specially chosen oak timbers whose natural curvature matched that of the ship’s design. Breen had doubled the number of frames—the ribs of the ship—and doubled their thickness, too, to more than ten inches. The entire hull had been sheathed in a remarkable wood from a South American evergreen called greenheart, heavier than metal and tough enough to break ordinary tools.
The Mystery was as close to unbreakable—and iceproof—as they came.
Those qualities would come in handy soon. If all calculations were correct, they were approaching the eastern edge of the Ross Sea, where they’d tack and turn in.
Around them were abundant signs that they were near land. Terns, petrels, and fulmars screamed overhead. A giant albatross had landed on deck the day before, strutting imperiously. Killer whales had followed the Mystery for miles, maybe hoping for another try at Ruskey, and Nesbit, the biologist, claimed to have spotted crab eater seals on a distant ice floe.
As Colin secured the staysail halyard, he heard a sudden, bellowing whoosh of water to starboard.
Less than 100 yards due north, a blue-gray swell arose from the sea. It arced high, the water rolling off to reveal a leathery body, both fluid and impossibly massive, maybe 100 feet long.
A blue whale. The largest living thing on earth.
“Thar she blows!” Colin shouted.
The entire crew raced over to look. The geologist, Shreve, was bug-eyed, screaming for Ruskey to take photos.
“I didn't know they lived in waters this cold,” Sanders remarked.
“Maybe that’s why they’re blue,” Flummerfelt said.
“Where are the whaling ships?” asked Ruppenthal, a shrewd, tempestuous sailor with a head of flaming red hair.
“Around,” Pop replied. “There are whaling stations in the Antarctic.”
The dogs, who had been fast asleep in their kennels, now jumped to attention. But they headed in the opposite direction, toward port.
There, Kosta was clapping his hands and howling with glee. Not far away a group of pear-shaped, black-suited penguins were flopping onto the ice and sliding on their bellies.
Some of the men had gathered around Kosta, laughing and imitating the birds’ peculiar sound.
Baart! Baart! Baart!
“Hey, Cap’n, they’re calling you!” Lombardo shouted.
Captain Barth scowled. “Don’t become too fond of them. Someday soon they may be your breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“I believe I am about to become sick,” Philip muttered.
Nigel backed away. “Again?”
“Always looking on the bright side, eh, Cap’n?” said Talmadge, the balding, genial meteorologist.
“Back to your posts,” Barth grumbled.
As the men returned to work, Lombardo began a sea chantey, in which Colin did not join. He kept his eye on the sea, which was changing rapidly as the Mystery neared its goal. The stream ice was breaking up into small but densely packed chunks, covered with patches of snow. The ice parted smoothly before the ship’s prow, with the consistency of thick custard.
Colin could not stop thinking of Captain Barth’s comment. Surely things would never become so dire that they’d have to eat penguins. Seals, perhaps. They didn’t taste wonderful, but the meat was rich, and the blubber could be used as cooking fuel.
But penguins were not meant to be consumed. It would be as bad as eating the dogs.
Even the Norwegians wouldn’t do that.
Colin had begun to doze off, standing up, when he felt a firm pat on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go to sleep?”
At the sound of Father’s voice, Colin tensed. “I was.”
“I mean in your bunk. It’s close to midnight.”
The sky was dim but still sunlit. The sky was always sunlit, round the clock. Colin should have been used to it from his years of Alaskan summers, but he wasn’t. At least there you had some darkness at night. Here, every day felt like a long three in the afternoon, followed by a couple of hours of near-sunset.
The sun was not visible through the mist, but the
The Mystery was as close to unbreakable—and iceproof—as they came.
Those qualities would come in handy soon. If all calculations were correct, they were approaching the eastern edge of the Ross Sea, where they’d tack and turn in.
Around them were abundant signs that they were near land. Terns, petrels, and fulmars screamed overhead. A giant albatross had landed on deck the day before, strutting imperiously. Killer whales had followed the Mystery for miles, maybe hoping for another try at Ruskey, and Nesbit, the biologist, claimed to have spotted crab eater seals on a distant ice floe.
As Colin secured the staysail halyard, he heard a sudden, bellowing whoosh of water to starboard.
Less than 100 yards due north, a blue-gray swell arose from the sea. It arced high, the water rolling off to reveal a leathery body, both fluid and impossibly massive, maybe 100 feet long.
A blue whale. The largest living thing on earth.
“Thar she blows!” Colin shouted.
The entire crew raced over to look. The geologist, Shreve, was bug-eyed, screaming for Ruskey to take photos.
“I didn't know they lived in waters this cold,” Sanders remarked.
“Maybe that’s why they’re blue,” Flummerfelt said.
“Where are the whaling ships?” asked Ruppenthal, a shrewd, tempestuous sailor with a head of flaming red hair.
“Around,” Pop replied. “There are whaling stations in the Antarctic.”
The dogs, who had been fast asleep in their kennels, now jumped to attention. But they headed in the opposite direction, toward port.
There, Kosta was clapping his hands and howling with glee. Not far away a group of pear-shaped, black-suited penguins were flopping onto the ice and sliding on their bellies.
Some of the men had gathered around Kosta, laughing and imitating the birds’ peculiar sound.
Baart! Baart! Baart!
“Hey, Cap’n, they’re calling you!” Lombardo shouted.
Captain Barth scowled. “Don’t become too fond of them. Someday soon they may be your breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“I believe I am about to become sick,” Philip muttered.
Nigel backed away. “Again?”
“Always looking on the bright side, eh, Cap’n?” said Talmadge, the balding, genial meteorologist.
“Back to your posts,” Barth grumbled.
As the men returned to work, Lombardo began a sea chantey, in which Colin did not join. He kept his eye on the sea, which was changing rapidly as the Mystery neared its goal. The stream ice was breaking up into small but densely packed chunks, covered with patches of snow. The ice parted smoothly before the ship’s prow, with the consistency of thick custard.
Colin could not stop thinking of Captain Barth’s comment. Surely things would never become so dire that they’d have to eat penguins. Seals, perhaps. They didn’t taste wonderful, but the meat was rich, and the blubber could be used as cooking fuel.
But penguins were not meant to be consumed. It would be as bad as eating the dogs.
Even the Norwegians wouldn’t do that.
Colin had begun to doze off, standing up, when he felt a firm pat on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go to sleep?”
At the sound of Father’s voice, Colin tensed. “I was.”
“I mean in your bunk. It’s close to midnight.”
The sky was dim but still sunlit. The sky was always sunlit, round the clock. Colin should have been used to it from his years of Alaskan summers, but he wasn’t. At least there you had some darkness at night. Here, every day felt like a long three in the afternoon, followed by a couple of hours of near-sunset.
The sun was not visible through the mist, but the
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