“Is that the way you’re going to travel?” Kerman asked, horrified.
“Yeah—it’s an old Swiss custom.”
“Have I got to do that, too?”
“Unless you want to stay where you are for the rest of your days.” I said heartlessly.
“There’s no other way.”
I began to edge myself upwards. The sharp rocks dug into my shoulder-blades, and it was slow work, but I made progress. So long as the muscles in my legs didn’t turn sour on me I would get to the top. But if they did, it would be a quick drop and a rocky landing.
I kept moving. I’d rather go up this way than attempt the bulge. A third of the way up I had to stop and rest. My legs felt as if I had been running for a hundred miles, and the muscles in my thighs were fluttering.
“How are you doing, pal?” Kerman called, shining his flash up at me.
“Well, I’m still in one piece,” I said dubiously. “Wait until I get to the top before you try it.”
“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”