deserted at the
moment. Parkas, fur pants, and moose hide gloves hung from the rafters near the
stove to dry, and the air smelled strongly of wet wool and sweat.
“Nicholas!”
Jack called as he knocked the snow off his boots. “I’m back, and I’ve brought
the Ladysmith expedition with me.”
The man
behind the counter looked up. He was older than Jack, perhaps in his late
thirties, the sandy hair beneath his bowler hat touched with gray. But his body
remained sturdy, shoulders straining at his coat.
A bright
smile immediately creased his weather-seamed face. “Jack! Well done, well done.”
He emerged from behind the counter to shake hands with his partner.
Jack
introduced each of us, and Nicholas Turner shook our hands with great
enthusiasm. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said. “I’d wager few camps in Alaska
have entertained such eminent guests, Dr. Putnam, Dr. Whyborne.”
Christine
looked somewhat mollified. Why Turner thought me eminent, I didn’t know, unless
he was unusually familiar with philology. Or perhaps Jack had told him my
father ran one of the biggest railroads in America. That seemed more likely,
although somewhat depressing personally.
“You
must all be exhausted after your long journey,” Turner went on. “I’ll show you
to your cabins.
“I’d
like to see the stele,” Christine said.
“First
thing tomorrow,” Turner agreed with a nod. “For now, even though most of our
work takes place in the dark, Hoarfrost still marks the end of the day with
sunset. The saloon will fill up soon, and I won’t be able to get away. I
confess I’d like to be on hand when you first see the stele.”
Blast.
We didn’t have much time left—only six days until the seals became their
weakest, and we still had no idea what the umbra might be. Let alone from where
we could expect it to emerge—through a tear in the veil to the Outside,
from beneath the stele itself, or from somewhere else. I exchanged a glance
with Griffin, but what could we do? Hopefully a few hours wouldn’t make much
difference.
Christine
seemed no happier than us, but she conceded with a nod. “Very well, Mr. Turner.
We shall do things your way.”
Chapter 18
Griffin
Our
cabin was small but well built, the windowless walls of thick logs sealed
against the cold outside. The only furniture consisted of a bunk, both upper
and lower bed wide enough to accommodate two men; four chairs whose seats were
made from logs split in half and sanded, and a rough table.
Whyborne
lit the Yukon stove with magic while Iskander and I transported our belongings
from the sleds to this tiny building. By the time we finished, the little cabin
had warmed nicely. Whyborne took out his river stones and heated them with his
hands, before tucking them into the sleeping bags and fur robes we’d spread on
the beds.
Iskander
glanced at the door, then at us. His white teeth flashed as he bit his lip. “I’m,
ah, going to find Christine,” he said. “I imagine we’ll dine at the restaurant.
She’ll complain of the expense, but a hot meal of something other than beans
and bacon will do wonders for us all.”
“Should
we help you look for Christine?” Whyborne asked innocently.
I
restrained the urge to kick his ankle. Iskander’s bronze face flushed darker,
and he shook his head. “No, it’s…no. I’ll be back later. Much later.”
He fled.
I shook my head with a chuckle. “A good fellow,” I remarked, as I finished
making our bed. “Not entirely comfortable with us yet, I think, but I won’t
fault him for his thoughtfulness.”
Whyborne
blinked at me. “What do you mean?”
I turned
from the window and stalked toward him. “Iskander went out of his way to let us
know he wouldn’t be back for some time. Freeing us for…other things.”
Whyborne’s
eyes widened, and his cheeks went scarlet. “I…you mean…if we…he’ll know?”
“ Assume is the word I’d use.” I laughed at his horrified expression.
moment. Parkas, fur pants, and moose hide gloves hung from the rafters near the
stove to dry, and the air smelled strongly of wet wool and sweat.
“Nicholas!”
Jack called as he knocked the snow off his boots. “I’m back, and I’ve brought
the Ladysmith expedition with me.”
The man
behind the counter looked up. He was older than Jack, perhaps in his late
thirties, the sandy hair beneath his bowler hat touched with gray. But his body
remained sturdy, shoulders straining at his coat.
A bright
smile immediately creased his weather-seamed face. “Jack! Well done, well done.”
He emerged from behind the counter to shake hands with his partner.
Jack
introduced each of us, and Nicholas Turner shook our hands with great
enthusiasm. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” he said. “I’d wager few camps in Alaska
have entertained such eminent guests, Dr. Putnam, Dr. Whyborne.”
Christine
looked somewhat mollified. Why Turner thought me eminent, I didn’t know, unless
he was unusually familiar with philology. Or perhaps Jack had told him my
father ran one of the biggest railroads in America. That seemed more likely,
although somewhat depressing personally.
“You
must all be exhausted after your long journey,” Turner went on. “I’ll show you
to your cabins.
“I’d
like to see the stele,” Christine said.
“First
thing tomorrow,” Turner agreed with a nod. “For now, even though most of our
work takes place in the dark, Hoarfrost still marks the end of the day with
sunset. The saloon will fill up soon, and I won’t be able to get away. I
confess I’d like to be on hand when you first see the stele.”
Blast.
We didn’t have much time left—only six days until the seals became their
weakest, and we still had no idea what the umbra might be. Let alone from where
we could expect it to emerge—through a tear in the veil to the Outside,
from beneath the stele itself, or from somewhere else. I exchanged a glance
with Griffin, but what could we do? Hopefully a few hours wouldn’t make much
difference.
Christine
seemed no happier than us, but she conceded with a nod. “Very well, Mr. Turner.
We shall do things your way.”
Chapter 18
Griffin
Our
cabin was small but well built, the windowless walls of thick logs sealed
against the cold outside. The only furniture consisted of a bunk, both upper
and lower bed wide enough to accommodate two men; four chairs whose seats were
made from logs split in half and sanded, and a rough table.
Whyborne
lit the Yukon stove with magic while Iskander and I transported our belongings
from the sleds to this tiny building. By the time we finished, the little cabin
had warmed nicely. Whyborne took out his river stones and heated them with his
hands, before tucking them into the sleeping bags and fur robes we’d spread on
the beds.
Iskander
glanced at the door, then at us. His white teeth flashed as he bit his lip. “I’m,
ah, going to find Christine,” he said. “I imagine we’ll dine at the restaurant.
She’ll complain of the expense, but a hot meal of something other than beans
and bacon will do wonders for us all.”
“Should
we help you look for Christine?” Whyborne asked innocently.
I
restrained the urge to kick his ankle. Iskander’s bronze face flushed darker,
and he shook his head. “No, it’s…no. I’ll be back later. Much later.”
He fled.
I shook my head with a chuckle. “A good fellow,” I remarked, as I finished
making our bed. “Not entirely comfortable with us yet, I think, but I won’t
fault him for his thoughtfulness.”
Whyborne
blinked at me. “What do you mean?”
I turned
from the window and stalked toward him. “Iskander went out of his way to let us
know he wouldn’t be back for some time. Freeing us for…other things.”
Whyborne’s
eyes widened, and his cheeks went scarlet. “I…you mean…if we…he’ll know?”
“ Assume is the word I’d use.” I laughed at his horrified expression.
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