Icebreaker (22 page)

Petrel stared at them in astonishment, and Dolph glowered. But Fin shrank back, feeling as if he were three years old again, and trapped in the punishment hole.

“Don't fret, shipmate,” said the imp, and he let out a piercing whistle, far too loud for his small frame, that calmed the rats down a little and kept them away from Fin's feet.

“How can these”—Fin gulped, trying to control his loathing—“these creatures help us?”

“Don't know,” said Petrel. “But I reckon we've got a chance now! Quick, jump around. Stamp your feet. We've got to warm up.”

Fin jumped up and down. But Dolph watched the rope hungrily, and when it slithered up into the fog, like a broken promise, she turned on Petrel.

“That was our last hope, rat-girl. You should've kept it here.”

“You wait,” said Petrel, who obviously trusted the imp she called Mister Smoke. “You be patient.”

Fin had to force himself to keep moving. He was afraid that if something didn't happen soon he would lie down on the ice and fall asleep, and nothing would wake him. Not even the rats. Not even Petrel.

But then Mister Smoke said, “'Ere we go.” And down the side of the ship, dangling from the end of the rope, came a sled made of driftwood and whalebone, with more rats clinging to every part of it and tumbling down the rope behind it.

Whatever Petrel had been hoping for, it wasn't this. Fin could hear the disappointment in her voice. “What's the use of a hunting sled, Mister Smoke? Where can it take us? To more ice? Who'll pull it? Us? We're having enough trouble standing upright. Besides, we don't want to go anywhere 'cept the ship. We gotta wake the sleeping captain.”

“Don't you go gettin' ahead of yourself, shipmate,” said Mister Smoke.

He whistled again. The sled dropped onto the ice, its whalebone struts rattling, and Dolph pounced on the rugs that were strapped to it. She took three of them, and Petrel and Fin took the rest and wrapped themselves up until only their eyes were visible.

Meanwhile, the rats were swarming over the end of the sled, where the long traces joined the whalebone. These traces looked as if something had chewed at them with sharp teeth, leaving hundreds of holes, each one just big enough for a rat or two to poke their heads through and take the weight of the sled on their chests.

“On ya hop, shipmate,” said Mister Smoke.

As Fin watched in confusion, Petrel mounted the sled, saying, “Where's Missus Slink?”

“She ain't comin',” replied the imp.

The rope spiraled upward again, and this time it did not reappear.

“Where are we going?” asked Fin, who had not moved. “Where are you taking us?”

Mister Smoke replied with another question. “'Oo's crew are you on, shipmate?”

Fin swallowed. His mission was a failure and his old life was gone. He was not yet sure how he felt about it. “Petrel's,” he said.

“Then you'd better climb up next to 'er, or you'll be left on the ice, and we won't be comin' back for you.”

Dolph had been listening to all this with a blank face. Now she too moved towards the sled. Immediately, a thousand rats swung around in their traces to bar her way.

“Rat-girl,” said Dolph with an uncertain sneer. “Tell your
kin
to move.”

“It's not Petrel who orders 'em,” said Mister Smoke. “It's me.” He turned to Petrel. “You want to take 'er with us, shipmate? You want to save 'er life?”

The breath hissed between Petrel's teeth. “No, I don't, Mister Smoke! She was gunna leave
me
on the ice, without thinking twice about it!”

Dolph looked away. “I wouldn't want to come with you and your stupid rats anyway,” she muttered. “I'd rather die by Mam's ship.”

It was clearly bravado. Petrel laughed. “Remember the tar buckets? This is payback, Dolph!”

The imp made a small sound. Petrel glanced at him, and her laugh faltered.

Mister Smoke's head was tipped to one side, and his eyes glittered. He was the only creature on the ice without a cloud of breath around his nose, but it struck Fin that there was something very real about him. Something very
human.

“What?” said Petrel.

“Nothin',” said the imp.

“I'm not taking her!” said Petrel.

“I never said a word, shipmate.”

Petrel scowled at him. “I got good reason to leave her here, Mister Smoke. It's payback. It's the way of the ship.”

“So it is. And it's been goin' on for generations. Tribe against tribe, windin' down through the years. Your own mam and da are dead because of it.”

That hit home. Petrel winced and said, “Stop it, Mister Smoke! Stop trying to make me do something I don't want to do!”

The imp said nothing. But his previous words still hung in the cold night air, and Fin could see that Petrel was moved by them, despite herself.

She glared at Dolph through ice-rimmed lashes. Then she said, “I spose—”

Dolph hunched her shoulders, expecting the worst.

Petrel sighed. “I
spose
she can come with us.”

Mister Smoke nodded approval. Dolph flopped onto the sled, angrier than ever. “Shove over,” she muttered.

Fin squashed closer to Petrel. Mister Smoke climbed up behind them, his leg dragging, and let out one of his piercing whistles.

The rats began to move.

Each rat was only small, but there were so many of them that the sled immediately jerked forward, sliding over the ice in fits and starts. Fin, Petrel and Dolph clung to the whalebone struts.

Mister Smoke whistled again, and the rats fell into a smooth gallop, their frosted backs bobbing up and down as they raced squeaking across the ice. Fin looked over his shoulder. The fog had lifted without him noticing, and the
Oyster
loomed up behind the sled like a vast fortress, dark and silent.

Nor'east of it, something moved. Fin stared. An army of men was tramping across the ice towards the
Oyster
! The moonlight glinted on axes and grappling hooks, and when the men saw the sled they shouted, and some of them broke away from their line and started after it.

The breath seemed to freeze in Fin's lungs. He knew that he should throw himself off the sled and warn Brother Thrawn that the demon still lived, but his body would not obey him.

Beside him, Petrel cried, “It's them! The men from the other ship! Mister Smoke, we have to go back. We have to warn the
Oyster.
We have to wake the sleeping captain!”

But Mister Smoke merely whistled, so that the rats picked up their pace and the men fell behind.

Dolph reached across Fin and grabbed Petrel's arm. “Make him turn back.
Make
him.”

“Please, Mister Smoke,” cried Petrel, “we can't just leave 'em!”

“Can't do anythin' useful back there, shipmate,” said the rat. He hopped onto Petrel's shoulder. “Go for'ard, that's what we 'ave to do.”

“But
where
? There's nowhere to go.”

“North,” said Mister Smoke. “That's where we're goin'. North.”

“Mad,” muttered Dolph, in a voice that trembled with fear and fury. “The creature's mad.” And she hunched down in her rugs and did not look back at the
Oyster
again.

Petrel gripped Fin's gloved hand. “North?” she whispered, her eyes enormous. “What's north? Nothing 'cept ice and sea, which is not a comforting thought! And what about the sleeping captain? We're sposed to
wake
him!”

Fin did not know what to say, so he said nothing. Mister Smoke crouched on Petrel's shoulder, his eyes fixed on the ice.

The rats galloped faster.

*   *   *

Petrel had always trusted Mister Smoke, and she did not want to stop now.
He knows what he's doing,
she told herself grimly.
It's just not clear to the rest of us yet.

The sled hit a patch of rough ice and she jolted against Fin. The runners swished. The rats squeaked as they ran. The bitter wind gnawed at the rugs, trying to find a way through.

“Mister Smoke,” said Petrel, peering into the darkness, “this ice is getting a bit thin. We'd best turn around.”

The old rat didn't answer. He hopped off her shoulder and hauled himself onto the front of the sled, his tattered ears pricked.

“Ice is getting
very
thin,” said Dolph. Like Petrel, she knew about ice. Everyone on the
Oyster
did, knew it in all its forms. And what they were traveling over now was too wet.

“Mister Smoke?” said Petrel, more urgently.

Mister Smoke whistled. But instead of turning, the rats surged forward, their paws sending up tiny spurts of melt water.

“What's the creature doing?” shouted Dolph.

“I don't know! Please, Mister Smoke!” cried Petrel.

Beside her, Fin gripped the seat of the sled. “Where is he taking us?”

“Wherever it is, we're not going to get there,” shouted Dolph. “Listen!”

The sound that Petrel heard was such a dreadful one that her heart almost stopped. She crawled forward to where the gray rat clung to the front of the sled. “Mister Smoke,” she cried. “The ice is cracking!”

Petrel's voice was cracking too, with fright. What did Mister Smoke think he was doing? He had promised to take them to the sleeping captain, at least she thought he had. She tried to remember what he had said, but the ominous sounds beneath her had driven everything else out of her mind.

She would have leaped off the sled, but it was going too fast. The rats squeaked to each other as they ran—
they
knew the danger. But Mister Smoke's whistles drove them on, and their steps did not falter. The sled hissed over the treacherous ice, and spray rose high on either side.

Petrel crawled back to Fin and Dolph, and the three of them clung to each other, all hatred forgotten. They heard a loud crack beneath them, and cried out. The sled jerked down, then up again. It slowed to one side and jolted back on track.

“Mister Smoke—” shouted Petrel.

But the desperate cry died in her throat. Ahead of them, the ice was splintering and cracking, as if the dreadful black waters of the southern icecap had grown sick of waiting and were rising up to meet them.

Rising … and rising … and the ice tumbling away on every side with a great roaring sound, like stars falling from the night sky …

And out of the midst of the roaring came teeth, each one bigger than a full-grown man, and jaws that opened … and opened … as the sled and its hapless passengers hurtled forward.

Petrel shook from head to toe. “The Maaaaaw!” she wailed.

Her cry echoed across the ice, in tandem with Mister Smoke's whistles. The rats plunged onward. The massive head rose higher.

Petrel screamed in fury and despair. Everything she had ever believed about Mister Smoke was suddenly wrong. He had betrayed her, had brought her and Fin and Dolph to their deaths.

Then there was no more time to think. With one last flurry of speed, the rats and the sled plunged between those terrible jaws.

And everything went dark.

 

CHAPTER 23

THE MAW

When Petrel woke up, she was sure she was dead. She was pleased that she had missed the painful part, where she had been crunched between the Maw's great teeth, but she was annoyed too. She didn't
want
to be dead. She wanted to be back on the
Oyster,
helping to drive that army of cruel, shouting men away from her home. She wanted to wake the sleeping captain. She wanted to ask Mister Smoke why he had betrayed her.

But there was no chance of any of that now. She wondered if there were ships in the afterlife, and fried toothies. And friends.

There were certainly no fried toothies in this part of it. All she could smell was salt water, with maybe a bit of oil mixed in.

Beside her, something stirred. “Fin?” she whispered. “That you?”

“Where are we?” mumbled Fin.

“Dead, I reckon.”

“What was that—that
monster
?”

“The Maw. It chewed us up and—” Petrel broke off. She was thinking a little more clearly now, and she didn't
feel
chewed up. She didn't feel dead either. She felt more or less the same as she always had, except for a few more bruises.

But if she wasn't dead, where was she? And where was Mister Smoke? And Dolph?

That last question was answered almost immediately. Petrel heard a groan from somewhere behind her, and twisted around. “Dolph?” she whispered.

Another groan. Then, “Blizzards! My ankle!”

Petrel crawled towards Dolph's voice. She had to feel her way past hundreds of rats, all of them sprawled on their stomachs in attitudes of exhaustion.
They
were certainly not dead. They squeaked at her as she passed, annoyed at being disturbed.

“Dolph, where are you?” whispered Petrel. Her hand bumped against something that was not a rat.

“Ow!” said Dolph. “Watch where you're going!”

“Is that your ankle?”

“It
was
,” snarled Dolph, “before you clomped all over it.”

“Sorry.”

“Where are we? Where's that stupid rat of yours brought us to?”

“Don't know. Wish there was some light.” Petrel held her hand up to her eyes, but the darkness was so absolute that her fingers were invisible.

“Hey, Fin,” she said. “You cold?”

“Not as cold as death,” said Fin, from just behind her.

“Me neither. Maybe the Maw spat us out again. Didn't like the taste.”

“Then we'd be back on the ice,” hissed Dolph, “or twenty fathoms under water, and too dead to make stupid comments. It can't have swallowed us after all.”