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None of those things were Petrel’s concern. She didn’t care what happened to the crew.

  But she was beginning to care, just a little, about Fin.

  He had been dreaming on and off, and in his dreams, something was chasing him. He panted and yelped. He cried out and clenched that old spanner in his fist and tried to fight back. Once he wept.

  Petrel watched helplessly. Just a few hours ago she had thought of the boy as a sort of pet, like Krill’s penguin. But now …

  She knew what it was like to be hunted. She knew what it was like to be filled with terror, and to hide her real self so carefully that it only came out in dreams.

  “Maybe we’re not so different after all, you and me,” she whispered.

  She wished she’d been nicer to Fin before he got sick. She wished she’d been able to clean his arm with grog before she stitched it.

  “P’raps you are poisoned,” she said to the boy. “That fish knife was a dirty old thing. P’raps the fever started in your arm and now it’s got hold of the rest of you. Let’s have a look.”

  She tried to roll Fin’s sleeve up, but he thrashed so wildly that she had to stop.

  “All right,” she said. “Don’t yelp at me, I won’t touch it. Not now, at any rate.”

  It struck her then that perhaps it wasn’t too late for the grog. She didn’t really know how fever worked, but surely if she cleaned the wound properly, the way it should’ve been cleaned in the first place, it would make a difference?

  “Trouble is,” she said to the unconscious boy, “Krill makes his grog out of secret ingredients, and keeps it locked up so tight that no one can get near it. I spose I could ask Missus Slink or Mister Smoke to steal some…”

  But she already knew they would refuse.

  “I bet Squid could get it,” she said. “She’s the one who gave me the toothies and the needle. Don’t know why she gave ’em to me; don’t know why she’d give me grog either, or how I’d ask for it.”

  She sat back against the wall, thinking. She didn’t want to leave the boy alone, not with everyone hunting for him. She didn’t really want to ask Squid for the grog either. There was something about the young woman that made Petrel uncomfortable. She almost wished that Squid had mocked her or pinched her or snatched the toothies back at the last minute. It would have been easier to understand. Easier to hate.

  “Trouble is,” Petrel said to Fin, “there’s no one else.”

  She gazed down at the boy. It was me who saved you. That means I’ve got a responsibility.

  Petrel hadn’t meant those words when she had said them to Fin; she was just copying Mister Smoke. But now she thought about them. She thought about Krill’s penguin chick, which had pined away in the end, and died. She thought about the witless silence she had woven about herself for protection, and what might happen if she broke that silence …

  In the end, she drifted off to sleep, and didn’t wake up until the rattle of pipes called the crew to Orca’s funeral.

  “It’s morning already,” she said to Fin, and she inspected the boy closely, hoping to see some sign of improvement. But the fever had dug its claws deep, and he groaned and shivered worse than ever.

  “Reckon you’re gunna die if I don’t do something soon,” whispered Petrel. And with those words, she came to a decision.

  She crawled to the second exit, feeling suddenly breathless. “Don’t worry, Fin,” she said over her shoulder. “No one’ll find you while I’m gone. They’ll all be too busy seeing Orca off.” She crossed her fingers, hoping that she was right. “And Squid’s sure to be at the funeral. As soon as it’s over I’ll grab her. I’ll get some grog from her. I’ll— I’ll even talk to her, if I have to. I will, I’ll ask her properly and she’ll give me some grog and I’ll fix you.”

  CHAPTER 12

  THE FUNERAL

  The day of the funeral was bleak and the sea was gray and flat. On the afterdeck of the Oyster, Dolph stood guard over the sealskin-wrapped corpse of her mam. She held herself very straight, the way Orca had taught her. Somewhere in the distance a gull mewed, plaintive as a lost child.

  Funerals were dramatic affairs on the Oyster. But a murdered First Officer’s funeral was more dramatic than most. The entire crew was there, gathered on the afterdeck in their best outdoor clothes, which mostly meant the same outdoor clothes they wore every day, but adorned with feathers and sharks’ teeth.

  Out of respect for the dead, no one was talking. But everyone was furious, and everyone was uneasy.

  And so they should be! thought Dolph. She wanted to scream at Albie, Why are you up here, instead of hunting for the stranger? Why did you let him escape? Why did you save him from the ice in the first place? Why why why?

  Several paces away, Second Officer Crab—

  Of course he was officially First Officer now. But Dolph refused to even think of him that way. The one time she had tried, it stoked her rage to such a terrifying degree that she had been afraid she would die of it.

  Several paces away, Second Officer Crab was beginning the funeral service. His words drifted past Dolph like melting bergs.

  “… in the name of the sleeping captain … flesh to flesh … water to water … commit her body to the creatures of the deep—”

  At that, a ripple of anxiety ran through the gathered crowd, and everyone took a step away from the rail. Only Dolph stood firm. She eyed the sea and waited. Behind her, one of the ruined lifeboats began to shake in its cradle. The Maw was coming.

  Dolph’s legs shook almost as much as the lifeboat, but she didn’t move, not even when the sea below her turned as black as the polar night, and the water boiled and surged.

  Something roared, deep and sullen, like a glacier tumbling into the ocean. Dolph gripped the sealskin that covered her mam’s corpse. The Maw’s massive head broke the surface of the water with a sound like the end of the world. Its huge jaws opened.

  Quickly, Second Officer Crab and Third Officer Hump stepped forward. With Dolph, they lifted the sealskin parcel onto the rail and tipped it until Orca’s body slipped from its wrapping and fell down, down, down—

  Vast teeth, as big as pistons, snapped at the corpse. Crab and Hump leaped backwards, but Dolph shut her eyes and stayed where she was, clinging to the rail. She didn’t open her eyes again until she heard the smack of the huge body against the waves and knew that the Maw had vanished back to wherever it had come from, taking her mam with it.

  There was a stunned silence. Then Crab said loudly, “We all know what we must do now.”

  The Second Officer was not a strong speaker. His voice was thin, and he had an irritating way of pinching his words off at the end, as if to keep them as neat as possible. But today everyone listened to him keenly.

  “We must find this stranger,” said Crab, “and throw him off the ship.”

  Mam is dead, thought Dolph, and the sea below her had never looked so dark and deep.

  “Until then,” said Crab, “Truce is declared. All fighting between the tribes will cease. How the boy got away from Albie does not matter. Payback for old crimes does not matter. What matters is the hunt for the boy.”

  Mam is dead.

  “But we will keep this hunt tidy,” said Crab. “Braid will search Braid. Dufftown will search Dufftown. Grease Alley will search Grease Alley. There will be no trespassing on each other’s territories, but between us we will find this stranger. This villain. This murderer.”

  Mam is—

  There was a roar of agreement from the crew, and they began to disperse, some to fishing shift, others to the engines and the galley and the bridge. But most of them went to continue the search.

  Crab, Albie and Krill left together, talking among themselves as if they had never even thought of fighting. Dolph leaned against the rail and watched them go. As the hatch closed behind them, she turned back to the sea.

  “Mam,” she whispered, “Second Officer Crab wants the hunt for your murderer to be tidy.” The word had never sounded so absurd. Dolph
clenched her teeth. “Don’t worry, Mam, I won’t be tidy. I’ll hunt that boy down. I’ll trespass on Dufftown, and I’ll trespass on Grease Alley, and no one will stop me. No one will dare. I’ll find the stranger and I’ll throw him overboard myself!”

  * * *

  Petrel caught up with Squid on the Commons. The young woman was deep in thought, and when Petrel touched her arm, she jumped.

  “Oh, it’s you, Miss Nothing!” she said, putting her hand on her heart. “For a moment I thought maybe it was the stranger, come to slit my throat. I’m getting as bad as the rest of the crew.”

  She smiled, but then her smile became a grimace. “I wish they’d settle down a bit, don’t you? It’s a terrible thing, what happened to Orca, but folk don’t make sensible decisions when they’re angry. And I’m not sure that Crab’s up to the job of controlling ’em—”

  She broke off. “Don’t spose you care one way or the other, do you, Miss Nothing? What d’you want? You hungry? There’s plenty of toothies, but you’ll have to wait a bit, Da turned the burners off for the funeral.”

  Petrel hesitated. Now she was here, she was not at all sure that she was ready to give up her silence. She opened her mouth and shut it again. She stared at Squid’s feet.

  Then she thought of Fin lying feverish in the rope locker while Albie hunted for him, and she looked up—and tipped her hand as if she was drinking.

  “You thirsty?” asked Squid.

  Petrel shook her head and tipped her hand again.

  “Well, if it’s not thirst, I don’t know what—”

  Petrel cradled her arm protectively, the way Fin had done. Then she made a sewing motion.

  “You’ve hurt yourself, is that it?” said Squid. “Is that why you wanted the needle? Show me.”

  A quick shake of the head. Another tip of the hand, but instead of drinking, Petrel pretended to pour something over her arm.

  “Ah,” said Squid, her eyes sharp. “You want some grog to clean the wound.”

  Petrel nodded, relieved that she wouldn’t have to talk after all.

  “Hmm. Not sure if I can get it. Da keeps it locked away and hardly even trusts himself with the key—the stuff’s so hard to make. Have you sewn the wound up yet?”

  Another nod.

  Squid looked thoughtful. “Spose I could ask him for half a cup. But, first, let’s just check—”

  And before Petrel could move, the young woman had grabbed her by the wrist and pushed up her sleeve.

  There was no wound, of course. “Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” said Squid, still hanging on to Petrel’s arm. “What are you really up to, Miss Nothing?”

  Petrel didn’t answer. She was wondering how soon she could escape. I shouldn’t’ve left Fin by himself, she thought. Not while he’s helpless. What if someone finds him while I’m gone?

  Squid dragged her away from the ladder and lowered her voice. “You see, I’ve been thinking, which is just as well, ’cos no one else seems to be. Do I believe there’s a stranger? Aye, I do, though I haven’t seen him. Do I believe he escaped from Albie’s brig? Aye, again. Do I believe that Krill and Orca were responsible for that escape, like the Engineers were saying before the murder? No, I don’t.”

  Petrel glanced up at her, then stared at the deck again.

  “I would’ve known about it,” said Squid firmly. “Da can’t keep secrets from me. So. If Braid and Dufftown didn’t help the stranger, how did he escape? By himself?” She shook her head. “I can’t see it. No one gets away from Albie that easily. Which means someone must’ve helped him. But who? Someone from Grease Alley? Nope, too risky. If Albie found out he’d have their heads stove in and their corpses over the side before they could draw breath.”

  Petrel tried to wiggle free, but could not.

  Squid didn’t seem to notice. “You know what I think?” she said. “I think someone else helped him. Someone who’s worried. Someone who wants grog for a wound she hasn’t got.”

  Petrel froze. Squid’s going to shout now, she thought. She’s gunna tell the whole ship that I know where Fin is. That I freed him in the first place. This is the end of me, this is!

  But instead of shouting, Squid shook Petrel’s arm gently. “Am I right? Where is he? What’ve you done with him?”

  Still Petrel did not answer. Squid sighed and sat down on the deck, pulling the younger girl with her. “I didn’t see you at the funeral, so maybe you don’t know how angry everyone is. It’s like a sort of winter madness, only winter’s gone and there’s no excuse. Now, I know you don’t want to tell me where you’ve hidden the boy. So let me ask you an easier question. Did you kill Orca?”

  “No!” The word was out of Petrel’s mouth before she knew it.

  Squid grinned. “You can talk, then? I thought maybe you could. You’ve got more secrets than anyone knows, haven’t you?”

  Startled, Petrel stared at her, but Squid was serious again. “Did you have anything to do with Orca’s death?”

  “Course not,” mumbled Petrel, looking away.

  “That’s what I thought, Miss Nothing,” said Squid, with considerable satisfaction. “Hang on, I can’t keep calling you that. What’s your name? You’ve got one, haven’t you?”

  A long pause. I don’t trust her. I don’t! But she hasn’t shouted yet. So maybe …

  “Petrel.”

  “Well then, Petrel, could that boy have got to Orca without your help? Without someone’s help?”

  “No, of course he couldn’t! He didn’t do it. He swore he didn’t—” Petrel clapped her hand across her mouth. But it was too late.

  “Aha,” said Squid.

  “You tricked me!”

  “No, I didn’t. I don’t think he killed Orca. I think he’s taking the blame for someone else’s nastiness. Don’t know whose, mind. But that’s not the question, right now. The question is, are you going to trust me?”

  Petrel chewed her knuckles. Of course she wasn’t going to trust Squid! Years of bitter experience had taught her that no one could be trusted. No one except herself.

  But if she didn’t do something soon, Fin would die.

  I could pretend to trust her. And keep my eyes open, so I see when she’s about to turn on me. That’s when I run, and if Fin’s better, he can run with me. And if he’s not better—

  “He’s sick,” she said. “I think it’s his arm, gone bad.”

  “Might be,” said Squid. “Will you take me to him?”

  Once again, Petrel didn’t answer straightaway. It’s like one of those dreams, she thought, where I’m climbing nets. Every time I get to the top, and I think the hard bit’s over, another one pops up in front of me, even steeper than the one before.

  Then she thought, as she did in the dreams, But I’ve gone this far. Not much use turning back now.

  “He’s in Grease Alley,” she whispered, hoping desperately that she was doing the right thing. “But you can’t see him. Border guards’ll never let you past.”

  Squid nodded slowly. “You’re right, but … What if Head Cook Krill sent a gift to Albie, as a symbol of the Truce? Maybe a couple of extra-large toothies, cooked in Krill’s special sauce that no one outside Dufftown has ever had the pleasure of tasting? Would that be enough to get me past the border?”

  “Might be.”

  “Then let’s give it a try. And if it works, young Petrel, then it’s up to you to take me to the boy.”

  CHAPTER 13

  HIS TREACHEROUS MEMORY

  Hot. Cold. Hot. Coooooold. The boy shivered and burned and shivered again. He had never felt so ill, not in all his life.

  He groaned, and someone knelt beside him. He wasn’t sure who it was. A girl, maybe. She rolled his sleeve up and said, “See, that’s where I sewed him. He wouldn’t let me near it earlier.”

  Someone else touched him with cool fingers. “Doesn’t look as if it’s gone bad. No red streaks. You did a good job with those stitches.”

  The boy drifted off for a bit, though he knew
he shouldn’t. Brother Thrawn did not like it when the Initiates daydreamed. Besides, the boy had a mission to carry out.

  “I am trying, Brother,” he muttered. “I am getting close. Please be patient. Do not go away and leave me here…”

  “What’s he talking about?” said a voice nearby.

  “Don’t know. He’s been mumbling all night. None of it makes sense. Squid, if it’s not his arm, what is it?”

  “Not sure. Let’s see his chest.”

  “Do not go away and leave me here,” whispered the boy again, and the words cracked open a door in the hidden tracts of his memory. His treacherous memory.

  He tried to fight it, but he was too weak. Under the heat of the fever, the door swung wider. The girl bending over him became a woman with tears pouring down her far-too-thin face.

  “It’s for the best, my love,” she whispered, though her arms, wrapped tight around him, said something else entirely. “There’s no food, not for us poor folk. At least in the Citadel you’ll eat.”

  The boy could not bear it. “No,” he cried out loud. “No!” And he tried to sit up.

  “Shhhh, lie down,” said a voice. “It’s all right, you’re sick, that’s all. Don’t be scared, Squid’ll fix you.”

  “Look at this rash,” said a second voice. “You know what I think? He’s got boat fever.”

  “But no one gets this sick with boat fever. Squid, are you sure it’s not his arm?”

  “I’m positive.”

  “Will he get better?”

  “Who knows? Where does he come from? Has he told you?”

  “No,” whispered the boy, as the illness gripped him tighter. “Do not tell. Must not warn the demon … it will blow us out of the water if it suspects … cannot send a man … send a boy … it will never suspect a boy…”

  And then the woman with the thin face was bending over him again, only she had a different voice, and she said, “What are you talking about, Fin?”

  “That is not my name,” whispered the boy. “I do not have a name, Mama, not yet … they took away the one you gave me … but I am going to earn a new one … soon … when the demon is destroyed … when the ship is—”