by Lian Tanner
This is wrong, he told himself. I should not have such thoughts.
‘Besides,’ said Petrel, her breath tickling his cheek, ‘there’s someone better than Albie. Much better.’
‘Who?’
‘The Sleeping Captain, of course.’
Every hair on the back of Fin’s neck rose. She was talking about the demon. She must be.
‘I don’t know where he is,’ added Petrel. ‘Might be they’ve got him tucked away in Braid, in a cabin I’ve never found. But I don’t reckon that’s the case. I don’t reckon anyone knows where he is. Which means he must be somewhere so secret that you can’t stumble across him by accident. I reckon he’s in the tunn—’ She broke off, as if she had said too much.
‘The what?’ asked Fin mildly, though his heart was pounding.
‘Can’t tell you. You’ll have to stay here.’
‘I would rather come with you.’
‘Nope. It’s a secret where I’m going, and I promised I wouldn’t show anyone.’
‘To whom did you make this promise?’
‘Can’t tell you that either. But they’re my friends.’
She means the imps, realised Fin, and he hardened himself against her. ‘What can the Sleeping Captain do?’ he asked, though he already knew. It can kill with a glance. It can destroy whole cities. It can boil the blood in a man’s veins . . .
‘Don’t know,’ said Petrel. ‘Folk reckon he’ll wake up when the ship’s in great danger. This is great danger, ain’t it, with a fire, and cruel men on the horizon?’
Greater than she knows, thought Fin.
‘But how’ll the Sleeping Captain know about it unless someone tells him?’ Petrel’s voice sank to a reverent murmur. ‘Imagine, Fin. I’ll whisper in his ear, and he’ll wake up and come storming out and fix everything. Your cruel men won’t know what hit ’em.’
Fin breathed in and out, trying to calm his agitated mind. His fingers flexed around the heavy spanner. This was his best chance yet. He knew where the demon was hidden, but he did not know how to get there, not from here. Not with the lights gone and the long dark passages filling with smoke. Not without getting hopelessly lost.
What he needed was a guide, someone who knew the ship from top to bottom. Someone who might be able to open that secret hatch . . .
‘Are you sure you know where to find him?’ he asked.
‘No, but I don’t see where else he could be.’
Fin swallowed. ‘Do you know a hatch deep in the hold, with no handle? Somewhere near where you found me when I was lost?’
‘Near the propeller shaft? Aye, I know it. It’s broken, that’s all.’
‘What if it is not broken? What if there is no handle for a reason?’
Silence. Fin could almost hear Petrel’s mind sorting through the possibilities. He found himself wondering how she would react when he smashed her precious Sleeping Captain to pieces in front of her eyes. It must be done, he reminded himself. I am making the world a better place.
At last Petrel said, ‘He might be there, I spose.’
‘We should go and see,’ said Fin. ‘We should go together and—’
A voice from below interrupted him. ‘Who’s that?’ A man climbed towards them, carrying a lantern. ‘Oh, it’s you, Nothing Girl. Get down to the galley. Fire’s spreading and we need all hands, even yours. You understand me?’ He raised his voice and pointed, with large gestures. ‘Down. To. The. Galley.’
No! thought Fin, realising that his plans were about to be frustrated yet again. Not now!
But he could not argue with the man, could not say a word for risk of being discovered. All he could do was silently urge Petrel to protest.
Which she did. She faced the man squarely and said, ‘I’ve got no place on the fire crews.’
The man was taken aback to hear her speak, but he recovered quickly. ‘They’ll make a place for you.’
‘But there’s a ship nor’east of here, and it means us harm—’ The lantern swung towards Fin. ‘What’re you doing here, Engineer? You should’ve gone to fire stations, soon as the alarm sounded.’
‘But a ship—’ said Petrel.
‘I won’t tell you again. Get going, both of you.’
And to Fin’s dismay, the man pushed them off the ladderway and through the hatch into Dufftown, dogging their heels so they could not turn back.
Fin did not want to fight the fire. He wanted to find the demon and kill it, and be done with this confusing mission. He wanted to be back in the Citadel, where everything was clear and he understood what was happening.
Beside him Petrel muttered, ‘They don’t listen to me. Even when I talk they don’t listen. But I’ll show ’em. I’ll show ’em I’m not nothing.’
As they hurried through the passages, the smoke became thicker, and the air hotter. Fin could hear something roaring, like a wild beast that had escaped from its cage. He and Petrel glanced at each other. The roar grew louder. When Fin brushed against the wall he could feel the heat.
A doorway loomed in front of them. ‘In there!’ shouted the man, giving them one final shove. ‘Get to work!’
And they stumbled into the galley.
For Fin, it was like falling back into his fever. Everywhere he looked, patched hoses squirmed and bucked. Crew members pushed past him, their grim faces streaked with soot. The noise of the fire and the water crashing against the deck made him dizzy.
‘Here!’ shouted Petrel, running to the hose that had fewest people on it, and grabbing its midsection.
For all his beliefs, Fin could not stand and do nothing. This was an age-old battle – humans against the elements – and there was only one side he could take. Almost before he knew it, he had grabbed hold of the hose directly in front of Petrel.
At first, it nearly threw him off his feet. Salt water poured through it in a torrent, and spurted out the nozzle. Fin could see it, four people ahead of him. He could see the flames too, leaping up the walls as if they were trying to climb to freedom, and taking no notice of the water that poured onto them.
‘Move up,’ cried Petrel, and Fin realised that now there were only three people ahead of him, and the fourth was running past to take a new position at the other end of the hose.
He moved up. Closer to the nozzle. Closer to the fire. It was hotter there, and the hose was even harder to control. Its patches swelled with every surge of water, as if they might burst at any moment. Fin’s eyes watered from the smoke and he dared not take his hands off the hose to rub them.
The third person broke away and hurried to the back of the line. Petrel nudged Fin, ‘Go on!’ and he moved forward again. He understood what was happening now. The fire was so hot that whoever was holding the nozzle could only bear it for a few minutes. Soon it would be his turn. And then Petrel’s.
The ancient hose swelled and groaned in his hands. His mouth was full of grit. His eyes were so sore that he had to screw them up to see properly.
The second person left. Now there was only one figure between Fin and the fire. He looked over his shoulder and saw Petrel, eyes narrowed, teeth bared, clinging to the hose with all her wiry strength.
When he caught her eye, she grinned unexpectedly. ‘Bit warmer than the afterdeck,’ she shouted.
To his surprise, Fin found himself grinning in return. It reassured him, having her there behind him. She was like a shield at his back – a tetchy, stubborn, brave, endlessly surprising shield.
And I am going to betray her . . .
The thought came out of nowhere, and he flinched away from it and tried to work out how long the man in front of him was staying at the front of the line, clutching the wildly bucking nozzle.
It was longer than Fin could believe. Even where he was, one place back, he felt as if he were about to burst into flame, and the hose was so hot he could barely hold it. The smoke and the noise filled his head. He kept waiting for the leader to give in and run to the back, but the man didn’t . . . and didn’t . . . and didn’t
. . .
And then he did.
‘Your turn!’ cried Petrel.
Fin stepped forward and grabbed the nozzle. It was almost impossible to hold. He had to wrap his whole body around it, wrestle it into position, and keep it there while it tried to escape. Water spurted out of it, as hard as rock and as cold as death. The noise and the smoke deafened and blinded him.
But none of those things mattered compared with the flames.
He felt as if every part of him was blistering. The hose burned his fingers; the heat scorched his face. Sweat poured from him and dried on the instant.
He thought of the crew members who had taken their turns before him. He had been taught to despise these people; had been told that they were cowards. But they were not. They were as brave as any of the Devouts. Braver perhaps.
And I am going to betray them . . .
Behind him, Petrel yelled, ‘To the right a bit. See where it’s trying to break out?’
Fin shifted the hose to the new threat and held it there as best he could. The heat pierced him from top to bottom. It gnawed at him until his eyes were blackened slits and he could no longer see properly. He remembered the ice and wondered why it had seemed so terrible.
‘That’s enough, Fin! Fin!’
Something bumped against him from behind. He ignored it, no longer sure where he was or what he was doing. It was not until Petrel tore the nozzle out of his hands, crying, ‘That’s enough! Didn’t you hear me shouting? You’ll sizzle up to nothing!’ that he realised his turn was over at last.
In a daze, he staggered to the back of the line. A man clapped him on the shoulder and cried in his ear, ‘Well done, shipmate. We’ve broken its back, I reckon. Look!’
Fin dragged his eyes open and followed the man’s pointing finger. The fire was changing. It no longer roared – now it whimpered as the flames sank lower and lower.Water poured onto them with a triumphant hiss. All around the galley, men and women raised brave, hopeful faces, and cried, ‘Steady! Steady, it’s nearly done!’
For a second or two, despite his blisters and his exhaustion, Fin was happy. They had beaten the fire! He felt proud to have been part of it, proud that he and Petrel had helped save the ship—
Helped SAVE the ship?
With a jolt, he remembered who he was, and why he was here. The happiness drained out of him, and in its place came a muddled anger. These people were demon-worshippers – how could he have forgotten? He had sworn to destroy them! He must destroy them, to make the world a better place!
He turned away, so he would not have to see all those hopeful faces . . . and at that moment the lights went out. Half a breath later, the life-saving water stopped – and so did the engines.
It was only once the constant rumble ceased that Fin realised what a comforting sound it had been.
ICEBOUND
Petrel knew what had happened even before the pipe messages began. ‘It’s the lectrics,’ she whispered.
All around her, others were crying the same thing. ‘Fire’s burned out the lectrics!’
Hand lanterns sprang to life. The useless hoses were thrown to the floor, and folk tore off their jackets and began to beat at the few remaining flames. Some raced to get hammocks and sealskins and anything else that might be used to douse the fire. Others ran to new stations, knowing exactly what they must do in such circumstances. Water sloshed around their feet.
Before long, the pipes were running hot with rattles to and from the bridge.
Fire in stores under control.
Fire in galley nearly under control.
Ship dark. All lanterns to muster points.
Man hand pumps. Get this water out of the ship before we founder.
This is Bridge. No steering. Repeat, no steering. Berg lookouts to fore- and afterdecks. Engineers, report please.
That last message made Petrel pause. No steering? No steering, in waters like these?
All around her, folk glanced at each other, appalled, then went back to beating at the flames and listening keenly as the report came through from the Engineers.
Main lectric damage midships Stores Deck.
Status?
Severe.
Time for repair?
A day at least.
As soon as the flames in the galley were entirely gone, and the site of the fire had been checked to make sure it would not spring up again, nearly everyone hurried off to different parts of the ship, with a lantern for each group.
Petrel found Fin leaning against a scorched stove, his face blackened and scowling.
‘Fire’s burned the lectrics,’ she said. ‘We’re adrift.’
The boy’s expression didn’t change.
‘Reckon it won’t be long before that ship of yours sees that something’s wrong and starts sneaking up on us,’ said Petrel. ‘We’d best warn the berg lookouts. Come on.’
She turned away, but Fin grabbed her arm. ‘Wait.’
There was something odd in his voice. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Petrel.
‘We must go and find the Sleeping Captain.’
‘We will, but we gotta warn the lookouts first.’
‘Forget the lookouts. We must go straight to the hatch I told you about.’
‘Lookouts, then hatch,’ said Petrel. ‘It’s only sensible.’
‘It is not sensible.You are wasting time.’
The last of the lanterns was gone, and Petrel could no longer see Fin’s face. ‘You angry about something?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘No.’
‘You are. What is it?’
‘I—’ Fin sounded as if he was struggling for words, and not finding them.
‘What?’
‘You would not understand,’ he mumbled at last. ‘You do not – believe in anything.’
‘Course I do,’ said Petrel, stung. ‘I believe in the Oyster. I just fought for her, didn’t I? So did you, for that matter.’
‘That is not enough,’ said Fin, through gritted teeth.
Petrel had no idea why he was so furious. But she would not let him bully her. ‘Well then,’ she said, ‘I believe in the sun, when it comes back after winter dark, cos it reminds me there’s better times ahead. And I believe in my friends – the ones you don’t know. In Squid and Krill too—’ ‘Friendship does not count,’ muttered Fin. ‘It is obedience that matters.’
It sounded like nonsense to Petrel, and she snapped back at him, ‘Well, here’s your chance to be obedient. I’m gunna warn the berg lookouts, and you can just be patient while I do it.’
She marched off, and after a moment’s hesitation, Fin followed, blundering along in the darkness until he caught up with her.
At first, they didn’t speak. Fin’s anger stood between them like a wall, all the way to Krill’s cabin. There, Petrel took trousers and jacket from the sea chest and quickly put them on. Then she led the way to the aft Commons ladder.
The darkness did not affect her; she could have run blindfolded from one end of the ship to the other without faltering. But it was not long before Fin stumbled and slipped, and she had to grab him to stop him falling.
He mumbled ‘thank you’, and said something about ‘the punishment hole’. Petrel could tell from his voice that he hated the darkness.
She hated the silence. The sound of the Oyster’s engines was as vital to her as her own heartbeat, and without it she felt bereft, as if she had lost her mam and da all over again.
So instead of racing ahead, the way she might have done, she waited for Fin and they went up the ladderway side by side.
They were nearly at the outside hatch when he asked an odd question. ‘If someone gave you a task to do—’
The anger was still there in his voice, but it was no longer directed at Petrel. She thought maybe he was mad at himself for some reason. Or maybe at the cruel men.
‘If someone gave you a task to do,’ he said, ‘that would make the world a better place—’
‘You mean the ship?’
&n
bsp; ‘What?’
‘You said the world. Only world I know is the ship. And the ice, maybe, but I can’t see any way of making that better.’
‘Very well, a task that would make the ship a better place. Would you—’ ‘What sort of task?’
‘I do not know. Just— Just think of one.’
‘Like us going to wake the Sleeping Captain?’
‘No! Well, perhaps. Would you do it, even if it was going to hurt someone? Who you quite – quite liked?’
Petrel, who was thinking, said nothing. They climbed higher.
‘Would you?’ said Fin, sounding as if he really wanted to know.
‘You’re the strangest boy I ever met,’ said Petrel.
‘But would you?’
‘I spose so,’ said Petrel. ‘I won’t let anything stop me waking the Sleeping Captain, not anything or anyone. Gotta look after shipfolk, even if they don’t look after me. Is that what you mean?’
Fin sighed and did not answer.
Before Petrel opened the hatch, they pulled on their gloves and ice masks. Then they stepped out onto the afterdeck.
Despite the cold, it was a relief to get out of the smoky ship. Petrel drew the freezing air into her lungs and squinted nor’east. The day was almost over, and the light was failing. She could see no sign of the other ship.
‘They ain’t after us yet,’ she whispered to Fin.
Men and women in outdoor clothes were scattered around the Oyster’s rail, watching for the bergs that rose above the water, and for the more deadly ones that lurked below. They took no notice of the two bratlings until Petrel tapped an Officer woman on the arm.
‘What is it?’ said the woman, without taking her eyes off the water.
‘There’s a ship nor’east of us,’ said Petrel. ‘You can’t see it right now, but it’s there.’
The woman turned and peered at her in astonishment. But then her face changed and she said to her neighbour, ‘It’s the Nothing girl.’
‘What does she want?’
‘How would I know? Some witless game she’s playing.’
‘Tisn’t a game,’ said Petrel. ‘We saw a ship! It’s coming after us, and—’ ‘Times like this, they should lock her up,’ said the woman, talking right over the top of Petrel as if she wasn’t there. ‘Keep her out of the way.’ And she went back to her vigil.