Icebreaker by Lian Tanner

cloth.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    The boy set his teeth and said very slowly, “To—wipe—my—hands.”
    He was almost as annoying, thought Petrel, as Mister Smoke. What’s more, his eyes had gone all blank, as if he were peering down at her from a great height, which made her feel small and ugly.
    â€œWipe ’em on your clothes,” she said.
    â€œI am not a savage!”
    â€œNo,” snapped Petrel, “you’re just plain foolish. What do you think keeps the cold out? Grease, that’s what. Helps keep things waterproof too. So you be glad of those mucky fingers of yours, and wipe ’em all over your clothes, like everyone else does.”
    Fin looked for a moment as if he might snarl back at her, but then he clamped his lips together and did as she suggested.
    â€œNow,” said Petrel, “wriggle over here where there’s a bit more light and show me your arm.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’m going to sew it up, that’s why.”
    She took out Squid’s needle, and Fin’s eyes widened. “It does not need sewing.”
    â€œCourse it does. I should know. I’m the one who cut you.” Petrel grinned. “You scared?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œYou are. You’re afraid of a little needle.” She jabbed it at him, and he flinched. “No use being scared,” she said. “There’s lots of things worse than needles. Knives and fish hooks and pipe wrenches, and that’s just the start of it.” She shook her head in mock sorrow. “Maybe I should tell Albie where you’re hiding. He’ll put you out of your misery quick enough—”
    That shook him. The blank wall of his face cracked open for a second, and Petrel could see the real boy behind it. The boy who was afraid, but would never admit it, not even to himself.
    She almost laughed. But she was not a cruel girl, and fear was fear, after all. So instead of laughing she said, “I wouldn’t, not really. Don’t be scared.”
    By then, of course, the crack in the wall had closed, and the boy was as blank as ever. “Scared?” he said distantly. “I do not know what you are talking about.” And he rolled up his sleeve and thrust his arm under Petrel’s nose.
    When she saw the wound again, Petrel’s anger died instantly. “Ooh, I bet that hurts.”
    Fin said nothing, but there was a thin line of sweat on his forehead. Petrel took the lidded cup from her pocket and poured icy water over his arm. “Grog’d be better,” she said, “but I ain’t got any, so I fetched this from the afterdeck. You can drink the rest, if you want.” The boy took the cup and finished off the water.
    â€œNow hold still,” said Petrel, “or I’ll sew up the wrong bit of you.”
    It was strange and horrible, poking the bone needle through the boy’s skin. Petrel winced with every stitch, and so did Fin, his eyes squeezed shut and his other hand gripping the old spanner so hard that his knuckles were white. But he didn’t yelp, which made Petrel think better of him, and neither did he complain about the ragged stitches, which were nowhere near as small and neat as Missus Slink would have made them.
    Instead, when she had finished, he dragged his eyes away from the wound and said, “The rats— They will not come in here, will they?” He glanced at Petrel and added quickly, “I am not afraid of them.”
    Petrel wanted to laugh again, but she didn’t. “No, they won’t come in. Not while we’re here.”
    â€œWhat about the crew? The Engineers?”
    Petrel yawned. She’d been up all night and all day too, and she was suddenly exhausted. “The Truce ain’t official yet, so Albie’ll still have his fighters on guard, just in case. Plus he has to keep the engines and the digester running, which takes a good few folk. And there’s more