Hinsen and Rorsefne talked often. Rorsefne was the only man aboard in whom Hinsen could confide his own anxiety. The atmosphere among the men was not so much one of tension as of an apathy reflected in the sporadic progress of the ship.
‘It often seems to me that we’ll stop altogether,’ Hinsen said, ‘and live out the rest of our lives in a timeless shroud of fog. Everything’s got so hazy . . .’
Rorsefne nodded sympathetically. The young man did not seem so much depressed as careless about their fate.
‘Cheer up, Mr Hinsen. We’ll be all right. Listen to Mr Urquart. It’s our destiny to reach New York . . .’
‘I wish the captain would tell the men that,’ Hinsen said gloomily. ‘I wish he’d tell them something - anything.’
Rorsefne nodded, his face for once thoughtful.
19 The Light
The morning after Hinsen’s and Rorsefne’s conversation Arflane was awakened by the sound of knocking on the outer door of his cabin. He rose slowly, pushing the furs back over Ulrica’s sleeping body. He pulled on his coat and leggings and unbolted the door.
Manfred Rorsefne stood there; behind him the fog swirled, creeping into the cabin. The young man’s arms were folded over his chest; his head was cocked superciliously to one side. ‘May I speak to you, captain?’
‘Later,’ Arflane grunted, casting a glance at the bunk where Ulrica was stirring.
‘It’s important,’ Manfred said, advancing.
Arflane shrugged and stepped back to let Rorsefne enter as Ulrica opened her eyes and saw them both. She frowned. ‘Manfred . . .’
‘Good morning, cousin,’ Rorsefne said. His voice had a touch of humour in it which neither Arflane nor Ulrica could understand. They looked at him warily.
‘I spoke to Mr Hinsen this morning,’ Rorsefne said, walking over to where Arflane’s chest stood next to Ulrica’s. ‘He thinks the weather will be clearing soon.’ He sat down on the chest. ‘If he’s right we’ll be making better speed shortly.’
‘Why should he think that?’ Arflane asked without real interest.
‘The fog seems to be dispersing. There’s been little snow for some days. The air is drier. I think Mr Hinsen’s experienced enough to make the right judgment by these signs.’
Arflane nodded, wondering what was Rorsefne’s real reason for the visit. Ulrica had turned over, burying her face in the fur of the pillows and drawing the coverings over her neck.
‘How’s your shoulder?’ Rorsefne asked casually.
‘All right,’ Arflane grunted.
‘You don’t appear well, captain.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Arflane said defensively. He straightened his stooped back a little and walked slowly to the bowl by the water barrel. He turned the spigot and filled the bowl, beginning to wash his lined face.
‘Morale is bad on board,’ Rorsefne continued.
‘So it seems.’
‘Urquart is keeping the men moving, but they need someone with more experience to make them do their best,’ Rorsefne said meaningly.
‘Urquart seems to be managing very well,’ Arflane said.
‘So he is - but that’s not my point.’
Surprised by the directness of Rorsefne’s implication, Arflane turned, drying his face on his sleeve. ‘It’s not your business,’ he said.
‘Indeed, you’re right. It’s the captain’s business, surely, to deal with the problems of his own ship. My uncle gave you this command because he thought you were the only man who could be sure of getting the Ice Spirit to New York.’
‘That was long ago,’ said Arflane obliquely.
‘I’m refreshing your memory, captain.’
‘Is that all your uncle wanted? It would seem to me that he envisaged very well what would happen on the voyage. He all but offered me his daughter, Rorsefne, just before he died.’ In the bunk Ulrica buried her head deeper in the pillows.
‘I know. But I don’t think he completely understood either your character or hers. He saw something as happening naturally. He didn’t think Janek would come with us. I doubt if my uncle knew the meaning of conscience in the personal sense. He did not understand how guilt could lead to apathy and self-destruction.’
Arflane’s tone was defensive when he replied, ‘First you discuss the condition of morale on board, and now you tell me what Ulrica and myself feel. What did you come here for?’
‘All these things are connected. You know that very well, captain.’ Rorsefne stood up. Although actually the smaller he seemed to dominate Arflane. ‘You’re ill and your sickness is mental and emotional. The men understand this, even if they’re too inarticulate to voice it. We’re desperately shorthanded. Where we need a man doing the work of two, we find he’ll scarcely perform what were his normal duties before the attack. They respect Urquart, but they fear him too. He’s alien. They need a man with whom they feel some kinship. You were that man. Now they begin to think you’re as strange as Urquart.’
Arflane rubbed his forehead. ‘What does it matter now? The ship can hardly move with the weather as it is. What do you expect me to do, go out there and fill them full of confidence so they can then sit around on deck singing songs instead of mumbling while they wait for the fog to lift? What good will it do? What action’s needed? None.’
‘I told you that Hinsen feels the weather’s clearing,’ Rorsefne said patiently. ‘Besides, you know yourself how important a skipper’s manner is, whatever the situation. You should not reveal so much of yourself out there, captain.’ I
Arflane began to tie the thongs of his coat, his fingers moving slowly. He shook his head and sighed again.
Rorsefne took a step closer. ‘Go around the ship, Captain Arflane. See if the sailor in you is happy with her condition. The sails are slackly furled, the decks are piled with dirty snow, hatch covers left unfastened, rigging badly lashed. The ship’s as sick as you yourself. She’s about ready to rot!’
‘Leave me,’ Arflane said, turning his back on Rorsefne. ‘I don’t need moral advice from you. If you realized the problem . . .’
‘I don’t care. My concern’s for the ship, those she carries, and her mission. My cousin loved you because you were a better man than Ulsenn. You had the strength she knew Ulsenn didn’t possess. Now you’re no better than Ulsenn. You’ve forfeited the right to her love. Don’t you sense it?’
Rorsefne went to the cabin door, pulled it open, and stalked out, slamming it behind him.
Ulrica sat in the bunk and looked up at Arflane, her expression questioning.
‘You think what he thinks, eh?’ Arflane said.
‘I don’t know. It’s more complicated . . .’
‘That’s true,’ Arflane murmured bitterly. His anger was rising; it seemed to lend new vitality to his movements as he stalked about the cabin gathering his outer garments.
‘He’s right,’ she said reflectively, ‘to remind you of your duties as captain.’
‘He’s a passenger - a useless piece of cargo - he has no right to tell me anything!’
‘My cousin’s an intelligent man. What’s more, he likes you, feels sympathetic towards you . . .’
‘That’s not apparent. He criticizes without understanding . . .’
‘He does what he thinks he should - for your benefit. He does not care for himself. He’s never cared. Life is a game for him that he feels he must play to the finish. The game must be endured, but he doesn’t expect to enjoy it.’
‘I’m not interested in your cousin’s character. I want him to lose interest in mine.’
‘He sees you destroying yourself- and me,’ she said with a certain force. ‘It is more than you see.’
Arflane paused, disconcerted. ‘You think the same, then?’
‘I do.’
He sat down suddenly on the edge of the bunk. He looked at her; she stared back, her eyes full of tears. He put out a hand and stroked her face. She took his hand in both of hers and kissed it.
‘Oh, Arflane, wh
at has happened . . . ?’
He said nothing, but leaned across her and kissed her on the lips, pulling her to him.
An hour later he got up again and stood by the bunk, looking thoughtfully at the floor.
‘Why should your cousin be so concerned about me?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. He’s always liked you.’ She smiled. ‘Besides - he may be concerned for his own safety if he thinks you’re not running the ship properly.’
He nodded. ‘He was right to come here,’ he said finally. ‘I was wrong to be so angry. I’ve been weak. I don’t know what to do, Ulrica. Should I have accepted this commission? Should I have let my feelings towards you rule me so much? Should I have imprisoned your husband?’
‘These are personal questions,’ she said gently, ‘which do not involve the ship or anyone aboard save ourselves.’
‘Don’t they?’ He pursed his lips. ‘They seem to.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘Nonetheless, Manfred was right. You’re right. I should be ashamed . . .’
She pointed to the porthole. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘It’s getting lighter. Let’s go on deck.’
There were only wisps of fog in the air now and thin sunlight was beginning to pierce the clouds above them. The ship was moving slowly under a third of her canvas.
Arflane and Ulrica walked hand in hand along the deck.
The browns and whites of the ship’s masts and rigging, the yellow of her ivory, all were mellowed by the sunlight.
There was an occasional thud as her runners crossed an irregularity in the ice, the distant voice of a man in the rigging calling to a mate, a warm smell on the air. Even the slovenliness of the decks seemed to give the ship a battered, rakish appearance and did not offend Arflane as much as he had expected. The sunlight began to break rapidly through the clouds, dispersing them, until the far horizon could be made out from the rail. They were crossing an expanse of ice bordered in the distance by unbroken ranges of glaciers of a kind Arflane had never seen before. They were tall and jagged and black. The ice in all directions was dappled with yellow lights as the clouds broke up and pale blue sky could be seen above.
Ulrica gripped his arm and pointed to starboard. Sweeping down from the clearing sky, as if released by the breaking up of the clouds, came a flock of birds, their dark shapes wheeling and diving as they came closer.
‘Look at their colour!’ she exclaimed in surprise.
Arflane saw the light catch the shimmering plumage of the leading birds and he, too, was astonished. The predominant colour was gaudy green. He had seen nothing like it in his life; all the animals he knew had muted colours necessary for survival in the icelands. The colour of these birds disturbed him. The glinting flock soon passed, heading towards the dark glaciers on the horizon. Arflane stared after them, wondering why they affected him so much, wondering where they came from.
Behind him a voice sounded from the bridge. ‘Get those sails set. All hands aloft.’ It belonged to Urquart.
Arflane gently removed Ulrica’s hand from his arm and walked briskly along the deck towards the bridge. He climbed the companionway and took the megaphone from the hands of the surprised harpooner. ‘All right, Mr Urquart. I’ll take over.’ He spoke with some effort.
Urquart made a little grunting sound in his throat and picked up his harpoon from where he had rested it against the wheelhouse. He stumped down the companionway and took a position on the quarter deck, his back squarely to Arflane.
‘Mr Hinsen!’ Arflane tried to put strength and confidence into his voice as he called to the first officer, who was standing by one of the forward hatches. ‘Will you bring the bosun up?’
Hinsen acknowledged the order with a wave of his hand and shouted to a man who was in the upper shrouds of the mainmast. The man began to swing down to the deck; together he and Hinsen crossed to the bridge. The man was tall and heavily built, with a neatly trimmed beard as red as Arflane’s
‘You’re Rorchenof, bosun on the Ildiko Ulsenn, eh?’ Arflane said as they presented themselves below him on the quarter deck.
‘That’s right, sir - before I went to the whaling.’ There was character in Rorchenof’s voice and he spoke almost challengingly, with a trace of pride.
‘Good. So when I say to set all sail you’ll know what I mean. We’ve a chance to make up our speed. I want those yards crammed with every ounce of canvas you can get on them.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Rorchenof nodded.
Hinsen clapped the man on the shoulder and the bosun moved to take up his position. Then the first officer glanced up at Arflane doubtfully, as if he did not place much faith in Arflane’s new decisiveness.
‘Stand by, Mr Hinsen.’ Arflane watched Rorchenof assemble the men and send them into the rigging. The ratlines were soon full of climbing sailors. When he could see that they were ready, Arflane raised the megaphone to his lips.
‘Set all sail!’ he called. ‘Top to bottom, stern to stern.’
Soon the whole ship was dominated by a vast cloud of swelling canvas and the ship doubled, quadrupled her speed in a matter of minutes, leaping over the gleaming ice.
Hinsen plodded along the deck and began to retie a poorly spliced line. Now that the fog had cleared he could see that there were many bad splicings about the ship; they would have to be attended to before nightfall.
A little later, as he worked on a second knot, Urquart came and stood near him, watching.
‘Well, Mr Urquart - skipper’s himself again, eh?’ Hinsen studied Urquart’s reaction closely.
A slight smile crossed the gaunt harpooner’s face. He glanced upward at the purple and yellow sky. The huge sails interrupted his view; they stretched out, full and sleek as a gorged cow-whale’s belly. The ship was racing as she had not raced since the descent of the plateau. Her ivory shone, as did her metal, and her sails reflected the light. But she was not the proud ship she was when she had first set sail. She carried too many piles of dirty snow for that, her hatches did not fit as snugly as they had, and her boats did not hang as straight and true in their davits.
Urquart reached up with one ungloved hand and his red, bony fingers caressed the barbs of his harpoon. The mysterious smile was still on his lips but he made no attempt to answer Hinsen. He jerked his head towards the bridge and Hinsen saw that Manfred Rorsefne stood beside the captain. Rorsefne had evidently only just arrived; they saw him slap Arflane’s shoulder and lean casually on the rail, turning his head from left to right as he surveyed the ship.
Hinsen frowned, unable to guess what Urquart was trying to tell him. ‘What’s Rorsefne to do with this?’ he asked. ‘If you ask me, we’ve him to thank for the captain’s revival of spirit.’
Urquart spat at a melting pile of snow close by. ‘They’re skippering this craft now, between them,’ he said. ‘He’s like one of those toys they make for children out of seal cubs. You put a string through the muscles of the mouth and pull it and the creature smiles and frowns. Each of them has a line. One pulls his lips up, the other pulls them down. Sometimes they change lines.’
‘You mean Ulrica Ulsenn and Manfred Rorsefne?’
Urquart ran his hand thoughtfully down the heavy shaft of his harpoon. ‘With the Ice Mother’s help he’ll escape them yet,’ he said. ‘We’ve a duty to do what we can.’
Hinsen scratched his head. ‘I wish I could follow you better, Mr Urquart. You mean you think the skipper will keep his good mood from now on?’
Urquart shrugged and walked away, his stride long and loping as ever.
20 The Green Birds
In spite of the uneasy atmosphere aboard, the ship made excellent speed, sailing closer and closer to the glacier range. Beyond that range lay New York; they were now swinging on to a course E by N, and this meant the end of their journey was in sight. The good weather held, though Arflane felt it unreasonable to expect it to remain so fine all the way to New York.
Across the blue iceplains, beneath a calm, clear sky, the Ice Spirit sailed, safely skir
ting several ice breaks and sometimes sighting barbarians in the distance. The silver-furred nomads offered them no danger and were passed quickly.
The Complete Ice Schooner Page 17