Icebound

I appear to have led an expedition.

This is a deeply alarming sentence, and I should like to amend it immediately.

What I actually did was write down a number of questions, persuade several much cleverer people to come with me, and then ask Mister Volkow to walk in front.

This distinction is important.

I had been to the French tower before, of course, but only with company, and I confess that leaving the settlement still makes me rather more nervous than I generally advertise. It is one thing to point north from the comfort of a warm room and say we ought to investigate that. It is quite another to discover that several people have taken you seriously and are now standing in the snow waiting for you to begin.

Fortunately, Mister Volkow knows considerably more about being outdoors than I do, and was kind enough to see us there safely. Mister Kennethson came despite remaining rather unconvinced that the tower itself will prove worth the trouble. Mister Kelp asked several irritatingly sensible questions about the crane. Mister Doyle had much the same practical instinct for wondering what the thing had once carried, and where. Miss Renwick came with Thistle and insisted she was chiefly useful for moral support, which sounded suspiciously familiar. 

Biscotte, naturally, required no invitation and inspected a great many bushes, particularly those Thistle had already examined, lest she somehow have overlooked one. 

The tower, disappointingly, did not collapse.

Indeed, it seems determined to remain standing out of spite.

Mister Volkow found the metalwork in remarkably good order. The crane itself appears quite capable of being restored, though its rope has suffered badly from age and cold. The wooden portions are weathered but sound, and the building remains sufficiently sealed that it was noticeably less miserable inside than outside.

The crane seems to have been intended for hauling goods up and down the cliff, which rather raises the question of what goods, and from where. The railway below now interests me considerably more than it did before.

The old telegraph and siren remain mysteries of another sort. Their fittings have been stripped badly enough that we shall require someone who truly understands such things before making grand declarations about restoring them. I have learned that there is a very dangerous interval between recognising a wire and understanding what the wire does, and intend to remain safely on the former side of it.

I still rather like the thought of attempting the telegraph, if the line itself survives. It may reach nothing at all, of course, but if there are French stations still listening somewhere beyond us, it seems almost impolite not to knock. The suggestion did not appear to inspire universal confidence. 

I copied what French records we could find so that they may be properly translated by Vivienne and shared. The original documents were in alarmingly poor condition, and I simply could not fathom a way to move them safely. Some of the more damaged pages may yet require cleverer eyes. 

I also made deplorable quips about my ability to only read French curses, which rather entertained me. I believe one may even have earned a snort from Mister Kelp, which I shall count as a triumph. 

The men and women who accompanied me talked, investigated, and even joked together. They dredged an astonishing amount of information from the decrepit place. I was secretly delighted to see Mister Kelp getting along with Mister Kennethson, and experienced a shameful little swell of pride at having trapped them in the same room long enough for it to happen. 

As a girl, I had always assumed Papa knew an astonishing amount about railways. I am beginning to suspect that Papa merely knew an astonishing number of railwaymen, and had perfected the art of asking each of them the question he was best equipped to answer. 

This seems much less impressive until one tries it.

Mama, meanwhile, would be horrified to learn that I voluntarily arranged an outing involving a frozen mountain, a derelict crane, several armed gentlemen -- perhaps of questionable repute -- and no tea whatsoever.

She would be correct about the tea.

There was another reason the tower felt different this time; Miss von Onatopp had died near there. 

I have tried not to dwell upon that sentence.

I knew her only a little, and I still find myself thinking that this should somehow disqualify me from being frightened by it. It does not.

Perhaps that is why the tower suddenly seemed less like an old curiosity and more like something we ought to understand while we still have the chance. There are too many things here we have not examined because they seemed as though they could wait.

People do not always wait with them.

I do not know whether anything we learn from that station will save anyone. I suspect it would be rather grand of me to pretend so. But there is work before us, and questions we can still answer, and things we can repair before necessity makes the decision for us.

That seems reason enough to begin.

When we returned, I conspired to appropriate nearly an entire wall of the Mess Tent.

I had meant to put up one little notice.

This became a checklist.

The checklist acquired reports.

The reports acquired headings.

By the time I was finished, the wall had ceased to be part of the Mess Tent and had become, by right of conquest, the Department of the French Tower. I am not certain Mister Kennethson understood the scale of what he was permitting when he gave me leave to use it. 

We did not solve the tower. I am increasingly convinced that solving things is an unreasonable standard for an afternoon. 

We did return with fewer vague mysteries, several much better questions, and everyone we left with. And I do quite hope others continue to scrutinize my small shrine of paperwork and add their expertise. 

Under the circumstances, I think I am entitled to count the day a great success. 

— V. 

P.S. Biscotte has declined to submit a written report. His findings were apparently conveyed directly to several snowdrifts. He did, however, conclude that the tower contained no unattended sandwiches.