clouds were tinged red-orange. The temperature had dropped, and Colin felt an icy chill through his Burberry parka.
He was aware of a faint tinkly sound now, like the rustling of glass beads in a gentle breeze. It seemed to come from nowhere in particular, and yet it was everywhere at once, port, starboard, fore, and aft.
Then, in the dim twilight, Colin saw falling ice crystals, delicate gossamer needles, like wings shed by a million fairies. They winked and glistened, nestling finally in the pillowy pudding ice that surrounded the Mystery.
“What is this?” Colin asked.
“An ice shower, Colin. Frozen mist. The water particles crystallize and fall to the earth.” Father’s eyes were distant, moist. “I’d heard of these but never imagined they were as exquisite as this.”
It was like nothing Colin had ever seen. Such fragile beauty in a landscape so harsh.
“Now are you happy you came?” Father asked.
Colin felt himself fold right up. “Happy?”
“Captain Barth says we’ve done two hundred miles today.”
“Bully for Captain Barth.”
“Bully for you, Colin. Your sailing skills helped make this possible.”
“Only because you forced me to do more work.”
“Oh. And here I thought you’d turned over a new leaf.”
Colin didn’t hear the comment. His attention had fixed on a dark shape emerging through the mist—an iceberg, far more massive than even the blue whale. “I—I think we’re in trouble, Father.”
“Tack!” he commanded. “ All hands on deck! Take her around hard!”
Colin and his father scrambled for the mainsail sheet. Bailey and Sanders went for the mizzen, and Hayes and Lombardo trimmed the foresail. Captain Barth flew out of the hatch, grabbing the sheet from Colin.
The ship heeled abruptly to starboard and Colin lost his balance. He slid along the ice-slicked deck, jamming his shoulder into the hull.
Without warning, the ice shower had thickened into a full-fledged storm, the crystals into haillike pellets. Colin pulled his hood over his head and headed back to the mainsail. Father and Captain Barth had already been joined by two more sailors—and Andrew.
The Mystery was heading due south now. She’d been sailing in a strong crosswind and in a small amount of time had come close to another iceberg. It was at least a hundred feet tall, dense with snow and pocked with deep hummocks.
The ship was going to make it. Father had called it just in time.
The ice around the Mystery was changing now. No longer a soupy slush, it rammed the ship’s hull in thick, odd-shaped chunks.
Through the pounding storm, Colin heard a deep, violent groan directly ahead of them, like the sound of an iron wall being torn open. The rumble could be felt through the planks of the decking.
All the sails were now set. Colin couldn’t climb the mast, so he leaped on top of the deckhouse. Shielding his eyes, he looked into the distance beyond the bow. From this vantage, he could see movement—an upward thrust, like a giant fist emerging from the ice.
Pressure. He had learned about this from Father. It happened close to the land, wherever there was pack ice—giant ice islands that traveled with the currents until they collided. The force would cause the floes to tent upward, pushing inexorably against each other until one finally gave. A high, jagged pressure ridge formed where one floe pushed over the top of the other.
It was no place for a wooden ship, even one clad in greenheart.
“Look at this!” Colin called out.
Barth climbed up beside him, squinting out over the pack ice. “Come about slowly, men!” he shouted.
Both of them hopped off and helped the crew slacken the sails. The Mystery edged slowly forward. Its prow was cutting through solid ice now, ripping it apart easily.
Father looked concerned. “It’s young ice,” he remarked. “Soft and thin. We’re probably safe here for a while, but I don’t want to head into the pack until the weather clears.”
“Agreed,”
He was aware of a faint tinkly sound now, like the rustling of glass beads in a gentle breeze. It seemed to come from nowhere in particular, and yet it was everywhere at once, port, starboard, fore, and aft.
Then, in the dim twilight, Colin saw falling ice crystals, delicate gossamer needles, like wings shed by a million fairies. They winked and glistened, nestling finally in the pillowy pudding ice that surrounded the Mystery.
“What is this?” Colin asked.
“An ice shower, Colin. Frozen mist. The water particles crystallize and fall to the earth.” Father’s eyes were distant, moist. “I’d heard of these but never imagined they were as exquisite as this.”
It was like nothing Colin had ever seen. Such fragile beauty in a landscape so harsh.
“Now are you happy you came?” Father asked.
Colin felt himself fold right up. “Happy?”
“Captain Barth says we’ve done two hundred miles today.”
“Bully for Captain Barth.”
“Bully for you, Colin. Your sailing skills helped make this possible.”
“Only because you forced me to do more work.”
“Oh. And here I thought you’d turned over a new leaf.”
Colin didn’t hear the comment. His attention had fixed on a dark shape emerging through the mist—an iceberg, far more massive than even the blue whale. “I—I think we’re in trouble, Father.”
“Tack!” he commanded. “ All hands on deck! Take her around hard!”
Colin and his father scrambled for the mainsail sheet. Bailey and Sanders went for the mizzen, and Hayes and Lombardo trimmed the foresail. Captain Barth flew out of the hatch, grabbing the sheet from Colin.
The ship heeled abruptly to starboard and Colin lost his balance. He slid along the ice-slicked deck, jamming his shoulder into the hull.
Without warning, the ice shower had thickened into a full-fledged storm, the crystals into haillike pellets. Colin pulled his hood over his head and headed back to the mainsail. Father and Captain Barth had already been joined by two more sailors—and Andrew.
The Mystery was heading due south now. She’d been sailing in a strong crosswind and in a small amount of time had come close to another iceberg. It was at least a hundred feet tall, dense with snow and pocked with deep hummocks.
The ship was going to make it. Father had called it just in time.
The ice around the Mystery was changing now. No longer a soupy slush, it rammed the ship’s hull in thick, odd-shaped chunks.
Through the pounding storm, Colin heard a deep, violent groan directly ahead of them, like the sound of an iron wall being torn open. The rumble could be felt through the planks of the decking.
All the sails were now set. Colin couldn’t climb the mast, so he leaped on top of the deckhouse. Shielding his eyes, he looked into the distance beyond the bow. From this vantage, he could see movement—an upward thrust, like a giant fist emerging from the ice.
Pressure. He had learned about this from Father. It happened close to the land, wherever there was pack ice—giant ice islands that traveled with the currents until they collided. The force would cause the floes to tent upward, pushing inexorably against each other until one finally gave. A high, jagged pressure ridge formed where one floe pushed over the top of the other.
It was no place for a wooden ship, even one clad in greenheart.
“Look at this!” Colin called out.
Barth climbed up beside him, squinting out over the pack ice. “Come about slowly, men!” he shouted.
Both of them hopped off and helped the crew slacken the sails. The Mystery edged slowly forward. Its prow was cutting through solid ice now, ripping it apart easily.
Father looked concerned. “It’s young ice,” he remarked. “Soft and thin. We’re probably safe here for a while, but I don’t want to head into the pack until the weather clears.”
“Agreed,”
Similar Books
