by Emily Butler
Zoose began. “Hello! The name’s Zoose, and I’m—”
“This is the mouse,” interrupted Marguerite. “His name is Zoose. And the penguin goes by Freya.”
Goes by Freya? thought Freya. Gah! If it’s not one thing with this fox, it’s another! But already she could feel her resistance to Marguerite crumbling. The fox had said they would meet a whale, and here they were, meeting a whale. And not just any whale, but a narwhal! It wasn’t every day one met a narwhal. In fact, it was never. “May we know what to call you?” she asked.
“Aarne. Like my father, and his father, and his father. We are always Aaaaaaaarne.” His voice boomed like a kettledrum and sent ripples across the water.
“Well met, Aarne, son of Aarne,” said Freya in her most correct manner.
There was a sense of expectation hanging in the air, somehow cultivated by Marguerite. “Aarne is my very dear friend,” she said, fluttering her long lashes and gazing ardently at the whale. He reciprocated her devotion fully, spraying affectionate jets of water at her from his blowhole. “We’ve been through many things together. We’ve had our times!”
At this, the whale sank under the water and then resurfaced with a monstrous swoosh, his horn extended toward the fox. She slipped her spangled bag off her shoulders and let it fall to the ice. Then she sprang onto the tip of Aarne’s horn and, with the agility of a tightrope walker, pranced down its length. The whale launched her into the air, where she somersaulted once and landed on the back of his head, as light as whipped cream. She pirouetted on a hind leg until she was facing Freya and Zoose, although she looked past them, far into the distance.
Solemnly, Aarne swam away from the edge of the ice floe. His head never dipped below the surface of the sea, and Marguerite looked as if she were skimming over a plate of dark glass. Aarne began to pick up speed, but the fox never lost her footing. She was a statue of marble, the figure on the prow of a ship, an Olympian demigod, a winged angel. She was…
“Holy smoke, she’s an acrobat,” said Zoose, breaking into Freya’s reverie.
Freya glanced at Zoose, noting a slow but palpable change come over him. His look of doting infatuation was being supplanted by a bitter sneer, and she didn’t know which she liked less. “She’s a what?” asked Freya.
“An acrobat,” he said. His tone was oddly cynical. “Not your garden-variety acrobat—I’ll give her that. But she’s an acrobat. She’ll do tricks next. Keep watching.”
Now the whale and Marguerite were well away from where they had started, perhaps three hundred yards. They made a wide turn and came back, rocketing forward so fast that it seemed likely they would ram the ice floe. Freya and Zoose instinctively retreated, but Aarne veered at the last minute, sending up a sheet of frigid water that splashed the ice at their feet. Again he swam away, turning and turning in an immense ring at such a breakneck speed that he began to create a whirlpool. Still, Marguerite never bobbled or floundered. Her poise was absolute.
Freya was mesmerized by the performance. “How could I ever have thought she was trying to deceive us? She’s just so…so…What is the word, Zoose?”
“So bogus?” prompted Zoose.
“So stately! So regal! I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said in wonder. “How does she keep from falling off?”
“How? She’s done it ten thousand times, that’s how. Boy, I’ve been a chump before, but this really takes the biscuit. You were right, Freya—I’ve been hoodwinked!”
“About that…,” said Freya, her eyes glued to the exhibition in front of her. “I spoke in haste, Zoose. I’m quite embarrassed. I’m afraid I slandered Marguerite unforgivably. We’ll do just as you advised and give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“That we won’t,” Zoose said stubbornly. “Your hunch was spot-on, Freya. I’m the one who needs his noggin examined. The fox is a fake.”
“Fake, my flippers!” Freya protested. “She has the self-command of a prima ballerina!”
“Good gravy, she’s exactly like one of them bareback riders who juggle while their horse flounces around the ring. Haven’t you ever been to the circus?” asked Zoose.
“I should say not!” replied Freya.
“Well, I have. I worked a circus ring in Liverpool when I was a young buck, stringing up the trapeze wires,” said Zoose, fumbling with something on the ground. “Trust me, I know a circus act when I see one. And I’ve seen a million.”
“No mere circus act could be as amazing as this. Oh, now she’s standing up on two legs. What an artiste! Can you believe it, Zoose?” Zoose made no response. “Zoose? Zoose! What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
To Freya’s horror, Zoose had plunged headfirst into Marguerite’s bag. All that could be seen of him were his hindquarters wriggling this way and that as Freya hissed at him to stop his madness and come out at once.
“Zoose!” she scolded. “One does not inspect the contents of a lady’s purse without her express permission! It just isn’t done!”
“Lady? She’s no lady.” Zoose emerged from the bag and wrinkled his nose with scorn.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Freya. “Were you not as recently as an hour ago calling her the Lady Who Was Wronged?”
“Yeah. That was before I found this.” With a tremendous effort, Zoose pulled out a collapsible brass telescope, slim and well crafted. It was longer than he was. Standing it upright on the ice, Zoose swiveled it around so that Freya could make out the letters engraved in the bright metal. She tilted her head to the side and read them out loud: S. A. Andrée.
Freya was aghast. “There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she has Captain Andrée’s telescope,” she argued. “The humans might have dropped it. They’ve shed plenty of their equipment. Scads and scads of equipment, all over the place. Perhaps Marguerite tripped over it.”
“Flapdoodle, and you know it,” Zoose said.
“Put it back before they catch us poking around in her things!” beseeched Freya.
“Her things!” scoffed Zoose. But Freya lifted the edge of the bag, and Zoose slid Captain Andrée’s telescope inside.
“I should have seen this coming,” Zoose continued, mostly to himself, as he and Freya watched the fox and the whale racing around in their circle. Sure enough, Marguerite was now doing backflips. “If something seems too good to be true, you can bet your sister’s sweet stockings that it is. You were right about her. She’s a hustler.”
“I never said she was a hustler. I don’t even know what a hustler is,” said Freya.
“A hustler is a con artist,” said Zoose. Freya gave him a blank look. “Someone who cheats other people. A swindler. A tramp.”
“Hang on, didn’t you used to be a tramp?” asked Freya.
“Exactly! That’s why I know what I’m talking about,” said Zoose.
“All this just because she reminds you of someone you met at the circus. That is the worst sort of prejudice!” insisted Freya. “And why would the countess need to cheat us out of anything?”
Zoose looked at Freya as if she’d lost her mind. “Did you just call her the countess? Has your brain gone on vacation? You were sure humming a different tune this morning!”
“As were you! I simply think, you know, innocent until proven guilty, and all that,” said Freya. She wasn’t quite able to look Zoose in the eye.
Zoose turned back to the sea. “And I’m the easy mark?”
Marguerite and Aarne were moving more deliberately now, and soon the whale stopped at the edge of the ice. Marguerite slid down his horn like a ray of light and hit the ground on all four paws. She took a bow that impressed Freya as altogether spontaneous. Aarne lingered for a minute, and then sank noiselessly back into the deep.
“That was electrifying,” said Freya. Her mind was still reeling from the discovery of the telescope, but she couldn’t help gushing about Marguerite’
s astounding demonstration.
“Yeah, first-class entertainment,” said Zoose flatly. “You really stuck that landing.”
Marguerite laughed her mellifluous laugh. “Oh, in Poland all the schoolchildren learn these things. In Poland, we’re literally raised in the water!”
“Oh, are you? Literally?” asked Zoose.
“Yes, from the time we’re pups!” insisted Marguerite.
“You must be tired, Marguerite,” said Freya. She wanted Zoose to stop talking and give her time to think. “Why don’t we see what we can do for lunch?”
Marguerite needed no urging. Without pausing to check her direction, she picked up her bag and trotted toward the tent.
“Look at her go—she knows this ice floe like the back of her paw,” said Zoose. “If she was ever lost, I’ll eat my own hat.” He scampered after the fox as fast as his little legs could carry him.
Freya didn’t argue. She was beginning to feel very unhappy again. She waddled behind Zoose, trying to understand things. What if Marguerite’s story is true? Freya wondered. After all, Zoose can take a very dim view of things. But let’s say they’re both right. Why can’t a Polish countess who’s been banished for her political zeal also be a circus performer closely connected with a narwhal?
A countess could be an acrobat. Of course she could! It sounded far-fetched—there was no escaping that fact—but Freya very desperately wished it to be true. Why was she in such a muddle?
“Let me think! Let me think!” she said out loud.
When she’d suspected Marguerite of aggrandizing her past, it had galled her. When Marguerite had claimed to have a friend who was a whale, Freya had practically ridiculed her to her face! But Marguerite did have a friend who was a whale, and she rode him magnificently, and didn’t that put a fresh gloss on things? Didn’t it give her story the teensiest ring of truth?
The teensiest ring of truth? Freya mused. Why, I want to buy everything she’s said, hook, line and sinker. What is wrong with me?
Then an image that had been struggling for release burst into full flower. Lucid and unmistakable, Freya saw herself standing on top of the whale, just like Marguerite. She watched as she was carried like a queen (like a queen!) over the ocean and all the way back to Sweden, stepping off the head of a narwhal to the gasps of an admiring public, who would remember the sight for the rest of their lives.
In a nutshell, Freya wanted not just to go home, but to go home in a blaze of glory! That was the unvarnished reality of it. People would look at her and know that she was fearless, fashionable and all the things Baby Frey was supposed to grow up and become! She would go home as her true self.
Freya comprehended this longing deep in her heart. She grasped it fully, and she was not the least bit ashamed. If Marguerite was telling the truth, Freya would cross the ocean atop a whale, unsinkable, a traveler for the ages. And Zoose, her celebrated companion, would become simply notorious! Perhaps Mrs. Davidson would ask them both to tea.
Of course, they weren’t going home atop anything if Marguerite was deceiving them, and then what to do? Regarding liars, Mrs. Davidson had no direct counsel, but she wouldn’t put up with them, surely. No, no—telling lies was impolite, and on that topic Mrs. Davidson had plenty of advice. Regarding “uncalled-for breaches of politeness,” Mrs. Davidson recommended a stern rebuke. A remonstrance will often have a good effect, she had written.
A remonstrance it would be, then, if Marguerite was lying! A frank and forthright scolding! (If that didn’t work, Mrs. Davidson proposed informing the guard, which was not very practical at the moment.)
Marguerite and Zoose arrived at camp long before Freya. Zoose had left the flap open, and Freya stepped through it to find Marguerite reclining against the pile of white cotton batting that had, until now, been Freya’s personal domain. So unnerved by this trespass was Freya that she moved to the farthest corner of the tent and huddled under a scrap of balloon silk.
Zoose sat on his pillows, watching Marguerite like a hawk. She offered him a peanut, which he declined stiffly. The atmosphere felt uneasy, and only became more so as the long afternoon hours resolved into an interminable evening. Freya passed the time sorting what might be true from what was arguably false. She also formulated several stinging remonstrances, should Marguerite be found a liar. But mostly she was miserable. How had one night with Marguerite become three? She sensed Zoose’s rancor from across the tent, and it compounded her misgivings. What could she do to rid them of this meddlesome fox?
In the morning, after eating a copious amount of bear liver, Marguerite groomed her pelt until it shone pearlescent in the early light. Then her gaze fell on Freya.
“Ah, Freya,” she purred, “what do you say we girls take a little stroll? I am suffocating in here.” She stood up and sauntered out of the tent. Freya looked at Zoose, who wore a gruff and unyielding expression that she had never seen before. She shrugged and followed the fox until they had gone some distance. Neither spoke as they picked their way around the cracks and ridges in the ice. Finally, Marguerite broke the silence.
“How I long to return to Poland and continue the fight to build hospitals for my people,” she said.
“I understood you were fighting to give everyone the vote,” said Freya.
“Well, how can people vote when they are so sick?” countered Marguerite. Then she changed the subject abruptly. “Aarne says that there are humans on this ice floe. Humans! Were you aware of that? I had no idea.”
Freya thought of the captain’s telescope hidden in Marguerite’s bag and felt the feathers stand up on the back of her neck. The fox was lying! No idea that there were humans on the ice floe? A bald-faced whopper! This was the very moment for a strongly worded remonstrance, à la Mrs. Davidson. Yet Freya found that her tongue was tied.
“Aarne would dearly love to meet them. He has a great admiration for humans, you know. Some of his best friends are humans,” Marguerite persisted. “Don’t you think they would like to meet Aarne?”
“I—I—I couldn’t possibly say,” stammered Freya. She had a sudden and clear recollection of Aarne’s tusk, which he could thrust ten feet over the ice with the greatest of ease. If Marguerite lured Captain Andrée and his crew close enough to the edge of the ice, Aarne could pick them off like ducks in a row. Freya suspected the whale didn’t have any particular admiration for humans at all. Her blood felt very cold in her veins, and she tried to keep her breathing even.
“And these humans must have so many things to eat! Crates of food, and other things too!” Marguerite said.
Freya registered the note of greed in her voice, tinged with malice. The men did have crates of supplies, which any animal might consider a stupendous bounty, especially if that animal had the ice floe all to herself. Freya had a vision of being dumped, with Zoose, in the middle of the ocean by a whale whose only objective was to get back to his dearest Marguerite as quickly as possible.
So many images competed for Freya’s attention that she could hardly see straight, but this much was clear: Zoose had it right. Marguerite was not a countess from Poland or from anywhere else. She was a hustler, and a dangerous one at that.
“I’d like to go back to the tent now,” said Freya. “Too much excitement for one morning. And I should probably have another look at your foot.”
“But of course!” agreed Marguerite.
When they reached the tent, Freya found her Article of Faith and, for lack of something better to do, prepared a new bandage. Zoose was still on his pillows. “Have a nice walk, Countess? Gather much intelligence? Reconnoiter with anyone?”
Marguerite gave one of her silvery laughs. “If I didn’t know better, little Zoose, I would think you were accusing me of something. You! Accusing me!” She had opened her bag and was rummaging around inside it.
“Looking for this?” asked Zoose. He hopped off his pillows and kicked them aside,
revealing the bright gleam of the telescope. Each animal eyed it as if transfixed. Then Freya realized that a remonstrance didn’t actually have to include words, and she edged closer to Zoose until they stood together. The air inside the tent vibrated with tension.
“You can’t stay here, Marguerite. There’s a world of ice out there. You need to move along,” said Zoose.
“Maybe it is you who need to move along,” said Marguerite coolly. “You and the penguin.”
“Nope. We were here first. Plus, there are two of us and only one of you.” Zoose puffed up his chest. He looked ferocious, and his math was unassailable. “You leave. We stay.”
“We only wish you well,” said Freya, finding her voice before things grew any uglier. She also took the precaution of fluffing her feathers, projecting as much size and moxie as she could. “No hard feelings. Take what you need and go.”
The fox put a paw on the telescope.
“Not that,” said Zoose, for whom (it was possible) there were some hard feelings.
Marguerite saw how this would end. She took her paw off the telescope, tossed her head and flashed her jet-black eyes. Had there ever been an animal who looked so triumphant in defeat? She plucked Freya’s Article of Faith off the floor with her teeth, dropping it into her bag as if it had never belonged to anyone else.
Freya sorely deplored the loss of the zippered pouch, but sweetened the deal with the rest of the tinned fish from her own supplies. It seemed a small price to pay if the fox would go away.
They waited as Marguerite adjusted the bag over her shoulders. Then the animals left the tent. Not a word was spoken as they retraced their steps across the ice floe. The penguin and mouse stopped well before the edge of the ice, but the fox went right up to the water’s brink, where she paused. There was something inexpressibly lovely about her in that moment, and defiant.
