Icehotel: Episode 24

He paused and stiffened, but continued as though he hadn’t heard. Strange, I thought, that wasn’t like Harry

Ireached the exit and pushed against the handles. The doors swung open silently and I stepped into the night, my breath pluming white in the cold air. The moon had not yet risen, but the snow seemed to exude a ghostly light, outlining the frozen blocks like pieces of giant Lego. I made for the river, my feet crunching in the frozen snow. A thin layer of fog shrouded the ice, swirling slowly as I moved.

I found a spot with an unobstructed view of the sky and stared up into the blackness, startled by the sudden, harsh call of a bird deep within the forest.

The sky was cloudless except for a single faint band. It grew slowly, lengthening at both ends until it spanned the sky in a perfect arc.

As it brightened, it changed colour from white to pale green, then to yellow. Folds of ghostly curtains appeared, rippling across the black vault.

They dissolved into fingerlike threads which pulsated rhythmically, as though spectral hands were playing chords on a celestial organ.

As they faded, leaving a faint imprint, others emerged to take their place.

I threw my head back and watched, exhilarated, until my neck and shoulders ached. The warmth bled from my body, chilling my bones and making my teeth chatter.

Shimmering

When I could watch no longer, I pulled the hood tightly round my head, and trudged back reluctantly across the snow. The night bird called again.

It had left the forest and was gliding across the river, dipping so low that I felt the brush of its great wings.

The Ice Theatre loomed like a dark battleship, menacing against the glowing sky.

But, instead of retracing my steps, I decided to take the path at the side of the chapel and return by the main entrance.

It would be worth the detour to see the columns and fountain by the shimmering light from the chandelier. I crept to the front of the Icehotel.

I was pulling at the antlers when a faint creaking to my right made me turn. The Locker Room door was opening, throwing a sudden stream of light into the darkness.

Someone was at the entrance, on the point of stepping inside. He turned and looked at me.

The hood of his suit was down and there was no mistaking his features. I was about to call out when something stopped me.

Something about the way he stood immobile, staring in my direction, making no attempt to acknowledge me.

With a sudden movement, he pulled the hood of his suit over his head, hiding his face.

I hurried into the Icehotel and ran through the foyer, anxious to get to my room. The candles were mostly out, and those that weren’t sputtered angrily.

I’d reached my corridor when a sudden thought stopped me. Perhaps Marcellus wasn’t going late to bed.

Perhaps he’d followed me on to the river, and that was why he hadn’t wanted to be recognised.

The realisation that he may have been spying on my movements as I watched the aurora brought the cold sweat on to my brow.

I was about to enter my room when I saw Harry’s curtain swaying. A second later, it was drawn back and Harry stepped out.

In the gloom, I could just make out the woollen hat and the bulky frame in the blue snowsuit. He moved briskly away.

“Goodnight, Harry,” I called to his retreating back. He paused and stiffened, but continued as though he hadn’t heard. Strange. That wasn’t like Harry.

But I put it down to his bladder problems; he might be desperate to get to the washroom.

In my room, I undressed and re-enacted the ritual of the sleeping bag. I writhed around for what seemed like hours before I finally fell asleep.

I slept fitfully. My dreams were vivid: we were on snowmobiles and Marcellus was chasing me and, however hard I pressed against the accelerator, I couldn’t rev up enough speed to get away.

Comfortable

I woke early – my watch said 6.10am – and wriggled around trying to get comfortable, but I wasn’t going to get back to sleep. I dressed and tiptoed to the washroom.

Standing under the hot jet, I worked shampoo into my hair. The others wouldn’t be up for another hour. But rather than kill time in the lounge, I would take a walk on the river.

The sun was rising as I left the Icehotel, bathing the landscape in clear morning light. Ahead was the long stretch of river ice, pink in the sunrise, and fringed with snow-laden trees.

A walk to the forest and back should take no more than an hour. The snow was deep and I had to lift my feet to clear the drifts.

I was nearing the bank when I saw a man on crosscountry skis. Instead of a snowsuit, he wore a closefitting red woollen jacket, patterned knee breeches and yellow socks.

As he approached, he raised his ski pole in greeting, then overtook me, gliding gracefully. At the edge of the river, he removed his skis and lifted them over his head.

For a second, I thought he was going to scratch his back, but he pushed them neatly through a strap on his rucksack, and disappeared into the forest.

I reached the trees, breathing hard, and collapsed on to a rock.

The sun was now well above the horizon, the shadows of the trees shrinking, creeping back to the river’s edge like a defeated army.

There was more activity on the river now: the harvesting of the day’s ice had begun, a sledge pulled by eight yapping huskies sped across the river and dozens of people on skis moved soundlessly past each other.

Deserted

It was hard to believe this was the same river of a few hours before, deserted, washed pale in the cold light from the aurora.

My thoughts crept back to the scene outside the Locker Room. Why had Marcellus deliberately concealed his face?

Was he afraid that Wilson would find out he was up late and disapprove? Unlikely.

My assumption that he’d followed me on to the river seemed far-fetched now.

Yes, I thought to myself, he could have peered through his curtain, seen me leave and followed me out, but why had he re-entered the Icehotel via the Locker Room?

Why not return to his room the same way, by the back? No, he hadn’t been watching me. He’d been coming from the Excelsior.

But why would he worry about being recognised? It made no sense.

More tomorrow.

Icehotel, available on Amazon Kindle, is Hania Allen’s debut novel. Her second book, The Polish Detective (Constable, £8.99), is the first in her new series featuring DS Dania Gorska and is set in Dundee.