! Drop it now!"

And he saw it came from the man in charge of the squad of running men in Larsen Manganese uniforms, who had arrived at the head of the crowd now and stood, rifles aimed, facing him like a firing squad. Poliakov was standing safely behind them, frowning his approval.

Lee considered that he didn't feel inclined to drop that nice rifle, and he was about to say so when another layer of confusion was added the mix. A different voice from behind him said, "Mr. Lee Scoresby, you are under arrest."

Cautiously, in case he fell over, Lee turned once more. The man who'd spoken was one of three: young, armed with a pistol, and in a different uniform.

"Who the hell are you?" Let? said.

"Never mind him!" yelled the Larsen Manganese leader. "Do as I say!"

"I am Lieutenant Haugland. We are from the Customs and Revenue Board, Mr. Scoresby," said the young man calmly, "and I repeat, you are under arrest. Put down your rifle."

"Well, you see," said Lee, "if I do that, the Senator over there will suddenly regain his courage, and order those marionettes of his to come and take over Captain van Breda's ship. And after all me and York Byrnison went through to help him load his cargo, that seems kind of a pity. I don't know how to resolve this situation, Mr. Customs Officer."

"I will resolve it. Put your rifle down, please."

The young officer stepped past Lee and faced the line of riflemen without a tremor.

'You will all leave the harbor now, and go about your lawful business," he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "If there is (one person left on this quayside by the time the Customs House clock strikes twelve, they will be arrested. All of you move."

The Larsen Manganese men looked uncertain. But Poliakov, still taking care to remain behind them, shouted:

"I protest! This is an outrage! I am the leader of a properly constituted political party, and this is a blatant attempt to deny my freedom of speech! You should be enforcing the law, not flouting it! That criminal Scoresby—"

"Mr. Scoresby is under arrest, and so will you be if you do not turn round and leave the harbor. You have two minutes."

Lieutenant Haugland's fox-daemon said something quietly to Hester. Poliakov drew himself up to his full height, and gave in.

"Very well," he said. "Under strong protest, and cheated of the justice we have a right to expect and a duty to demand, we shall do as you say. But I give you notice that—"

"Less than two minutes," said Haugland.

Poliakov turned, and the crowd behind parted to let him through, and sullenly followed him away. The Larsen Manganese riflemen were the last to turn, but the implacable stillness of the Customs officer outfaced them, and finally their leader muttered an order, and they turned and walked back down the quay—walked, until he snapped another order and they clumsily organized themselves into a march.

"Mr. Scoresby, your rifle, if you please," said the young man.

"I would rather give it back to Captain van Breda," Lee said, "seeing that it belongs to him."

He heard hasty footsteps behind him, and turned carefully again to see the Captain hurrying towards them. He had evidently heard the last exchange, because he said:

"Mr. Scoresby, I must thank you—I have nothing to pay you with except the rifle itself—please take it, please. It is yours."

"Very handsome, Captain," said Lee. "I'll accept it with thanks."

"And now put it down," said Haugland.

Lee bent to lay it on the ground.

"And your pistol."

"It doesn't work," said Lee.

"Yes, it does. Put it down."

Lee did so, and then straightened up, feeling dizzy. For a moment the sounds of the harbor receded: the cry of the gulls, the raised voices from the coal tanker and the crane driver across the water, the splash of the dredger, the striking of the Customs House clock; and then it seemed as if a dark cloud had sprung up out of nowhere and enveloped the sun, because the color drained from the world and everything dimmed.

It only lasted a moment, and then he found another officer's hand steadying his arm, and came to his full senses again.

"Follow me, please," said the officer, and set off briskly towards the end of the quay. As Lee passed the schooner he could see the crew unseating the heel of the derrick, and a man casting off a rope, and Captain van Breda hurrying up the gangplank and shouting an order.

"Where are we going?" said Lee. "I thought your Customs House was back there."

"It is," said the Lieutenant, and left it at that; but as they passed the last warehouse Lee saw a launch tied up at a flight of steps, in the Customs and Revenue colors of navy and white. The engine was chugging quietly, and a rating held the painter tight through a ring in the wall to keep the boat steady as the first officer stepped on board.

Lee crouched to pick up Hester, who whispered, "It's all right, Lee. Everything's fine."

Deeply puzzled, he stepped onto the launch and sat down in the little cabin as the other two officers followed.

The sailor cast off, and one of the officers took the wheel and opened the throttle. Lee looked back at the schooner, whose bow was already swinging out away from the quay.

The young officer had laid Lee's pistol and the Winchester on the bench opposite where Lee was sitting, and Lee could easily have reached either of them. He sat still and quiet, holding Hester close, until the launch had passed the dredger and rounded the lighthouse, and was pitching briskly in the waves of the open sea.

"All right, I give up," he said. "What the hell is going on?"

"Mr. Scoresby, please take your pistol," said Haugland. "And I believe the rifle is also yours."

"Well, now I'm dreaming," said Lee. He took the revolver and spun the cylinder, which ran smoothly and surely. "Where are we going, and why?"

"We are going round the headland to the Barents Sea Company Depot, where you will find your balloon inflated and ready to leave. Here, by the way, is your luggage from the boardinghouse."

He took Lee's kitbag from a locker. Too numb to be surprised any longer, Lee nodded and took it silently.

The officer at the wheel changed course, and the boat pitched and rolled in the lively sea. Lee watched the rocky shoreline, and saw a seal surface, and then another and another.

"They are fleeing from the bear," said Haugland.

"Where's he?"

"On his way to the depot. He is not interested in seals for now. He has something to give you."

"Well, this is a damn surprising morning," said Lee.

"The fact is this, Mr. Scoresby: there is a struggle going on throughout the northern lands, of which this little island is a microcosm. On one hand there are the properly constituted civil institutions such as the Customs and Revenue Board, and on the other the uncontrolled power of the large private companies such as Larsen Manganese, which are dominating more and more of public life, though they are not subject to any form of democratic sanction. If Mr. Poliakov wins this election, he will make life easier for Larsen Manganese and its fellows, and worse for the people of Novy Odense."

"I thought he was campaigning against the bears," said Lee. "I thought that was his whole platform."

"That is what he wants simple people to think."

"Oh," said Lee. "Simple people, eh. Well, he certainly worked that trick."

"Until now he has been very careful to remain just within the law, but trying to deprive Captain van Breda of that cargo was a step too far. Whoever hired those gunmen was also, of course, committing a crime, but I have no doubt that we shall find it impossible to prove any connection with Poliakov. I am also sure that his lawyers will manage to confuse the court and secure an acquittal in the matter of the cargo. In short, Mr. Scoresby, we are grateful to you for dealing with an unpleasant problem. Your action was all the more honorable in that you had no personal interest in the matter."

"Oh, I don't think much about honor," Lee said uncomfortably.

"Well, we are grateful, as I say. You will find your balloon fully provisioned, and there is a good east wind."

Lee looked ahead through the spray-splashed cabin window. They were rapidly approaching the mole sheltering the depot, and Lee could see his balloon, as the young man had promised, already inflated and swaying in the wind. It was a case of thank you very much and don't come back, he thought.

As the launch passed the mole and slowed down in the calmer water inside it, Lee felt gingerly inside his coat for the damage to his shoulder. It hurt like hell, but as far as he could tell it hadn't done any structural damage. As for his ear, he felt that too; there was a bite- shaped gap at the top big enough to fit a finger in, and it was still bleeding.

"Before you put me in my balloon and cut the tether and wave goodbye," he said, "is there somewhere I can fix myself up? I take it you have no objection if I patch up the holes I seem to have acquired?"

"No objection whatsoever," said Haugland drily.