Icebreaker (15 page)

In the end, she stayed where she was. But she kept the key in her pocket, and she was the one who unlocked the door when Krill came back halfway through the watch with a bowl of carefully strained fish soup, to see, he said, “if Orca's killer can be persuaded to eat.”

Petrel flared up at that, and said sharply, “I never heard of Orca being taken by surprise before. Maybe someone
poisoned
her before they cut her throat. Maybe it's dangerous to take food from the hand of a Cook.”

Krill glowered at her, and said, “You ate hungrily enough, bratling. I didn't see you refusing my fish.”

“But I'm not a killer, am I?” said Petrel.

Squid laughed and said, “You mustn't mind Da. He's got a strange sense of humor.”

“Sense of humor or not,” said Petrel, “I want to see him take a spoonful or two himself before it goes anywhere near Fin.”

To her astonishment, Krill nodded. “A sensible precaution,” he rumbled, and he slurped several mouthfuls of soup through his beard, then stood huge and solid in the middle of the cabin, rubbing his belly.

“That's not bad,” he said, which made Petrel hungry again, even though she had just eaten.

After all that, Fin was not interested in the soup. He lay pale and restless, with his fair hair spread out on the pillow and one arm dangling from the hammock. His eyes were closed, and he panted for breath.

“Has he said anything yet?” asked Krill.

“Not a word, Da,” said Squid. “Do you think it's trouble, all this talk of demons and suchlike?”

“I reckon so.” Krill rubbed his face. “Albie should never have picked him up off the ice.”

“But—” began Petrel.

Krill held up an enormous hand. “But what's done is done. What I want to know now is, where did he come from?”

“He fell from the sky,” Petrel said quickly. “He told me so.”

“
Snow
falls from the sky,” said Krill, scowling, “and ice, and even a bird on occasion. But a boy?” He shook his head. “No, there's another explanation somewhere, and it's got me worried. According to the old stories, there's nothing north of here but madness. So what if
that's
where he comes from? Eh?” He walked to the door, then turned and glared at Petrel. “What if he comes from somewhere north? And what if he's brought a bit of that madness with him?”

Krill's parting words sent a shiver down Petrel's back, and she felt more reluctant than ever to leave the cabin. But in the end she had to, especially after drinking all the soup. “I'm going to the head,” she muttered to Squid.

“You'd better give me the key in case Da comes back,” said the young woman.

“No, I won't be long.” And Petrel darted out of the cabin and locked the door behind her before Squid could stop her.

She ran to the nearest head, peed as quickly as she could, and ran back again, worrying all the way. Because there
might
be another key, and the Head Cook and his daughter were sure to turn against her sooner or later …

But when she unlocked the cabin door, Fin was still there, and so was Squid, as calm and unbothered as ever.

That first day marked out a pattern. Krill visited at regular intervals with more food than Petrel had ever seen in her life. Each time, just before he left, he asked if Fin had said anything more about the ship, and when the answer was no, he scratched his beard and looked worried.

Squid mostly stayed in the cabin, taking care of Fin with a gentleness that Petrel did her best to copy. At night the young woman went to her own cabin, and Petrel slept in the second hammock, which Krill had slung above the sea chest. She did not rest easy, but woke every few minutes, convinced that someone had opened the door and was about to snatch Fin from under her nose.

On the second day, the boy's fever worsened. Squid and Petrel hovered over him from dawn to dusk, wiping his poor hot face and arms, and trying to persuade him to drink a little more water.

Krill, when he visited, still said things like, “How's Orca's killer getting on?” and “Has the murderous boy said anything yet?” But Petrel was growing used to him, and could see that he was almost as worried about Fin as she was.

She could see, too, how proud the Head Cook was of his daughter, and that sent a twinge right through Petrel's heart, because no one was proud of her, or ever likely to be.

At the end of the second day, she tucked the two sets of outdoor clothes inside the sea chest, along with Fin's spanner. Then she put the key back on the hook and left it there.

That night, Fin tossed and shivered and cried out for his mam, whom he called “Mama.” Petrel crouched beside him, whispering, “Hush, Fin, hush!” and putting the covers back over him whenever he threw them off.

Squid came in several times, and on the last occasion she stayed. There was nothing much either of them could do, but Petrel was glad for the company.

It was a long, wearisome night, but towards the end of it, Fin quieted a little. The moon shone low and bright through the porthole, and Petrel felt as if she and Squid were in another world, far away from the
Oyster.
A world where important questions might be asked. And answered.

Without looking at Squid, she whispered, “You knew my mam.”

“We spoke once or twice, that's all,” came the low-voiced reply.

“What about my da? Did you speak to him?”

“No. Never.”

Petrel let out a sigh. Then she said, “What were their names?”

Squid didn't answer the question straightaway. Instead, she eyed Petrel and said, “No one's ever told you?”

“If they had, I wouldn't be asking.”

“Spose not.” The young woman stood up and bent over Fin. “He's sleeping a bit more easily. That's a relief.”

She sat down again. “They prob'ly shouldn't have done what they did,” she began, and Petrel knew they were back to talking about her mam and da. Her skin felt suddenly hot, and she wondered if she had caught Fin's fever.

Your da was a traitor and your mam was mad.

“But neither should they have been punished so severely,” continued Squid. “Da spoke against that punishment at the time, and so did a few other folk. Trouble was, it came at the end of a long, hungry winter, when there'd already been a hundred or so deaths from starvation, and more looming every day. It was a bad year for the tribes—not enough food, and everyone suspicious of everyone else.”

“What did they do wrong?” whispered Petrel.

Once again, Squid didn't answer the question, not directly. “Your mam's name was Quill.”

“Quill,” murmured Petrel, turning the sound on her tongue, and liking the way it was soft and sharp at the same time.

“And your da was—”

“Was what?”

“He was called—um—Seal.”

Petrel sat bolt upright. “But that's an Officer name!”

“Aye.”

“But— But my da can't have been an Officer. Mam was Grease. You can't mix Grease and Braid, that's just wrong, that's—” She stopped.

Squid's face was calm in the moonlight. “They loved each other. Da says it's happened once or twice before, but in those cases there were no babies, and besides they happened in fat times, when no one minded as much. The year we're talking about was different. Folk were starving, and Seal was passing food to you and your mam, food that belonged to Braid. The tribes wouldn't stand for that, even though he was Orca's brother.”

“Orca's
brother
? My da?” Petrel felt as if all the breath had gone out of her and would never return.

Your da was a traitor …

It made a horrible sort of sense. No wonder Dolph hated her.

Petrel leaned back against the wall, trying to take it all in. She almost wished Squid hadn't told her. She felt as if the story had laid some sort of claim on her; as if she must behave differently in response to it.

I'm half Braid, half Grease!

She wriggled uncomfortably. It was like being half penguin, half fish. It was impossible.

And yet …

“Orca's brother and Albie's sister?” she whispered.

“That's right.”

“So—couldn't Orca and Albie have saved 'em?”

Squid laughed, but there was no humor in it. “They were the ones who shouted loudest against your parents. Da reckons it's the only time he's known the two of 'em to agree on anything. Like I said, that was a bad year, and some folk thought maybe Albie and Orca were part of what was going on. And you know Albie; as soon as he realized
he
was in danger, he started crying out for his sister to be killed, and Seal with her. Orca was a step behind him, but she caught up soon enough. She wanted
you
killed too, but Seal and Quill begged for your life, 'cos they loved you. And in the end, folk felt bad about killing a bratling.”

“Not enough to take me into one of the tribes,” said Petrel.

“Da would've taken you, but Albie wouldn't let him. You were only two winters old and Albie thought you'd die, I spose, and the disgrace and suspicion would die with you. Instead, you just—disappeared.”

Mister Smoke,
thought Petrel.
And Missus Slink. They must've looked after me until I was old enough to look after myself.

And she wondered what it had been about that small bratling that had made the two old rats think her worth saving.

Outside the porthole, the moon was sinking below the horizon. Petrel stood up and pressed her nose to the glass.

Half Braid, half Grease.

She shook her head at the wrongness of it. And yet …

Squid seemed to understand that Petrel didn't want to talk anymore. The young woman touched Fin's forehead and said, “I think the fever's just about gone. He'll be good in a day or so. Then we'll find out the truth.” And with that, she left.

Petrel locked the door, climbed into the second hammock and curled in a ball. She fell asleep almost immediately. No one disturbed her, but she woke herself once, whispering, “Half Braid, half Grease.”

The idea shocked her all over again. It was impossible, it was wrong, it was—

It was better than being nothing.

When she woke the second time, she felt warm inside as well as out. It was such an odd sensation that at first she couldn't work out what it was. When she did, she wanted to laugh at herself for being such a fool. But something stopped her. The memory of Squid's kindness, perhaps. Or Krill's gruff concern. Or the slowly dawning realization that they
weren't
going to betray her.

Petrel rolled over in her hammock so she was facing Fin. “You know what?” she whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear her. “I
do
belong. I belong to the ship more than anyone! Mister Smoke and Missus Slink don't care about tribes, and neither did Mam and Da. They loved each other, and they loved me. Folk say they disgraced the ship, but where's the disgrace in feeding your own daughter?”

The warm feeling grew. “That's me, Fin,” she said. “Quill's daughter. Seal's daughter too. Mam and Da. They loved me.”

And with those astonishing words, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

 

CHAPTER 15

SOME MAY CALL US CRUEL

The ship was in a purposeful mood. It was there in everyone Dolph met—the same furious intensity, the same sense of comradeship and anger. Officers she had barely spoken to in the past gripped her hand and said, “We'll find him, never fear. He'll regret the day he murdered your mam!”

This feeling went from bow to stern, and from the heights of the wind turbines to the depths of the bilge. The first time Dolph stepped off the Commons ladderway into Grease Alley, she was anticipating trouble. But the border guards merely nodded and let her pass. Behind her back, they murmured, “How dare he? How dare the stranger attack
us
?”

Dolph had never in her life expected to walk through Grease Alley without having to fight every inch of the way. But today no one tried to stop her, not even Skua. They thought she was searching for the stranger, and so she was. But she was searching for someone else too.

Because Dolph had been thinking. How could a stranger have found his way right into the middle of Braid, and killed Orca, who was the cleverest person her daughter had ever known, and one of the wariest? It didn't make sense.

Now if the
stranger
was the one who had died, Dolph could've understood it. But the other way around?

Impossible.

Which meant the boy must've had help. Someone to show him the trip-ups and traps in both Grease Alley and Braid. Someone to guide him from the bottom of the ship to the top. Someone to ease him into Orca's cabin as slick and sly as a rat.

And who was the slickest, slyest rat Dolph knew? Who was the only person on the ship to know her way around Braid as well as she knew it around Dufftown and Grease Alley?

The Nothing girl.

“If I find her, I'll find the stranger,” Dolph whispered, and she fingered the knife in her pocket.

She knew the sort of places that the Nothing girl made her nests—Dolph had chased her out of them often enough. And so, while the Engineers tore open lockers and poked behind the digester, Dolph climbed into darker corners, looking for scraps of cloth and whispering through her teeth, “I'm going to find you, Nothing Girl. Going to
find you
.”

But for all her efforts, there was no sign of either the girl or the stranger. And so, after three days, Dolph turned her attention to Dufftown.

*   *   *

When the boy woke at last, stripped of both fever and nightmares, he was dreadfully weak. All he wanted to do was lie still in his rope cot. But weakness was dangerous for an Initiate of the Circle. If the other Initiates knew that one of their members was weak, they would beat him, to prove their own strength.