The boat heeled so violently that Tali was thrown off her feet and went sliding towards the side, the cocked crossbow spinning ahead of her. If it went off…
Snap, thud, crash!
“What the hell are you doing?” roared Holm, who was fighting the wheel.
Tali struck the side, whacking her head on a timber rib. Holm raced out but did not look her way; he was heaving on the lines, adjusting the sails. He ran in, spun the wheel, then called over his shoulder, “You all right?”
She got up, rubbing her head, picked up the crossbow and lurched across the deck. Ahead was a maze of icebergs, hundreds of them, ranging from monsters the size of a small town down to berglets no bigger than a house, and pancake floes that only stood a few inches out of the water. How was Holm going to manoeuvre through all that?
Tali went into the cabin. “What happened?”
He indicated a gouge in the brass wheel. “Your bolt glanced off the wheel and struck the porridge pot amidships. I’m afraid it’s gone down with all hands.”
The saucepan, which Tali had left on the bench, was crumpled on the side facing her and had a neat hole through it.
“Sorry. Was thrown off my feet. Why did the boat heel over that way?”
“Sudden wind shift,” said Holm. “Among the bergs, the wind can come from any direction, and there’s no predicting it. Reload your bow. You’re going to need it.”
She did so, hastily.
“This time, hang on,” said Holm.
They shot through a narrow gap between two icebergs. The sides matched so well that Tali wondered if they had been one iceberg that had split in half.
“Only three racers are following us,” said Tali. “Do you think we’ve lost the others?”
“Not a chance. They’ll have gone out wide, hoping to find a quicker way through the ice to cut us off.”
“I suppose they’ll be a lot quicker in here.”
“You suppose right. Manoeuvrability is everything when you’re in the ice. And with their shallow keels they can cut through places I don’t dare. Brace yourself — and don’t point that thing anywhere near me.”
Tali clamped onto the rail and lowered the crossbow. They headed out into open water.
“Or yourself!” yelled Holm.
Tali realised it was aimed at her left foot. She directed it away and clung on as the boat heeled again.
“Look out!” roared Holm, and spun the wheel hard. Something struck the starboard side of the boat a glancing blow, driving it sideways, then they shot past. A little ice floe, awash and almost invisible in the water.
She looked up and there, directly ahead, were the other two shell racers.
“They’re planning to board us from either side,” said Holm. “Shoot!”
She aimed at the middle of the leading rower, a barrel-chested fellow wearing a red, tasselled hat, but as she fired, Holm spun the wheel the other way. The bolt went wide as the boat veered off to starboard.
The two racers turned in their own length and raced ahead to cut them off. The three behind were only forty yards away. The enemy’s plan had gone perfectly. In a minute or two they would be surrounded.
“Shoot!” yelled Holm.
Which target? The racer following in their wake was the closest. Tali inserted another bolt, aimed at the leading man, but as she was about to fire the bow dropped. She could not shoot him in cold blood, just like that.
She fired. He let out a yelp as the bolt passed between his shins and slammed into the floor of the boat.
“If you can’t kill him, at least disable the bastard,” said Holm.
Tali took aim at the side of the man’s chest but, before she could fire, the shell racer slowed sharply. It was noticeably bow-down now, and the leading rower was groping in water that must have been flooding in through a hole in the bottom.
“Your bolt smashed through a plank,” said Holm. “Hull must be thin as an egg.”
The leading man dropped his oar and bent over, pushing down as though trying to block the hole with his fist, but it wasn’t working. The racer was filling fast, the waves already lapping at its low sides.
“One wave and they’re gone,” whispered Tali.
As she spoke, a little wave curled over the side and the long, low craft sank beneath the rowers, leaving them struggling in the water.
“Help!” they cried, waving frantically to their fellows.
Their pleas were ignored and, one by one, the cold got to them and they sank.
“The others are greedy for the prize,” said Holm, shaking his head.
Tali did not reply. She was too shocked. She stared at the grey water, imagining that she was thrashing uselessly in the cold sea, about to drown.
“Hang on!” Holm yelled.
He heeled the boat over so sharply that she was flung against the side once more. This time she took the blow on shoulder and hip, managing to keep her grip on the crossbow. She looked up and gasped. Holm was hurtling towards a tiny gap, only twenty feet wide, between two icebergs. It was a clever strategy, if it worked, for the shell racers could not attack from the sides and would have to follow. But if the boat struck hard enough, it would go straight to the bottom.
They hurtled down the gap, driven by a strong wind funnelled between the two icebergs. Tali could not bear to look ahead. Not far behind, the leading two shell racers were flying after them into the gap.
“We’ve got you now,” a yellow-haired giant in the first craft roared.
Then suddenly they were hauling on their oars, churning the water to foam as they frantically tried to row backwards out of the gap. But, outside, the wind was gusting one way, then the other, and their sail was driving them forwards. The third rower yanked down the sail, the oars dug deep and the craft shot backwards, colliding with the second craft, whose sail had jammed on the mast, and snapping its two front oars.
“Why are they going backwards?” said Tali. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve raced those craft, and the oars span twenty-four feet,” Holm said smugly. “Unless they ship them, they won’t fit through the gap.”
The leading craft kept going, driving past the second shell racer and back out to safety. The other craft wasn’t so lucky. In the confusion after its front oars were broken the wind drove it into the gap between the icebergs, snapping the remaining oars. Now it was driven sideways. The bow struck one iceberg, the stern another, and the wind blowing into the sail turned the shell racer upside-down.
None of its crew came to the surface.
“They should have shipped their oars and gone through on the wind,” said Holm. “It’s wild outside, but good and steady in here. But it’s not easy to do the right thing in an emergency.”
“Like the emergency of our gap closing?” said Tali, who was looking ahead.
Holm cursed, wiggled the wheel to glide them past a projection of the right-hand berg, then back the other way to escape an outjutting ledge of the iceberg on the left. Deep down, wood groaned as it scraped past a submerged obstacle.
Holm looked grave. “That didn’t sound good. I hope it hasn’t sprung the planking.”
Tali didn’t ask what that meant. “Three racers left. Can the one behind catch us?”
“Depends. It’s the other two I’m worried about. I’ve no idea where they went.”
“But these icebergs must be shifting all the time. They can’t know where we’ll end up.”
“They can’t,” Holm agreed. “Passages that are open one hour are gone the next. But if they’re sound judges of wind and current they might guess where we’ll appear.”
Ahead, the gap opened out to fifty feet, then closed again to less than twenty, and the boat was hurtling. There was no room for error and no leeway to manoeuvre.
“At least the wind is steady in here,” said Holm.
“More like a gale,” Tali muttered.
“The ice sheet creates its own wind, and the gaps between the bergs funnel it. Ah, I see the end.”
They shot out of the gap, the boat heeled under a crosswind, and Holm checked all around. Ahead were more icebergs, as far as she could see.