Flash-forward before we continue...

Chapter Forty-five: The Wild Goose Chase

March 11, 2018:

On the way to work, we saw a license plate beginning with LBD. Jackass that I am, I had to say, "Libido." Fraser came back with "Lobotomized."

"Ugh!" I said. "It's not bad enough you have to one-up me... you have to be gross, too?" Besides, when Eren and Levi started this game, players were originally supposed to each use a different license plate, not try to outdo each other on the same one. But I guess Fraser can't help himself. These fancy words just jump into his head.

"Like libido isn't gross," Eren muttered.

After work, for some reason I got thinking about the big fight Fraser and I had that culminated in my slugging him. He's told me several times that I don't need to feel guilty about it anymore, but I don't think it's ever going to completely go away. This evening he told me that the incident hadn't destroyed his trust in me.

"Sure, but now you know I don't deserve it," I muttered.

"If I were certain you deserved it, it wouldn't be trust," he said.

I did that jaw-drop thing that you never think you'll do in real life until someone blows your mind. I mean sure... there's faith, believing without seeing; there's trust, confidence that someone won't let you down; and then there's fact, knowing that something is a certain way, and that it always will be. The fact is, Fraser is my best friend. I trust that he will always want to be my friend, and I have faith that we'll stay in touch and see each other often for the rest of our lives. I wish they were all facts, but sometimes friends have to go on faith and trust. And knowing he trusts me, even though I screwed up, makes my trust more confident. Trust builds trust, even though it will never reach 100% without becoming fact.

So, for once I got what he was saying, all in a second. It may sound stupid, but I actually had to sit down. There are times I wonder how I've lived this long without Fraser there to explain crap to me. Anyway, I guess he saw he'd knocked me flat, and he came over to put an arm around me—

Side note: we've gotten chummy here, because that's standard; it's the status quo that keeps Mairead's emotions on track. I wouldn't let him hug me back in our world unless there were a really good reason, like we hadn't seen each other for a long time, because the status quo there is completely different. It's taken a little getting used to, but a couple days of seeing rough, tough Captain Levi being gentle toward his subordinate soldier Eren (and even echoing Eren's declaration that he loved him as they were going to sleep) had us dropping a lot of our formalities and stigmas. We've discovered that the Levi-Eren dynamic is kind of similar to my friendship with Fraser, and since Mairead is used to the more intimate friendship they've developed in her world, we couldn't help slipping into it, too. To put it simply, if you thought we had a bromance before, this is like we moved to Bromance Central. No one judges here, no one looks at a guy giving another guy a hug and starts making accusations. We're all kind of subconsciously aware that we're being so mushy because Mairead has an affection deficit in her life, but we're cool with it because we're alters. No one's falling in love with each other; we're just acting like we would if we didn't have a lot of protocol and prejudice in the way. It's kind of nice. In fact, I kinda wish it could be like this back home. My dad wouldn't be so uptight... anyway, I'm getting way too sidetracked.

—so, he put his arm around me and told me it was all right. For the umpteenth time, because it does keep coming up. I think I've mentioned I'm insecure. It's just that whenever I remember hitting him, I think, Of all the people in the world, why him? Why did I do something so cruddy to someone so damn nice? I keep trying to remember that he doesn't hold it against me, but I hold it against me... so, the guilt is taking its time to fade.

I do maintain, though... he provoked me.

The 90's:

I was glad to see Fraser moving around on his own.

"All right, partner?" he said, sitting beside me. He sounded better off than me, even though he'd been right in the fire itself.

I pulled my oxygen mask out of the way. "Yeah. How about you?"

He nodded. "Excess lung capacity, remember?"

I smiled a little. As if I'd ever forget the buddy-breathing incident. "Yeah. Is that something you're born with?"

"Some are born with a propensity for it, but it can also be developed."

"You should teach me." And then we can hope you never have to put your mouth on mine again...

"Mm. You remembered about the air currents."

I was proud of myself for that, but it probably didn't seem like a big deal to him. "Mhm. All the dogs okay?"

"Yes." He put his arm around me. "Thank you."

He was usually so stoic, I was a little surprised, but every near-death experience deserves a hug or something, right? After all the ones we've been through (a lot of them his fault), he owes me about ten hugs. There was a reflexive "You're welcome" at the back of my throat, but honestly, I felt the thanks was unnecessary. I was just doing what he'd have done for me. We were partners. But if I said something like that, he'd insist on thanking me anyway. I knew him too well. Instead, I said, "We might have to find somewhere else to camp."

Fraser said he thought the fire fighters might be able to save the building, and I hoped he was right. Even so, it would take Hendricks a while to get his store back to normal.

I was thinking about how this fire just so happened to start in the one place Fraser and I were staying when Cpl. Martin came along and started talking to Fraser about the fire's cause. Fraser confirmed my suspicions: arson. It seemed far more likely that we were the intended victims, rather than Hendricks and his family.

Gjoa Haven obviously didn't have the resources to handle this case on top of everything that went on there on a daily basis, and when Fraser volunteered us again, I didn't have an argument. At least Martin didn't mind us crashing at the lockup. I'd slept in the 27th's holding cells before, so it wasn't like I wasn't used to it. It's funny how when you have to be in a cell, you'd do anything to get out, but when you need sleep bad, a cell turns into something you covet... something you sneak into and hope no one notices.

When it was daylight again a couple hours later, we were allowed to go into the store with Hendricks to assess the damage. Our sleeping bags, the sacks and wool blanket we'd slept on were reduced to a soggy pile of muck and two zippers. Our bags were blackened and had lots of new holes, and the clothes inside all stank like noxious smoke. I was glad I'd had my boot gun and ammo on me at the RCMP station, or a dog could have lost an eye. Martin offered to let us wash our clothes at his place, and we accepted. One of my favorite flannel shirts didn't survive the wash—its integrity had been compromised, as they say of buildings rendered unsafe by fire.

So, we had slightly more limited clothing, and much more limited bedding. We were down to one wool blanket and a caribou hide, both of which had been left on the sled outside, or they probably wouldn't have survived either. We had to buy new bedrolls from Mr. Hendricks's competition, since the ones in his store weren't exactly in brand-new condition. Fortunately, he was insured for fire damage, and once the insurance company was satisfied that he hadn't set the fire himself, he should get compensated. Of course, if we proved someone else set the fire on purpose, that would open a whole new can of worms, but one thing at a time.

Hendricks's neighbors got together to help him clean the shop out, and of course Fraser and I joined in. Anything unsalvageable was put in a heap—ironically, to be burned. Anything damaged but still useful was piled on the sales floor to be discount priced. Damaged flooring was torn up. Half the wall between the stock room and the back of the store was taken out. Ceilings were scraped. Steps were pulled out. By lunchtime, I was exhausted.

Dief and some of the other dogs helped out a little by carrying debris to the burn pile, but Fraser told me that two of them, Aurora and the little guy called Nuki, had burnt some of their paws and were limping a little. Nuki and Sami were both doing some coughing, too, and we figured they'd breathed a lot of smoke.

"Looks like we for-sure won't be taking the dogs two hours north by northwest," I commented dryly.

"We won't be taking the sled anywhere today," Fraser agreed. He looked at the sky, which had cleared off quite a bit. "I do want to visit the Netsilik as soon as possible, though."

"You think they did this?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. I saw you sniffing and tasting stuff. You've at least got an idea."

He sighed. "It's not conclusive... but I do believe the accelerant was seal oil."

"That's what the Inuit use to heat the igloos."

"Correct."

"How is that not conclusive? You think someone's trying to frame them? Who? Someone on the Hamlet Council that wants a recount? Come on, Fraser."

I knew he knew I was right, but he didn't want to admit it.

"What's the motive?" he asked.

"Easy. Tulugaak gets us to put off digging up the grave, sets the fire in the night to get rid of us, problem solved. And he half succeeded—he at least made it so the wild goose chase he planned out for us definitely won't involve the dogsled, unless we wait for everyone to fully recover. And we don't have that kind of time, do we?"

"No." Fraser took a bite of his sandwich. A kind neighbor had provided them to the volunteer workers. After swallowing, he said, "Regardless of our suspicions, I still think we should find out what's up there."

"But you said yourself there was no reason for Franklin to be buried further north."

"Perhaps not, but there isn't much reason for him not to be, either. There are two things that I think make it worthwhile. First, if Tulugaak really wants us to go, he's unlikely to sanction the exhumation before we do. Second, if Franklin were buried so far from any recognizable landmarks, that would explain why so many search parties have failed to find him."

"Maybe they just failed to find him because he was in a shallow grave that got dug up by predators," I argued, grimacing at my own words.

"Are you willing to go home empty-handed, not having followed Tulugaak's instructions or investigated the grave?"

My turn to sigh. "No," I admitted.

"Then we're in agreement?"

I nodded reluctantly. "Sign me up for the wild goose chase."

"Constable Fraser," someone said, coming up to us. I looked up and saw a Mountie in a uniform that looked like the one Fraser usually wore.

"Constable Jones?" Fraser asked.

"Yes. I heard some of your dogs were hurt in the fire," the other Mountie said.

"That's true, but they're going to be all right."

"I'm glad to hear it. I have a couple of dogs, myself. There's a young man who likes to borrow them from time to time to use with his own pair. He wants to enter the dogsled races planned for next winter."

Fraser nodded.

"Anyway, they're in good running shape, so if you might like to borrow them, I can leave them at the station for you."

"That's very kind of you, Constable. It would be good to have them in reserve."

"I'll do that, then. It's the least I can do. Do you have a lead on the arsonist yet?"

"We've got some ideas," I told him.

"We'll let Corporal Martin know if anything comes of them," Fraser added.

"All right," said Jones. "Well, I'm off to get the dogs, then."

I felt better knowing the dogsled was an option again. "So, what do we do now?" I asked.

Fraser looked around at the other volunteers. "I think they have the situation here well in hand," he said. "If we start for the Netsilik camp now, we can probably get our 'wild goose chase,' as you call it, done in time for dinner—even without taking the sled."

"You're the boss," I said.

We made sure Dief and the other dogs were going to play nice with Constable Jones's dogs and then left them at the RCMP station and headed for Igloosville. I was not looking forward to seeing Tulugaak, but I kept telling myself to just follow Fraser's lead. I wouldn't get anywhere by arguing, but I might by saying "I told you so" later.

"I am pleased you were not harmed in the fire at Mister Hendricks' store," the shaman said when he met us outside his igloo. "And I heard your dogs survived as well."

"Yeah, Amaguq musta protected them," I muttered.

"We would have come sooner," Fraser said, "but we were helping to clean up the damage. It looks like the store can be repaired."

"Good news," said Tulugaak. Then he turned to a woman standing behind him. She had been waiting patiently with two sets of snowshoes, and she brought them forward. "These are for your journey."

"Thank you," Fraser said, taking both sets of shoes and handing one to me. "It's kind of you to lend them to us."

"Tulugaak is pleased to help."

I caught the Inuit woman rolling her eyes after he mentioned himself in the third person. I instantly liked her.

"I wonder if you could help by answering a question," Fraser said. "The fire was started with seal oil. The townspeople don't normally use seal oil, and I've confirmed that Mister Hendricks didn't carry it in his store. The fire was set deliberately by someone who brought the oil with him."

The woman's eyes flicked over to Tulugaak, but she couldn't have seen his face from where she stood. The shaman's expression didn't change, that I could tell.

"What is your question?" he asked.

"Could the man or woman who set the fire have come from this camp?" Fraser asked.

Tulugaak lifted his chin importantly. "Though few white men use it, the Netsilik have not cornered the market on seal oil."

I grinned. "Cornered the market" was a super un-Inuit thing to say.

Tulugaak pointed toward the unnamed grave. "You start there. Two hours north by northwest."

Fraser nodded to him. "Thank you kindly."

We started walking toward the grave, but then Fraser paused and looked back. "I'll remember what you said, Tulugaak," he said. "If we don't find what we seek, you'll hear our request when we get back."

Tulugaak stared at him a moment and then gave a very deliberate nod. He turned and ducked into his igloo and the woman walked away.

We trudged over the path to the grave. The way was already worn down with footprints in the new snow. We had seen a couple of tourist-types in the camp, and they'd probably visited the grave, possibly with a tour guide. I saw some footprints that went past it and doubled back, so someone had been making the trip for the first time and observed the passing-by custom.

"Well, Franklin, ol' pal," I said to the white headstone which someone had brushed the snow off of, "if you're in there, we'll see you in a few hours. If not... you can't hear me anyway."

"Ray," Fraser said in a complaining tone as he put on his snowshoes, "he's dead. It's highly unlikely he could hear you, anyway."

I smirked. "Highly unlikely? What, is the jury still out on whether or not ancient explorers can hear the voices of the people searching for them?" I knelt to put on my snowshoes.

"Well, I'm not sure of your opinion on the existence of ghosts, for example."

"Eh, I don't really believe in 'em. But that doesn't mean they don't creep the hell outta me."

"I see."

"Why, you believe in 'em?"

He hesitated and then nodded. "Yes."

"Really? But you're supposed to be the logical one." He had checked his watch and started walking. "Hey, wait up." I struggled to get into the rhythm of walking with two oversized wooden spoons attached to my feet. I'd never been good at this. At least I wasn't falling on my face every third step anymore. "Fraser," I said, when I got close enough, "how come you believe in ghosts?"

After a minute, he said, "I'd really rather not answer that."

"What, did you see one once?" I waited a long time, but as I've mentioned, I'm not big on patience. "Fraser?"

"If I explain, you'll think I'm lying, incompetent, or insane, so I'd really rather not," he said firmly.

Of course, that just sent my curiosity through the roof. "I know you wouldn't lie," I said. "And you may act kinda crazy sometimes, but I don't mind that. And... what was the other one?"

"Incompetent. You'll think I let my imagination run away with me, rather than remaining grounded in fact."

"Happens to the best of us."

"I don't want you to think that of me. So, if you're not prepared to believe in at least a possibility of ghosts being real, I'd rather not tell you my reason for believing in them."

I felt really disoriented. It was some serious role-reversal going on there. I was normally the guy who didn't need a reason for anything; he was normally the guy who needed to explain everything. My gut said ghosts weren't real. But that was a really logical conclusion to reach on pure instinct. For some reason, his logical mind was telling him they were real. So, maybe he was right: maybe I would think he was unhinged or naive or... well, he wouldn't lie. He might tell an occasional ghost story, but they were the kind of thing you'd never think was true, anyway.

We didn't talk much for the next hour or so. It was weird walking way out in the frozen armpit of nowhere. We could see what looked like a rippling mud puddle way off to the south, and I knew that was a huge herd of caribou. A little closer was the town, and closer than that but kinda harder to make out was the clump of igloos. There weren't any trees. We were above the timberline by quite a bit. There was just snow. Lumpy, drifted snow.

If I didn't watch where I was going, I sometimes tripped over a snow-lump. Sometimes even when I was paying attention, everything being the same color would confuse me. It messed with my depth perception.

"I think we're getting slightly off course," Fraser said after a while. He checked his compass and looked around.

"How could we be?" I asked. "Haven't we been following the floating arrow?"

"Well, yes, but... this region is notorious for giving bad compass readings, as you may recall."

"Oh, yeah... 'cause we're near the pole."

"Right. That's how Gjoa Haven came to be settled in the first place: Roald Amundsen was searching for the magnetic pole when he landed in the natural harbor there."

"Uh-huh. I remember that history lesson from last time, I think."

"Still, if I check the position of the town behind us now and then, we should be all right."

"We don't even know what we're looking for."

"No. But I'm sure if it were hard to find, Tulugaak would have given us a clue of what to look for."

"I'm not," I muttered under my breath, but I followed him on.

I'm sure you've assumed it, but just so you remember, it was cold. It was the middle of the day, so it was above zero, but it wasn't above freezing. And I felt like I could feel the temperature dropping as we went further north. I know that's silly, but it's just so depressing to stare at nothing but lumpy white terrain and the back end of your partner's snowshoes going up and down... That's not what you thought I was going to say, was it? Freakin' fan girls.

Anyway, I felt kind of sorry for myself because I never wanted to go out there in the first place. I thought it was all a really, really bad idea. If anything happened, we were miles from anywhere and had no transportation. The only positive thing I could think of was that there was absolutely no cover for anyone to hide behind. So, I could be reasonably sure that we weren't walking into an ambush.

"Has it been two hours yet?" I asked, even though I knew Fraser was keeping an eye on the time, and would probably tell me when the time was up.

"No. About one and a half."

I groaned. "Can we rest?"

"I'll have to keep track of how long... so it doesn't throw our time off."

"It's not going to be exact," I snapped. "Everyone walks at a different pace."

"Yes, so I've observed."

I wasn't sure if he was being defensive, or if he was making a dig at how much slower I was on my snowshoes. Either way, I decided to just deal with it. "Never mind. Let's keep going."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He reached into his coat and pulled out a canteen. "Here."

I took it gratefully and gulped down some water. "Thanks." I gave it back and we went on.

Finally, the two hours were up. We stopped and turned in slow circles.

"See anything?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Well, I probably slowed us down... let's go a little further." I didn't want us to have any doubt that there wasn't anything to find.

"All right," Fraser agreed.

As we walked on, I got out my glasses and put them on under my ski mask so I could be sure not to miss anything in the distance. After we walked a couple more minutes, I did see something. I squinted at it. "Hey, Fraser... I think there's something around ten o'clock."

It took him just a second to realize I wasn't talking about the time. He turned slightly to the left and looked hard at the area. "I believe you're right. Let's get closer."

We changed course and made for the thing sticking out of the snow. The closer we got, the less I thought I could guess what it was. At first glance, it looked like a stick poking out of the snow, and when we got really close, my assessment didn't get much more accurate. There was a big chunk of ice partially visible above the fresh snow, and snugly frozen in the top of it was what looked like the handle of a knife. But the knife looked dull and rusty. And icy. Or maybe...

"Fraser... is that... is that a knife made of frozen blood?"

"No." He knelt a couple yards from it and stared, brow furrowed. "It's a wolf trap."

Something from way back in junior high or thereabouts jumped up and hit me in the déjà vu. "Wait, I know this. I know this! The Eskimo takes a really sharp knife, dips it in blood, freezes it, repeats until he has a nice bloodsicle. Then he sticks it in the ground, point up. The wolf comes along to lick the blood, cuts its tongue, doesn't feel it because it has brain freeze from eating its ice cream too fast, keeps licking, shreds its tongue and bleeds out."

"That is the basic idea, yes."

"I thought it was just a fable, though."

"It is. Some wolves would smell the human that left the knife there and not trust it, but if a wolf did decide to try to lick the blood off, once he got a good taste, he'd most likely attempt to bite or swallow the knife whole."

"Ugh! It could do that?"

"Certainly. I've heard of domestic dogs swallowing peanut butter-covered knives."

I wrapped an arm around my stomach. "That's so gross. Wouldn't that still kill it, though?"

"It might, but by that time it would be a good way off. The myth says the Inuit finds the wolf dead beside the knife. Besides, Inuit don't kill wolves much. Not unless the wolves have been bothering their village. They prefer to stay on Amaguq's good side."

"Well, whatever. What's this thing doing here?"

"I'd say it's a message."

"Like... an 'I told you not to bring your wolf' message?"

"Perhaps."

"Then this isn't what Tulugaak sent us to find."

Fraser shook his head. "No."

"So... maybe something's buried under it?" I suggested, moving closer.

"RAY!"

I think Fraser knew I was falling before I did. I felt him grabbing at my coat as I started grabbing madly for anything to stop me. For a second he had me, but we were slipping... I was dangling and he was losing traction. Then he let go. I didn't think about it much in that moment, but he actually let go on purpose.

Horrors! Don't worry, I'm still alive. *wink*