Ulsenn was raising himself to a sitting position again. He glowered at Arflane. ‘The old man was full of fever. He was insane. Forget this condition. Dismiss Captain Arflane, divide the property as the will stipulates. Would you embark upon another crazy voyage so soon after the first? Be warned; the first voyage anticipates the second, should you take it!’
‘By the Ice Mother, cousin, how superstitious you have become,’ Manfred Rorsefne murmured. ‘You know very well that should we ignore one part of the will, then the other becomes invalid. And think how you would benefit if we did perish! Your wife’s share and mine would make you the most powerful man to have ruled in all the Eight Cities.’
‘I care nothing for the wealth. I am wealthy enough. It is my wife I wish to protect!’
Again Manfred Rorsefne smiled sardonically, recalling Ulsenn’s desertion of his wife aboard the yacht. Ulsenn scowled at him, then relapsed, gasping, on to his pillows.
Stony-faced, Ulrica rose. ‘He had best be taken to his bed,’ she said.
Arflane and Manfred picked up the stretcher between them, and Ulrica led the way through dark passages to Ulsenn’s bedroom, where servants took him and helped him into the large bed. His face was white with pain and he was almost fainting, but he continued to mutter about the stupidity of the old man’s will.
‘I wonder if he will decide to accompany us when we sail,’ Manfred said as they left. He smiled ironically. ‘Probably he will find that his health and his duties as the new Lord will keep him in the crevasse.’
The three of them walked back to one of the main living rooms. It was furnished with brightly painted wall hangings and chairs and couches of wood and fibreglass frames padded and covered in animal skins. Arflane threw himself on to one of the couches and Ulrica sat opposite him, her eyes downcast. Only her long-fingered hands moved slightly in her lap.
Manfred did not sit.
‘I must go to proclaim my uncle’s will - or rather most of it,’ he said. He had to go to the top of the crevasse-city and use a megaphone to repeat the words of the will to all the citizens. Friesgalt was acknowledging Pyotr Rorsefne’s death in the traditional way. All work had ceased and the citizens had retired to their cavern homes for the three days of mourning.
When Manfred left, Ulrica did not, as Arflane had expected, make some excuse to follow. Instead she ordered a servant to bring them some hot hess. ‘You will have some, captain?’ she asked faintly.
Arflane nodded, looking at her curiously. She got up and moved about the room for a moment, pretending to inspect scenes on the wall hangings; they must have been more than familiar to her.
Arflane said at length, ‘You should not feel that you did any wrong, Lady Ulsenn.’
She turned, raising her eyebrows. ‘Wrong? What do you mean?’
‘You did not desert your father. We all thought he was completely recovered. He said so himself. You are not guilty.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. She bowed her head, a trace of irony in her tone. ‘I was not aware that I felt guilt.’
‘I’m sorry that I should have thought so,’ he said.
When she next looked at him, it was with a more candid expression as she studied his face. Gradually despair and quiet agony came into her eyes.
He rose awkwardly and went towards her, taking her hands in his, holding them firmly.
‘You are strong, Captain Arflane,’ she murmured. ‘I am weak.’
‘Not so,’ he said heavily. ‘Not so, ma’am.’
She gently removed her hands from his and went to sit on a couch. The servant returned, placed the hess on a small table near the couch, and left again. She reached forward and poured a goblet of the stuff, handing it up to him. He took it, standing over her with his legs slightly apart, looking down at her sympathetically.
‘I was thinking that there is much of your father in you,’ he said. ‘The strength is there.’
‘You did not know my father well,’ she reminded him quietly.
‘Well enough, I think. You forget that I saw him when he thought he was alone and dying. It was what I felt was in him, then, that I see in you now. I would not have saved his life if I had not seen that quality.’
She gave a great sigh and her golden eyes glistened with tears. ‘Perhaps you were wrong,’ she said.
He sat beside her on the couch, shaking his head. ‘All the strength of the family went into you for this generation. Your weakness is probably his, too.’
‘What weakness?’
‘A wild imagination. It took him to New York - or so he said - and it took you on the whale hunt.’
She smiled gratefully, her features softening as she looked directly at him. ‘If you are trying to comfort me, captain, I think you are succeeding.’
‘I’d comfort you more if - ‘ He had not meant to speak. He had not meant to take her hands again as he did; but she did not resist and though her expression became serious and thoughtful, she did not seem offended.
Now Arflane breathed rapidly, remembering when he had embraced her on the ice. She flushed, but still she let him grip her hands.
‘I love you,’ said Arflane, almost miserably.
Then she burst into tears, took her hands away, and flung herself against him. He held her tightly while she wept, stroking her long, fine hair, kissing her forehead, caressing her shoulders. He felt the tears in his own eyes as he responded to her grief. Only barely aware of what he did next, he picked her up in his arms and carried her from the room. The passages were deserted as he took her towards her bedroom, where he still believed he intended to lay her on the bed and let her sleep. He kicked open the door - it was across the corridor from Ulsenn’s - and kicked it shut behind him when he had entered.
The room was furnished with chairs, lockers, and a dressing table of softly tinted ivory. White furs were heaped on the wide bed and also lined the walls.
He stopped and placed her on the bed, but he did not straighten up.
Now he knew that, in spite of the dreadful guilt he felt, he could do nothing to control his actions. He kissed her mouth. Her arms went around his neck as she responded, and he lowered his massive body on to hers, feeling the warmth and the contours of her flesh through the fabric of the dress, feeling her writhe and tremble beneath him like a frightened bird. With one hand he pushed the dress higher and she tried to stop him, clinging to his hand; but he continued savagely to push through the folds of her clothing until he found her flesh.
Then she shuddered under his touch and told him that she was a virgin, that she had never allowed Janek to consummate their marriage. He took her, reddening the white fur with her blood; and then they lay panting side by side, to turn eventually to each other again.
9 Ulrica Ulsenn’s Conscience
Early in the morning, looking down on her as she slept with her face just visible above the furs and her black hair spread out on the pillow, Arflane felt remorse. No remorse, he knew, would be sufficient to make him part with Ulrica now, but he had broken the law he respected; the law he regarded as just and vital to the existence of his world. This morning he saw himself as a hypocrite, as a deceiver, and as a thief. While he was reconciled to these new roles, the fact that he had assumed them depressed him; and he was further depressed by the knowledge that he had taken advantage of the woman’s vulnerability at a time when her own guilt and grief had combined to weaken her moral strength.
Arflane did not regret his actions. He considered regret a useless emotion. What was done was done, and now he must decide what to do next.
He sighed as he clothed himself, unwilling to leave her but aware of what the law would do to her if she were discovered as an adulteress. At worst, she would be exposed on the ice to die. At the very least both he and she would be ostracized in all the Eight Cities; this in itself was effectually a lingering death sentence.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him sweetly; then the smile faltered.
‘I’m leaving,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll talk
later.’
She sat up in bed, the furs falling away from her breasts. He bent forward to kiss her, gently pulling her arms from his neck as she tried to embrace him.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. I’d thought of going away - to Brershill.’
‘Janek would break your city apart to find us. Many would die.’
‘I know. Would he divorce you?’
‘He owns me because I have the highest rank of any woman in Friesgalt; because I am beautiful and well mannered and rich.’ She shrugged. ‘He is not particularly interested in demanding his rights. He would divorce me because I refused to entertain his guests, not because I refused to make love to him.’
‘Then what can we do? I shall deceive him for only while I must protect you. I doubt in any case if I would be able to deceive him for long.’
She nodded. ‘I doubt it, also.’ She smiled up at him again. ‘But if you took me away, where could we go?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. To New York, perhaps. Remember the will?’
‘Yes - New York.’
‘We will talk later today, when we have an opportunity,’ he said. ‘I must go before the servants come.’
It had not occurred to either of them to question the fact that she was Janek Ulsenn’s property, no matter how little he deserved her; but now, as he made to leave, she grasped his arm and spoke earnestly.
‘I am yours,’ she said. ‘I am rightfully yours, despite my marriage vows. Remember that.’
He muttered something and went to the door, opening it cautiously and slipping into the corridor.
From Ulsenn’s room, as Arflane passed it, there came a groan of pain as the new Lord of Friesgalt turned in his bed and twisted his useless legs.
At breakfast they were as shy as ever of exchanging glances. They sat at opposite ends of the table, with Manfred Rorsefne between them. His arm was still strapped in splints to his chest, but he appeared to be in as lighthearted a mood as ever.
‘I gather my uncle already told you he wanted you to command the Ice Spirit and take her to New York?’ he said to Arflane.
Arflane nodded.
‘And did you agree?’ Manfred asked.
‘I half agreed,’ Arflane replied, pretending a greater interest in his meal than he felt, resentful of Manfred’s presence in the room.
‘What do you say now?’
‘I’ll skipper the ship,’ Arflane said. ‘She’ll take time to crew and provision. She may need to be refitted. Also I’ll want a careful look at those charts.’
‘I’ll get them for you,’ Manfred promised. He glanced sideways at Ulrica. ‘How do you feel about the proposed voyage, cousin?’
She flushed. ‘It was my father’s wish,’ she said flatly.
‘Good.’ Manfred sat back in his chair, evidently in no hurry to leave. Arflane resisted the temptation to frown.
He tried to prolong the meal, hoping that Manfred would lose patience, but finally he was forced to let the servants take away his plate. Manfred made light conversation, seemingly oblivious of Arflane’s reluctance to talk to him. At length, evidently unable to bear this, Ulrica got up from the table and left the room. Arflane controlled his desire to follow her immediately.
Almost as soon as she had gone, Manfred Rorsefne pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘Wait here, captain. I’ll bring the charts.’
Arflane wondered if Manfred guessed anything of what had happened during the night. He was almost sure that if he did guess, the young man would say nothing to Janek Ulsenn, whom he despised. Yet three days before, on the ice, Manfred had restrained him from following Ulrica and had seemed resolved to make sure that Arflane would not interfere between Ulsenn and his wife. Arflane found the young man an enigma. At some times he seemed cynical and contemptuous of tradition; at others he seemed anxious to preserve it.
Rorsefne returned with the maps tucked under his good arm. Arflane took them from him and spread them out on the table that had been cleared of the remains of the meal.
The largest chart was drawn to the smallest scale, showing an area of several thousand miles. Superimposed on it in outline were what Arflane recognized as the buried continents of North and South America. Old Pyotr Rorsefne must have gone to considerable trouble with his charts, if this were his work. Clearly marked was the plateau occupying what had once been the Matto Grosso territory and where the Eight Cities now lay; also clearly marked, about two-thirds up the eastern coastline of the northern continent, was New York. From the Matto Grosso to New York a line had been drawn. In Rorsefne’s handwriting were the words ‘Direct Course (Impossible).’ A dotted line showed another route that roughly followed the ancient land masses, angling approximately NW by N before swinging gradually to E by N. This was marked ‘Likely Course’. Here and there it had been corrected in a different coloured ink; it was obvious that these were the changes made on the actual voyage, but there were only a few scribbled indications of what the ship had been avoiding. There were several references to ice breaks, flaming mountains, barbarian cities, but no details of their precise positions.
‘These charts were amended from memory,’ Manfred said. ‘The log and the original charts were lost in the wreck.’
‘Couldn’t we look for the wreck?’ Arflane asked.
‘We could - but it would hardly be worth it. The ship broke up completely. Anything like the log or the charts would have been destroyed or buried by now.’
Arflane spread the other charts out. They were of little help, merely giving a clearer idea of the region a few hundred miles beyond the plateau.
Arflane spoke rather petulantly. ‘All we know is where to look when we get there,’ he said. ‘And we know that it’s possible to get there. We can follow this course and hope for the best - but I’d expected more detailed information. I wonder if the old man really did find New York.’
‘We’ll know in a few months, with any luck.’ Manfred smiled.
‘I’m still unhappy with the maps.’ Arflane began to roll up the big chart.
‘We’ll have a better ship, a better crew - and a better captain than my uncle took.’ Manfred spoke reassuringly.
Arflane tidied the other charts. ‘I’ll pick every member of my crew myself. I’ll check every inch of rigging and every ounce of provisions we take aboard. It will be at least two weeks before we’re ready to sail.’
Manfred was about to speak when the door opened. Four servants walked in, carrying Janek Ulsenn’s stretcher. The new ruler of Friesgalt seemed in better health than he had the previous evening. He sat up in the stretcher.
‘There you are, Manfred. Have you seen Strom this morning?’
Strom was Pyotr Rorsefne’s old general retainer. Manfred shook his head. ‘I was in my uncle’s quarters earlier. I didn’t see him.’
Ulsenn signalled abruptly for the servants to lower the stretcher to the floor. They did so carefully.
‘Why were you in those quarters? They are mine now, you know.’ Ulsenn’s haughty voice rose.
Manfred indicated the rolled charts on the table.
‘I had to get these to show Captain Arflane. They are the charts we need to plan the Ice Spirifs voyage.’
‘You mean to follow the letter of the will, then?’ Janek Ulsenn said acidly. ‘I still object to the venture. Pyotr Rorsefne was mad when he wrote it. He has made a common foreign sailor one of his heirs! He might just as well have left his wealth to Urquart, who is, after all, his kin. I could declare the will void . . .’
Manfred pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. ‘You could not, cousin. Not the will of the old Lord. I have declared it publicly. Everyone will know if you do not adhere to its instructions . . .’
A thought occurred to Arflane. ‘You told the whole crevasse about New York? The old man didn’t want the knowledge made general - ‘
‘I didn’t mention New York by name, but only as a “distant city below the plateau”,’ Manfred assured hi
m.
Ulsenn smiled. ‘Then there you are. You merely said to the most distant of the Eight Cities . . .’
Manfred sneered very slightly. ‘Below the plateau? Besides, if it were one of the Eight that the will referred to, then it would have been making what was virtually a declaration of war. Your pain clouds your intelligence, cousin.’
Ulsenn coughed and glared up at Manfred. ‘You are impertinent, Manfred. I am Lord now. I could order you both put to death . . .’
‘With no trial? These are empty threats, cousin. Would the people accept such an action?’
In spite of the great personal authority of the Chief Ship Lord, the real power still rested in the hands of the mass of citizens, who had been known in the past to depose an unwelcome or tyrannical owner of the title. Ulsenn could not afford to take drastic action against any member of the much-respected Rorsefne family. As it was, his own standing in the city was comparatively slight. He had risen to the title by marriage, not by direct blood line or by winning it by some other means. If he were to imprison Manfred or someone whom Manfred protected, Ulsenn might easily find himself with a civil war on his hands, and he knew what the result of such a war would be.
Ulsenn, therefore, remained silent.
‘It is Pyotr Rorsefne’s will, cousin,’ Manfred reminded him firmly. ‘Whatever you may feel about it, Captain Arflane commands the Ice Spirit. Don’t worry. Ulrica and I will go along to represent the family.’
Ulsenn darted a sharp, enigmatic look at Arflane. He signalled for his servants to pick up the stretcher. ‘If Ulrica goes -I will go!’ The servants carried him from the room.
Arflane realized that Manfred Rorsefne was looking with amused interest at his face. The young man must have read the expression there. Arflane had not been prepared for this declaration. He had been confident that Ulsenn would have been too involved with his new power, too ill and too cowardly to join the expedition. He had been confident in his anticipation of Ulrica’s company on the proposed voyage. Now he could anticipate nothing.