There was a trace of humour in Arflane’s expression as he stared round at the paintings. He sat up, pushing the furs away from his naked body. His clothes lay on a bench against the wall nearest the door. He swung his legs to the floor and stood up, walking across the carpet of fur to where a washstand had been prepared for him. As he washed, dousing himself in cold water, he realized that his memory of how he had arrived here was vague. He must have been very drunk to have agreed to Manfred Rorsefne’s suggestion that he stay the night. He could not understand how he had come to accept the invitation. As he dressed, pulling on the tight undergarments of soft leather and struggling into his jacket and trousers, he wondered if he would see Ulrica Ulsenn that day.
Someone knocked and then Manfred Rorsefne entered, wearing a fur cloak dyed in red and blue squares. He smiled quizzically at Arflane.
‘Well, captain? Are you feeling any ill effects?’
‘I was drunk, I suppose,’ Arflane said resentfully, as if blaming the young man. ‘Do we see old Rorsefne now?’
‘Breakfast first, I think.’ Manfred led him into a wide passage also covered in dark, painted wall hangings. They passed through a door at the end and entered a large room in the centre of which was a square table made of beautifully carved whale ivory. On the table were several loaves of a kind of bread made from warm-pond weed, dishes of whale, seal, and bear meat, a full tureen containing a stew, and a large jug of hess, which had a taste similar to tea.
Already seated at the table was Ulrica Ulsenn, wearing a simple dress of black and red leather. She glanced up as Arflane entered, gave him a shy smile, and looked down at her plate.
‘Good morning,’ Arflane said gruffly.
‘Good morning.’ Her voice was almost inaudible. Manfred Rorsefne pulled back the chair next to hers.
‘Would you care to sit here, captain?’
Uneasily, Arflane went to sit down. As he pulled his chair in to the table, his knee brushed hers. They both recoiled at once. On the opposite side of the table Manfred Rorsefne was helping himself to seal meat and bread. He glanced humorously at his cousin and Arflane. Two female servants came into the room. They were dressed in long brown dresses, with Rorsefne insignia on the sleeves.
One of them remained in the background; the other stepped forward and curtsied. Ulrica Ulsenn smiled at her. ‘Some more hess, please, Mirayn.’
The girl took the half-empty jug from the table. ‘Is everything else in order, my lady?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Ulrica glanced at Arflane. ‘Is there anything you lack, captain?’
Arflane shook his head.
As the servants were leaving, Janek Ulsenn pushed in past them. He saw Arflane beside his wife and nodded brusquely, then sat down and began to serve himself from the dishes.
There was an unmistakable atmosphere of tension in the room. Arflane and Ulrica Ulsenn avoided looking at one another. Janek Ulsenn glowered, but did not lift his eyes from his food; Manfred Rorsefne looked amusedly at all of them, adding, it would seem deliberately, to their discomfort.
‘I hear a big herd’s been sighted,’ Janek Ulsenn said at last, addressing Manfred and ignoring his wife and Arflane.
‘I was one of the first to hear the news,’ Manfred smiled. ‘Wasn’t I, Captain Arflane?’
Arflane made a noise through his nose and continued to eat. He was embarrassingly aware of Ulrica Ulsenn’s presence so close to him.
‘Are we sending a ship?’ Manfred asked Janek Ulsenn. ‘We ought to. There’s plenty of fish for all, by the sound of it. We ought to go ourselves - we could take the two-mast schooner and enjoy the hunt for as long as it lasted.’
Ulrica seemed to welcome the suggestion. ‘A splendid idea, Manfred. Father’s better, so he won’t need me. I’ll come too.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I haven’t seen a hunt for three seasons!’
Janek Ulsenn rubbed his nose and frowned. ‘I’ve no time to spare for a foolhardy pleasure voyage.’
‘We could be back within a day.’ Manfred’s tone was eager. ‘We’ll go, Ulrica, if Janek hasn’t the spirit for it. Captain Arflane can take command . . .’
Arflane scowled. ‘Lord Ulsenn chose the right word - foolhardy. A yacht - with a woman on board - whale hunting! I’d take no such responsibility. I’d advise you to forget the idea. All it would need would be for one bull to turn and your boat would be smashed in seconds.’
‘Don’t be dull, captain,’ Manfred admonished. ‘Ulrica will come anyway. Won’t you, Ulrica?’
Ulrica Ulsenn shrugged slightly. ‘If Janek has no objection.’
‘I have,’ Ulsenn muttered.
‘You are right to advise her against a trip like that,’ Arflane said. He was unwilling to join forces with Ulsenn, but in this case he knew it was his duty. There was a good chance that a yacht would be destroyed in the hunt.
Ulsenn straightened up, his eyes resentful. ‘But if you wish to go, Ulrica,’ he said firmly, staring hard at Arflane, ‘you may do so.’
Arflane shifted his own gaze so that he looked directly into Ulsenn’s eyes. ‘In which case, I feel that you must have an experienced man in command. I’ll skipper the craft.’
‘You must come too, cousin Janek,’ Manfred put in banteringly. ‘You have a duty to our people. They will respect you the more if they see that you are willing to face danger.’
‘I do not care what they think,’ Ulsenn said, glaring at Manfred Rorsefne. ‘I am not afraid of danger. I am busy. Someone has to run your father’s affairs while he is ill!’
‘One day is all you would lose.’ Manfred was plainly taunting the man.
Ulsenn paused, evidently torn between decisions. He got up from the table, his breakfast unfinished.
‘I’ll consider it,’ he said as he left the room.
Ulrica Ulsenn rose.
‘You deliberately upset him, Manfred. You have offended him and embarrassed Captain Arflane. You must apologize.’
Manfred made a mock bow to Arflane. ‘I am sorry, captain.’
Arflane looked thoughtfully up into Ulrica Ulsenn’s beautiful face. She flushed and left the room in the direction her husband had taken.
As the door closed, Manfred burst into laughter. ‘Forgive me, captain. Janek is so pompous and Ulrica hates him as much as I do. But Ulrica is so loyal!’
‘A rare quality,’ Arflane said dryly.
‘Oh, indeed!’ Manfred got up from the table. ‘Now. We’ll go to see the only one of them who is worth any loyalty.’
Heads of bear, walrus, whale, and wolf decorated the skin-covered walls of the large bedroom. At the far end was the high, wide bed and in it, propped against folded furs, lay Pyotr Rorsefne. His bandaged hands lay on the bed covers; apart from some faint scars on his face, these were the only sign that he had been so close to death. His face was red and healthy, his eyes bright, and his movements alert as he turned his head to look towards Arflane and Manfred Rorsefne. His great mane of grey hair was combed and fell to his shoulders. He now had a heavy moustache and beard; both were nearly snow white. His body, what Arflane could see of it, had filled out and it was hard to believe that such a recovery could have been possible. Arflane credited the miracle to the old man’s natural vitality and love of life, rather than to any care he had received. Momentarily, he wondered why Rorsefne was still in bed.
‘Hello, Arflane. I recognize you, you see!’ His voice was rich and vibrant, with all trace of weakness gone. ‘I’m well again - or as well as I’ll ever be. Forgive this manner of meeting, but those milksops think I won’t be able to get my balance. Lost the feet - but the rest I kept.’
Arflane nodded, responding against his will to the old man’s friendliness.
Manfred brought up a chair from a corner of the room.
‘Sit down,’ Pyotr Rorsefne said. ‘We’ll talk. You can leave us now, Manfred.’
Arflane seated himself beside the bed and Manfred, reluctantly it seemed, left the room.
‘You and I thwarted the Ice Mother,’
Rorsefne smiled, looking closely at Arflane. ‘What do you feel about that, captain?’
‘A man has a right to try to preserve his life for as long as possible,’ Arflane replied. ‘The Ice Mother surely does not resent having to wait a little longer.’
‘It used to be thought that no man should interfere in another man’s life - or his death. It used to be said that if a man was about to be taken by the Ice Mother then it was no one’s right to thwart her. That was the old philosophy.’
‘I know. Perhaps I’m as soft as some of the others I’ve condemned while I’ve been here.’
‘You’ve condemned us, have you?’
‘I see a turning away from the Ice Mother. I see disaster resulting from that, sir.’
‘You hold with the old ideas, not the new ones. You do not believe the ice is melting?’
‘I do not, sir.’
A small table stood beside the bed. On it was a large chart box, writing materials, a jug of hess, and a cup. Pyotr Rorsefne reached towards the cup. Arflane forestalled him, poured some hess from the jug, and handed him the drink. Rorsefne grunted his thanks. His expression was thoughtful and calculating as he looked into Arflane’s face.
Konrad Arflane stared back, boldly enough. This man was one he believed he could understand. Unlike the rest of his family, he did not make Arflane feel uncomfortable.
‘I own many ships,’ Rorsefne murmured.
‘I know. Many more than actually sail.’
‘Something else you disapprove of, captain? The big clippers not at work. Yet you’re aware, I’m sure, that if I set them to hunting and trading, we should reduce all your other cities to poverty within a decade.’
‘You’re generous.’ Arflane found it surprising that Rorsefne should boast about his charity; it did not seem to fit with the rest of his character.
‘I’m wise.’ Rorsefne gesticulated with one bandaged hand. ‘Friesgalt needs the competition as much as your city and its like need the trade. Already we’re too fat, soft, complacent. You agree, I think.’
Arflane nodded.
‘It’s the way of things,’ Rorsefne sighed. ‘Once a city becomes so powerful, it begins to decline. It lacks stimulus. We are reaching the point, here on the plateau of the Eight Cities, where we have nothing left to spur us on. What’s more, the game is leaving. I see death for all in not too short a time, Arflane.’
Arflane shrugged. ‘It’s the Ice Mother’s will. It must happen sooner or later. I’m not sure that I follow all your reasoning, but I do know that the softer people become, the less chance they have of survival . . .’
‘If the natural conditions are softer, then the people can afford to become so,’ Rorsefne said quietly. ‘And our scientists tell us that the level of the ice is dropping, that the weather is improving, season by season.’
‘I once saw a great line of ice cliffs on the horizon,’ Arflane interrupted. ‘I was astonished. There’d never been cliffs there before - particularly ones that stood on their peaks, with their bases in the clouds. I began to doubt all I knew about the world. I went home and told them what I had seen. They laughed at me. They said that what I had seen was an illusion - something to do with light - and that if I went to look the next day the cliffs would be gone. I went the next day. The cliffs were gone. I knew then that I could not always trust my senses, but that I could trust what I knew to be right within me. I know that the ice is not melting. I know that your scientists have been deceived, as I was, by illusions.’
Rorsefne sighed. ‘I would like to agree with you, Arflane . . .’
‘But you do not. I have had this argument already.’
‘No, I meant it. I want to agree with you. It is simply that I need proof, one way or the other.’
‘Proof surrounds you. The natural course is towards utter coldness and death. The sun must die and the wind must blow us into the night.’
‘I’ve read that there were other ages when ice covered the world and then disappeared.’ Rorsefne straightened his back and leaned forward. ‘What of those?’
‘They were only the beginning. Two or three times, the Ice Mother was driven back. But she was stronger, and had patience. You know the answers. They are in the creed.’
‘The scientists say that again her power is waning.’
‘That cannot be. Her total domination of all matter is inevitable.’
‘You quote the creed. Have you no doubts?’
Arflane got up from his seat. ‘None.’
‘I envy you.’
‘That, too, has already been said to me. There is nothing to envy. Perhaps it is better to believe in an illusion.’
‘I cannot believe in it, Arflane.’ Rorsefne leaned forward, his bandaged hands reaching for Arflane’s arm. ‘Wait. I told you I needed proof. I know, I think, where that proof may be found.’
‘Where?’
‘Where I went with my ship and my crew. Where I returned from. A city - many months’ travel from here, to the distant north. New York. Have you heard of it?’
Arflane laughed. ‘A myth. I spoke of illusions . . .’
‘I’ve seen it - from a distance, true, but there was no doubting its existence. My men saw it. We were short of provisions and under attack from barbarians. We were forced to turn before we could get closer. I planned to go back with a fleet. I saw New York, where the Ice Ghosts have their court. The city of the Ice Mother. A city of marvels. I saw its buildings rising tier upon tier into the sky.’
‘I know the tale. The city was drowned by water and then frozen, preserved complete beneath the ice. An impossible legend. I may believe in the doctrines of the Ice Mother, my lord, but I am not so superstitious . . .’
‘It is true. I have seen New York. Its towers thrust upwards from a gleaming field of smooth ice. There is no telling how deep they go. Perhaps the Ice Mother’s court is there, perhaps that part is a myth . . . But if the city has been preserved, then its knowledge has been preserved too. One way or the other, Arflane, the proof I spoke of is in New York.’
Arflane was perplexed, wondering if the old man’s fever was still with him.
Rorsefne seemed to guess his thoughts. He laughed, tapping the chart box. ‘I’m sane, captain. Everything is in here. With a good ship - better than the one I took -New York can be reached and the truth discovered.’
Arflane sat down again. ‘How was the first ship wrecked?’
Rorsefne sighed. ‘A series of misfortunes - ice breaks, shifting cliffs, land-whale attacks, the attacks of the barbarians. Finally, ascending to the plateau up the Great North Course, the ship could stand no more and fell apart, killing most of us. The rest set off to walk to Friesgalt, the boats being crushed, hoping we should meet a ship. We did not. Soon, only I remained alive.’
‘So bad luck was the cause of the wreck?’
‘Essentially. A better ship would not suffer such luck.’
‘You know this city’s location?’
‘More - I have the whole course plotted.’
‘How did you know where to go?’
‘It wasn’t difficult. I read the old books, compared the locations they gave.’
‘And now you want to take a fleet there?’
‘No.’ Rorsefne sank back on the furs. ‘I would be a hindrance on such a voyage. I went secretly the first time, because I wanted no rumours spreading to disturb the people. At a time of stress, such news could destroy the stability of our entire society. I think it best to keep the city a secret until one ship has been to New York and discovered what knowledge the city actually does hold. I intend to send the Ice Spirit.’
‘She’s the best ship in the Eight Cities.’
‘They say a ship’s as good as her master,’ Rorsefne murmured. His strength was beginning to fail him. ‘I know of no better master than yourself, Captain Arflane. I trust you - and your reputation is good.’
Arflane did not refuse immediately, as he had expected he would. He had half anticipated the old man’s suggestion, but
he was not sure that Rorsefne was completely sane. Perhaps he too had seen a mirage of some kind, or a line of mountains that had looked like a city from a distance. Yet the idea of New York, the thought of discovering the mythical palace of the Ice Mother and of verifying his own instinctive knowledge of the inevitability of the ice’s rule, appealed to him and excited his imagination. He had, after all, nothing to keep him on the plateau; the quest was a noble one, almost a holy one. To go north towards the home of the Ice Mother, to sail, like the mariners of ancient times, on a great voyage of many months, seeking knowledge that might change the world, suited his essentially romantic nature. What was more, he would command the finest ship in the world, sailing across unknown seas of ice, discovering new races of men if Rorsefne’s talk of barbarians were true. New York, the fabled city, whose tall towers jutted from a plain of smooth ice ... What if after all it did not exist? He would sail on and on, farther and farther north, while everything else travelled south.
Rorsefne’s eyes were half closed now. His appearance of health had been deceptive; he had exhausted himself.
Arflane got up for the second time.
‘I have agreed - against my better judgment - to captain a yacht in which your family intend to follow a whale hunt today.’
Rorsefne smiled weakly. ‘Ulrica’s idea?’
‘Manfred’s. He has somehow committed Lord Janek Ulsenn, your daughter, and myself to the scheme. Your daughter supported Manfred. As head of the family, you should . . .’
‘It is not your affair, captain. I know you speak from good will, but Manfred and Ulrica know what is right for them. Rorsefne stock breeds best encountering danger -it needs to seek it out.’ Rorsefne paused, studying Arflane’s face again, frowning a little curiously. ‘I should not have thought it like you to offer unasked-for advice, captain . . .’
‘It is not my way, normally.’ Arflane himself was now perplexed. ‘I don’t know why I mentioned this. I apologize.’ He was not acting in a normal fashion at all, he realized. What was causing the change?
For a moment he saw the whole Rorsefne family as representing danger for him, but the danger was nebulous. He felt a faint stirring of panic, and rubbed his bearded chin rapidly. Looking down into Rorsefne’s face, he saw that the man was smiling very slightly. The smile seemed sympathetic.