by Lian Tanner
The walkway ended abruptly in a veil of old cobwebs. And there in front of them was a table, bolted to the deck, and a metal box strapped to the top of it.
It had obviously been there a long time. The metal straps were rusty, and the box was half-skewed out from under them.
Dolph’s fingers gripped Petrel’s shoulder so hard that it hurt. ‘What is it?’ she hissed.
Petrel brushed the cobwebs away and stared at the box. She had thought it would be bigger. She had thought it would be as wide as Krill, at least, and taller than Albie, and decorated with grand designs.
She had thought it would look more . . . important.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Fin slip his hand into his pocket. There was something about the look on his face that made her uneasy, but then Mister Smoke said, ‘Lift us up, quick,’ and Petrel forgot all about Fin.
She scooted out from under Dolph’s shoulder and lifted the two rats onto the table. Mister Smoke’s paws fussed at the straps until they fell away in a shower of rust. Then he limped up and down the lid of the box, inspecting it.
‘No damage,’ he mumbled. ‘Should be fine. Won’t know until we see the evidence though. Are you ready, Slink?’
‘Ready long ago,’ said Missus Slink.
‘Ave we done our duty?’
‘We have, and nearly wore ourselves out in the doing of it.’
‘Is the world safe?’
‘It is not, and you know it. But times change, and a body’s got to change with them. If we don’t wake him now, he might never wake. Lift the lid.’
It was a moment before Petrel realised that those last three words were addressed to her. ‘Oh,’ she said, and she stepped right up to the table and grasped one side of the lid with shaking hands.
Dolph propped herself against the bulkhead and said, ‘I don’t believe it.’ But there was a growing uncertainty in her voice.
Clang, went another grappling iron. More boots climbed upward.
‘Fin, come and help me,’ whispered Petrel.
Fin didn’t move. Mister Smoke and Missus Slink went very still, their polished eyes fixed on the boy.
‘Shipmate?’ said Mister Smoke, and there was an edge to his voice that made Petrel shiver. ‘Hope I’m not wrong about you, shipmate. Hope you’re on the right crew.’
‘Course he is,’ said Petrel. ‘How could you doubt it, Mister Smoke?’
‘Let the boy speak for ’imself,’ said Mister Smoke.
‘I—’ said Fin, and it seemed to Petrel that there was some sort of battle going on inside him. ‘I—’ He jerked his shoulders, as if there was something wrapped around them. A net perhaps. Whatever it was, he gasped once, twice. Then he stepped forward, on the other side of the box from Petrel, and grabbed the lid.
It was not easy to open. The weight of centuries had bound it in place, so that Petrel felt as if she was trying to lift the entire history of the Oyster, with its countless births and deaths, its icy winters and bountiful summers, its wars and fishing seasons and hunger and hopes and expectations.
It seemed impossible, but it must be done. Petrel and Fin braced themselves more firmly and hauled at the lid. They gritted their teeth and bent their knees. Dolph hopped forward to join them, and they all squeezed their eyes shut and heaved with every muscle in their bodies . . .
The only warning they received was a hiss of air, as sharp as an indrawn breath. Then the lid flew upwards, so suddenly that they staggered and cried out.
Petrel was the first to recover. She bent over the box, still panting. Her skin tingled. Her eyes filled with tears.
‘It’s the captain,’ she breathed. ‘It’s the Sleeping Captain.’
THE SLEEPING CAPTAIN
Fin was expecting something monstrous, something that he could loathe and fear. Something so horrible that he would be able to ignore the light in Petrel’s eyes, and do what he had come here to do.
But the boy in the box was anything but monstrous. He was no bigger than an eight-year-old child, and his silver face was beautiful. He lay so peacefully in his bed that it seemed a pity to wake him.
Fin swallowed, and gripped the spanner in his pocket.
‘He’s real,’ said Dolph in a choked voice. ‘I never thought he was, and neither did Mam. But he’s real.’
‘He’s going to save us,’ breathed Petrel, and she reached out her hand then pulled it back again, as if she wanted to touch the boy but did not dare.
Missus Slink had no such concerns. With a great creaking of her joints, she clambered down into the box and stood on the boy’s chest. A small screwdriver appeared in her paw.
‘Now this,’ she said, ‘is the tricksy bit.’ She undid a panel in the boy’s shoulder and put the screws carefully to one side. Beneath the panel were two holes. It looked as if something was missing, although Fin, who knew nothing about either machines or demons, could not imagine what it might be.
‘Don’t forget the screwdriver, Slink,’ said Mister Smoke, who was balanced precariously on the edge of the box.
‘My circuits aren’t that rusty,’ said Missus Slink crossly, and she carefully laid the screwdriver next to the screws. Then she climbed back up to the edge, and teetered next to Mister Smoke.
Clang. More boots climbed the side of the ship. And more. And more.
‘Quick,’ said Missus Slink to Petrel. ‘Get on with it.’
‘But how do we wake him?’ asked Petrel.
‘Take out your knife,’ said Mister Smoke.
Petrel hesitated, then took her knife from her pocket.
Mister Smoke raised a paw and tapped first his own neck, then Missus Slink’s, next to the green ribbon. ‘Now slit our throats.’
‘What?’ Petrel dropped the knife with a clatter. Dolph put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
‘You ’eard me,’ said Mister Smoke.
‘No!’ said Petrel, her voice shaking. ‘No, it’d kill you!’
Mister Smoke and Missus Slink exchanged glances. ‘Will it kill us, Smoke?’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. There’s no tellin’ with these things. It has to be done, all the same.’
‘But why?’ asked Petrel.
‘You want to save the ship, girl?’ said Missus Slink.
‘Of course she does,’ said Dolph.
Fin said nothing. He wished they had never returned to the Oyster. He wished the Maw had kept going, kept swimming until they were far far away from Brother Thrawn and the demon.
He wished he could persuade his fingers to let go of the spanner.
‘I do want to save the ship,’ said Petrel. ‘But I—’ Missus Slink’s voice overrode her. ‘You want to save Squid and Krill? And Albie?’
‘I don’t care about Albie. I’m not going to kill you to save Albie.’
‘Save one, save ’em all, shipmate,’ said Mister Smoke. ‘All them folk workin’ away to set the ship to rights, not seein’ the danger that’s upon ’em. All the old ’uns. All the bratlings. You gunna sacrifice all of ’em cos of a couple of rats?’
‘You’re not just a couple of rats. You’re my friends!’
Mister Smoke was unmoved. ‘You want those men to win?’
‘No, of course not. But—’
As Petrel hesitated, a pounding began, far above their heads. It echoed off the walls of the little cabin and boomed up and down, forcing its way into every corner of the ship, drowning out the creak of the ice and the pipe messages and the turbulent beating of Fin’s heart.
‘What’s that?’ cried Dolph.
‘Reckon it’s the invaders,’ said Mister Smoke, ‘bangin’ on the deck with their axes.’ He looked at Fin. ‘Am I right, shipmate?’
Fin forced himself to nod. In a voice that sounded far too calm for the way he felt, he said, ‘It is Brother Thrawn. He will not enter the ship, not while the crew is still alive. He and his men would be lost in its passages. They must draw the crew out, and this is how they do it.’
‘But if anyone goes out,’ cried Petrel, ‘t
hose men’ll be waiting for ’em. They’ll cut ’em down as they step through the hatches. They’ll slice ’em to pieces.’
‘Yes,’ said Fin. He imagined Krill roaring up the Commons ladderway towards the afterdeck. He imagined Squid— ‘You gotta wake the captain, shipmate,’ Mister Smoke said to Petrel.
‘I know that!’
‘And there’s only one way to wake ’im.’
Above their heads, the pounding ceased abruptly. ‘It’s started,’ whispered Petrel. ‘There’s folk up there fighting and dying.’
Her breath sobbed in and out. Mister Smoke squinted up at her and said, ‘Right about ’ere, shipmate.’ And he touched his throat again.
Tears spilled from Petrel’s eyes. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t ask it of me, Mister Smoke. I’ll do anything else, but not that.’
Something twisted inside Fin’s chest, and he found himself saying, ‘I will do it.’
He regretted it immediately, but Petrel was already handing him the knife. She kissed the top of Mister Smoke’s head and cuddled Missus Slink so tightly that the rat protested, ‘Mind these old circuits, girl.’
Petrel put Missus Slink down gently, in front of Fin. Then she turned her back, as if she was afraid she might try to stop him. ‘Don’t hurt ’em,’ she whispered over her shoulder.
‘It won’t ’urt a bit, shipmate,’ said Mister Smoke, and there was a tenderness in his voice that Fin would never have expected from such a creature.
Dolph touched the old rat’s head. ‘Thank you for saving our lives, Mister Smoke. I will not forget you.’
Fin licked his lips. The knife felt too eager in his grasp, as if Brother Thrawn was forcing his hand. But Petrel was there too, on the other side of him, so that he did not know which way to move.
I will do this part, he told himself. And then make up my mind.
Mister Smoke and Missus Slink lined up in front of him, their eyes unreadable.
‘Once I have cut—’ said Fin. ‘Ah— Once I have done it, what happens?’
The rats looked at each other. ‘Do you know what comes next, Slink?’
‘Not me, Smoke. That’s outside our circle of reference. They’ll have to work it out for themselves.’
‘Right.’ Fin nodded. ‘Perhaps you should lie down. On your backs. I—’ They will not feel it, he reminded himself.
He placed his hand on Missus Slink’s furry chest. It felt warm, though that was impossible. He could have sworn that he felt her heart beating, though that was impossible too. Missus Slink gazed up at him with ancient silver eyes . . .
In the end, it was easier than Fin expected. The knife was sharp, and the spot Mister Smoke had indicated seemed to welcome the blade. The cutting edge sliced through fur and something else, and came out the other side.
Fin half-expected to see blood, but there was none. With a grimace, he poked his fingers into the wound and touched a – a thing.
It came away in his hands, a tiny colourless box with wire knitted in intricate patterns across it. As it left her body, Missus Slink’s eyes closed and she sprawled lifeless on the table.
Fin put the little box to one side and turned immediately to Mister Smoke. Across the way, Petrel’s back was rigid.
There was another box inside Mister Smoke. Fin placed it next to the first one, and let the knife fall to the deck with a clatter, wondering why he felt so bereft.
The light of the lantern dipped. The sounds of the ship and the grating of the ice against its hull wound together in a plaintive lament. The two rats lay limp and silent.
Petrel looked over her shoulder, her face shiny with tears. ‘Is it done? Are they— Are they dead?’
‘I think so,’ whispered Dolph.
Fin had never admired Petrel as much as he did then. For all her grief, she did not hesitate. ‘Then— Then we’d b-better get the captain awake, quick as we can,’ she said.
With trembling fingers, she picked up one of the tiny boxes and slid it into the silver boy’s shoulder. It fitted perfectly.
Petrel picked up the second box. She was steadier now, though the tears still rolled down her cheeks.
‘We’re going to wake him,’ she said, and Fin couldn’t tell whether she was talking to him and Dolph, or to the bodies of Mister Smoke and Missus Slink, or to Brother Thrawn, so far above their heads. ‘We’re all going to do it.’ And she handed the box to Fin.
He took it, feeling as if he was dreaming. It is not too late, he thought. I could drop this device onto the deck and crush it beneath my foot. Then the Sleeping Captain would never wake. And the world would be a better place . . .
Or would it?
He had always accepted the notion without questioning. He had accepted everything Brother Thrawn had told him.
But now he must think for himself. He must choose.
What it came down to, he realised, was coldness versus warmth. Death versus life. The Devouts versus the crew of the Oyster.
Fin thought of his mother. He thought of Krill and Squid and Albie, and a hand on his shoulder, and a shield at his back, and a girl who fought for her people, even when they treated her badly.
And in that moment, he knew that Brother Thrawn must not be allowed to crush the Oyster, the way he crushed everything else he touched. Fin could not bear it. All that noise silenced. All that chaos. All that life.
He gripped the little box tighter and looked down at the beautiful silver face of the Sleeping Captain. One final doubt crept into his mind. What if it was a demon? What if this was the biggest mistake he had ever made?
‘Quick!’ said Petrel. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Fin looked up and met her worried gaze. He must tell her the truth; he owed it to her.
Before he could lose his nerve, he blurted it out in one long breath. ‘I told you that the Devouts forced me to come with them, but I lied, I wanted to come, I was supposed to kill the Sleeping Captain.’
Petrel’s eyes were enormous. ‘What?’
‘But,’ said Fin firmly, ‘I will not do it.’ And he pushed the box into the hole.
Later, when there was time to think, he wondered what he had expected. A whirring? A thudding, like the Oyster’s engines?
There was none of that. No sound. No ratcheting of joints or rattling of metal. The boy’s eyes merely opened.
And he smiled.
At least, Fin thought he did. The silver face did not move, but there was a warmth in it, a sense of joy and wonder.
‘Hello,’ said the boy, and his voice was as full of strangeness as the Oyster itself.
Fin gulped. ‘H-Hello.’
Petrel’s face was still pale with shock from Fin’s revelation. But once again she knew what must be done. ‘I’m Petrel,’ she said to the boy. ‘This here’s Dolph and that’s Fin. We need you, Cap’n. There’s cruel men come to destroy the ship.’
The boy sat up, as smooth as the silk of Brother Thrawn’s robes.
‘They’re on the outside decks already,’ said Dolph. ‘We have to hurry.’
‘They are the Devouts,’ added Fin. ‘Led by Brother Thrawn. They have come from the other side of the earth, hunting a demon. They have come to kill everyone on the ship.’
Petrel shot him one sharp glance, then looked back at the silver boy. ‘We need you to stop ’em, Cap’n.’
The boy climbed out of the box, his limbs moving with such elegance that Fin longed to take him apart and see how he was made. Except— Except the boy was so alive. So real. Far too real to take apart.
Far too real to smash.
‘I know two thousand years of history,’ said the silver boy. He picked up his shoulder panel and hopped down from the table. ‘I know the rise and fall of civilisations, and how to rebuild myself if I am injured, and the position of every nut and bolt in this ship.’
He screwed his shoulder panel back into place, then paused. ‘But I do not know how to stop the Devouts.’
‘What?’ said Dolph, as if she hadn’t heard him prope
rly.
But Petrel said fiercely, ‘You must know! Shipfolk are dying up there, and you’re sposed to save ’em. That’s what you’re for!’
The boy shook his head. ‘I am for knowledge, not war.’
The small cabin seemed to grow colder. Fin swallowed. ‘Can you not kill the Devouts with a glance? Can you not boil the blood in their veins? Destroy whole cities?’
‘No,’ said the boy, laying down the screwdriver.
The children looked at each other in dismay. ‘Then what’s the use of you, Cap’n?’ cried Petrel. ‘We killed Mister Smoke and Missus Slink to wake you, and now you can’t do anything. We killed ’em, and we shouldn’t’ve—’
‘Killed them?’ said the silver boy. His long fingers touched Missus Slink, slid into the wound Fin had made, twisted something, adjusted something else. Then he did the same to Mister Smoke.
On the table, the two rats raised their heads.
Petrel gasped. But when she scooped the rats up and hugged them, they said nothing. And when she asked, anxiously, ‘Are you all right, Mister Smoke? Missus Slink?’ they still said nothing, but sat silent in her grasp, as if they could no longer speak or think for themselves.
A single tear rolled down Petrel’s face.
‘Forget ’em,’ said Dolph. ‘We’ve wasted too much time already. Forget the captain, too. If he can’t fight, we can.’ She took a step, and yelped with pain.
‘Your ankle,’ said Fin. ‘You cannot walk—’ Dolph hissed at him. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll crawl all the way up to the afterdeck if I have to.’
‘Wait,’ said Petrel. With a visible effort she dragged her eyes away from the rats and stared at the silver boy. ‘We’ve gotta think.’
‘There’s no time to think,’ said the older girl. ‘We’re crew, ain’t we? We should be up there.’
But Petrel’s eyes were darting from side to side, as if she was trying to calculate something. ‘Knowledge,’ she muttered. ‘Does that mean you know what time it is, Cap’n? I’ve lost track, cos of being inside the Maw.’
Without hesitation, the boy said, ‘It is just past three bells of the morning watch.’
Petrel closed her eyes, and for a moment she looked more uncertain than Fin had ever seen her. But then her eyes sprang open again and she said, ‘We have to go now.’
