'Then I help you.'

'Do you know Captain van Breda then?'

'I know his enemy is my enemy.'

'Well then, Mr.. .Mr Bear -'

Torek Byrnison,' said the bear.

'York Burningson, the Captain needs to get at a cargo that's locked in the warehouse, and load it on his ship, and get away. And his enemy, who's my enemy too, as well as yours, wants to stop him. I reckon we got a short time to do it in, and then we're in trouble. Patience and caution are my watchwords, Mr Burningson, but sometimes we have to take a risk. You willing to risk trouble?'

'Yes.'

'Now I heard that your people make armour for themselves,' Lee said. 'Do you have armour?'

'A helmet. No more.'

The bear reached down past the edge of the stone wharf to the top of the flight of steps, and lifted up a battered, clumsy iron sheet of a curious shape and curvature. A chain hung from one corner, and Lee blinked with surprise as the bear deftly swung it over his head and hooked the chain from one corner to another under his throat. Suddenly the metal didn't look clumsy any more: it fitted him perfectly. The bear's black eyes glittered in the depths of the two great eye-holes.

Lee was aware that they were attracting attention. People were pointing, windows opening, and a little crowd of onlookers had gathered across the road. When Iorek Byrnison put the helmet on, there was an audible intake of breath, and Lee remembered the poet saying that the bears were not allowed to wear their armour in town.

The Captain joined them, looking at Lee questioningly.

'The odds just got better, Captain,' Lee said. 'This is York Burningson, and he's going to ride shotgun with us.'

'Byrnison,' said the bear.

'Byrnison. Beg your pardon. Now the first thing we have to do is get past the Harbour Master, so you leave the talking to me. Let's go down the quay, gentlemen, and open a warehouse.'

Lee led the way along the waterfront, and turned on to the quay itself. By this time the number of spectators had grown to thirty or so, and more were coming out f rom the side streets that led down to the harbour. They followed a short distance behind, pointing, talking excitedly, beckoning others to come and join them. Lee was aware of that, but not distracted: his eye was on the Harbour Master's office, where the door had opened briefly to let the man look out, and then closed again.

'You got that letter, Captain?' he said. 'Better let me have it.'

The Captain handed it over.

'Thanks. Now I'm going to be spinning a yarn, York Byrnison, so my attention will be kind of occupied, and I'd be obliged if you'd keep an eye out for any trouble.'

'I will,' said the bear.

They reached the building that housed the Harbour Master's office, and the door opened again. Mr Aagaard came out, fumbling with the last button of his uniform, and stood in the centre of the quay facing them.

'Good day, Mr Aagaard,' said Lee cheerfully. 'I hope this fine morning finds you well. Step aside, if you would, and Captain van Breda and my associate will go about our lawful business.'

'You have no business on this quay.'

'Oh, I don't think you're in a position to say that, sir. As an attorney-at-law I have every kind of business on this quay. My client -'

'Attorney? You are no attorney. You came to me yesterday claiming to be an aeronaut.'

'And so I am. As well. Now let me refer you to this letter, which my client has received from your office. Is this your signature?'

'Of course. What do you - ?'

'Well, Mr Aagaard,' said Lee, improvising happily, 'I think you should keep your law up to date. This letter is correct as far as the Merchant Shipping Act 11.303. (5) is concerned, absolutely correct, sir, and I congratulate you on the terse and manly eloquence with which you have expressed this fragment of correspondence. However, let me remind you that a subsequent piece of legislation, the Carriage of Goods and Cargoes Act of 1911, Part 3, Subsection 4, Miscellaneous Provisions, specifically and by name supersedes the Merchant Shipping Act by stating that the right of a carrier to load his cargo once the bill of lading has been signed and countersigned, and I stress that, shall in no way be impeded, obstructed, or prevented by any provision of any previous Act, notwithstanding any local interpretations that shall be put in place. Now, Captain van Breda, have you such a bill of lading?'

'Yes, Mr Scoresby, I have.'

'And is it signed and countersigned?'

'It is.'

'Then, Mr Aagaard, I invite you to stand aside, sir, and let my client go about his lawful business.'

'I...this is not regular,' said the Harbour Master, whose cat-daemon was scratching at his leg to be picked up. He bent stiffly and carried her to his breast, where she hid her face. He went on, 'I know nothing of these

other laws, but Captain van Breda has not paid the duty on these articles, and

'Mr Harbour Master, just to save you any further trouble and embarrassment, I should remind you that the duty you refer to is a duty on importation and not on exportation, so in this case it doesn't apply. A simple and honest mistake for you to make. My client is willing to forgo any claims for compensation provided you release the goods at once from the warehouse. Furthermore, if it's a matter of duty payable and not a fee, as your own words before these fine and honest witnesses clearly indicated, then it's a Customs and Revenue matter, and the office of Customs is fully satisfied with Captain van Breda's right to move his cargo, and has no intention to levy any duty on it. Is that not so, Captain?'

'It is.'

'And do you have a letter to that effect?'

'Indeed I do.'

'Then there is no more to be said. Good day, Mr Aagaard, and we shall trouble you no further.'

'But...' the Harbour Master began unhappily, and then thought of something else. 'But that bear is wearing an illegal piece of armour, and he has no right to be on the quay.'

'A proper and reasonable response to unreasonable provocation, Mr Aagaard,' said Lee.

He stepped decisively forward, and the Harbour Master moved indecisively aside. The crowd had been still, trying to follow the arguments, and several of them looked less sure than they had been a minute before;

but Lee was more concerned about the little knot of men further along the quay. He knew the look of men like that.

'Nice piece of oratorical flamboyancy, Lee,' said Hester.

'Captain,' said Lee, 'you got any weapons on your ship?'

'I got one rifle. I never used it.'

'Ammunition?'

'Sure. But like I say, I never had to fire it.'

'You won't have to fire it. You bring me that rifle and I'll fire it if there's any firing to be done. Now if you began to load the cargo say within the next hour, could you leave with the tide like this?'

'The harbour is plenty deep. It will be fine.'

'That's good, because I might have to come with you. We both might. Now look out. These desperadoes are spoiling for an exchange of hot words. Say nothing and leave it to me. York Byrnison, once again I'd be obliged if you could cover the rear.'

The crowd had fallen back a little now, sensing that the mood of the events had changed, as Lee and the bear and the Captain walked on towards the five men who stood between them and the schooner. Hester was checking all around for other figures lurking in the alleys between the warehouses, or at a window above, or across the water on the west quay; for a handy shot with a good rifle could pick them off easily.

Lee was very conscious of the sound of their boots on the flagstoned quay, of the ceaseless scream of

seagulls, of the chugging of the steam crane across the water and the clank and crash of the great bucket as it unloaded coal from the hold of the tanker and dumped it in the wagons. Every separate sound was bright and clear, and Lee and Hester both heard the little click at the same moment. It was the sound of a revolver being cocked, and it came from up ahead, Lee thought; but \ tester's ears could pinpoint an ant on a blade of grass, and she said at once, 'Second man, Lee.'

The men were standing abreast in a line about fifteen yards ahead. Three of them were holding cudgels or sticks, but the other two had their hands behind their backs, and before Hester had finished saying 'Lee', Lee's pistol was in his hand and pointing straight at the second man from the left.

'You drop that gun right now,' Lee said. 'You just let go and let it fall behind you.'

The man had stiffened in surprise. He probably hadn't expected Lee to move so fast, and quite possibly no one had pointed a gun at him with intent before; he was just a boy no older than twenty. His eyes widened and he swallowed nervously before dropping the pistol.

'Now kick it over here,' Lee said.

The boy groped behind him with the toe of his boot and sent the pistol bouncing over the flagstones. The Captain bent to pick it up.

Then the man at the right of the line, the other man with his hands behind his back, did a stupid thing: he swung his right hand round and fired a shot from the big pistol he was holding.

But he didn't take time to aim properly, and the bullet went over Lee's head. The crowd behind screamed and scattered, but Lee had fired before the first cry arose, and his bullet caught the man's hip and spun him round so that he fell right at the edge of the quay, and then, unable to hold himself safe, he fell into the water, taking the gun with him. His cry was caught short by the splash.

Lee said to the other men, 'Now he's going to drown unless you pull him out. You don't want that on your conscience. Hurry up and do that, and get out of our way.'

He strode forward. The other men fell aside sullenly, and two of them slouched to the help of the man in the water, who was now splashing and shouting with pain and fear.

'Let me see that pistol, Captain,' said Lee, and the Captain handed it to him. It was a cheap and flimsy piece, and the barrel had bent when the boy dropped it. Anyone who fired it would be in danger of losing his hand. Lee tossed it into the water with regret, because he knew, in the moment he squeezed the trigger of his own revolver, that the cylinder had stuck for good. That was the one shot he was going to get.

'I'm going to need that rifle of yours real soon, Captain,' he said.

He put his gun back in the holster and looked around. The crowd behind was much bigger now, and the sounds had changed: across the water, the steam crane was still, the operator and the ship's crew staring across at the place where the shots had come from. In the absence of the clank and crash of the great bucket, Lee could hear the steady chugging of the dredger near the harbour mouth, and the excited murmur of the crowd behind.

The three of them moved on. They were not far from the schooner now, and Lee could see the crew gathered on the poop, watching wide-eyed as the little group made its way along the quay towards them.

But then one of them pointed at something back in the town, and the others shaded their eyes to look, and Hester said, 'Lee, you better look and see what's coming.'

By this time they were level with the stern of the ship, and opposite the last warehouse. A little alley ran between that and the one before it. Lee looked down the alley, looked up at the two rows of windows in the warehouse facade, looked across the harbour at the steam crane and the coal tanker, checking everything before looking back where Hester was indicating, and lie noticed the bear doing the same.

'What the hell is that?' said the Captain hoarsely.

A large machine powered by some kind of gas- engine was making its way along the waterfront, and turning on to the quay. In the moment or two Lee saw it in profile he remembered the model he'd seen the night before in the parlour behind the stage at the town hall - the model of the gas-gun the Larsen Manganese people had been showing off. It was monstrous. The steel wheels and the half-track behind were grinding

their way along the flagstones, and the crowd shrank back against the Harbour Master's office wall to make room for it.

'A gun?' said Iorek Byrnison.

'Yep,' said Lee.

'I do this.'

And the bear turned and ran silently into the alley.

'Captain, the rifle, if you please,' said Lee. 'Right now.'

'Oh ja. Ja. Mr Mate!' the Captain bellowed, and a voice from the rail called:

'Aye, skipper!'

'Mr Johnsen, would you go and bring my rifle and the box of ammunition from the lazaret, if you please. Look lively.'

Further down the quay, the gun had stopped. The crowd was backing away to give it room. A man in maroon stood beside it, and shouted something through a megaphone which was utterly incomprehensible. Lee spread his hands wide.

The man shouted again, and again it was impossible to understand him. Lee shook his head.

Someone ran down the gangplank behind him, and hurried up to the Captain. A moment later, van Breda handed the rifle to Lee.

'Oh, thank you, Captain. Well, my sweet Aunt Betsy! A Winchester! How about that?'

'You know this rifle?'

'Best there is. And in good order, too.'

He swiftly filled the magazine, cursing his

carelessness over the pistol, and enjoying the feel of a well-balanced and well-oiled piece of machinery. He felt much better having it in his hands.

'Captain,' he said, 'this is the warehouse, this one • right here?'

'It is.'

'Do you know exactly where your cargo is stowed?'

'Yes. All we need to do is open the door.'

Lee took a handful of cartridges from the box and dropped them into his pocket, then turned to look back along the quay.

For the gas-gun had resumed its grinding forward movement, and Lee could see now how it was crewed: it looked like one man to drive it, two to fire and reload. The long barrel rose and swung from left to right and back again, before settling on the stern of the schooner.

It was a thing to smash down buildings with, a thing to sink a ship, and Lee thought that if they fired it just once it would be the end of this adventure, and the end of him, too.

It came closer, and Lee lifted the rifle to his shoulder. It was nearly at the end of the middle warehouse, just opposite the alley between that and the next to last, and Lee's finger tightened on the trigger -

But before anything else happened, there came a thunder of feet and a roar such as Lee had never heard, and out of the alley burst Iorek Byrnison, to hurl the huge weight of himself against the bulk of the gun.

Lee gave a cry of surprise - he couldn't help it.

The gunners cried out in alarm as the wheels and the track skidded and scraped on the stone. Iorek's first smash had swung the front of the gun round so that the barrel was pointing out over the harbour, and the driver desperately hauled at the brake; but then Iorek set his shoulder to the side of the carriage, and heaved and shoved until the two front wheels had rolled over the edge, and the whole gun tilted forwards. The gunners were shouting with alarm and struggling to swing the barrel back round, and then Iorek shoved again and the gun went off with a flash of fire and smoke and a deafening bang, sending a shell skipping across the water, right into the side of the quay beside the coal tanker. It exploded with a plume of water, and rock hurled high into the air, scattering the ship's crew and the crane driver. But few noticed them, because the blast of the gun had infuriated Iorek, and now he had his claws under the rear of the carriage, and while the engine roared and the caterpillar tracks screamed on the stone, the bear straightened his back with an immense effort and heaved the whole weapon and its ihree-man crew into the water with a huge splash. One of the men jumped clear; the other two disappeared with the gun.

Cheers from the ship's crew, a yell of delight from Lee.

The bear dropped to all fours again and sauntered along to join Lee at the schooner.

'Well, I'd hate to see you get angry, York Byrnison,' said Lee.

Across the water, the crew of the coal tanker were cautiously inspecting the damage to the wharf. The crane driver was shaking his head at the bosun, who was yelling at him to get back to work, and the driver in charge of the rail trucks was running back from the engine to see what had happened. Even the dredger had stopped work for a minute, but presently the steady chugging resumed.

For the moment, no one was moving among the crowd further down the quay. Lee looked around more carefully. To his right as he faced towards the town loomed the bulk of the warehouse: a three-storey building in grey stone, with a row of windows on the top and middle floors. The massive doors were of steel, and opened inwards. Projecting from the centre of the wall above the top floor, just under the eaves, was a beam and tackle for lifting goods directly up. The sun was bright now, for the clouds had blown away, and it shone full on the warehouse front from over Lee's left shoulder when he faced down the quay.

Behind him, the Captain was shouting orders, and Lee heard a muffled bang from below decks, followed by a coughing throb, which told of the detonator starting the heavy-oil engine. On the foredeck, two sailors were busily removing the cover from the forward hatch, while another man was checking the tackle on a derrick that had been rigged over it on the foremast.

Suddenly Hester said, 'Top floor right, Lee.'

He swung the rifle up towards the warehouse and saw what she'd seen: a flicker of movement behind the third window in from the end. He kept the rifle trained directly on it, but saw no more movement.

Iorek Byrnison stood beside Lee, glaring down the length of the quay towards the crowd. The Captain and the mate came down to join them.

'Now, Mr Mate,' said Lee, 'how you going to move that cargo of yours?'

'It's on trucks,' the mate said. 'We set it all up ready before they locked us out. It won't take half an hour.'

'Right. Captain, tell me this: what's the layout in the warehouse? What do we see when we open the door?'

'The space is fully open. There are columns, I don't know how many, stone columns supporting the floors above. On the ground floor at present there are mostly bundles of furs and skins. My cargo is near the far wall on the left-hand side, stacked ready on trucks.'

'These bundles of skins - how high are they stacked? Can I look right across the whole space in there, or are they too high to see over?'

'Too high, I think.'

'And what about stairs?'

'In the centre at the back.'

'And the upper floors?'

'I don't know what -'

'Lee! Top left!' said Hester, and in the same moment Lee caught a flash of sunlight as a window opened.

He swung the rifle up, and that must have put the sharp-shooter off, because the one snatched pistol shot went past him and thudded into the deck of the schooner. Lee fired back at once. The window shattered, scattering broken glass down three floors to the ground, but there was no sign of the gunman.

Iorek Byrnison looked up briefly, and then said, 'I open the door.'

Lee half expected to see him charge and flatten it in one rush, but the bear's behaviour was quite different: he touched the steel door several times in different places with a claw, tapping, pressing, touching with the utmost delicacy. He seemed to be listening to the sound it made, or feeling for some quality in the resistance it offered.

Lee and Hester were standing back from the building, at the edge of the quay, from which point he could see all the windows.

'Lee,' said Hester quietly, 'if that's McConville in there -'

'Ain't no if, Hester. I've known he was in there from the first.'

'Mr Scarsby,' said the bear, 'shoot a bullet at this spot.' He scratched an X at a point near the upper hinge of the right-hand door.

Lee looked up to make sure the gunman at the window was still out of sight, checked back along the quay to see the crowd hanging back still, unwilling to come closer just yet, checked with the Captain that the men were ready.

'Right,' he said. 'Now this is what we'll do. York Byrnison and I will open the door, and I'll go in first. There's a gunman in there - maybe more than one - and I want to make sure they're not intending any unpleasantness. If you take my advice, Mr Mate, you and your crew will wait on board and out of sight till you hear from me or York Byrnison that the place is safe.'

'You expecting more trouble?'

'Oh, I always expect trouble. York Byrnison, you ready?'

'Ready.'

'Here goes.'

He lifted the rifle, took aim at the X on the door, and fired. A neat hole appeared in the steel sheet, and that was all; but then Iorek Byrnison reached out a paw and pushed gently, and the entire door fell inwards with a deafening crash.

At once Lee leapt past Iorek and ran into the warehouse, making for the open staircase he could

dimly see straight ahead.

And at the same moment a shot blazed out from dead ahead, somewhere in the ranks and rows of stinking bundles. The bullet clipped the shoulder of Lee's coat, feeling like the clutch of a ghost, and then came a cry and a crash from the ship outside. Lee stopped and took cover behind a row of bales. Stupid to rush in like that, he thought: after the bright sun on the quayside, this was almost like night, and his opponent's eyes were already well adjusted.

'Where is he?' came the bear's voice from behind him.

'He fired from dead ahead,' said Lee quietly. 'But there's at least one other man upstairs. If you take this one, I'll go on up and deal with him.'

As he said that, he heard another shot, and another, from above, and a cry of distress and alarm from the ship. Lee and Iorek ran at the same moment - Lee lightly for the stairs, with Hester bounding ahead, and Iorek slow and ponderous for the first two or three steps as he drove against the inertia of his great bulk, but once moving he was unstoppable. Lee, halfway up the open iron staircase, saw bales of fur and skins hurled aside like thistledown, and then came two or three quick shots and a scream of fear, suddenly cut short in a hideous grunt.

More shots from high up. Lee leapt up to the next floor, which was largely empty, with just a few wooden cases resting on pallets near the back wall; but it was much lighter here, with sunlight pouring in through

the long line of windows.

And there was no one in sight.

Lee doubled back and made for the next flight of stairs. He couldn't run silently on these bare floors, and he knew that the man up there would hear him coming and have plenty of time to line up a shot towards the top of the stairs. He stopped just below the level of the upper floor, and raised his hat high on the rifle barrel, and at once a shot spun it round and round - a good shot, instant and accurate.

But it told him where the man was shooting from: the far corner, on the right as you looked at the warehouse from the quay. Lee stopped and considered.

What he didn't know was how clear the floor was, whether there were barrels or boxes for the other man to hide behind, or whether he would have a clear shot to the corner.

Nor did he know whether McConville was alone, or whether he had an accomplice who could shoot Lee in the back from the other corner. After all, the window that had opened when Lee was outside was on the left.

He looked at the staircase he was standing on. The steps were open iron­work, about ten feet wide, and they led up towards a landing at the back wall of

the warehouse. His best chance was to take it at a run, hope to avoid any bullets, and shoot fast as soon as he could.

'Lee,' whispered Hester, 'pick me up.'

He bent to lift her. She wanted to listen, and the higher she was the better. She sat tensely in his arms, flicking her ears, and then whispered:

'There's two of 'em. One left, one right.'

'Just two?' he whispered back.

'There's something in the way - maybe barrels. Use that smokeleaf tin.'

He put her down and fished in his waistcoat pocket for the tin he kept his cigarillos in. He tipped the last three out and slipped the tin back, keeping the lid. He'd polished the inside to a bright gloss until it was almost as good as a mirror.

The floor above was a foot or so over his head: heavy pine boards, with an iron flange at the edge and a guardrail around the opening for the stairs.

Moving cautiously up to the next step and keeping his head low, Lee lifted the tin lid up very slowly close to the nearest stanchion of the rail, and tilted it so he saw along the floor and towards the right-hand corner, where the shot had come from. He could see no one, but that was because a row of heavy barrels stood in the way: two rows, in fact, one stacked on top of the other, separated by the pallets the barrels were standing on.

Lee knew well how small a movement would catch a watching eye, and taking infinite pains to move slowly, he turned the lid round to face the other corner. That side was empty, apart from some piece of machinery under a tarpaulin, and Lee could see the gunman clearly, standing behind it and looking over the top, with his rifle pointed just above where Lee was standing. It was not McConville.

The stone columns holding up the roof - sixteen of them, each about two feet in diameter - were equally spaced along the length of the room in two rows, one near the back wall and one near the front, and Lee calculated that if he could reach the column closest to the stairs on the gunman's side, he might be able to shelter behind it while dealing with him; but that still left McConville free to shoot him in the back. This was really a hopeless situation, and he shouldn't have got himself into it.

In fact, it was like pretty well every other situation he'd ever been in. And I'm still here, he thought, and Hester twitched her ears. He slipped the smokeleaf lid back into his pocket.

Then from down below there came the loud scraping clang of the big steel door being hauled out of the way, and under cover of the noise, Lee took a good grip of the rifle and launched himself upwards as fast as he could, running at an angle to the top of the steps and left along the floor to the shelter of the nearest column.

His ears were full of noise - shots from right and left, and the echoes from the bare stone walls. He reached the column and pressed himself behind it.

It was the third column from the end on that

side. The tarpaulin-covered machinery behind which the gunman was hiding was near the middle of the end wall, and it was a little less high than the head of a man, which meant the shooter had to crouch all the time: not a comfortable position to hold for long. The best way to deal with him, if he'd been alone, would be to wait till he moved, as he'd have to eventually, and pick him off with one shot.

But behind Lee, at the far end of the warehouse, McConville had a better place of concealment and a clear line of fire. If he'd just had a pistol it wouldn't be so bad, but those sounded like rifle shots, and Lee, pressed against the column, felt as well as heard the bullets striking his narrow shelter. McConville wouldn't miss too many times with a rifle.

The first volley of shots came to an end.

Lee ran again, past the second column, on to the first - a little further from McConville, making it safer as the angle tightened; and closer to the other man, whose shoulder - was it? - Lee could see, imperfectly concealed.

He raised the rifle. In the same moment he pressed the trigger and McConville yelled, 'Duck!'

His bullet reached the man before the warning did,

and there was a grunt, a thud as he dropped his weapon, then a long withdrawn breath, and then silence.

Lee looked at the tarpaulin, and calculated: five running steps away, from right to left across McConville's line of sight, in about a second and a half . It should be possible.

And it was. McConville fired twice and missed, but Lee made it, and found the other gunman sprawled on his back with his pistol too far away to reach, and the eyes in his pale face burning. A pool of blood was spreading out around him like a great red wing unfurling. His cat- daemon crouched by his side, trembling.

'You've done for me,' the gunman said in the voice of a ghost.

Lee said, 'Yep, you're bleeding a lot. Reckon I have. Is that McConville over there?'

'Morton. Ain't no McConville.'

'Wouldn't that be dandy. What's he carrying?'

'Go stick your head up your ass.'

'Oh, you're a nice man. Now hold your tongue.'

Keeping low, he patted the man's chest and sides to make sure he wasn't carrying another weapon, and then, ignoring him, turned his attention to the other end of the warehouse. In one way, it didn't matter if he and McConville stood and hid from each other all day long. Captain van Breda could load his cargo without being shot at, and get away with it. But sooner or later, either Lee or McConville was going to have to move, and the first one to do so would probably die.

Suddenly a fusillade of shots rang out, and bullets ihudded into the walls behind Lee and the tarpaulin- covered machinery in front. Two or three struck the columns, and whined off into the corners.

And in the middle of the barrage, Lee - who was (Touching low behind the machinery - suddenly found himself knocked to the floor and dizzy with shock. Had he taken a bullet? Was he hurt? It was the strangest sensation - and then with a horrible lurch of nausea, he saw his Hester in the grasp of the fallen gunman's good hand. He had her around the throat. Lee was choking with her, but the outrage - a stranger's hand on his daemon! - was worse.

He dragged his rifle round till the barrel was hard against the man's side, and shot him dead.

Hester leapt away and into Lee's arms, and he'd never felt her tremble so violently.

'All right, gal, it's over,' he whispered.

'It ain't,' she whispered. 'There's still McConville.'

'Think I'd forgot that, you dumb rabbit? Git a hold a yourself.'

He rubbed her ears with his thumb and put her down gently. Then he looked out again, very cautiously, along the line of columns to the stack of barrels at the other end of the empty floor. There was no movement.

But Lee realised with a little flicker of hope that McConville wasn't only brutal: he was stupid too. A clever man would have done nothing, held his fire, kept as still as a stone until Lee had either killed or been killed by the other man. If Lee came out on top he might have thought all the danger was gone, and

McConville could pick him off when his back was turned. Instead of that, what did the fool do but give himself away. So there might be a chance.

Those columns...Two rows of eight, equally spaced along the length of the building, back and front. When Lee looked past the left side of the row at the front, by the windows, he could see the whole room, almost, clear across the centre of the big floor to the stack of barrels; but when he looked past the right side of the columns, he could see nothing but the narrow passage between the front wall and the row of overlapping columns, right down to the side wall at the far end.

But that meant in turn that McConville would have the same view. If Lee moved along between the row of columns and the front wall, he'd be invisible to the other man for some of the way, at least.

It was the best chance he had. He looked down at Hester, and she flicked her ears: ready. Lee quickly filled the magazine of the Winchester (and what a sweet weapon this was) and set off, making as little noise as leather-shod feet could on a wooden floor.

For the first three or four columns he was safely invisible, and he was ready to snap a shot as soon as anything moved into sight at the other end. The further he got, though, the more dangerous, because as the angle increased so did the gaps between the columns.

Couldn't be helped. Take the rest at a run. He stopped at the last point where he was still fully concealed, opposite the big doors right in the centre that opened for goods to come up by the hoist, and

then gripped the rifle and ran.

And in the same moment he thought, My shadow - damn, he can see my shadow -

The sun was pouring in through the windows. McConville had been able to follow his progress every step of the way; and no sooner had Lee realised that than two shots rang out, and he dropped. He was hit, but he had no idea where. He'd sprawled in the space between the second and third columns. With all his might he dragged himself up and flung himself forward towards the rack of barrels. If he was close against it on this side, McConville wouldn't be able to see him.

Maybe.

He made it, and slipped down to the floor. Hester was close by, trembling. Lee brought his finger to his lips, and he could do that because his hand was free, and his hand was free because he'd dropped the rifle.

It lay out in the open, several feet away and unreachable.

He sat there with his back to the lower rack of barrels, smelling the stinking fish oil, feeling his blood race, listening to every drip and creak and scrape and click, and holding back the pain that was prowling around just waiting to pounce.

It was his left shoulder, as he discovered a few moments later. Where exactly he didn't know, because the pain inconsiderately took up residence like a bully and demanded all the feeling there was; but Lee tried to move his left hand and arm and found them still working, though badly weakened, so he guessed

McConville's bullet hadn't found a bone.

Damn, there was blood all over the place. Where the hell was that coming from? Was he hit somewhere else as well?

He shook his head to clear it, and drops of blood flew off and splashed across his face. Simultaneously his left ear felt as if a tiger had taken a bite out of it, and Lee had to hold his breath to avoid gasping. Well, ears did bleed, no doubt about it, and if it was no worse than that, then it was better than it might have been.

Silence in the warehouse, apart from the drip of blood on to the floor.

Outside, the distant sounds of work, and the cry of seagulls.

Lee sat, stiffening with pain, with one gun that didn't work and yards from another that did, in the deepening stench of fish oil. Somebody's bullet - probably his - had punctured one of the barrels, and not far away from where he'd fallen a steady trickle of the stuff was leaking down from the top rack and spreading slowly across the floor. In another five minutes he'd be sitting right in it.

Hester sat crouched tightly against his side. She was

hurt by his wounds, but she wouldn't complain.

'Scoresby,' came a voice from the other side of the rack of barrels.

Lee said nothing.

'I know you're there, you cheap son of a bitch, and I know I got you,' the slow grinding voice went on. 'Course I don't know if you're dead yet, but you will be soon, you bastard. You think I didn't know who you were soon's I saw you? Ain't nobody I forgit once I seen 'em. You was next on my list back there in the Dakota country, you better believe it. You shoulda seen them two marshals when I finished with 'em, whoo, man. One of 'em had a serpent-daemon and he took his eyes off me and I picked her up by the tail and cracked her like a goddamn whip. You ain't never seen a man so surprised to be dead. That was by the Cheyenne River. And it left the other man on his own against Pierre McConville. That ain't good odds, Scoresby, you think of that. I can stay awake longer'n anyone. He tried to out-wake me but in the end he fell into the sweet arms of slumber, and the sucker thought he'd tied me safe, but ain't nothing can hold me down. I got a trick for that. I snuck out of my bonds and I lashed that son of a whore's feet and hands together and then I just picked up his daemon and tied her to his horse and unhobbled the horse. Man! That was funny. He woke up and he saw the terrible fix he was in. He kept saying, "Here, Sunshine, good horse, don't go 'way now, come on, you dumb critter, please please now don't move." As long as that horse didn't move too far he could just about live, but if something was to startle her so she ran off, well, bang, thassit. Like a hand coming up inside your ribs and feeling your heart still beating and pulling and pulling it till the strings and the veins all pop and it comes away in your hand. Man, you're dead then all right. In the end I took his gun and I fired it in the air and off оГ Sunshine took like a cannon ball. You ain't never heard a scream like that marshal screamed.

'Well, I'm gone do that to you, Scoresby. There's that big hoist outside the doors there with a rope on it. I'm gone play a trick with that, you bet. I'm gone play with you and that scrawny jackrabbit for a long time.'

The pool of fish oil had spread. It was close enough now for Lee to reach out and touch it, and then he saw Hester look that way too, and then at him, and then at his pistol, and he knew at once what she meant.

McConville was still talking, but Lee blanked out his voice and with infinite care reached for the pistol at his waist. Holding it on his lap, he touched a finger to the pool of oil and brought a drop to the pivot of the hammer, and another to the trigger mechanism, and another to the bearing of the cylinder. With his weakened left hand holding the barrel as firmly as he could, he turned the cylinder with his right, very slowly, and felt it loosen. He pulled back the hammer: it moved stiffly at first, and then freely. He made sure there was a cartridge in the chamber, and sat with the pistol cocked, waiting for McConville's deep grating voice to stop.

'Well, Scoresby, I'm gone start killing you now. This

is your end a-coming. It's gone be a hard one and a long one. I made that other marshal's end last a good half- hour by his pretty watch, which I took. I think I might let you stick around a mite longer'n that. Depends how much you scream.'

Lee heard the sound of a man getting to his feet and coughing slightly as if to cover a grunt of pain. So he had been hit!

And Hester pricked up her ears, tensing suddenly, as she and Lee heard another sound: the slither of a serpent body along a wooden floor, and the faint dry clicking of a rattle. McConville's daemon, impatient to get the torture started, was moving ahead of him.

And then, not six feet away at the end of the rack of barrels, the snake-head appeared - and Hester sprang, and seized it.

She gripped the daemon just behind the head, and bit down hard. Lee felt every quiver of her muscles, and clenched his teeth in sympathy with hers.

McConville uttered a great cry of rage and pain and fell to the floor behind the barrels. Unable to move, Lee watched the furious struggle between the lashing, coiling, whipping snake and the tense little form of Hester, her claws slipping as she scrabbled on the floor. There was nothing for her to get any purchase on - no good turf, no springy twigs of sage - nothing but smooth boards, and the little rabbit had only half the weight of the snake; and Lee could feel with his daemon the furious power of the twisting, writhing form of McConville's as she flung herself left, right, left, trying

Hester's teeth.

'Keep going, gal,' Lee whispered. 'Hold tight there, sweetheart...'

And she dug in, she

tightened her trembling jaw,

she scrabbled and slipped but she dug in again and tugged, and dragged, and hauled, and little by little pulled McConville's daemon away from him.

McConville's cries were hideous. He scrambled across the floor - Lee could hear his boots slipping, his fingernails scratching - his grunts and roars echoed around the warehouse till the air was full of the noise, and then helplessly he stumbled round the end of the rack of barrels, and Lee shot him.

McConville crashed backwards against the window and slid to the floor. In Hester's mouth his daemon sagged and loosened, but Hester kept on tugging, and it was easier now, and McConville sobbed, 'No - no - don't do it - goddamn bitch rabbit -'

His face was the colour of dirty paper. His mouth was a sagging red hole and his eyes were bulging.

'McConville,' said Lee, 'you shot Mike Martinez and Broadus Vinson from a hiding place, like a coward, and then you made little Jimmy Partlett fight you because he didn't want you to think he was a coward. You're a dirty piece of work, and this is the end of you.'

to tear her neck out from be

And he shot the man through the heart. His daemon vanished, and Hester tumbled back towards Lee, who

scooped her up and kissed her and held her close till she stopped trembling.

'You better move, Lee,' she whispered. 'You got about ten seconds before you're sitting in a pool of fish oil.'

'And now our troubles begin, Hester,' Lee muttered, struggling to pull himself upright, and just in time, too.

Gingerly he moved his left arm and found, at least, that he could. He put his pistol back in the holster and went to pick up the rifle.

Then he looked out of the window and saw the ship's crew at work covering the forward hatch, so they must have loaded the cargo. But one man lay dead on the deck, under a sheet of canvas, and nearby on the quay a crowd headed by Poliakov was being held at bay by Iorek Byrnison, whose bulk stood foursquare on the flagstones confronting them. Poliakov was addressing the crowd; Lee could hear the muscular drone of his voice, but not the words. He was trying to get them to move forward and - well, attack the schooner, Lee supposed, but the bear would have stopped a madder, braver crowd than this.

Lee could also hear the chug of the schooner's auxiliary engine, and see the exhaust smoke puffing from the pipe amidships. She was nearly ready to leave.

He made his way carefully down the stairs. On the ground floor he found a chaos of torn bundles of skins, broken spars and lengths of timber, and the great steel sheet of the door lying flat beside the entrance.

He walked out into the sunlight and made his way to the bear's side.

'Well, York Byrnison, the trouble's gone from upstairs,' he said.

The bear's head swung round to look at him, the black eyes glinting under the great iron ridge.

And then Lee's head swam and he lost his balance for a moment, but the bear's head moved in a flash and seized his coat between his teeth, and gently pulled him upright again.

And then things became confusing.

There was someone shouting from the crowd, or did it come from beyond them? Loud voices bellowing commands, anyway, and then the disciplined quick tramp-tramp-tramp of running feet in heavy boots coming along the quay. Behind him, Lee heard a splash, and then turned carefully to see the bear's helmeted head emerging from the water and moving swiftly away.

But he had to turn round again, because an angry voice was shouting, 'You! Drop your weapon! Drop it now!'

And he saw it came from the man in charge of the squad of running men in Larsen Manganese uniforms, who had arrived at the head of the crowd now and stood, rifles aimed, facing him like a firing squad. Poliakov was standing safely behind them, frowning his approval.

Lee considered that he didn't feel inclined to drop that nice rifle, and he was about to say so when another layer of confusion was added to the mix. A different voice from behind him said, 'Mr Lee Scoresby, you are under arrest.'

Cautiously, in case he fell over, Lee turned once more. The man who'd spoken was one of three; young, armed with a pistol, and in a different uniform.

'Who the hell are you?' Lee said.

'Never mind him!' yelled the Larsen Manganese leader. 'Do as I say!'

'I am Lieutenant Haugland. We are from the Customs and Revenue Board, Mr Scoresby,' said the young man calmly, 'and I repeat, you are und^r 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-daemon 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. T 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 ear, 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

ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE NORTH

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?'

Torek,' growled the bear. 'No, Mr Scarsby, I have not.'

Torek. 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 daemon 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 Haugland 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. Torek's right. I always knew I had more class than a rabbit.'

THE END

PERIL OF THE POLE

Once every decade the great Rally to the Pole is floxvn in the far frozen north. Intrepid balloonists and their dcemons from across the arctic, both professional traders and daring amateurs, gather together at the city of Reykjavik in Fireland to contest this perilous competition of amazing skill and death-defying hazard. By tradition the race starts in the perfect ballooning weather conditions of early autumn, when the ocean is still frozen. But this is the calm before the storm and the first catastrophic tempests of winter can arrive without warning and cause disaster.

So dangerous is the race that there have been repeated calls for it to be banned. For as everyone knows, at the North Pole there is a vast system of caverns leading into the centre of the earth, where the Polar Ocean swirls downward in a great vortex of water and ice. It is so horribly dangerous that no one has ever gone there and come back alive.

Now you and your dcemon can experience all the thrills of the Rally to the Pole together. Normal game courtesies apply and players may only confer with their dcemons. You will need one die and a pencil.

Too exciting for children under 5 years of age. RULES OF PLAY

I. This game is for four to six players and their daemons. Each player should select a different coloured Balloon Piece.

II. Decide who goes first with a roll of the die. Whoever scores the lowest launches their balloon first, before the rest of the field. This player's roll is doubled because of clear skies.

III. Players then take their turns in clockwise order from the first player and roll the die to decide how far they go.

IV. Any Hazards you encounter must be obeyed.

V. If a player lands on a wind rose ^^ they must face the ever-changing Arctic gusts that make this race so dangerous. Spin the Wind using the wind compass to decide in which direction you and your balloon will be blown.* Move one space in the direction shown by the spinner.

VI. Race officials do not allow two balloons to occupy the same air space. If you land on a space that is occupied by another player's balloon, that player must move on the same number of spaces that you have just thrown. Any Hazards encountered because of this must be obeyed.

1

For example, if player A throws a four and lands on the same space as player B, player В must move forward four spaces.

VII. The last six spaces before the Pole are within the Vortex Zone. This is an area of eerie calm, yet extreme danger. When a player lands on one of the red Vortex spaces, they are safe and do not need to move again until they throw the exact number of spaces required to reach the Pole.

For example, if a player is three spaces from the Pole and rolls a six, they can rest on their current space and wait for their next throw.

VIII. Should you be unfortunate enough to reach the Pole, your balloon and everything in it will be crushed by the swirling ice and deadly ocean currents that wait there.

IX. The last balloon in the air wins the race!

*It is important that you take a great deal of care when constructing your Wind Compass. Any inaccuracies could see you and your balloon blown hundreds of miles off-course and disqualified from the competition. Follow the instructions and have a brave race.

If your compass is not functioning with enough precision, use a die to determine wind direction. Rolling one, two or three will send you north, towards the Pole. Rolling four will send you south, five will send you east and six will send you west.