Bay Husack did an unexpected thing. Unexpected, even by himself. He came over to Bridie in the doorway and he put an arm around her and kissed her on both cheeks where the sprays of finely etched wrinkles were emphasized innocently by the generous dabs of rouge. He smiled down at her.

“Pardon my display of passion, madam, but I think you’re gorgeous. I’ve heard you were, and you are.”

Bridie blushed, then, like a girl, the blue of her eyes seemed to deepen. “My, that was nice.” She straightened her hat. “Who from?” For a moment there was only the sound of the tissue papers busy rustling.

“From Chris, of course, thousands of years ago, in Seattle.”

“Folks, we’re all due at the luncheon at twelve-thirty and it’s twelve-fifteen this minute,” Ott Decker announced crisply. “I’ll move along and break trail for you, but don’t be late now, will you? Please.”

“Not for the world,” Dina said, brightly, “Mr. Decker.”

“Ott.”

“Not for the world, Ott.”

The woman bending over the open luggage and the man who came back into the room were silent while the thud of Ott’s heavy boots and the chatter of Bridie’s heels had ceased to sound on the corridor floor. He came to the window and stood there looking out over the white town and the icy waters and the improbable peaks. Already, at midday, it was almost twilight, the long winter night was descending.

She came over and stood beside him. “Creepy.” And shivered.

“Seattle just a few hours ago. And now we’re in another world.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, the wonder of it!”

He waved toward the overwhelming spectacle outside the window. “Come on now, Dina, you can’t be sneery about that!”

“Do you think she’ll change her mind, after two years? I hope not, because I’m going to marry you.”

“Do you want to know the truth?”

“Not as a rule. This once, maybe.”

“She’s in love with something else.”

“Something?”

“She’s in love with Alaska.” He placed his arm about her shoulders, carelessly, his eyes still on the mammoth splendor outside.

“Well, I’m not, if that’s any comfort to you. So if they’re grooming you to be the first President of the United States to come from the great Northwest twenty years from now, don’t count on settling down in Alaska with me, view or no view.” She turned in the circle of the arm about her shoulder and kissed him.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll do the same for you some time. Look, do you think this necktie is serious enough? For a Chamber of Commerce luncheon, I mean.”

She appeared to study it gravely. “I’d say absolutely. Marc Antony could have worn it to the funeral.”

6

IN CZAR KENNEDY’S HOUSE today there on the waterfront there was comfort and even luxury, gauged by Alaska standards. There was not one single object of beauty or interest. Though he owned entire ledges of jade there was not even a chunk of the gray-green stuff as a desk paperweight. No native masks or brilliant bits of handiwork adorned the walls or shelves. No intricately carved Eskimo ivories, no paintings by Lawrence, none of the Eskimo Ahgupuk’s slyly simple ink lines. The history of a thousand years in a region scarcely known to North America’s mainland had been chiseled, carved, etched, painted, stitched, sculptured, on stone, skins, pottery, furs, wood. None of that nonsense for Czar.