Ice Claw

Sometimes you do things because you choose to and at other times you do them because, no matter how unpleasant they are, you know they’ve got to be done. If Max made his way down through the villages looking and smelling as he did, he would draw attention to himself, and suspicious villagers might warn the local gendarmerie.

No good thinking about it, then; that would just make matters worse. It was time.

Max stripped off his clothes, leaving on his boots, socks and boxers-the ones with the man-in-the-moon’s face. The cold air bit like a thousand ants but soon turned into a punishing contradiction of cold heat when he scooped handfuls of snow and scrubbed it over his body. He yelped, then laughed. This was crazy, but it would scrub off the dried blood and invigorate his aching limbs.

“Yeaeeeow!” he yelled across the empty mountains. He “shampooed” his hair with snow, feeling the back of his head carefully. There was no wound. The sticky blood had been from one of the dead animals. He gasped as his flushed skin puckered into goose bumps; the wind had veered and swept up from the snowfields, adding an extra chill factor.

Max was pretty pleased with himself. He’d found Zabala’s mountain retreat and learned more about who Zabala was, discovered a photographic clue to what might be the mysterious abbey-and he’d brought a wild eagle off the wing and survived a bear attack.

He threw back his head and howled like a wolf, then did a jig in the snow, arms flailing, feet stamping. Max Gordon! The only boy on top of the world!

He bared his teeth and made strange, imbecilic sounds, just to make himself happy. And it was then, as he bent down to pick up his clothes, that he saw the shadow.

He jackknifed upright.

Standing watching him was Sophie Fauvre.

7

Max got dressed in minus zero seconds-at least, that was what he wished. A stumbling, one-leg-hopping charade of a silent movie as he tried to pull on his clothes.

Sophie turned her back, covering her look of amusement, and waited, listening to the grunts and groans from Max’s efforts to dress himself. What a strange boy. She felt conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she was wary of his presence here at Zabala’s hut, but on the other, she was charmed by his unaffected manner. She’d come across plenty of boys his age who tried to show off or pretend to be something more than they were. That was natural, she supposed; boys had a much harder time of it, emotionally that is, than girls. Not that she would ever admit that to any of them. Anyway, in truth, boys never grew up. Perhaps that was why they became soldiers and firefighters, or trekked around from pole to pole. Women just got on with life and didn’t make a fuss. Having said that, this Max Gordon seemed to be-what was the English expression? — “pretty much together.” Except, it seemed, for dressing himself.

Max kept a fumbling, running commentary going as he pulled on his clothes. How surprised he was to see her. How there was this monstrous bear with an appetite to match, and that if she’d appeared minutes earlier she’d have been in danger. And an eagle who could take you home and pick your bones, that was how big he was. In fact, this was no place to be up here alone, even though he was, up here alone that is, unless you were used to the mountains. Which he was. Sometimes.

He was rambling.

He fell over once, got a boot stuck in his trouser leg, but eventually managed to complete the maneuver.

Finally, he called to her. “Er … right. Done.” A sheepish grin covered the last flush of embarrassment. And he realized he hadn’t asked the most obvious question: “What are you doing here?”

A chunk of snow slithered down his back and settled in his boxer shorts. He squirmed. It looked as though he was trying to do some kind of exotic dance. She gave him one of those cool, disdainful looks: a raised eyebrow, then a shake of the head, as if answering was beneath her dignity.

She picked up her small backpack. “I came to see Brother Zabala. Where is he?”

“You know him?”

She walked towards the hut’s entrance, Max at her side. “My father knows him. He helps wild animals in this region. The bear and the eagle you saw-”

“I didn’t just see them. I was nearly their breakfast,” he interrupted.

“Well, those wild animals you so foolishly tried to play the tourist with were some of the creatures we helped save. Brother Zabala has lived here for years. He is like a guardian to them.”

Max’s irritation got the better of him. He was suddenly suspicious of the petite, attractive girl. “You haven’t really answered my question. What are you doing here?”

Without thinking, he had grabbed her arm. She pulled away from him. “What’s wrong with you! I thought he might know where my brother is! My father and my brother worked with Zabala!”

The missing brother. Max had completely forgotten about him.

“I’m sorry, Sophie. Things have been a bit crazy these last few days.” He stepped back and gestured for her to go into the hut.

As she walked inside she gasped-a hand to her lips. Max remained silent, watching her reaction. It seemed genuine enough. Was it simply a coincidence that she was here at the same time as him?

Trust no one-they will kill you.

Come on, you idiot. Look at her! She’s a girl who’s looking for her missing brother. You helped her! She’s the reason those thugs are after you. Remember?

She stepped through the trashed room, looking at the devastation. In a futile gesture of doing something to take her mind off the terrible sight, she picked up a couple of books and put them back on the shelves. Max couldn’t read her mood. Was it sadness or fear that made her speak softly?

“Where is he?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Max lied. “I was training up here a few weeks ago. I came back just to get away from everything, after the competition, I mean. I haven’t been here long. I found the door smashed open. So I checked to see there was no one hurt in here.” It sounded horribly lame as soon as he uttered the words.

She said nothing. But Max could see uncertainty nagging at her. Did she believe him?

“Do you know Brother Zabala?” she asked him.

“Only what you’ve just told me.”

“But when I got here you seemed surprised that I knew him. You already knew his name. How did you know that? What aren’t you telling me?”

Max kept his cool. Her sudden incisive questions demanded a logical explanation. He moved towards her, and she retreated a step backwards.

“It’s OK, Sophie,” he said, a hand extended to calm her as if she were a frightened animal. “Look …” Max picked up a dog-eared book on astrophysics. Opening the cover, he showed it to her. “His name’s inside. In all of them, probably.”

An old-fashioned rubber stamp had been used to imprint the framed words Ex Libris on the inside page. Beneath the Latin inscription the name Zabala had been written in ink, a bold flourish to the letter Z.

She seemed alarmed that the answer was so simple. Picking up the books she’d placed on the shelf, she leafed them open. In each one the same inscription told the reader it belonged to the owner’s library. She nodded. “I’m sorry, Max. I shouldn’t have doubted you. Now what do we do?”

The most obvious thing would be to tell the police, Max thought. He’d already decided it wasn’t what he wanted-but why hadn’t she suggested it? Maybe she was just thinking out loud. But before he could make any suggestions of his own she spoke quickly and certainly. Almost too quickly, it seemed, but maybe that was just his imagination getting the better of him.

“I don’t think we should say anything to anyone.”