by Emily Butler
Freya unraveled the wicker until she opened a hole through which she might leave the basket, and emerged onto a vast frozen plain. White light drove itself like darts into her eyes. She cringed, blinking rapidly until she became accustomed to the harsh glare of sun on snow. Then she stumbled forward, her legs stiff and uncooperative after the cramped confinement of the voyage. When she had put some distance between herself and the basket, she turned around and took stock of the situation. There was the balloon, stretched flat on the ground, a dark stain on the ice. It was well and truly dead.
On the other side of the gulf of deflated silk panels stood Nils, who was taking pictures of the captain and young Knut as they set up camp. That man’s a true optimist, thought Freya. Then she gazed at the endless landscape behind the men, its breadth scarred by sharply crested peaks. In some places the snow was mottled with pools of rotten ice. “Terra incognita,” she murmured.
“Terra what?” asked Zoose, who had been standing next to her for who knew how long.
“It means ‘unknown land,’ ” said Freya. “At least, unknown to me. Maybe if I had an atlas, I could establish what country—”
“No, you couldn’t,” said Zoose before she’d even finished.
“What do you mean, I couldn’t? I’ll have you know I’m very handy with an atlas.” This mouse would insist on contradicting her to the bitter end.
“You couldn’t because we’re not on land, known or unknown. We’re on an ice floe, or so the captain says,” explained Zoose. “We’re on a mass of ice, and we’re floating around the ocean, probably crashing into other masses of ice.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Freya. “Look about yourself—the ground goes on for miles and miles. Ice floe, indeed!”
“Oh, it’s a big one, all right. I hiked for ages and didn’t get anywhere near the edge of it,” said Zoose. “Thought I’d strike out on my own, but now I’m not so sure.”
“You’re staying with the humans, then?” asked Freya.
“Yeah, and you will too, if you know what’s good for you. After all, they brought compasses and maps.” They looked at Captain Andrée, who was at this very moment spreading maps onto a makeshift table and unpacking something he called his sextant. “They also brought cheese. ‘When in doubt, the cheese wins out,’ right? That’s just common sense.”
The penguin and the mouse decided to stay in the basket while Captain Andrée and his crew camped. This was for the sake of convenience, more than anything. The basket was warm and snug—a bit too snug, in Freya’s opinion, and she made another space for herself a little farther away from the mouse’s berth. She found his habit of slyly breaking off a piece of wicker and picking his teeth with it almost unbearable. Real annoyance from fellow travelers should never be endured, Mrs. Davidson had counseled. Well, this probably didn’t rise to the level of “real annoyance,” like blowing one’s nose without a handkerchief, but it came very close.
“Freya,” he said, pulling a splinter out of his mouth. “Freya. That’s an uncommon name. I guess your ma made it up?”
“Certainly not!” she corrected him. “My parents named me after the goddess Freya, who governs love, beauty, death, and…” She faltered, remembering the mouse’s sour reaction the last time she’d alluded to the subject of death. In fact, Zoose was looking at her through narrowed eyes this very minute. “Or rather,” Freya continued, “she rules over the place where half the warriors who die in combat go after they’re”—Zoose grimaced—“killed.” Zoose made a disparaging sound in his throat and shook his head in disgust. “Only half of them, mind you!” Freya hastened to add. Then she stopped talking.
After a long and unsettling pause, Zoose spoke again. “So, have you seen this goddess Freya? Spoken to her?”
She looked at him curiously. “Of course I haven’t. She’s just a myth—she’s in our stories. She wears a cloak of feathers, which I suspect is really why my parents chose the name. Our priest didn’t care for it, but then again, he wasn’t consulted.”
“Oh? Did he curse you?”
Freya thought about Father Josef, a portly penguin who often showed up just as the family was sitting down to supper and always obliged them by accepting the biggest dish of rice pudding. “No,” she said. “He didn’t go in for cursing, much.”
“I’m named after a god as well—Zeus, the god of all gods,” said Zoose importantly.
“Is that a family name?” asked Freya, to be polite.
“Not that I know. My mother went through the alphabet to come up with names. Every time she came to a twenty-sixth child, she had to think of something starting with Z. Zach and Zero were already taken. So was Zane, Zealot, Zilch, and Zarathustra. I got Zoose, which I like on account of its having two o’s, which is good luck.”
“But Zeus doesn’t have two o’s,” objected Freya. “And why would that be good luck, even if it did?”
“You don’t know much about luck, do you?” said Zoose. “Or spelling. Anyway, it’s not bad being named after the top dog, I guess, although he’s never done anything for me. I don’t really like religion, as such.”
“For goodness’ sake, why not?” asked Freya.
“To begin with, I was never allowed to worship the bones of our ancestors, like everyone else. The priest wouldn’t let me near them. So before I left, I stole them all and dropped them in the river. I suppose that’s why things go wrong for me—my ancestors are still mad about it.”
Freya didn’t know what to say. She gaped at Zoose with her beak hanging open.
“What?” he asked. “I was young. We all make mistakes.”
Freya decided it was a good time to take some air. She clambered out of the basket and peeked around the edge at the humans, who were prying lids off crates and laying objects on the ground.
Industrious as ants, she thought as Knut grappled with a long contraption made of dark mahogany. He tugged and pulled at it, and then called Nils over to help. Freya watched in fascination as the thing expanded smoothly into a framework composed of a wooden spine and gracefully curved ribs. It was evident to her that the men were not building something so much as unfolding it, but what it was she couldn’t say. Were they setting up a sort of skeleton wigwam for shelter? That was prudent of them, but then what to make of the excellent tent that Captain Andrée was erecting nearby? As the minutes passed, Freya’s curiosity grew until she was in an absolute fervor. What in creation were they doing, and why? Nils and Knut laid some planks across the open part of the thingamabob, bolting them deftly to its sides. Then Freya felt like a nitwit for not having seen it straightaway.
“They’re building a boat,” she told the mouse breathlessly, imparting this information through the hole in the basket. “Come and see it! Flying to the North Pole didn’t work, but rowing there might.”
Zoose left the basket and followed Freya. Sure enough, a fine boat had taken shape.
“They’ll never get to the North Pole in that thing,” said Zoose as Nils and Knut finished covering the vessel with a canvas skin.
“Why ever not?” asked Freya.
“It’s too small. It won’t carry three humans and their baggage—not even close. I reckon they’ll drag it to the edge of one ice floe and ferry themselves over to the next. Then they’ll row back and forth until they’ve brought all their things across, and do it again.”
Freya imagined what a lot of work that would be.
“And are you thinking what I’m thinking?” continued Zoose.
“I very seriously doubt it,” said Freya.
“That boat’s our next ride,” announced Zoose.
“What are you driving at?” asked Freya. “I’m sure if they catch us inside, we’ll be invited to leave, and none too nicely.”
“Then they better not catch us,” said Zoose.
Freya didn’t like to think of herself as sneaky, and the idea of stowing away
on the boat seemed altogether too underhanded. “I’m not sure that’s very sporting, if you know what I mean. Is it fair for us to add to their load? The humans are doing all the work, and we contribute nothing.”
Zoose snorted. “What did you contribute to our balloon ride?”
“That was a unique proposition,” replied Freya. “In the case of the balloon ride, the balloon did all the work. Or at least almost all of it. I was not an impediment to the men. They did no extra labor on my account!”
Zoose shrugged, unmoved by the logic of her argument.
“I did not contribute to the venture, but neither did I abuse anyone’s hospitality,” Freya said.
“I’m not planning to abuse anyone, if that’s what you’re getting at,” said Zoose. “The boat won’t know we’re stowed away any more than the balloon did.”
“Now you’re being dense,” said Freya. “The men will have to move the boat, and us along with it. What will we do for them in return?”
“Not a thing,” said Zoose, “and trust me, we’ll all be the better for it. As far as I can tell, you flimflammed your way onto the balloon, same as me. This is no different.”
“I did no such thing,” huffed Freya. “And in any case, I was in dire straits.”
“You still are,” he said.
Freya walked away with all the dignity she could muster. She refused to explain herself to a creature who had been raised in a sock. It was possibly not even his fault that he was so unpleasant, but a penguin could only take so much.
As she picked her way across the ice, she studied her situation. She had cast her lot in with the humans from the moment she poked her beak into their basket. Of course she had. The only way she was getting off this floating lump of ice was by sticking to them like damp newspaper. All the same, one wanted to be decent about it. What had Mrs. Davidson said about a certain species of traveler? It is really extraordinary to see the way in which people, well bred in all the other affairs of life, will disregard each other’s comfort and consult no one’s wishes but their own! Freya knew she was not that sort of penguin. She would not ignore the humans’ welfare so that she might ride in ease. She would have to give this some thought.
Freya looked around. From the air, the ice had seemed smooth and easy. It was very much the opposite on the ground. Sharp crystals poked up through a thin layer of crusty snow, and the floe was crisscrossed by ribbons of running water. There were hills and valleys such as one might find on land, only these were brutally hard. And there were outcroppings of ice, rising high into the air and often of an enormous size. The one in front of her looked like a beached whale and was just as impassable. Oh, yes, she’d better stick with Captain Andrée, Nils and Knut. And the mouse.
Waddling back to the basket, Freya watched the humans as they continued to work. Zoose observed them as well, narrating their progress with a stream of commentary that Freya chose to ignore. “Oh, now that looks tasty,” he said as Knut stirred a pot balanced on the camp stove. “I could use a bit of that.” Knut tipped something that smelled deliciously beefy into the pot. He was evidently the company’s cook.
Six or seven yards away, the captain mounted wooden slats on top of long, curved runners. He was utterly absorbed in this task, fitting the planks together like pieces of a puzzle before screwing them down and binding them with rope. By slow degrees a sledge took form. When it was complete, the captain stood on top of the flat bed and jumped up and down a few times. It bore his weight well. The captain broke into a decorous tap dance before leaping to the ground and bowing to Knut and Nils, who clapped their hands with enthusiasm.
“Very high spirits, all things considered,” marveled Freya.
“Why shouldn’t they be chipper?” asked Zoose. “Just look at them! They have everything under control!”
It was true: the humans were remarkably cheerful as they went about the business of being stranded on the ice. It was as if their plan all along had been to crash the balloon hundreds of miles short of the North Pole, and then set up a camp for the manufacturing of sledges and boats. What’s next? thought Freya. A bicycle? She had to admire their mettle.
Over the next few days, more sledges materialized until there was one for every human. Nils spent his time examining each item that might be useful in an expedition across the ice. He weighed shovels, hooks, boxes of food, his own camera, film, compasses, sailcloth and guns. He even collapsed the silk tent they slept in and weighed that. Careful notes were made in a small book he kept in his pocket. Every ounce was tabulated.
Then he began to divide everything into three piles. The captain and Knut made suggestions, and Nils added and subtracted various objects. When at last he was satisfied, the humans loaded the sledges, strapping the supplies down with oily ropes. Zoose sniffed in the direction of the boat, which was itself tied onto a sledge and filled with essentials.
“There’s my carriage,” he said. “I’m settling in tonight, because tomorrow it’s bon voyage!”
“You’re mistaken, I’m sure. They won’t abandon so much equipment!” said Freya. Although each sledge was loaded to the gills, the humans were leaving far more than they were taking.
“You could stay here and look after it for them,” said Zoose wickedly. “Lonely life, but you’re used to that, I guess.”
“What a disagreeable thing to say,” remarked Freya. “And what a disagreeable mouse you are. Why don’t you stay with the camp? They’ll probably leave a sock or two behind for you to live in.”
“Not a chance,” said Zoose. “I’ll be the first mouse to set paw on the North Pole, or I’ll freeze my tail off trying.”
“Yes, and a real loss to the world of Arctic exploration that would be,” snapped Freya. She was being petty, which (she felt) was unbecoming. She was also greatly at odds with herself. Freya retreated to the basket before Zoose sensed her lack of moral fiber. There she spent the rest of the day evaluating her options. Was there any other way to travel without adding to the fearful weight of the men’s sledges? Nothing occurred to her. The mouse was right. They would have to stow away again, like vagabonds. Like tramps.
That night, it was Freya who roused Zoose after the humans had retired to their tent. Together, they secured their belongings and left the basket for the final time. Moving quietly, they slid under the tarpaulin that covered the provisions stored in the boat, shifting parcels to the left and right until they had a little space for themselves. Bunking together seemed unavoidable, but Freya formed a small bulwark of her things and made sure that Zoose was on the other side of it. They pulled a canvas sack marked Lemon Juice Lozenges over themselves. It was pitch-black, which did not bother Freya as much as the waiting. Zoose was soon fast asleep, and she forced herself to close her eyes.
They awoke to the familiar sounds of the humans breakfasting on hot tea and sandwiches. Freya herself nibbled at a hard cracker, while Zoose sucked on something that smelled suspiciously lemony. In the lightless interior of the boat, they listened as Captain Andrée honored the balloon, commending it to the snow and ice forever. Then the humans decamped once and for all, packing their tent and kerosene stove and picking up the ropes with which they would drag the hulking sledges. With the first lurch forward, Zoose whispered, “Off and running! It’s gangbusters from here on out!”
Only it wasn’t gangbusters. Herky-jerky was more like it. Freya felt the sledge move, and stop. Then it moved again, and paused. After a third attempt to gain traction, the sledge came to a complete halt.
“Captain!” came Knut’s voice. “One or two friendly nudges from you might give me some momentum!”
Freya heard a pair of boots crunch across the ice in their direction. Then, with a grunt and some good-natured cursing, Knut’s sledge lunged ahead. One more powerful shove from Captain Andrée, and they began to advance fitfully toward the North Pole.
“What a beast of burden am I!” laughed Knut.
“A beast of burden!” echoed Zoose with a giggle.
Even Freya had to smile at Knut’s turn of phrase. If young Knut knew that his burden contained actual passengers, he might not be so jolly! But it did please her to join in his mirth. They’d faced real peril on this trip and had come through it bravely. Now it looked like the worst was behind them.
“He’s as strong as a bull, is our boy Knut!” continued Zoose. “I’ll bet my left whiskers he’ll lead the pack!”
“Or die trying,” added Freya, taking an optimistic bite of her cracker.
Zoose inhaled sharply. “You did not just say that,” he whispered.
Then the sledge hit a slippery ridge of ice, tipped on its side and slid into a deep pool of meltwater. In the hullabaloo that followed, Freya barely heard Zoose’s cry of dismay turn into a gurgle as the water rushed into the boat and over their heads.
On the ground, it was fair to say that Freya cut a less than impressive figure. But in the water, she was superb. It took two seconds for her mind to clear. She wriggled from under the tarpaulin and kicked herself free of the boat, gliding several yards like an elegant torpedo before turning to survey the disaster.
There were Knut’s legs, thrashing about—he must have fallen in with his sledge. The captain and Nils would have to fish him out, thought Freya. That part was easy enough, but what a whopping great bother for everyone! Boxes and bundles came loose and bobbed to the surface of the pool. It would all have to be recovered and dried off. An entire day of labor would be lost, at least! And that pesky mouse would probably catch his death of a…Where was he? Where the deuce was Zoose?
Freya swam this way and that, looking for the mouse. Perhaps he had already hoisted himself onto the ice. It was possible that he was trapped inside the boat. How long could a mouse hold his breath? Freya supposed not very long at all. Then she spotted him, a small dark shape clinging to a twist of rope that dangled from the upended sledge. Freya sped to his side, leaving a stream of bubbles behind her.
