Читаем The Blue Ice полностью

We stopped. A distant murmur could be heard through the sound of the stillness. It was water running over rocks. 'That's Osterbo,' he said. 'Wiv any luck we'll find 'im there.'

'What about Lovaas?' I asked.

'Dunno,' he replied. 'He ain't come this way. See — there's four ski tracks here. So that's Farnell's party. Maybe Lovaas stayed back at Nasbo, that saeter by the lake. He could rest up there and go on to Osterbo by moonlight.'

'But it was all locked up,' I said.

'Maybe he turned back when it began to get dark.'

'But we'd have heard him if he'd passed us,' I pointed out.

'Not if he passed us da'n by the river.' He gripped my arm. 'Look! Stars showin' nan. Goin' ter be a fine night.'

We went on then, following the four dim ski tracks. The sound of water grew louder. We reached a stone wall, followed it and came to a bridge across a torrent. The snow on the wooden cross-planks had been churned up by many skis. It was impossible to tell how many people had crossed. Across the bridge we swung to the right. And there, straight ahead of us, was a faint glimmer of light — red and soft, like the flicker of a camp fire.

Stars were patterning the sky ahead of us as we glided across the snow towards that light. The drawn veil of the mist gave shape to things — stone wall, a graveyard with two solitary crosses, the dull steel of a lake beyond. I drew my pistol from my rucksack. Soon we could see the sprawling shape of the Turisthytten. Nearest the lake was the old, original saeter, stone-built with turf roof. Behind it ran a new, wooden building. It was from this that the light shone. And as we got nearer we could see that it was a flicker of a fire. The snow ran smooth and white to the edge of the building. No shadow moved. Complete silence save for the murmur of the stream. The ski tracks ran to the door of the hut. And coming in from the left, other tracks ran to the window and thence to the door.

The click of a lock sounded through the starlit darkness. The click of a lock or was it the cocking of a gun? We froze in our tracks. There it was again. It came from the house. Sunde suddenly gripped my arm. 'The door,' he said.

The door swung to with a click. A moment later there was a dark gap. Then it swung to again. Someone had left the door to the hut open and it was swinging in the chill breeze. Somehow it made me think of the heels of a hanging man. 'You take the winder,' Sunde said. 'Oi'll take the door.'

I nodded. It was only later that I realised to what extent my weariness had allowed him to assume direction of the situation. I skied up to the dark wall of the hut and then worked my way along. What should we find? That open door — surely Farnell wouldn't have left the door open? Or was he standing there, watching and waiting for visitors?

Sunde's shadow slid up to the door. I saw him remove his skis and creep in through the entrance, pistol in hand. I glided along to the window and peered quickly in. At first glance the room looked empty. But as I drew back out of sight I realised that there had been a bundle of something in the far corner. I looked again. There in the far corner were three rucksacks. Around them lay a litter of clothes and food. There was more, food on the table. And an axe and a pile of logs lay beside the fire. I nearly cut my nose on a broken pane trying to peer more closely into the room. I touched the framework of the window. It moved. I pulled it open and felt the warmth of the fire. The door was flung wide and Sunde stood there, his pistol in his hand. He looked at three rucksacks. Then at me, peering in through the open window.

'So, he's gorn, 'as 'e?'

My numbed mind didn't think as fast as that. All I saw was the warmth of the fire. Farnell could wait. There was no hurry now. There were his rucksacks. He had a warm fire blazing. I thought of a cup of tea. I took off my skis and hurried round to the door. I dragged myself along a dark corridor with little cubicles leading off. Then I was in the room with the fire. I staggered toward it and slipped my rucksack to the ground.

God, it was wonderful, that fire! My numbed body received its warmth with unbelievable gratitude. If I could have purred, my life would have been complete in that moment.

'Can't 'ave left long,' Sunde said, scratching his head and spreading his hands to the blaze. He still had his rucksack on his back. He carried it as though it were part of him.

'What do you mean?' I asked.

Sunde stared at me. 'Gawd!' he said. 'This ain't like you, Mr Gansert. 'Ow many rucksacks d'you see?'

'Three,' I answered sleepily. But some little thought was nagging at my mind, burrowing up into consciousness. Then I got to my feet. 'My God!' I said. 'Three. There should be four.'

He nodded. 'That's roight. They bin ahead o' us.'

'Lovaas?' I asked.