The Curse of the Ice Serpent

by Jon Mayhew

  Slowly, they rose through the murk, glad of the weak daylight that shone at the surface of the sea. They broke the waves and Dakkar gave a sigh of relief as he felt the sub pitch and roll.

  They all clambered up the tower, eager to get their lungs full of clean air. Dakkar gasped at the sharpness of the cold that hit him as he threw open the hatch. He blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden bright light.

  ‘What on earth?’ Georgia whispered beside him.

  Towering mountains of ice surrounded them, smaller ones rising and falling with the sea. Flat ice floes, broken into chunks, clunked against the wooden hull of the Nautilus. A cold wind moaned over this desolate scene.

  ‘The beast must have dragged us further north than we thought,’ Borys said, shivering. ‘In all the excitement, I didn’t even notice.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Georgia said, her breath clouding her face.

  ‘It’s too cold,’ Dakkar muttered, shaking himself.

  ‘Come back down into the Nautilus,’ Borys said, putting an arm around Georgia. ‘The cold is dangerous. You have to treat it with respect. Stay up here too long without protection and you will surely die.’

  The warmth of the sub welcomed Dakkar as he slid down the ladder back inside. Borys looked grimly out of the porthole at the white crust that covered the sea’s surface.

  ‘This is bad,’ he said and pursed his lips.

  ‘But surely all we need to do is set a course further south and we can pick up our original course,’ Dakkar said.

  ‘It’s not that easy, Dakkar,’ Borys said. ‘The turtle brought us deep under the ice floes and we must navigate back out of them. It’s late in the year so the floes are beginning to thicken and freeze together. We might not be able to break through them.’

  ‘But we can go under them,’ Georgia said. ‘That’s how we got here.’

  ‘This is true,’ Borys agreed. ‘But what if we can’t surface because of the ice? What if we lose our way? There can be no navigation errors in the Arctic.’

  They climbed down into the body of the Nautilus and went into the front cabin to consult the charts.

  ‘By my calculations we’re here,’ Borys said, stabbing the compasses into the map at a point west of Greenland.

  ‘How can that be?’ Dakkar wondered. ‘We weren’t dragged for that long surely?’

  ‘That creature is huge and powerful,’ Borys said, tracing a finger over their supposed route. ‘One stroke of its mighty flippers would be enough to propel us a great distance.’

  ‘We’ll make better time if we travel underwater,’ Georgia said.

  ‘But we must proceed with caution,’ Borys said, tapping the compasses on the table. ‘The ice floats on the surface but we could easily collide with the body of an iceberg that lies beneath the surface.’

  Frost formed on the glass of the portholes, hardening into ice so that the view outside blurred and glazed. Sharp crackling sounds snapped through the hull of the sub.

  ‘We had better submerge,’ Borys murmured. ‘The Nautilus is freezing. The extremes of temperature may crack her portholes or if any leftover water in the hull freezes it may burst the planks.’

  Dakkar hurried up to the captain’s seat and opened the ballast tanks. Slowly the Nautilus began to sink. More bumps and bangs resounded through the craft. Dakkar could just make out ice cracking from around the hull as they sub­­merged.

  Another few minutes and we might have been frozen in, he thought. The water bubbled around him and he gasped.

  ‘It’s so clear!’ Georgia said, appearing beside him. ‘And even in this cold, fish still swim!’

  They stared out as the Nautilus went deeper, marvelling at the shoals of brown fish that swarmed along the bottom of the sea. Above them, the ice formed a ceiling of blue-white.

  ‘Look!’ Borys lamented down the speaking tube. ‘So many fat fish and we can’t catch any for our dinner!’

  Dakkar allowed himself a smile, partly because the idea of Borys keeping lookout for icebergs through the portholes below reassured him.

  ‘Why are we going so slowly?’ Georgia said, frowning out into the water.

  ‘Look over there,’ Dakkar said, pointing to a distant white mass to the port side of the craft. ‘If we strike something like that, we’re done for.’

  ‘Or like that,’ Georgia said, pointing to another. ‘Or that!’

  Dakkar felt the blood drain from his face as more and more walls of ice loomed before them. Wherever he looked, icebergs blocked their way, leaving only narrow chasms between them.

  ‘There are a lot of icebergs coming up,’ Borys announced from below.

  ‘Thanks – we’d noticed,’ Dakkar said. ‘It’s too late to go under them. I’m going to have to steer between them. Hold on.’

  He slowed the Nautilus right down, inching towards the sheet of ice that drifted before him. He licked his lips, breathing gently as he eased the wheel slightly to port. Georgia stood perfectly still beside him. The first berg went past silently and Dakkar pushed the sub to starboard as another, smaller mass of ice sailed by on the other side.

  Sweat trickled down Dakkar’s back. One wrong move and the massive chunks of ice would crush the Nautilus as if she were made of glass.

  ‘Another one coming,’ Borys said, sounding breathless down the speaking tube.

  Dakkar swallowed hard and steered around a pointed fang of ice that jabbed down from the surface. Something scraped against the hull, stopping his breath for a second, then they slipped away from the obstacle.

  More chunks of blue-white ice poked downward, for­cing Dakkar to weave in and out of inverted crevasses and even tilt the Nautilus to avoid outcrops that might scupper them.

  Gradually, they became less dense and Dakkar could relax slightly, slipping around a few larger, isolated icebergs.

  ‘It looks safer now,’ Borys replied. ‘We should surface as soon as we can and head south-east for Guthaven.’

  Guthaven turned out to be a small, huddled mixture of log cabins and stone buildings clinging to a black coastline, blasted by the weather. The land rose behind the settlement, the white snow contrasting with the dark volcanic rock beneath. A wooden jetty completed a nat­­ural quay, making it look like a protective arm crooked around the ships moored there. Through the gathering gloom of evening, Dakkar spied a couple of ships and some smaller vessels moored to the pier.

  ‘There’s a smaller wharf just along the shore,’ Borys said. ‘We’ll moor there as it’ll be more discreet. Best not to announce our arrival.’

  Dakkar nodded. The appearance of a strange craft such as the Nautilus would raise many questions and news may get to Tomasz if they weren’t careful.

  He followed Borys’s directions and took the Nautilus around a rocky headland. Soon they approached a line of smaller fishing boats that jostled each other along a short stone pier. A single hut stood on the coast like a guard on duty.

  ‘We’ll moor here,’ Borys said. ‘It’s a short walk to Guthaven.’

  ‘It doesn’t look too pleasant out there,’ Dakkar said, shivering a little despite the warmth of the submarine’s cabin.

  ‘Just as well we managed to stow some sensible clothing,’ Borys said, dragging a large sack up from the hatch below. He tipped out hooded coats and trousers made of some kind of hide.

  ‘They stink,’ Georgia said, wrinkling up her nose.

  ‘Outside it’s so cold that your skin can freeze to metal,’ Borys said mildly. ‘An exposed tip of the nose will become frostbitten and will rot off. The smell is a small price to pay for the defence against the freezing weather that these clothes afford.’

  ‘Oh well,’ Georgia grumbled, touching her freckled nose briefly and then grabbing one of the coats.

  Soon they were all kitted out in thick leggings, hooded coats and mittens. Borys even gave them boots lined with fur.

  Dakkar climbed down from the tower and promptly slipped over on the icy deck. He eased himself down the tower ladder and threw
a line to a waiting fisherman who stood wide-eyed, staring at the Nautilus. He extended gloved hands to catch, his white eyes bulging in a brown weather-beaten face, and nearly dropped the rope in the water.

  The cold gnawed at Dakkar despite his thick clothes but he shook himself and set about throwing another line.

  Once the sub was moored, they climbed on to dry land. Borys dropped a gold coin into the fisherman’s hand and said something in a strange language that was unfamiliar to Dakkar.

  The fisherman held his hand away as if he were carrying a live scorpion and went back into the hut, shaking. He looked terrified.

  ‘I told him that if I heard no rumours of our strange boat then he’d get another gold coin on our return,’ Borys said. ‘But if news got out about us then I’d be coming back to find him for a different reason.’

  ‘Charming,’ Dakkar muttered. ‘Old habits die hard, I suppose.’

  ‘We’ll make our way to Larsen’s Trading Post,’ Borys said, ignoring the comment. His voice was muffled by the thick hood he wore. ‘There’s something of a tavern at the post and where there is drink, there is Tingenek.’

  ‘He sounds very reliable,’ Dakkar said as they trudged along the rough track towards Guthaven.

  ‘He isn’t,’ Borys chuckled. ‘And he’s not to be trusted. But he is the best hunter in the land.’

  They all fell silent. Dakkar listened to the crunch of their feet on the icy ground, wondering why he was heading out to meet a man he couldn’t trust in a land he didn’t know.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TINGENEK

  Larsen’s Trading Post stretched along the quay at Guthaven. A low, turf-roofed building with dark wooden walls, it looked chaotic and disorganised to Dakkar. Barrels and boxes cluttered the place and skins crowded against nets and ropes. Narrow-eyed men with round, weather-beaten faces smoked pipes and watched Dakkar and his friends as they walked into the courtyard at the front.

  ‘Inuit hunters,’ Borys whispered. ‘They’re the native people of this land. Clever and resourceful!’ He gave one of these men a nod and went in, ducking under the low-hanging roof.

  Inside the smell of unwashed bodies, oil lamps, uncured skins and fish assaulted Dakkar’s senses. He grimaced and Borys laughed.

  ‘This is no perfumed garden, my friend,’ he said, patting Dakkar’s shoulder. ‘But you’d better get used to it!’

  As Dakkar’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom of the oil lamps, he made out a long counter that ran along one length of the room. At one end lay piles of fur pelts, barrels of pickled fish and stacks of planks and poles that Dakkar didn’t recognise. At the other end a giant bear of a man with smouldering blue eyes, long tangled blond hair and a ragged beard leaned behind the counter, talking to an Inuit man who nursed a small glass. This end of the counter was more like a tavern, with kegs of beer and bottles of wine alongside tankards and beer stains.

  ‘There are a lot of people in today,’ Borys said in a low voice, scanning the other side of the room, where men filled the tables and chairs, drinking, playing cards and talking. Even here, the clutter of goods filled the gaps, creating little bays where men hid in the shadows.

  ‘There were two ships moored at the quay,’ Dakkar reminded him.

  A pot-bellied stove stood in the centre of the tables, its chimney pipe running straight up to the roof; another warmed the furthest part of the room, which was lost in shadow.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Georgia said, casting her eyes all over the room. Some men met her gaze; others turned back to their drink and hid their faces.

  ‘I’ll have a word with Larsen,’ Borys said, nodding to the giant behind the counter. ‘He’ll know where Tingenek is.’

  Borys wandered over to the bar, where Larsen watched his approach suspiciously. Borys threw his hood back and the giant stopped polishing the tankard he was holding. He squinted hard over the counter.

  ‘Borys?’ he said. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Of course it’s me, Larsen,’ Borys snorted. ‘Who do you think it is? The Duke of Wellington?’

  ‘Borys Oginski! My old friend!’ Larsen bellowed, slapping his palms on the counter so hard that Dakkar fancied the whole building shook.

  Borys looked alarmed and glanced around, pressing a finger to his lips. Larsen’s face dropped and he too searched the room with worried eyes. Dakkar and Georgia hurried over to Borys.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ Borys hissed. ‘We need to keep our presence quiet!’

  Larsen looked like a puppy that had disappointed his master. ‘Borys, forgive me,’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘I did not realise! I thought you were that mad brother of yours.’

  ‘Which one?’ Borys said with a humourless chuckle.

  Dakkar threw back his hood.

  ‘And who do we have here?’ Larsen roared, leaning over the counter and slapping Dakkar on the shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways into Georgia.

  Borys gave Larsen a pained look. Larsen, realising his mistake, covered his mouth with his huge hands, his eyes wide.

  ‘I am truly sorry, sir. Are you wanting to remain secret too?’ the big man said through his fingers.

  ‘This is …’ Borys began, but Larsen held up a mighty hand, palm flat out.

  ‘No. No. No. Don’t tell me,’ he said and gave a wink. ‘That way, I don’t know!’

  ‘We’re looking for Tingenek,’ Borys said in a low voice that didn’t hide his frustration.

  ‘Tingenek?’ Larsen folded his arms and stroked his beard as if he were solving some deep philosophical problem. Then his face brightened and he walked around to Dakkar’s side of the counter. He turned to a barrel next to Dakkar. ‘He’s here!’ Larsen beamed, tipping over the barrel.

  A foul-smelling bundle of fur and beer bottles tumbled on to Dakkar’s feet, making him leap back with a yelp. The bundle stirred and groaned and Dakkar realised it was a man, dressed like everyone in these parts. The man’s face was screwed up as if a bright light shone in his face.

  ‘Larsen, you ox brain,’ the man grumbled. ‘Why d’you wake me up?’

  Larsen laughed. ‘You have visitors, Tingenek.’ Then his face grew serious and he leaned close to the man and whispered, ‘It’s Borys Oginski.’

  Tingenek’s eyes shot open and he gave out a long breath straight up at Dakkar, who covered his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. Tingenek leapt to his feet and fell down again immediately. He dragged himself up, leaning heavily on the counter. He stared at Borys as if he were a polar bear come to eat him.

  ‘Borys,’ he said, smiling a little too much. ‘You look very well!’

  ‘You look a mess,’ Borys said, gripping Tingenek’s shoulder and brushing him down with his other hand.

  ‘The food here,’ Tingenek spat. ‘It’s bad for my guts!’ He let out a huge belch and turned to grin at Georgia, who gave a choking cry and turned away.

  ‘You didn’t turn down the fish soup I gave you last night,’ Larsen said, pouting his lip in hurt dis­­­appoint­ment.

  ‘No, but it came up again!’ Tingenek said, miming being sick.

  ‘I think that’s your fondness for beer, Tingenek,’ Borys said with a fixed grin. ‘I worry about your health.’

  ‘The spirits will look after me,’ Tingenek said. ‘Now thank you, goodbye!’ He tried to make a dash for the door but Borys still had hold of his shoulder and jerked him back.

  ‘We need your help, Tingenek,’ Borys said, his voice quiet and intimidating. Dakkar frowned and caught Georgia’s eye.

  ‘My help?’ Tingenek moaned. ‘Why would you need my help?’

  ‘Let us sit,’ Borys said, guiding Tingenek across the cluttered floor to a table in a corner. ‘Larsen, bring lots of coffee and something to eat.’

  ‘Something fishy?’ Larsen said.

  ‘Do you cook anything that isn’t fishy?’ Borys said.

  ‘No,’ Larsen admitted and shuffled away to the bar.

  Borys sat Tingenek down next to him as Dakkar and
Georgia dragged stools over to the table.

  ‘The Heart of Vulcan, Tingenek. I’ve come to take it back,’ Borys said in the same quiet voice. ‘We need a guide …’

  Tingenek’s face fell.

  ‘Why do you need this man,’ Dakkar said to Borys, ‘if you know where the cave is?’

  ‘Yeah, what’s going on?’ Georgia growled, half standing.

  ‘I know where the cave is,’ Borys said, grabbing Georgia’s arm and easing her back to her seat. ‘But the ice plain we have to cross is treacherous and only Tingenek can get us there safely. Right, Tingenek?’

  ‘Why d’you steal it in the first place?’ Tingenek said angrily. ‘Tomasz has been stamping around like Nanuck with a fish hook in his rear.’ He slumped on to the table, his head in his hands.

  ‘Tomasz has been hunting you?’ Dakkar tried to take in everything he was being told.

  Tingenek nodded and heaved a huge sigh.

  Larsen appeared at Georgia’s shoulder with a tray of cups, a huge steaming coffee pot and a platter of fish and fresh bread. They all fell silent as Larsen placed the tray down then retreated to the counter. The smell made Dakkar’s mouth water despite his shock.

  ‘Of course he’s been hunting Tingenek,’ Borys said, lifting the coffee pot and pouring the contents into the cups. ‘Tingenek helped me to hide the Heart.’

  ‘And all the metal,’ Tingenek said, his voice tinged with wonder. ‘And rope and wheels …’

  ‘What does he mean?’ Dakkar said, frowning.

  ‘So you will guide us, Tingenek?’ Borys said, ignoring Dakkar and stuffing a steaming mug of coffee into the Inuit’s hand.

  But before Tingenek could answer, a familiar voice said, ‘Well, well, Prince Dakkar. Once again, I find you in dubious company …’

  Dakkar turned to see a man wrapped in skins and furs. A cruel, barbed hook poked from one sleeve of his coat and a scar ran down his pale cheek.

  ‘Commander Blizzard!’

  Borys leapt to his feet but Blizzard’s men, who had been sitting at the tables surrounding them, stood first. Rifles and pistols appeared from nowhere, all pointed at Dakkar and his group.