'GANS ON ICE

by Lucy Twoscoopsie

"Vat? You vant some?"

The Whaler held out the sordid piece of flesh in a momentarily benign gesture. As soon as he did so, he realized his mistake.

"MY GOD!"

Farthing was beside himself. Why had this grusomeness been visited upon him? How could so noble an excursion come so writhe with pain? He longed to be back home... somewhere safe. Somewhere nothing could ever hurt him again.

"Haf some! It's really rather good!"

Larsfeldt was clutching at straws. It was obvious he had been caught. At that same moment Caudal extracted a breech-loaded pistol from inside his tunic. Without hesitation he shot the crazed fisherman, Gunther Larsfeldt by name, square between the eyes. They registered surprise, to say the least.

Caudal re-loaded the pistol so clumsily it seemed he might never finish the task. Once he had, however, he raised the gun to his own head, stammered something unintelligible and fired off another round. Into his own ear.

Farthing and Dickinson barely had time to realize, that what they had just seen, was indeed... real.