by Lian Tanner
‘How? Where? Look at him. He’s really sick; he needs proper care. He’ll be warm in Dufftown, and he’ll have plenty to eat. Don’t worry, you can come with him. I know he’s your friend.’
Deep in the boy’s memory, the once-loved voice murmured, ‘You’ll be warm in the Citadel. You’ll have plenty to eat. You’ll make friends.’
The boy’s face convulsed. With the small part of his mind that was still aware, he told himself that this was not a memory at all, but the fever playing tricks on him. Or perhaps it was the demon, crawling into his mind.
‘Go away,’ he whispered. ‘Go away, demon.’ And he closed his poor frozen heart off from the past, as he had learned to do so long ago, and forced himself to dream of nothing but duty and hard work and the virtue of destruction.
It was the most difficult decision Petrel had ever faced. ‘How would we get Fin up to Dufftown?’ she said. Then she quickly added, ‘I’m not agreeing, mind, I’m just wondering. Can’t carry him; Engineers’d grab him before we got to the ladders.’
‘Mm. And Da can’t come down and get him. Border guards’d never let him past, no matter what he gave ’em.’
They both fell silent. Fin tossed and moaned, but did not speak.
‘Maybe—’ said Petrel slowly, wondering why in the name of blizzards she was even thinking about the idea. ‘Maybe there is a way. Not sure yet. You go and talk to your da. Make sure he promises not to hurt Fin, and promises not to tell anyone about him either. And when you’ve got those promises, all proper and solemn, send me a rattle through the pipes in Cook code.’
‘You know Cook code?’ Squid looked surprised.
‘Course I do,’ said Petrel.
‘I should’ve guessed. All right, let’s see. I’ll say something like . . . The soup is safe for eating.’ Squid shuffled away from the boy. ‘The whole of Dufftown’ll think I’ve gone mad.’
‘Fin will get better, won’t he?’ asked Petrel.
‘Hope so,’ said Squid. ‘Hope we can fillet out whatever he’s talking about too.’ She frowned, then her face cleared. ‘As for me, it’s back past the border guards. They’d better’ve liked that extra bit of sauced toothy I gave ’em, eh?’
‘Can you find your way?’
‘I think so. If I get lost I’ll shout for help.’ And with a wave she was gone.
Petrel bent over the feverish boy. ‘Am I doing the right thing, Fin?’ she whispered. ‘Am I? I don’t know. These are strange days, and I can’t see where they’re going.’
‘No,’ said Mister Smoke. ‘No no no no no. Understand me, shipmate? I say no. No no no—’
‘And so do I,’ interrupted Missus Slink. ‘No no no—’ ‘I heard you the first time,’ said Petrel. ‘But listen to me—’
‘No no no—’ Petrel put her hands over her ears. The only way to get Fin up to Dufftown unnoticed was to carry him through the bulkhead tunnels. If the rats had agreed straight away, she might have had second thoughts. But their refusal to even consider the matter brought out all her stubbornness.
‘He won’t know where he is,’ she said, ‘he’s too feverish. And I won’t tell Squid or Krill. They’ll think I sneaked him past the border guards somehow.’
‘No no no—’
Petrel hadn’t told Mister Smoke and Missus Slink about Fin’s ravings. They already distrusted the boy, and she didn’t want to make things worse. But now she had no choice.
‘He’s— he’s been saying things,’ she said.‘Something about a demon, and about the ship. Squid says we have to take him to Krill.’
The relentless chorus broke off, and beady eyes peered up at Petrel. ‘Demon?’ said Missus Slink.
Petrel nodded.
‘Ship?’ said Mister Smoke.
‘Aye. He said something like he doesn’t have a name cos someone took it, but he’s going to earn a new one soon when the demon is destroyed and the ship is—’
‘The ship is what?’ said Missus Slink sharply.
‘Don’t know. Fever took him before he finished. Why’s he talking about a demon?’
The rats looked at each other. ‘How’s your memory, Slink?’ said Mister Smoke. ‘You got records of a demon in there?’
‘My memory is all rust and fish oil,’ replied Missus Slink, ‘and getting worse every day. I’ve got suspicions, but nothing solid.’
‘Me too,’ said Mister Smoke.
‘So maybe the girl’s got a point.’
‘Maybe she ’as.’
‘I could blindfold him,’ said Petrel quickly. ‘Just to be sure.’
The beady eyes inspected her once more. ‘And not tell a soul?’ said Missus Slink. ‘Not even if they hang you by your heels over the side—’
‘Not even then,’ interrupted Petrel, who was fairly sure that Squid at least would not hang her over the side of the ship.
‘Then you ’ave our permission,’ said Mister Smoke.
It was some time before the message came through. Petrel sat beside Fin, wiping the sweat from his face and whispering reassurances that he didn’t seem to hear. She wondered if he would say something that made sense of his previous mutterings about the ship. But although the boy groaned and moaned, and his eyelids flickered as if he was trapped in a nightmare, he did not speak again.
The longer Petrel sat there, the more worried she became. What if Albie finds us before Squid’s message comes through? What if Squid can’t persuade her da that Fin didn’t kill Orca? Or what if Krill only PRETENDS to be persuaded, so he can get his hands on the stranger?
Petrel had never feared the Head Cook the way she feared Albie and Orca, but still Squid’s da was a huge and powerful man. Once he had his hands on Fin, there would be little Petrel could do to protect the boy . . .
It was almost evening when the pipes rattled out their seemingly innocent message about soup. ‘That’s it,’ said Petrel, and Missus Slink immediately hobbled away.
Petrel unwound the scrap of sealskin that she had been using as a scarf, and tied it over Fin’s eyes. ‘It won’t be for long,’ she whispered. ‘And it’s prob’ly best that you can’t see what’s happening.’
If Fin had been able to see, he would have been horrified. Because Missus Slink was back already, and she had brought a horde of rats, black and lean and clever. They scrambled over the broken machinery, then stood on their hind legs and inspected Petrel and Fin with quivering noses.
Petrel had never seen so many rats gathered in one place. She didn’t mind them, not like Fin did, so she stayed where she was while they sniffed her.
‘You’re going to help us, ain’t you,’ she whispered, though she knew they couldn’t understand her, not the way her rats did.
They understood Missus Slink though. At a signal Petrel did not hear, they swarmed around Fin and began to wriggle underneath him. There were so many of them, and they pushed so stubbornly, that they raised the boy right off the rusty floor, until he looked as if he was floating on a sea of tiny legs.
‘Be careful with him,’ said Petrel. ‘Don’t drop him.’
‘You mind your business, shipmate, and we’ll mind ours,’ said Mister Smoke, as he limped past Fin’s head, nudging and poking the rats into position. When he came to the spanner, which was dragging on the floor, he said, ‘You’d best take that orf ’im; it’ll make too much of a racket.’
Petrel eased the spanner out of Fin’s grasp. Then she grabbed her outdoor clothes, and tucked the spanner in her own trouser pocket.
‘We’ll go that way,’ said Mister Smoke, nodding towards the back exit, which was not as cluttered with machinery parts as the front. ‘Is it clear? Don’t want Engineers trippin’ over the cargo. Snap to it, shipmate.’
‘It’s clear,’ said Petrel, peering out into the passage beyond, and the light at the far end. ‘What—’ She stopped. Fin was moving, rippling across the floor towards her, with one hand wavering uncertainly out to the side.
‘Get that arm, Smoke,’ said Missus Slink, who seemed to be overseeing the exp
edition, and Mister Smoke chivvied the errant rats until they trotted back towards their fellows, and Fin’s arm was where it should be.
The sill of the rope locker was the worst bit. The rats heaved and strained, and some of them fell back, and then they heaved again, and Fin’s head flopped and his shoulder banged against a worn-out piston, and Petrel gasped.
But then Missus Slink and Mister Smoke rearranged the rats somehow – Petrel couldn’t see the difference, but things immediately became easier – and Fin’s body rose up and over the sill, wriggling and wobbling and jerking like a fish on a hook, and down the other side into the passage.
Halfway down the passage, the boy began to groan. ‘Shhh!’ whispered Petrel, who was trotting a little way ahead, watching out for Engineers. ‘It’s all right, Fin, we’re taking you to Dufftown.’
She had no idea if he heard her, but he grew quiet again, and there was no sound except ordinary ship noises, and the patter of a thousand tiny feet.
The entrance to the tunnels was not the one Petrel knew about. This one was right down at deck level, and hidden in a dark corner, so that it looked like just another bit of rusted-out bulkhead.
With Missus Slink guiding them, the rats eased Fin through the gap. One of his jacket strings caught on a jagged piece of iron. ‘Wait,’ cried Petrel, and she dragged the string loose.
When the boy was right inside the tunnel, and only his toes visible, Petrel crawled in after him, pushing her outdoor clothes in front of her. ‘You ready, shipmate?’ muttered Mister Smoke, from somewhere up ahead.
‘Aye,’ replied Petrel, and the expedition began to move again.
It was a strange journey. The rats, pattering along in front of Petrel’s nose, had a rank, musty smell. They kept up a constant squeaking, just on the edge of her hearing, and she found herself wondering if they were arguing with each other, and if they had tribes like shipfolk, and fought among themselves for power and territory, and which one was rat-Albie and which was rat-Orca.
Something tickled at her memory, something about one of the Officers. What was it? She had a feeling it might be important . . .
But then the tunnel sloped upward, quite steeply, and Petrel had to grab hold of Fin’s feet to make sure he didn’t slide off the rats’ backs.
The boy had fallen completely silent by this time, so much so that Petrel began to worry. What if he’s dead? What if I’m following a corpse through the tunnels?
‘Mister Smoke,’ she whispered. ‘Is Fin all right?’
‘Course ’e is,’ came the rough answer. ‘Now hush. We is passin’ through tricky territory.’
Petrel hushed, and a moment later heard sounds on the outside of the bulkhead, the sort of hostile mutterings that folk might make as they searched the ship for a murderous stranger.
That set her to worrying again. Did I make the right choice? What if I should’ve kept Fin a secret, even from Squid?
After all, the searchers mightn’t have found him in the rope locker. And the boy might have got better on his own. Then Petrel could have taught him to creep around the ship the way she did, until the crew eventually gave up their hunt and forgot about him.
It’s safer, being forgotten.
Petrel didn’t feel safe now, not with Krill somewhere up ahead, waiting for her, thinking about her. She didn’t like folk thinking about her. She didn’t like folk thinking about Fin, either. She wondered if she should tell Missus Slink and Mister Smoke to turn back before it was too late.
But what if they did turn back, and Fin died? Or Albie caught him?
Better Krill than Albie, thought Petrel, and she kept going.
At last, after a particularly long and difficult upward slope, Missus Slink brought the formation to a halt. Petrel felt a familiar tapping on her hand.
‘You still with us, shipmate?’ asked Mister Smoke. ‘Reckon you can do a bit of manoeuvrin’?’
‘What do you want me to do?’ whispered Petrel.
‘First up, squeeze past the cargo. There’s a bit of decking just above ’is ’ead. Push that outta the way, then grab ’old of said cargo and haul ’im outta the tunnel. We’ll ’elp where we can.’
It wasn’t easy, squeezing past Fin and the rats. Petrel had to breathe in, and scrape along the tunnel wall, making herself and her bundle of outdoor clothes as small as possible. Even so, she bumped against the rats, who squeaked in protest.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to, ’scuse me, sorry.’
The bit of decking came away easily. Petrel crawled up through the hole, and found herself on the same level as the galley, but considerably further aft, and surrounded by enormous silent vats.
It was a part of Dufftown that she knew well. Folk said the vats used to grow food, many years ago, to feed the crew through the winter months. Petrel didn’t really believe it; she couldn’t imagine how those big empty tanks could grow anything. Nowadays Krill used them for storing the lightweight hunting sleds, and Petrel sometimes slept in the spaces between them.
She stood up and glanced around, but there was no sign of any Cooks.
‘Quick,’ she said, bending over the hole in the deck, and she reached down and grabbed Fin under the arms.
Petrel was strong for her size, but she couldn’t lift Fin by herself. She hauled and dragged at the limp body. Below her the rats pushed and shoved and squeaked. At an instruction from Missus Slink, some of them leaped out of the hole and joined forces with Petrel, grabbing the boy’s clothes in their yellow teeth and pulling for all they were worth.
He’s gunna have some bruises when he wakes up, thought Petrel.
As soon as the boy was entirely clear of the tunnel, the black rats whisked away. Missus Slink peered up at Petrel. ‘Remember, not a word about how you got here.’
‘Just find out as quick as yer can what the boy’s mumbling about,’ said Mister Smoke.
‘Wait,’ said Petrel.
‘I’m not sure—’ But the two grey rats were already gone, and the bit of decking screwed neatly into place behind them.
Petrel sat there for a moment, catching her breath and brushing bits of rust and cobweb off Fin’s clothes. Then she took the iron stub from her pocket, found the nearest pipe, and banged out, in Cook code, To Squid. Food vats.
With that done, she squatted on her heels beside Fin, feeling a bit like a toothy that was about to be thrown on the burners.
Squid and her da must have been waiting for the rattle, because Petrel heard their voices only a few minutes later.
‘I don’t believe for a moment she could’ve got him past the border,’ Krill was saying, in what he probably thought was a whisper. ‘Not with the guards on high alert.’
‘Don’t shout, Da,’ said Squid. ‘I told you, she’s clever. And if she’s not here, why did she send a message saying she—’ They rounded the corner, and Krill’s great bulk ground to a halt. ‘I’ll be skewered,’ he said. ‘The boy’s here.’
‘So’s Petrel,’ said Squid, unnecessarily.
The Head Cook’s eyes narrowed and he strode forward. ‘How’d you get him here?’ he rumbled, scowling down at Petrel. ‘You’re a runty little thing. You didn’t carry him all the way up from Grease Alley by yourself, that’s for sure.’
Squid elbowed him. ‘Don’t bully her, Da. It’s her business how she brought him. It’s a secret.’
‘Don’t like secrets,’ growled Krill. ‘Especially if they mean strangers can come and go without me knowing about it.’ He leaned closer to Petrel. ‘Does Albie know these secrets of yours? Does Orca – I mean, Crab?’
Petrel’s immediate reaction was to duck her head and look stupid. Anything else felt too dangerous. It didn’t matter that Squid knew she could talk, and had probably told her da. Petrel was sure she could out-stubborn both of them.
It’s safer, being ignored.
Krill, however, was not willing to ignore her. He bent right over, so his beard almost prickled Petrel’s face, and said, ‘I’m taking a might
y risk here, you know that, don’t you, bratling? If Braid and Grease knew I’d given refuge to Orca’s murderer, they’d be down on me like an avalanche.’
Petrel felt a surge of anger. But she might yet have stayed silent, if her eyes hadn’t fallen on Fin, pale and helpless at her feet.
Can’t protect him if I’m witless, thought Petrel. Can’t protect him if I don’t talk.
It was enough. Before she could lose her nerve, she took a deep breath, glared up at the Head Cook and said, ‘Fin didn’t murder Orca, and don’t you try and make out he did!’
Krill was clearly taken aback. He straightened up, knotting his bushy eyebrows and glancing at Squid.
I’ve done it now, thought Petrel, her legs beginning to shake. He’ll prob’ly kill me, and maybe that’s just as well. I can’t go back to small and silent after this.
‘I told you, Da,’ said Squid.
‘Mmph,’ grunted Krill. Then he bent down again and effortlessly scooped Fin up in his arms. ‘Lead the way,’ he said to Squid. ‘We’ll put him in my cabin.’ To Petrel he said, ‘Coming, bratling?’
And he strode off, taking Fin with him.
YOUR DA WAS A TRAITOR . . .
The Head Cook’s cabin had an enormous hammock slung across the middle of it, and a sea chest on the floor beneath the porthole. Krill laid Fin in the hammock. Then, with a nod to his daughter and a deeply suspicious glare at Petrel, he left, locking the door behind him.
Blizzards, I’m glad he’s gone, thought Petrel, and she sank down onto the sea chest, still clutching her outdoor clothes and wondering if maybe she was witless after all. She couldn’t think of any other reason why she would’ve let herself be trapped in a cabin with no way out.
But then Squid laughed. ‘I think Da likes you.’
Petrel shook her head and mumbled, ‘He prob’ly thinks I’m a murderer too.’
‘You wait,’ said Squid.
Five minutes later, Krill was back with a second hammock, and five minutes after that he was back again, with a cup of water and a plate of toothies cooked to perfection.
