Red Heat by Nina Bruhns Page A

That ceremony. With all his other, more immediate concerns, Nikolai had totally forgotten about the traditional crossing-of-the-line festivities. For centuries, the rare event of passing north of the Arctic Circle had been marked by initiating the first-timers—pollywogs, as they were known—into the Royal Order of the Bluenose. But first they were put through a series of trials . . . to test their worthiness to enter the frigid realm of the northern sea gods. These trials were usually amusing—to those watching, anyway—often disgusting, and always freezing cold. The date line ceremonies were generally far less elaborate, and often skipped altogether because crossing it had become so routine in these days of easy global travel.
    “A few of the men,” Zubkin continued, “it is their first time crossing either. And one of the expedition members, too. Miss Severin.”
    The entire command post watch had looked up at the mention of the ceremony and were now following the conversation with avid interest. All but Starpom Varnas, whose face had suddenly lost much of the color it had gained from the morning’s watch.
    “Because it jogs around Attu, we’ll actually be crossing the international date line several times,” Nikolai corrected, then grimaced. “It has made writing down the watch schedule ridiculously complicated.”
    The nav nodded. “Our first crossing of the date line will be tomorrow. On Midsummer’s Eve.” He emphasized the last two words.
    “Quite a coincidence,” Nikolai said cautiously, sensing there was more coming.
    “A very auspicious coincidence,” Zubkin said gravely, but with a twinkle in his eye.
    Slowly, Nikolai smiled. Okay, he’d play along. “Indeed. And how would you suggest we mark this momentous occasion, Praporshchik Zubkin?” he asked.
    “Well, sir”—Zubkin leaned in, feigning conspiracy, but spoke loudly enough for all to hear—“we have received a missive from Boreas Rex, Ruler of the North Wind and Sovereign of All the Frozen Reaches It Touches. He wishes to send an emissary to prescreen the warm bodies who wish to enter his Icy Realm as Bluenoses.”
    Nikolai lifted a brow. “Doesn’t that usually happen when actually passing the Arctic Circle?”
    Zubkin pretended to frown. The rest of the men’s grins grew even wider. “Not the actual trials, Kapitan . Just a quick assessment. King Boreas says he’s extremely busy this week, sir. An unprecedented number of pollywogs headed for the Great North. Quite a traffic jam.”
    “Okaa-ay . . .” Nikolai had a hard time imagining a traffic pileup at the Arctic Circle.
    Zubkin continued, “Boreas would like his emissary to assess each initiate’s worthiness, in preparation for the physical trials the king himself will conduct when we reach the Arctic Circle.”
    Nikolai was beginning to see where this was going. Any excuse for a party. “And when exactly would this assessment take place . . . ?” Like he didn’t know.
    “Tomorrow, sir. On Midsummer’s Eve. When we cross the international date line.”
    Nikolai felt his lip twitch. “I see. And who, may I ask, has Boreas appointed as his emissary for this unusual visit? King Neptune, perhaps?”
    Zubkin shook his head. “Unfortunately, Neptune is also very busy this week. At the equator, sir.”
    Now Nikolai was really curious. Neptune and Boreas were the only two gods who could officially preside over Arctic Circle–crossing Bluenose ceremonies, as far as he knew. Of course, this wasn’t the actual ceremony they were talking about. . . .
    Again he played along. “All right. Then which god will Boreas send in his place to assess our lowly pollywogs?”
    “In honor of Midsummer,” Zubkin said with a barely maintained aura of sagacity, “Lord Ægir has graciously consented to officiate, sir. The mighty Nordic God of the Sea.”
    It took a second to understand why Zubkin and the others looked ready to burst their seams. Then Nikolai got it and laughed out