Chapter Twenty-Two.

It took the best part of an hour's awkward and tiring clamber over the remains of a shattered, tangled mass of rotting branches and regrowth which effectively concealed the boggier parts of the telegraph post forest, to reach the centre of this eerie place. As they struggled towards the centre, Anton suddenly spotted the unmistakeable vertical, star-shaped, intertwining root system mentioned in the secret report. They clambered across to where it lay; gaunt and grotesque, even in the midst of this bizarre, skeletal stand of timber.

He stood, with his hands on his hips, and turned to Karyn.

'Well; where do we start? And what are we looking for?'

She shook her head.

'I have no idea. The only mention in the volumes was of a group of Rowan trees where this metal "Artefact" had been buried. There is nothing here that remotely resembles a Rowan. We could dig around this wilderness forever without the help of some sort of metal detecting equipment. Let's just hope that Lieutenant Istomin has the foresight to send one out from Vanavara with the supplies he promised to parachute in to us.'

Sacha shrugged.

'Well, there isn't much point in wandering about out here searching for a needle in a haystack. Our water supply is low and it's nearly mid-day. Perhaps it would be better to start back to the camp and plan what we're going to do next.'

The others nodded their agreement and turned back to begin the laboriously hazardous, smelly trek back out into the swamp.

In his concealed position in the camp Labaz overlooking the area; Juchin Chernyak spotted the three figures emerge from the standing tree-trunks in the centre of the swamp. They were about two-and-a half-kilometres distant. There was plenty of time to have something to eat and drink while they were struggling back across the swamp. He had decided that the little GUGB svoloch, Nikolin would be the first target. Then he would take out Sergeyev, which would leave the blonde white girl defenceless for him to enjoy before he finally disposed of her.

The Mauser, when fitted with the shoulder-stock, was accurate at up to a thousand metres, but, when bullet trajectory drop and windage were taken into account; could not completely guarantee a single-shot kill at that range. This special Bolo was also fitted with the covert, silencer barrel. Mauser's technical data did not allow for this extra muzzle velocity resistance. Chernyak had calculated that, even using the special high-velocity, high-pressure cartridges, he would have to allow Nikolin to get to within six- hundred-metres before he dropped him. Then, it would be open house. Sergeyev would almost certainly freeze for a few moments as Nikolin fell. It would be enough time to get in one good head-shot. That was the joy of a semi-automatic pistol... no time-consuming re-cocking of the weapon... keep finger pressure on the trigger and it self-loaded and fired almost as swiftly as an automatic.

With an evil smile; he opened his pack, and selected a strip of dried reindeer meat and a lump of lepushki to chew upon while he waited for the party to come into killing range.

It took Lifshen a good half-hour to work his way around the northern flank of Mount Shakharma. On the western slopes the new growth of larch and birch rose to two metres or thereabouts, interspersed with moss-covered fallen tree trunks. The whole of the southern swamp spread out before his gaze; desolate and alien; a perilous and inhospitable expanse with the mysterious telegraph post forest standing gaunt, and eerie in the very centre of the depression. From here, he could see that the surrounding exposed hillsides had suffered the most damage.

The fallen trees radiated out for many kilometres from the centre. Out from here, in all directions, the trees had simply vapourised; leaving an empty area. Further away from the centre, the trees were stripped of their branches and snapped off in the direction of the blast; smashed to the ground and pointing away from the centre like so many toothpicks. It also appeared that whatever had caused this destruction had also kindled a forest fire covering an area comparable to that of the devastated forest; judging by the darker, charred survivors. Lifshen saw that, strangely, the area of felled and burnt trees below and around the presumed Tunguska epicentre seemed to have recovered rather faster than places where typical forest fires had obviously occurred.

This was indeed a weird place. He saw that Kulik's camp was only about half a-kilometre further on. It would only take about twenty minutes to reach it. Glancing out across the swamp, he saw three figures emerge from the telegraph post forest. It must be the expedition party. He would get to the camp long before they had negotiated the treacherous swamp. He would be there waiting for them.

The trek to the camp; keeping under the cover of the young trees took him a good half hour. He stopped on the edge of the camp under cover of the trees and took out his Tokarev TT Special... just in case. These NKVD weapons were modified with a thread cut into the muzzle end of the bore rifling to accept a "Bramit" suppressor. As he was screwing in the "Bramit," he suddenly heard a noise... a soft thump. Senses fully alert, he glanced around. Was that a wisp of dust wafting down from under that strange-looking hut on poles at the edge of the camp clearing? He crept forward until he was standing directly under the little building. He heard a sharp, metallic click. It came from inside the hut. Very carefully, Lifshen backed away until he could see the front of the hut. There! The muzzle of a gun slipping out from a crack in the door. He raised his Tokarev.

As he did so; there came a soft "Phut," and a faint puff of smoke. Lifshen glanced out into the swamp and saw a figure fall. Lifshen leapt under the hut and fired four rounds up into the floor. There was a muffled grunt and a scrabbling sound followed by a thud... and then... silence. The bullets he was using were steel-core ball, and had developed quite a reputation for penetration... that's why he used them. The age-weakened larch planks of the floor were of no protection at all to whoever was inside. As he watched; Lifshen saw the thin trills of blood begin to string down from the four holes that his bullets had punched through the wood.

He glanced out and saw that the two figures in the swamp had gone to ground. They wouldn't see him from out there. With care, Lifshen climbed up to the Labaz and carefully eased the door ajar. The camouflaged figure was sprawled motionless before him; a great pool of blood spreading out from under the body. A Mauser Bolo carbine lay where it had fallen beside the figure. He turned the figure over and pulled off the camouflaged face veil. The pale Mongol face stared up at him; its black eyes frozen with a look of complete surprise, and its mouth baring its white teeth in the rictus of death. Lifshen's bullets had hit him in the throat, the chest, and the abdomen. Lifshen bent to search the body. In the left breast pocket of the coveralls he found an identity card.

It identified the Mongol assassin as Sergant Gozbezopasnosti... Sergeant of State Security, Juchin Chernyak; member of the murky and blood-soaked NKVD Fourth Directorate, known as "OZNAZ"... "Osobennogo Naznacheniya"..."Specialized Designation" Unit, based in Vladivostok. "OZNAZ" had always been shrouded in a veil of mystery and remained so... even to this day. There was no known "OSNAZ" headquarters as the various groups were formed within the various Directorates as needed. Their operatives performed all manner of assassinations, kidnappings, interrogations, and other shadowy activities in the name of "Protecting the Revolution." Although, to all intents and purposes, they were NKVD Security Personnel... in actual fact, they were Assassins... pure-and-simple.

Lifshen let out his breath with a soft hiss. What the hell was going on here? This had all the hallmarks of a classic Yezhov double-double cross. Picking up the Mauser and clicking on the safety; he cautiously slipped out of the Labaz and shinned down to the ground. He would wait under cover until the party returned from the swamp, and then, he would find out just what the hell was happening here.

Anton had been out in front of the party as they made their way carefully back across the treacherous swamp. They had reached a point a little under half-way back to the camp when Anton jumped across a peat hummock and slipped. His right foot splashed into one of the slimy green pools. He regained his balance and half-turned his head towards them, with some sort of joke forming on his lips. They barely heard the whine of Chernyak's bullet which struck him in the right temple, blowing a great chunk of flesh, brain matter, and bone out of the left side of his temple, and spinning his veiled hat across the swamp. He half-turned; his eyes wide with astonishment. His body remained standing for a few seconds with a smoke plume of blood spurting into the air; then toppled into the slimy pool.

'What the hell...'

Gasped Karyn, as Sacha unceremoniously seized her by the arm and dragged her under cover of a peat mound.

'Stay down!'

He hissed;

'You want your head shot off?'

She pressed her face into the warm peat.

'Who's shooting at us?'

Sacha glanced around without raising his head above the mound.

'I don't know... nor where they are.'

They lay flat on their stomachs with their faces pressed hard into the ground, as the green pool slowly turned red, and Anton's body slid deeper into the bog until it had disappeared completely. Karyn watched in fascinated horror as the bog gently belched iridescent bubbles which burst on the surface releasing the stinking marsh gas, while the surface of the pool changed again as tendrils of green gently swirled through the red, as the mortal remains of Anton Nikolin; GUGB "Praporshchik" and former Chief Sous-chef at the famous Moscow Savoy Hotel Restaurant sank quietly into the arms of the Southern swamp.

They lay completely motionless behind the sparse cover of the peat mound, clinging to the smelly earth, and trying to keep their bodies as flat as possible. The slightest movement would be seen instantly by whoever was out there. The fatal shot had come from somewhere in front of them; but where? There was no way of knowing.

All was silent. There was no sound but the wind rustling through the bushes and the incessant whine of the mosquitoes. There had been no sharp crack echoing across the swamp when the bullet was fired. Whoever it was must be using a silenced weapon; there was no indication at all to betray where the sniper was hidden. It might have come from the direction of the camp... or anywhere up on Mount Shakharma. They were pinned down; and worse... the mosquitoes were swarming to the pool into which Anton's lifeless body had fallen, to feast on the blood-stained surface, and were rapidly swelling into a thick, whining curtain, crawling over Karyn and Sacha's bodies, attracted by their body heat and the sickly, all-pervading smell of fresh blood.

It was obvious that they would have to move soon, but the slightest movement would expose them to the deadly accurate fire of the hidden marksman. The sight of the mosquitoes gorging themselves on the swirls of blood in the pool made Karyn's skin crawl. Biting her lip, she forced herself to ignore the overwhelming urge to jump up and run away... anywhere to be away from the repulsive, cloying smell of blood mingled with the stinking marsh gas that clung to her like a shroud.

As they lay in their precarious safe cover, the Southern swamp decided their fate for them. They suddenly felt the fronts of their coveralls starting to become wet. All around where they were laying; small puddles of black, peaty water were emerging from the ground. The same iridescent bubbles were breaking the surfaces of these little puddles, and the rotten egg smell of the marsh gas was getting stronger. Their combined weight was making the peat layer soak up the below-ground water like a giant sponge. The whole peat bed was sinking! Karyn threw a frightened glance at Sacha. If they stayed here, they would be sucked down into the bog like Anton's body.

Sacha's face was a grim mask.

'We're going to have to make a run for it. You go right; I'll go left. Don't run in a straight line. Keep weaving and dodging about. That way, we might just split his aim. Ready?... Go!'

They leapt up and began to run across the stark and desolate swamp, weaving from one peat patch to the next. Karyn was running crouched; praying that she would not miss her footing on one of the slimy borders of the scattered green pools, and expecting the sharp smack of a bullet hitting her at any moment. The blood was pounding in her ears as she dragged in great lungfuls of the smelly, humid air. Her legs felt like lead. She must keep running. She dare not glance across to see where Sacha was... to see if he was still up and running. She could scarcely see because of the sweat blinding her... but there!... the border of the swamp and the camp a little further on.

Gathering the last of her strength she sprinted across the last few metres and suddenly felt the firm ground beneath her boots. Her momentum carried her almost to the open door of the cabin. She staggered inside, vaguely noticing that Sacha was already there. Exhausted; she dragged herself to the window and leaned there. She dropped her arms, folding them onto the window ledge to support her body, and rested her pounding head onto them; her chest heaving, and her legs trembling and feeling like jelly.

In a while... perhaps five minutes; when her breathing was steadier, and the pounding blood in her ears had subsided; she raised her head and turned to where Sacha had been standing. She found herself looking into the barrel of the Nagant revolver that she had given to him in Minsk.

Wide-eyed, she looked at him.

'Sacha...'

He smiled, grimly.

'I had hoped it wouldn't have to come to this; but that stupid Mongol peasant only managed to finish off your GUGB buddy, Nikolin out there.'

She stared at him.

'Sacha; what do you mean? And why are you pointing that gun at me?'

He laughed; a harsh, humourless laugh.

'You still imagine I'm a stupid, bourgeois archaeologist? I am Starshiy Major Gozbezopasnosti... Senior Major of State Security Aleksandr Anatoly Sergeyev; NKVD Fourth Directorate, OZNAZ; based in Vladivostok. Your "Evenki guide" Juchin Chernyak is also out of that office. You didn't seriously think that you would be permitted to discover anything of use to your hysterical, strutting house painter and his criminal henchmen out here, did you? This whole thing was devised by Moscow, and was running as smoothly as silk until your two GUGB protectors stuck their noses in.

Karyn stared at him.

'But, we... we loved each other.

He smiled.

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'It doesn't hurt indulging in dreams now and again, but I never get them mixed up with reality. I must admit; I have enjoyed your body, Lapushka; and without your translations we might never have known of the existence of this...'

He held out his other hand; in which was clasped a rectangular block of silvery metal; some twenty centimetres long and fifteen centimetres square. He smiled again.

'I found it on the first night we were here; tucked up into the flue of the fireplace. Commissar Yezhov will be well pleased with this artefact.'

He glanced at it.

'There's something written on it. You can translate it for me.'

He carefully laid the metal block on the rough table and waved Karyn towards it with the barrel of the Nagant.

Her mind whirling; Karyn edged across the room to the table. She lifted the metal block, and shivered... for no reason that she could place. The block was engraved with a beautifully fashioned garland of Rowan leaves, inside which, were engraved in the same language of the ancient volumes; the following words:

"Behold. Herein is trammelled The Evil of all time.

Seek not its deliverance, for there is none.

Meddle not with this Abomination,

for it is The Destroyer of Worlds."

As she deciphered the elegant script, she shivered again... but this time, a very different type of shiver; the sort of shiver as if at that very moment, a grey goose had flown over her grave.

Her mind was now working coldly. She had deciphered the same warning message in the third of the ancient volumes, back in Minsk. He must never know what this said... or that she knew what it meant. According to the third ancient volume; this block was the dreadful artefact that was supposed to contain the hand of an unspeakably Evil Entity known as Baelar... Lord of The Underdark; a name that appeared again, and again throughout the volumes she had deciphered. If either Régime... the Russians, or the Nazis, ever managed to get their hands on this "thing," and unlock its secret...

Sergeyev was becoming impatient.

'Well? What does it mean?'

She turned to him.

'I don't know. It's a totally different language to the ancient volumes, and there aren't enough separate characters to be able to start a "frequency analysis" method.'

He smiled, grimly.

'Then your usefulness is at an end. Every road has two directions, and you have just chosen the wrong one. You will now never be master of your own fate.'

He looked down at the Nagant. His thumb closed over the hammer, as he prepared to cock the weapon.

Karyn sighed.

'So, you're going to shoot me... just like that?

He smiled once more.

'Sorry, Milaya moya; friendship has nothing to do with duty.'

A third voice cut in from the doorway.

'And duty has nothing to do with betrayal of a Lady's trust, svoloch.'

Sergeyev half-turned and saw Lifshen levelling the silenced Mauser at him. He raised an eyebrow, and spoke in a quietly admonishing tone.

'In a civilised society you don’t shoot a man in cold blood.'

Except that this was Stalin's Russia; and no more a civilised society than the murderous psychopaths who had trained and indoctrinated him to become what he was.

He spun around and raised the Nagant, cocking it fully as he turned. The silenced Mauser in Lifshen's hand plopped three times in quick succession, hurling Sergeyev back against the end wall of the cabin as the three steel-core ball bullets smacked into his chest; punching straight through his body and smashing splinters out of the timber wall behind him. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Karyn stared; wide-eyed, and open-mouthed. She managed to blurt out "Lifshen," as she backed away from him. He lowered the Mauser.

'Don't worry, Fräulein Doktor; I'm not going to use it on you, even though I ended up in this fucking awful wilderness because of our little set-to back in Minsk. I was going to come after you; but things change, and I must admit, I'm getting tired of this fucking stupid game that little shit Yezhov expects us to play.'

He moved over to the crumpled body of Sergeyev; nudged it with his foot, and bent down. He retrieved the identity card, and snorted.

'Just as I suspected. Another fucking Fourth Directorate killer... and from the same office as that Mongol svoloch who took out your GUGB pal. I nailed that one before he managed to blow your head off out there in the swamp. He's dripping his guts out up in that little hut on poles, outside. These svolochi are the sort who can't sleep easily in their beds if the day's work has not produced at least a couple of corpses. How the hell you managed to survive this long is a complete fucking mystery to me. This was a set-up from start to finish. I'll haul this murderous asshole and his side-kick out into the swamp and then we'll get the fuck out of here.'

He bent down to begin dragging Sergeyev's lifeless body towards the door. Karyn caught his arm; her bewilderment plain in her face.

'But, this expedition was arranged at the highest Diplomatic level by Moscow and Berlin.'

Lifshen gave a sardonic smile.

'Perhaps; in the beginning... but Yezhov thought that he could gain an edge from it. He's been skating on thin ice for quite a while, now. He's made serious efforts to promote favoured NKVD officers to crucial functions in the State and Party. Stalin has begun to get suspicious that Yezhov is deliberately promoting his own people in order to seize power. The little svoloch knows where all the bodies are buried... mainly because he's had a hand in burying them himself... and might just incriminate our "Brilliant Genius of Humanity," one day. That's why it's likely that he will be denounced on some trumped-up charges and liquidated before very much longer. From what I've seen, since '36; it seems that almost all of my fellow NKVD "comrades" mistrust everyone and everything, and have a murderous streak just beneath the surface that is so obvious that you have to be blind not to see it.'

He shrugged;

'The trouble is that most of the people who might be able to constrain these psychopaths are both blind and deaf. They have been blinded by Lenin and deafened by Stalin. They believe everything they have been told, and therefore cannot understand why the people are terrified of them. They don't like it; and so they overreact, and become even more murderous. A few have been able to smell that the whole Bolshevik ideology... Stalin-style, is rotten from the ass up, but they dare not face up to the problem, for fear of being denounced as "Asocials." They just let things take their course and dare not speak up; far less, look their "comrades" in the face. There's an old Russian proverb: "If you live with wolves, you must howl like a wolf.'"

That, and what I've seen out here has made me decide to hand in my membership ticket of this club; and that is why I will help you to get back to Germany.'

Karyn stared at him.

'So what changed you, Lifshen? Back in Minsk you were strutting around like a cocksure, cold-blooded fanatic completely indifferent to the fate of your victims. What happened to turn you into a human being?'

He smiled grimly.

'I was really nothing more than a policeman. My job was to frighten the shit out of people and then run them in so that they could be "processed." As a result of our little altercation at the Academy, I was "sent" out here to become Commandant of Kraslag Kansk labour camp. Just after I arrived, there was an aeroplane crash about three kilometres to the north of the camp. We went to investigate, and found a dying girl passenger. Her name was Jereni Cherevin. She died in my arms. All she said was your name and where she had come from. I decided to trace you to get even for my "exile," but her death really affected me... I've never actually been that involved with anyone's death that closely.

Anyway; I got to thinking that you were being used as a political pawn by our psychopaths in Moscow, and your crazy fanatics in Berlin. That's what changed my opinion of you. I take it that this jaunt into the wilderness turned out to be just one more of your crackpot grim reaper Himmler's wild-goose chases, and you haven't found what he was searching for? Yezhov will go hysterical when he realises that his "edge" has come to nothing. Anyone in the Minsk office with the slightest involvement in this treacherous plot will probably end up in Brod woods with a bullet in the back of their head. That's why I'm packing up my tent and heading for Scandinavia.'

Karyn studied him. He seemed to be genuinely disillusioned, But she knew from her experiences that you could never be completely sure when it came to Secret Police... especially the Gestapo or the NKVD. She nodded.

'We haven't found anything yet... and now it looks like we never will.'

She motioned to Sergeyev.

'He was supposed to be the expert on this part of Siberia. I merely translated the books that were discovered here.'

Lifshen nodded.

'Well, that's it then. Collect your supplies while I dispose of the bodies. Then, we'll get out of here.'

Karyn looked puzzled.

'How do we get out? We came in from the place called "The Third Makikta," along the Kulik path on reindeer, but I don't know where they are now. They were released to forage. They might be anywhere.'

Lifshen grinned.

'No matter. I've got a propeller-powered boat on the other side of the Mountain. It's a couple of hour's walk, but it's not too hard. We'll be back in Vanavara in a couple of days; then I'll use my influence to get us a ride down to Kezhma, and on to Kansk. We can board the Trans-Siberian from there.'

He placed the weapon onto the rough table together with the pouch of bullets and the stripper clip he had retrieved from the Labaz. He turned to the lifeless body of Sergeyev; grasped it by the collar of its coveralls, and began dragging it towards the door, leaving a wide smear of blood across the rough planks of the floor. Karyn winced, and turned back to the table to begin packing the reindeer pack bags with the remains of the supplies. She glanced towards the door. Lifshen was out of sight.

She carefully placed the inscribed metal block at the bottom of the bag and carefully packed the supplies around and above it. She glanced around the interior of the cabin. Nothing had been overlooked. Apart from the smear of blood on the floor, there was nothing to suggest they had ever been there. She put on her veiled hat; shouldered the pack bag and walked to the door, carefully avoiding the blood smear which was already attracting the mosquitoes.

As she stepped outside, she was horrified to see a body being flung out from the interior of the little Labaz, to land with a sickening thud no more than three metres from where she was standing. She recognised the body immediately... Juchin; their guide. Lifshen emerged from the Labaz and called down.

'There's your assassin. Another "OZNAZ" asshole working with your "friend" out of the same Directorate. He put the bullet into your GUGB pal, and would have popped you as well from this little hiding place if I hadn't arrived just in time.'

Karyn shivered. Just as Lifshen had said; this whole thing had been a set-up from day one. She dare not allow this evil artefact to fall into Yezhov's possession. She was now convinced that it was exactly what the third ancient volume had said that it was... a Destroyer of Worlds. Would it be any the less dangerous in the possession of ReichsFührer-SS Himmler? Unlikely; but.she could always say that the inscription was indecipherable. She would not be challenged on her opinion... provided she destroyed the critical parts of her notes. Himmler; obsessed as he was, by occult theories and mysticism; would probably consider it to be no more than an "Untermensch" curiosity... an interesting conversation piece at any one of his weird mystical gatherings with such fruitcakes as Wiligut, at the frequent SS Court of Honour Proceedings held at Wewelsburg Castle.

Lifshen was methodically searching the bodies. Strapped around Sergeyev's waist next to his undershirt, he discovered a money belt. Pulling it off the corpse, he emptied it onto the ground. Gold coins cascaded onto the scrubby grass. There must have been at least two hundred coins at his feet. He bent to pick one up and examine it. He whistled between his teeth and glanced at Karyn.

'Jebat'-kopat!' Look at this lot! Lubyanka Black funds if ever I saw them. RSFSR Ten Chervonets coins!... Two thousand Roubles face value; and forty-thousand in Gold value. There's enough here to get us both to where we want to go... and Trans-Siberian Express "Spalny vagon" class at that!'

He bent down and grabbed the collar of Sergeyev's coveralls once again. Dragging the body across to where the Mongol lay; he reached down and grabbed this body's collar. Turning to Karyn; he told her to collect the Gold coins while he disposed of the corpses. He straightened up, and, with a strength unexpected in a man of his age, dragged both corpses out into the swamp. He chose one of the wider pools of slimy virescent water and rolled the bodies into it. They slowly disappeared beneath the surface as the bog sucked them down into its putrid depths, leaving only a few swirls of blood on the surface, which almost immediately attracted a cloud of the voracious mosquitoes that danced and hovered as the glistening bubbles of marsh gas rose bursting to the fetid surface of the pool.

While he was disposing of the corpses; Karyn had retrieved the silenced Mauser and the pouch of bullets that Lifshen had tossed onto the table inside the cabin while he dealt with Sergeyev's corpse. It might just come in handy. She had slipped it into the pack bag, close to the top, and easily accessible.

Lifshen returned and picked up the second pack bag. He gave the camp one last cursory glance.

'OK; we might as well make a start before the sun gets too hot. It's quite a walk.'

Karyn hesitated.

'How far round the mountain did you leave the boat, Lifshen?'

He glanced at her again.

'It's about halfway along the eastern side. Why?'

She scanned the surrounding area.

'This camp is on the southern edge of the mountain. Surely, we could make better time if we went around the southern slopes. We wouldn't have to go all the way around the northern edge, and then back down the east side.'

Lifshen grinned.

'You're right. Why didn't I think of that?

Karyn smiled. Lifshen seemed friendly enough, but after the business with Sacha; her intuition told her to be very careful of this NKVD Lieutenant of State Security... in spite of his supposed change of heart.

They set off towards the southern flank of Mount Shakharma. As they moved away from the swamp, the stunted new growth of trees became more vigorous. Felled tree trunks still littered the side of the mountain, but they were becoming less prevalent; presumably due to the protection of the southern slopes shielding this section of taiga from the worst effects of the blast.

The forest was becoming thicker. The trees were older and more densely packed. They were following what appeared to be a reindeer trail... at least; they hoped that was what it was. As they pushed their way into the forest, through the tangled undergrowth, sharp bushes caught at their legs, scratching through their coveralls and digging into their flesh. Low, overhanging branches clawed at their faces as they pushed through a sea of bracken; walking and slipping over an under-carpet of pine needles.

As they moved around the mountain, the forest became denser and the forest gloom became heavier... as did the silence. No birds sang on Mount Shakharma. There was no wind to bring even the softest sigh to the branches of the trees. The reindeer trail was narrow; winding in and out amongst the trees. The canopy shut out the sky, save for the occasional bright beam of sunlight that stabbed down through some opening high above. There was little movement of air down here... it was still, and dark, and stuffy; but, then; there were few annoying mosquitoes either. They were soon both drenched in sweat, even though the temperature beyond the smothering greenery was only a little above ten degrees.

There was no way of knowing if they were travelling in the right direction. The lack of sight of the position of the sun under the dense canopy forced them to rely on the direction the trail was taking. Lifshen was working on the theory that the reindeer that used this track would be making for clean water... and the only clean water in the immediate vicinity of Mount Shakharma would be the Churgim River. They had been walking for almost an hour now, through dense taiga of cedar, silver fir, and pine; sparse larch, and occasional stands of alders. It was no longer the eerie, dead land of bare and broken trees. They were moving through stunted shrub-lichen ground cover; a browny-green carpet of moss sprinkled with large, light-coloured patches of lichen in the drier places.

The green curtain ahead of them seemed to be thinning. It was becoming brighter. They began to come upon such bushes as blueberry, cranberry; crowberry and cloudberry. The trail seemed to be beginning to descend, and the spire-like spruces, lumpy pines, and feathery larches began to appear as silhouettes against the emerging skyline. They were approaching the eastern flank of the mountain. They began to see more and more of the old, flattened tree trunks, amongst the burgeoning shrubs and mossy undergrowth, and the air was becoming noticeably cooler as they approached the edge of the girdle of dense greenery that encircled the lower slopes of Mount Shakharma.

Ten minutes later, they stood at the edge of the tree-line. Below them lay the seemingly endless, flatter, boggier ground stretching away towards the Sil'gami Range, and the distant Khushmo River. Half a kilometre in the distance; Lifshen's Pauzok was still where he had left it tied up on the flat, shingly river bank. Lifshen grinned, and pointed.

'There you are; our taxi home.'

Karyn glanced at him.

'What on earth is it?

He laughed.

'It's something the nuts at Vanavara lashed up. It's basically a Pauzok... a flat-bottomed barge the locals used for shipping grain, but it's fitted with a U-2 biplane engine. It skims over the surface of the water. You'll love it. It's like riding a flying tea-tray!'

Karyn raised an eyebrow. Boys and toys again!... but she said nothing, and followed Lifshen down to the river. They had to wade across to the eastern bank; but the water was not deep. The pack bags were tossed into the bow of the Pauzok, amongst the spare fuel cans, water bottles, and supply packs; and Karyn clambered aboard. Lifshen released the mooring rope and heaved the bow away from the shingle bank. He turned to Karyn.

'You see those two switches on the panel? I'm going to swing the propeller. Make sure they are down; and when I say the word: "Contact!" Flick both of them up...OK?'

Karyn nodded.

He moved round to the rear of the craft and grasped one of the propeller blades. As she watched; he wound the propeller around for several turns; brought the propeller blades horizontal, and called,

'OK...switches up!... Contact!'

She flicked both switches, and Lifshen swung down hard on the propeller blade. The engine coughed, belched oily smoke from the exhaust stubs. The propeller spun for two complete revolutions, and jerked to a standstill. Lifshen called,

'Switches down!'

and cursed silently under his breath. She flicked the two switches down and nodded to him. He wound the propeller back until the blades were horizontal; took a deep breath, and called,

'Switches up!... Contact!'

He heaved down on the blade with all his might. The Shvetsov engine coughed, backfired, and picked up, in a cloud of blue smoke. Karyn moved forward and settled herself in the bow of the Pauzok, while Lifshen clambered into the seat and strapped himself in. He tossed a pair of earplugs to her with a grin.

'You'd better put these in; otherwise you'll end up as deaf as a post. She's a noisy little bitch!'

Karyn nodded and put them into her ears. Lifshen wound open the throttle twist grip; kicked hard right rudder, and turned the Pauzok downstream into the south-west.