Sea. Sarah Driver

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      I gasp awake from nightmares of ship wreckers as first light strikes through the porthole. I’m frighted enough to reach out for Sparrow, but his chest still rises and falls when I put my hand on him and slowly my nightmares fade into the bed-warmth. It’s been two full moons since he had one of his shaking fits, and I’m always tensed for the next one.

      Sudden as lightning, bubbles of excitement pop and flutter in my belly. Da comes home today! Finally, he can teach me more about stars and tribe-tongues, and I can ask him again about what Ma liked to eat and how sweet she smelled.

      I hop onto my knees and swing open the porthole. Only one or two other masts jut into the sky. The squawks of razorbills and black-backed gulls fill my ears.

      I shake Sparrow’s shoulder. ‘We’re in port! We’re at the Western Wharves!’ He snuffles and rolls over, pulling the furs over his head. I leap from the bunk and fling on the first thing I can find that ent spattered with terrodyl blood. After pulling on my walrus-skin boots I fasten my fur cloak with a bone pin and fix Ma’s copper dragonfly brooch to my tunic. It’s the only thing I’ve got of hers, so I always wear it, to keep her spirit close to my heart.

      As soon as I step above decks my eyes are dazzle-hurt and my nose fills with the stinks of smoke, fish, sweat, grease and tar.

      Kids play amongst jumbled lengths of rigging and a group of Tribesmen struggle under the weight of the terrodyl corpse as they carry it towards the lowered plank, yelling whenever a drop of blood scalds them.

      No one greets me. A cold feeling settles in my gut. So they all think me a fool for shooting the beast?

      While I’m lost in thought, a heavy hand clamps down over my eyes. ‘Guess it, Mouse-Bones. A mouse should have the sharpest senses of all.’ A cool pod of something sweet is pressed beneath my nose. Bear must’ve been trading spices. At least he’s not being fierce with me.

      I breathe in deeply. ‘Vanilla?’

      Bear’s hand lifts from my eyes and he spins me round, a big grin lighting him up. ‘Dead right. And look what else I found for you – one of your favourites, I think?’ He pulls a small jar of amber goo from his pocket.

      ‘Honey!’ I stretch up to take the jar, twist off the lid and scoop out a sweet glob, sucking it off my finger. ‘Heart-thanks, Bear!’

      He beams, then shivers and wraps his arms around himself. ‘You know, ’tis early in the year for such a frost,’ he muses. ‘Where I was born, we fled from winter. Now, in the company of you northerners, I run further into her jaws.’

      ‘Aye.’ I pull my polar fox fur tighter about me. ‘You been up to Haggle’s Town? Did you pass by the Star Inn?’ I ask.

      ‘I’ve not yet left the dockside. Wanted to come back for you first, little lay-abed, even though I’m heart-keen to see my best friend.’ His dark eyes crinkle and dance when I crane my neck to look up at his face. ‘Shall we find your da?’

      ‘Yes! Let’s go!’

      Bear laughs and offers me his elbow. I loop my arm through his and we’re heading for the plank when Vole bustles towards us. ‘That’s your mess, young Mouse.’ She nods at the smashed crow’s nest and the splintered wood strewn across the deck.

      I feel the blood rush into my cheeks. ‘Ent my fault a pack of terrodyls chose to—’

      She holds up a finger. ‘Salvage what timber you can, help take in the sail for patching and sand down the boards – you’ll find fresh sharkskin in the carpenters’ cabin.’

      ‘Now, Vole,’ starts Bear, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear. ‘What’s the harm in letting young Mouse come ashore to—’

      ‘Don’t you Vole me,’ she snaps, batting his hand away. ‘I’ve a tough enough job keeping the little ones in line as it is, without you leading them astray.’

      I gaze across the port towards Haggle’s Town, where Da’s been lodging while he trades. My heart sinks like it’s been scuttled by a fire-arrow. ‘But I’m meant to be meeting Da at the Star Inn!’

      Vole’s blue eyes narrow. ‘After your foolishness last night, if I were you I’d do as I was told.’ She swishes away, all skirts and ink-black hair. ‘Ermine! Squirrel! Little Marten! Stop playing tag and help with the work!’

      I chew my lip to keep from hurling insults after her, cos I’m already in enough trouble.

      Bear sweeps a bow at her turned back, merriment in his eyes. Then he gifts me a wink. ‘You’d better play along with the rules, Mouse-Bones.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Ah, just for the time being. Some full-growns have forgotten how to loosen up! And, in heart-truth, trouble simmers in many a port, though the war was said to end when Captain Wren were small. You’re safest here.’

      He plods across the plank and onto the craggy scrubland. I watch him pass into the shadow of towering evergreens and disappear between the lopsided wooden houses of Haggle’s Town.

      ‘Mouse!’ calls Vole.

      With a snarl I stamp over to the mess and start separating the pieces of wood that’re good enough to be used for repairs. Once I’ve finished my hands are full of splinters. For a heartbeat the pain helps take my mind off waiting for Da. What I wouldn’t give for a breakfast of fat cinnamon rolls down at the Star while he tells me stories of his travels.

      I sneak a glance across the deck and make for the plank at a sprint, squeezing past Tribesmen carrying thin timbers onto the deck.

      ‘Them splinters wouldn’t hold up my drawers, let alone a flaming mast!’ Grandma yells from the prow. She spies me. ‘Mouse! What you about, girl?’

      I freeze. Vole catches up to me and grabs my arm. ‘Oh, no you don’t. Here.’ She shoves a broom into my hands.

      I curse. ‘You can stop spying on me now, I’ll do it! Though if you like I could wrench a few of them bad teeth out for you. They’re turning proper rotten.’ I push past her on my way back to the deck.

      ‘Don’t you give my prentice grief, child!’ booms Grandma. ‘If you don’t want to help on deck you can get yourself to the kitchens and scrub the terrodyl blood out of Pip’s cauldrons.’

      ‘All right, all right! Everyone, becalm your sails, I’m doing it!’

      As I work, I notice the eerie silence of the harbour. Why ent folk heading for market? Our ship alone must’ve brought enough goods to trade ’til next week. The only creatures lurking round the dockside are a few scrawny brown mongrels hunting for scraps. Their beast-chatter is knotted and worrisome. Hungryyip! Frightedcoldgrumblebelly.

      I breathe and force my heart to slow, but nerves have turned my palms damp. I just want to fetch СКАЧАТЬ