“According to compass, Ethan, we have been changing heading from south to southwest for the past two hours.” He gestured at the land mass of Arsudun, which was still to port. Only now port had become north instead of west.
“We have rounded the southernmost part of the island,” Ta-hoding continued. “As the winds on the open ice will become stronger and the day is almost done, with your permission I would suggest anchoring for the night.”
“You’re the captain, Ta-hoding. This ship is your charge. Do what you think best.”
“Thank you, Sir Ethan.” The portly Tran moved forward of the wheel, leaned over the helmdeck railing and shouted forward. Sailors turned immediately to listen. Ta-hoding was deferential and meek in private conversation. But when giving orders to his crew, he made certain his words were audible above the wind.
“Kilpit, Monslawic!” Two mates acknowledged. “Reef in all sails and prepare to anchor!”
These orders were voice-relayed back down the ship to the last sailor at the bowsprit. Each crawled his way up into the rigging. Once more Ethan marveled at the ability of the Tran sailors, who constantly had to set, adjust, and take in sails while walking on narrow spars in a perpetual gale.
When all the sheets were furled and the icerigger had come to a near halt, the fore and aft ice anchors were released. These clusters of metal thorns and spikes were usually set into a heavy globe of cast iron. Those of the Slanderscree gained additional holding power from the chips and shards of duralloy gleaned from the remnants of the cannibalized lifeboat in which Ethan and his friends had crashed.
There were nerve-tingling shrieks and crackings as the anchors snubbed themselves deeply into the ice fore and aft. The ship slipped slowly to the west, shoved by the persistent wind, until the pika-pina cables holding the anchors grew taut. The creaking and groaning ceased. The Slanderscree had come to a halt.
Immediately, blocking teams went over her side. They secured the ship by placing stone slabs in front and behind each of the five runners. Now the ship would not move unless struck by an abnormal wind. Guards at stern and bow were posted more to warn of such an approaching weather front than of any flesh-and-blood peril.
Ethan remained on deck, watching the last glow of sunlight shift steadily from yellow to red to purple.
“Not hungry, friend Ethan?”
Startled, his head jerked around. Yellow-framed black slits set in a furry face glowed back at him, flaming with sunset light.
“Not right now, Hunnar.” He turned back to lean on the railing and stare out across the ice. Tran-ky-ky’s two moons had risen. There was little snow or ice in the air tonight and just enough stratus cloud to mark the difference between atmosphere and deep space. Moonlight knocked double shadows off the trees clinging tenaciously to nearby cliff edges. The ice ocean itself had lost its daytime harshness, lay hard and unmoving while cloaked in ethereal blue-white moon glow.
Ethan glanced at his wrist thermometer. The exquisitely still landscape shivered in twenty-eight below zero C weather. By mid-morning dark, several hours before the sun rose once again, it would fall to minus sixty-two or three—plus the ever-present wind chill factor. He could remove his survival suit and blend fully with the land. His body would freeze in a couple of minutes.
Hunnar chose that moment to ask exactly the wrong question.
Pointing skyward, he inquired of Ethan, “Which of those is your home world?”
It was several minutes before the salesman could answer, and not all those minutes had been spent in studying the unfamiliar constellations overhead. “I don’t know. It’s far, unimaginably far from here, Hunnar.”
“How many satch?” the knight asked guilelessly, his own gaze roving the night sky.
“Too many to count,” Ethan told him, repressing a smile and wondering why they were both whispering. “The sun it circles is not a very big one.” He gestured upward. “It’s off in that general direction, too far and faint for us to see with our eyes. And there are other stars between yours and mine, some of which have worlds that my people and our friends the thranx inhabit.
He indicated a faintly reddish spot of light. “Far out from that star circles a land where water never freezes anywhere except in machines my people must make for only that purpose.” Hunnar shook his head in wonder.
“So warm. A terrible-sounding place.”
“My people don’t like it much either, Hunnar. But our good companions the thranx thrive there. It’s called Drax IV, and the land tries to eat the people. It’s a strange place. I’ll tell you about it some time.” He returned his attention to the silent wind-scoured ice sea. Snow and ice particles were scudding about, tiny whirlwinds twisting them in the moonlight. Ethan saw invisible dancers in gem-studded gowns prancing beneath twin moons.
“I think I am a little hungry now.” He slapped both hands on the railing. “I’ll join you for supper.”
They went down to the eating quarters for officers and knights inside the central cabin. When the door closed behind them, the only light on deck other than moonlight came from a few thick portholes. There was no movement except at opposite ends of the ship, where the weather watchers paced patiently, their faces muffled with furs. When the sun vanished, it grew cold enough in the night of Tran-ky-ky to chill even a native.
They were watching for dark clouds. They did not see the dark paws that grasped the railing amidships…
V
ALERT, NERVOUS EYES DARTED across the deck, looking and spying nothing animate. One hand temporarily let go its grip to make a gesture to figures below. Then the figure pulled itself onto the deck. It was followed by companion shapes, indistinct in the darkness.
They walked to center deck, between the two main cabins. Other shapes, coming up on the side opposite, met them there. Soft words were exchanged, firm intentions resolved. Several figures split off from the growing group and moved forward, another chivaned aft. It was quiet on the decks for several moments.
A choked scream sounded from the helmdeck. Within the large group amidships a leader cursed.
A door to the central cabin opened and a figure emerged, silhouetted in the light from inside. Looking about and seeing nothing, the figure turned to go back inside when a clanking sound stopped it. Drawing his sword, the sailor cautiously moved onto the deck to investigate. Then he saw something which made him shout.
“Boarders! The ship is boarded! Wind aboard, men of Sofold… ukk!” His screaming was silenced by a metal shaft which pierced him from sternum to spine.
But the alarm had been raised. In seconds the deck and cabins were filled with milling, cursing, shouting shapes. Figures continued to pour over the railings onto the decks. The situation looked bad for crew and passengers.
Three brown-suited shapes mounted the second story of the main cabin and surveyed the carnage taking place below them.
“Fighting too close-in to pick out friend from enemy,” September declared above the awful sounds of murder, “but if we can keep the rest of them from getting aboard… You and Williams take the starboard side, feller-me-lad. I’ll take the port.”
“I don’t like this.” Nevertheless, Williams unlimbered his own small beamer. They had acquired the three hand weapons through unofficial channels in Brass Monkey, not because it was illegal for humans to carry modern weaponry on Tran-ky-ky, but because September had insisted they’d be better off keeping their capabilities hidden until they knew who was on whose side.
Three shafts of bright blue light jumped down from the cabin roof, struck the ship’s railings and moved along them. The high-intensity coherent light beams swept incipient boarders from the Slanderscree’s sides, piercing one after another. They hardly had time to scream. They did not have time to get into the fighting.