But it was a while before he was able to make his way down from the golden cloud to the more ordinary bed of snow, and sleep.
The guard demons had to dig them out in the morning, for the storm had buried their tent in snow. Icy sat up and stretched and breathed the horrendously coid air that rushed in as the tunnel reached the tent entrance.
Flach saw the shoveler-demon staring. “Icy, thy clothing,” he murmured “Dost not want thy guards melting before we reach the Pole.”
“To be sure!” she agreed, delighted, and got up to fetch her clothing. Actually his warning was not well taken, because she could no longer cause males to heat enough to melt. But he was mindful of her father’s caution; Flach’s grown image was to discourage the demons from getting ideas about a woman who was intended for demonly princes, not guards.
“And thou too, lover,” Icy said mischievously, glancing back at him.
Now Flach remembered that he was naked too, and that he had the semblance of a grown man. The guard demons could draw only one conclusion about what had gone on in the tent during the night. They would be wrong in detail, but perhaps not in principle. Had he been older, and colder...
He got up and dressed. Then they exited the tent, the demons gazing jealously at Flach, and got on the sledge. They had their breakfasts while zooming on toward the Pole. They played card games, and she skunked him continually. The consequences she demanded were always the same: she would wait till a guard was looking, then make Flach kiss her on the cheek or, sometimes, the lips, while she feigned reluctance. To the demons it would seem as if Flach were the one winning, and demanding the kisses from her. She wanted the world to know that she had made a conquest, and that the man had not died. All true, as far as it went. He wished it could be more than a mere game to her, and more than an impossible dream to him. He had understood the principle of mating, but had never before properly appreciated the intense lure of it, or the utter fascination a woman could represent for a man. Already he knew that it would take a very special woman to fulfill the longings Icy had seeded in him. Would there be any such, when he grew up?
“There it be!” she abruptly exclaimed.
Flach looked, surprised. There in the middle of the plain was a pole sticking in the snow. It was disappointingly simple, a mere column of ice with spiral ridges down its length. The oddest thing was that it was half in shadow. They drew up to it and halted.
“What now?” Icy inquired. “I realize that thy mission must seem a paltry thing, after my love, but surely thou dost have aught to do here?”
The guard demons fidgeted at this seeming confirmation of their suspicions. The demoness was truly enjoying herself.
The problem was that Flach had no idea what to do. The message had simply told him to come here. What now, indeed?
He walked over to the Pole. He touched it.
Immediately the Pole rose. A circular panel of ice came up, revealing a hole beneath. There were stairs going down.
“A cave ‘neath the Pole!” Icy exclaimed, delighted. “Ne’er suspected I this!”
Neither had Flach. But rather than seem uncertain, he squatted, ready to climb down the first big step. There had to be something for him in here.
I don ‘t like this, Nepe thought.
“Adept, ne’er would I gainsay thee, since thou mastered me,” Icy said timidly, for the guards were close by, nervously watching the hole as if afraid a fire-breathing dragon might put its head out. “But I intuit some mischief.”
Flach shrugged as if indifferent to mischief. “Dost think my mission takes me not here?” he asked.
“I fear it as I fear a fire lake,” she said. “It be not hostile, yet it be deadly. O my love, go not into that hole!”
She exaggerated her sentiment, of course, but underneath she did have some concern. He was glad to accept the pretext for caution. “I will humor thee by being most careful,” he said gruffly. The guards nodded; this was the way to handle a beautiful woman with foolish notions.
He peered into the hole, his eyes adjusting to its darkness. Now he saw a rope stretched along the stairs, going down out of sight. Its upper end terminated in a loop. A trap for his foot? Would it close about his ankle and haul him roughly into the depths?
“Willst humor me just a trifle more, my hero?” Icy inquired submissively. He was coming to appreciate just how docile a woman could make herself seem, when she chose. Nepe was making avid notes. “Let me drop aught inside, to see what stirs.”
“What could stir, here at the Pole?” he asked, hoping she had an answer.
“I know not, great one,” she confessed prettily. “But thou hast beaten me so badly at cards, requiring only kisses as penalties, which in truth be not burdensome at all when they be thine—“ Here she paused to bat her fine icy eyelashes at him adoringly. “I feel I must repay thee by in some way ensuring that thy bold foot slip not on those dire steps leading I know not where.”
“As thou wishest,” he said generously. Her worry was infectious; was there some threat there? Then why would his father send him here without warning?
Icy took a handful of snow and dropped it into the center of the hole. It powdered down, drifting slightly in the breeze, half of it bright in the daylight, half fading in the shadow that cut across the Pole, But as it passed ground level, it slowed and then halted.
They stared at it. The trailing fluff continued down, but the leading snow was hovering in place, not landing on the highest step.
Flach peered closely at the phenomenon. “It be moving down, but slowly,” he said. “I pose this as a riddle for thee, fair one: what be the meaning o’ this?” He hoped she had an answer!
“I thank thee for this chance to try my skill at what thou has already fathomed,” she said contritely. “Methinks this be a slowspell, that harms not who enters it, but slows him down so that what seems ten minutes to him be an hour outside, mayhap more. An thou go in there, we could wait long ‘fore thou dost emerge.” She raised her great eyes to him. “My love, I doubt I can wait that long for thee!”
That’s one clever doxie! Nepe thought. A slowspell! She must be right.
“And how wouldst thou have me accomplish my purpose within, timid demoness, an thou be so impatient for my return?” Flach asked sternly. This was a game he could get to like!
“Why, methinks I would have thee pull on the cord,” she said. “And bring out what lies within to thee, here in normal time.”
Flach stared at the loop at the end of the rope. Not a trap, but a pull-cord! That made perfect sense!
“Well, needs must we try it,” he said. “Methinks thine answer be apt.”
Icy downcast her eyes and made a snowy flush: a mirror-gloss formed on her alabaster complexion. How visibly she appreciated the compliment from the master! He knew it was only a game to her, but he couldn’t help feeling masterly.
That creature could give lessons to any warm female in the business! Nepe thought, awed. No wonder she melted males!
Flach reached down to grab the loop. His hand moved swiftly until it reached the region of the slow-falling snow; then it slowed. He felt no different, however; if he hadn’t been watching, he would not have realized that the slowdown had occurred.
But though his hand was slow, his arm was above, in normal time. He shoved it down, and the hand had to go. Thus he was able to pass the snow and reach the loop, thanks to his leverage. But when he closed his fingers on it, they failed to respond. They seemed to flex normally, but he could see that nothing was actually happening. They would react in their own good time— which seemed inordinately slow.
But he didn’t have to wait. His fingers were partly curled already. He moved his body and arm, the hand at the end seeming like a fixed hook, and scraped it across the rope so that the fingers caught in the loop. Then he hauled his hand up, and the rope came with it. In a moment his hand was back in normal time, instantly clenching on the rope, and the loop was in his possession.