“Isn’t he taking a dogsled back?” she asked Bunny.
“Scan? Not that little distance.”
“That little distance took us nearly two hours.”
“Oh, he’s a good runner. Lotta times when we go out, he breaks trail for me. Sled’d only slow him up.” Bunny lifted the thermos and shook it. “I’ll bring you more water tomorrow. Thanks for the chow. G’night!”
A second swirl of cold air saw her away, leaving Yana alone, confused and with plenty to think over.
Over the next couple of days she didn’t see much of either Bunny or Scan, nor hear anything about the rescued men, although she did glimpse figures in Intergal regulation winter-survival uniforms lumbering through the streets more than once. The conversations she had with others in the settlement never touched on the subject she knew was in everyone’s minds, as if the people thought they could will the incident into nonexistence by carefully avoiding it Clodagh appeared on her doorstep the first morning, a lumpy bundle in one big hand and four cats at her heels. They promptly entered and did a quick recon before settling near the stove while Yana politely invited her in, though she was damned if she knew what to offer in the way of hospitality. She still hadn’t had a chance to get in any supplies, and her fish stew was not going to last four days if that was all she had to eat, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Her stomach was learning to demand food, not the bloat of nutrient pills.
“Did a quick round,” Clodagh said, plopping the bundle down on the rickety table and untying it. A variety of small packets, some of them squares of cloth tied with a narrow thong, were revealed, and a half-dozen small jars. Three seemed to hold salves, pink, white, and green; the largest of the others held salt crystals, the second a dark powder, and the third a red-orange powder. “We’ve good salt supplies from the caves so don’t worry about asking anyone for more when you go short but hot stuff”-and her big fingers closed about the dark powder-“is hard to come by, and you don’t need much to flavor the pot. This”-she indicated the red-orange powder-“is good for the trots. Just enough on the tip of your finger put on your tongue and swallowed with a sip of water. Tastes awful but sure stops the bo-wells.” Yana had never heard the word spoken quite that way. “When your crapper’s full, just tell Meqo. She’s manager of the dung heap this winter. The white stuff is good for frostbite. Use it even if you’re not sure you’re bit. Does no good too late. The pink is for chilblain-keeps ‘em from cracking. Watch your toes for the itch …”
“I know about chilblains.”
“Sure, and I ‘spect most company soldiers do at that,” Clodagh said amiably. “This greeny stuff is antiseptic. You might have some of your own-no? Well, this is better’n anything Intergal ever whomped up. These,” she went on, gesturing at the small packets, “are spices, hots, sweeteners: reckon you can tell which is which by the smell of ‘em.” Then she hauled a much larger white sack from the folds of her parka. “Flour, single ration.” A small tightly covered pot followed. “Risings, and soon’s you take a schmerp, add some flour to keep it going. Keep it warm at all times.” After a rummage in her clothing, a small quilted wool affair appeared, and the yeast pot was wrapped inside it. “Beans.” A sack was pulled out of a pocket. “Three kinds. Puto says she has more she’ll add when she gets back here. Navarana and Moira say you can join them in the woods when the time’s right to collect your own wood pile.” From another source, a hatchet emerged and was formally presented to Yana. “I’ll need it back, a’course, when you can get one of your own. Aisling’ll have some yarn for you.” Keen eyes peered into Yana’s. “Unless you don’t know how to knit?”
Yana shook her head.
“Nah, a company person wouldn’t need to, would she, drawing supplies direct from Intergal? Well, Aisling’s patient, and there’s nothing she likes better than to start someone off on the right foot, iffen they’re willin’.”