Icebreaker (28 page)

He won't get into trouble. But we will, even though we're just following his orders!

It was true. Because of who he was, Sharkey could get away with being late, whereas the middies couldn't.

Still, that was their problem, not his.

It took him another ten minutes to juggle the box into the side airlock. As soon as it was secure, he murmured, “Mark the position.”

Gilly squeezed past the ladder to the chart table. “Position marked, sir!”

“Half-ahead. Take her up to periscope depth.”

As
Claw
moved forward again, the planes tilting, the bow rising, Sharkey sat back on his stool, pleased with himself. He knew what the other Sunkers would say when they heard about the box.

Sharkey can do anything. Sharkey can
find
anything. Sharkey's a hero, a future adm'ral, born on a lucky tide and blessed by the ancestors. Thank you, Lin Lin!

The submersible leveled out, and he grinned. “Up periscope.”

There was probably no danger from their enemies, not so far from terra. But caution was drilled into the Sunker children from the day they could crawl. Gilly crouched, her face pressed against the eyepieces, her feet swiveling in a circle.

Halfway round, she stopped and rubbed her eyes. “Sir, there's something strange in the Up Above. Like huge bubbles—”

Sharkey was already moving, snatching the periscope handles away from her.

“Sou'west,” said Gilly.

The breath caught in Sharkey's throat. Gilly was right. There were three enormous, white bubbles floating through the sky with woven baskets hanging beneath them! And figures leaning over the edge of the baskets, pointing to something below the surface. And lines tethering the bubbles to—

To skimmers! To a dozen or more skimmers with billowing sails and their hulls low in the water, following those pointing fingers with a look of grim purpose.

“It's the Ghosts!” cried Sharkey, and his blood ran cold. For the last three hundred years, the Sunkers had dreaded this moment. “It's the Hungry Ghosts! And they've found
Rampart
!”

 

EARLIER THAT SAME DAY

As dawn broke, twelve-year-old Petrel leaned against the rail of the ancient icebreaker
Oyster,
staring into the distance. Somewhere over there, beyond the horizon, was the country of West Norn.

“Will there be penguins, Missus Slink?” she murmured.

“Probably not,” said the large, gray rat perched on her shoulder. A tattered green neck-ribbon tickled Petrel's ear. “But if my memory serves me correctly, there will be dogs and cats. And perhaps bears.”

“Bears is further north,” said Mister Smoke, from Petrel's other shoulder. “Don't you worry about bears, shipmate. There's worse things here than bears.”

“You mean the Devouts?” asked Petrel.

“Don't frighten the girl, Smoke,” said Missus Slink.

“I'm not frightened,” said Petrel quickly. But she was.

For the last three hundred years, the
Oyster
had kept its course at the farthest end of the earth. Its decks were rusty, its hull was battered, and its crew had broken down into warring tribes and forgotten why they were there. All that had remained of their original mission was the myth of the Sleeping Captain, and the belief that the rest of the world was mad, and therefore best avoided.

But the Devouts, fanatical descendants of the original Anti-Machinists, had traced the
Oyster
to the southern ice, and sent an expedition to destroy the ship and everyone on board. Thanks to Petrel, they had failed, and the Sleeping Captain had woken up at last.

The Devouts thought the
Oyster
's captain was a demon. But really, he was a mechanical boy with a silver face and a mind full of wonders. He knew sea charts, star maps, and thousands of years of human history. He could calculate times and distances while Petrel was still trying to figure out the question, and he could mend or make machines and lectrics of every kind. On his orders, the
Oyster
had left its icy hideaway and headed north.

“We are going to bring knowledge back to the world,” he had said.

The voyage had taken more than twelve weeks, with several engine breakdowns that had tested even the captain, but now Petrel was about to set foot on land for only the second time in her life.

She heard a rattling in the pipes behind her and turned to listen. It was a message in general ship code.

SHORE PARTY PREPARE TO BOARD THE MAW. SIGNED, FIRST OFFICER HUMP.

With the rats clinging to her shoulders, Petrel slipped through the nearest hatch and onto the Commons ladderway, which took her from Braid, all the way down to Grease Alley. She ran past the batteries, which were fed by the
Oyster
's wind turbines, and past the digester that took all the ship's waste and turned it into fuel.

And there was the rest of the shore party, making their way towards the
Maw.

“Here she is!” boomed Head Cook Krill, in a voice that was used to shouting over the constant rattle of pots and pans. “We thought you must've changed your mind, bratling.”

“Not likely!” said Petrel, putting on a bold front. “Don't you try leaving
me
behind, Krill.”

“We would not go without you,” said the captain in his sweet, serious voice. “I
knew
you would come.”

Fin just smiled, his fair hair falling over his eyes, and handed her a woven seaweed bag.

“Ta,” said Petrel, and she smiled back at him, though her heart was beating too fast and her mouth was dry at the thought of what lay ahead.

The
Maw
was an enormous, fish-shaped vessel set to watch over the
Oyster
by its long-ago inventor. It traveled underwater, and the only way onto it was through the bottom-most part of the ship. As the small party climbed through the double hatch, Chief Engineer Albie was giving last-minute instructions to his son, Skua.

“No mucking around, boy. This is a big responsibility, taking the cap'n and his friends ashore.” In the dim light, Albie's eyes were unreadable, but Petrel thought she saw a flash of white teeth through his beard. “You set 'em down nice and gently.”

It wasn't at all like Albie to be so thoughtful. By nature, he was a cunning, evil-tempered man who until recently had made Petrel's life a torment. But Petrel was so excited and nervous that she didn't think much of it. Not until later, and by then, the harm was already done.

“Aye, Da,” said Skua.

“And come straight back when you've dropped 'em. You hear me?”

“Aye, Da. Watch your fingers, Da!”

There was a clang as the double hatch was clamped shut, and a moment later, the
Maw
's engines roared to life and the interlocking plates of its hull began to move.

Thanks to Albie's instructions, their passage towards land was smooth and uneventful. Skua brought them right up close to the headland, where the drop-off was steep, and they jumped onto the rocks without getting wet past their knees.

“I'll be back at noon,” said Skua, as he stood in the mouth of the
Maw,
tugging at his sparse red whiskers. “Watch out for trouble, Cap'n. And the rest of you!”

His expression was suitably serious, but it seemed to Petrel that as he stepped back into the shadows, it turned into something else. A smirk, maybe. Mind you, that was normal for Skua, who smirked at everything, and once again, she thought nothing of it. A moment later, the
Maw
's huge mouth closed and the monstrous fish dived below the surface.

Petrel felt a tremor run right through her.
We're on land!
She took a cautious step forward, and the ground seemed to sway under her feet.

“Mister Smoke,” she hissed. “The ground's moving!”

“Nah,” said the old rat. “It's because you've been on the
Oyster
for so long, shipmate. It'll stop soon.”

Fin had been staring at the surrounding countryside with uncertain pride. Now he turned to Petrel and said, “This is West Norn. What do you think?”

The landscape stretched out in front of them, muddy and inhospitable. There were patches of snow on the ground and the air was cold, though not nearly as cold as Petrel was used to. A few straggly trees were scattered here and there, with a bird or two huddled on their branches, but there was no other sign of life.

Petrel would've liked it better if there'd been a good solid deck under her feet and the familiar rumble of an engine. But she didn't want to hurt Fin's feelings, so all she said was, “It's big, ain't it? Reckon you could fit the
Oyster
in its pocket, and it wouldn't even notice.”

Behind her, Krill said, “What now, Cap'n? We head for the first village?”

The captain pushed back his sealskin hood and nodded. “Once we have introduced ourselves, we will explain the workings of water pumps and other simple machines that will make their lives easier. We will find out what they want most, and go back to the ship for supplies and equipment.” He paused, his beautiful face gleaming in the early morning light. “Of course, I will ask them about the Song too.”

Krill scratched his chin until the bones knotted into his beard rattled. “Now this is where you've lost me, Cap'n. I still don't understand this stuff about a song.”

“There is nothing mysterious about it,” said the captain. “Serran Coe, the man who made me, must have programmed it into my circuits. As soon as we crossed the equator, I became aware of its importance.”

“But you don't know
why
it's important?”

“I know that it will help us bring knowledge back to the people. I know that I will recognize it when I hear it—the Song
and
the Singer. If I do not know more than that, it must be because my programming has been deliberately limited, in case I am captured.”

He pointed due west. “Three hundred years ago, there was a prosperous village in that direction. We will start there.”

*   *   *

Everything Petrel saw that morning was strange and unsettling. She was glad of Mister Smoke and Missus Slink, riding on her shoulders, and of Fin, who walked beside her, naming the objects she pointed to.

“That is a fir tree,” he said. “It does not lose its leaves in winter, like the other trees. That is an abandoned cottage.”

Petrel clutched the seaweed bag, which contained dried fish in case they got hungry, and a telegraph device that the captain had built so they could talk to the ship. “Folk used to live in it?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to 'em?”

“I do not know. They probably got sick and died.”

The mud slowed them down, and the village they were heading for seemed to get no closer. But at last, Fin nudged Petrel and said, “
That
is a tabby cat.”

Mister Smoke's whiskers brushed Petrel's cheek. “You sure it's a cat, shipmate? Looks more like a parcel o' bones to me. I can see its ribs from 'ere.”

My ribs were like that not so long ago,
thought Petrel, and she took a scrap of dried fish from her bag and tossed it to the cat.

“Captain! Krill!” called Fin. “If there is a cat, the village is probably close by. Beyond that row of bare trees, perhaps. But we should be careful. There might be Devouts.”

The captain nodded, and waited for them to catch up. “That position accords with my knowledge. Mister Smoke, will you go ahead and see if there is danger?”

“Aye, Cap'n,” said the rat, and he leaped down from Petrel's shoulder and scampered away.

“D'you really think there might be Devouts here, lad?” Krill asked Fin. “We're a good hundred miles or more from their Citadel.”

“They have informers everywhere,” said Fin. “And there are always rumors that someone has found an old book, or unearthed a machine from the time before the Great Cleansing. The Devouts travel the countryside, trying to catch them.”

Petrel listened to this exchange carefully. Fin knew all about the Devouts. He used to be one of their Initiates and had traveled to the southern ice with his fellows to destroy the
Oyster
and her crew. But Petrel, not knowing who he was, had befriended him, and bit by bit, Fin had changed.

Now he's one of us,
thought Petrel.
And we're going to find his mam.

Her heart swelled at the thought. She knew that the main purpose of the
Oyster
's voyage north was to bring knowledge back to a world that had sunk deep into ignorance and superstition. But as far as
she
was concerned, the search for Fin's mam, who had given him to the Devouts when he was three years old to save him from starvation, was just as important.

Mister Smoke returned with mud on his fur and his silver eyes shining. “No sign of Devouts, shipmates. Village is quiet as a biscuit.”

Petrel looked towards the trees, feeling nervous all over again. “But what about the informers?”

“The Devouts who attacked us down south know we weren't beaten,” said Krill. “I reckon they could guess we might come after 'em. And what with all that engine trouble we had on the way, I wouldn't be surprised if they passed us and got here first. So, we're not giving up too many secrets by showing ourselves to a few villagers, informers or not.” He cracked his knuckles thoughtfully. “All the same, it won't hurt to take it slowly. How about I go in by myself, chat to a few folk, see what's—”

But the captain was already striding towards the village.

“Wait!” cried Krill. “Cap'n! Wait for us!”

In the end, they entered the village in a tight group, with the captain's silver face hidden under his hood. For her part, Petrel was glad they were sticking together—and not just because of her fear of the Devouts.