‘I am Lieutenant Haugland. We are from the Customs and Revenue Board, Mr Scoresby,’ said the young man calmly, ‘and I repeat, you are under arrest. Put down your rifle.’
‘Well, you see,’ said Lee, ‘if I do that, the Senator over there will suddenly regain his courage, and order those marionettes of his to come and take over Captain van Breda’s ship. And after all me and York Byrnison went through to help him load his cargo, that seems kind of a pity. I don’t know how to resolve this situation, Mr Customs Officer.’
‘I will resolve it. Put your rifle down, please.’
The young officer stepped past Lee and faced the line of riflemen without a tremor.
‘You will all leave the harbour now, and go about your lawful business,’ he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. ‘If there is one person left on this quayside by the time the Customs House clock strikes twelve, they will be arrested. All of you move.’
The Larsen Manganese men looked uncertain. But Poliakov, still taking care to remain behind them, shouted:
‘I protest! This is an outrage! I am the leader of a properly constituted political party, and this is a blatant attempt to deny my freedom of speech! You should be enforcing the law, not flouting it! That criminal Scoresby –’
‘Mr Scoresby is under arrest, and so will you be if you do not turn round and leave the harbour. You have two minutes.’
Lieutenant Haugland’s fox-dæmon said something quietly to Hester. Poliakov drew himself up to his full height, and gave in.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Under strong protest, and cheated of the justice we have a right to expect and a duty to demand, we shall do as you say. But I give you notice that –’
‘Less than two minutes,’ said Haugland.
Poliakov turned, and the crowd behind parted to let him through, and sullenly followed him away. The Larsen Manganese riflemen were the last to turn, but the implacable stillness of the Customs officer outfaced them, and finally their leader muttered an order, and they turned and walked back down the quay – walked, until he snapped another order and they clumsily organised themselves into a march.
‘Mr Scoresby, your rifle, if you please,’ said the young man.
‘I would rather give it back to Captain van Breda,’ Lee said, ‘seeing that it belongs to him.’
He heard hasty footsteps behind him, and turned carefully again to see the Captain hurrying towards them. He had evidently heard the last exchange, because he said:
‘Mr Scoresby, I must thank you – I have nothing to pay you with except the rifle itself – please take it, please. It is yours.’
‘Very handsome, Captain,’ said Lee. ‘I’ll accept it with thanks.’
‘And now put it down,’ said Haugland.
Lee bent to lay it on the ground.
‘And your pistol.’
‘It doesn’t work,’ said Lee.
‘Yes it does. Put it down.’
Lee did so, and then straightened up, feeling dizzy. For a moment the sounds of the harbour receded: the cry of the gulls, the raised voices from the coal tanker and the crane driver across the water, the splash of the dredger, the striking of the Customs House clock; and then it seemed as if a dark cloud had sprung up out of nowhere and enveloped the sun, because the colour drained from the world and everything dimmed.
It only lasted a moment, and then he found another officer’s hand steadying his arm, and came to his full senses again.
‘Follow me, please,’ said the officer, and set off briskly towards the end of the quay. As Lee passed the schooner he could see the crew unseating the heel of the derrick, and a man casting off a rope, and Captain van Breda hurrying up the gangplank and shouting an order.
‘Where are we going?’ said Lee. ‘I thought your Customs House was back there.’
‘It is,’ said the Lieutenant, and left it at that; but as they passed the last warehouse Lee saw a launch tied up at a flight of steps, in the Customs and Revenue colours of navy and white. The engine was chugging quietly, and a rating held the painter tight through a ring in the wall to keep the boat steady as the first officer stepped on board.
Lee crouched to pick up Hester, who whispered, ‘It’s all right, Lee. Everything’s fine.’
Deeply puzzled, he stepped on to the launch, and sat down in the little cabin as the other two officers followed.
The sailor cast off, and one of the officers took the wheel and opened the throttle. Lee looked back at the schooner, whose bow was already swinging out away from the quay.
The young officer had laid Lee’s pistol and the Winchester on the bench opposite where Lee was sitting, and Lee could easily have reached either of them. He sat still and quiet, holding Hester close, until the launch had passed the dredger and rounded the lighthouse, and was pitching briskly in the waves of the open sea.
‘All right, I give up,’ he said. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Mr Scoresby, please take your pistol,’ said Haugland. ‘And I believe the rifle is also yours.’
‘Well, now I’m dreaming,’ said Lee. He took the revolver and spun the cylinder, which ran smoothly and surely. ‘Where are we going, and why?’
‘We are going round the headland to the Barents Sea Company Depot, where you will find your balloon inflated and ready to leave. Here, by the way, is your luggage from the boarding house.’
He took Lee’s kitbag from a locker. Too numb to be surprised any longer, Lee nodded and took it silently.
The officer at the wheel changed course, and the boat pitched and rolled in the lively sea. Lee watched the rocky shoreline, and saw a seal surface, and then another and another.
‘They are fleeing from the bear,’ said Haugland.
‘Where’s he?’
‘On his way to the depot. He is not interested in seals for now. He has something to give you.’
‘Well, this is a damn surprising morning,’ said Lee.
‘The fact is this, Mr Scoresby: there is a struggle going on throughout the northern lands, of which this little island is a microcosm. On one hand there are the properly constituted civil institutions such as the Customs and Revenue Board, and on the other the uncontrolled power of the large private companies such as Larsen Manganese, which are dominating more and more of public life, though they are not subject to any form of democratic sanction. If Mr Poliakov wins this election, he will make life easier for Larsen Manganese and its fellows, and worse for the people of Novy Odense.’
‘I thought he was campaigning against the bears,’ said Lee. ‘I thought that was his whole platform.’
‘That is what he wants simple people to think.’
‘Oh,’ said Lee. ‘Simple people, eh. Well, he certainly worked that trick.’
‘Until now he has been very careful to remain just within the law, but trying to deprive Captain van Breda of that cargo was a step too far. Whoever hired those gunmen was also, of course, committing a crime, but I have no doubt that we shall find it impossible to prove any connection with Poliakov. I am also sure that his lawyers will manage to confuse the court and secure an acquittal in the matter of the cargo. In short, Mr Scoresby, we are grateful to you for dealing with an unpleasant problem. Your action was all the more honourable in that you had no personal interest in the matter.’
‘Oh, I don’t think much about honour,’ Lee said uncomfortably.
‘Well, we are grateful, as I say. You will find your balloon fully provisioned, and there is a good east wind.’
Lee looked ahead through the spray-splashed cabin window. They were rapidly approaching the mole sheltering the depot, and Lee could see his balloon, as the young man had promised, already inflated and swaying in the wind. It was a case of thank you very much and don’t come back, he thought.
As the launch passed the mole and slowed down in the calmer water inside it, Lee felt gingerly inside his coat for the damage to his shoulder. It hurt like hell, but as far as he could tell it hadn’t done any structural damage. As for his e
ar, he felt that too; there was a bite-shaped gap at the top big enough to fit a finger in, and it was still bleeding.
‘Before you put me in my balloon and cut the tether and wave goodbye,’ he said, ‘is there somewhere I can fix myself up? I take it you have no objection if I patch up the holes I seem to have acquired?’
‘No objection whatsoever,’ said Haugland drily.
The officer at the wheel cut the throttle and the launch drifted neatly to a halt beside a wooden jetty. A moment later it was secured, and Lee stood up to follow the Customs men ashore.
There was a huddle of low buildings around the Company offices, and they took Lee first to sign for the return of his balloon. The clerk looked at him without surprise.
‘You found someone to fight with, then,’ he said.
Lee saw that the storage fee had already been paid, and so had the bill for the gas. He pushed the release form back across the counter without a word; the fact was that he could think of nothing to say.
‘This way, Mr Scoresby,’ said the Lieutenant.
He led Lee to a washroom, where Lee painfully stripped to the waist, cleaned himself as best he could, and with Hester’s help examined the damage. He was glad to see that McConville’s bullet had gone through the muscle of his shoulder and out again; it might have clipped the bone on the way, but at least he wouldn’t have to dig the damn thing out. As for his ear, that was too bad. He could still hear with it.
‘Wasn’t all that pretty anyway,’ said Hester.
‘Prettiest one I had,’ said Lee.
The officer knocked on the door. ‘Mr Scoresby,’ he called, ‘there is a medical man here who will look at you.’
Lee opened the door, shivering in the brisk wind, and found Lieutenant Haugland, smiling, standing on the cinder path next to Iorek Byrnison.
The bear was carrying a bundle of dark green in his mouth, which he dropped into the officer’s hands.
‘Bloodmoss,’ he said. ‘Let me see your wounds.’
‘A truly remarkable specific,’ said the officer, as Lee turned to show the bear his shoulder. ‘It has antiseptic and analgesic properties superior to anything in our hospitals.’
Iorek took a few strands of the moss, and chewed them briefly. He dropped the pounded mess into Lee’s right hand.
‘Lay it in the wound and bind it up,’ he said. ‘It will heal quickly.’
‘Well, thank you kindly, York Byrnison,’ said Lee. ‘I appreciate that.’
He did his best with the soggy moss. The Lieutenant tore off a strip of adhesive tape and bound the wound for him, and Lee pulled his shirt on again.
While his head was still inside it, he heard quick footsteps on the path, and another man’s voice: one he recognised. He held still a moment to think what to do, and then he pulled the shirt down to see the dark-suited figure of the poet and journalist Oskar Sigurdsson, notebook in hand, talking eagerly to the Lieutenant.
‘… and it occurred to me that – Ah! The hero himself! Mr Scoresby, I congratulate you on your safe escape! Would it be too much trouble to ask you for an interview about this remarkable episode?’
Lee looked around. The jetty was only a few yards away.
He said, ‘Why, certainly, Mr Sigurdsson, but I think we need a little privacy. Come with me.’
He led the way out, and Sigurdsson followed eagerly. When they were at the end of the jetty, Lee pointed out to sea.
‘You see that spot on the horizon? Might be a ship?’
Sigurdsson peered, sheltering his eyes.
‘I think so –’ he began, but he got no further, because Lee stepped behind him and swung his foot hard against the poet’s backside. With a cry of alarm Sigurdsson shot forward and into the sea, arms flailing.
Lee walked back to the washroom and said, ‘Mr Sigurdsson seems to have fallen into the water. He might need a hand to get out. I’d oblige myself, but unfortunately I’m indisposed.’
‘I think it is lucky for us that you are leaving, Mr Scoresby,’ said Haugland. ‘Petersen! Bring him ashore and wring him out, if you would.’
Another man ran to the end of the jetty with a lifebelt, but before Lee could see Sigurdsson rescued, there was the sound of yet more footsteps, and in a hurry this time; and as Lee was pulling on his coat, around the corner of the buildings came another of his acquaintances.
‘Mr Vassiliev!’ Lee said. ‘You come to say goodbye?’
The economist was out of breath, and his eyes were wide with anxiety.
‘They are coming this way – the Larsen security men – they have orders to kill you and the bear – Poliakov is furious –’
Iorek Byrnison growled and turned to the sea, but Vassiliev went on:
‘They have a gunboat on its way too. There’s no way out.’
‘There’s one way,’ said Lee. ‘You ever flown in a balloon, York Byrnison?’
‘Iorek,’ growled the bear. ‘No, Mr Scarsby, I have not.’
‘Iorek. Got it. And I’m Scoresby, but make it Lee. Well, now’s the time, Iorek. Mr Vassiliev, good day, and thanks.’
He shook hands with the economist, and the officer accompanied Lee and the bear to the balloon, which was shivering with impatience to be free of its tether and take to the sky. Lee checked everything: it was all in good order.
‘Go,’ said Haugland, and shook his hand. ‘Oh – take your rifle.’
He handed Lee the Winchester, which Lee took with pleasure; he felt as if it had been made for him. He wrapped it in oilcloth before stowing it carefully inside the gondola.
‘You ready, Iorek?’ he said.
‘This is strange to me,’ said the bear. ‘But I will trust you. You are a man of the Arctic.’
‘I am? How’s that?’
‘Your dæmon is an Arctic hare.’
‘A what?’ said Hester. ‘I thought I was a damn jackrabbit!’
‘Arctic hare,’ said Iorek briefly, and Haugland nodded.
Lee was as amazed as she was, but there wasn’t time to stop and discuss the matter. Iorek clambered over the side into the capacious gondola, having tested the strength of it to his own satisfaction, and then Lee joined him.
‘Lieutenant Haugland, I’m obliged to you, sir,’ he said. ‘But I still don’t see how you knew who I was, and where I was boarding.’
‘You may thank Miss Victoria Lund,’ the Lieutenant continued, ‘to whom, as of this morning, I have the honour to be engaged. She told me that you had been very courteous towards her.’
Lee tugged off his hat and scratched his head, and then rammed his hat on again and tugged it low, because he was blushing.
‘Please – ah – convey my respects to Miss Lund,’ he mumbled. ‘I congratulate you on your engagement, sir. Miss Lund is a remarkable young lady.’
He dared not look at Hester.
‘Hmm,’ he went on. ‘Well, let’s get away. Iorek, if I need two hands, you might have to help me out a little till that bloodmoss kicks in. Stand clear now!’
He released the tether, and the balloon sprang upwards with the swift assurance of a craft that knew where it was going and was eager to get there. It felt like a living thing. Lee loved that first rush of speed, and so did Hester.
He checked all his instruments, and looked around the sky, and then looked down at the rapidly diminishing scene below. With the help of his field glasses Lee made out a little shivering figure wrapped in blankets on the jetty. Along the road from the town a convoy of armoured cars was moving towards the depot, and from further down the coast a gunboat was speeding in the same direction with a great deal of flashy spray.
Further away, he could see the schooner just passing the lighthouse. The crew had raised the sails, and the ship was catching the strong east wind that was speeding the balloon on its way.
Iorek was crouching low on the floor of the basket, keeping absolutely still. At first Lee thought he was asleep, but then he realised that the great bear was afraid.
‘You reckon young Lieutenant Haugla
nd will deal with those Larsen Manganese bullies?’ Lee said, to distract him; he had no doubt himself.
‘Yes. I have a high regard for him.’
Lee thought that the bear’s high regard would be a thing worth having.
Hester moved along the floor, closer to the bear’s head, and settled down to speak to him quietly. Lee left her to it, and checked the barometer, the gas-pressure gauge and the compass again, not that the compass was much of a help in these latitudes; and then he took out the rifle, looked it over thoroughly, cleaned it and oiled it with a new can of machine oil, which he found to his surprise in the tool box. He wrapped it up again carefully before making sure it was safely strapped to a stanchion. He’d learnt his lesson; he looked after it well for the rest of his life, and thirty-five years later, the Winchester was in his hands when he died.
Looking around his unnaturally tidy gondola, he discovered some neatly wrapped packets in the starboard locker, and opened one to find some rye crispbread and hard cheese. He also discovered that he was very hungry.
Some time later, when they were high in the blue sky and everything was well, Lee opened his kitbag to take out his warm waistcoat. His clothes were more neatly folded than they had ever been, and there was a sprig of lavender on the top.
‘Well, Hester,’ he said, ‘this has been a surprising day, and no mistake. How’s Iorek over there?’
‘Asleep,’ she said. ‘What’s surprising? You acting the fool and kissing that lavender ain’t surprising.’
‘No, I don’t reckon that is. I could lose my heart to that girl. Flying with a bear, now – that’s surprising.’
‘More surprising if you left him there. You wouldn’t do that. If we couldn’t take him, we’d stand and fight beside him.’
‘Well, all right then. Finding out that you’re an Arctic hare – that’s surprising. Damn, I was surprised.’
‘Surprised? Why the hell were you surprised? I ain’t surprised,’ said Hester. ‘Iorek’s right. I always knew I had more class than a rabbit.’
THE END
Read on for a preview of another magical story from the universe of
Once Upon a Time in the North Page 7