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  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-ma
n, 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 d
iamonds 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.