The Ice King

by Michael Scott Rohan

  ‘Police? Inspector Ridley, please – yes, it is urgent! This is Professor Hansen –’

  A new voice came on the line. ‘Prof? Harshaw ’ere. Inspector’s out, I’m afraid – what’s the bother?’ Hal could almost hear the sergeant wincing at the word body. ‘Jesus, not another – bang go our bloody crime figures! Right, we’ll ’ave a patrol on its way up now. ’Appen the inspector’ll be out, too, if we can get ’old of ’im. You just ’ang on till they get there, eh?’

  ‘Of course. Or, no, I had better go on up to the Farm. The house, not the site. You cannot miss the –’

  ‘No. Well, all right, that’s not far. But we’ll need to talk to you –’

  ‘Gladly. Goodbye.’

  Hal felt suddenly very alone in the box as he put the phone down, and almost reluctant to step back out into the chilly evening air. But he didn’t want Pru coming down looking for him, and finding the body and his empty car. He strode back down the road, flapping his arms to keep warm and refusing to look at the huddled shape as he passed, or as the headlights again swept across it. He swung the big car onto the farm road, tyres drumming on the rougher surface, and climbed as fast as he dared on this twisting road towards the top of the ridge.

  There the main gates of the manor house stood silhouetted against the dim sky, the Victorian carved gateposts blending oddly with the shredded clouds. The gate was open; he was expected. He found himself able to smile again. But as he turned down the drive and the house appeared from behind the mass of rhododendrons by the gate, the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Over the low, wide frontage of the red-brick building darkness hung; not a single window showed any light. As he pulled up outside the central portico, where even the outside light was off, Hal remembered the other side of his young love-life, namely being stood up.

  He grimaced wryly and got out all the same. He couldn’t really blame Pru if, on mature reflection, she had chickened out. Or maybe Wilf had turned up unexpectedly; she might have left him a note. The sound of gravel scrunching underfoot reminded him of teeth grinding with frustration. His shoes slapped at the hard stone of the steps. But he was just about to reach for the bell when he saw that the big oak door was not in fact closed; it was just ajar, showing a thin line of blackness between it and the post. He stared at it for a moment, wondering if Pru was playing some peculiar kind of game, and then pushed it open a little further. The hallway was solid darkness. He called out ‘Anyone home?’ and then ‘Pru?’ and heard nothing but the echoes. But the air was warm; somebody had been in the house recently, at least. Hal swore under his breath, called out again, and fumbled at the wall for the light switch. He found a whole bank of them, and clicked on several at random. But nowhere was there the least glimmer in the darkness. Alarmed now, he clicked all the other switches, and called Pru’s name again. Nothing changed.

  He knew a moment of intense alarm, and then almost laughed aloud. He had run head first into the reason he was here at all, in this country. The power supply at Fern Farm was notoriously primitive and unreliable; it was during work to upgrade it that the temple had first been uncovered, and that work had since had to take second place to the excavation – one reason the senior Ravensheads were presently spending so much time abroad. And now he was hoist with his own petard – the damned thing had gone and failed again at just the wrong time, and Pru had probably gone to chase up an electrician, leaving the door open for him but, in the heat of the moment, no note. Well, he could forgive her that. Sooner wait in the dark than in the car. If he could only find a chair somewhere, he’d be quite happy; if he remembered the layout of the house, the main drawing-room ought to be at the extreme right of the hall, and reachable just by feeling along the wall.

  He set out, running his fingers over the smooth panelling and feeling as if he had suddenly gone blind. But the wood was pleasant to the touch, and he was just beginning to get confident when he barked his shins on something hard and almost fell. He stopped for a moment, and it was then that he realised what was making him uneasy. There was a strange smell in the air, not so noticeable by the open door but increasingly strong over here; it was not a pleasant smell. He thought of burning electrical insulation; it didn’t smell like that back in the States or at home, but maybe these old British setups used something different. Parchment, probably he thought, and chuckled. But it could be something serious. European current was far higher voltage than American – if Pru had shorted something, or given herself a shock, she and the house could be in real danger. If only he had a flashlight –

  It was then he remembered his lighter. He was always forgetting to refill it, so the gas would be low, but it was a lot better than nothing. He tried to remember whether the Ravensheads kept candles around, but couldn’t. He fished out the slim ovoid and pressed the button. Adjusted for his pipe, the flame leapt high, flickering in the breeze from the door. He found himself almost in the corner, facing the end wall of the hall and ready to turn left towards the drawing-room door. What he had fallen over was the corner chair, missed by his outstretched fingers because it lay on one side, overturned. Had Pru followed this route to get out?

  He turned. He was so stunned by what he saw that he forgot to shield the flame; the chill breeze caught it, and it wavered high and was gone. He snapped frantically at the button, but nothing happened. The hall was a mess, as if not one person but several had gone stumbling and blundering through the middle of it. The heavy hall table was overturned to one side, and the worn oak settle pushed out from the wall. The central rug, immensely old, heavy, and threadbare, was rucked up as if feet had been tangled in it, in a tremendous arrow of creases that pointed across the bare glossy stone floor to the stairs.

  Hal paused only a second to fix the picture in his mind before he stalked out into the darkness. He managed to cross the hall without problems, and rested his foot very slowly and carefully on the lowest step. It was stone, and he made no sound. But at the first low landing, where the stairs turned right, they had wooden centres, and he had to make his way very quietly up the edge, taking great care never to lean on the wooden banister. As he climbed he felt in his pockets, but found nothing except his large ring of site keys that would do as a weapon. He thought of going back to the car to fetch a spanner or wheelbrace, but if he did that he could hardly avoid making a noise. If there was anyone here, they would be ready for him then. Whereas now – well, if he couldn’t see in the dark, neither could they.

  The smell was getting stronger, rank and rubbery and unpleasant. He was almost at the landing when something brushed against his sleeve. He lashed out, but hit nothing; whatever it was was small and hanging from the wall. He touched it gingerly, then flicked back his fingers as if it was hot. It was the wall light-fitment, and it was hanging loose by its wires. Ten to one this was what had blown the power. If Pru had been trying to fix it, failed and perhaps fallen as she went downstairs – that was possible. Likely, even. In which case there wouldn’t be anyone up here.

  Still, he’d better take a look.

  He reached the landing, and was surprised to be able to see a little. The curtains must be drawn over the hallway windows, but here the great arched window at the corridor end was left bare. Trees outside obscured it, but let enough light in for his dark-adjusted eyes. There were plenty of doors visible, some open. Looking in those first would be quietest. He padded softly down to the first of them and peered in. A bedroom, tidy and anonymous. The next two doors were closed, but were probably a bathroom and another bedroom. The next opening was half a double door, obviously a cupboard. The smell was giving him ideas about sneezing, but he repressed them firmly and moved across to the other side of the passage and the next open door. He peered in, and felt the breath catch in his throat.

  It was like looking into a dream or a fantasy, beautiful but eerie, unsettling, and wholly unexpected. Against the grey-steel glimmer of the sky beyond the window a woman’s form stood silhouetted, tall and willowy, obviously naked. Hal hesitated, almo
st afraid to speak and break the spell. Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head in his direction, the long hair sweeping across the shoulders and freeing her profile, straight-nosed, strong-chinned. As her body turned her breasts, too, showed clear, small, firm, high-set.

  ‘Pru?’ whispered Hal, throat dry, almost aching with the beauty of the image.

  He saw long, slender hands lift and widen as she reached out her arms to him and stepped forward. He tried to reach out in turn, but found himself trembling, leaden-footed, as if the vision had plucked up some deep-rooted primal terror from his mind. The man who gazes on the goddess naked … The distant sound of a car seemed hardly to lift the weight of silence, and the dark swampy scent filled his head like a drug. She was closer now, arms outstretched, quivering, taut as if with longing, making no sound, floating through the still blue-grey light like an image from under the sea.

  The light changed abruptly. An irregular golden patch flashed onto the wall, a distorted projection of the window by headlights from the distant road. It swept across the wall as the source turned, and gleamed for an instant on the woman’s flank and arm. Hal stared, unbelieving; fear blew through him like a forest wind. In that moment of light her skin shone, not pale but dull slaty dark. Reflex flung out an arm to ward off that dark embrace; he missed, overbalanced, staggered to one side. She was not so close to him as she seemed in dim silhouette – simply far taller, a head and more above him. She was easily seven feet high.

  Choking, he stumbled back, caught his balance, then almost lost it again as his foot struck something soft on the floor, soft yet heavy. A sound caught at him, faint and fading, an anguished sound. A voice, wordless but laden with pain. Pru’s voice.

  He bent down to her, then fell back barely in time to avoid the long hand that scythed across an inch in front of his face. The speed of the woman was terrifying – now she was between him and Pru, and all he could do was back out onto the landing, watching the shadow gather for another leap. The moment he was out of the door he turned and ran, and knew that the thudding at his heels was death, the same death the man on the road had fled from, and in vain –

  Only the stairs saved him, because in trying to turn too quickly he stumbled and half fell down them, out of control but far faster than he could normally have run. Mercifully he stayed on his feet as he thudded into the banister at the landing and down the last few steps into the hall. He lurched against the overturned table, grabbed it, and with cracking shoulder muscles hurled it into the path of what followed, and stumbled for the long pillar of light that was the front door – and through it, wrenching it shut after him. But even as he turned to run, it exploded out in splinters behind him, bowling him off the top step and out onto the forecourt, gravel chewing at his face and hands. Winded and dizzy, he heaved himself upright and staggered a few steps towards his infinitely distant car. Then the gravel lurched and rose to meet him. His out-thrust arms only rolled him onto his back, staring at the sky, unable to stir. A patch of dark loomed darker than the night, towering over him. With slow, unhurried grace it stooped to him, long hair tumbling over its face, long fingers reaching out till the tips touched his cheeks. He jerked like a hooked fish – the touch was like cold iron, the marsh smell choking him. Slowly the fingers clamped down and closed.

  Again the light changed, into a sudden, agonising blaze. For an instant Hal thought it and the roaring sound were inside his bursting head, but as he wrenched it desperately to one side he saw the car that had come rumbling up the drive Wake violently, lurching on its suspension. Its lights played full on him – and on his attacker.

  She crouched there like a startled beast, the figure of a tall, slender woman, quite naked, her whole skin the colour of an old bruise, mottled and stained like charcoal. A dark, straggling mass of hair hid her face. She was rising slowly to her feet; he could see the tension quiver in her long flanks. Her hands clenched and unclenched, revealing long fingernails darker even than the skin around them. Beneath it the muscles flexed and corded in a terrible interplay of strength, like meshed wire hawsers.

  For a moment, half crouching, she seemed to hesitate, making no sound save the crunch of gravel under her feet. Then, without warning, she charged headlong at the car.

  The door flew open and Ridley’s burly figure spilled out, thrusting both arms straight out across the top of it, hands clasped. There were two flat cracking sounds, and the woman went down sprawling in a great shower of gravel. Ridley sprang out and ran towards her – then had to fling himself aside as Hal shouted a warning. The woman bounded back onto her feet in a single movement and sprang. Ridley pounded frantically back to the car and round it. She cannoned into the bonnet and fell across it, clawing out at him on the other side, almost reaching him. Hal struggled to haul himself upright, managed it, and staggered towards the car as she rolled right across it and after Ridley again.

  He was faster on his feet than he looked, dodging desperately from side to side, keeping the car between them. But he began darting to the back of it, trying to get at something but never quite managing it before she was on him. Hobbling closer, Hal scooped up a handful of gravel and hurled it at her, shouting furiously. Her head turned for an instant, and Ridley dodged right under her arm. Her hand came crashing down an instant too late – a window exploded outwards as the car roof dented under the terrible impact. But Ridley had reached the tailgate, and as she bore down on him he flung it up right in her face. She staggered back, and he stooped inside and yanked out something Hal saw only as a metallic gleam. Clutching it to him, Ridley stepped back a few paces, the revolver absurdly small in his outstretched hand. Hal stopped dead as the woman turned her head to him for an instant, then back to Ridley. The policeman made no move as she stalked lightly towards him, graceful, terrible, wiry arms outstretched.

  Then he lifted the gleaming object and flung it in her face. She flicked up a contemptuous hand and swatted it to the ground at her feet. Ridley’s hand spat fire straight into it, and the night lit up.

  The exploding petrol can knocked Hal off unsteady feet. Looking up, he saw the woman rolling across the gravel, limbs flying, wreathed in flames. She sprang to her feet with one arm ablaze, flailed at it wildly, and rushed off into the darkness dripping fire like a comet. All without the slightest sound – Ridley ran after her a little way, stopped and fired again, then lowered his gun. He came trotting back towards Hal, who was hanging onto the car for support.

  ‘Off like a rocket,’ he grunted, waving the little revolver around to cool it. ‘No stopping power, these things. Practically antiques. Thames Valley boys’ve got Magnums –’ There was no tremor in his voice, but Hal could see the whites of his eyes too clearly. ‘Well, are you okay? And what the bloody hell was that? Can’t say I care for your choice of lady friends –’

  Hal raised his eyes to the darkened house, to the second floor. ‘I’m all right,’ he said harshly, ‘but for the love of God get on your radio, call an ambulance …’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE LONG blades quivered and cut at the dull air, their wind whipping up little rills in the powder snow. Hal shivered. They reminded him of the blades in the Odd Dance – which, come to think of it, must just be getting under way for its morning performance about now. If those prancing idiots had the least idea what they were really acting out! But then he had to duck away from the sudden blast of the helicopter’s rotors, sending all the half-thawed top snow scattering and streaming out in a wide circle, obliterating the stretcher team’s narrow trail of footprints. The engine bellow rose to an almost unbearable pitch and the machine leapt unsteadily into the air. It rose vertically, hung an instant wobbling and wavering in the sudden buffet of wind, then spun on its axis and chattered off over the whitened roofs of the town, heading straight for the rimed cliffs. At the last moment it hopped up over them and vanished into the grey. The little knot of doctors and porters straggled back towards the warm indoors.

  ‘Well,’ sighed Ridley, ‘at least that’s that.�
�

  ‘But I wonder, will she be all right?’

  Ridley looked askance. ‘As well as she can be, with a broken back and a fractured skull.’

  ‘I mean in that helicopter!’ snapped Hal. ‘When they say even microscopic injuries could make all the difference! Surely it would have been smoother by road?’

  ‘Ah. Mmh. There’s no alternative, really, not after the snow last night. The roads are open, yes, but another fall could really gum them up. She’d be a lot worse off stuck in a snowbound ambulance, I can tell you. Better she gets to Pinderfields – Spinal Injuries unit there’s as good as any in the country, even Stoke Mandeville. She’ll get the best of everything. They fixed up a lad of ours a treat after his motorcycle prang –’

  ‘Did he ever walk again?’

  ‘Well, no. But I gather her chances sound a bit better. She’s lucky to be alive, anyway. If you hadn’t showed up at the house like that –’

  ‘But for me she wouldn’t have been at the house! It was her first night back for a fortnight.’

  ‘Still just as well. Means they were probably keeping an eye on the place, doesn’t it? Sooner or later she’d’ve gone back anyway – only you mightn’t have been there. So don’t worry too much – at least,’ he added hastily, ‘not about that. God knows, we’ve enough else. Such as just who we had our little run-in with last night. A pretty pressing problem, in the circumstances. Any suggestions?’

  With an impatient gesture Hal swept the snow off one of the benches ringing the hospital’s little lawn, and sat down. Ridley joined him, carefully arranging his coat flaps to protect his trousers, but Hal sat silent, staring at the dents the helicopter’s undercarriage had left in the lawn.