“There was only one,” the woman cloaked in black said. “And now—” She gasped. “There are none.”
“No princes?” the Britt sisters cried in a chorus. Now in mourning themselves, they toppled out of the carriage and began to wail on the side of the road.
By this point a small crowd had gathered to see what the travellers wanted. Two women stepped forward and looked up at the captain’s wife.
“Excuse me,” one of them said. “I couldn’t help but notice, you look like you are from the North.”
“Aye,” the captain’s wife said sadly as her daughters continued to wail behind her.
While the Britts may have been dressed in southern clothes, they could not mask their northern heritage. The southerners were tanned while the Britts were pale. The southerners had golden hair while the Britts had brown. And while the southerners walked gracefully, like they were floating on wind, the Britts plodded and clunked about like a drove of pigs moving through mud.
“Then perhaps you should go to Turnip Town,” the southern woman said.
The Britt sisters stopped crying and glared at the woman who had made the suggestion.
“We can’t go to Turnip Town,” Ina snapped.
“Turnips are vegetables,” Berit pointed out.
“And we hate vegetables!” Sissel cried.
“Yes. Vegetables are disgusting!” the remaining sisters yelled. And then they wailed even louder.
“Indeed they are,” the southern woman agreed. “But along with turnips there is also a prince in Turnip Town, and I have a feeling he would like all of you very much.”
“It’s true,” said the woman standing beside her. “You girls are just Prince Manfred’s type.”
“Really?” said the captain’s wife. She stepped away from her daughters and closer to the southern ladies. “And this prince, tell me, is he rich?”
“Oh, yes,” they both said at once. “One of the richest in the South. Rich off the sale of turnips.”
“They’re a delicacy down here,” added a man from the middle of the crowd.
The captain’s wife jumped with delight. “Don’t worry, girls,” she said. “I’ve found another one. A richer one. Come on. Back in the carriage. We’re off to Turnip Town.”
Freydis was fuming. The day was warm and she’d already had to take off her elk-skin cloak.
“So much for an early winter,” she grumbled as she sifted through the shells on Nordlor’s western shore. A fresh batch had blown in that morning. There must have been strong currents moving about in the Northern Sea.
It was the first day of winter and not a fleck of snow lay upon the hills. For the first time in twenty years winter was officially late. This fact had not gone unnoticed by the village folk.
“Ooh, fetch me another coat,” Lars the butcher said to Freydis as the village sweltered through its hottest autumn day in fifteen years.
“This sure is the warmest winter I’ve ever seen,” said Arvid the cook. Mistress Bluebell was stinking something awful in the heat. He’d had to keep the portholes of his tavern open for three whole weeks just to keep the stench away.
“When is the snow going to fall?” Henrik whined. Since his tavern the Sinking Eel burned down, he had been forced to take up a new job. Now, instead of serving brew, he shovelled snow off the sea cobbles in winter. If the weather didn’t take a turn soon, he would be forced to sell his belongings for food.
While some in the village were annoyed with Freydis Spits, others were angry. Wives cursed her for sending their husbands to sea early. Mothers wailed in fear that their sons would be taken by the sea. And children cried out at night for their fathers and screamed, “Why did that mean old lady make our papa leave?”
Usually Freydis would have been hurt by their words, but she had other things to worry about. This was the second prediction she had got wrong. Maybe she was losing her touch after all. Freydis’ mother, Gerta, lost her gift to hear the shells at eighty-six. Freydis was still thirty years off that, so surely that couldn’t be the cause. Perhaps it was just another mistake. Everyone makes them.
While Freydis could dismiss one worry – the worry she had lost her gift – she couldn’t dismiss another. The money she had received from the captain was swiftly running out. Soon she would be back to eating out of bins. And she shuddered to imagine what would happen when he returned from the Great Hunt. He had paid a whole silver for a prediction that wasn’t true and set sail for a treacherous journey two months too early.
To take her mind off the captain’s temper, Freydis reached into the sand and picked up another shell. This one was dull green on one side and sparkling blue on the other. She held it to her ear and listened to the words splashing about inside.
THE SEA IN THE NORTH WILL RISE AND ROAR;
BOATS WILL BE KNOCKED AND CAST ABOUT.
AND FOR ONE POOR SOUL ABOARD A WOODEN LEOPARD,
THE DAWNING OF A NEW DAY WILL SEE HIM DROWN.
Freydis’ eyes flashed with glee. Though the future didn’t say it specifically, she wondered if it would be the captain who drowned. She really hoped it was. If he died he wouldn’t be able to get her in trouble for making another false prediction.
With this wish filling her heart, Freydis returned to the village and splurged on one of Mistress Bluebell’s famous pies. Perhaps things were looking up after all.
MAN OVERBOARD!
Haroyld was wrong. When Oona awoke the following morning, the storm had not passed. In fact, it was just about to hit.
“Batten the hatches!” the captain yelled from the deck. “Tie down the whaleboats! It’s going to be a big one, boys!”
Chaos erupted on board the Plucky Leopard as men raced to fulfil the captain’s orders. Even the sick men were hauled up on deck and asked to help.
“You can die after the storm,” Oona’s father growled as he poked them with the end of a broom and herded them up the stairs. His recent brush with death in the mess hall had made him even more eager to avoid another, and he was sure to keep a good distance from them, even when they were up in the fresh air.
Only four souls stayed below deck. Haroyld could not navigate in a storm so he made himself comfortable in his cabin. Barnacles, not wanting to get wet, had joined him. And in the galley Oona and Olf prepared for the storm. They had been ordered to clear out anything that could spill or roll over as the storm tossed the ship about. First on the list were three buckets of fish guts.
“Up you go,” Olf said to Oona. Despite his protestations about being too sick to help, the captain had forced him out of bed as well. Olf nodded towards the buckets. “They can’t lift themselves.”
“I don’t think I can either,” Oona said. The buckets were so heavy it took two hands to lift one.
As Oona struggled to lift the first bucket, Olf sighed and shook his head. “The storm will have passed before you finish. Here.” He grabbed two of the buckets and left Oona to carry the third. “Hurry up. Hate storms. Worst thing about being at sea.”
Oona and Olf left the galley and climbed the stairs. As they rose higher the wind howled like a pack of wolves above their heads. When they reached the deck, they found the wood covered in ice. As soon as they left the stairs their feet flew out from beneath them and they fell to the ground. A wave hit the starboard side and sent the ship veering sharply to the left. Oona and Olf slid across the deck. Oona grabbed hold of the rail, but Olf was not that quick.
The cook fell over the side of the Plucky Leopard and plummeted into the sea. The black, churning water swallowed him up.
“Olf?” Oona yelled. She looked over the rail. The cook was not there.
Oona spun around. Men crowded the deck, but because of the wind and the rain and the sleet and the waves they had not seen what had happened.
“Man overboard!” Oona yelled. “Man overboard!” she screamed. But the wind swallowed her cries and none of the men heard a thing.
Time was running out for Olf. Two more minutes in the sea an
d he would be dead. Oona knew what she had to do. She kicked off her shoes, jumped over the rail and dived into the sea.
The northern water felt like shards of ice cutting into her skin. Oona sank down into the darkness. She feared she would fall until she reached the bottom of the ocean, but then her feet brushed against something hard. Olf was just beneath her.
Oona grabbed hold of Olf and kicked towards the surface. Just when the air in her lungs was about to run out, she broke through the water.
Oona gulped in fresh air. Beside her, Olf coughed and spluttered and splashed about.
While Oona and Olf were beneath the waves, one of the men had realized what had happened. A whaleboat had been lowered into the sea and now came towards them.
The rescue party picked up Olf first. Like a fish that had been caught, they hauled him out of the water. But as they reached for Oona a wave swallowed her up and crashed against the boat. When the sea settled, the men could not see her.
“She’s gone,” one of the crew said. “The sea has taken her.”
“Almost four weeks she lasted,” said another man. “I guess that means Morten won the bet.”
“Not now, Lars,” said a third man. Though none of them had wanted the girl on board, they hadn’t wanted things to turn out like this. Ladies were supposed to die old and wrinkled and tucked up in their beds. They weren’t meant to drown in the wild and icy Northern Sea. What was the captain going to think?
The men were about to return to the ship when they spotted something small bobbing in the water. They rowed closer. It was the captain’s daughter. Her lips were blue, her skin was white and her eyes were closed. They reached into the water and hauled her into the whaleboat. The girl did not move.
A DREAM COME TRUE
Oona opened her eyes. She was lying in a room below deck. The room had all the comforts of home. There were cushions and plush rugs and blankets twice as thick as a man. Paintings of sea creatures adorned the walls, along with several giant bones that had once belonged to living fish.
No longer lying on a sack of flour in the storeroom, Oona was in a proper bed just like the ones they had on land. She had never been in this room before, but she knew which room it was. Only one room could hold items as grand and expensive as this. She was in her father’s cabin.
Oona sat up and the world swam around her. She fell back into the bed and groaned. Her whole body ached. She had never felt so sick.
A warm hand touched Oona’s forehead. Then, a voice asked if she was all right.
“Haroyld?” Oona said.
“Oona,” the navigator replied. Relief softened his old face. “I thought we’d lost you.”
Oona turned to the navigator. He was sitting in a chair beside the bed. A large piece of parchment was laid across his lap. It looked like he was drawing a new map. When he saw Oona looking at it, he quickly folded it away. “I better get your father,” he said. “He asked to be told when you awoke.”
The navigator left and five minutes later her father entered the cabin. He looked down at his daughter and shook his head.
“I thought you’d be dead by now,” he said. “Didn’t think either of you would survive the fall.” He shook his head again. “That darn woman’s predictions are starting to come true.”
“How do you mean?” Oona asked.
“Look.” The captain crossed his cabin and opened a porthole. Snow drifted down from the sky and melted into the sea. “The storm has passed and left true winter behind. And…” He looked down at his hands. They were trembling. “True, you’re still a girl, Oona. But what you did was bold and brave. I’m proud of you.”
“Really?” For her whole life Oona had hoped her father would say something nice to her, and now he had. She did not want this moment to end. Despite how frightened she had been diving into the sea and how close she had come to never getting back out, Oona thought it had all been worth it. Just to hear her father say those words. Just to hear her father say that he was proud. Even if she never got to see a nardoo, she thought that coming on this trip had changed her life in a way that staying in Nordlor never could have.
“If it wasn’t for you, we would have lost another man to the sea. I don’t know what we would have done without Olf. None of the other men can cook. And after tasting your stew, I don’t think you can cook either.” The captain laughed and then looked at his daughter. Suddenly, he grew serious. The next time he spoke, his voice shook. “We had to bury two more men while you were lying in here. The sickness still lingers. Truth be, I thought we would bury you too. But, look, you are still with us. And of that I’m glad. Now…” He coughed to clear his throat. “Better let you rest. The quicker you get better the quicker I get my cabin back.”
As her father turned to leave, Oona called him back.
“Father?” she said.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I can do so much more than you think I can. I could show you, if you gave me the chance.”
“OK, Oona,” her father said. “You will get a chance. Captain’s promise.”
With her father standing beside her, Oona smiled and closed her eyes. Within seconds she had fallen, exhausted, into a deep and contented sleep. For the first time in her life, her father was proud of her in real life, not just in a dream.
THE ICELANDS
Things on board the Plucky Leopard changed a lot after Oona saved Olf’s life. After one last burial at sea, the sickness left, like the cold of winter had frightened it away. Oona remained in the captain’s cabin for another three days before growing strong enough to venture beyond it.
The first place Oona went was the galley. But instead of having to make herself breakfast, Olf had made it for her. And she didn’t even have to eat it crammed among all the pots and pans. Instead, the men had cleared a space for her in the mess hall so she could sit beside her father.
That’s right. There was no more deboning fish for Oona Britt or endlessly polishing cutlery. Instead, she got to do all the tasks she had dreamed of doing when she first sneaked on board. She got to scale and furl the masts with her reef knots; she got to haul in the fish; and she got to keep watch from the crow’s nest.
And that wasn’t the best bit. For the first time since she had revealed herself to the men aboard the Plucky Leopard, they were kind to her. They taught her eight new types of sea knots; let her play Mattis, a card game full of tricks, with them in the evening; and taught her the words to shanties that were as old as the sea itself. For the first time since she snuck on board, Oona felt like she was finally one of the crew.
It wasn’t only the crew who spent more time with Oona after she saved Olf. Her father also started to do activities with her as well.
While Oona had lain sick in his cabin, he had shown her all the things he had collected during his travels on the Northern Sea. He showed her a chest of whalebones, each bone almost as big as her. He showed her a rug made from the hides of forty-three reindeer that he bought from a tanner in Iceblown Harbour. And he showed her two paintings: one of a great battle between the North and the South and the other of a whaler hunting its terrified prey. The paintings were made by Henrik Holst, the most famous pigment artist in the North.
Oona had asked her father why he kept such precious and expensive things on board. “You’ll lose them all if the ship sinks.”
Her father’s response had been curt. “This ship won’t ever sink with me at the helm.”
As soon as she was healthy enough to leave the captain’s cabin, Oona’s father took her to the bridge where he let her steer his ship. He showed her which of the seven handles to hold when she turned the wheel. He showed her how even the slightest touch could make the ship turn. And he showed her that when you spin the wheel towards the starboard side the ship turns to port.
Once Oona had the knack for steering, her father taught her how to fish. For days they stood at the back of the ship casting nets into the sea.
“We use small nets to catch fish,” her father
explained as he and Oona hauled one in. “But we use a giant one to catch a whale. It’s so heavy you need eight men to lift it.”
When Oona could fill a whole net with fish, her father gave her a new job. Instead of deboning fish for breakfast she caught them instead. She was so good at catching fish she always had at least twenty left over, and it wasn’t long before she had enough stored below deck to feed the village of Nordlor for the rest of winter.
Even though Oona was tired from working above deck all day with her father and his men, she always found time at night to look at the stars with Haroyld. By now the air was growing cold, even for the North. And sometimes, when the wind was still, you could see ice crystals hanging in the air.
“Blow me south and then north,” Haroyld said as he and Oona stood shivering on the deck. “Freydis’ prediction might come true after all.”
Oona was about to ask what the cold would mean for their trip, when she saw something in the sea on the starboard side. The white waves of the ocean were crashing against something solid. It was a small island in the middle of the sea.
“What’s that?” Oona asked Haroyld. She pointed off to the right. The navigator followed her finger and gasped.
“That can’t be right,” he said. “That’s Fisherman’s Hell. We can’t be this far north already.”
Though she had heard a lot of people mention Fisherman’s Hell, Oona did not know what it was. She asked Haroyld to tell her.
“Some people think drowning in the sea is the worst thing that can happen to a man. But the sea can be far crueller than that. Sometimes, instead of taking a man, the sea breaks him. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it’s awful.”
“What does a broken man look like?” Oona asked.
“He does not look like a man,” Haroyld replied. “And he does not think like a man either. He can’t tell port from starboard, bow from stern or mast from deck. Sometimes, he can’t even tell you his name.”
At that moment, the wind changed direction and the sound of distant screams echoed across the deck. They were coming from the island.
The Girl, the Cat and the Navigator Page 8