Icebreaker: Chapters 4–6

The boy knew all about machines. They weaken us. They make people lazy and soft and corrupt; they steal our souls.

The mere thought filled him with revulsion. But it set him thinking too. Because if the machines were so close to where he lay, the demon must also be close.

He had stood barefooted on marble floors beneath the Citadel spire, surrounded by men in silken robes.

But then, suddenly, Brother Thrawn had loomed up in front of him, looking so severe that the boy braced himself for a whipping at the very least, and perhaps even a stint in the punishment cells.

“You are the best Initiate we have had for years,” Brother Thrawn said in his flat voice, “and we have a task for you. A mission.”

“It is the culmination,” said Brother Thrawn, “of three hundred years’ work.”

Generations of Devouts have sought the truth. They have scoured the world, searching for hidden documents.

A man entered—a savage with scars carved into his cheeks and elaborate knots tied in his red beard.

“Let’s have some introductions. This ship’s the Oyster. I’m Chief Engineer Albie, and”—he waved a casual hand at the rumbling and thumping on the other side of the door—“I’m the one who keeps that lot running.”

The boy must have lied well enough, because Albie nodded and said, “Brains addled, no doubt, by the ice. But I expect it’ll come back to you.”

According to Brother Thrawn, emotions were wasteful things. Ignorant people wallowed in them, instead of dedicating themselves to purity and discipline.

“Well, the feeling’s mutual; we're not sure of you either, and we won’t be, until you give us a bit more information. You see, I can smell intrigue five decks away”—he tapped the side of his nose, his eyes hard—“and you reek of it. Intrigue and plots—”

No wonder these people are such savages, he thought. They are surrounded by vileness.

The metal grating beneath his feet rattled.

He was muttering to himself, “Put him in the brig, I reckon. Orca won’t get him out of there.”

Babies chortled and cried.

What do they know of discipline and virtue?

The boy gritted his teeth and bent his mind to the Spire Contemplation, which had never failed him yet. Before long his thoughts began to trace the familiar shape, and the people around him faded a little, as if he had set them behind glass.

By the time the small procession came to the brig, the boy had himself entirely under control.

Initiates like the boy and his fellows did not have a name, not until they had carried out some noble deed.

Winning a name and taking their place in the Circle of Devouts was all they talked about. It filled their days, and their nights too, sliding into their dreams like a bright flame, and every single one of them yearning towards it.

“Is that blood?”
Petrel touched her scalp gingerly.

Mister Smoke limped after her, with Missus Slink hobbling in the rear.

At last the rats came to an agreement. Missus Slink was not entirely happy, but she seemed resigned.

She felt as if she were crawling through the innards of a whale.

The familiar rumblings of the ship were magnified and strange, and the darkness seemed to pulsate around her.

He braced himself for an onslaught of questions, but instead, Petrel whispered, “I’m not surprised. It’s hard to remember anything when Albie’s shouting at you. He’s the worst shouter on the ship, worse than Orca even. Course, she doesn’t really shout. She just goes all quiet and nasty, but it feels like shouting, ’cos it pierces right through you and you end up feeling no bigger’n a shrimp.”

Her husky voice was soothing, and the boy was still tired from his ordeal on the ice.

Now Skua's a shouter like his da. Lots of bluster and noise, only not so dangerous as Albie.

The question was thrown in so neatly that, if the boy had not been expecting some such ruse, he might have answered truthfully.

A stifled groan from behind the wall.

That was the white-flecked peak of the wave. But after it came the trough.

The Commons ladderways passed through Dufftown, so that Engineer folk could climb up to the outside decks for their fishing shift or to mend the wind turbines, or perhaps just to see the sun, there being no portholes in Grease Alley.

Petrel sidled into the room, her eyes fixed on the tray of hard biscuits two benches away.

The grinding machine made a ratcheting noise, then fell silent again.

No, don’t recognize this grubby hand. Who are you, bratling?

I’d open my mouth and point to the bits of gristle wedged between my teeth.

Biscuits, is it? Take three. No, take four in case you get peckish.

“Get him out?' said Missus Slink in appalled tones. “I hope you told him you’d do no such thing.”

“Day and night. Never let him out of sight.” She glowered at Petrel.