The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice (33 page)

‘Ah-ha!' said Nell.

The scapegoat was kneeling by the dead captain, searching about beneath the ruined boat. Now she drew forth an object wrapped in rags. Unpeeling it, she revealed a book; a large, leather-bound journal. Dow had seen one just like it only days ago, by the outstretched hand of the dead officer, back on Camp Island.

Nell hobbled over with her prize to sit at Dow's side. Again, he was struck by how slight she really was, robbed of her coat and other gear. But her face, belying that, was intent with its old fierceness.

She said, ‘I've found it. The captain's log. It can tell us everything that happened from the moment Nadal's fleet set sail.'

Dow regarded the book. Did he even care about that anymore? ‘We can't eat paper. Or drink it.'

Her glance was hurt. But then, ignoring him, she opened the journal to its first page. The fire-glow was barely sufficient for Dow to make out the dark squiggles inscribed there, but the girl, her head bent low to the paper, studied the lines raptly. She turned one page over, then a second. And slowly, as Dow watched on, her expression became one of horror.

‘What?' Dow demanded, unnerved.

At first she only shook her head silently – either in disbelief at what she read, or to tell Dow to wait – and read another page. At last, however, she looked up to gaze wide-eyed across the inner sea.

‘They never even came here,' she breathed.

‘Who didn't?'

‘The rest of the fleet!' She studied the pages once more, rearing back as if appalled by them. ‘The Lord Designate and the other two ships. They never came north at all. The
Bent Wing
sailed here alone. '

Dow stared in bafflement. ‘But …'

‘It's written here! The whole expedition to the Ice – it was a lie from the beginning. Nadal never came north.'

‘Then where is he?'

‘South. The other two ships went south; they …' But then the dreadfulness of it seemed to overcome her in a rush, and her words were lost in a bout of retching, hiccupping laughter. Her hands flew to her mouth, but the horrible gasping went on. ‘They
never came …
'

Dow clutched her hands, pressed them flat against the book. ‘Stop it! Tell me what it says here!'

Her mouth snapped shut, and for a moment both of them stared down at his hands clenched tightly over hers. Her fingers were much smaller and finer than his, but Dow could feel the distinct ridges of the scars on the back of her hand, and on the ball of her thumb …

‘Let go of me,' she said.

Dow let go. ‘Tell me what it says.'

She took a steadying, shuddering breath, then started again in a leveller tone. ‘You know the story as we were told it – that Nadal was given permission by his father to bring a fleet of three ships on an expedition north to the Ice. The battleship
Tempest,
and two merchantmen, the
Bullion
and the
Bent Wing.
The
Bent Wing
was commanded by a Captain Altona, whose body lies behind us, and whose log this is, detailing his voyage.

‘But the first thing Altona reports is that he was part of a grand deception – that in fact Nadal never intended that all three ships would come to the Ice. Once his fleet was out to sea, and out of sight of the
Twelfth Kingdom
, Nadal indeed sent the
Bent Wing
north – so that the Sea Lord's command would be met – but only the
Bent Wing
. He took his other two ships, the
Tempest
and the
Bullion,
away south, on another mission entirely.'

‘And that mission was?'

‘To cross the Barrier Doldrums.'

Dow sat back in amazement. ‘But that's …'

‘Impossible,' Nell agreed. ‘No ship has ever done it, and if Nadal had announced that such was his aim, Ibanez would never have let him go. To tempt the Doldrums means certain death. So Nadal lied. He proposed an expedition north to gain his father's approval, and then plotted with his captains to split the fleet.'

‘But why would anyone try crossing the Doldrums if everyone knows only death can result?'

Nell shrugged helplessly at the pages. ‘Altona speaks of a new experiment that Nadal hoped might make the crossing possible, but the nature of that experiment Altona does not reveal. Whatever it was, it failed. Five years is too long. Nadal and his men are undoubtedly dead, adrift somewhere in the stagnant wastes of the tropics.'

Dow gazed about, his shock turning to disgust. ‘So … so there was never anyone here to rescue?'

Her laugh was sadder and saner now. ‘Only the crew of the
Bent Wing.
And they never mattered anyway.'

It was Dow's turn to fight an overwhelming anger. They'd been led to this end by something that wasn't even real. And not only himself and Nell. What of Alfons and the other three sailors? What of loyal Johannes, and Nicky? They were all dead – and what had they died for?

Nothing at all. For a lie.

But as quickly as the anger had come, it was gone again. What was the use of it, after all? It required more energy than Dow could spare. He glanced to Nell. She'd returned her attention to the book, and was flicking steadily through the pages. She sighed from time to time, or shook her head, but she said nothing, and Dow could only wait until she was done.

‘Well?' he asked, when at last she closed the journal.

‘We stand,' she said quietly, ‘at the pole.'

‘The pole?'

‘Captain Altona brought with him instruments enough to take readings from the stars, when he could see them. This inner sea, near enough as no matter, marks the northern pole of the world.'

Dow could only shake his head wearily. ‘What else does he say?'

‘There's little we hadn't already learned or guessed. This log is but a longer account of the
Bent Wing's
voyage north, and of the finding of the gulf, and of then becoming trapped within it. But Altona was a determined man. Even after his ship was grounded upon Camp Island, he could not forgo the chance to solve the mystery of the pole, and hence – when the ice cleared a little – he took a boat and crew of twelve to come in search of this place.'

‘And here they were wrecked.'

She nodded. ‘Their boat was upended by the surging waters, much as was ours, and smashed on the shore below. Six of his men survived – only to die more slowly of starvation and thirst. Altona himself used his last days to study the volcano. He theorised that it must have been dormant when his ship was trapped by ice in the gulf, and that it was only just beginning to stir from its slumber again when he arrived here – ten months ago.' She glanced up sourly to the mount's crater. ‘It is assuredly wide awake now.'

Dow followed her gaze. Glowing jets rose there in fountains, and rivers of molten stone poured from cracks in the rim to flow down to the sea – running more swiftly now, it seemed to him, and more brightly, than when he'd first come ashore. Another sharp tremor rattled the ground, even as he stared, and rocks came skittering down from the higher slopes.

The great volcano was not only awake, it looked likely to shake this island part of itself to pieces before long. They'd chosen no secure refuge. On the other hand, where else were they to go? It was the eruption's very heat, after all, that was keeping them alive. Every now and then, as a grim reminder, sudden draughts of frigid air came swirling down about them, proof that – above and beyond the basin's fires – the arctic night remained freezing and deadly, and the uninhabitable Ice still reigned.

‘Altona and his men made no attempt to escape,' observed Nell, ‘for they knew that there was nowhere to go. But what of us? Vincente will send no rescue, I'm sure, but the
Chloe
will surely wait for a time, out in the gulf. Could we reach it, do you think? By swimming?'

Dow stared across the water, searching the awesome outer rim for the rift through which they had entered. From this distance it was only a black line etched in the soaring wall. Even if they could make it across the intervening miles to reach the chasm – amid who knew what currents and surges – what then? Could they swim five miles further again through the narrows, even assuming no additional waves rose to crush them?

He shook his head doubtfully.

Nell sighed, and hunched herself over the book. ‘They'll never know then. Not Vincente, not anyone on the
Chloe,
not the Sea Lord himself. They'll never hear what truly happened to the Lord Designate.'

‘I'd be more worried about
us
,' said Dow.

‘You don't understand. Now Ibanez will cling to his vain hopes, and send more rescue ships in the wrong direction, and all the while Valdez and Castille will be free to plot to overthrow him.'

Dow had to strain to remember the faraway politics. It all seemed so trivial now. And anyway, didn't she
want
Valdez and Castille to prevail? Wasn't she intending to marry the king of Valdez's own nephew? He said, ‘Does it matter so much, if one Sea Lord is replaced by another?'

Her glance was withering. ‘It will mean civil war – and civil war will mean disaster, whoever wins. It will consume the empire for years, and only hasten our decline.'

‘Decline?'

‘Exactly that. We used to stand for more than just squabbling over money and power, and over which kingdom rules and which doesn't …'

Dow's curiosity finally stirred. He'd heard her talk this way before, as if the state of the Ship Kings empire was of an almost personal concern to her. He asked, ‘Which kingdom do
you
come from?'

She hesitated, frowning, then said, ‘Othrace.' And upon seeing that the name meant nothing to Dow, added, ‘It lies in the north-east of Great Island, bordering Valdez, with whom we are traditionally allied.'

Ah … so her kingdom was allied with Diego's. That explained a little – but not everything. She spoke with such familiarity of high politics. An alarming suspicion took root. ‘Do you have family, at home?'

For some reason she flushed red at the question, and Dow was intrigued to note that her scars went pale at the same time. ‘Yes – though as a scapegoat I've disowned them; and they, me.'

‘Are they important? Are they rich?'

‘It could be said that they are.'

He had to ask it. ‘You're not a princess are you?'

Nell stared at him in total surprise, then burst out laughing. ‘A princess? Me?' She rocked back at the idea, laughing still, while Dow sat stolidly by, feeling very much the fool. But she subsided at last, and shook her head at him, smiling. ‘No … no, Dow Amber, there's no royal blood in me. Not a drop. But yes, my family
is
wealthy, and influential in Othrace's affairs.'

Dow was relieved about the princess part, at least. But he thought he understood something else now. ‘And I suppose your family also mixed with wealthy families from Valdez? Like Lieutenant Diego's?'

She studied Dow with a curiosity of her own. ‘Yes. In fact, he and I are neighbours. Diego's father's lands border those of my father's; our boundary is the boundary between the two kingdoms, and our manors are but a mile apart. Diego and I have known each other since childhood.'

Since childhood … neighbours … allied kingdoms. Dow pondered it all for another moment. ‘But how did you end up on a Valignano ship? Valignano isn't allied with Valdez, is it? Or with Othrace?'

‘No – but my father served with Vincente when they were both cadets, and they've remained close ever since, despite the rivalry of their homelands. When I became eligible to serve, he asked Vincente to take me on as a special favour, for the
Chloe's
old scapegoat had just died.'

‘But how did … ?' Dow stopped himself. He'd been on the verge of asking about her scars, for without them – regardless of her father's friendships – she wouldn't be a scapegoat. But he couldn't do it.

She seemed to guess his dilemma, or perhaps she remembered who she was talking with – not a fellow Ship King, but a stranger. Abruptly she straightened. ‘What do you suggest, Mr Amber? We can't just sit here and wait for death, even if death is inevitable.'

Dow straightened too, and looked out over the water. She was right. Little hope was not the same as no hope. He said, ‘We should at least make a search for the boat. It might have washed up somewhere along the shore. And if there's still nothing, then all we can do is swim for it.'

She nodded, and as one they heaved themselves upright, Nell tucking Altona's log under her arm to carry with her. ‘But one suggestion before we go,' she noted, considering Dow. ‘Shoes.'

Dow stared down at his bare feet; blood was crusted about his heels from his climb up the mountainside. What did she mean? Then he saw that Nell was looking at the dead bodies.

She said, ‘They have no need of footwear. You do.'

A dead man's shoes? Could he really do that? Dow glanced across the flank of the mountain, and at the manifold sharp edges and ridges in the naked rock, and realised that yes he could. And so he went searching among the withered limbs of the dead, until he found a likely pair. He pried them off as gently as possible, scraped them somewhat cleaner with a fragment of rotted cloth, and then, his flesh crawling, forced them onto his feet. They felt loathsome and unnatural – but the rock no longer cut at his soles.

‘Ready?' she asked.

They set off, angling across the slope in the only direction they could go, for behind them the way was blocked by one of the molten rivers flowing from above. Their attention was fixed upon the shoreline, where the boat might hopefully lie, if it had survived un-sunk.

Progress was very slow; the landscape remained fantastically unfriendly to those on foot, the slope riven with endless crevices into which they had to carefully descend, or ridges, double their own heights, over which they had to laboriously climb, cutting their hands even if their feet were protected. And all the while a parched dryness grew in their throats, made worse by the biting fumes and reeks that rose from the ground.