by Philip Reeve
Shen scratched his head. He remembered the charts he’d seen on board the Lucky Star. The North Pole was just a patch of bare paper so big and white it made him want to get a pencil out and draw something, anything, on it. “There isn’t any palace at the top of the world,” he said.
“There is if it’s a True Winter,” said Sika. “That’s where the Snowfather lives. And he grants the wish of the first adventurer to reach it.” She sighed. “Grandpa almost won it once, when he was not much older than me. Such stories he tells about that journey! And he’s waited and waited for True Winter to return ever since. He kept this sled and bred the best team of sled dogs in the north. But True Winter comes only once in a lifetime. The dogs got old and died, and Grandpa got old, too, and soon he’ll die. And now True Winter is here at last, and when you said dogs, I thought you meant big dogs; I thought Grandpa would be able to race after all, and I’d go with him to the North Pole and see the Snowfather. But these are just toy dogs.”
“No they’re not!” said Shen. “Just because they’re tiny, it doesn’t mean they’re not strong, and loyal, and brave. And I have leashes and little harnesses for all of them. I bet they could pull you and your grandpa all the way to the North Pole easily!”
Sika didn’t look as if she believed him, so he ran and got the sack of leashes and harnesses, which was still lying on the ice where the Lucky Star had gone down. He started shoving pugs into harnesses and clipping the leashes to the harnesses and knotting the other ends to Sika’s sled. (He was very good at knots, having grown up on a ship.)
The pugs caught his excitement and started to yip and yap and dance around, straining and pulling at the heavy thing he’d hitched them to.
Ten pugs couldn’t shift the sled at all. Twenty couldn’t. Even when thirty were attached, it didn’t budge, and Sika said, “See? They just aren’t sled dogs. This is hopeless.”
But when forty dogs were tied on, the big sled stirred and slid a few inches over the ice. When fifty were attached, it started to gather speed. When the sixty-sixth was in position, Sika shouted, “Mush, doggies! Mush!” and it shot away as speedily as any normal, husky-powered sled. It whizzed over the frozen waves, throwing up fans of powdered ice each time it turned. The pugs were getting used to running on ice. They kept tumbling over each other and getting their leashes tangled at first, but they soon sorted themselves out, and by the time Sika had circled the pile of sweaters six times, the sled was running straight and true.
She grinned at Shen, her face all rosy with cold and happiness. “It must be the best sled ever! Can I really take your tiny dogs to the North Pole?”
Shen felt a bit unsure about that. He hadn’t meant to give her all the pugs. He was going to miss them. But Sika had saved them, and he didn’t want to make her cry again, so he said, “All right….”
“I can’t wait to tell Grandpa!” she said. And she took a spare leash and cracked it in the air above the pugs’ tiny heads like a whip. Two hundred sixty-four tiny paws pattered on the ice. Sixty-six little voices howled “AROOO!” and the sled set off, back toward the land and the Po of Ice.
Once they had made the sled shed into a kennel for the pugs, Shen followed Sika inside. It was cozy in the Po of Ice, warmed by the heat from a busy stove. A woman was heating milk. She had the same charcoal eyebrows as Sika and the same wide smile. “Sika!” she said. “You must be frozen! Did you find your dogs?”
“Yes, Mom!” said Sika.
“And this must be your shipwrecked friend,” said Sika’s mom. “Poor boy! Is there anyone we can contact for you?”
“Not really,” said Shen.
“Well then,” said Sika’s mother, “I will make a big breakfast for you both.”
Sika led him around behind the counter, into a back room, where a big carved bed stood. In the bed, beneath a mound of furs and quilts, lay the biggest man Shen had ever seen. He was so big that at first Shen wasn’t even sure he was a man; under all those coverings he looked like an old boat that had been brought ashore and turned upside down for winter. Then Shen saw the big gray bearded face resting on the pillows and realized that the rumbling he heard was snores.
“That’s Grandpa,” whispered Sika.
The old man’s face was gray with age, rugged as a mountain rock. Shen remembered Sika saying that her grandpa would soon die and wondered if he was going to do it now. But then beneath one bushy eyebrow, a bright eye opened and turned to stare at Shen.
“Grandpa, this is Shen,” Sika said. “He was shipwrecked, and he has dogs with him! We can enter the race!”
‘Ah,” said the old man. “So Sika has told you about the race?”
“A little,” said Shen.
“It did not always used to be a race,” said Grandpa in his deep, rumbly voice. “In the olden days, no one knew of the Snowfather or his igloo palace. Then, one True Winter, a brave girl named Ooka strapped on her skis and went exploring. Across Kraken Deep she went, but old Kraken, he was sleeping far beneath the ice and did not trouble her. All the way to the top of the world she went, and when she got there she found the old Snowfather waiting, and he granted her a wish.”
Just then, Sika’s mom granted Shen’s wish, by bringing him a mug of hot chocolate and some hot waffles with honey. Grandpa went on.
“Well, of course, Ooka’s story spread far and wide. One lifetime later, when another True Winter turned the sea to ice, all the brave young men of the north went racing off to see if they could get their wishes granted, too. ‘Oh no,’ said the Snowfather. ‘Do you know how hard it is to make wishes come true? Only the one who was first to reach me shall have their wish granted!’ And he sent the rest home, disappointed.
“Well, after that, each time True Winter dawned, there were all sorts of fights and rages, everyone trying to be the first to reach the Snowfather. ‘We can’t have this,’ he said, seeing the blood on the snow as young warriors fought each other to be first through the gates of his palace. ‘There must be rules! There must be fairness! You must all start together, and the best sled will win.’
“And that is why, ever since, all those who seek the Snowfather’s palace set out together, from Snowdovia. That is where I started from, the year I made the trip….”
The wind was rising outside. The thin hissing it made must have sounded to Grandpa like sled runners racing over snow. He closed his eyes and smiled, imagining his bed was a sled, carrying him north.
“Tell us more!” said Sika. “Tell us about Kraken Deep and the Lost Hope!”
Grandpa shook his head. “I don’t remember those stories anymore,” he said. “It was all so long ago. True Winter comes but once in a lifetime, and I have seen two, which means my lifetime must be over. I wish I could see the old Snowfather one more time, but I am too old now to make the journey. My time is nearly done.”
“Oh, Grandpa!” said Sika, and Shen thought that she was going to cry again. “Maybe we can take you! You’ve waited so long!”
“No, Sika,” he said. “But you should go.”
“Me?” said Sika.
“All on her own?” said Sika’s mother worriedly.
“I’ll come, too!” said Shen. After all, he thought, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do, now that the Lucky Star was wrecked and Captain Jeggings had abandoned him.
“Yes,” said Grandpa. “You should both go! You mustn’t miss a chance like this! You’re young and brave, and the carvings on my sled will keep away the trolls and snowspooks and other creatures that wander abroad in a True Winter. And when you see the Snowfather, say hello from me.”
“I’ll do better than that,” said Sika. “I’ll ask him to make you well again, and then you’ll remember all the stories and live to see a third True Winter, probably.”
“All that way, with only such little dogs to pull you?” said Sika’s mother doubtfully. But she had been listening to Grandpa’s stories of the Great Northern Race all her life, just like Sika. If she hadn’t had to stay and look after him, she w
ould have been jumping on that sled herself.
From outside there came a sound like wild applause. Fireworks were blooming above the frozen hills.
“That is the starting line, down at Snowdovia,” said Sika.
Her grandpa reached out and took Shen’s and Sika’s hands in his. “Good luck!” he whispered. “And now you must go! The race will begin soon!”
The town of Snowdovia was built in the same style as the Po of Ice, on stilted platforms along a fjord edge. But unlike the Po of Ice, it was full of life and bustle. Bunting and strings of lights festooned the houses. The people of the town lined the balconies outside their homes to watch as the adventurers who meant to race to the top of the world came sledding into their fjord.
From all over the north they came. True Winter had not arrived without warning. Not for people who knew what to look for. Not for people who had been eagerly waiting for the first flake of magical snow to fall. They had been preparing for weeks, and now that the ice had come, they were ready.
At the Limpetville Institute of Technology, Professor Shackleton Jones had known about the coming winter by the excited way the northern lights made his particle detectors ping. He was determined to reach the top of the world using the power of science. He and his robot companion, SNOBOT, swept into Snowdovia on a carbon-fiber sled so strong and lightweight that it was barely there at all.
On a lonely island not far from Snowdovia, Helga Hammerfest had learned of the big freeze by watching the flight of geese and the way the spiders spun their cobwebs. She had readied her sled and harnessed up her team—no dogs for Helga, just her two pet polar bears, Snowdrop and Slushpuppy. She was the local favorite, so she got an extra-big cheer when her snow bears came lumbering up to the starting line.
Sir Basil Sprout-Dumpling heard of the freeze from his butler, Sideplate, who had been keeping watch on the weather forecasts. Ten minutes later they were at the airport, loading Sir Basil’s sled and pedigree dog team aboard an airplane. Sir Basil’s father had been the first to reach the top of the world the last time True Winter came. He had met the Snowfather and had his wish granted, which was to be ridiculously rich. He had gone back to England with a fortune in rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, but Sir Basil had spent it all. “If we don’t beat these riffraff to the Pole, Sideplate,” he said as they drew up to the starting line, “I shall have to sell off the old stately home. I mean to win this race, even if I have to cheat like an absolute slimeball.”
“Yes, Sir Basil,” said Sideplate sadly, holding his bowler hat on tight and wishing he’d worn warmer underwear. “But if I may say so, Sir Basil, I do hope cheating won’t be necessary….”
Sir Basil wasn’t listening. “I say!” he cried. For the pink sled that had just pulled up next to him held none other than Mitzi von Primm, most glamorous of all the racers. How embarrassed her team of huskies looked, clipped like poodles and dyed pink to match Mitzi’s stylish racing outfit!
Those four were not the only entrants for the race. There were dozens of others: modern sleds with GPS and central heating, age-old sleds of wood and bone, a sled folded out of stiff paper by an origami master from Japan, and an inflatable sled advertising Poop-B-Gone pooper-scoopers. There was even a sled crewed by two women who were doing the race for charity, dressed in a zebra costume. It took quite a while to get them all sorted out and arranged along the starting line. The overexcited dogs woofed and yapped and howled and sniffed each other’s bottoms and started fights. The overexcited race marshals skated to and fro, checking that nobody was cheating and that no dog (or polar bear) had its nose over the line.
They had almost finished, and the Chief Marshal was just cleaning the snow out of her starting pistol and getting ready to fire it, when people standing near the fjord’s end began to shout, “Wait! Wait! Here comes another!” A ripple of applause spread along the fjord side as the late arrival headed for the starting line.
“Oh my! That looks like young Sika, in her grandpa’s old sled,” said the Chief Marshal, scraping away the ice that had formed on the lenses of her binoculars. “But what are those little things pulling it?”
“They look like sixty-six pugs,” said her assistant.
“Pugs?” said the Chief Marshal.
“Pugs?” said the other racers, turning to stare as Sika steered the old sled into a gap between Sir Basil’s and Mitzi von Primm’s and Shen reined in the eager little dogs.
“I say!” complained Sir Basil as the marshals came skating over to take the names of the new arrivals. “They’ve got sixty-six dogs! That’s against all the rules!”
“And it looks like those dogs are wearing woolly sweaters,” agreed Mitzi. “I’m not sure that’s allowed.”
But Helga Hammerfest, whose sled was on the other side of Mitzi’s, said, “Well, dear, your huskies are dyed pink and have ribbons in their fur. I don’t think you’ll find that mentioned in the rule book, either.”
(Mitzi blushed, and her poor pink dogs all hung their heads in shame.)
“And Shackleton Jones’s sled is pulled by robot dogs!” Helga pointed out.
“These are Woof-O-Tron 2000s. They’re my very latest invention,” said Shackleton Jones proudly.
“And those sixty-six little dogs are each about a tenth of the size of one of yours, Sir Basil,” Helga went on. “And you’ve got eight, so you’ve got more dog power than these youngsters. What’s the matter? Afraid that smart sled of yours won’t be as fast as their antique?”
“Of course not!” said Sir Basil, but he didn’t say it very loudly, because Helga was half as tall as him and twice as wide, and he didn’t like the idea of getting into an argument with her. (Also, her polar bears kept giving him very nasty looks.)
So the Chief Marshal wrote Shen’s and Sika’s names on her clipboard and stepped into the little balloon that was waiting on the fjord side to carry her up above the starting line.
Shen and Sika had left the Po of Ice in a terrible hurry, having quickly packed the sled with supplies for themselves and the pugs. All the way to Snowdovia they had been worrying that they would be too late. Now Sika turned to Shen and beamed. “We did it!”
Shen was not so sure. They were in the race, but that was only the beginning. How could they hope to win it, when the other sleds looked so speedy and the other dogs so big and strong? Still, it would be something just to start. The sound of all the dogs filled the frosty air and made him eager to be off. He waved at Helga and said, “Thank you, sir!”
“She’s a lady!” hissed Sika.
“Is she?” asked Shen.
“Yes, I am,” said Helga Hammerfest. “But don’t worry. I am always getting mistaken for a man, on account of my size, and also beard. Most ladies don’t care for beards, but I find that mine keeps my chin warm in the frozen north. You should try growing yours, Miss Mitzi.”
Mitzi von Primm shuddered. “My fur-lined racing coat is all I need to keep me warm,” she said. “It’s by a very good designer, you know—”
The Chief Marshal interrupted, drifting above them in her balloon and shouting through a huge megaphone. Her words boomed across the ice, and broken bits of them came bouncing back from the frozen hillsides.
“Welcome to the Great Northern Race! Now, you all know the course! North, through the Night Forest, then over Kraken Deep, and then by whatever route you want to the palace at the top of the world. Good luck! Give our regards to the Snowfather! And may the best sled win!”
Then she fired her starting pistol. The racers cracked their whips and hollered at their dogs, and the sleds set off, rushing across the ice.
There were some disasters right away, which was only to be expected with so many sleds all starting out together. Some tangled in each other’s runners. Some of the dog packs stopped running and started fighting. A speedy Russian sled crashed nose first into a hole that opened suddenly in the ice. (Sir Basil chuckled and tossed away a can of antifreeze.)
A small avalanche, triggered by all the noise, came
rushing down the fjord side and crumpled the origami sled before it had gone ten yards.
The inflatable sled popped when one of the dogs pulling the sled behind it mistook it for a huge runaway sausage and took a bite.
And three sleds were knocked over when the Chief Marshal’s balloon fell on top of them; she had accidentally punctured it when she fired the starting pistol.
But the others were away. Shackleton Jones was in the lead, with Sir Basil close behind, until Mitzi von Primm took a daring-shortcut between two ragged rocks and overtook them both. Helgas polar bears galloped lazily along, not bothering to go too fast yet. And right at the back, pulled by their sixty-six panting pugs, came Shen and Sika.
“It’s no good!” shouted Shen, clinging on tight as they left the smooth ice of the fjord and started bounding and bouncing over snowy ground. “They’ll be at the top of the world long before us!”
“Maybe not,” said Sika. “It’s not just about being fast. It’s about luck! It will take at least a week to reach the North Pole. All sorts of things will happen on the way! What will you wish for if you get there first? What’s your heart’s desire, Shen?”
“I don’t know,” said Shen. He had been thinking about it a lot as the sled whisked along. He supposed he ought to wish for a family. He had never had one of his own, except for Bo and Mungbean and Captain Jeggings, who didn’t really count. But he didn’t want a magic family, just an ordinary one. So he said, “I’m still thinking about it.”
