Hold on for some action here. I didn't leave you with a cliff-hanger, though. (Part of the reason this is a longer chapter, though I did say they would be getting longer anyway.)

Chapter Forty-three: Snow And Fire

Tulugaak welcomed us into his igloo about an hour after our meeting with the Hamlet Council ended. He had a wood fire burning in the middle of the floor. I knew that was kind of a luxury, since wood was an imported resource. Most of the igloo-dwellers still used their seal oil lamps for heat. You wouldn't think it of a home with snow for walls, but an igloo can stay pretty warm. You just have to make sure you have a good chimney, or your ceiling will start to melt. Fraser explained all this stuff to me on our last trip to the island.

"You are hungry?" Tulugaak suggested when we had all sat down around his fire.

I could have eaten, but I had a hunch we'd be offered raw seal if we said yes.

"No, thank you," Fraser said. "It's kind of you to ask."

I looked around at Tulugaak's walls. I could see that they were shored up with thin pieces of wood like tent poles. I wondered if the average tourist would consider that cheating. I guessed that Tulugaak liked to keep his igloo in the same spot and used the wooden skeleton to help keep it the same shape and size as before, whenever he needed to make repairs. Hanging from the wooden structure and from pegs stuck right into the snow walls, there were lots of odds and ends: snowshoes, a leather bag, a bow and arrows, the hide of some white animal that I thought was probably an arctic fox, and other stuff that would please a touristy eye.

"Tea, perhaps?" Tulugaak tried again.

"Yes, thank you," Fraser said this time.

Tulugaak checked a copper kettle hanging over the fire. The normalness of the kettle seemed kind of un-Eskimo to me, but I didn't say anything. [Sorry, normality, not "normalness." Thanks, Fraser.] "You have received the answer you desired?" he asked, prodding at the fire with a stick.

"From the Council?" asked Fraser. "Yes, we have their blessing. Now, we would like to get yours."

Tulugaak didn't answer for a minute or two, and I was getting really antsy. I'm not good at waiting. Finally, he said, "Long ago, men came to this island seeking lost travelers. Another man named Rae led them. Called Aglooka, because he was long in leg, like you," he said, pointing at me.

I was surprised and confused by that, and too distracted to point out that Fraser was slightly taller than me. I looked to him for clarification.

"That was R-A-E, and it was a surname," Fraser told Tulugaak. "This is R-A-Y, and it's his given name. They're of no relation."

"All things are connected," Tulugaak contradicted him.

"Fraser, who's he talking about?" I asked.

"Doctor John Rae," Fraser said. "He continued the search for the Northwest Passage after Franklin's party disappeared, and he was also the one to bring conclusive evidence of the fate of Franklin and his men back to England. The Inuit traded many items to him which had belonged to Franklin and his men, and they told him where many of their corpses lay, but Franklin was not found among them."

I felt kind of eerie as Fraser explained this to me. It seemed really queer that the guy who found out where Franklin's journey ended, and about the cannibalism and everything, had a similar name to mine. "Well... what about him?" I asked Tulugaak. "He was here, what—a hundred-fifty years ago? Maybe your great-great grandfather met him, but I'm sure you're not old enough to remember him being here."

"All things can be remembered," the shaman said. "A father tells his son, and the son tells his son."

"Oral tradition is an integral part of Inuit culture," said Fraser. "They give their children the names of dead loved ones to keep the name in use so the loved one's spirit will stay with them. They retell the same stories so memories won't be lost. They sing the same songs over and over to keep their traditions alive. To Tulugaak, especially with the perspective of a shaman, it is as if he remembers meeting with John Rae, himself."

This was getting a little too weird for me. I decided to just keep quiet and not ask any more questions if I could help it.

"Aglooka searched for white chief Franklin. Found many of his men," Tulugaak said importantly. "Franklin, he did not find."

That's what Fraser just said a second ago, I thought, but managed not to say it out loud.

"Aglooka did not know the place to look."

"And what place was that?" Fraser asked.

"Follow the North Star..."

"North?" Fraser asked, frowning. "But after wintering off the coast, Franklin's party turned south. They were headed for Back River on the mainland."

"When the leader falls, the herd scatters where it may." Tulugaak poured hot water over tea in tin cups and handed one to each of us.

"The hell does that mean?" I couldn't stop myself from asking as I took my cup.

"He's saying that Franklin was dead already when the men started for the mainland. And from what I've read, that's true. But why would he be buried to the north when harsher conditions would mean a more difficult burial? It makes just as much sense to carry him south with them."

They probably did. He's just making up crap to keep us from ruining the grave, I thought, but managed to stay silent again. I took a sip of the hot tea, almost scalding myself.

"How far north?"

"Two hours on foot. North by northwest," Tulugaak answered. I thought he sounded a lot less chief-like, giving specific compass directions like that.

"And by dogsled?"

"You must not take the dogs—especially not the white one." He leaned closer to Fraser, staring into his eyes. "Amaguq will not tread there, where Anguta is master."

I was really struggling not to burst in with more questions.

"Diefenbaker does not fear Anguta," Fraser told Tulugaak, staring right back.

Tulugaak pointed a finger at Fraser with a dark, threatening expression. "Those who do not fear death are fools. Your Diefenbaker knows not to tread where Amaguq will not. No dogs. You wish to go, I will give snowshoes in friendship. But the dogs, you must leave."

The two of them kept up their stare-down for a minute. Then Fraser said, "Very well. When can we go?"

"Not today. Tlapinti is coming."

Fraser leaned forward to look up Tulugaak's chimney. "Yes, you are probably right about that. Tomorrow, then?"

Tulugaak nodded once.

Fraser drank some of his tea. "Tulugaak, if we don't find what we seek two hours north by northwest, will you allow us to open the grave of the unnamed woman?"

A tense moment of silence passed before the shaman said, "If you do not, I will listen to your request when you return."

"Very well. Thank you kindly for your time and hospitality." He finished his tea and passed the cup back to our host.

I'd barely touched my tea, but I didn't feel like making an effort. I gave my cup back mostly full.

"Okay, what the hell was that about?" I asked, as soon as we had the dogsled away from the cluster of igloos.

"What was what about?"

"This 'two hours by snowshoe' thing? And why did he say we couldn't go today?"

"I don't know what we'll find, but we can't go today because there's a snowstorm coming. See those clouds?"

The sky was getting dark with heavy-looking gray clouds.

"Okay, I'll give you that. But why are we going on some wild goose chase instead of doing what we came here to do?"

"For two reasons. First, because humoring Tulugaak will make him more likely to cooperate with us. Second, because we won't know if it's a wild goose chase until we investigate."

"Sure, we will. 'Two hours' isn't exactly an precise measure of distance, you know. Is that two hours that we, specifically, can go on snowshoes, or that he can?"

"We'll just head north by northwest until we find it."

"Find what?"

"Whatever he's sending us to find, be it a grave or some other clue, or whatever it may be."

"Can't you see that he's snowing us?"

"He's a capable shaman, but even I doubt that he has control of the weather."

"We've been over this, Fraser. Snowing is pulling the wool over our eyes, or yours, anyway."

"You think he's lying?"

"Yes," I said, glad Fraser was finally getting my drift.

"Why would he do that?"

"He's clearly got someone feeding him information on every move we make. He must have heard we're low on time and wants to stall us with a distraction."

"Why?"

"Because he doesn't want us spoiling his tourist trap! Trust me, he may be an endearing old medicine man with great stage presence on the outside, but deep down, all he cares about is dead presidents."

"Oh, Ray! Tulugaak may not be an example of honesty, but you can't really think he's in some conspiracy to assassinate American presidents."

"Money, Fraser! 'Dead presidents' is money."

"Oh. Oh, I see."

Tulugaak was right about the snow—it was starting to fall before we got back to the general store.

"What was that stuff about not taking the dogs?" I asked, climbing off the sled and going to help Fraser unharness everyone.

"Amaguq is the wolf god. He is sometimes benevolent, but also a trickster. Not to be confused with Amarok, who preys on lone travelers and winnows out sick caribou. Anywhere Amaguq fears to tread is someplace flesh-and-blood wolves would want to avoid as well. Anguta is the Inuit's equivalent of the Grim Reaper. He gathers dead souls to his realm and keeps them there in a year-long sleep. Tulugaak said the place he is sending us is Anguta's territory."

"Great. So, the Inuit Grimm Reaper is guarding this place Tulugaak's sending us to, and we can't even take our wolf for protection. I like this less and less the more you explain it."

"Regardless of our next move, we can't make it in the face of a blizzard. I suggest we take some repose and then offer our services to Corporal Martin after dinner."

"Fine," I said. I wasn't happy with anything at the moment, but there was no point in trying to change Fraser's mind.

"I'd hoped all the heavy snowfall was behind us," Cpl. Martin said as he got ready to hand the station over to us for the night. "The caribou are all over the island. By tomorrow, they'll have to dig to find anything to graze on, even near the coast."

"Perhaps there will be warmer weather soon," Fraser said.

"Hey, are you leaving us with transportation?" I asked. "We didn't want to leave the dogs outside all night if we didn't have to, so we came on foot..."

"I wouldn't have minded if you'd kept them in the empty cell," Martin said. "But I'm leaving a snowmobile for you. If you need anything, you can call me at any hour. This is my town, and I should know if anything serious happens. If you need backup, I want you to call me first and then alternate between me and Constable Jones."

"Understood," said Fraser.

"Thank you. I can't tell you how much we appreciate the relief. Jones and I are the only ones stationed here on a permanent basis, and it's rare for us to get even temporary support."

I imagined trying to keep law and order in even a small town with just one other guy. That would suck. This was the wild west of Canada. A lone sheriff and his deputy. "Well, just try not to worry about anything, get some shut-eye, and we'll call you if we need you," I told him.

He shook hands with both of us and left in his pickup truck.

"So, you think the town will go to pieces overnight?" I asked, looking out the window at the gray surroundings, snow already covering everything in a thin layer.

"I certainly hope not," said Fraser.

I crossed the room and looked through to the cell block—if you could call it that. There were only three cells, two of them occupied.

One of the prisoners spotted me. "Hey, who are you?" he asked.

The second prisoner sat up on his cot and looked at me, too.

For a split second, I almost started explaining the situation to them. Then I changed my mind. "Who am I?" I repeated, putting on a tough-guy voice. I swaggered through the doorway and took measured steps along the cells until I was across from the guy who'd spoken. Then I pivoted and fixed him with a hard stare. "Name's Kowalski. I was here over two months ago and I saw the shape o' this sorry town. I said to myself, this is a town gone to the dogs, no place fit for a decent man to raise a family. Corporal Martin sent Constable Fraser all the way to the states to track me down and bring me back to whip this town into shape, and I intend to do it. So, that's who I am: Detective Raymond Kowalski, Chicago PD. The guy who's gonna kick your ass if you ever step out o' line again!"

The man wasn't exactly shaking in his boots, but he did look a little intimidated. "Geez, all I'm in for is a little drinking," he said.

I tilted my head. "That's it?"

"Yeah," piped up the second guy, "and I'm in for selling him the liquor."

I'd forgotten that Gjoa Haven was a "dry" town. No alcoholic beverages allowed, not even beer. Forget the wild west—this was Mayberry. "Well," I said, recovering my McQueen persona, "You'd best see to it you don't try any more o' that." I turned and swaggered out again before they could ask me anything else.

When I stepped back out into the office, Fraser was staring at me from behind the desk. "Ray," he said pointedly.

I wondered how much he'd heard. "What?" I asked.

"Was that really necessary?" All of it, apparently.

"Oh, come on," I said, going over to the desk and sitting on the edge of it. "This place has a terrible crime rate. A little fear of the law is good for them."

"An example of honesty, integrity and goodwill might just be as useful."

"Well... that's what you're here for."

We took turns manning the desk and resting or sleeping in the empty cell. We got a call from a woman who thought she'd been followed home. Some guy was parked outside her place, just sitting there. Turned out he was waiting for someone else and that person showed up while I was there, corroborating his story pretty darned well. Then Fraser went out to investigate a reported disturbance that turned out to be some teenagers horsing around in the snow.

I thought we were going to get through the night without any major crimes to deal with, but in the early hours of the morning, when it was actually dark, Fraser woke me up in the extra cell.

"The general store is on fire," he said. "The fire department has already been alerted, and I've called Corporal Martin. He said he would send Constable Jones here and we should get to the store right away. We're closer than anyone else."

In my sleepiness, it took me a few seconds to process what he was saying. Then I was scrambling up and pulling my boots on. "Oh, god... the dogs." I hate fire. Campfires are OK. They're fun, even. And candles are pretty and romantic. But house fires scare the crap out of me. I think it's more the smoke than the flames; smoke inhalation is a lot like drowning. But getting burnt is no fun either. I hate the thought of being trapped, and thinking of Dief and the sled dogs trapped in a burning building was freaking me out.

"Come on," Fraser said.

He only stopped to lock the front door behind us before we climbed on the snowmobile. He let me drive—he could handle it okay, but I had slightly more experience on snowmobiles than he had. My grandfather had owned one for a few years and my dad taught me to operate it.

I rode the throttle hard, knowing that fresh, powdery snow was the trickiest surface to ride on—and fresh snow was what we had. It wasn't coming down anymore, but there was a good layer of at least a couple inches, and hardly a track to be seen anywhere. Whenever I spotted tracks I followed them, trying to get whatever traction I could, but it wasn't much help.

When I saw a turn coming up, I turned my head and shouted to Fraser, "Stay with me!" I didn't like to take turns on a surface like this, even when I rode alone. Having Fraser aboard complicated things. We had to lean into the turn together and keep our balance just right to keep from rolling or drifting.

Just before we hit the turn, I put my weight on my feet and leaned in gradually. Fraser kept a snug grip on me and came along. He followed my lead like a dance partner, and we made the turn as gracefully as was possible under the circumstances. In spite of being worried as hell for the shopkeeper, his family and the dogs, I couldn't stop the whoop that jumped up from my stomach and out of my mouth. Finally, something we did perfectly the first try, with no planning or practicing... or arguing.

I could smell smoke before the store came in sight. The fire wasn't bright enough from the outside to tell how big it was yet, but a streetlight showed the smoke rolling out from under the front door and through cracks around the windows. An upstairs window was lit, but I couldn't see anyone inside. I cut the snowmobile's engine after pulling up a little ways from the building.

Only a couple of people were outside—it was very cold out, and even though bad news travels fast, it was the middle of the night and most of the town was asleep. Fraser called to the few spectators to keep a safe distance as we ran up to the front door.

Fraser took off a glove and spread his hand on the door. After a moment, he put his glove back on and tried the latch. As expected, it was locked. He nodded to me and we both took a step back before kicking the door together.

It banged open and we heard the fire roar as it jumped up ahead of us, sucking in the fresh oxygen. It seemed strongest at the back, near the store room where the dogs were barking their heads off, but it had also surrounded the bottom of the stairs and started eating its way up the walls. There was a window about a third of the way up the stairs, and Hendricks was struggling to open it, his wife and son just visible through the smoke, standing on the higher stairs behind him.

I suddenly remembered something Fraser had told me in his apartment... something about opening windows.

"Two openings will encourage steady airflow... you won't get a strong breeze unless you open two of them."

Our host had unlatched the window and was about to throw it open. I turned around, grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it shut, leaning on it to keep it closed. I looked up again and saw that the shopkeeper was lifting his son out the window.

"Get the dogs!" I shouted to Fraser. Sure, there was a huge wall of fire between us and them, but if anyone could get them out, it was my best friend. And I hate to admit it, but I was already closer to that fire than I wanted to be.

Fraser gave me another quick nod before navigating the shop's merchandise and vaulting over the counter at the back to avoid the worst of the flames. I heard him call Nanouk. After that, I couldn't hear anything but crackling wood. Couldn't see much through the smoke and tears starting to stream out of my stinging eyes. I wiped my eyes on my coat sleeve and kept them narrowed to slits, but it didn't help. I pulled the collar of my shirt up over my ski mask to filter out more smoke, but every breath still burned my throat. I had to fight to keep myself leaning on that door. We couldn't get to the window to shut it. It was up to me.

Finally, I could hear a sound: a siren outside. I guessed that meant the fire truck had arrived. If they used fire trucks. I'd never thought about it. I felt someone push on the door, and I threw my full weight against it.

"Don't open the door!" I shouted, and then had a coughing fit. I swallowed hard and sucked in another breath. "There's an open window at the side," I choked as loudly as I could. "The draft will accelerate the fire and kill my partner!" I coughed again. Had they heard me? The fire was eating its way across the room now... I couldn't see Fraser or much of anything else.

I wiped my eyes again and the next thing I saw was like something out of a Disney movie: Led by Diefenbaker, Nanouk and the other dogs came jumping over the checkout counter. Dief didn't hesitate a second before jumping the line of fire separating them from the untouched front of the store, and the others followed him. Fraser rolled over the counter as Dief turned back to bark encouragement to him.

Still a couple strides from me, Fraser shouted, "Go!"

I yanked the door open and we all spilled out into the snowy yard as the fire roared again, eating up the stream of air crossing the sales floor.

Then hands were grabbing my arms, pulling me further from the building, helping me to my feet. Someone took me over to the house next door and sat me on the steps. A couple voices were asking if I was all right, and what I'm pretty sure was a canine tongue kept swiping at my face.

"I'm okay," I croaked, but hearing my own voice, I knew the smoke inhalation had done a number on me. I looked around for Fraser. My eyes were still blurry and it took me a minute to spot him. He was sitting at the back of an ambulance, legs dangling out of it, and it looked like he was getting the same treatment as me. Then someone was right in front of me, blocking my view, pulling up my ski mask and putting an oxygen mask in its place.

A furry head settled in my lap and I pulled off a glove to pet it. I could tell just by the feel of him that it was Dief. "Hey, buddy," I whispered, which was stupid for two reasons. First, he couldn't hear me, and between the dark and the oxygen mask he couldn't read my lips, either. Second, I shouldn't be talking at all, after what my throat had just been through. I wondered if Fraser was worse off than I was.

Definitely one of the scariest things we've been through together. But just wait... our harrowing experiences aren't over yet.

I had to get Fraser to help me remember some of the stuff Tulugaak said, in case you're wondering. I don't have much of a head for Inuktitut. Let me know what you think so far. ~Ray K.