As dawn broke, twelve-year-old Petrel leaned against the rail of the ancient icebreaker Oyster, staring into the distance. Somewhere over there, beyond the horizon, was the country of West Norn.
“Will there be penguins, Missus Slink?” she murmured.
“Probably not,” said the large gray rat perched on her shoulder. A tattered green neck ribbon tickled Petrel’s ear. “But if my memory serves me correctly, there will be dogs and cats. And perhaps bears.”
“Bears is farther north,” said Mister Smoke, from Petrel’s other shoulder. “Don’t you worry about bears, shipmate. There’s worse things here than bears.”
“You mean the Devouts?” asked Petrel.
“Don’t frighten the girl, Smoke,” said Missus Slink.
“I’m not frightened,” said Petrel quickly. But she was.
For the last three hundred years, the Oyster had kept its course at the farthest end of the earth. Its decks were rusty, its hull was battered, and its crew had broken down into warring tribes and forgotten why they were there. All that had remained of their original mission was the myth of the Sleeping Captain and the belief that the rest of the world was mad and therefore best avoided.
But the Devouts, fanatical descendants of the original Anti-Machinists, had traced the Oyster to the southern ice and sent an expedition to destroy the ship and everyone on board. Thanks to Petrel, they had failed, and the Sleeping Captain had woken up at last.
The Devouts thought the Oyster’s captain was a demon. But really he was a mechanical boy with a silver face and a mind full of wonders. He knew sea charts, star maps and thousands of years of human history. He could calculate times and distances while Petrel was still trying to figure out the question, and he could mend or make machines and lectrics of every kind. On his orders, the Oyster had left its icy hideaway and headed north.
“We are going to bring knowledge back to the world,” he had said.
The voyage had taken more than twelve weeks, with several engine breakdowns that had tested even the captain. But now Petrel was about to set foot on land for only the second time in her life.
She heard a rattling in the pipes behind her and turned to listen. It was a message in general ship code. SHORE PARTY PREPARE TO BOARD THE MAW. SIGNED, FIRST OFFICER HUMP.
With the rats clinging to her shoulders, Petrel slipped through the nearest hatch and onto the Commons ladderway, which took her from Braid all the way down to Grease Alley. She ran past the batteries, which were fed by the Oyster’s wind turbines, and past the digester that took all the ship’s waste and turned it into fuel.
And there was the rest of the shore party, making their way towards the Maw.
“Here she is!” boomed Head Cook Krill, in a voice that was used to shouting over the constant rattle of pots and pans. “We thought you must’ve changed your mind, bratling.”
“Not likely!” said Petrel, putting on a bold front. “Don’t you try leaving me behind, Krill.”
“We would not go without you,” said the captain in his sweet, serious voice. “I knew you would come.”
Fin just smiled, his fair hair falling over his eyes, and handed her a woven seaweed bag.
“Ta,” said Petrel, and she smiled back at him, though her heart was beating too fast, and her mouth was dry at the thought of what lay ahead.
The Maw was an enormous fish-shaped vessel set to watch over the Oyster by its long-ago inventor. It traveled underwater, and the only way onto it was through the bottommost part of the ship. As the small party climbed through the double hatch, Chief Engineer Albie was giving last-minute instructions to his son, Skua.
“No mucking around, boy. This is a big responsibility, taking the cap’n and his friends ashore.” In the dim light, Albie’s eyes were unreadable, but Petrel thought she saw a flash of white teeth through his beard. “You set ’em down nice and gently.”
It wasn’t at all like Albie to be so thoughtful. By nature, he was a cunning, evil-tempered man, who until recently had made Petrel’s life a torment. But Petrel was so excited and nervous that she didn’t think much of it. Not until later, and by then the harm was already done.
“Aye, Da,” said Skua.
“And come straight back when you’ve dropped ’em. You hear me?”
“Aye, Da. Watch your fingers, Da!”
There was a clang as the double hatch was clamped shut, and a moment later the Maw’s engines roared to life and the interlocking plates of its hull began to move.
Thanks to Albie’s instructions, their passage towards land was smooth and uneventful. Skua brought them right up close to the headland, where the drop-off was steep, and they jumped onto the rocks without getting wet past their knees.
“I’ll be back at noon,” said Skua as he stood in the mouth of the Maw, tugging at his sparse red whiskers. “Watch out for trouble, Cap’n. And the rest of you!”
His expression was suitably serious, but it seemed to Petrel that as he stepped back into the shadows, it turned into something else. A smirk, maybe. Mind you, that was normal for Skua, who smirked at everything, and once again she thought nothing of it. A moment later, the Maw’s huge mouth closed, and the monstrous fish dived below the surface.
Petrel felt a tremor run right through her. We’re on land! She took a cautious step forward, and the ground seemed to sway under her feet.
“Mister Smoke,” she hissed. “The ground’s moving!”
“Nah,” said the old rat. “It’s because you’ve been on the Oyster for so long, shipmate. It’ll stop soon.”
Fin had been staring at the surrounding countryside with uncertain pride. Now he turned to Petrel and said, “This is West Norn. What do you think?”
The landscape stretched out in front of them, muddy and inhospitable. There were patches of snow on the ground, and the air was cold, though not nearly as cold as Petrel was used to. A few straggly trees were scattered here and there, with a bird or two huddled on their branches, but there was no other sign of life.
Petrel would’ve liked it better if there’d been a good, solid deck under her feet, and the familiar rumble of an engine. But she didn’t want to hurt Fin’s feelings, so all she said was, “It’s big, ain’t it. Reckon you could fit the Oyster in its pocket, and it wouldn’t even notice.”
Behind her, Krill said, “What now, Cap’n? We head for the first village?”
The captain pushed back his sealskin hood and nodded. “Once we have introduced ourselves, we will explain the workings of water pumps and other simple machines that will make their lives easier. We will find out what they want most, and go back to the ship for supplies and equipment.” He paused, his beautiful face gleaming in the early-morning light. “Of course, I will ask them about the Song too.”
Krill scratched his chin until the bones knotted into his beard rattled. “Now, this is where you’ve lost me, Cap’n. I still don’t understand this stuff about a song.”
“There is nothing mysterious about it,” said the captain. “Serran Coe, the man who made me, must have programmed it into my circuits. As soon as we crossed the equator, I became aware of its importance.”
“But you don’t know why it’s important?”
“I know that it will help us bring knowledge back to the people. I know that I will recognize it when I hear it—the Song and the Singer. If I do not know more than that, it must be because my programming has been deliberately limited, in case I am captured.”
He pointed due west. “Three hundred years ago, there was a prosperous village in that direction. We will start there.”
* * *
Everything Petrel saw that morning was strange and unsettling. She was glad of Mister Smoke and Missus Slink, riding on her shoulders, and of Fin, who walked beside her, naming the objects she pointed to.
“That is a fir tree,” he said. “It does not lose its leaves in winter, like the other trees. That is an abandoned cottage.”
Petrel clutched the seaweed bag, which contained dried fish in case they got hungry, and a telegraph device that the captain had built so they could talk to the ship. “Folk used to live in it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to ’em?”
“I do not know. They probably got sick and died.”
The mud slowed them down, and the village they were heading for seemed to get no closer. But at last Fin nudged Petrel and said, “That is a tabby cat.”
Mister Smoke’s whiskers brushed Petrel’s cheek. “You sure it’s a cat, shipmate? Looks more like a parcel o’ bones to me. I can see its ribs from ’ere.”
My ribs were like that not so long ago, thought Petrel, and she took a scrap of dried fish from her bag and tossed it to the cat.
“Captain! Krill!” called Fin. “If there is a cat, the village is probably close by. Beyond that row of bare trees, perhaps. But we should be careful. There might be Devouts.”
The captain nodded and waited for them to catch up. “That position accords with my knowledge. Mister Smoke, will you go ahead and see if there is danger?”
“Aye, Cap’n,” said the rat, and he leaped down from Petrel’s shoulder and scampered away.
“D’you really think there might be Devouts here, lad?” Krill asked Fin. “We’re a good hundred miles or more from their Citadel.”
“They have informers everywhere,” said Fin. “And there are always rumors that someone has found an old book or unearthed a machine from the time before the Great Cleansing. The Devouts travel the countryside, trying to catch them.”
Petrel listened to this exchange carefully. Fin knew all about the Devouts. He used to be one of their Initiates and had traveled to the southern ice with his fellows to destroy the Oyster and her crew. But Petrel, not knowing who he was, had befriended him, and bit by bit Fin had changed.
Now he’s one of us, thought Petrel. And we’re going to find his mam.
Her heart swelled at the thought. She knew that the main purpose of the Oyster’s voyage north was to bring knowledge back to a world that had sunk deep into ignorance and superstition. But as far as she was concerned, the search for Fin’s mam, who had given him to the Devouts when he was three years old to save him from starvation, was just as important.
Mister Smoke returned with mud on his fur, and his silver eyes shining. “No sign of Devouts, shipmates. Village is quiet as a biscuit.”
Petrel looked towards the trees, feeling nervous all over again. “But what about the informers?”
“The Devouts who attacked us down south know we weren’t beaten,” said Krill. “I reckon they could guess we might come after ’em. And what with all that engine trouble we had on the way, I wouldn’t be surprised if they passed us and got here first. So we’re not giving up too many secrets by showing ourselves to a few villagers, informers or not.” He cracked his knuckles thoughtfully. “All the same, it won’t hurt to take it slowly. How about I go in by myself, chat to a few folk, see what’s—”
But the captain was already striding towards the village.
“Wait!” cried Krill. “Cap’n! Wait for us!”
In the end, they entered the village in a tight group, with the captain’s silver face hidden under his hood. For her part, Petrel was glad they were sticking together—and not just because of her fear of the Devouts.
For most of her life, she had survived by pretending to be witless. Shipfolk had called her Nothing Girl and believed that she couldn’t talk. Then the Devouts had attacked, and Petrel had spoken up at last, to save the Oyster.
Since then, she had grown used to speaking her mind, to proving over and over again (to herself as much as anyone else) that she was not Nothing. But that was on the ship, where everything was as familiar and comforting as her own two hands.
This was different. This was land, and these villagers were strangers. She already felt out of place. What if they take one look at me and decide I’m not worth talking to?
To take her mind off such an ugly possibility, she whispered to Fin, “Wouldn’t it be good if your mam was right here, in the first place we stopped?”
“She will not be,” said Fin. “Look! There are the cottages!”
“They’re small,” said Petrel.
“And dirty!” Fin sounded shocked. “I knew people’s lives were hard, but I had forgotten—”
He broke off, and they all stared in dismay at the little settlement. The cottages were made of earth and reeds, with more reeds for the roofs. Most of them leaned one way or the other, and the ones that didn’t lean, slumped in the middle as if they could no longer be bothered standing upright. The snow between them had turned to sludge, and in some places it was hard to tell where the houses ended and the muddy ground began.
“Is this the place you were thinking of, Cap’n?” murmured Krill. “It don’t look prosperous to me!”
Petrel thought she saw movement, but when she jerked around, there was just a scrap of filthy curtain trembling over a glassless window. “Where’s all the people?” she whispered.
“Watchin’ us,” said Mister Smoke, from her right shoulder.
“Scared,” said Missus Slink, from her left.
They’re not the only ones, thought Petrel. Blizzards, I wish I was back on the ship!
“Come,” said the captain, and they waded through the mud to what seemed like the middle of the village. Krill looked relaxed except for the muscles in his neck, which were as taut as stay wires. Fin eyed the mean little cottages with a mixture of fascination and disgust.
They saw no one.
“Don’t reckon they want to talk to us,” whispered Petrel. “We might as well go—” Her whisper turned to a yelp as a rock flew out of nowhere and hit her on the leg.
Her instinct, honed by years of survival, told her to run for her life. But Fin grabbed her hand, and the captain stepped forward and cried, “We do not mean you any harm!”
A whisper came from one of the cottages. “Go away!” A man, from the sound of it, not wanting to be heard by his fellow villagers.
“We wish to help you,” cried the captain. “We will teach you how to build a water pump so you do not have to carry—”
Another rock splashed into the mud by his foot. “Scat, the lot of yez!”
Somewhere a baby started to wail and then was instantly silenced. The air was sour with fear.
Petrel swallowed. More than anything else, she wanted to be back on the ship. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
But the captain did not move. He raised his voice again. “We are also searching for the Song—”
“Scat!” hissed the man again.
At which Fin suddenly lost his temper. “Is that all you can say?” he shouted. “You ignorant peasant!”
“Shhh!” said Krill.
But Fin wouldn’t be silenced. “We came here to help you, and you will not even—”
A woman’s voice interrupted him. “Our beloved leaders, the Devouts, are on their way.” Unlike the man, she spoke loudly and carefully, as if she had tested each word beforehand to see how it would sound. “They will be here shortly after midday. They are always interested in travelers; you must wait and speak to them.”
That stopped Fin in his tracks. “Let’s go!” urged Petrel again. And this time the captain listened to her.
“D’you reckon they’ll tell the Devouts about us?” she asked when they at last reached the headland. She felt horribly exposed standing there in the open, with the hostile land at her back.
“’Course they will,” said Krill. “Didn’t you hear what the woman said? She was warning us, which was right kind of her. Especially after the way a certain person spoke to ’em.”
Fin reddened. “I—I did not mean to shout. But they are ignorant. That is the truth.”
“They’re scared,” said Krill severely, “and with good reason, from the sound of it. And if they’re ignorant as well, who made ’em that way, hmm? The Devouts, that’s who. Seems to me you’re in no position to go around shouting insults at folk, lad.”
Fin was a proud boy, and Petrel knew that apologies did not come easily to him. But he swallowed and said, “You are right. I am—sorry.”
Krill glared at him for a moment longer, then softened. “Ah, you’re not doing too badly, considering where you came from.”
“It is not long till noon,” said the captain. “By the time the Devouts arrive, we will be gone.” He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the village. “But I wish the people had liked us more. How are we to help them if they will not talk to us? How are we to find the Song?”
“Look at it this way, Cap’n,” said Krill. “We mightn’t have got any further with the Song or the water pumps, but those poor folk told us more by their silence than they could’ve done with a thousand words. We’ve got a huge task ahead of us.”
That stopped the conversation dead, and they waited for the Maw in silence, staring out over the water. Petrel kicked at a rock, wishing Skua would hurry up and take her back to the ship, where she belonged.
Noon came and went.
“D’you think he’s forgotten us?” asked Petrel after a while. She shaded her eyes with her hand. “Can you see any sign of him, Mister Smoke? Look, over there, is the water moving?”
“That’s the tide, shipmate,” said the rat. “It’s on the turn.”
Petrel made herself wait another few minutes, then said, “He should be here by now. We’d best remind him.” She took the telegraph device from her bag. “How does this thing work, Cap’n?”
“It is quite simple,” said the captain, sounding pleased that she had asked. “I took a spark gap transmitter and changed the—”
“Sorry, Cap’n, I’m sure that’s really interesting, but it’s not what I meant. How do I use it?”
“Oh,” said the captain. “It is like banging on the pipes. You tap the key, and it sends that same tapping to the device on the bridge.”
“Dolph’ll be on duty by now,” said Krill. “Ask her what’s happening.”
But before Petrel could begin, the telegraph key began to move by itself, clicking out a message in general ship code.
At first Petrel thought it must be a joke. She looked at Krill, and he was obviously thinking the same thing. But then his smile died. Because Third Officer Dolph would never joke about something as serious as—
“Mutiny!” whispered Petrel. The word tasted so foul in her mouth that she could hardly continue. But Fin didn’t understand general ship code, not when it was rattled out fast, so she had to translate the whole message, stumbling over the dreadful meaning of it.
“Albie’s locked the First and Second Officers in their cabins and taken over the ship!”
“What?” said Fin.
“He told everyone that—that Skua came to fetch us—but we were dead—murdered on the rocks and—and the cap’n smashed to smithereens!”
“But that is not true!” said the captain. “I am not smashed. Why would he say it if it is not true?”
The tapping continued. Petrel felt sick. “Albie’s saying we should never have left the ice in the first place, and—and he’s demanding that the Oyster go south again!”
Krill roared like a wounded sea lion. But the captain said, “Why would he do that? It is not logical.”
Petrel thought of Albie’s uncharacteristic helpfulness and Skua’s smirk. She thought of all she knew about the Chief Engineer, from a lifetime of hiding from him. “Reckon he prefers the way things used to be on the Oyster, Cap’n,” she whispered. “With the payback and the treachery and everyone being scared of him. Since you woke up, he’s had to take orders, and he’s not an order-taking sort of man.” She stared blindly at the telegraph. “I knew he wasn’t to be trusted. I did! I should’ve seen this coming!”
Small paws patted her shoulder. “So should we all,” said Missus Slink. “But we didn’t—”
“Hush, there is more!” said Fin, as the telegraph began to click again. “What is it saying?”
Petrel listened. The thought of the Oyster sailing south without them filled her with such horror that it was hard to concentrate. But the next bit of news was not quite so bad. “Dolph and Squid and a few others have—have barricaded themselves—on the bridge. They’ve got a bit of food and water—which means—which means Albie can’t go south! Not yet, anyway—’cos they control the steering—”
The tapping stopped abruptly. Petrel shook the device, but there was no further sound from it. Quickly, she sent a return message, begging Dolph not to go south without them—please not to leave without them! But there was no reply.
“Cap’n,” she said, thrusting the device into his hands, “it ain’t working! I think your spark thing’s broken!”
The captain inspected the device, then shook his head. “There is nothing wrong with it. The fault must lie at the other end, on the Oyster. A loose wire, that is all it would take.”
“So, did Dolph get my message?” asked Petrel.
“Probably not,” replied the captain.
Petrel stared at her companions, and they stared back. Krill looked as if he were going to explode. Fin’s face was deathly white. Even the captain seemed dumbfounded.
“Then we’re stranded,” whispered Petrel. And suddenly the countryside around her looked more hostile than ever. “We’re stranded, and the Devouts are coming.”