Rigerif stood before the pressure door, unconsciously holding her breath. The gate was as heavy as a coffin lid, so cold it seemed to suck all warmth from the surroundings—and the last trace of heat from her chest.
She suddenly remembered that when an icebreaker encountered especially solid ice, seawater would be pumped into a large Watertight Compartment at the stern, lifting the bow high so that the ship's weight could crush the ice beneath it—there had been such occasions over the past two months.
If Grandmother had been locked inside, what state was she in now? Dead, or alive? Or had she been alive at first, only to drown when the Watertight Compartment was activated?
The thought stabbed into her mind like an icy needle. Her grandmother's aged face, her withered hands, the gentle gaze she always turned upon her—the memories of the past flashed endlessly through her mind.
Had she struggled helplessly in boundless darkness and bone-piercing cold? When the seawater poured in, how cold and afraid must she have been? She was already so old. Why, in the final days of her life, had she been deprived of air and dignity, sunk to the bottom of the sea like worthless cargo?
It was all Vincent's fault—that disgusting man! And Hervor and Olrun too—they maintained an appearance of respect toward Grandmother in their daily lives, but they had to be Vincent's accomplices as well!
A fury like rising flame surged into her head, burning away the sting in her eyes and crushing all her worry and helplessness into pure hatred. Her teeth ground together, and her fingernails dug deep into her palms.
Before Amon could make a move, Rigerif lunged forward, seized the icy wheel with both hands, and twisted it open with all her strength.
Amon removed