But rock falls, ice fog, glacier fields, cliffs, all of these things sent men to their deaths. A well-placed rock fall would cut the rope for them. There was no need to plot murder or even a possibility to be cowardly on this mountain. If one was cowardly, they would have never made it to the top.
He held the rope steady as Lord Rascomb ascended, but the man was agile and didn’t require any help. The lord pulled himself over the edge, looking pleased with himself. He undid the buckle and surveyed it, as if looking for flaws or perhaps marveling at it instead. “It works well,” he said, congratulating himself before he flung it down to Frau Moon.
The man chatted with his daughter and Justine, while Karl focused on the rest of the team. It was a slow process, but given how much ground they’d already covered, he was impressed. Between Frau Moon and Frau Bridewell, he checked his pocket watch and then the sky. They were right on time, and his internal clock was just as accurate as the mechanical one.
Part of the hurry was that while they all carried packs with extra clothing, they did not carry much in the way of rations. They would ascend and descend the same day, eventhough previous expeditions took a week to do the same. Given the extensive writings of Whymper and his own experience, Karl believed they could accomplish it in a single, very long day.
But it was possible to get stuck on the side of the mountain and have to bivouac overnight. It was not a pleasant way to spend a night—cold, hungry, exhausted. He’d done it himself on more than one occasion, and would do it again however many more times were necessary, but it was not an experience he wanted to inflict on Justine. Or any of them.
Once Herr Bridewell—Tristan, as he’d asked Karl to call him numerous times—ascended, they packed up the extra rope and climbing device, checked in with each other, and checked their tethering line. All was in good order, so they again carried on, falling into their prescribed order.
Karl was impressed with how well-trained they were. There was no bickering or jostling for position. While he did miss the good-natured ribbing that was common among other expeditions—the joking insults were humorous—he could honestly say that this was the most well-oiled machine he’d ever worked with.
They climbed the blocky rock formation, its ledges and easy handholds making individual rope support unnecessary. Yet, the security of the climb didn’t stop him from discreetly peeking over his shoulder every once in a while to check on them. There was still a part of him that didn’t believe that this group of women could climb this fast without complaint or trouble.
When he’d guided other tourists on other mountains—those who fancied themselves to be in better shape than they actually were—the men would tough it out despite terrible shoes and blisters. The women were typically so poorly prepared, their dresses too restrictive, corsets too tight, shoes too thin, that they could not manage to go very far without needing to stop andbe escorted back down. One woman insisted that he carry her down, which he did, hunched over, with her perched atop him not unlike how Lady Rascomb perched on that donkey the day before.
It had been humiliating, yes, and his back hurt for a week. But they paid well, and bought him an excellent bottle of brandy besides, which had helped with his sore muscles.
The snow thinned and scree took over the path. The scree fields made climbing tiring. The give of all those millions of rocks sank their boots with each step, requiring more energy to take the next one, keeping a person always slightly off-balance. At the top of the scree field scramble, the cracking sound that Karl had been dreading boomed above them.
“Rock fall!” he called down to them. They all crouched down, covering their heads with their arms. At the speed with which the pebbles rained down on them, even a small stone could sever their ropes or kill them with a knock to the temple.
The rain of rocks covered them like a second-long shower, the preamble to the larger chunk the size of two fists fit together that tumbled down around them. Karl hoped that was it, and when the debris stopped, he took a moment to look around, listening carefully.
It was as if they all held their breath, terrified that something larger was coming. But nothing happened, and the world was still. They exhaled. It was then that a small boulder tumbled down to their right, dislodging the carefully balanced scree, and causing a slide off a cliff. Karl sat down abruptly, bracing himself in case the ripple effect took one of them with it.
It stopped a meter or so from where their line braced. He saw every one of their wide eyes stare up at him, shocked that they were that close to what would no doubt be a painful death. He scanned them. Overall in good shape, their eyes wet from the wind, lips dry from the same, and scared. Except, he noticedJustine. She looked defiant. And Fräulein Bridewell who looked grim but determined.
He wasn’t sure if he admired them or thought them foolish. But he was convinced that these two could do anything they put their minds to, and hopefully, this mountain would let them.
At the back, Tristan held his shoulder. Karl called him on it.
“Naught but a scratch,” Tristan said.
“There’s blood,” his wife called up. She slid down to his position to help tend it. Each of them had two clean rags rolled up exactly for this purpose. It was a jagged climb, and one never knew what would come in handy.
They rested until Frau Bridewell climbed back to her position, letting the tether loosen between her and Frau Moon. And then Tristan said the magic words.
“All is well.”
They called it one at a time until it got to Karl, when he repeated the phrase. It had never occurred to him before to do such a check-in, but he liked it. He wasn’t sure how other expeditions would handle it, wondering if the men who had so much to prove would think it a weakness to say such a thing. But it was helpful. Karl then knew that they were all ready, with injuries taken care of. It helped him set pace.
“Onward,” said Fräulein Bridewell, and he obeyed.
This was a climb that was slow-going, but in that context, they were ahead of where they’d hoped to be. He looked up at the sky. He could carry a pocket watch to seem more professional, but his internal clock was just as accurate. They would not be making the summit today and would have to bivouac on the mountain somewhere.
They were very near where Whymper was turned around on his first attempt to ascend. It was a common place to turn around, given the chimneys that came next.
“Fräulein Bridewell,” he said as they were narrowing back onto a ridge. He wanted to talk before the ridge, as to not promote distraction for anyone.
“I can hear you,” Fräulein Bridewell said.
“We are nearing Whymper’s first turn-around point.”
“Good,” she said, her voice steady between her shallow breaths.
“I believe we will make his chimney, but that typically takes time, especially with a party this large.”
