Hot Ice
by Jim Johnston
Copyright © 2001 


1935, New Orleans 
Two hours in the darkened office, and still nothing to show for it. Two hours of having my world reduced to a pool of torchlight no more than four inches across. I'd been through most of Monro's files, searching - for what? I couldn't quite tell. I just knew that when I saw it, I'd say 'Bingo!' and mean it. 
I'd stopped for a smoke break, feeding my ash into a twist of paper and making sure the butt didn't go anywhere incriminating. Through the half-opened Venetian blinds I could see Elysian Fields and Victory, where the Marigny Canal ran into the Bayou St. John. New Orleans. Monro was a guy with vision - and he always liked to have the best of views. The humidity of the air made a bead of sweat trickle down my collar. It was hot. The kind of heat you get in New Orleans when the wind is from Lake Pontchartrain and you can practically taste the mangroves on your tongue. 
I ground out the cigarette with my ungloved hand and tidied it away. I took off my hat with my gloved hand and used my kerchief to wipe the inside of the band. Gimme all the heat you can, Big Easy. I've had a belly fulla the cold that's gonna last me for a long, long time. Switching on the torch again, I tried a new filing cabinet. I'd hardly gone along more than five or six cards, before I realized I'd hit pay dirt. 'Bingo!' I said, but something deep in my gut said 'uh-unh'. 
I took out the card and examined it closely. It was like a million other 5 x 7 cards in filing cabinets all over the world. It was a record of a ship coming in. Monro thought it was his ship, but I could feel the heat building in my belly and the hairs prickle on my nape. Even if this was Monro's ship, I was gonna take it off him. The details read: SS Vidor, registered in Panama, owned by Monro Refrigerated Transport. Point of departure: Eskimo Point. I didn't need to ask to know that Eskimo Point was in the Northwest Territories - I still had the frostbite scars to remind me. Cargo: Refrigerated salmon (unprocessed). Unloading point: Dock 17, West Wharf. Just a block back from Bayou St John. Seems like Monro liked to gloat and rub his hands over his good fortune. 
I replaced the card and closed the filing cabinet. True, I'd found what I'd come to look for, but I was half-sorry about it. I checked the office one last time and then closed the door behind me. The glass door had Monro Enterprises painted on it in gold paint. I took off my glove and dragged the heavy claws across the surface of the paint. It broke off in brittle shards that made me think of ice breaking on a frozen lake. 
I shivered. Despite the heat, I always get the shivers when I think of ice. I made for the elevator and pulled the diamond-link grid open. The doors slid open easily, if somewhat heavily, and I stepped inside. I'd been thinking of ice a lot lately. Dreaming about it. The kind of ice that opens all kinds of doors. I punched the button for the ground floor. The elevator clanked downwards, metal on metal, rivets grinding, and light flashed in on me as it passed every floor. The building was empty except for cleaners and security. The lights winked at me like diamonds, dazzling me. They filled my eye at intervals, flooding my head with dreams and memories - ice can do that to you. The elevator jerked to a halt at the ground floor and I heaved the doors open. 
I thought of ice and the way it can get so cold that it burns you. The burning can become a yearning. But sometimes all it can do is burn you, because it's just some plain ol' everyday hot ice 
* * * * *
Outside the empty Monro Building, it took a moment to feel the pressure of the crowds around me. This wasn't exactly the swell end of town, but the mob was out tonight. Society babes on the arms of their beaux. Sailors in white suits, out looking for the all-fired best shore-leave they would ever get. I checked that I'd put my glove back on and took my time about lighting a cigarette. A taxi showed up and I hailed it. 
I climbed inside, and the back of the cab was filled with the smell of new leather. Raindrops from a thunderstorm dead an hour ago still vibrated on the windows. 
'Take me to Dock 17,' I growled. 'West Wharf.' 
Even with the glow of a smoke warming my lungs, I could feel the ice still haunting me. Reckon I never did like ice. Not that I ever got to see much ice in a burg like New Orleans, but I'd been looking for this hot ice for two weeks now. Ice shouldn't melt so quickly away - not even in a town this righteous. 
Monro was at the centre of it - he was always at the centre of it. The spider at the centre of the web of greed. 
* * * * *
1933, New Orleans 
'Hey, Wolf, don't brush it away - a spider's good luck.' 
I paused with the spider hanging on its invisible life-line. I was in Moses Pyper's office, on the corner of Milneburg and Gentilly. 
'Good luck,' I growled, 'maybe, but not for flies.' 
Pyper shrugged. 'So - you have a fetish for flies, do you, my boy? Then next time you're in the fishing tackle shop you should buy yourself some.' I leaned out of Mose's open window and let the spider go. It crawled off my hand onto the window pane and over the curved legend, hand-painted on the glass in red and gold: Moses Pyper, Gems & Metals. 
'I hear you got a job for me, Mose.' 
'Well, my boy, let me say I've got a job for you if you want it. Otherwise - pfui!' 
I put my hat on Mose's bentwood hat stand. 
I said: '"Pfui"?' 
Mose ran a chubby, heavily-ringed hand through his shock of curly hair. He's a chrome-dome up top, but around his temples, he's wild and woolly. Today, like everyday, he was wearing his waistcoat and a scarlet bow tie, his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. 
Mose shrugged vehemently as he rose and rounded his desk. 'You heard. Pfui!' 
'Okay, I heard you the first time. "Pfui," it is then.' 
Mose had reached his portrait of General Jackson on the wall. He caught the catch without needing to look for it and swivelled it up to reveal the wall safe behind it. I tried not to look as he deftly spun the dial. As he did so, he said over his shoulder, 'Now, before I tell you who it is, Wolf, I gotta let you into a little secret -' 'I already know the combination to that safe.' 
Mose turned away from the open wall-safe, with two glasses in his hand and a bottle of bourbon. 'Safe? You call this a safe? This I call a drinks cabinet!' 
'So, what's your secret? ' 
Mose tugged out the cork of the bottle with his teeth: 'Yuu waaa aaa taaa aaa vaa caa shaaa?' 
'Gimme a break, Mose, I can't even read your lips when you talk like that!' 
Mose splashed a big shot of the bourbon into one of the glasses, set it down and removed the cork with his free hand. 'Okay, Wolf, Mr Big-Time Private Eye. I said, You want to take a vacation?' 
'Rio?' I murmured, lifting the glass as Mose poured the second. 
'Try a little further north.' 
'Acapulco?' I ventured, sipping the heat of the spirit. 
Mose replaced the cork in the bottle. 'No, my boy, I was thinking of somewhere a little more bracing.' 
'Oh, where?' 
'Alaska.' 
I spat my drink out. I coughed and hacked as Mose patted me on the back. 'Wolf, my boy, I know what your trouble is -' 
Mose turned back to the wall safe and brought out an ice-bucket and tongs. ' - You didn't take any ice in it.' 
He dropped some cubes into my drink. 'There - bourbon on ice. The ice I should have put in first. So, what are you going to do about it, shoot me?' 
Now that I had my breath back I managed to gasp, 'Okey, Mose. What's this big secret vacation you want me to take?' 
'I hear things, Wolf. I hear Monro is planning some sort of vacation in Alaska.' 
'Alaska. It's a big state. Lots of fresh air. Lots of fishing. Good for the complexion. Give him roses on his cheeks.' 
Mose leaned his elbows on his desk, giving me the benefit of his serious look. 'He's hiring on men. Some tough ex-oilmen. I hear there'll be a lot of new faces on his pay roll come the weekend.' 
'So?' 
'So. I want you to be one of them. You can be a roughneck if you want. Get into his organisation and let me know what's happening.' 
I drank some of his bourbon and swirled the ice cubes in the glass. 'What do I have to keep a look out for?' 
'Diamonds!' 
'Ice, huh?' 
Mose turned in his swivel chair and looked out of his window. 'Word is Monro has some sort of claim up there. He's expecting to make a big killing.' 
I set the drink down on the desk, picked up a pencil and tried dunking the ice. 
'Well, now it makes some sense. Monro has his hand in every business in this burg - it makes sense that he would expand into gemstones. They're small, highly portable, they make the dames go wild - mebbe I'll expand into the diamonds market myself.' 
Moses turned to face me: 'There's more -' 
'There always is with you, Mose. You're the original Mr Wheels-within-wheels.' 
Moses pushed his chair back and pulled open a drawer in his heavy desk. He pulled out a legal folder and let it drop with a heavy thud on his desktop. 'I had a deal with a customer of mine recently - it went suddenly sour on me and I began to wonder why.' 
Mose opened the folder and took a clipping from a newspaper and passed it over to me, continuing, 'Then a little birdie told me something.' 
I read the headline: Baton Rouge Slaying and Burglary. 
Below, it read: Police tonight are investigating the burglary and slaying at the house of Captain Rowland Clarke. Captain Clarke, famous for his explorations in Alaska at the end of the last century, when he was on the track of the Northwest Passage which he believed to be an underground route carved by volcanic hot springs that would keep the subterranean water ways clear - 
Mose interrupted me before my lips got too tired. He had a sheaf of clippings fanned out in two hands. 
'I was mentioned in the old guy's papers because I had recently taken an inventory of his stuff. I was probably the only man alive who knew what had been stolen.' 
'Apart from the thief, of course.' 
'Apart from the thief, of course. And, whoever tipped off the thief to pull that particular job. - Go on, take a clipping, any clipping.' 
I picked one at random. 'You know who pulled the job?' 
'The cops found out. Clarke wasn't just slain. He had been beaten up first. Guy left his calling card all over the old man.' 
I read the new headline: Man Arrested in Burglary Case. 
'They got Leo Nulty,' continued Mose, 'known in his circles as Knuck the Canuck. He's a strong-arm man for some local loan sharks. His specialty is working over people with brass knuckles.' 
'I heard of him.' 
Pyper handed me over a photograph. 'Seems like I was the only one the old Captain could trust. He couldn't even bring himself to get a good lawyer -' 
The photograph was of a map drawn on parchment and tacked to a claims form. 
Mose continued: ' - so he gave me this for safe-keeping.' 
'Claims map. I take it the paperwork is good?' 
'It checks out.' 
I leaned back, rubbing my brow with the thumb of the hand that held my drink. 'So, what we're talking about here is a map to the old Captain's treasure trove.' 
'There's that - but there's more to it, Wolf, my boy. We're talking about an archaeological find of the first magnitude. That's not just any old diamond mine -' 
I glanced at the map, with its weird scrawls and pictures that looked like match-stick men with wings, claws and sharp teeth. 
Mose went on ' - it's also a temple to some old Eskimo god. And if I know Monro, he'll melt the gold, break up the diamonds and sell them for their intrinsic worth. But, if we could get the stuff back intact, we're talking about increasing the sale-value by a factor of ten.' 
For some reason the map made my skin crawl. I didn't like the look of it and I didn't like the sound of this story. 'An Eskimo temple, Mose. Sounds pretty screwball to me.' 
'It's all in the old captain's notes, Wolf. Why don't you take 'em home with you and read 'em over? Give me a call when you want to talk.' 
I glanced out into his office and saw one of his Sephardic cousins entering. I rose and drained my glass. 'If I want to talk -' 
'Of course, my boy, of course.' 
I set the empty glass on the desk. 'Nice hooch, Mose. Makes Prohibition seem almost like a bad thing.' 
I rose and fetched my hat from the hat stand, picked up the heavy folder and strolled out through the office, where Mose's secretary, Rosie, was typing at her iron-mongery. 
Rosie looked up as I passed, all curls and rose-petal lips. 'Bye, Wolf.' 
'Bye, Rosie.' 
* * * * *
That night I sat on the edge of my chair, reading through the old Captain's hand-written notes. I had a bottle of sour-mash to keep me company, to keep the chill of his words away from me, but I barely made it. Over thirty years ago and it seemed like I was re-living yesterday. 
I read: 'October 12 1898. The ship is now thoroughly trapped in the ice. We have no option now but to make it our base-camp and off-load the cargo. The ice will shatter the hull over the winter and if we are trapped inside, then none of us will survive.' 
Later on, I read: 'November 9 1898. Today a prowling polar bear broke into our stores tent. Lieutenant Thompson was slain when he shot at it and only managed to wound it. Our Eskimo guides have taken the bear to be an omen of death for the expedition.' 
Later again: 'December 1. The ship was destroyed by fire. I think it was set by Able Seaman Brown, driven mad by the scurvy. With Angekok, the last of our Eskimos to remain faithful to me, I am setting out over the ice. We have three dogs left to pull the provisions sleigh. Angekok says he knows of a place where we can winter-over. The ice shifts about us and changes landmarks day and daily. I can't understand how he navigates without a compass - Angekok says that his ancestors lead him from the spirit world.' 
Later on, I stared over Captain Clarke's shoulder as he peered ahead into the eerily pulsing red light: 'It is always midnight here. Since leaving the ship, I have lost track of the time. Yet up ahead, for the past three marches, I have seen a red glow in the west. Angekok says that it is the Eye of Malsum, a place of eternal fire. Most probably a volcano or some sort of earthquake zone.' 
By this stage in the log, he had stopped keeping track of dates and days; the entries had lost some of their coherence and read more like a narrative written from memory: 'Angekok says we can spend the winter in this cavern. If we were to continue on outside, with our provisions so low, we would not be able to eat enough to keep ourselves sufficiently warm. We can eat the dogs as need arises and Angekok says that there are mushrooms that grow underground here.' 
Then the big payola, a few pages later: 'I have finally discovered where Angekok has been slipping off to for the past few days. There is more to this place than he first told me. There has been some sort of ancient civilisation here in times past. 
'Angekok was in a cavern and he was worshipping a wolf-headed stone idol surrounded by blazing pots of oil. There was a steaming waterfall down the far side of the cavern, and beyond that was a dark tunnel where the water drained away. 
'The idol itself is horrendous for its barbaric power. Its eyes are of cut gems, a skill I am sure the Eskimos never possessed. And the idol is cast metal - another skill beyond their culture. There is a fortune in gems still waiting to be utilised. Angekok has a drum, which he beats upon with a human femur bone. 
'And those human remains - are they the sacred remains of devout Eskimos, or are they the remains of human sacrifices? 
'Beyond the human skulls on poles, guarding sacks of gems (the sacks are made out of animal hides) there's a kayak filled to overflowing with the gems. 
'Thankfully, I was able to slip away, undetected. Angekok would never have heard me over the noise he was making with his drum. 
'After that, I always kept my revolver handy - and, although I longed to, I could never mention to Angekok that I had seen his secret temple. As Spring approached, Angekok journeyed more often outside. I kept a secret watch on him to make sure that he was plotting no mischief against my person - 
'Then, one day, I followed him to the cavern entrance and found him drumming up one of his demon gods and what I saw on that occasion was enough to send me running - running for my very sanity!' 
'I ran through the tunnels, past the bubbling mud-pools. As I ran, I knew that there was nothing for me in this place but immolation at the altar of a bestial god. I was prepared for death. One does not enter the great white wastes of the world without notifying one's soul that you may soon have need of the spiritual side of matters. 
'Behind me, I could hear the stealthy sounds of pursuit. I was prepared to die - but not as a sacrifice to a heathen idol that had long out-stayed its welcome from the age of savagery. 
'I had proof at last of the original intent of my scientific expedition. While Angekok had often slept, exhausted from his satanic ecstasies, I had explored this cavern and now it was my fervent hope that an underground stream might bear me from this fate. 
'The kayak I had seen on my first journey was sound enough to serve as escape. Now my only hope was to take to the rushing waters and discover the true North West Subterranean Passage. 
'And that was the beginning of my strangest voyage - leaving behind the dreadful secrets of the Eye of Malsum, Angekok and his cruel price for hospitality and the shadowy shapelessness of a darkling demon summoned from out an icy sky! 
'How long I voyaged underground I cannot now remember. The memory of that journey is but a blur. I think I met things that mortal man dare not visualise lest his sanity be blasted, but thankfully no recollection stirs of that nightmare interlude -' 
* * * * *
Next day I went back to Moses Pyper's office, and threw the folder down on his desk. 'Okey, Mose. I take it you want to retain my services?' 
'My boy, you'll do it, then?' 
I took off my hat and threw it onto the hat stand. 'Sure, why not? Like you said, I could do with the vacation. I take it you got some sort of cover story to get me into Monro's operation?' 
Mose sat down on the edge of his desk, with a set of papers, passport, high school diplomas and other paraphernalia. 'For you, my boy, nothing but the best. You'll be Wilson K Abbott, late of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. You received a dishonourable discharge for accepting a bribe, but otherwise your credentials are impeccable.' 'A crooked Mountie. The King of England'll never forgive me.' 
I glanced up and saw that the spider I'd put out onto Mose's window ledge had strung itself a web. I gestured to the spider with my thumb. 'Looks like your spider brought you good luck.' 
'You and me both, Wolf, my boy -' 
* * * * *
1935, New Orleans 
Back in the taxi I could still hear Mose and his jubilant words: ' - you and me both.' 
I groaned loudly enough for the cabby to glance warily in his rear-view mirror. How could you be so wrong, Mose? 
I clenched my right hand into a fist and the glove split under the pressure. The leather seams gave way at the fingertips and the claws broke through, fur edged around the gaps, writhing unnaturally. I clamped my right wrist with my left hand and fought to stifle another groan. 
' - How could you be so goddamn wrong!' 
The taxi pulled up to the docks, and a big sign made it clear that we had reached Dock 17. I could even see the SS Vidor, riding at the quay. 
The cabby swung his cab around and came to a halt. 'This is your stop, Mac.' 
'Thanks, bud. And here's a ten-spot that says you never saw me tonight. Capiche?' 
The driver stared uneasily at my gloved fist. 'Capiche.' 
I watched the taxi drive off, then glanced around at the barren dockside. Last time I was here I boarded the boat for Alaska - - heading for the ice - 
I saw a warehouse off to one side, with a faded sign: Monro Refrigerated Transport. 
I passed the chain-link fence and was in through the dockyards, my footsteps loud in my ears. - and all I found was the tip of the iceberg. 
At the foot of the Vidor's gangplank, I could see the dim outline of a hulking guard. Stray lamplight gleamed on the carbine he carried in his hands. I didn't think it would be left unguarded - 
I began to walk up the gangplank, my gloved hand on the hawser to steady me. I saw the guard's silhouette stiffen as he realized he didn't know me. But I knew something else that he didn't know - 
The guard came out of the shadows, a burly thug in a navy jumper, pointing his carbine at my chest. 'Okay, punk, that's far enough. ' He spoke with a pronounced Cajun accent. 'Now tell me what yew want?' 
'I don't think you care about what I want, buddy. But I know what it's like -' 
In mid-sentence, I sprang. My left hand pushed the barrel of the carbine down, my gloved hand came up and tore away the guard's face. 
He went down with a gurgling wail, too stunned with surprise and too shocked with the pain to put up any resistance. 
I snarled down at him. 'Yes, I know what it's like - to howl at the moon!' 
Despite myself, I could feel the force in my gloved hand fighting me. It had made the blood flow and now it wanted more blood. It wanted a scarlet universe as its one true heritage. But I fought down the urge. It was like slamming a door against a beast. I knew I had to keep the wolf from the door. 
I stepped through the hatchway and picked up his fallen carbine and checked the mechanism. I was pretty lucky even with the element of surprise on my side. There was a bullet in the breech - even in his death throes he could have fired it off. 
I dropped to a crouch, the rifle still in my hands. I reacted even before I was aware of what had caused my reaction. 
From beyond another hatchway, I heard someone calling in a low voice: 'Hey, Willie, you there?' 
I smiled despite myself. I knew I could do this just right. 
For all his care, the guard was wary. I replied in a Cajun accent similar to the fallen guard's. 'Hey, take a look at this!' 
The guard stepped through, and I took him out with a rifle butt to his right temple. He went down like a sack of potatoes, his fingers nervelessly groping at my shoes. I shook his hands away. 'Didn't your Mommy teach you to wipe your feet?' 
It took me three minutes to tie them up and gag them. They were unconscious, which was ten times more than what they deserved. I knew only too well the kind of scum that worked for Monro. 
I took both rifles over my shoulder. I could smell that Monro was on board. He's taking a risk, I chuckled to myself. But I was glad, and the darkness rejoiced also. I could smell Monro's greed, his avarice. It floated in the air like invisible spider-webs, or trailing streamers of Spanish moss. 
I came to what seemed to be a hold. There was a ladder. I didn't want to risk a light, so I climbed down. I was getting in deeper. Further entangled in Monro's web of arrogance. It was so strong I could almost taste the drip, drip, drip of his bloodied hands. 
* * * * *
1933, Alaska 
It was the bloodied hands that sent my mind spinning back. Back to Alaska, back another two years, to the time when Monro knew me only as Abbot. Monro has the hands of a pianist. They are long and gentle, almost feminine for such a big guy. For such a big, ruthless bastard. 
His hands stroked the muzzle and ruff of the husky. Then one hand slipped away, deep into the pocket of his parka and pulled out the gun. 
Monro grinned up at me, snow speckled on his hair and black moustache. 'See that, Abbot? He trusts me. He'll never know what hit him.' 
To the dog, Monro crooned softly, 'Good doggie, good boy.' 
The sound of the shot was muffled: muffled by fur and parka and snow. It made no more noise than a man's foot sinking into a four-foot snowdrift. 
I backed away as the dog flopped for a second and then went limp. I backed into what felt to be a rock, but when I turned and saw the flat features of Angekok, I knew I'd backed into something infinitely harder, infinitely less human. 
I glanced around at our small camp. Hunched figures fought against the wind to erect the tents. They had barely heard the gunshot. 
Monro cradled the dog in his arms, as if he was trying it out for a grisly tango. 'Now, we get to eat.' 'We can't keep this up, Monro,' I said. 'We've got six weeks travel behind us. We'll need the dogs for the return journey.' 
Monro ignored me, rising with the dead dog in his arms, its head lolling loosely. I shouted after him: 'It's pure logistics. There are thirty people in the expedition. We can't keep killing dogs like this. You should have let me determine the stocks. We're in a wilderness that's gonna kill us!' 
I was shouting into the blizzard and Monro had every reason to ignore me. I glanced at the Eskimo. His face was unreadable as he stared down at the snow where the dog had died. The blood had formed a shape in the snow, like a match stick figure of a man with wings, sharp teeth and long claws. I recalled the figures on Clarke's map. 
I felt an urge to draw my revolver and plug the bastard right between the eyes. I had a compulsion to do it, a compulsion so strong, I could feel my hand reaching toward my gun belt. Then Angekok looked at me and his eyes were like holes cut in a mask of rawhide. He didn't even look at my face. He looked at my hand. He brought his iron-headed seal-harpoon down and pointed at my hand. 
'Do it,' he whispered. 'It is good to slay your natural enemies.' 
I ignored him and stamped after Monro. 'At this rate, none of us are going to get back.' Monro was on one knee, his skinning knife mottled with blood on its glinting steel. 'We'll be at the claim-site tomorrow, Abbot.' 
'How can you be so certain?' 
'Angekok tells me.' 
I looked back at the Eskimo, who was paying us no attention. Instead he was drawing in the snow with the butt of his harpoon. 
'But - Angekok -' I began. I couldn't bring myself to finish. '-should be dead by now,' I thought. 'He was an old man when Captain Clarke used him as a guide.' 
Of course I knew the Eskimo tradition that forbade an Eskimo telling a stranger his name. That Angekok was a title, something like witchdoctor or medicine-man, but it brought me no comfort. No comfort, at all. 
Even as I watched the Eskimo, the remaining huskies lifted their muzzles and began to howl. It was a lonesome wailing, hurled away by the wind. 
Monro stopped in his grim task and grunted: 'Dogs are skittish tonight -' 
Angekok stirred and rose from his crouch. He glanced in the direction of the dogs and then stamped out the blood and the marks he'd made in the snow. 'They know that the Eye of Malsum is near -' 
'The Eye of Malsum,' I said. 'What's that?' 
Angekok pointed with his harpoon. 'Long ago, there were two brothers. One was named Gluskap which means "The Liar" and the other was called Malsum. When they were born, Malsum was so wilful he insisted on being born from his mother's armpit. This act killed her, but from her body, Gluskap made all the world. When Malsum saw this, he was filled with envy and he made all the things that do harm to mankind.' 
My mind summoned visions from Captain Clarke's journal as Angekok continued: the hot springs and the volcanic region. 'The two brothers fought, and eventually Malsum was slain. He fell to earth and made a huge lake of fire appear. To cover him over, Gluskap used a mountain and the fire burns under the mountain even to this day.' 
Angekok's mittened hands formed a hole and poked the harpoon through like the horn of a mythical beast breaking through the ice. 
'With Malsum defeated, he pleaded with his brother to be allowed to look out from his prison. So Gluskap poked a hole in the mountain with one finger, the way a man pokes a hole in a handful of snow. And that is the Eye of Malsum.' 
I sank to my hunkers and patted one of the huskies. 'Is that where we're heading for?' 
Angekok brought his eyes from the horizon. 'It is. We can winter-over there and continue on when Spring comes -' I was afraid he'd say that - I'd already noted Angekok's drums and their drumsticks of human femur bones - exactly the way it was in Captain Clarke's diaries. 
'What does this Malsum guy happen to look like?' 
Angekok stared at me. 'He has the head of a wolf and the body of a man. There is a gem at the heart of the mountain that is said to hold his soul.' 
* * * * *
That night, the blizzard got worse. The main company of the expedition wanted to sit tight with the tents and weather it out, but Angekok insisted that we would be better off tramping blindly through the snow. And thus, the next day, about four o'clock in the afternoon, we came to the mountain, and saw the blaze of volcanic fire. 
It took me by surprise because I'd read in Clarke's diaries that he had seen the volcano for up to three marches beforehand. Angekok had taken us along another route. He told Monro that there was a cave less than an hour's march away. 
We found the cave easily, and the tents were erected. One or two of the company were worried by the behaviour of the huskies because the dogs wouldn't go near the entrance. Monro told his tame geologists to take samples and get analyzing. 
Angekok had told Monro that the cave was only a crevice that ran no further into the mountain than a few dozen yards. I slipped away to find out if this was the same cavern described by Captain Clarke. 
I took an electric torch and had my gun handy. I walked along the boulder-littered floor in darkness, not wanting to turn on my torch until I would shed no light from the end of the tunnel. Then I heard a noise up ahead. 
It was a little noise, but in the darkness it was too much to ignore. I switched on the torch and found Angekok there before me, his arms folded across his chest. 
'Go no further, white man' he said. 'The spirits of this place will suck the marrow from your bones.' 
'I thought there might be bears or something here. There's something spooking the dogs.' 
'It is the Spirit of Malsum,' replied Angekok. 'They can sense his kinship and his presence.' 
I turned off the torch. There would be no way I was going to explore this place without Angekok breathing down my neck. Over the next two days, I tried to slip away at various times, but I was always aware of Angekok's presence like a shadow behind me. 
Then the place erupted. One of the geologists wouldn't take no for an answer from Monro. 
Monro rose up from his seat beside the fire. 'Whaddaya mean there's no gold-bearing ore in this rock - ?' 
The geologist, a skinny kid with a broken pair of wire-rimmed glasses, kept his courage. 'Just that. This isn't gold country. I don't know who sold you on this idea, but you're not going to get gold out of this rock.' 
Monro looked as if he was about to pull his gun on the youngster and shoot him on the spot, but then the dogs started barking urgently. One of the roustabouts came running, clutching a torn and bloodied arm. 
'Bears!' he cried hoarsely. 'Bears are killing all the dogs!' 
Everybody scattered at that, diving for rifles and side-arms. Only three of us stood still: Monro, Angekok and myself. 
Monro was still shaken I think from the possibility of spending all this dough on a wild-goose chase. Angekok was stock-still because he knew the bears were part of his plan. I was rooted to the spot. It was like a bad dream. Captain Clarke's journey all over again. Deja-vu - I didn't realize it could be such a killer. 
Then I saw one of the bears looming whitely out of the blizzard. It was chasing the skinny kid with glasses. I saw his mouth open as he screamed when the bear ran him down. It caught up with him and swatted him to one side like a kitten batting a ball of wool. 
That sight broke me from my freeze. I had my rifle handy and I worked the bolt action even as the bear buried its muzzle in the kid's intestines.
I knew better than to try to save him. I headed for the cave. Monro saw me and mistook my actions. He bellowed into the wind: 'Into the cave, we can hold 'em off there!' 
Maybe we could have held them off. If more than just Monro and I had survived the first onslaught of the bears. The bears sure didn't want to come into the tunnel. Did they - like the huskies - recognise the presence of Malsum? I guess Momma Bear didn't raise any stupid Junior Bears. 
Unfortunately, I hadn't reckoned on Angekok. He strode between the heaving flanks of the murderous bears as they pursued the last remnants of their prey. The bears either knew him so well that they paid him no mind at all, or else it was like he was invisible to them. Angekok strode up to the cavern entrance and raised his harpoon in command. 'Halt! Go no further, or else you risk the wrath of Malsum!' 
Monro gasped, 'What in Sam Hill is happenin' here? How come the bears ain't touchin' him?' 
'The bears ain't touchin' him,' I replied, 'because the bears are his welcoming committee. He's done this before, Monro.' 
I stepped out from the cover of the rocks and didn't waste time drawing a bead on the Eskimo. I fired from the hip, three times in quick succession. 
Angekok was blown backwards like a rag-doll with each slug pumping into him. Monro gasped in horror: 'Didja hafta kill him! How are we ever gonna find our way back to civilisation now?' 
'We'll get back, don't you worry. But your faithful Eskimo guide had other ideas for us.' I hadn't killed the Eskimo, because even as I dragged Monro down the tunnel, I could hear him screeching in pain and hatred: 
'Tornaq ia - ia tornaq - uoiea uae yeee uia - tornaq ia -' 
I said to Monro: 'Seems like Angekok has done this sort of thing before, leads strangers into the wilderness, loses them for a while and then tells them they can winter-over until the Spring -' 
'How can you know all this?' 
'Us ex-Mounties always try to get our man.' 
I pulled us down behind the cover of some boulders and turned to see what Angekok was going to send in after us. Mose and I had prepared for this eventuality, reading between the lines of Captain Clarke's diaries and his mention of the demon-servant. 
To keep Monro busy, I said, 'We can wait here until the bears go away, then I think we should high-tail it outta here.' 
Monro shook his massive head. 'But what about the diamonds, the gold?' 
'I think you've been bamboozled. Who told you about these diamonds and gold?' 
Monro looked away, pensive, avoiding my eyes. He muttered, 'Back in New Orleans I was approached by an old-timer, name of Clarke, Captain Clarke. Ever heard of him?' 
'Can't say that I have.' 
'Well, seems like the old Captain had an enemy - an Eskimo. This Eskimo had trailed him all the way down through Canada, across the 48 states.' 
I scanned the cave mouth for activity. 'This Eskimo. Did he have a name?' 
'According to Clarke he was one of their witch-doctors. Called himself Winpe. Had a real mad-on for the old captain. Promised to kill him. So, he - he called me in.' 
I could still hear Angekok screaming, his tormented voice rising and falling: 'Tornaq ia - ia tornaq - uoiea uae yeee uia - tornaq ia -' 
'Why would he call you in?' 
'I got - connections. He knew I could protect him if this old Eskimo showed up, and the old Captain was getting messages that the old witch-doctor was on his way.' 
I shushed Monro, although I wanted to hear what he had to say. I could hear Angekok screaming, but this time it was in English: 
'Ahhhh, so you have answered my summons, Tornaq, child of darkness!' 
I grinned at Monro. 'You some sort of philanthropist?' 
'Haw - no! The old captain paid me plenty. A dozen uncut stones of the highest quality. It was one sweet deal -' 
A wind began to blow straight down the cavern. It was as if someone had opened a door for a draught to blow straight through. 
Angekok was screaming at us again: 'Go, Tornaq, and slay those who have spilt my blood!' I craned to watch the cavern entrance once more. 'And, did you manage to protect him?' 
'Sure I did. Whatchew think I am - some sort of bum? Sure I saved him, but old guys like that don't live forever.' 
Then I heard the heavy tread of something entering the cavern. I looked again and saw a blocky shadow filling the flickering entrance, outlined against the burning remnants of our camp. It was about eight feet tall, and its wings about thirty feet across. Its head was like a bestial walrus's with a diabolically snarling expression. It carried walrus-type tusks in its jaws, easily three feet long. An enormous hump of muscle between its shoulders gave it an uncouth but powerful appearance. Its shoulders and barrel chest narrowed to the waist and hips with legs so lithe and lean that the whole thing was like a cross between a winged cat and a winged walrus. 
'Son of a bitch!' I breathed. 'I was afraid of this!' 
I had heard Angekok calling it Tornaq. 
Monro groaned, his eyes popping as if he'd never close them again this side of sanity. 
I brought the rifle up and drew a bead on a tiny, obsidian-black eye. 
I was squinting along the barrel of my Winchester, straight into the face of animalistic madness. The tornaq was built like a bull, with the speed of a panther. Before I could draw a bead on it, it slashed open Monro's arm from wrist to elbow. Mose told me there'd be days like these - 
So I shot it three times for luck. Monro ran off after the first shot, screaming like a rabbit with its tail kicked. Three slugs into its ugly kisser should've told it not to get fresh on the first date. 
Sure, Mose had told me that there'd be days like this. Days when I'd be going up against a supernatural horror that shouldn't really exist outside of an opium dream. I was still waiting after the echoes of the third rifle-shot had stopped careering off the walls of the cavern to see whether the tornaq was going to play ball and fall down and die. 
For a long while it looked like it was going to stand there and just bleed on the cavern floor. 
Mose had told me, 'If it's flesh and blood, my boy, then it'll bleed just like any other son of a bitch! Of course, that's the theory, my boy!' 
Sure, Mose. That's the theory. Still, that's no reason why I can't take it on the lam and let the theory work out for itself whether it's gonna hold water or not. 
I turned and ran, hard on the heels of Monro, who was blundering through the darkness, tripping over rocks and picking himself up again and charging full-tilt into sharp turns. 
As I ran into him, Monro risked a glance backwards. 'Jesus, I don't believe it. You stopped that thing in its tracks.' 
I didn't think it was worth my while to tell him that Mose had researched the death medicine and medicine-marks I'd scratched on the casings of the bullets. 
'Just in case,' Mose had said at the time. If I had him here, I'd've kissed his round, bald head. With a noise like a small earthquake, the tornaq finally crashed to the ground. 
'How's that wound, Monro?' 
'It's just a flesh wound, but I can feel it stiffening up already. What was that thing?!' 
I looked him over, with my Winchester over one shoulder, mopping the sweat from my brow. 'How the hell should I know - hot in here, ain't it?' 
I pointed up along the tunnel. 'There must be hot springs or something up ahead. Let's find out.' 
We salvaged torches each and I led the way. Monro was still baffled by the rapid turn of events, and I suppose the shock of his wound was setting in. 'But, what's going on here - I don't understand.' 
'Seems to me that your faithful Eskimo sidekick was planning to winter over here - with us as a larder for his pets.' 
'But, that's preposterous!' 
'Preposterous? Maybe. So what do you call that thing I just scragged back there? That ain't preposterous, I suppose?' 
'But what's the point of killing us all - with polar bears, yet!' 
'Y'mean, what's the percentage in it? I guess not everybody balances things with dollars and cents.' 
Monro sounded genuinely put out as he muttered to himself: 'Gee, and I thought I was payin' that Eskimo top dollar rates too.' 
I stopped and lowered my torch. 'Hey, Monro, do you see a light up ahead?' 
Monro wasn't interested in what was up ahead, he jerked a glance over his shoulder, even though any night vision he had was destroyed by the torch he carried. 
* * * * *
The Temple of Malsum. Just describing it ain't enough, because you have to realize the sense of isolation. It would be a different temple if you could just walk into it off Bourbon Street, in the French Quarter of New Orleans. It's the fact that it's out in a blizzard-benighted wilderness, five hundred miles from the nearest human outpost. The fact that it doesn't fit into any known scheme of human history. 
It had an atmosphere that was five thousand years in the making. The torches that burned in the walls burned using a substance that the human race had never been acquainted with. The gargoyle-creatures that held the torches had been carved from the living rock very probably by guys that looked just like them. Overlying every surface was the presence of gold. It hung in filigrees from the ceiling like Spanish moss in the Everglades. 
Monro exclaimed, 'I was right! I knew that map was on the money!' 
'So this is your gold mine, eh? Whose claim did you jump to get it?' 
Monro snarled at me. 'I own this place! I got all the deeds in my name straight and proper!' 
'Yeah! After you beat Captain Clarke to death to get to them!' 
Monro drew back, his eyes watchful, trying to re-assess me in the light of what I'd just blurted out. 'What do you know of Captain Clarke?' 
'I know plenty -' 
But before I could dazzle him with my wit, we both heard a growl behind us. I whirled and saw the tornaq again. Its blood, black and sticky, tracked down from the three holes where its heart should be. 
Monro yelped: 'Jesus Christ Almighty!' 
I groaned. 'What does it take to kill that thing!' 
The tornaq came rushing at us, barrel chest held low to the ground, its huge, ape-like arms spread wide to grapple with us. As I flung myself down and to one side, I shouted to Monro, 'Get out of the way!' But he just stood there, the torch in his hands all but useless. 
Monro was scooped up in those great arms like a baby and the torch went flying. Monro was past screaming as he found himself face to face with that monstrous tusk-lined maw. 
'Help me! Help me!' 
I brought the Winchester up for a head-shot and then I lowered it. Something half-heard behind me. I paused and looked over my shoulder. Some kind of chanting noise was emanating from the tunnel. 
'Aww, no! Don't tell me. The Eskimo's still alive!' 
That was when I knew that I could fill the tornaq with lead until he rattled but it would make no difference. To save my ammunition I reversed the rifle and slammed it into the face of the tornaq, who dropped Monro in pain and surprise. 
As Monro fell to the cavern floor, I shouted: 'Run for it! Keep as far away from him as you can!' 
I picked up the electric torch that Monro had dropped, pleased to see that it was still working. 'I'll be back in a minute - I gotta see a man about a dog!' 
As I ran up the tunnel, the beam of light dancing madly before me, I thought of Mose. How'd I let him talk me into this? 
I didn't have to run quite as far as the entrance of the cavern, for Angekok had crawled some distance. I found him on his stomach, fending off the beam of the torch from his eyes with one hand. In his other hand he had a knife. 
'You can't kill me, white man!' he groaned hoarsely. 
'Nope, but I can sure as hell give it a try!' I brought the Winchester up to aim it at his head. Behind me I could hear the shrieks of Monro as the bellows of the tornaq came rumbling down the tunnel. Angekok babbled on, his voice low and monotonous: 'I am a servant of Malsum, the Prowler in the Icy Wastes -' 
I found it difficult to aim, my hands shaking. 'Sure, sure. I didn't think you were Bela Lugosi.' 
Before I knew it, Angekok had crawled up to me and was within slashing distance with his knife. Rattled, I stepped back. 
Angekok hissed: 'This blade was made from metal from a star that fell to the ice. Malsum led me to it, taught me how to forge it into a demon-slayer.' 
'Whooops! - I believe you, bud.' 
A pistol shot sounded from behind me, where I guessed that Monro had got off a lucky shot. Angekok advanced again, and again I was forced back. He was the guy with the knife and I had the rifle, but he still had the upper hand, as he gasped out: 'You are like a skiff of snow to me, white man. I have seen mysteries -' 
The knife. It had a medicine bag tied to it. With feathers and snake-bones tied up in it. 'Look, don't take this personal, bud -' 
I dropped the rifle and grabbed at Angekok's wrist. The Eskimo twisted, slippery as an eel, and the strength in his arm was more than I could handle. It was like wrestling with an alligator. Then I heard the knife plunge home into the Eskimo's throat. His face went from being a mask of hate to being a mask of pain and fear. And then, as the life ebbed out of him, it became simply a mask. 
Behind me another shot rang out. I had to get back to Monro while there was still something there to get back to. 
Even as I made it back to the torch-lit cavern, I realised that I needn't've bothered. Monro was lying on his back, having crawled to sanctuary between the feet of the wolf-headed idol on the jewelled-encrusted throne. Over him, like a shadow from the abyss, loomed the tornaq, and then, suddenly that's all it was - a shadow. A shadow that dwindled and turned to mist and was gone, with a phantom-like bellowing of rage and frustration echoing in my head. 
By the time I could get to him, Monro was crazy as a loon. Apart from the knife-wound in his arm, one of the tornaq's tusks had skewered him in the left leg, missing vital blood vessels - lucky for Monro. 
I fixed him up as best I could, cleaning his wound and patching the flow of blood, but he tossed and turned in a fever for something close to a fortnight. I wasn't exactly sure of the time since there was no way of measuring it in that place, but every time I slept I woke up and marked a place in the wall. 
The day after we arrived at the cavern, I risked an expedition to the campsite. It was bad. Half-eaten bodies lay like torn and butchered rag-dolls. Bear tracks were all over the place, but I saw no sign of the bears. My guess is that they were summoned there by Angekok and much preferred to have nothing to do with the area if it was left to them to decide. 
I cleaned up the camp just in case other, less savoury, carrion-eaters came nosing about. Angekok's body, along with all of the others, I tossed into a slowly flowing stream of lava that snaked around a nearby ridge. With the ground frozen there was no other way to bury them and I figured that liquid stone would harden into a grave site sooner or later. What stores I found I brought back to the cavern. With thirty in the expedition, the stores over the winter had been a problem. With only two to feed, the stores were adequate. The only things I didn't throw into the lava belonged to Angekok. I brought his knife with its medicine-bag back with me to the temple of Malsum. 
By the third day, I had the camp cleared as if there had never been any sign of a human. But I still hadn't faced my real problem: 
How was I going to cross a thousand miles of ice and snow - no guide, no transport, no provisions, and carrying a crazy man? 
During the next few days, I concentrated on trying to salvage enough scrap wood and gear to cobble together a sleigh. I figured on maybe man-hauling out of here with the sleigh holding enough provisions to make it to the coast. Monro would be a problem. Or maybe not. If he died, then I'd bury him: end of problem. If he lived and recovered from his fever, then we could man-haul out together. 
* * * * *
I was sitting hugging my knees as I sat on the shore of the lake in the Temple. I wore only a loin cloth, for the heat from the springs made it too damn clammy for clothes. I was looking at the tunnel that emptied the lake water. I couldn't even follow the way that Captain Clarke took, because he stole the only kayak, and Angekok sure didn't replace it. 
Then I thought of the ropes in the stores that I'd salvaged. What if I followed in Captain Clarke's footsteps? The hot springs might keep the terrain warm enough to ease the hostile nature of the frozen wastes. Let's face it, if I could lose two hundred miles of frozen tundra, it would be worth it. 
I found one of the coils of rope and tied a loop of it to a rock in the cavern, then lowered myself down. I had no idea what lay below, but there was only one way to find out. My last shot of the cavern was of the wolf-headed idol, and as I descended, I could see a flash of light glinting in the eye of the image, as if an idea had just occurred to it. 
I had brought a light satchel with what I hoped would be essentials. A torch, a pistol with shells marked with death-medicine. For some reason I'd brought along with me the medicine bag and knife I'd taken from the dead Angekok. 
Some way down the cliff, I paused to catch my breath on a narrow ledge with the water roaring past me. While I waited, I wondered: How did Captain Clarke manage to survive a fall like this? I had come down easily a hundred feet and from the noise of the water falling below there was easily another hundred feet to go. Captain Clarke didn't go into all the ins and outs of his underground adventures, claiming shock-induced memory-loss. But the first step of his journey provoked questions. Questions that were hard to frame, never mind answer. 
While I caught my breath and rested my shaking limbs, I happened to catch sight of a strange mark on the ledge at my feet. My own prints had partly obliterated the tracks I found there, but the light of the electric torch illuminated one perfect print: 
It was a webbed foot. About eighteen inches from heel to toe, it had something like pad-marks on it, so it didn't suggest anything reptilian or frog-like. It brought to mind a giant otter, or beaver. That's all. Nothing else. For a moment as I knelt there in the roaring darkness beside the rushing water, I had to fight the urge to wipe out the print. I didn't want to see it. It had no right to be there. It made me feel as scared as hell. I thought of the gargoyle statues up in the Temple. What if some of those horrible little bastards were still around? 
I scanned the ledge with the torch and found more marks, semi-obliterated, that suggested the tracks led to a rock wall and ended there. I couldn't follow them, and verging on the edge of obsession. I was glad I didn't have to. 
I stood up and shone the torch down the waterfall. I was glad I wasn't desperate enough to have to go down there. All the same, how desperate do you need to be? Maybe I shouldn't've looked and just taken the plunge like the old Captain did. 
I tested the rope and couldn't bring myself to go down any further. I shuddered, sending the beam of the torch out across the abyss, but seeing nothing. The walls of this cavern were well beyond the strength of my light to touch them. The whole place gave me a serious case of the creeps. 
When I got back up to the cavern, I could see that Monro was up and moving about. Relief was the first feeling I got because I was getting such a bad feeling about the whole place. Maybe with Monro feeling better, there was a chance we could salvage enough wood for another sleigh. 
As I swam lazily across the warm lake, I could hear Monro talking to himself, but between the water in my ears and the slap of my arms pulling along, I couldn't pay him any mind. All I could think about was: Now, maybe we get the hell outta here! 
Then, as I pulled myself ashore, I heard him more clearly. He was bent from the waist and waving his arms about and his words came clearly to me across the shallows: 
'Tornaq ia - ia tornaq - uoiea uae yeee uia - tornaq ia -' 
'Hey, Monro! Glad to see you up and about!' 
My first reaction was that he couldn't hear me over the noise of the waters! Then it hit me. His words reminded me of some of the Eskimo's spell-casting cant. I saw Monro begin to straighten up, as if to glance over his shoulder. I plunged down underwater and stayed there until my breath gave out. 
I came up cautiously and even then just enough to clear my nostrils and get some air. Monro was screaming now, gesticulating and dancing about a spot in the ground in front of the wolf-headed idol: 
'Tornaq ia - ia tornaq - uoiea uae yeee uia - tornaq ia -' 
I could just barely hear him over the water, but that wasn't United States he was talking. 
And then I saw the cloud of vapour condense in the air above the knees of the wolf-idol. The clouds were like heat-hazes that had no right to be there, but as I watched I could see that they were taking on substance. The heat-hazes grew into three clouds of dark anvil-heads. It was like watching a dark supernatural foetus grow out of the placenta of Monro's brain. No less than three baby tornaqs began to build up and grow, thriving on the magic from their master. Monro was staggering and weaving now, his head upthrust and his eyes closed so that only the whites were visible. 
'Tornaq ia - ia tornaq - uoiea uae yeee uia - tornaq ia -' 
I thought of the cavern with the waterfall and wondered if this was the kind of desperation I required to take the high jump down into the roaring darkness below. It would sure end it quick enough. It was madness, but not desperation that nibbled at the edges of my mind. 
On the other hand, as far as Monro was aware (if he was aware at all), I was still down the waterfall. I crawled out of the water on my hands and knees and crept along until I had circled the cavern behind me. Monro and his three demonic offspring were still oblivious to their surroundings. At the mouth of the cavern, where the tunnel twisted and twined its way through the living rock, I had my arctic clothes stashed. I picked them up in a bundle and tippie-toed out of there - just enough to give me the cover I required to pause to get dressed. 
As I dressed I thought of my options: 
1 a five hundred mile hike through ice and snow - 
2 go fifteen rounds with three walrus-faced bogey-men. 
My breath drew clouds of respiration on the chilly air of the tunnel. There was no contest. 
I had the sleigh and my provisions all packed and ready to leave at the mouth of the cave. They were hidden under a tarp and weighed down by rocks to keep scavengers out, but it would take me five minutes to get on my way. 
As I trudged down the tunnel, behind me I could hear the shrieking of Monro as his ceremony built to a climax. The voice was Monro's but the words belonged to Angekok. I recalled my last conversation with him, how he'd boasted that he could not be killed. I didn't believe it then, and I found it hard to believe it now. But back then I hadn't spent a month in a Temple warmed by hot springs in the last relics of a civilisation that should never have existed. 
It took me all of five minutes and more to clear my sleigh. I was fixing on my skis when I heard the rumbling approach of the tornaqs. 
Company was on its way. I got to my feet, slung my rifle over my shoulder and heaved on the makeshift harness of the sleigh. Outside, the blizzard was perfect for my escape. 
I think I got maybe five hundred yards from the cavern entrance before I heard the slap of leathery wings in the air overhead. 
It came from in front of me, riding the stiff snow-filled wind. I dropped my sleigh-harness and brought my Winchester up and jacked a round into the breech. The sky overhead was filled with clotted snow. It was falling so heavily it was almost as if it was drifting before it hit the ground. Then, like a death-mask breaking through a white curtain, the tornaq came through head-on, tusks trailing like white keels, arms spread with talons hooked and ready to slash, wings spread wide and already coated with the snow. 
I brought the Winchester up and zeroed in on the broad space between the black, pebble-like eyes. 'If I'd'a known you were dropping in -' 
I fired the first shot and saw the hole tear open between the eyes, and the blood jet out. 
'I'd'a baked ya a cake!' 
The tornaq didn't seem fazed by the slugs. But a cry came from behind me and I realized that although I hadn't hit the true target, I'd hit something. 
Then I heard a voice crying out, torn to scraps of sense on the snow-brindled winds: 'Return to me, my children of the night-skied abyss!' 
Then I heard another gossamer treading of the wind before me, and the tornaq I'd shot plummeted into the snow beside me. 
I looked around, mystified. I didn't get it - the other two weren't attacking me. 
I didn't want to look a gift tornaq in the mouth, so I slung my Winchester over my shoulder, picked up my harness and began ski-walking out of there as fast as I could. 
I knew it couldn't last and it didn't. A few minutes later I heard the leathery slap of wings as they fought through the blizzard. I kept my head down and plunged on, trusting to wind conditions being such to send them low enough that when they saw me, I'd see them too. With the wind at my back, I knew they'd be coming at me head on. 
And sure enough they did. 
I dropped my sleigh harness and reached for my Winchester. But the tornaq wasn't attacking this time. It spread its wings in a great vane and settled lightly into the snow, then it turned its great broad back to me and I could see Monro, still clad in his light cavern clothing climb down from his perch on its back. 
Before I could raise my rifle, Monro came striding through the snow, one arm upraised imperiously. 
'Halt, mortal. I mean you no harm!' 
I kept my rifle raised. 'Oh, yeah. So this has all been a slight misunderstanding, I suppose!' I was trying to keep an eye out for the second tornaq, which was nowhere to be seen. Now that I had stopped, there was no reason why it should remain airborne and so I knew it could attack me from any direction it desired. 
Monro continued, 'There's no way you can get back to safety, Wolf! At least, not without my help!' 
I lowered my rifle in surprise. 'Huh? How'd you know my real name?' 
Monro grinned insanely. 'The spirits have whispered your name to my tarnaq as it howled mindlessly in the cold wastes -' 
'Never mind all that mumbo-jumbo - what did you say about getting me back to Anchorage?' 
'I meant it, Wolf. My pet - this tornaq here - can carry you swift as the wind. Go it alone and I'll call the bears to dog your every step -' 
I glanced nervously about, eyes narrowed to keep the snow out of my eyes. 'There's gotta be a catch, nature-boy. You want something. What is it?' 
'You're smart, Wolf,' said Monro with a feral smile. 'You're right. I want my medicine bag.' 
'Medicine bag?' 
'Yes. I know you have it.' 
'How do you know? Wait a minute - that's why you called off your goddamn flying meat-hooks.' 
Involuntarily my fingers closed about the medicine bag at the butt of my gun. 'This is why I was able to blow it out of the sky so easily!' 
I brought my hand up with the medicine-bag in it. And then something like a white mountain swooped down on me - that second tornaq! It roared down on me, slamming me into the ground, the Winchester going off as my finger caught against the trigger. And then the rifle was jarred from my hand by the force of the impact. 
I heard Monro screaming: 'The medicine bag, my pet! Get the bag!' 
I was too winded to say anything more than, 'Oooooff!' 
The tornaq shrilled, 'Rawwwrrr!' at the top of its voice, right into my ear. 
In our struggles, we found ourselves at the top of a snow-capped ridge. Below, I could see the hot glow from lava streams reflecting off the underside of the snow clouds. 
Then we were rolling down the slope. 
I heard Monro shouting: 'No, not down there! There's a -' 
'Cliff,' my body supplied as the tornaq and I left terra firma behind and plunged down towards the bubbling lava pools below. 
'Ravine!' screamed Monro from somewhere, 'way, 'way overhead. 
I had seconds to live, but I wanted to die with the tornaq knowing that it could have worked out differently. I managed to wrestle the medicine bag up and shove it into the tornaq's fearsome visage. 
'Listen to me' I screamed, 'you satanic son of a bitch. This here's a medicine bag. That makes me the head honcho round here. You better start flying or we're both chopped liver!' 
And, you know what? It knew! That goddamn, godawful, god-forsaken monstrosity knew what I was saying! 
The tornaq slipped round like a seal in water, opened its wings with a slap of sails unfurling and suddenly our fall became a controlled power dive. It was all that I could do to hang on grimly, frantically. The red glow from below filled my entire landscape. 
And then I felt the lift from the thermals below take effect, the wingspread of that infernal steed was enough to stop us from vaporising in the molten rock. 
The power-dive turned into a long swoop and 'Yeee-hahhh! We made it!' burst from my throat. 
Below me I could see Monro and the other tornaq. My sleigh looked like effects from a doll's house. 
Monro shook his fist at me, raging and spitting: 'You've not heard the last of me, Wolf!' 
I'd heard all I wanted of him, as I clambered up over onto the back of the tornaq. 
'Hey, boy, take me home, James, and don't spare the horses!' 
The tornaq growled over its shoulder at me. I drew my hand back as if expecting to get it bitten off. 
Then I relaxed and patted its furry hide. 'Ulp. Henh-henh. Good doggie!' 
I leaned over and showed it the medicine bag. 'Listen up, Fido. You do what I tell you to. Now - mush!' 
Beneath me, like a dream, the snow-filled landscape fell away. The tornaq climbed upwards, above the storm clouds until we came out beneath the gaze of a bone-white moon. My spirits soared with the passage on the winged minion, so much so that I began to hum 'Flyin' down to Rio' - I broke off, jubilant at my own elation. 'Flyin' down to Rio,' I told the tornaq, 'geez, I wish I was.' 
As if in answer the brute rumbled deep in its breast. 
'Somehow, "Flyin' down to Anchorage, Alaska" don't have quite the same ring to it.' 
Once again the tornaq rumbled, as if agreeing with me. 
I tickled the mane of fur on the great hump of muscle that flexed and spread, piston-like, to give the lift to its great wings. 'There! I knew you and me could get along!' 
On and on the great beast flew, and relief at my narrow escape, combined with the fears I'd experienced over the last month, all added up to give a dream-like air about the event. I felt the medicine-bag glowing in my hand and as the tornaq flew, I fell into a reverie, floating between waking life and dream. 
I saw Monro running through the tunnel into the cavern, followed by his one remaining tornaq. 'He shall not escape me!' In a frenzy he drew the medicine-circle in the dust before the idol of Malsum. 
'Inua yua ta yaruu Tonralik Malsum tarneq tupilaks -' 
The flames in the altar-bowls sank low - even Monro and the tornaq cringed back as the supernatural aura of the deity began to fill the cavern. 
Monro looked fearful, the back of his hand to his mouth as if ruing his summoning. 
A voice like thunder crashing on rocks spoke: 'Thou hast spoken the words and drawn the sigils and cast thy mind upon the snow-gale of eternity, Angekok. Now that thy god draws near, what need ye of him?' 
Monro fell to his knees, and the tornaq grovelled on the sandy shore, afraid to look on the unleashed majesty of something from another age. 
Monro managed to finally gabble out: 'I want Wolf, O Mighty One. Give him to me and I re-pledge myself to your service throughout eternity!' 
Monro was blasted back as if by a stiff breeze while the voice of Malsum thundered: 'You dare to bargain with me!' 
The flames in the torches grew back, illuminating the Temple once more. Painfully, Monro picked himself up from the cavern floor. 
Malsum growled like thunder in the distance: 'But - because of thy past faithfulness to me, I shall grant thee a little token - a small sop of revenge -' 
The tilting of the tornaq beneath me jolted me out of my reverie. My earlier feeling of elation had evaporated, yet I could see that the blizzard had boiled its own way northward. I could see the moonlit landscape beneath, some of the coastline and grids of lights that could only be Anchorage. 
'About time too,' I said aloud, my face frozen with the wind playing on it. I was close to freezing despite my winter gear, but it still beat walking home. 
The tornaq landed on the outskirts of the settlement, using the cover of a birch wood, and then took off. I watched it until it was just another shadow in the greater shadows between the stars. It never once looked back. 
Stiffly, I turned towards the lights of Anchorage, turning my collar up. My agenda was simple. Get the first train out of town, paying for my way with a few nuggets of virgin gold that I'd picked up from the Temple. Say nothing of Monro's benighted expedition and just hope and pray that nobody asked too many questions.
I walked into the hold of the ship, right into the Temple of Malsum, with two carbines. One slung over my shoulder, the other with its butt on my hip, braced for a snapshot. 
Monro, wearing a tuxedo, popped out from behind the gigantic wolf's head of the idol. 'So, 
Wolf, you couldn't resist the possibility of us meeting once again!' 
'What -?' I glared around, taken by surprise. 'Monro!' 
I saw Monro out of the corner of my eye, but as I whirled about my attention was taken up by the fact that I was surrounded by a small crowd of tornaqs and other creatures that I'd only heard about in my briefings by Mose - owl-headed windigos. 
Monro leaned jauntily against the jowls of the idol, arms folded, eyes glittering insanely. 'As you can see, Wolf, my pets are eager to meet you.' He slipped to his hunkers and slid down to the idol's waist. He gestured theatrically with both hands as if tearing apart a capon. 'To rend you limb from limb.' 
He dropped to the floor of the hold and steadied himself against the gleaming knees of the image. 'They are waiting to gouge out your eyes with their red-hot claws -' 
He advanced to stand before me, the muzzle of my lowered carbine brushing his chest. He ignored the rifle and held out an imperious hand. 'Now, where is my medicine bag?' 
Before I could react, I was seized by several of the creatures. Claws wrapped themselves about the barrel of the carbine, other paws gripped my arms, pinning them. Something stole my hat from behind, yet others tugged savagely at the hem of my jacket. 
I'd been frisked before, but never like this. A clawed hand like a fistful of scythes came over my shoulder and shredded my shirt open. I struggled, but it felt like being in a cage of knives. Blood trickled down from my chest, but then another paw caught my jaw and leaned my head back and up, exposed the leather thong of the medicine bag about my neck. 
A sweep of a furry limb and the thong parted like tissue paper. Monro stepped back with a triumphant grin as the tornaq handed him the medicine bag. 
Monro weighed it thoughtfully in one hand as he stared into my eyes. 'So, I receive my stolen property at last. How long has it been now, Wolf? Two years?' 
'Seven hundred and thirty-two days, to be exact!' I growled in a voice that made the tornaqs about me rumble in reprisal. 
Monro held up the medicine bag as if it was a jewel to catch the light. 'I'm surprised that you haven't tampered with this.' 
The truth was I'd been afraid to open it - treating it like Pandora's Box. 
One of the tornaqs closed its paws about my maimed wrist, forcing it up into Monro's view. Monro regarded my clawed and fur-gnarled hand with satisfaction, adding: 'And I see that Malsum allowed me a small sop of revenge -' 
'I wish he'd just plain killed me instead.' 
'But, that's the whole point, Wolf. Death's too good for the likes of you.' 
I tried to look as if I was comfortable in this present situation. I jerked my head to encompass our surroundings. 'So - what's the deal here, Monro? You going into the religion racket? Somehow I never guessed that even you would sink that low!' 
While the tornaq that had returned the medicine bag to him held up a looking glass Monro tied the medicine bag around his neck. 
Monro tilted his head, squinting at his reflection. 'It's a modern world, Wolf. Even gods gotta move with the times. I figure that Malsum knew he was missin' out on what was rightly his.' 
Monro patted his shoulders free of imaginary lint. 'Malsum was limited by the imagination of his worshippers. His witch-doctor was always a goddamn Eskimo whose only thought was where his next whale-blubber dinner was coming from.' 
Monro grinned and tapped his temple. 'But when Angekok picked me for his next host-body, I still had all my memories. Malsum tuned in on those and realised that he was missing out on the good life. Dames, booze, the latest dance craze. Sure, he knew there was Prohibition, but he could live with a little sanctimony.' 
I sneered at him through slitted lids, as I felt the blood from my chest pool at the waistband of my trousers and begin to trickle down my legs. I was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last blood spilt tonight. 
My voice sounded hoarse and strained, even to myself. 'You're crazy as a monkey-house at the zoo, Monro.' 
Monro's face went suddenly maniacally angry. 'I don't need no smart mouth from you, you cheap shamus. I'm in a position to make you good and sorry you ever crossed my path.' 
I found myself sneering in triumph. Looks like I'd touched a nerve. 'So, you got a god to look after you now, Monro. I guess you think that makes you pretty big league stuff.' 
'You better believe it, gumshoe. I got the right connections now.' 
Monro clapped his tornaq-flunkey on its shoulder. 'I got the right sort of muscle to put a scare into anybody who says no to me.' 
Monro's eyes shone with a glint of madness in them. 'But most of all I got the moolah to back it all up - diamonds. I got enough ice on tap to make a big freeze in this town.' 
He glanced around in a grandiose manner. I could tell that he got a really big kick out of all this ancient religion schtick. 
'In this town?' he added. 'Hell, I'm gonna make my mark all over this country. I'm gonna make Capone's Chicago operation look like a lemonade stand.' 
While Monro had been busy talking, I'd been busy looking. The hold was a replica of the original Temple of Malsum, complete with lake. I wondered if it might even come complete with escape route. Monro's hectoring tone of voice had a calming effect on the tornaqs and windigos around me. They all had their attention fixed on him, tracking his every move as he strutted about before the feet of their god. 
I stared longingly down at the lake, sussing out how to make a break for it. There was a pipe partly sticking up out of the waters, so I knew it had to exit somewhere. 
In order to keep Monro talking, I tried to bait him: 'You may have a whole mountain of diamonds, Monro, but it's all hot ice. Just like you. You're all hot air.' 
I strained forward, shouting up at Monro. 'You may have all the illicit diamonds in the world, but they lead right back to you in a trail that any snot-nosed rookie cop could follow. I'm just the first to pick up on your operation, Monro - but I won't be the last.' 
Monro looked at me, appraising. Then his expression changed to one of smugness. 'Don't worry about me, Wolf. Anybody who likes can track me down. I can either buy 'em off, or - 
He snapped his fingers. 
' - kill 'em!' 
I took my cue. The creatures holding me were mesmerised by Monro. But they weren't the only ones with claws. Wrenching free, raking my claws over the nearest tornaq, I shouted: 'It's now or never!' 
The tornaq who'd blooded me fell back with a howl of pain, clutching its ragged features. My clawed hand felt heavy as if I'd scooped it full with minced beef. The others reacted slowly, coming out of their spell, but they were too late. I was already halfway to the lake, and doubling up to dive headlong into its oily, black waters. 
Monro screamed at them 'Stop him, my pets! Don't let him get away!' adding further instructions in what I could only suppose to be Eskimo. But I was too busy running to do too much supposing. I hit the cool waters, and knifed down through their dark embrace. 
Lunging frantically through the water, I headed for what I hoped was the position of the outlet pipe I'd seen earlier. 'Water's gotta go somewhere,' I figured. 'Just hope it isn't -' 
My questing fingers found the pipe and discovered the mesh covering it. 
'Blocked!' 
Tugging at it, I knew it would give eventually, but the tornaqs weren't about to hand out eventually on a plate. 
A water surge from behind me told me that the tornaqs were quite at home in the water. Turning, I saw a huge silhouette bearing down on me, its arms extended, claws out like scythes to slice and dice. I still had plenty of reserves but there was no way I could go a round under the water with a guy this big, this angry. 
I dodged as the tornaq's claws pearled through the water towards my face. I brought my own claws up to parry and felt the satisfaction of a tremor ripple through the big guy. But I'd only dodged one set of the claws. The other set slashed out, but the tornaq was unbalanced by my feint, and his claws ploughed through the mouth of the pipe to rip the mesh away. 
The tornaq was big but slow. I sent a backhand blow towards his guts with my own claws and heard him yowl with a gobble of bubbles breaking from his jaws. He doubled up and kicked away in a bloody spiral into the darkness. I lost no time gloating and darted in through the pipe. 'Thanks, bud,' I thought as I groped my way along the tunnel. 'Remind me to buy you a round sometime.' 
Even as I drew my feet into the pipe I could hear the claws of another tornaq scraping at the mesh. I was inside just in time, and even though it snaked its arm in to snag me, I managed to keep out of its reach. And those tornaqs were big guys - with those shoulders, to say nothing of those wings, they wouldn't be following me in here. 
Now I was getting low on air. I forced myself on, heart pounding, pulse thumping in my temples. I entered darkness along the pipe. I swam through turbulence and thunder, crawling and feeling my way in the cramped confines of the pipe as much as swimming. I hit the end of the pipe head on. Stars careened inside my skull and the shock of it made me cough out some air, but I stopped myself from panicking. Sure, this was a dead end. This I didn't need! But my body had taken over the situation, even before the thought occurred to my brain, my hands had already found a stopcock in the darkness. 
Bubbles leaking from my nose, I strained to turn the stopcock. I could taste my own blood in the water, and the pains in my ears suggested I was bleeding from there as well. 
'Turn, you son of a bitch stopcock, turn!' I screamed internally. My air was all gone and so - nearly - was I. 
Then the stopcock turned and the weight of the water pushed the hatch open and I was riding a plume of water out of the hull of the Vidor. 
Gagging and coughing, I sank low in the water, forced down by momentum. Clawing my way to the surface, my face hit air with a flurry of splutters. 
I trod water for a moment to catch my breath and then struck out in steady pulls to swim to the wharf. A voice behind me, stopped me in my tracks. I turned, treading water, to see Monro on deck. I was pretty grateful not to see any signs of his tornaqs or other creatures. It made sense that they would keep a low profile. On the other hand, it might make sense for Monro to stall me while a small flotilla of tornaqs dragged me underwater. I turned my back on him and started swimming again, taking my time, but making good speed. 
'You got away from me this time, Wolf.' Monro's voice floated over the waters, in a chilling wave. 'But you'll be back. And I'll be ready for you next time.' 
* * * * *
Outside in the street the sun was shining. Mose had his window opened, and the clank of trolley cars running along, with their burdens of the unconscious masses only made me feel even more glad to be alive. 
'Seems to me, my boy,' Mose was saying, 'that you're lucky you got out alive.' 
I could feel the frown make my forehead tense. An anger like lava lurked beneath my human personality these days. I felt as if I was living with an unchained wild beast. I bit down on the anger and growled in reply: 'Monro was the lucky one, Mose. If he hadn't had all that supernatural muscle, I'd-a taken him there and then.' 
Pyper was sitting at his desk, which was covered by big legal tomes, some open, some closed, with ribbons in to mark references. 
'Go easy, Wolf, go easy. That's no crackerjack barrel that Monro is sitting on down there. It's not just another speakeasy or dive that we can get the cops to raid if we give them a good enough reason.' 
Pyper flashed me a look full of worriment and concern. 'No, my boy, you ask me, what we've got is a heap o' trouble.' 
'We got him dead to rights, Mose. He's smuggling diamonds. The Feds'll eat him up alive.' 
Mose stood up, one hand on his back as if it hurt him to rise. 'The impetuosity of youth! You stick your neck out, Wolf, and you'll get your head chopped off.' 
'Whaddaya mean?' 
Mose patted one of his big, heavy legal books. 'I mean that I've had a chance to look into the situation since you climbed up out of the drink.' 
He flipped through the pages. 'According to the statute books, he's not smuggling diamonds. Those diamonds are part of the infrastructure of the vessel and as such are actually not cargo. You try to book him on diamond smuggling and you are the one who's going to get salt on his tail.' 
Before I knew it, my anger had spurred me out of my chair. I slammed the law book shut. 
'There has to be a way to stop him, Mose! He's got enough ice on tap to sink another Titanic!' 
Pyper patted me on the shoulder, paternally. 'Patience, my boy. We'll find a way to nail him. In fact, I've been doing some research into the myths and legends surrounding our new kid on the block - Malsum -' 
I turned away in irritation. 'What good will that do?' 
'Well, for a start, Malsum had a brother. Name of Gluskap - Red Indian legends are full of Twins - one good, one evil.' 
Interested in spite of myself, I turned back to see that not all of the books on Mose's desk were law books. One of them was a big book of mythology and legendry. Mose had it open to a page showing a mythological scene in Indian-style drawings of some sort of giant fish being ridden bareback by a figure in Eskimo kit. 
Mose explained, his short finger stabbing to the guy riding the giant fish: 'Gluskap wore the white hat, and Malsum was one of the black hats. There's a legend where this Gluskap killed a sorcerer called Winpe - chased him by riding a gigantic fish -' 
Mose turned to another marked page in one of the other books. 'The Eskimos had a name for a gigantic fish. A sort of Mother-Goddess of the Deep. They called her Siitna -' 
Uneasily, I eyed the illustration, originally drawn on bark and painted in primitive pigments. It showed something that was mostly mouth and tail. Sweet temper and apple-pie were obviously not high up on her list of motherly attributes. 
I wasn't sure why, but I reached forward and closed the book. 
My anger had gone, departing on wolf-feet deep into the forest of my crowded soul. 'I need a hook, Mose - a lever of some kind. Monro isn't invincible. I just need to know his weaknesses -' 
Pyper gestured to a pile of hand-written notes and nautical diaries. 'I still have the dairies and papers of Captain Clarke. I've never managed to read them all the way through - maybe there'll be something in there to help us.' 
I picked up my new hat and put it on. 'Thanks, Mose. You do that. Meanwhile I'll talk to a few people around town. We can't lie down under a bastard like Monro.' 
I left the office, my gloved hand on the doorknob, ready to close it behind me. 
Mose called after me: 'By the way, Wolf - how's the hand?' 
I glanced warily about and saw that Rosie wasn't at her desk. Bringing my gloved hand up, I held it before my face, and flexed my fingers. Even that gentle movement stirred the power within, and claws poked out through the brand new creaking leather of my glove. 
I glanced at Mose and held his gaze. 
'Still up to scratch, Mose.' 
Pinching the brass door knob with a negligent gesture, I left deep grooves over its smooth expanse. Behind me I heard the outside door open. Rosie came in with a tray carrying the coffee percolator and cups. 
I tipped my hat as I passed her by. 'Looking good this morning, Rosie.' 
Outside, across the street, I glanced up at Mose's window. Mose stood there, looking pensive, his white shirt in the shadows of his office like ivory inset in ebony. 
* * * * *
I walked the few blocks to the precinct station, enjoying and savouring the heat that prickled through my shirt. I was still making good on my promise never to complain about the heat. A winter in Alaska can change a guy. As I walked up the steps into the police station with its low railing demarking the public area and little swing gates separating the official area, I thought of Johnny Legrasse. 
Johnny Legrasse and I go way back. 
I leaned on the counter and addressed the bald-headed, moustached desk sergeant. 'Is Inspector Legrasse in, Sarge?' 
'He's always in to you, Wolf.' 
As I walked away, I could hear the desk sergeant whisper softly to another cop: 'Hey, Akeley, you get a good look at his hand?' 
'Whatsa matter with it? Did he get it caught in some sort of machinery?' 
The desk sergeant replied: 'Nobody knows for sure. At least, some people do know -' 
But then I was out of earshot and heading down the corridor where Johnny had his office. I was pretty certain I wouldn't have been able to hear that exchange before my little trip to Alaska. 
I opened the door without knocking and said to the cop behind the desk, with an open file before him. 
'Hey, you're an Inspector, ain'tcha? What do they get you to inspect?' 
Johnny jumped to his feet with a broad grin on his face. 'Come in, Tom, come in!' 
I clapped him on the shoulder, noting that despite the warmth of his welcome he still had the presence of mind to close the file he'd been reading. 'Geez, you're really in the doghouse now, ain'tcha! Your own office, a desk, Christ, they even gave you a filing cabinet. Who says police graft is a thing of the past!' 
'Tom! It's been too long! What're you doing with yourself!' 
'Trying to keep my head above water -' 
Suddenly I felt the walls were closing in on me. 'You got time to take a walk down to the harbour?' 
Johnny eyed me warily. 'If you insist.' 
We caught a trolley down to the West Wharf while we caught up on each other's recent past. Johnny knew I'd been to Alaska, though not the reasons why, and I had chosen to keep in touch with him only by phone until I'd settled back in. Johnny brought me back up to date with his family. He'd added another son to the family tree, bringing it up to five, with Aimee still keen for more and holding out for that elusive daughter. 
I decided that it was time to tell Johnny why I'd been keeping out of his sight lately. He didn't believe it until I showed him my hand, and the way it could cut strips out of most anything with the least of effort on my part. Then I told him about Monro's part. 
By the time we'd chewed the fat, I'd found us a good vantage to overlook the ships in the harbour. We were leaning on the parapet railing of the Mercer Building, with the Vidor below us. 
I wound up by saying: 'So, you see, Johnny, that's my problem. I can't touch Monro.' Johnny nodded in sympathy, tossing away his cigarette stub. 'Yeah, the same old story. You need the evidence.' 
He was rubbing the back of his neck, in disbelief, staring down at my gloved hand. 'And, hell, I believe you, Tom, but then I've got a pretty good reason for acceptin' the supernatural.' 
I nodded, lips tight, eyes slitted. 'Your old man - yeah, I heard about his Everglades Raid of '08.' 
Johnny looked down at the Vidor. 'Let's take a closer look.' 
As we walked along the wharf towards the Vidor, Johnny said, 'But I'd never get the man-power to mount the kind of operation you'd need to nail Monro.' 
I shook my head. 'It ain't necessarily so. All you need is a swab for the lab from that altar. He's sacrificin' people to that goddamn statue of his.' 
Johnny Legrasse turned away to look out over the litter-strewn and oil-stained waters. 'I can't just walk in and take a blood test on his altar, Wolf. I'd need a search warrant, and for that I need to show a judge just cause. Any other way and it's inadmissible evidence. If I go in there with anything less, then I'm in violation of the Freedom of Worship Clause in the Constitution.' 
I had to fight to keep the growl out of my voice, the disappointment out of my eyes. 'You're lettin' me down, Johnny.' 
'Now, if you could tie this in to murdered bodies, but you don't have a single corpus delicti. It's the way it's gotta be.' 
He put out his hand. We shook. He walked away. 
* * * * *
As I sat at a table in the dock-side eaterie, The Green Mermaid, I thought my options over. Johnny Legrasse wasn't the only string to my bow. He had been the nearest-to-legal I could think of. But since it hadn't panned out, I'd set up this meeting instead. The Green Mermaid has old-fashioned bulls-eye windows. They cast aqueous shadows over my table as I sat there with my elbows on it, nodding to encourage my companions to talk. 
My hat was slung on the back of my chair, and I kept my gloved hand under my right elbow. Sitting opposite was a white-bearded sea-captain smoking a briar pipe and accompanied by a man in a watch-cap. 
The captain was explaining something to me as if he thought I was stupid. I'd let him think I was stupid because you learn more things that way. 'To run a ship the size you're talkin' about, Mr Wolf, you'd need a minimum crew of ten.' 
The engineer chimed in with his quaint Scottish burr: 'An' thot's no' countin' the stokers, Hector.' 
I reached into my waistband and pulled out a wad of notes and threw some cash down, letting them get a good close look at my gloved southpaw. 
'Thanks for your time, gentlemen,' I said as I rose and put on my hat. 'Next round's on me.' 
I pulled my brim down and tapped it with a forefinger. 'I'll be in touch.' 
As I walked out of the diner, I knew I'd set in motion the first of a whole train of events I'd need in order to bring Monro crashing to his knees. What I really need now, I thought, is some sort of diversion. 
* * * * *
The sign on the door read: R Quaid Private Detective Agency. 
'Well, well, well, if it isn't Tom Wolf -' said Rebecca Quaid as I stepped into her office. 'I never thought I'd see the day when you'd come looking for back-up.' 
Becky is a good-lookin' dame, with her hair cut into a Veronica Lake style. But even though Becky is good on the eye, I kept most of my attention on her chief muscle, Vinnie Van Zee. Vinnie and I used to be sparring partners way, 'way back, when we both had dreams of glory in the kingly art. Nowadays, Vinnie has put on some weight, and he smokes Cuban cigars. He looks like a gorilla and he's always on call for anyone who's looking for somebody who can put the opposition off just by looking tough. 
I nodded to Vinnie, and replied to Becky, 'Yeah, well, times have changed. I'm on a case that needs a 24-hour surveillance team, and even on coffee and speed I can only work 25 hours to the day.' 
Vinnie rumbled from somewhere deep in the bottom of his vault-like chest: 'I hope you're gonna pay up front, Smiler. We don't take just any job that sashays in through the front office.' Becky tapped her painted fingernails on her metal paperweight. 'Ease up, Vinnie. I'll do the talkin'.' 
I took a seat and took my time getting comfortable, finally plaiting my fingers and pointing both forefingers to my chin. 'Yeah, Vinnie, why don't you go find yourself a banana to play with.' 
Vinnie leaned over me menacingly. 'Why, you -' 
Becky picked up her hawk-shaped paperweight and slammed it down on her desk. Judging by the similar dents already showing on the leather, I guessed this was a routine she and Vinnie performed for every customer. 
'Shaddup the both of ya!' shrilled Becky. Then she recovered her lady-like poise, stroked her hand back over her hair, very sultry, before going on, 'But Wolf, you gotta admit he's got a point. You ain't exactly known for your stretched limos and penthouse apartments. What sort of finances are we talking about?' 
I reached inside my coat. Vinnie pulled out his gun, snarling, 'Hold it right there, Laughing Boy! You pull anything out of your coat that ain't green and crinkly and I'll blow you all the way back to Galveston!' 
I grinned and pulled out a leather bag. 'Whoa, Becky, I'd get a good long leash for your gorilla here. He's jumpier than a whole hill of Mexican beans.' 
Her eyes were on my hands, as I spread the diamonds on her leather-topped desk. She has nice eyes; blue, they are; I've seen several lights in them in my time, though she's a lady and I ain't talkin' out of turn. But right now she was pop-eyed with greed. I sneaked a peek at Vinnie: he was goggle-eyed with lust. 
I leaned back and let them finger the gems. 'Does this cover your retaining fee?' 
Becky picked up one of the gems. 'This baby'll get you our full resources for a week, Wolf.' 
'A week! But there's easily six gee's' worth of sparklers here!' 
Becky took her eyes off the gem in her fingers and fastened her eyes on mine. 'Correction: hot sparklers. I'll check it out with Murray the Fence, but don't count on your luck. The Quaid Private Detective Agency is a legit organization and we'd like to keep it that way.' 
Vinnie held out both huge hands as I dribbled the gems out of my fist. 
I shrugged. 'Okay, here's what I want you to do -' 
* * * * *
As I tied my hair back in front the mirror, I looked at myself. My time in Alaska had let me shed a few pounds, toughened me up. I had scars from the Alaskan journey, and newer ones barely closed, but dry and healthy since my run-in with Monro's supernatural goons. 
I checked out the shelf in front of the mirror. Hair dye, make-up, eye-patch. I muttered, 'Exit Tom Wolf, P I -' 
After the make-up job, I put on the black wig. Then the eye patch and an inspiration - a black moustache. ' - and enter -' 
I tied a cravat about my neck. Slipped into a hired frock coat, 'way too gaudy for my tastes. When I turned back I was dressed like a Mississippi river gambler: shoe-string tie, striped waistcoat, frock coat and cane. I still had to wear a black glove on my left hand. 
'Black Jack McGinty, all the way from Emerald Oisle, begorrah.' 
Black Jack McGinty, once I got used to his grating Irish accent, was a man who liked his action hot and his women fast. My mother warned me about guys like him. Bad company. He was right at home right now in the Jitterbug Club, which is a low-dive with match-tray girls and black tap dancers on the stage. I never did like the Jitterbug Club, but ole Black Jack McGinty fits in real swell. Still, you get to meet all sorts of interesting types there. The sort of guys who breaks legs for a sawbuck and ask you first before stealing the gold from their target's teeth. They are gentlemen of colour, Creoles, Quadroons and Mulattos, but Black Jack McGinty is a black Irishman who can outdrink anybody in the room and then outfight them afterwards. 
On the other hand the Sesame Club is practically a home from home for him. The sultry torch singer tends to sing too many Parmesano songs, but while Black Jack McGinty is talking to all the mob types in striped suits, business can be accomplished. Provided he can show them he's a made man, and can shovel down two plates of Mamma's own recipe spaghetti platters, and still have the energy to show a guy a good time. They're businessmen, one and all, and they know the colour of money when they see it. 
By the time Black Jack McGinty hits the Casa di Cha-Cha, he is wondering whether he has got the stamina for this job. The tobacco haze is rich enough to roll on a virgin's thigh. The Cubans who hang out here are smugglers, who don't pretend to be anything else. Real tough lookin' dudes squintin' over their cheroot stubs. Most of 'em wear berets and striped sailor tops. I can see 'em eyein' Black Jack McGinty's apparel, but none of them are drunk enough or dumb enough to think of casting aspersions on my tailor. Besides, although this is a real low dive, just like the other two joints I've been to over the past two nights, they all got one thing in common. They all talk the same kinda language. And they just love it when I talk dirty. 
* * * * *
Back in my office, whiskey bottle on desk, smoke rising from ashtray, the sun rising over the city out through the window. I was looking through the reports from Becky and Vinnie. Three days of surveillance has ended up with two of her operatives floating in the Gulfstream. Two more victims for Monro's wolf-headed god. Damn! 
The phone rang before I could lash out and smash it. 
'Wolf here.' 
A familiar voice: 'Tom? John Legrasse. I'm getting some pretty strange rumours of a new gangland figure in town.' 
'Unh-hunh?' 
'Wears an eye-patch, a black moustache and always wears gloves. Always the gloves.' 
I blew on my gloved knuckles. 'In this heat, John, how does he do it?' 
'Have you heard of this guy? He's about your height and build, but he talks with an Irish accent.' 
I held the eye patch up to my eye. 'Sounds like he'd stick out in a crowd, but can't say I've ever seen him about. He doesn't sound like we'd run in the same social strata.' 
Johnny didn't believe me, but he tried. 'Just thought I'd ask. How's the gumshoe business?' 
'Hot. Look, I, eh, gotta go, gotta client here, with me right now.' 
I put the phone down. 
It rang again. 
I picked it up. 'Wolf here.' 
'Wolf, it's Pyper. I just got word that the SS Vidor has put in sailing papers with the harbour master's office.' 
I sat up straight. 'You got a destination?' 
'It's not in US continental waters, which means he doesn't have to register it.' 
'We have to talk.' 
'My thoughts exactly, my boy.' 
I met up with Mose in the park. Boys were flying kites; girls were pushing their prams, training to be Moms; Granddads sailed model boats on the lake. 
Pyper came quickly to the point. 'I've made contact with a useful guy. He's an ex-Navy frogman, a demolitions expert. He's prepared to wire charges to the hull of the Vidor - for a price.' 
'Can we pay his price?' 
'We've still got half of the diamonds that you purloined from Monro's operation.' 
I grinned under my hat's brim. It pleased me to finance my anti-Monro activities by using Monro's own finances. Then I thought of what I had to do and the grin went away. 'I'm gonna have to bring my plans forward, can you handle this end of it?' 
'Of course, my boy. The secret of a great leader is the art of delegating.' 
'Okay, here's what we'll do -' 
Mose asked a few sensible questions and then nodded agreement. I watched him go. Behind him, the model boats bobbed on unseasonable waves. One yacht was lying on its side, its sail flat out on the water. I thought that was a bad omen. I called out after Mose, but he was too far away. Besides, how bad could it get?
Two days later my phone rang. It was seven in the evening, with the sun going down, and I'd fallen asleep in my office. 
'Wolf here.' 
'Wolf - guess who.' 
I paused in mid-yawn. 
'Monro!' 
'Smart boy. I got your Yiddisher papa on the Vidor, Wolf. You want to see him ever again, you meet my boys down at the docks. Don't worry - they'll know you!' 
'Monro, if you -' but I was talking to a dead line. 
Without thinking I lunged to my feet and tore the phone from the wall, throwing it out through the window. Leaning on my desk, I tried to steady my breathing, to beat down the anger inside, to chase the wolf back into its cell. 
'Damn!' 
I looked out through my broken window. 
'Screw that! I needed to make three more phone calls!' 
I reached for my hat and checked that it was angled correctly in the mirror. 'Mose - tell me I'm doing the right thing -' 
In the lobby of my office building I used the pay phone. Just three measly phone calls to set the wheels in motion. 
A Creole voice answered the first ring. 'This is Black Jack McGinty here, me boys. I gotta bring me plans forward a little. We hit Monro's operation tonight! Don't let me down now.' My other two calls to the Sesame Club and the Casa di Cha-Cha were all but identical. Then Black Jack McGinty died and went to disguise heaven. It was just Tom Wolf, just me and Monro. My previous plans had called for another ship, manned by Captain Hector and his burly Scottish engineer, but I had no time for that now. I was going to have to wing it from here on in. Outside the lobby I hailed a cruising taxi. 
'The docks, bud, and there's a ten spot in it if you get me there pronto!' 
In the back of the cab, I looked up at the sky out of the cab window. 'Hmmm, it's later than I thought, the moon's rising, Monro -' 
By the time the taxi arrived at the docks, the full moon was low over the water. 
As I paid off the cabby, I said, 'Remind me to book you if I ever need a get-away driver.' I turned to stare at the moon. I knew it was rising for vengeance tonight. 'It's rising for you, Monro!' 
I pulled up my collar and tugged down my hat brim. 'Look out, Monro, tonight Tom Wolf is coming to call and collect some dues owed.' 
I pulled my trench coat closed and drew my hat over my face as I walked down the dock side. Hope you got your medicine bag with you, Monro. You're gonna need a pretty good doctor by the time I'm through with you. 
As I walked I glanced at my watch. I'd called my hired-help over twenty minutes ago. Right about now, mobsters would be firing tommy-guns from the running boards of Stutz Bear Cats. If I'm any judge of character, I'd say the Jitterbug Club shooting event should just be starting to hot up. They'll be rarin' to go against Monro's operation. 
I came to the gangplank. I paused and set my gloved hand on the rope rail. Gotta bad feelin' of deja-vu. I've been here before and I'm still hurtin'. 
I knew Becky Quaid had operatives keeping an eye on the Vidor. She'd have a team of two - two, because I'm paying for two. They'd have binoculars on stands. They'd also probably have half-bottles of bathtub gin in their hands and opened sandwiches in wrappers. 
I can imagine one of the guys nudging the other as he stares through the binoculars. 'Holeee - Get a load of this guy!' 
I could feel my face change. It wasn't the moon that affected my change to werewolf. It was fear. The bones burned in my face and pulled my muscles taut. My teeth pushed out of their sockets into uncanny shining slivers of ivory. 
I could imagine the second operative, elbowing his partner aside and staring dumbfounded through the binoculars. 'That's impossible! It's got to be some sort of joke.' 
The first operative licks a pencil to enter into the log, operative number two pours his bottle of hooch down the sink while he looks at his watch. 
Operative number one says: 'Lessee, what can I put in the record -' 
Operative number two says: '20.15, guy in fright-mask boards.' 
Operative number one replies: 'Yeah, that's good, "guy in f-r-i-t-e mask bordes -' 
I shut out the inconsequential thoughts. I looked up at the Vidor's funnel and saw that it had quite a head of steam up. The engines thrummed through the deck. Monro was all ready and set to head out to sea. 
The decks were deserted, but I could hear the noise of retreating feet. Monro's soldiers had taken one look at me, and decided they had business elsewhere. The Vidor lurched as the hawsers went taut, the tugs pulling her out of the harbour. I glanced at my watch. Twenty past eight. Right 'bout now, Monro's speakeasies should be getting a new decor from Jimmy Pantalucci's gunsels out of the Sesame Club. Those clowns never did know how to just knock. 
As we left the harbour, a seaman with a carbine showed up. He saw my face and gulped for a moment. He couldn't speak; instead he gestured with his gun butt and I headed below decks. 
He showed me into Monro's stateroom, where Monro was sitting on an over-stuffed club chair, a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket beside him. Behind Monro were several gangsters with tommy-guns. I knew all their faces, and their reps. They were ex-cons, each with a rap sheet a yard long. 
Monro grinned as I entered. 'Wolf! Come in, come in. Make yourself at home. I'm glad you decided to come as you are! Haww!!' He thumped the arm of his chair and expected his gunsels to join in on the humour; nobody else in the room saw the funny side. 
'I'm here for one thing and one thing only, Monro - where's Moses Pyper?' 
Monro sat back comfortably in his chair and inhaled on a cigarette in a long holder, his face sly and wreathed with smoke. 'Whoa, slow down, gumshoe. I know time is money to a self-employed jerk like yourself, but don't try to hustle me.' 
I took the time to glance about the room. The portholes were too small to use as escape hatches. There were three carbines behind me, and ten tommy-guns behind Monro. 
Monro saw me taking stock. 'And don't go getting any bright ideas. Just because you're a lycanthrope, don't think you can start takin' liberties. My boys, here, are all fans of the Lone Ranger, and you know what? They've been pesterin' me to get 'em some fancy silver bullets.' 
He snapped his fingers and a Chinese servant stepped out of the shadow of an oriental screen and poured champagne into two glasses. 
Monro accepted one from the silver tray. 'Now, you know me, I'm all heart. I said, "Well, if it'll keep you boys off my backs, why sure, but don't all come back askin' for no white horses."' 
The Chinese servant stepped forward with downcast eyes and offered me the second glass of champagne. 
'What are we drinking to, Monro? Absent friends?' 
'Hell, no. Old claim-jumpers like us don't need a reason to drink the best hooch outta France.' 
I took small satisfaction in picking up the glass with my clawed hand. The servant had obviously been briefed to not look at my face. His narrow eyes widened in startlement, and the tray trembled for a second as he saw the inhuman nature of my curse. 
I swirled the champagne in the glass for a second, not sure if I could physically drink from a champagne flute, with my muzzle sticking out a foot in front of my face. 'So, what's it to be? Do you chop me up and feed me to Malsum?' 
Monro drained his glass and jerked his head for his Chinese flunky to refill it. 'You ain't fit for anything other than fish-food, Wolf. Don't start thinkin' you're anything important.' 
Monro rose from his seat, one hand in his velvet smoking jacket, cigarette-holder in the other. 'I just wanted to throw you a little party -' 
'Party?' 
The ranks of the mobsters parted behind Monro and a workman in cement-stained dungarees wheeled in a wheel-barrow with two concrete blocks in it. 
Monro grinned as he watched my reaction. 'A little going away party.' 
I crushed the champagne flute in my fist. 'You're too late, Monro. You shoulda killed me last week when you had the chance. You shoulda killed me the first chance you got.' 
Monro took a drag on his fancy cigarette as he tried to fathom out what was coming next. 'Oh? Why's that?' 
'Y'see, even as we speak, the hotheads from the Casa di Cha-Cha are probably blowing your rum-running operation all the way back to Havana.' 
Anger glowed like coals in the pits of Monro's eyes. But only for a second, then a steel veil went down and they were blank and grey and dead. I knew then that Monro was just a shell in front of my eyes. Malsum was running the whole show. New Orleans had its very own dark god - and things would never be the same. 
Monro was saying, 'It doesn't matter. I'll rebuild and you'll be fish food. Take him up on deck, boys.' 
* * * * *
Up on deck we were some way off the coast by now. The lights of New Orleans twinkled in the distance. Mose was already there. He was chained and ready to sleep with the fishes. The rail was open with the concrete blocks at the side, just ready to slip over and down. Down, down and down. 
Monro tapped some ash into the concrete mix in the wheel-barrow. 'Y'know, Wolf, I wanted to get you to mix your own concrete but that would take too long and I got a schedule to keep. Life's just full of compromises, ain't it?' 
'You're just full of shit, Monro.' 
Crew-men started to push the concrete blocks to the edge of the deck. 
I growled, 'You don't really expect me to die this way, do you, Monro? Drowning's too easy for me.' 
Monro was looking out to sea, enjoying the view of the stars overhead. The moon cast a huge swathe of light on the waters. Very romantic. 
I rattled my chains. 'Look at me, Monro. Malsum won't let me die. He's cursed me and if you deprive him of his revenge, then you're going against his wishes.' 
Monro guffawed. 'Get real, wolf-jerk. You don't really expect me to believe that. Still I guess you gotta try to talk your way out of this.' 
With a bored, idle gestured he signalled for the crew to push them overboard. 'Get them out of my sight.' 
I glanced over the side of the Vidor. 'It's a long way down, Mose -' 
Mose's teeth were chattering. He strained against the weight of the block as it was pushed inexorably to the edge. 'Watch out for the first step, my boy, it's a -' 
The blocks went over at the same time. Instead of letting myself be wrenched over, I jumped, reaching out for Pyper at the same time. 
As we went down, Pyper screamed in my ear: 'Luuuuuu-luuuuuuuuuuu!' 
Then we hit the dark waters. We both went deep. I had done this only a week ago, and I knew how deep the fall would take me. This time, however, I knew the blocks would make the fall last forever. I lost my hat, like I knew I would. Just can't keep 'em nowadays. 
As we sank deeper and deeper, I asked myself the question: Who needs a silver bullet to kill a werewolf? 
The depth was forcing the air out of my mouth. My eyes were bulging, ears popping. I could taste blood in the water. 
Who needs silver bullets, when all it takes is the entire Gulf of Mexico? 
The waters around us were totally black, but inside as well, I could feel the darkness encroaching. It wasn't the lack of oxygen, or the cold - it was the pressure. 
An inconsequential thought flashed through my mind: 'I wonder if I bite a fish, will it turn into a were-fish? I'll probably never know.' 
My hands in chains were straining at the bonds. I could feel an animal fear squirming in my guts. It was on a deeper level than my merely human fear. It was an elemental thing. Like lava in the soul, under pressure to burst. My chains broke. 
Well, what about it? I'm harder to kill than I thought. 
But I knew it had very little to do with me. It was the wolf wanted to be free. 
The block fell away and I could feel our descent lessen. Mose's block was still attached, but I made sure the wolf didn't just abandon him. Mose was part of my pack and a wolf isn't a solitary creature. 
I gripped the chains that held us to the block, and the animal surge in me tore the chains loose from Pyper's concrete block. 
I had no breath to speak, but I thought frantically: 'Hang on, Mose, this is no way for an old Yid like you to cash in your chips!' 
I kicked upwards, dragging Pyper with me. 
Surprisingly soon, buoyed up by our lungs, we reached the surface. And what did I find floating there? - My hat. I took the time to grab it and stuff it into my pocket. I knew I'd need it later. 
We coughed and gasped on the surface for a while, riding the slow swell, getting our breath back. 
'Sweet mother! That air tastes good!' 
Treading water, I held Pyper's head up above the water. The Vidor was some distance away, turning in a huge sweep, obviously heading back to harbour. 
'How d'you feel, Mose?' 
'Tired, Wolf. How can we get back? We'll never swim back to land from here.' 
'I don't think we'll need to - the Vidor's turning about and heading back to port.' 
We swam in an intercept course and caught up with the boat being towed behind the Vidor. I caught the dragging painter and made sure that Mose was secure. I climbed aboard, then hauled him in. 
'This is the fishing smack that my friend, the frogman, and I were in when they captured us.' 
I growled, fighting down a surge of triumph. 'If he wasn't such a cheap bastard, Monro would've scuppered this boat.' 
Pyper huddled in the cockpit, his teeth chattering. 'Wolf, this is the first chance we've had to talk -' 
'You think we got time to talk?' 
'Listen to me - this is important! I got the charges set, they're due to go off in half an hour.' 
I looked up at the Vidor's stern from my vantage point in the small boat. 'That's not good enough, Mose. This is between me and Monro - I'm gonna tear his heart out with my hands!' 
'Wolf, my boy, that's no way to talk - not even of your worst enemy!' 
'Mose, Mose,' I groaned, 'y'don't understand. I gotta do this. If I don't then Monro'll die, sure, but Malsum's spirit or ghost is just gonna seek out another human victim and we'll be back to square one, except that this time we won't know the face that Malsum is hiding behind.' 
Pyper looked shocked as the full import of my words sank home. 'I never thought of that!' 
'You hang on in here, Mose, until the charges go off. Either I'll be back or I won't.' 
Swinging up onto the heavy line, I began to sloth-climb my way aboard the Vidor. Halfway across, I could hear nothing but the screws beneath me, and the sea all frothing. 
Strengthened by the threat of the screws in the water, I forced myself on and climbed on board the stern of the Vidor. 
In the climb most of my clothes had been shredded. I tore what little remained, and revealed to myself that I was a complete lycanthrope, with fur everywhere. 
Looking back down at Mose in the fishing smack, I knew I was walking a tightrope between man and beast doing what I had to do tonight. What I had to do was ensure that the bloodlust didn't overcome my humanity. 
From the remnants of my trench coat, I pulled my folded up hat from the pocket. Good ol' medicine hat'll keep the bogey man inside from running totally amok! Leastways, I sure hoped so. 
Using my teeth to hold the hat band, I tied it around my right arm. 
Then, my meagre preparations completed, I looked around to get my bearings. Stalking off, stealthily, wolf-like, half-shadowed, I sought out my prey. 
Monro showed up very quickly, with a rifle in his hands. 'Looking for me, wolf-man?' 
I stared up at him. 'Where are all your gunsels now, Monro?' 
'Below decks, asleep. Seems like Malsum knows I'm finished - don't know how you did it, you hairy wolf-shamus, but the finale is just me and you.' 
Monro stared down at me, his face working, a tragic mixture of pain and relief, shadowed with an almost fanatical will to kill me before he too died. 
'Seems like, Malsum thinks we're Hero-Twins, Wolf, me and you. Like in all the best Red Indian legends. Malsum won't intervene. We've got to settle it between ourselves.' 
Unbidden, the snarl from my lips startled even me. With spread fingers I gestured for him to come forward. 'That's the way I like it, Monro, face to face, hand to hand, down and dirty. Think you can take me?' 
Monro sneered. 'Oh, Gran'mama, what big teeth, you've got!' 
'All the better to tear your heart out with!' 
I launched myself forward, but as I slammed into Monro it was like hitting the side of the superstructure. I skittered to a halt, my wolf pads slipping on the metal rivets of the deck, my wolf claws seeking purchase and not getting any. 
Then it was my turn to experience the fear I'd seen so often in others. Before my eyes, Monro began to change. His head was shunted forward on his shoulders, which were ballooning up with muscle, bone and sinew. Bones gnashed within his frame, as new strength, unholy strength, flowed into him. His face lengthened into a snout, his eyes sank into deep sockets like pits of smoking hell. 
I could do nothing, except cringe to the deck, curred by a transformation I'd only ever experienced from the inside before. When it was all over, Monro towered before me, transformed into a gigantic were-bear. 
I was taken somewhat aback. 
Monro growled in a voice that sounded like it came from the centre of the earth: 'How do you like them apples?' 
I tried not to look worried. 'I'm gonna tear your heart out, Monro, and stick it down your throat. You're gonna die, choking on your own hatred.' 
'Dream on, fur-ball,' growled Monro as he lashed out with his claws. 
I tried to dodge, but the railing got in the way. The claws scoured along my arm, tearing the hat band from my arm. 'Shit!! That hurt!' 
I ducked away to where the hat band was flung into a spatter of blood, my blood. I retrieved the hat band. 'This hat band means a lot to me, Monro, things like continuity.' 
Monro sniffed at his claws. 'I smell magic - that's from a medicine hat!' I turned and loped away down a gangway, hoping for an open section of deck. I knew I had to get into the open where my speed and agility would make some sort of difference to his colossal strength and overwhelming weight. 
I came to a gangplank that led up onto a loading derrick. I knew that if he could get me cornered, I'd be a goner. His claws, magically enhanced and on a par with my own magicked-up lycanthropy, would shred me into wolf-confetti and blow me away on the wind. 
I could hear Monro lumbering behind me. Even without my wolf-heightened senses I could have heard him. Then, when he called after me, I knew stealth was the last thing on his mind: 
'What are you running for, fur-ball. Can'tcha stand a little competition in the fur 'n' fangs department, eh?' 
I ignored him and ran on. Out of the darkness loomed a chain-link fence, a demarcation to keep seamen from standing under dangerous loads. Monro sounded close behind me. 
He had me boxed in. If he could get to grips with me in this confined area, it would be all over in two, maybe three good swipes of his powerful claws, 
I turned, ran along the fence, and then using my momentum, bounced against the chain-links and dived straight for Monro's throat. I wasn't aiming to tackle him head-on. I was hoping if I could take him by surprise, I could be past his teeth and claws before he had time to attack. 
The bestial growl that signalled my attack almost unnerved me - and it was coming from deep in my chest! 
Bloodlust rode over my brain and reflexes. What had been a feint on my part was subverted by the animal side of my nature. My blood was up and my claws were unblooded tonight. 
No longer! 
I paused long enough to grab Monro by the thick ruff of fur about his throat. Monro was big enough for me to hold on, brace my hind-legs against his chest and use my free claw to slash his muzzle to ribbons in a flurry of frenzied blows. Blood flew everywhere, in black fountains of arterial beauty. 
The unexpectedness of my attack caught Monro unawares. He reared up in surprise, anger flickering through his voice, as he steadied himself against my onslaught, preparing to give a reply in kind. And then his position came home to us both. His huge hind-paws scrabbled vainly for purchase on the metal edge of the derrick's platform. 
We locked gazes for a second as gravity took over and finished my attack for me. 
I laughed, wolf-like and jubilant, and straightened my hind-legs and added my weight to his fall as I jumped clear. The fall was maybe twenty feet. By the time I got down there, he might still be winded enough for me to rip his throat out. Go for the throat, and then the heart. 
But the moonlight shone on the end of Monro's fall. It wasn't the deck. It was the hook of the derrick crane. Monro slammed into the chain, his ungainly limbs threshing in slow-motion as he tried in vain to stop his fall. 
My human sensibilities strained to turn away, but my wolf, in animal fascination, thought otherwise. It had no imagination. It couldn't imagine the hook piercing Monro's solar plexus and tearing upwards through the rib-cage, filleting him like a herring. It had to see all that for itself, and even then it felt only a bestial exultation that the danger was over. There was no real triumph that an enemy had been defeated. It wasn't interested in gloating. Its only need was to survive. 
It was left to me to witness how the hook gouged up through most of Monro's were-changed corpse. The momentum was spent and when the hook reached Monro's jaw, spraying blood and spittle, I knew it was almost over. 
My wolf was gone. No moon draws it forth. Only the fear. The need to protect me, the man who gives it flesh, the flesh it warps into its own lupine mysteries. 
But with the wolf gone, I could think more clearly. Malsum had inhabited Monro's carcass. With Monro destroyed, Malsum would be free to rove abroad and seek out a new host. I knew I had to tear his heart out, perform the ceremony, otherwise Malsum would be loose once again. 
I leaped out from my vantage and strove to tear Monro down. My claws, shrinking as if in post-coital detumescence, just missed snagging Monro's bear toes. 
As I landed on the deck, a shudder ran through the vessel. Lightning stalked across the waves. I knew that Mose's charges were going off early. I just hoped that Mose had the sense to free the fishing smack before the Vidor pulled him back below the waves for another date with Davy Jones' Locker. 
The deck was already at an angle, by the time I realized I had to get more height in order to reach Monro at the end of his grisly gibbet. Another explosion wracked the hull. This time debris was flung upwards and rained down around us in a shower of sparks. 
I knew I had to get to Monro. If he died now - unshriven, then all this planning and enterprise, all this pain and sacrifice would be for nothing. We'd be back right where we had started. 
Yet another explosion went off. I had to cling to the derrick as more debris hissed and whizzed about me. A storm of shrapnel 
The deck was canted over a good 45 degrees by now. Monro was hanging limply from the derrick, looking for all the world like a piece of bait on the end of a fishing line. Even the way the derrick was locked in position, made it look as if Monro was being offered to the sea like a worm on a hook. 
The Vidor began to sideslip, and it suddenly seemed that Monro's toes were about to dip into the water. Blood from his body flowed down, and as the body twirled on the chain it turned enough so that I could see that his heart and lungs were exposed. And even then, Monro still had one last surprise for me. His heart was still beating. Weakly, it was true, and gushing blood with every beat, but still - beating. At some level, Monro was live with only seconds to go before Malsum was freed from his flesh and anxious for another host. 
'I gotta reach Monrowwwrrrr!' 
The fear within me jumped up a whole octave. The wolf was back, and he was in a frenzy of fear. 
'Aaarroooo!' 
That howl! It was all animal. Malsum was winning - the beast in me was winning, submerging my humanity. 
And then something out in the sea broke through the waters. Seeing it through the beast's eyes, I wasn't sure what I was viewing - at first. At first I thought it was some sort of submarine earthquake. I thought a mountain top was slowly emerging from the sea. Then the wolf howled again, this time in triumph - and that was when I had humanity enough to recognise the awesome creature. 
It was Siitna, the Eskimo Mother-Goddess, come to claim her errant son. It was built along the lines of a killer-whale, but a killer-whale that dwarfed the Vidor, a grotesque killer-whale with female features. She rose up in a vast mountain of blubber and foam. I knew she was big enough to swallow the Vidor whole if necessary. I glanced about and saw the fishing smack some distance off, bobbing like a child's toy sail boat in the waves created by Siitna's arrival. 
Despite the rumble of the vast waters, I could hear Mose as he danced in jubilation on the deck. 'I don't believe it! The Summoning worked!' 
The Vidor was righting itself, tossed and thrown around in the maelstrom. There was nothing else I could do. I jumped at the top of a wave and hurled myself into the sea, striking out for the fishing smack. 
The waves tossed me about like a wood chip. At one point I was fetched bodily out of the water by the force of waves crashing headlong against each other. I strained for a purchase in a world gone suddenly mad. And Siitna was still rising. She rose until she blotted out the full moon, and then she coiled down on herself and I knew that the Vidor would be written from the shipping registry, lost at sea. 
Her descent was just as toilsome and suspenseful as her arrival. One moment the Vidor was still there, beneath her open maw, and the next her head had closed about it. The sea quailed at her descent. It was as if the world tilted and the sea was roaring off the edge. Mose's boat was tossed closer to me, and a line cast from the desk fell over my shoulders, and I still had the strength to cling on and ride it out. 
* * * * *
When I came to I was lying on the deck of the fishing smack. Mose had thrown a blanket over me. I looked underneath the blanket. No fur. I glanced at my hand. No claws. Maybe the wolf had gone - back to the spirit world, back to the Happy Hunting Ground. 
Mose saw my movement and smiled the smile of a man close to exhaustion. 
'Monro is finished and Malsum is at the bottom of the sea. A good night's work.' 
'Can we go home now?' 
* * * * *
Epilogue 
My talons came back a few weeks later. So I got myself a new medicine hat. Mose says he's got a new case for me to get my teeth into - and my talons - I used to be a Private Investigator, but I'm all right noaaaoooo-oooowwwwwwww!
The End