Something was haunting the Oyster.
It started as a whisper, seeping out of the bulkheads whenever the rattling in the pipes died down for a moment or two. “Albie’s lying … Albie’s lying…”
From Braid to Grease Alley it went, and back again, the same words over and over.
“Albie’s lying…”
It was more effective than any pipe message, and more puzzling. No one could tell where it came from or who it was. Some folk, listening carefully, swore that the voice belonged to First Officer Orca, which was a frightening thing, considering how long Orca had been dead.
Others said it was Dolph, Orca’s daughter. But that was impossible, because Dolph and a few others were still barricaded on the bridge and refusing to come out.
Soon the same conversation was springing up all over the ship.
“So if it’s not Orca and it’s not Dolph, who is it?”
“Must be a haunt.”
“Or maybe it’s the ship itself, growing a voice!”
No one speculated on the message itself—at least not out loud, not where one of Albie’s cronies might hear. But they all wondered what the whisper would say next. And before long, they had an answer.
“Albie’s lying,” said the whisper. “The cap’n’s alive, and so’s Krill.”
That set the crew abuzz! They’d heard more or less the same thing from the bridge, before Albie’s folk had started the constant rattling in the pipes. But this wasn’t just Dolph or Squid banging out a message. This was a haunt—or the ship itself! And while it was true that folk wanted strong leadership, they didn’t like being lied to, not one bit. In every corner of the Oyster, they started asking the questions that should have been asked two weeks ago.
An infuriated Albie tried to find the source of the whispers but was no more successful than anyone else. So he summoned most of his mutineers down to Grease Alley for new orders.
It was his first and only mistake, but it was enough. In Braid, a large group of young Officers took advantage of the situation to demand that First Officer Hump and Second Officer Weddell be released, along with the other ranking prisoners. And when the few remaining mutineers refused, the Officers overpowered them and threw them down the Commons ladderway with their jackets tied over their heads.
In Dufftown, the Cooks who had blockaded themselves in the galley gathered round the burners with hope in their eyes for the first time in days. And before ten minutes had passed, they’d rolled up their sleeves and agreed that if Krill truly was alive, they were going to do something about it.
Even in Grease Alley, which was the center of Albie’s power, folk began to question whether they wanted him running the whole ship, which is what would happen if they headed south without the captain or Krill.
“He’s the best possible Chief Engineer,” they whispered, looking over their shoulders to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. “But he’s a bit too quick with his fists to make a good cap’n.”
By this time, Albie and his mutineers were cracking heads as enthusiastically as they’d done in the old days. But they were too late. The whispers had done their damage.
And there was more to come. In the secret tunnels that ran throughout the ship, previously known only to Mister Smoke, Missus Slink and Petrel, Third Officer Dolph wiped the rust from her face, took a swig of water from a lidded cup and started whispering again.
“Alive … they’re alive … Petrel and Fin too … they’re all alive, north of here…”
* * *
The punishment hole was set in the middle of a courtyard, with a solid wooden cover on top of it and an iron grating beneath the cover. The guards raised the grating and pushed Sharkey down a set of narrow stone steps. The smell that rose to meet him was old and terrible.
“Hey, Initiate!” shouted one of the guards from the top of the steps. “Get up here. Thanks to your sister, you have escaped punishment.”
There was a scuffling sound from one corner, and Bran appeared, blinking in the light. His robes were crumpled and filthy, and his face was streaked with tears.
“Hurry up,” said the man. “And do not get into trouble again. I doubt Brother Thrawn will be so merciful a second time.”
Bran scrambled up the steps. The grating clanged shut, and the wooden cover was drawn over it. Total darkness descended.
Sharkey stood at the bottom of the steps, listening. He was used to confined spaces and darkness, and although the punishment hole was obviously meant to frighten him, it didn’t. Or at least, it didn’t make him any more afraid than he already was.
He heard the slow trickle of water and a skittering sound that made him think of small animals. And something else. A movement. A breath.
Poddy.
He couldn’t speak because of the gag, and his hands were still tied behind his back. But he managed to grunt.
“Sharkey, is that you?” came a whisper.
He grunted again, and next thing he knew, a familiar hand was pulling the gag away from his mouth. He drew the foul air into his lungs and whispered, “Poddy! You all right?”
“Aye, mostly.”
“Can you untie my hands?”
It took Poddy a while to get the knots undone, but Sharkey stood patiently while she fumbled at them. Except for the stink, he could almost imagine they were in the Claw, with the lights off and Cuttle napping under the chart table.
Sunkers weren’t much given to shows of emotion, but when the ropes fell from Sharkey’s wrists at last, he threw his arms around Poddy, and they hugged each other fiercely. Then they felt their way along the wall, running their hands over damp stones, until they came to a corner. The skittering sound grew louder.
“Careful,” said Poddy. “Don’t tread on the rats.”
“Rats?” said Sharkey. “Not Mister Smo—” He paused, realizing that his cousin wouldn’t know who he was talking about. “I mean—not Adm’ral Cray?”
“Nay, these ones don’t talk. Bran was scared of ’em at first, but he got used to ’em. Sharkey, what’s happening? Where’s the Claw? They told us you were dead, and we believed ’em until I talked to Adm’ral Cray.”
Sharkey let out a breath and began to tell Poddy everything that had happened since she’d been captured. He left out nothing except his own death sentence.
When he finished, Poddy hissed through her teeth. “I never thought Rain’d do something so nasty.”
“I reckon she did it to save Bran from a whipping,” said Sharkey.
“Still, she shouldn’t have. This is all her fault.”
The old Sharkey would have agreed with Poddy so he’d come out of it looking nice and shiny. The new one said, “Nay, Poddy. I mucked things up. I should’ve thought more carefully before I sent Mister—Adm’ral Cray with that message.”
The foul air moved as Poddy shook her head. “It gave us hope, knowing you were out there. And we need a bit of hope. ’Specially me, right now. With this—” For the first time, her voice wobbled. “With this whipping on its way.”
“You don’t want to be whipped, Pod? I can hardly believe it!”
The wobble turned to a snort of reluctant laughter.
“We’d best work out how we’re going to escape, then,” continued Sharkey. “I suppose you’ve tried that grate.”
“It’s bolted from above. Bran and I both tried it. He didn’t want to, not at first. He thought he deserved to be down here. But I talked to him, and after a bit he changed his mind.”
“What about the walls?”
“They’re solid all around. There’s a waste hole in the floor, right in the middle, but it’s too small to climb through.”
“Hmm,” said Sharkey, trying to sound as if he had a few ideas. But the only ideas he had were bad ones, about what was coming. Killed while escaping. He couldn’t tell Poddy about it—if she knew the guards were going to kill him, she’d try to stop them. And then she’d be killed too.
What would Petrel do?
“Tell you what,” he said. “Those guards’re gunna come back for me at some stage. Don’t know when, but old Thrawn wants to—to ask me some more questions, because he didn’t have time earlier. So when they come for me, I’m gunna kick up a fuss, and you’re gunna make a run for it.”
“Not without you.”
“Aye, without me. ’Cos, you see—” Sharkey was thinking on his feet, twisting things around, the way he had done so often in the past. But it wasn’t to make himself look good, not this time. “’Cos you see, it’s—it’s easier for me to escape if I know you’re away already. If I have to think about you, that’ll hold me back.”
Silence from Poddy. Then slowly she said, “I suppose that makes sense.”
“’Course it does, Pod. And once you’re out of here, head south—”
As best he could, he described the bay where Cuttle and Gilly were waiting with the Claw. With any luck, Missus Slink would’ve reached the Oyster and fixed the telegraph, in which case the ship might be there too. With a bit more luck, Petrel, Fin, Krill and the silver child would’ve escaped, and maybe even the rest of the Sunkers. And they’d all head south and meet up. All except Sharkey.
“You’ll join us, won’t you?” asked Poddy. “Soon as you can get away?”
“’Course I will. Keep your eyes open and you’ll see me skipping along behind you, glad to be getting back to the Undersea.” He yawned. “I’m a bit short of sleep, Pod. It’s still daylight out there, and I don’t reckon they’ll come for me till tonight sometime.”
And when they do, he thought, I’ll kick up such a fuss that Poddy’ll be out of here and away before they even notice she’s gone. And once that’s done—
But he didn’t want to think about what was going to happen after that. He wanted to think about the Claw, and the Undersea and maybe a couple of dolphins swimming past the porthole.
And freedom.
* * *
The Devouts weren’t taking any chances with their dangerous new prisoners. Once they’d marched the Sunkers back to the reeducation camp, they trussed Petrel, Fin, Krill and the captain to the whipping posts in the middle of the quarry and surrounded them with armed guards.
Petrel had tried to count the guards several times, but there were too many. A group of them was hammering away at something behind her, but the rest were watching her and her friends. If she so much as twitched, scores of eyes focused on her, glaring and suspicious, as if she were an army of warriors rather than one small, dusty girl.
It might have been funny if it weren’t so terrible.
Krill had regained consciousness some time ago, and he glared back at the guards with such ferocity that Petrel half expected to see smoke rising from them. Fin had retreated to somewhere deep inside himself, and the captain—the poor, broken captain—slumped in his ropes as if he would never move again.
He found his Song, thought Petrel, but it didn’t do him any good. And again she thought of that mysterious someone reaching out from the past and moving things around to suit themselves. Bet they didn’t expect things to end up like this.
She knew that Sharkey had been captured and that Rain had betrayed him. The guards had taken great pleasure in telling them so. She knew too that she and Krill and Fin were to be hanged tomorrow morning, right here in the quarry, and that the captain was to be burned on the hottest fire possible, to destroy the poison miasma.
She licked her parched lips and tried to think, but hunger, thirst and the fear of what was coming made it almost impossible.
Got to get us out of here.
As darkness fell, the Devouts fetched dozens of flaming torches and set them in a ring around the whipping posts, so that the prisoners were lit almost as brightly as day. There were shadows, of course, that danced and moved with the flickering of the flames, and the hammering continued behind Petrel’s back. But the rest of the guards still watched so keenly that she couldn’t even blink the quarry dust out of her eyes without attracting their attention.
Got to make ’em look away, she thought. Got to make ’em think I’m so useless there’s no reason to watch me anymore.
She knew how to do it. Up until a few months ago, it had been her only weapon against the crew that had rejected her. She hadn’t dared do it since then, because she’d been afraid of losing everything she’d gained.
But now there was nothing left to lose.
Slowly—infinitesimally slowly—she let her head droop. She thought of defeat and misery and loss. She hunched her shoulders and made her eyes blank and stupid.
It shouldn’t have worked. After all, some of the guards had heard her talk and seen her fight. They knew she wasn’t stupid.
But as Petrel’s face grew dull, the men nearest to her began to shuffle their feet as if they’d lost interest in her, as if Krill, Fin and the captain were the real threat, and Petrel was just someone who’d been swept up in the excitement. They’d still hang her, of course, but there was no reason to watch her so closely.
It wasn’t long before Krill caught on to what Petrel was doing, and turned his ferocious gaze upon her. “This is your fault, witless girl,” he hissed, just loud enough for the guards to hear. “If you had half a brain, we’d never have been caught. We should’ve known better than to let you tag along.”
His words shouldn’t have hurt—after all, he was pretending, just like Petrel. But they did hurt a little, and so did the sniggering from the guards. For a moment Petrel felt dreadfully alone—
She glanced sideways at Fin and saw his eye close in a barely perceptible wink. He HASN’T retreated inside himself, she realized. He’s pretending too!
That gave her courage. She wasn’t alone. She was with her friends, her fierce, clever friends.
She made her face stupider than ever. She didn’t have a plan. She didn’t even have much hope, not if she was being honest with herself. But she couldn’t just stand there and wait for the end.
And so, as the shadows from the torches flickered, and the guards turned their attention to Fin, Krill and the captain, Petrel began to work on the ropes that tied her wrists.