A Calculated Risk by Katherine Neville (best time to read books .txt) 📗

think? This isn’t the sort of investment that can be viewed only from the recesses of a sofa, is it?”

“Far be it from me—at this late date—to sully your impeccable virtue.” He laughed. “Believe me, this investment requires hundreds of yards of open space to be fully appreciated.”

“It’s outside? You must be joking—tonight? Where are we going? This is the way to the bridge!”

“Precisely; we’re going to Long Island, where no civilized person sets foot this time of year. But then, you and I were never all that civilized, were we?” He ruffled my hair with one hand and swung up the ramp to the bridge.

I awakened, what seemed like hours later, with my head in Tor’s lap. His coat had been removed and tucked in around me, and he was absentmindedly stroking my hair.

I sat up and peered through the frosty windows. Before us, the moon reflected from the glossy black surface of the ocean. At least, it looked like the ocean. But then I saw it was some sort of pond or lake, and the expanse I’d thought was water was in fact black ice. Embedded in the ice were dozens of boats.

“How can people leave those boats out there?” I asked. “Don’t they get hurt if they freeze up like that?”

“Yes, they would—if they were ordinary boats,” he agreed. “But these are magical boats: iceboats. And the one out there with the tall red mast is mine.”

“An iceboat—that’s your investment?” I said.

“Come. I’ll show you.”

We got out in our evening clothes, and crossed the crunchy snow. The air was colder than I’d imagined, and the wind lifted the snow—moving it back and forth across the surface of the ice. It gave the lake a mystical appearance. I thought of the story of the Snow Queen, guiding her sled across the skies—sending splinters of ice to earth to freeze childrens’ hearts.

“You see,” he was explaining as he helped me up to the dock where the wind seemed stronger, “this boat is extremely lightweight, with a sail to catch the wind. It has two runners—”

“Like Hans Brinker’s racing skates,” I said.

He unlocked a trapdoor in the deck, pulled out the yards of folded sail, and began to lay it out.

“This works much as a sailboat would; the propulsion is afforded by the wind. But because we skate on the surface, which is slick and offers no resistance, it’s much faster than a water boat and requires less wind.”

“Why are you rigging it?” I asked. “You’re not planning to take it out now?”

“Sit down,” Tor told me, shoving me into a seat. “Use that strap and buckle.”

I attached the harness as he whipped the sail around with expert-looking movements. The beautiful black ice seemed suddenly menacing. I could picture with amazing immediacy what it would feel like to be cast out, sliding across the surface out of control, as the sharp, jagged teeth of ice shredded me to ribbons—or to fall through a thin place and get trapped beneath the sinister surface in subarctic waters.

“You’ll enjoy this tremendously,” Tor assured me, smiling as he yanked down a rope and looped it around a cleat.

The sail whipped out sharply against the wind—my head snapped back, and the boat shot forward onto the lake. We picked up speed so swiftly and silently that it took me several seconds to realize how fast we were moving.

When I turned to face into the wind, it cut at my eyelids. Needles of snow from the surface were hurled against my face, burning my skin. I kept my eyes shut as I felt the cold slash against me. When I tried to speak, ice dragged through my lungs like grappling hooks.

“How do you turn this thing?” I yelled against the whine of wind.

“I shift my weight or the sails,” Tor said as the clatter of ice against the hull increased. “Or I can move the rudders slightly with this lever.” He sounded so calm and tranquil, I tried to feel assured.

We were flying over the ice so quickly now, I feared we’d soon be airborne. The lump of fear in my stomach was starting to burn like cold, icy metal as it turned to terror. My eyes were streaming with water from the needles of sleet; I wondered how Tor could see without using goggles.

When I let go of the seat to wipe my eyes, we were shifting our course ever so slightly. My heart leaped into my mouth as I saw we were now rushing headlong toward the far shore. As the line of frozen grasses and rocks and trees whizzed toward us at breakneck speed, it felt as though we’d jumped into high gear.

The land was rushing up so fast, I couldn’t believe Tor saw what was happening—I felt like screaming aloud. Pieces of ice were clattering against the hull like machine-gun fire, and a blanket of snow obscured my sight as we went faster and faster. Now I caught glimpses of trees and rocks that seemed to jump toward us across the ice—and I recognized, with sudden hysteria, that it was too late to turn!

I could feel my choked, burning throat, the blood throbbing—no, thudding—deep in my eye sockets. I gripped the side of the boat as if I were riveted in place, forcing myself to watch as we hurtled wildly—utterly out of control—into the deadly black line of shore. The bottom of my stomach wrenched sickeningly just as the impact came.

But we were cast sideways as Tor shifted his weight, and the boat moved into a clean, tight, sweeping curve, elegantly tracing the edge of shoreline. Time seemed to stop, and in that instant I could hear the heavy beating of my heart.

As we pulled out of the curve the adrenaline flooded through me in a hot gush, pumping blood back to my heart and lungs.

“Did you like that?” Tor inquired cheerfully, not seeming to notice I was at all ruffled.

My legs and spine were spaghetti. I’d never before felt fear like