Bagley, Desmond - High Citadel

by High Citadel

  Peabody looked at him in horror, his hand dabbing at his forehead. "But you gotta take me," he whispered. "You gotta. You can't leave me to those bastards down the mountain."

  Rohde's lips tightened implacably and Peabody whimpered. Forester took a deep breath and said. "If we leave him here he'll only go back to O'Hara; and he's sure to ball things up down there."

  "I don't like it," said Rohde. "He is likely to kill us on the mountain."

  Forester felt the weight of the gun in his pocket and came to a decision. "You're coming with us, Peabody," he said harshly. "But one more fast move and you're a dead duck." He turned to Rohde. "He won't hold us up -- not for one minute, I promise you." He looked Rohde in the eye and Rohde nodded with understanding.

  "Get your pack on, Peabody," said Forester. "And get out of that door on the double."

  Peabody lurched away from the wall and seemed to cringe as he picked up his pack. He scuttled across the hut, running wide of Forester, and bolted through the door. Forester pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil from his pocket. "I'll leave a note for Tim, telling him of the right tunnel. Then we'll go."

  iii

  It was comparatively easy at first, at least to Forester's later recollection. Although they had left the road and were striking across the mountainside, they made good time. Rohde was in the lead with Peabody following and Forester at the rear, ready to flail Peabody if he lagged. But to begin with there was no need for that; Peabody walked as though he had the devil at his heels.

  At first the snow was shallow, dry and powdery, but then it began to get deeper, with a hard crust on top. It was then that Rohde stopped. "We must use the ropes."

  They got out their pitiful lengths of rotten rope and Rohde carefully tested every knot. .Then they tied themselves together, still in the same order, and carried on. Forester looked up at the steep white slope which seemed to stretch unendingly to the sky and thought that Rohde had been right -- this wasn't going to be easy.

  They plodded on, Rohde as trailbreaker and the other two thankful that he had broken a path for them in the thickening snow. The slope they were crossing was steep and swept dizzyingly below them and Forester found himself wondering what would happen if one of them fell. It was likely that he would drag down the other two and they would all slide, a tangled string of men and ropes, down the thousands of feet to the sharp rocks below.

  Then he shook himself irritably. It wouldn't be like that at all. That was the reason for the ropes, so that a man's fall could be arrested.

  From ahead he heard a rumble like thunder and Rohde pause. "What is it?" shouted Forester.

  "Avalanche," replied Rohde. He said no more and resumed his even pace.

  My God, thought Forester; I hadn't thought of avalanches. This could be goddam dangerous. Then he laughed to himself. He was in no more danger than O'Hara and the others down by the bridge -- possibly less. His mind played about with the relativity of things and presently he was not thinking at all, just putting one foot in front of the other with mindless precision, an automaton toiling across the vast white expanse of snow like an ant crawling across a bed sheet.

  He was jolted into consciousness by stumbling over Peabody, who lay sprawled in the snow, panting stertorously, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. "Get up, Pea-body," he mumbled. "I told you what would happen if you held us up. Get up, damn you."

  "Rohde's . . . Rohde's stopped," panted Peabody.

  Forester looked up and squinted against a vast dazzle. Specks danced in front of his eyes and coalesced into a vague shape moving towards him. "I am sorry," said Rohde, unexpectedly closely. "I am a fool. I forgot this."

  Forester rubbed his eyes. I'm going blind, he thought in an access of terror; I'm losing my sight.

  "Relax," said Rohde. "dose your eyes; rest them."

  Forester sank into the snow and dosed his eyes. It felt as though there were hundreds of grains of sand beneath the lids and he felt the cold touch of tears on his cheeks. "What is it?" he asked.

  "Ice glare," said Rohde. "Don't worry; it will be all right. Just keep your eyes closed for a few minutes."

  He kept his eyes closed and gradually felt hi s muscles lose tension and he was grateful for this pause. He felt tired -- more tired than he had ever felt in his life -- and he wondered how far they had come. "How far have we come?" he asked.

  "Not far," said Rohde.

  "What time is it?"

  There was a pause, then Rohde said. "Nine o'clock."

  Forester was shocked. "Is that all?" He felt as though he had been walking all day.

  "I'm going to rub something on your eyes," said Rohde, and Forester felt cold fingers massaging his eyelids with a substance at once soft and gritty.

  "What is it, Miguel?"

  "Wood ash. It is black -- it will cut the glare, I think. I have heard it is an old Eskimo practice; I hope it will work."

  After a while Forester ventured to open his eyes. To his relief he could see, not as well as he could normally, but he was not as blind as during that first shocking moment when he thought he had lost his sight. He looked over to where Rohde was ministering to Peabody and thought -- yes, that's another thing mountaineers have -- dark glasses. He blinked painfully.

  Rohde turned and Forester burst out laughing at the sight of him. He had a broad, black streak across his eyes and looked like a Red Indian painted to go on the warpath.

  Rohde smiled. "You too look funny, Ray," he said. Then more soberly. "Wrap a blanket round your head like a hood, so that it cuts out some of the glare from the side," Forester unfastened his pack and regretfully tore out the blanket from the side of the case. His pack would not be so comfortable from now on. The blanket provided, enough material to make hoods for the three of them, and then Rohde said, "We must go on."

  Forester looked back. He could still see the huts and estimated that they had not gained more than five hundred feet of altitude although they had come a considerable distance. Then the rope tugged at his waist and he stepped out, following the stumbling figure of Peabody.

  It was midday when they rounded the shoulder of the mountain and were able to see their way to the pass. Forester sank to his knees and sobbed with exhaustion and Peabody dropped in his tracks as though knocked on the head. Only Rohde remained on his feet, staring up towards the pass, squinting with sore eyes. "It is as I remembered it," he said. "We will rest here."

  Ignoring Peabody, he squatted beside Forester. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm a bit bushed," said Forester. "but a rest will make a lot of difference."

  Rohde took off his pack and unfastened it. "We will eat now."

  "My God, I couldn't," said Forester.

  "You will be able to stomach this," said Rohde, and produced a can of fruit. "It is sweet for energy."

  There was a cold wind sweeping across the mountainside and Forester pulled the jacket round him as he watched Rohde dig into the snow. "What are you doing?"

  "Making a wind break." He took a Primus stove and put it into the hole he had dug where it was sheltered from the wind. He lit it, then handed an empty bean can to Forester. "Fill that with snow and melt it; we must drink something hot.. I will see to Peabody."

  At the low atmospheric pressure the snow took a long time to melt and the resulting water was merely tepid. Rohde dropped a bouillon cube into it, and said. "You first."

  Forester gagged as he drank it, and then filled the can with snow again. Peabody had revived and took the next canful, then Forester melted more snow for Rohde. "I haven't looked up the pass," he said. "What's it like?"

  Rohde looked up from the can of fruit he was opening. "Bad," he said. "But I expected that." He paused. "There is a glacier with many crevasses."

  Forester took the proffered can silently and began to eat. He found the fruit acceptable to his taste and his stomach -- it was the first food he had enjoyed since the plane crash and it put new life into him. He looked back; the mine was out of sight, but far away he could s
ee the river gorge, many thousands of feet below. He could not see the bridge.

  He got to his feet and trudged forward to where he could see the pass. Immediately below was the glacier, a jumble of ice blocks and a maze of crevasses. It ended perhaps three thousand feet lower and he could see the blue waters of a mountain lake. As he looked he heard a whip-crack as of a stroke of lightning and the mutter of distant thunder and saw a plume of white leap up from the blue of the lake.

  Rohde spoke from behind him. "That is a laguna," he said. "The glaciers are slowly retreating here and there is always a lake between the glacier and the moraine. But that is of no interest to us; we must go there." He pointed across the glacier and swept his arm upwards.

  Across the valley of the pass white smoke appeared suddenly on the mountainside and a good ten seconds afterwards came a low rumble. "There is always movement in the mountains," said Rohde. "The ice works on the rock and there are many avalanches."

  Forester looked up. "How much higher do we have to climb?"

  "About five hundred metres -- but first we must go down a little to cross the glacier."

  "I don't suppose we could go round it," said Forester.

  Rohde pointed downwards towards the lake. "We would lose a thousand metres of altitude and that would mean another night on the mountain. Two nights up here would kill us."

  Forester regarded the glacier with distaste; he did not like what he saw and for the first time a cold knot of fear formed in his belly. So far there had been nothing but exhausting work, the labour of pushing through thick snow in bad and unaccustomed conditions. But here he was confronted with danger itself -- the danger of the toppling ice block warmed to the point of insecurity by the sun, the trap of the snow-covered crevasse. Even as he watched he saw a movement on the glacier, a sudden alteration of the scene, and he heard a dull rumble.

  Rohde said, "We will go now."

  They went back to get their packs. Peabody was sitting in the snow, gazing apathetically at his hands folded in his Lap. Forester said. "Come on, man; get your pack on," but Peabody did not stir. Forester sighed regretfully and kicked him in the side, not too violently. Peabody seemed to react only to physical stimuli, to threats of violence.

  Obediently he got up and put on his pack and Rohde refastened the rope about him, careful to see that all was secure. Then they went on in the same order. First the more experienced Rohde, then Peabody, and finally Forester, The climb down to the glacier -- a matter of about two hundred feet -- was a nightmare to Forester, although it did not seem to trouble Rohde and Peabody was lost in the daze of his own devising and was oblivious of the danger. Here the rock was bare of snow, blown clean by the strong wind which swept down the pass. But it was rotten and covered with a dick layer of ice, so that any movement at all was dangerous. Forester cursed as his feet slithered on the ice; we should have spikes, he thought; this is madness.

  It took an hour to descend to the glacier, the last forty feet by what Rohde called an absail. There was a vertical ice-covered cliff and Rohde showed them what to do. He hammered four of their makeshift pitons into the rotten rock and looped the rope through them. They went down in reverse order, Forester first, with Rohde belaying the rope. He showed Forester how to loop the rope round his body so that he was almost sitting in it, and how to check his descent if he went too fast.

  "Try to keep facing the cliff," he said. "Then you can use your feet to keep clear -- and try not to get into a spin."

  Forester was heartily glad when he reached the bottom -- this was not his idea of fun. He made up his mind that he would spend his next vacation as far from mountains as he could, preferably in the middle of Kansas.

  Then Peabody came down, mechanically following Rohde's instructions. He had no trace of fear about him -- his face was as blank as his mind and all fear had been drained out of him long before, together with everything else. He was an automaton who did precisely what he was told.

  Rohde came last with no one to guard the rope above him. He dropped heavily the last ten feet as the pitons gave way one after the other in rapid succession and the rope dropped in coils about his prostrate body. Forester helped him to his feet. "Are you okay?"

  Rohde swayed. "I'm all right," he gasped. "The pitons -- find the pitons."

  Forester searched about in the snow and found three of the pitons; he could not find the fourth. Rohde smiled grimly. "It is as well I fell," he said. "Otherwise we would have had to leave the pitons up there, and I think we will need them later. But we must keep clear of rock; the verglas -- the ice on the rock -- is too much for us without crampons."

  Forester agreed with him from the bottom of his heart, although he did not say so aloud. He recoiled the rope and made one end fast about his waist while Rohde attended to Peabody. Then he looked at the glacier.

  It was as fantastic as a lunar landscape -- and as dead and removed from humanity. The pressures from below had squeezed up great masses of ice which the wind and the sun had carved into grotesque shapes, all now mantled with thick snow. There were great cliffs with dangerous overhanging columns which threatened to topple, and there were crevasses, some open to the sky and some, as Forester knew, treacherously covered with snow. Through this wilderness, this maze of ice, they had to find their way.

  Forester said. "How far to the other side?"

  Rohde reflected. "Three-quarters of one of your North American miles." He took the ice-axe firmly in his hand. "Let us move -- time is going fast."

  He led the way, testing every foot with the butt of the ice-axe. Forester noticed that he had shortened the intervals between the members of the party and had doubled the ropes, and he did not like the implication. The three of them were now quite close together and Rohde kept urging Peabody to move faster as he felt the drag on the rope when Peabody lagged. Forester stooped and picked up some snow; it was powdery and did not make a good snowball, but every time Peabody dragged on Rohde's rope he pelted him with snow.

  The way was tortuous and more than once Rohde led them into a dead end, the way blocked by vertical ice walls or wide crevasses, and they would have to retrace their steps and hunt for a better way. Once, when they were seemingly entrapped in a maze of ice passages, Forester totally lost his sense of direction and wondered hopelessly if they would be condemned to wander for ever in this cold hell.

  His feet were numb and he had no feeling in his toes. He mentioned this to Rohde, who stopped immediately. "Sit down," he said. "Take off your boots."

  Forester stripped the puttees from his legs and tried to untie his boot-laces with stiff fingers. It took him nearly fifteen minutes to complete this simple task. The laces were stiffened with ice, his fingers were cold, and his mind did not seem able to control the actions of his body. At last he got his boots off and stripped off the two pairs of socks he wore.

  Rohde closely examined his toes and said. "You have the beginning of frost-bite. Rub your left foot -- I'll rub the right."

  Forester rubbed away violently. His big toe was bone-white at the tip and had a complete lack of sensation. Rohde was merciless in his rubbing; he ignored Forester's yelp of anguish as the circulation returned to his foot and continued to massage with vigorous movements.

  Forester's feet seemed to be on fire as the blood forced its way into the frozen flesh and he moaned with the pain. Rohde said sternly. "You must not let this happen. You must work your toes all the time -- imagine you are playing a piano with your feet -- your toes. Let me see your fingers."

  Forester held out his hands and Rohde inspected them. "All right," he said. "But you must watch for this. Your toes, your fingers and the tips of your ears and the nose. Keep rubbing them." He turned to where Peabody was sitting slackly. "And what about him?"

  With difficulty Forester thrust his feet into his frozen boots, retied the laces and wrapped the puttees round his legs. Then he helped Rohde to take off Peabody's boots. Handling him was like handling a dummy -- he neither hindered nor helped, letting his limbs
be moved flaccidly.

  His toes were badly frostbitten and they began to massage his feet. After working on him for ten minutes he suddenly moaned and Forester looked up to see a glimmer of intelligence steal into the dead eyes. "Hell!" Peabody protested. "You're hurting me."--'

  They took no notice of him and continued to work away. Suddenly Peabody screamed and began to thrash about, and Forester grabbed his arms. "Be sensible, man," he shouted. He looked up at Peabody. "Keep moving your toes. Move them all the time in your boots."

  Peabody was moaning with pain but it seemed to have the effect of bringing him out of his private dream. He was able to put on his own socks and boots and wrap the puttees round 'his legs, and all die tune he swore in a dull monotone, uttering a string of obscenities directed against the mountains, against Rohde and Forester for being uncaring brutes, and against the fates in general for having got him into this mess.

  Forester looked across at Rohde and grinned faintly, and Rohde picked up the ice-axe and said. "We must move -- we must get out of here."

  Somewhere in the middle of the glacier Rohde, after casting fruitlessly in several directions, led them to a crevasse and said. "Here we must cross -- there is no other way."

  There was a snow bridge across the crevasse, a frail span connecting the two sides. Forester went to the edge and looked down into the dim green depths. He could not see the bottom.

  Rohde said. "The snow will bear our weight if we go over lying flat so that the weight is spread." He tapped Forester on the shoulder. "You go first."

  Peabody said suddenly. "I'm not going across there. You think I'm crazy?"

  Forester had intended to say the same but the fact that a man like Peabody had said it put some spirit into him. He said harshly -- and the harshness was directed at himself for his moment of weakness -- " Do as you're damn well told."

  Rohde re-roped them so that the line would be long enough to stretch across the crevasse, which was about fifteen feet wide, and Forester approached cautiously. "Not on hands and knees," said Rohde. "Lie fiat and wriggle across with your arms and legs spread out."