The Ice Star (Konstabel Fenna Brongaard Book 1)

by Christoffer Petersen

  “I’ll be with you in just one moment, Konstabel,” Vestergaard said without looking up.

  “I was just wondering,” Fenna said as she pointed at the microphone. “Why are you making such thorough notes when you are recording the whole thing?”

  Petersen paused his search and turned to glance at the microphone. Vestergaard raised his eyes and peered at Fenna.

  “Actually,” Fenna said. “I'm not even sure it’s switched on.”

  “Petersen,” Vestergaard said.

  Fenna watched as Petersen leaned around Vestergaard to fiddle with the microphone. She turned to look at Vestergaard as he closed his notebook. Petersen nodded and removed the battery cover. He showed it to Fenna.

  “Needs a new battery,” he said with a shrug. “Must have forgot to replace it after the last time we used it.”

  “When was that?” Fenna asked.

  Petersen closed the battery compartment. He looked up. “When was what?”

  “The last time you used the microphone?”

  “Last month,” Vestergaard said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “I was recording notes for my memoir. I must have left it on.” He shrugged. “I’m not the most proficient with technology as any of my daughters will tell you.”

  Fenna folded her hands on the table and waited. Petersen removed the microphone and placed it on the counter. There was the sound of raven claws on the roof of the police station as Fenna waited for Vestergaard to continue.

  “It's still official,” he said with a wave of his notebook.

  “But with no guarantees for me,” Fenna said.

  “Very well.” Vestergaard nodded at Petersen. “How is your shorthand, Sergent?”

  “Rusty, I’m afraid, sir.”

  “Well, do your best, for the benefit of the Konstabel.” Vestergaard said and folded his hands upon the notebook in his lap. “Is that acceptable?”

  Fenna bit at the inside of her lip and waited. She glanced at the wall, pressing her thumbnail into her fingertips as she thought.

  “Can we continue, Konstabel?” Vestergaard said. He clicked the top of his pen.

  “Yes,” Fenna said with a nod. “Let's get on with it.”

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  Call-sign Fever Dog ran ahead of the storm for three days before it drove them onto the ice. Fenna cursed stubby digits as the wind chilled the blood from her fingers. The fascination of skin freezing on metal was short lived as they concentrated on routine in the flurry of snow, the ferocity of ice splinters and the fury of an arctic storm. As the dogs curled deeper and deeper into the snow at night the temperatures dropped below fifty. Mikael risked more fuel and they added more fat to their diet. The dogs devoured frozen chunks of seal blubber, waiting out the storm, insulated with every layer of snow that buried them. Inside the tent, Fenna prodded her finger at the tumours of snow bulging at the canvas walls. The wind shrieked as it wrestled with the tunnel baffle and whipped loose guy lines into blind flails of icy cord. The patrol was grounded, buried and alone.

  Fenna woke to a rumbling spatter of bowels. The stale air moved around the inside of the tent as the walls buffeted in the arctic gale. She shifted onto her back and retrieved her headlamp from inside her sleeping bag.

  “Don’t turn on the light,” said Mikael.

  “Are you all right?”

  “It’s messy but I’ll live. Just so long as it’s just the shits, we can’t afford to get sick out here.”

  “Something we ate?”

  “Yeah, that curry you ordered, I think we can get our money back.”

  Fenna chuckled.

  “Laugh it up, mate. It’ll be your turn later.”

  Fenna listened as Mikael tied a knot in the plastic bag. “Are you going to throw it outside?”

  “No. I thought I would use it as a pillow. Stupid fuck,” said Mikael.

  “Well, see you in the morning.”

  “Yeah,” said Mikael.

  Fenna listened as Mikael finished pulling up his thermals and crawled into his sleeping bag as gusts of wind buffeted a fetid combination of coriander and herbs around the tent.

  ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  “Very descriptive, Konstabel. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Fenna said and grinned at the memory.

  “So that was the storm? The piteraq, I think you called it,” Vestergaard said as he checked his notes.

  “That night and the following day were the worst. The storm just made everything that bit more difficult.”

  “So, how heavy is a typical patrol sledge?” Vestergaard asked as he checked his mobile. He frowned and returned it to his jacket pocket. Fenna watched him.

  “About 350 to 400 kilos.” Fenna pushed the base of her mug with her fingertips. “Maratse has been gone a long time.”

  “Yes,” Vestergaard said and turned in his chair. “Petersen?”

  “I’ll see if I can find him,” Petersen said with a quick drum of fingers on the kitchen counter. “If I can’t, I’ll be back within the hour.”

  “Bring something for dinner,” said Vestergaard.

  “I’ll see what I can find. Although I don’t imagine there’ll be much before the first supply ship breaks through the ice.” Petersen left the kitchen, pausing at the entrance to Maratse’s office to lift his jacket from the hook.

  “Lucifer pulled well the next day.”

  “Lucifer?”

  “We put Betty in a canvas bag on the sledge. Less of a distraction.”

  “And Lucifer was the new lead dog?”

  “Yes. That was the day the storm really hit us. Mikael and I took it in turns to lead the way, the dogs following, Lucifer always on our heels.”

  “It sounds tough,” Vestergaard poured more coffee.

  “It was.”

  Chapter 9

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  Fenna lifted her foot, a sudden gust of wind pushed her off balance. She fell onto her side and broke her fall with a splayed hand. Lucifer licked her cheek. Fenna pushed herself up, wiped her goggles and brushed swathes of snow from her arms and thighs. The wind whipped snow darts at her body, she pushed on, breaking the trail, one mulish metre after the other. Fenna led the team as Mikael struggled to guide the sledge from the rear.

  At the top of a steep gully she braced her hand, palm up, against the wind. She took hold of Lucifer’s collar and halted the team’s progress. Mikael clumped through the snow. He slipped one hand along the sledge, all the way to the gangline, and then followed that all the way to Fenna’s side.

  “What do you think?” Fenna shouted and pointed at the slope.

  “Steep.” Mikael looked back at the team, the wind snapping at his collar. “The sledge will take them out on the way down. We’ll have to tip it.” He cracked a smile through his beard of ice. “I’m having fun now. How about you?”

  “What?” Fenna leaned in towards Mikael.

  “Having fun?” he shouted in her ear.

  “If I had bollocks they’d be sweating.”

  Mikael grinned, his teeth flashing between the icicles hanging from his beard. “Then let’s keep going before you cool down. I’ll go back and anchor the sledge, hold the team until you work your way back to me. We’ll tip the sledge on its side and let the dogs pull it over the lip. We can hang onto the dead man’s rope.”

  “Say again. That last bit?”

  Mikael stumbled into Fenna, fighting the wind. “Rope.”

  “Okay,” Fenna shouted. “I’ll get ready.” Lucifer jumped up, tugging at his harness. Fenna clicked a foot out of her ski and stamped down on the gangline. “He’s pretty keyed up.”

  “They all are.”

  “Let’s do it then.”

  Fenna watched Mikael work his way back along the sledge. She waited as he lifted Betty from the holdall securing her to the sledge. He slipped her free to let her run beside the team. Fenna clicked her heel back into her skis and skied the length of the team
. She tugged at the gangline, pulling the dogs back, holding them in check. When she reached Mikael, she made ready to help tip the sledge on its side. The sledge sloped down to the right, its left runner knifed into a snow bank. The gear shifted ever so slightly within the ropes securing it to the thwarts.

  “Get on the downward side,” Mikael shouted. “Pull it over. I’ll lift it as it comes up.”

  Fenna moved behind and around the sledge. She gripped one of the ropes securing the equipment to the sledge in a criss-cross pattern, and leaned back.

  “Come on, Fenna.” Mikael squatted on the opposite side of the sledge, fingers under the runner.

  The wind snapped at her jacket. Fenna swore. She tugged harder. I’m about twenty kilos too light for this, she cursed. She threw her weight away from the sledge and felt it move. “It’s coming.”

  Mikael grunted as the sledge started to tip. “Clear,” he yelled. The left hand runner started to slip out of the patrolman’s hands. “Fenna? You clear?”

  “Let it go,” Fenna scrabbled out of the way. She worked her way back to the rear of the sledge, and picked up the trailing line. The sledge slumped onto its side in the snow. Fenna looked along the gangline at the dogs.

  Mikael joined her at the rear of the sledge and pulled the rifle out of its holster. He slung the rifle over his chest, positioning it so it hung comfortably from his shoulder to the opposite hip. The spare sling after the buckle cracked like a whip in the wind. “Don’t want to damage it,” he said.

  “Are we ready?”

  “Yes,” Mikael said and adjusted his goggles. “Let’s get started.”

  “Come on now, boys,” Fenna shouted to the dogs. “Let’s go.” Lucifer tugged at the line, his harness taut, the traces vibrating along the length of the team as each dog pulled. “Let’s go.” Fenna and Mikael gripped the upright angled horizontally before them. Pushing as the dogs pulled, the sledge inched forward.

  “Come on, boys,” Mikael said. His breath frosted another layer of ice in his beard.

  The dogs dragged the sledge through the snow. It inched towards the lip of the slope. Fenna lifted her head, watching as first Lucifer then Piska and the team bully, Ninja, dropped over the lip and out of sight. The wind blasted a fresh salvo of ice into her face.

  “Here we go,” Mikael said and took a bight of the dead man’s rope. “You ready?”

  “We’ll try and turn it? Maximum drag?” Fenna shouted.

  “We don’t want it to roll. Keep it straight. Kick off your skis. Slide them under the rifle bag.”

  As the last of the dogs crested the lip, Fenna and Mikael slipped their skis under the ropes on the sledge. One hand on the upright, the other on the rope, they prepared to guide the sledge down the slope.

  “Keep an eye on the dogs. I’ll look out for boulders.” Mikael leaned into the wind. “When the slope starts to level off, we’ll stop the team and pull her back onto her runners.”

  “Got it,” Fenna said and moved out to the left of the sledge, the front of her jacket pressed flat in the wind. She watched the wheel dogs, Cisko and Nansen, closest to the tips of the runners. Mikael leaned out to the right. The runners of the sledge crested the slope as the dogs pulled. The sledge slid free until, see-sawing in the wind, it crashed down onto the slope, picking up speed as the dogs jogged down the thick layer of frost-packed snow on the surface. “She’s going.” One hand on the upright, Fenna staggered around the side.

  “I got it,” Mikael shouted and lengthened his strides, crunching air from the snow with his heels as he broke the surface. “Boulder to the right.”

  “What?” Fenna kicked snow into the wind as she descended the slope. “Mikael?”

  “We missed it,” Mikael shouted over the sledge. “We’re clear until the...”

  “What?”

  “Let go of the rope,” Mikael yelled. He yanked the rope out of Fenna’s hand and bounded the length of the sledge. Mikael ducked in front of it and pulled the rope taut around the runners. He waited the second it took for Fenna to join him. “Pull,” he said and thrust the rope into Fenna’s hands. With snow pillowing under their heels, they hauled on the rope as the sledge pendulumed around the human anchor. The sledge quivered onto both runners as gravity clawed at it. “Keep hold of the rope,” Mikael said and leaped after the sledge. He reached for the runners, stumbling as his feet broke the surface crust of snow, pinning him to the spot. “Fenna?”

  She tossed the rope at Mikael and took off after the sledge as it slid into position, streamlining behind the string of dogs running before it. As Fenna caught the sledge the tip of the left-hand runner slid up and over Cisko, crushing the wheel dog. Fenna dug her heels into the snow, and hung low from the uprights. With the seat of her trousers dragging like an anchor, she stalled the sledge. Mikael pulled the trailing line over one shoulder and under the opposite arm, belaying the sledge to a stop as Fenna sat down in the deep snow.

  “Whoa,” Mikael called to the dogs. “Whoa, now.” The sledge stopped. The right-hand runner less than a dog’s width from Nansen. “Fenna? You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, both hands gripping the uprights. Barely okay, she thought and worked hard to control her breathing, coughing icy air into her lungs.

  “Have a look at Cisko,” Mikael said as he fed the rope around his body. He worked his way down to the sledge, snow flurrying from his shoulders in the wind. He watched Fenna move along the left-hand side of the sledge. She stopped halfway. “How is he?”

  “Not good,” Fenna said as she crouched next to the wheel dog. Cisko lay panting beneath the runner. “At least one of his back legs is broken.” She pulled the frozen fleece neckie below her chin and stood up. “A few ribs.”

  “Shit,” Mikael said as he reached the sledge and gripped the uprights.

  “Shall I do it?” Fenna shouted into the wind.

  “I can if you want,” Mikael said and tossed the trailing line behind him.

  “No. I can do it.” Fenna crouched down in the snow beside Cisko and stroked the dog’s fur, smoothing his ears flat along the side of his head. “It’s okay, fella.” Fenna popped the flap of her holster, pulled out the Glock. “It’s okay.” She stepped back, holding the pistol in a firm two-handed grip. The team shuddered in their traces as she put a bullet through the wheel dog’s skull. The crack of the shot pierced the wind, rebounding between the indifferent granite walls of the gully. She took a breath. It needed to be done. Fenna holstered the Glock and unclipped Cisko’s lines from his harness and collar. She stood up. “We’ll have to let the sledge run forward before I can pull him out.”

  “All right. Come back here and help me.” The sledge slid forward as they pushed from the rear. The dogs tugged until they called them to a stop. Fenna stooped to remove Cisko’s harness.

  “Fenna, you okay?” Mikael said. He held Cisko’s body as she tugged the harness over the wheel dog’s head. Free of the dog’s body it snapped in the wind.

  “I’m okay,” she said with a weak nod of the head. “He was a good dog.” She patted the dog’s side and stood up. Fenna looped the harness and Cisko’s collar over the upright. “What shall we do with him?”

  “Leave him for the foxes and ravens,” Mikael said and fiddled with his goggles. He cast a glance over the team at the way ahead. “See where it flattens out?” he said and pointed. “It’s only a few kilometres to the ice. We’ll make camp just off the ice foot. We can skirt around the next headland on the sea ice and make better time.”

  “Okay.” Fenna reached down and smoothed her fingers over Cisko’s eyes.

  “Let’s go then.” Mikael slipped the rifle from his shoulder and returned it to the holster as Fenna clicked her heels into her skis. He put his own skis on and nodded to Fenna that he was ready.

  “Come on, boys,” Fenna shouted into the wind. The dogs pulled the sledge down the slope, snow from the runners spinning into Arctic dervishes in the wind all the way to the sea ice.

  Chapter 10

>   ITTOQQORTOORMIIT, EAST GREENLAND

  The tiny kitchen was cramped and stuffy with stale smoke and old coffee. Fenna longed for the fresh air and open skies of the sledge patrol. She stared at the tabletop until Vestergaard spoke.

  “That was the third dog killed during your first year with Sirius,” Vestergaard said. He paused to write a note. “There was nothing you could do?”

  “Cisko was in pain,” Fenna said and drummed her fingers on the surface of the table. “We have an intensive veterinarian course during training. We can pull teeth and stitch bites and that kind of thing. But you can’t fix a broken leg on patrol, and a dog can’t pull with broken ribs.”

  “So you killed Cisko.”

  “I put him down. There’s a difference,” Fenna said and took a breath. “You need to understand these are ‘working dogs’. The Greenlanders understand it better than anyone. We love our dogs. We talk to them, and confide in them on patrol when our partners are driving us nuts. But they’re still working dogs.”

  “I don’t know,” Vestergaard said and shrugged. “I’m pretty sure my wife would disagree.”

  “I’m sure she would.” Fenna stood up. “I need to pee.”

  “Okay.” Vestergaard pushed back his chair and leaned back as Fenna squeezed past.

  She locked herself in the toilet next to the cell, lifted the lid and stared at two days’ worth of human ablutions. Fenna sat on the toilet, a plastic bag lining the bucket beneath the seat, rested her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands.

  “Damn, Mikael. I’m sorry,” she said and wiped a tear from her cheek. She sat in silence on the toilet and thought about the camp they had made that night near the ice foot, how the tidal creaks and groans in the ice vibrated through the tent as the wind whumped at the tent sides and wrenched at the guy lines.

  NORTHEAST GREENLAND NATIONAL PARK

  “Fenna? Are you done?” Mikael shouted, slapping his hand on the outside wall of the canvas tunnel tent. “I’m finished with the dogs. Ready to come in.”