Icebreaker (14 page)

“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 expedition, 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?” said Mister Smoke. “Reckon you can do a bit of maneuverin'?

“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 farther 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 gray 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 mighty 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.

 

CHAPTER 14

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.

He frowned at Petrel. “How old are you, bratling?” he growled.

Petrel, who had no idea how old she was, merely shrugged. But she watched that plate with a hungry eye.

“She's twelve, Da,” said Squid. “You know that as well as I do.”

“She doesn't look twelve,” grumbled Krill. “She's too small, never been fed properly.”

And he thrust the plate at Petrel, who grabbed it and began to eat before he could change his mind.

Krill turned back to his daughter. “Try to get some water into the boy,” he said. He passed her the cup, then took a key from his pocket and held it between finger and thumb. “And keep this close. I wouldn't be surprised if she”—he nodded at Petrel—“tried to slit your throat and make a run for it, like her killer friend.”

Petrel stopped eating and narrowed her eyes at the Head Cook. She was beginning to suspect that all his gruffness was on the surface. There was none of the bone-deep nastiness that made Albie so dangerous.

I don't trust him all the same,
she thought. And she mumbled, through a mouthful of fish, “If I want to leave, nothing'll stop me.”

Krill reared back in mock surprise. “Scrawny
and
fierce,” he said, and suddenly Petrel could see the similarity between him and his daughter.

She ducked her head and kept eating, but her mind was following odd pathways. She didn't look up when Krill left, saying, “That boy utters another word, I want to know about it.” Or when Squid wrestled Fin's outdoor clothes off him, sponged his face and arms to bring his temperature down, and persuaded him to drink a little water.

Petrel was thinking about her own da, of whom she knew nothing, not even his name. She had thought about him many times before, but he had always seemed impossibly distant, like sunlight on a far-off berg, and she had never been able to imagine what he looked like.

Now she found herself wondering if he had been big and gruff like Krill.
Maybe Squid knew him,
she thought.
Maybe she'd tell me about him if I asked.

But then again, maybe she wouldn't. And besides, Petrel didn't
want
to ask. With a sniff, she put down the empty plate and went to help with the sponging.

That day was one of the strangest Petrel had ever known. Outside the cabin, the crew was scouring the ship for Fin, and that betrayal was only a word away.

But for the first time Petrel could remember, she was well fed, comfortable and warm, which made it hard to stay wary. She had to remind herself frequently that she must not trust the Head Cook and his daughter; that they could turn against her at any moment, and she must be ready to run when they did.

She worried at first that Squid mightn't let her out of the cabin. But instead of keeping a tight hold of the key, as Petrel would have done, the young woman hung it on a hook beside the sea chest.

First time Squid looked away, Petrel snatched the key off the hook and backed towards the door.

Without turning around, Squid said, “Make sure you shut the door behind you. We don't want anyone looking in.”

Which left Petrel with a dilemma. She wanted to leave, mostly to prove to herself that she could. But what if Fin disappeared while she was gone? What if Squid had another key and was just
waiting
for her to leave? What if this was the point of betrayal?