Time of the Great Freeze (15 page)

"Are there sick men aboard?" Dr. Barnes asked. "We can try to heal them. We have medicines with us."

Kennart returned and parleyed again with the seafarers chief. This time, the conversation was less heated; it seemed that the man of the sea was replying with irony now rather than with anger. For long moments they talked. Then Kennart walked back to the sleds.

"He asked me why your faces were so pale," Kennart reported. "I told him you had come up out of the ice from a city in the Earth, and he laughed at me. He did not believe me. I told him of your journey, and said that the gods protected you, but he laughed at that, too. His gods are not mine. He said he has no sick men on board, no need of passengers, no wish to take you. He is half minded, he says, to kill you for the sport, and take your sleighs to sell to the people of the South."

"Friendly sort," Jim muttered.

Dr. Barnes said, "Isn't there any way we can buy a trip across? Anything we can give him?"

Kennart smiled crookedly. "He said one thing, I think as a joke. He said if any of you can vanquish him in single combat, he will grant you passage. Otherwise he will take your lives. It is his way of amusing himself."

"Impossible," Dr. Barnes said. "We couldn't-"

"Wait, Dad," Jim cut in. He glanced at Kennart and said, "Tell him I accept his challenge, but I demand my choice of weapons."

Kennart frowned. Dr. Barnes said, "What are you up to, Jim?"

"Leave this to me, Dad."

"You can't duel with that viking! He'll cut you to shreds, Jim! He must weigh almost three hundred pounds, and…"

"I'll handle him," Jim said. "Go on, Kennart. Tell him I accept."

"I forbid this, Jim," Dr. Barnes said.

Jim looked steadily at his father. "I think I can handle this, Dad. It's our only chance to get across. If they don't take us, we're stranded here at the edge of the sea-provided they don't kill us outright. Give me the chance. Kennart's father didn't stop
him
. You're
our
chief. Let me do what I want to do."

Dr. Barnes frowned uncertainly. He did not reply.

But Kennart, as though grasping something that Jim's father could not or would not see, was already on his way back to the waiting sea-chief, who stood with folded arms, smiling coldly. They talked. Then Kennart turned.

"He is amused," Kennart reported. "But he says he accepts, and wants to know your choice of weapons. Sword, spear, or dagger?"

"None of those," Jim answered. "Tell him I'll fight him with bare hands!"

Kennart's eyes widened. He said, "Now you joke, too?"

"Bare hands!" Jim repeated.

Kennart spoke, and the sea-chief broke into gales of laughter, roaring and stamping his feet in a way that threatened to buckle the entire ice shelf. His men were laughing, too, and one of them called up to the sailors on board the ship, who responded with hearty guffaws.

Among the group of New Yorkers, though, there was no laughter. Dr. Barnes nodded at Jim, understanding at last.

Kennart said to Jim, "He wants to know, is it to death you fight?"

Jim said, "Tell him we'll fight until one of us admits defeat. There's no need to fight to death."

Kennart spoke again. The sea-chief answered.

Kennart said, "He agrees. He says, let the battle begin!"

The two groups formed a circle on the ice, the New Yorkers ranged by their sleds, the Sea People along the waters edge. Between them was an open space forty feet across. Jim moved out into the open and waited.

The sea-chief was divesting himself of his sword and dagger, of his heavy outer coat of fur-trimmed leather. Jim, too, took off his outer coat. The temperature was above freezing, and he would need all the mobility he could summon.

Jim was accustomed to this sort of combat-though never before had he fought for stakes like these. In the underground city, one had to keep in shape, or the body would rot, muscles sagging into shapelessness. Each level of New York had its own gymnasium, and there the citizens swam and exercised. An hour a day was compulsory until the age of sixteen; after that, it was a voluntary matter, but few neglected it. Jim had learned fencing in the gymnasium, and he had fair skill at it. But he did not trust himself against this sea captain's sword. Jim had other arts. He had learned wrestling from a master, and each year since boyhood had won medals in the city tournaments. His lean figure did not ripple with muscle, but his judo skill compensated for that. Long hours of practice had made Jim a cunning fighter. His skills had served him well enough against the chieftain of the Dooney folk. Would they be sufficient now?

The combatants faced each other. Jim was perhaps an inch taller than the chief of the Sea People, but gave away nearly a hundred pounds. The sea-chief was massive, with arms thicker than Jim's legs, and legs whose thews bulged incredibly. It seemed as though he was twice Jim's breadth through the shoulders. Jim looked fragile, helpless against the older man. A sudden breeze might blow Jim away, or so it appeared to the onlookers. The muscles of the sea-chief swelled under the thin leather tunic. His red hair and flaming beard tossed in the wind. Jim, red-haired also, waited for the other to advance.

The chief rumbled something whose meaning unmistakably was, "I'm going to break you in little pieces, boy!"

Then he came ponderously forward.

Jim did not move until the bulky captain was almost upon him. He stared straight into the fierce green eyes, and felt the ice shake as the big man pounded it. Two huge calloused hands reached for Jim. He let the hands actually touch his shoulders, then unexpectedly leaned back, falling away and to the side. The chief grunted in surprise, arms pinwheeling.

Jim deftly broke his own fall, pivoted, grabbed one of the thick wrists. The sea captain was already toppling forward, off balance, and Jim levered against the ice, applying thrust in the direction the big man was going. His foot swept across the chieftain's shins, completing the job of upending him.

The effect was impressive. The sea-chiefs legs went out from under him, and he fell belly-first, dealing the ice a slam such as nearly shattered it. He went skidding ten feet and came to a halt. Jim did not follow.

There was murder in the captain's eye as he got to his feet. He extended his hands like two clutching claws and came charging toward Jim, rumbling in anger.

This time Jim did not fall away. He sidestepped, feinted as though to go under the big man's left arm, swung around rapidly, and seized his opponent's right arm instead. Jim gasped as a balled fist smashed into his side, but followed through all the same, delicately twisting the right arm against its own axis. The chief spun around, helpless, his left arm flailing, and as he tried to keep Jim from breaking the right one altogether, Jim was able to ease himself into a leverage position for an overhead fling.

A moment later the chief of the Sea People was soaring through the air, flipping over Jim's head and coming down with a sound like that of thunder against the ice.

There was a deadly silence. The chief was slower to get up this time. Jim stood poised, panting, his side aching where the fist had struck him. He knew that if those monstrous fists ever hit home solidly, the fight would be over in that instant. But he was faster than the chief, and also a good deal smarter.

A third time the big man approached his unpredictable adversary. He circled warily, uneasy about charging again. His hands clawed air; he seemed to be hoping that Jim would take the offensive and come within reach of a crushing hug. Jim had no such ideas, though. He waited patiently. He who lost patience first was going to end second best in this struggle.

The chief snarled and spat. His eyes flashed defiance. He moved toward Jim, lifting his arms high overhead. As he began to bring them down, Jim darted in, jabbed the big man playfully in the belly with the side of his hand to draw a grunt, then chopped sharply against the chief's biceps. It was like chopping against a stone wall, but the shot had its effect. The chief pulled the injured arm in toward his side. Jim quickly slammed a second edge-on shot against the chief's funny bone.

The big man howled in agony. With his left hand, he swatted at Jim as though trying to dispose of an irritating insect. It was a mistake. Jim caught the hand as it swung toward him, jerked it down and then up, did a little dance, and ended with the chief's arm doubled behind the massive body.

"Down," Jim ordered. "Down or I'll break it right off!"

The chief did not understand the words, but the idea got plainly across all the same. After a tentative, experimental attempt to break Jim's hold had shown him that any motion would only increase the pressure on his arm, the big man sank angrily to his knees.

"Good boy," Jim said. "Now farther. Kiss the ice."

He levered upward on the tortured arm. The chief bent toward the ice. His beard brushed it. His lips touched it. Jim heard the men of the sea muttering, whispering among themselves. Slowly he eased the big man upward and waited for an admission of defeat.

No admission came. The chief tensed, wary but stubborn.

Jim looked at Kennart. "Tell him I'll break his arm if he doesn't give up! Tell him the fight's all over!"

Kennart said something. The chief growled a reply.

Kennart said, "He doesn't give ground! He says he'll fight even with a broken arm!"

Jim had never met with a situation like that. He maintained the grip, tightening it a little, but never before had anyone dared him to go ahead and break his arm. Jim couldn't do it. So far as he was concerned, the fight was over right now. Did the chief plan to fight to the death anyway?

"Tell him I release him," Jim called to Kennart. "Tell him I claim victory."

"Better not," Kennart warned. "If you let go of him-"

Jim discovered what would happen even before Kennart got the words out. He started to slacken his grip, and the chief began to rise, already swinging around with his free hand to take a swipe at Jim.

"Sorry," Jim said. "I don't want to do this, but some people are stubborn as stone."

He put theory into practice. A gentle nudge and a twist and the chief boomed in pain. Jim had merely dislocated his shoulder, instead of breaking his arm.

Left arm dangling limply, the chief returned to the attack. Perspiration beaded his face now, and his hair was pasted to his forehead. Wild, berserk, he clubbed at Jim, howled at him, begged him in wordless shrieks to hold still and be killed. Jim danced around him, annoyed with the obstinate barbarian for prolonging the fight this way.

The chief lurched suddenly and swung his good arm in a curving arc. Jim leaned toward him, expecting to catch the arm and sending the chief flying once again, but the power of that ponderous arm fooled him. An instant later Jim found himself caught, trapped by the arm, crushed up against the chief's body. He felt his ribs rubbing together. The air rushed from his lungs. Jim gasped for breath, cursing his overconfidence, wondering if he would ever get free. The maddened chief might very well crush him to death before he let go.

Jim strained. He spread his shoulders, struggled with all his might. No use. He was choking, his face going purple, his eyes bulging.

Then he found a way. He bowed his head, slammed it up with all his might into the sea-chief's long chin!

The bearded mans head went shooting back. He began to stumble, and had to let go of Jim, who took every advantage of his regained freedom. Seizing the madly waving arm, Jim ran round, slid the big man across the ice a few feet, then levered him into the air!

He soared high, higher than the last time…

And crashed with booming impact. He landed and went skittering like a doll across the ice, coming to rest only a few feet from his own men.

Jim stood his ground, filling his lungs gratefully with air and trying to recover from that crushing bear hug, which had left him faint and dizzy. The next time, he told himself, he would not be so merciful about dislocating arms when he was in a position to break them.

But there was no next time. Long moments passed, and still the great form lay sprawled on the ice like some whale beached by the tides. None of his men dared approach him. They stood in a tight knot, stunned, bewildered by his downfall.

Finally the big man sat up. He shook his head as though to clear cobwebs from it, and looked down at his dangling arm. He moved it experimentally, winced, looked at Kennart, and muttered something in a low, barely audible voice.

Kennart said to Jim, "He admits defeat. He says you may come as passengers on his ship. But there is a condition." Kennart grinned. "He wishes you to teach him how you fought like that!"

With Kennart serving as interpreter, the job of getting the sleds aboard the ship moved more smoothly than the New Yorkers expected. Twenty sailors descended from the vessel which rocked gently at anchor as they maneuvered the bulky sleds up and into the hold. The chief, still glowering over his defeat, supervised the maneuver.

Jim called Kennart aside. "Tell him," he said, "that we have a healer among us who can restore his shoulder. Tell him that I hope he will hold no anger at me for his defeat."

Kennart carried the message. The chief grunted a reply, and Kennart said, "Send him your healer. He says he is angry not at you but at himself."

Carl went to the chief, and employed his meager first-aid training to deal with the dislocation. He simply seized the shoulder and firmly forced it back into place, a process that must have been horribly painful, but which drew not a whimper from the patient.

Soon all was in readiness for departure. The sleds and their contents had been loaded, and nothing remained but to climb the ladder and go on board.