"What is horashevë?" said Singer.
"What we'd call pemmican on Earth," said Okagamut.
"Well, what's that?"
"It's what we'll be eating. Go on, Dyenük."
"But now, sirs, I come to the sad part of the tale, as it says in the story of the princess with two heads. For a disease has afflicted the fsyok-kennels of this-land within the last two ten-nights, so that I can spare you but five fsyokn to pull your sled."
"Five!" said Okagamut.
"Aye, but big and strong. They'll manage everywhere save on steep slopes, and as for that, such lusty youths as yourselves should make no obstacle thereof."
"We're in a fix," said Okagamut to Singer. "I was counting on nine. We'll have to push the damned sled halfway to Olñega."
"Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, as that chap Napoleon said," replied Singer cheerfully. "Oh well, they says exercise is good for one." And he left the technicalities to his companion while he turned his charm on Mayey.
Pyesatül announced dinner, during which Okagamut and the oldster chattered about weather, weight of equipment, food required per man per day, and other factors in polar travel. As they talked in local units of measurement, Singer could make nothing of it. Dyenük also inveighed against the tyranny of the Kangandite cult, who by their tabus on meat had impoverished honest herders:
"The revenue from the hides, sirs, barely pays my taxes; wherefore for tobacco and such simples I must sell through folk like Syechas—I, always hitherto a veritable pillar of legality ..."
Afterwards Okagamut said: "With your kind permission we'll retire, omitting supper to be up early on the morrow."
Singer murmured to Mayey: "See you later, little one," before his companion hauled him away to their room.
When Okagamut seemed to be breathing regularly, Singer got up, slipped on his shirt and pants, and tiptoed to the door.
"What are you up to, Dinky?" came a sharp whisper.
"Nothing to fret about. Just a date with the dinkum sheila."
"Damn you! Move and I'll put a bolt through you!"
The lamp came on, and Singer saw that his friend did indeed have his crossbow-pistol in hand, loaded and cocked.
"What the flopping hell's bothering you, pal?" said Singer. "Don't get off your bike over this!"
"You leave those girls alone, see?"
"And what business is it of yours, may I inquah?"
"Anything you do while you're with me's my business. If you make a pass at those girls, I'll kill you. We've got enough troubles without leaving some broken-hearted Jane to put Yadjye's cops on your track."
"But I was only going to give her a bit of a smoodge—good clean fun."
"You heard me. If you don't like it you can stay here while I take the team. I can get across the Psheshuva alone, and you can't. Get me?"
"Oh, hell!" Singer pulled off his shirt, wadded it up, and threw, it in a corner.
Next morning, his feelings still hurt, Singer ate in glowering silence, speaking to Okagamut only when he had to and then in curt monosyllables. He cast furtive glances at the girls and thought of what might have been. He did not, however, plan to circumvent Okagamut's tabu; the damned little Chow might smear him, and in any case, he'd never get to Olñega.
When Singer would have relaxed over his pipe after breakfast, Okagamut said briskly: "Turn to, chum; we've got work."
Dyenük led them outside to a shed wherein a mess of gear was piled on and around a big sled. The herder proffered mittens and overboots until he had fitted both of them. Then he brought forth two pairs of short skis shod on the bottom with tvortsevë-hide, the bristles pointing aft.
"Be sure your bindings are tight, my lords," he said. "I once rented skis to a man of Vyutr who insisted on going out on the glacier with loose bindings. Naturally he floundered in the snow, without control, and when a pudamef crept out of a crevasse the poor lad could do nought."
"What's a pudamef?" said Singer.
"A kind of snow-dragon they have around the edges of the plateau," said Okagamut. "Dyenük, how about poles?"
"We use these," said their host, getting down a spear with a ski-pole disc near its butt-end.
Okagamut swung the object. "Too heavy for one hand, but if we're likely to meet pudamefn it will be useful. W'll just have to learn to ski with one pole."
Dyenük explained the operation of the tent and other pieces of equipment, then took them out to a lean-to built against the side of the shed. "The horashevë for the fsyokn is finished," he said, "but not yours. 'Twould have been, save that one of the beasts slipped his tether two nights gone and feasted on the man-food. You, Dinky, shall dice this haunch of unha while your friend stirs the fat-cauldron and I weigh out ingredients. Girls! Girls! How are your biscuits coming?"
Singer looked in dismay at the pile of bricks of composition food already stacked against the shed. "Good gods, have we got to haul all that?"
"Absolutely," said Okagamut. "For the work that's ahead of us, you need at least 5,000 calories a day."
Singer chopped at slabs of meat and heaps of dried vegetables with a knife until his fingers ached, then stirred the fat in the rendering-pot until his arm ached and the stench nearly suffocated him, then mixed ingredients until he could hardly stand for weariness. They took but a few minutes out for lunch. Dyeniik's daughters brought out a huge pile of biscuits and smaller amounts of other Krishnan foods, which they began packing into leather bags, together with the bricks of frozen horashevë. Then they packed the smaller bags into two large canvas containers.
Okagamut indicated one of these, saying.: "Okay, Dinky, that's your grub for the trip."
"Mine?" said Singer, hefting the container. "Gad, she must weigh five stone. That's a year's tucker!"
"Remember that when you're tempted to eat over your daily ration ... What is it, Pyesatül?"
"Lord," said the younger girl, "I know not if I should disturb you, but yonder come a party of men towards our steading."
Sure enough, far off, where the plain first began to break up into the rolling foothills that led up to their present height, a little group of black specks was creeping over the landscape.
"Have you got a telescope?" Okagamut asked Dyenük.
"Aye. I'll fetch it."
They took turns looking through the glass. The black specks were undoubtedly men on ayas.
"What'll we do?" said Singer. "Run for it?"
"We've got to pack the sled first," said Okagamut. "It'll take them some hours to reach here, won't it, Dyenük?"
"Aye." They hauled the sled out of the shed and began stowing and lashing their gear to it.
"What can I do?" said Singer, feeling useless.
"Keep out of our way," snapped Okagamut. Singer's anger at his companion, which had died down during the day's work, flared up again. He stamped off.
It seemed to Singer that they took an interminable time checking and re-arranging their gear. Finally they lashed a tarpaulin over the whole, and manhandled the sled around to the front of the house.
"Bear a hand!" barked Okagamut. Although offended, Singer complied. The weight of the loaded sled amazed him.
"It'll lighten as we go," said Okagamut.
"Huh," said Singer. "It's fair cow that it should be heaviest at the start, when we're going uphill."
They went around to the kennels, where Dyenük handed Singer the leash of one of the fsyokn and told him to lead the animal back to the sled. Singer did not like the wide mouth and fangs of the creature, a big long-haired cousin of the eshun, which in more equatorial nations performed the office of tame dog. The beast, however, seemed eager to be hitched up and with its six powerful legs almost pulled Singer off his feet. It scudded through the thin slushy snow, Singer bouncing behind.