Icebreaker Page 16

  “Wouldn’t matter a-anyway,” she whispered, shivering. “I’ll b-be dead before I know it. Having a bit of company won’t make any d-d-difference.”

  But it would. She knew it would. And when she saw Fin’s legs dangling above her she cried out with relief, and was ashamed, because now he was going to die too, and she shouldn’t be glad about it.

  Still, she was glad. “Better than being alone,” she said fiercely, as she undid the rope.

  Fin swallowed and nodded. And as the rope slid upward, out of their reach, he wrapped his arms around Petrel and they clung to each other.

  CHAPTER 22

  AN ARMY OF MEN

  The ice beneath Fin’s feet groaned and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. I am going to die, he thought, and it is probably just as well. Because when Brother Thrawn discovers that I have failed to carry out my mission, my life will not be worth living.

  He still found it hard to believe that things had gone so completely wrong. He had tried and tried, but the ship had defeated him. The ship—and Petrel.

  It was not her fault, he knew that. All along, she had merely done what she thought was right, just as he had. She had fought for her ship, while he had fought against it.

  He was glad she was here with him now. He was glad she would never know how close he had come to betraying her.

  As his shivering grew worse, he wondered what would happen next. Would Brother Thrawn and the Devouts come storming across the ice, thinking that the demon was dead? Would they find Fin and Petrel before it was too late? He hoped—

  Actually, he was no longer sure what he hoped.

  He looked up at the hull of ship, rising so enormously above them. “Nothing c-can save us now, can it?”

  “Not unless Crab changes his m-mind,” said Petrel, “which ain’t going to happen.”

  “Is the ice strong enough to hold us? Will it c-crack under our feet?”

  “I r-reckon it’s strong enough. It f-froze up quick and solid like it d-does sometimes. We’d have fallen through already if we were going to.”

  “Oh … We are f-friends, are we not?”

  In answer, Petrel hugged him tighter. Then she said, in his ear, “T-tell me about your m-mam and da.”

  Fin pulled back a little way and stared at her. “W-what?”

  “I d-don’t want to think about what’s coming. I’d think about m-my mam and da if I could, but I don’t remember ’em. T-tell me about yours. What’re they like?”

  “M-my father died before I was b-born,” said Fin. “My mother—” He broke off, as a far-too-thin face swam out of the recesses of his memory and placed itself firmly in front of him. His heart ached, but for the first time in years he did not try to push the face away.

  “M-my mother—” he said, and stopped again.

  “Better t-talk quick,” said Petrel, “’cos the blood’s f-freezing in my veins already.”

  “I h-have not thought about her for a l-long time.”

  “’Cept when you were feverish. Then you c-called her Mama.”

  “I d-did?”

  Petrel nodded.

  “I—” said Fin. “I—”

  “Was she k-kindhearted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she l-love you?”

  “Y-yes. But when I was three years old, she t-took me to the Citadel and g-gave me to the Brothers, so I w-would not starve.” Fin’s voice cracked. “I d-did not want to go.”

  He remembered how frantically he had cried and screamed and kicked. In the end, Brother Thrawn had locked him in the punishment hole, and left him there with the rats until he learned to be obedient.

  “These B-Brothers,” said Petrel. “They the ones on the other ship? The ones who w-want to kill us?”

  “Yes,” said Fin.

  Petrel peered around uneasily. “We’ll fight ’em if they c-come. Here, move around a b-bit.” And she jumped up and down on the spot.

  Fin jigged from foot to foot, though it made no difference to how cold he was.

  “Why do the B-Brothers hate us so much?” asked Petrel.

  Fin did not want to talk about the demon, so he merely said, “B-because of the machines. They are v-vile contraptions that make p-people lazy. They can s-steal a person’s soul. They must be d-destroyed—”

  He paused, hearing his own voice as if for the first time. What he had just said did not make sense. He had been on the ship, surrounded by machines, for days. And had they stolen his soul, even when he was sick and helpless? Had they done anything other than drive the ship and keep the crew warm?

  He was not sure. Perhaps his soul had been stolen. Perhaps that was why he was so confused.

  “What h-happened to your mam?” asked Petrel. “After she g-gave you to the Brothers.”

  “I-I do not know. I think she probably d-died.”

  “Maybe she d-d-didn’t. Maybe she just went off to another—another d-deck or something. Maybe we could g-go and find her. When we g-get off the ice.”

  Fin nodded, though they both knew they would never get off the ice. Death was rushing towards them, and nothing could stop it. “We—”

  Petrel raised her hand. “Shhh! I heard something.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know— Look! Up there!”

  A spark of hope flared in Fin’s heart. A third person was being lowered on the rope. “Have they sent someone t-to rescue us?”

  Petrel sighed as the figure kicked and struggled all the way down. “No such luck. It’s D-Dolph. Look, she’s all tied up.”

  The older girl’s feet skidded on the ice, and Fin ran to untie her. As soon as he had freed her hands, Dolph tore out her gag, tipped her head back, and screamed at the ship, “You grease-nosed fish carcass! I’m going to k-kill you, Crab! I’m going to cut out your l-liver and feed it to the Maw! Coward! T-traitor!”

  The rope slid upwards. Fin could have warmed his fingers on Dolph’s rage, it burned so hot.

  “Murderer!” she shrieked. “I’ll use you as t-toothy bait. I’ll— I’ll—”

  “Save your b-breath. He’s gone,” said Petrel.

  Dolph snarled at her. “This is all your fault, rat-girl. You’re the one who k-kept saying it was him murdered M-Mam. He must’ve thought I believed you, ’c-cos he waited till everyone else had gone b-back inside, then he grabbed me.” She glared upwards again and shouted, “Soup-brain! P-penguin-breath!”

  The breeze had gone and the wind fiddles were silent. Fin rubbed his face. He was feeling dreadfully tired.

  “I’m going to get you, C-Crab,” shouted Dolph. “Either me—or my g-ghost, we’re going to—”

  There was a flurry in the air above her, and something fell onto the ice. Fin stared in disbelief, wondering if the cold was making him see things that were not there.

  “It’s our j-jackets!” cried Petrel. “And t-t-t-t-trousers!”

  Dolph pounced on her own outdoor clothes and began to pull them on with frantic haste. Petrel and Fin had been longer on the ice, and were slower to move. But in the end, helping each other all the way, they managed to drag the trousers and jackets over their freezing limbs, and put their mittens on, and their hoods and ice masks as well.

  It was only when they were fully dressed, and the cold no longer chewed quite so ferociously at their bones, that Petrel shouted, “Who’s up there? Is that you, Squid?”

  The only answer was a slither of noise. Fin leaped back, just as the end of a rope hissed down the side of the ship and hung quivering in the night air.

  “It’s Squid,” cried Petrel. “Or K-Krill!”

  “It’s for m-me, not you,” muttered Dolph, and she grabbed the rope and began to climb.

  “Dolph, wait,” said Petrel.

  The older girl ignored her. But she could not ignore the weakness that the cold had already drilled into her limbs. She managed to climb to a point just above Fin’s head—and there she stuck, grinding her teeth and snarling.

  A small gray body slid down the rope to
wards her, one of its legs sticking out to the side.

  An imp! thought Fin.

  “It’s Mister Smoke,” cried Petrel. “Dolph, g-get off.”

  Dolph didn’t move. She stared at the rope as if she could climb it by sheer force of will. The imp crawled over the top of her and dropped onto the ice.

  Fin’s heart was bumping against his ribs. But Petrel fell onto her knees beside the imp and whispered, “You heard me sing out!”

  “I saw you, shipmate,” said the imp in a rough voice. “Right back when they grabbed you. Me and Slink’ve been busy ever since. We’re takin’ you elsewhere as soon as reinforcements arrive.”

  “The rat talks,” muttered Dolph, still clinging to the rope.

  Petrel ignored her. “Where are you taking us, Mister Smoke? There’s nowhere ’cept the ship.”

  “And the rat-girl talks back,” muttered Dolph. “I should’ve guessed.”

  The imp looked up. “’Ere they come.”

  Fin followed his gaze and cried out in disgust. Dolph sprang away from the rope as if it were on fire. Down its length swarmed countless numbers of black rats, leaping and jumping over one another, running across each other’s backs and dropping onto the ice in a squeaking, writhing mass.

  Petrel stared at them in astonishment, and Dolph glowered. But Fin shrank back, feeling as if he were three years old again, and trapped in the punishment hole.

  “Don’t fret, shipmate,” said the imp, and he let out a piercing whistle, far too loud for his small frame, that calmed the rats down a little and kept them away from Fin’s feet.

  “How can these”—Fin gulped, trying to control his loathing—“these creatures help us?”

  “Don’t know,” said Petrel. “But I reckon we’ve got a chance now! Quick, jump around. Stamp your feet. We’ve got to warm up.”

  Fin jumped up and down. But Dolph watched the rope hungrily, and when it slithered up into the fog, like a broken promise, she turned on Petrel.

  “That was our last hope, rat-girl. You should’ve kept it here.”

  “You wait,” said Petrel, who obviously trusted the imp she called Mister Smoke. “You be patient.”

  Fin had to force himself to keep moving. He was afraid that if something didn’t happen soon he would lie down on the ice and fall asleep, and nothing would wake him. Not even the rats. Not even Petrel.

  But then Mister Smoke said, “’Ere we go.” And down the side of the ship, dangling from the end of the rope, came a sled made of driftwood and whalebone, with more rats clinging to every part of it and tumbling down the rope behind it.

  Whatever Petrel had been hoping for, it wasn’t this. Fin could hear the disappointment in her voice. “What’s the use of a hunting sled, Mister Smoke? Where can it take us? To more ice? Who’ll pull it? Us? We’re having enough trouble standing upright. Besides, we don’t want to go anywhere ’cept the ship. We gotta wake the sleeping captain.”

  “Don’t you go gettin’ ahead of yourself, shipmate,” said Mister Smoke.

  He whistled again. The sled dropped onto the ice, its whalebone struts rattling, and Dolph pounced on the rugs that were strapped to it. She took three of them, and Petrel and Fin took the rest and wrapped themselves up until only their eyes were visible.

  Meanwhile, the rats were swarming over the end of the sled, where the long traces joined the whalebone. These traces looked as if something had chewed at them with sharp teeth, leaving hundreds of holes, each one just big enough for a rat or two to poke their heads through and take the weight of the sled on their chests.

  “On ya hop, shipmate,” said Mister Smoke.

  As Fin watched in confusion, Petrel mounted the sled, saying, “Where’s Missus Slink?”

  “She ain’t comin’,” replied the imp.

  The rope spiraled upward again, and this time it did not reappear.

  “Where are we going?” asked Fin, who had not moved. “Where are you taking us?”

  Mister Smoke replied with another question. “’Oo’s crew are you on, shipmate?”

  Fin swallowed. His mission was a failure and his old life was gone. He was not yet sure how he felt about it. “Petrel’s,” he said.

  “Then you’d better climb up next to ’er, or you’ll be left on the ice, and we won’t be comin’ back for you.”

  Dolph had been listening to all this with a blank face. Now she too moved towards the sled. Immediately, a thousand rats swung around in their traces to bar her way.

  “Rat-girl,” said Dolph with an uncertain sneer. “Tell your kin to move.”

  “It’s not Petrel who orders ’em,” said Mister Smoke. “It’s me.” He turned to Petrel. “You want to take ’er with us, shipmate? You want to save ’er life?”

  The breath hissed between Petrel’s teeth. “No, I don’t, Mister Smoke! She was gunna leave me on the ice, without thinking twice about it!”

  Dolph looked away. “I wouldn’t want to come with you and your stupid rats anyway,” she muttered. “I’d rather die by Mam’s ship.”

  It was clearly bravado. Petrel laughed. “Remember the tar buckets? This is payback, Dolph!”

  The imp made a small sound. Petrel glanced at him, and her laugh faltered.

  Mister Smoke’s head was tipped to one side, and his eyes glittered. He was the only creature on the ice without a cloud of breath around his nose, but it struck Fin that there was something very real about him. Something very human.

  “What?” said Petrel.

  “Nothin’,” said the imp.

  “I’m not taking her!” said Petrel.

  “I never said a word, shipmate.”

  Petrel scowled at him. “I got good reason to leave her here, Mister Smoke. It’s payback. It’s the way of the ship.”

  “So it is. And it’s been goin’ on for generations. Tribe against tribe, windin’ down through the years. Your own mam and da are dead because of it.”

  That hit home. Petrel winced and said, “Stop it, Mister Smoke! Stop trying to make me do something I don’t want to do!”

  The imp said nothing. But his previous words still hung in the cold night air, and Fin could see that Petrel was moved by them, despite herself.

  She glared at Dolph through ice-rimmed lashes. Then she said, “I spose—”

  Dolph hunched her shoulders, expecting the worst.

  Petrel sighed. “I spose she can come with us.”

  Mister Smoke nodded approval. Dolph flopped onto the sled, angrier than ever. “Shove over,” she muttered.

  Fin squashed closer to Petrel. Mister Smoke climbed up behind them, his leg dragging, and let out one of his piercing whistles.

  The rats began to move.

  Each rat was only small, but there were so many of them that the sled immediately jerked forward, sliding over the ice in fits and starts. Fin, Petrel and Dolph clung to the whalebone struts.

  Mister Smoke whistled again, and the rats fell into a smooth gallop, their frosted backs bobbing up and down as they raced squeaking across the ice. Fin looked over his shoulder. The fog had lifted without him noticing, and the Oyster loomed up behind the sled like a vast fortress, dark and silent.

  Nor’east of it, something moved. Fin stared. An army of men was tramping across the ice towards the Oyster! The moonlight glinted on axes and grappling hooks, and when the men saw the sled they shouted, and some of them broke away from their line and started after it.

  The breath seemed to freeze in Fin’s lungs. He knew that he should throw himself off the sled and warn Brother Thrawn that the demon still lived, but his body would not obey him.

  Beside him, Petrel cried, “It’s them! The men from the other ship! Mister Smoke, we have to go back. We have to warn the Oyster. We have to wake the sleeping captain!”

  But Mister Smoke merely whistled, so that the rats picked up their pace and the men fell behind.

  Dolph reached across Fin and grabbed Petrel’s arm. “Make him turn back. Make him.”

  “Please, Mister Smoke,”
cried Petrel, “we can’t just leave ’em!”

  “Can’t do anythin’ useful back there, shipmate,” said the rat. He hopped onto Petrel’s shoulder. “Go for’ard, that’s what we ’ave to do.”

  “But where? There’s nowhere to go.”

  “North,” said Mister Smoke. “That’s where we’re goin’. North.”

  “Mad,” muttered Dolph, in a voice that trembled with fear and fury. “The creature’s mad.” And she hunched down in her rugs and did not look back at the Oyster again.

  Petrel gripped Fin’s gloved hand. “North?” she whispered, her eyes enormous. “What’s north? Nothing ’cept ice and sea, which is not a comforting thought! And what about the sleeping captain? We’re sposed to wake him!”

  Fin did not know what to say, so he said nothing. Mister Smoke crouched on Petrel’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the ice.

  The rats galloped faster.

  * * *

  Petrel had always trusted Mister Smoke, and she did not want to stop now. He knows what he’s doing, she told herself grimly. It’s just not clear to the rest of us yet.

  The sled hit a patch of rough ice and she jolted against Fin. The runners swished. The rats squeaked as they ran. The bitter wind gnawed at the rugs, trying to find a way through.

  “Mister Smoke,” said Petrel, peering into the darkness, “this ice is getting a bit thin. We’d best turn around.”

  The old rat didn’t answer. He hopped off her shoulder and hauled himself onto the front of the sled, his tattered ears pricked.

  “Ice is getting very thin,” said Dolph. Like Petrel, she knew about ice. Everyone on the Oyster did, knew it in all its forms. And what they were traveling over now was too wet.

  “Mister Smoke?” said Petrel, more urgently.

  Mister Smoke whistled. But instead of turning, the rats surged forward, their paws sending up tiny spurts of melt water.

  “What’s the creature doing?” shouted Dolph.

  “I don’t know! Please, Mister Smoke!” cried Petrel.

  Beside her, Fin gripped the seat of the sled. “Where is he taking us?”

  “Wherever it is, we’re not going to get there,” shouted Dolph. “Listen!”