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showing above curved powder.
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Beyond the snow fence, forty yards of unbroken white ended in a jumble of foot-thick ice slabs, broken
up and cast ashore by yesterday's or last night's powerful east winds. As Joe drew near the wilderness of
ice its jagged horizon reached higher than his head. Above the ice beautiful streaks of pink were being
born in the southeast sky.
First Morgan and then Poach vanished, this time in something like a normal human way, climbing into the
cold maze of broken ice. Corday paused for an instant in his pursuit to ask: "Will it be possible for them
to find a boat of any kind?"
"Not here. Not in the winter." Legs laboring, lungs pumping on frozen air, Joe labored after Corday's
effortless, snow-plowing sprint, holding his spear at the ready, like a slow pole-vaulter, thanking God he
had at least found gloves in his jacket pockets.
Following Corday's gestures, his allies spread out to his left and right, then followed his advance into the
ice field. Joe had the worst of it, handicapped with the spear when two hands as well as two feet seemed
hardly enough for clambering among the jumbled, slippery slabs.
Trying to keep Corday's head at least intermittently in sight, Joe advanced as best he could. The sky was
light enough now to let him see what he was doing, but still the going was very awkward and treacherous.
Moving silently was impossible, at least for Joe.
In a minute or so the whole city behind him was out of sight. Here it was as silent as Alaska, except for
the sounds of his own progress. And, somewhere that could not be very far away, a gentle lapping of
water against ice or rock or sand.
Joe lost Corday for a little while. Then, dragging himself up into a saddle between two cakes, he was
relieved to see the old man's head and shoulders against a third, still and silent as the ice he rested on.
He's probably letting me draw the first attack, Joe suddenly realized. The clumsy, noisy one . . . well, if
that's the way we have to do it, it still has to be done. He gripped his spear and went ahead.
In a moment he had slipped on impossible footing, skinning a knee painfully inside his trousers and
wrenching an ankle, fortunately not hard enough to cut down on his mobility any further. Joe cursed
silently and gripped his spear and went ahead. When he got close to the place where he had last seen
Corday, the chuckle of water was much closer too. It sounded like it might be eating at the ice right
beneath his feet. If a man were to fall into one of these deep, dark blue holes . . .
Here was where Corday had been. But the old man was gone now. He and Kate must be nearby,
following, listening even as the enemy were to Joe's clumsy progress. On the other hand he could imagine
the whole chase gradually progressing away from him, and he, the dull-sensed one, falling and
freeze-drowning here and never knowing its result. Someone would find him in the spring . . .
Ahead, around the corner of another tilted green-gray slab, an object of a different nature came into
view. It took Joe a moment to recognize the tilt-topped mass of a concrete breakwater, draped as it was
with smooth curves of ice. A few hours ago, great roaring breakers must have beaten on it. Deep water
was nearby, then, underneath the ice-jam.
There was a small sound like a sigh, and from the top of an almost level lintel of ice at Joe's right the
enormous form of Poach came leaping down at him from ambush. Joe got the spear around barely in
time. The needle point of it made wooden contact, hooking Poach's dinner jacket and perhaps his ribs
beneath. At the same moment, a woman screamed nearby and Corday shouted something.
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The butt of the spear was jammed down against ice by Poach's weight on top. It rotated then, deflecting
him in his leap to land with what ought to have been deadly impact, on concrete sheathed in ice. A sound
like a drumbeat was driven from his open mouth. The barbs of the spearpoint tore free. Poach slid from
the breakwater into black open water just beneath.
For a moment he was gone. Then he surfaced at Joe's feet, mouth roaring water and air mixed, his eyes
fixed on Joe. His huge hands scrabbled for a grip on ice or spear or enemy.
Groaning as if with his own death, Joe forced the barbed spear home once more. This time it went
straight into the giant's throat. But Poach's long arm shot forward. His hand locked on Joe's arm farthest
forward on the spear shaft. They were going to go down together. Joe's feet were slipping on the ice.
Someone seized him from behind, just as he was being dragged to watery death. A thin arm round his
waist supported him. He could not turn his head. A wave washed at Poach, and suddenly most of the
exposed flesh of Poach's hands and face was gone. The next wave seemed to knock apart the bones of
skull and fingers Joe could hear them hissing, see them dissolving, as if the water were purest acid.
It was over. Even the clothing had gone down. The spear was bobbing in the water. Joe found his
footing and shakily stood up straight. Turning, he met Kate's eyes. He started to ask: "Where's "
Kate uttered a horrible little cry and struck at something on his arm. Poach's skeletal right hand dropped
off, bones shattering when it hit the ice. The first direct rays of sun were on the still-moving bones now.
Joe watched them crumble into dust, and then to nothingness.
"Where's Corday, Kate?"
"This way. He sent me to help you."
Scrambling after Kate around a monolith of ice, he came upon the old man and Morgan in its shadow.
The two of them looked almost like lovers seeking privacy. But Corday had the long wooden knife in
one hand now, and his other hand held both of Morgan's wrists tightly behind her.
She was looking into the distant sky. Her eyes and face might have been carved from the slab she leaned
against. Corday turned to the two breathing people. "It is over. You may leave us now." When they did
not go he added: "What would you have me do? Do you want to sentence her to one of your prisons for
her crimes? Leave us."
But when they had turned away he called: "Wait. Tell tell those who know me, that I shall be all right.
That I am going home."
Joe took Kate's arm. Suddenly she was leaning against him weakly. It would be a struggle to get back to
where they could call for help, but they would make it.
Behind them a woman screamed loudly, once. That name, again.
TWENTY-TWO
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After the first preliminary session with Charley Snider and Franzen of the Glenlake force, Joe's head was
spinning with exhaustion. But he still held to his determination not to collapse, and not to let Kate out of
his sight, until she was ready to collapse too. As for Kate, she swore that she was holding out until she'd
seen her little sister.
Snider obligingly drove them from Glenlake to the hospital, over freshly plowed thoroughfares. On the
way he told them about Walworth's plunge through a broken window. Nobody knew yet whether it was
suicide or not. But this time, the Homicide man made it plain, the authorities mean to get to the bottom of
the whole business, once and for all
Judy had been found at home, unconscious amid the ruins of the pottery collection. A pillow had been
tucked neatly beneath her head and there were two blankets wrapped around her.Someone had called
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