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another, and crawl under a hammock full of babies.
    It wasn’t that Fin was particularly clumsy. He just wasn’t used to a pathway that consisted of nets and ropes and whalebones. Folk were beginning to stare.
    There was nowhere to hide and no time to get to the other side of the cargo bay. So Petrel did the only thing possible. She slid the nearest fishing knife from its sheath and, concealing her actions with her body, sliced through the rope that held the babies’ hammock.
    There was a net directly below, and the babies tumbled into it, unhurt. But the shock set them to screaming at the tops of their voices, and in the chaos that followed, Petrel dragged Fin up another level.
    Below them the babies wailed inconsolably, and nets and whalebones shook as their parents rushed to comfort them. Petrel kept her head down, and motioned for Fin to do the same. And it was as well she did, because before she could even begin to think of what to do next, a man shouted, “This rope’s been cut !”
    Between one breath and the next, the atmosphere in the cargo bay changed. “My jacket’s missing,” cried a boy. “And my trousers.”
    â€œAnd mine!”
    Petrel groaned. She should have stolen the clothes from a different part of Grease Alley. Why hadn’t she thought of that?
    But it was too late now. Men and women were unsheathing their fishing knives and peering at their neighbors, trying to see beneath the concealing hoods. Bratlings bounced across the nets from one jacketed figure to another, shouting, “Who’s that? Grease or intruder? Show your face!”
    Fin grabbed Petrel’s hand. “How do we get out of this?” he hissed.
    Petrel looked around frantically. If she was caught, and Albie discovered that she had freed the boy, she would be dead within the hour.
    That thought was enough to break the self-imposed lock on her throat. She took a deep breath, and pointing in the direction of the brig, she shouted, “Braid! Look! It’s stinking Braid !”
    It worked. Half the folk in the cargo bay surged towards the brig, shouting with fury and almost trampling each other in their desire to get at the invaders. The other half swore and made threatening gestures, but then they sheathed their knives, finished lacing their jackets and began to climb towards the Commons ladderway. The toothies had come, and everyone was hungry.
    Petrel and Fin climbed too. With their faces turned from their companions, they scrambled up the nets, then onto the Commons and up again, saying nothing to each other. Ugly words spun around them, as folk vowed revenge on the intruders. There was even talk of a reprisal attack on the foredeck, despite it being neutral territory, but that was quickly squashed.
    Petrel stayed as close to Fin as she could, kicking him whenever he hesitated. But the Commons ladderway was easier than the nets, and besides there was such a press of folk on every side that the boy’s lack of shipboard experience hardly showed.
    That is, until they stepped through the hatch and out onto the foredeck.
    Everyone stopped then and checked their jackets, putting on gloves and pulling ice masks over their faces. Fin and Petrel copied them. But when someone handed Fin a fishing line, the boy stared at it as if he had never seen such a thing in his life.
    Most folk got on with their own business, baiting their hooks and throwing their lines into the water. But one or two of them looked back as if they were wondering what was wrong …
    Petrel pinched Fin’s arm, hard. “Fish,” she hissed. “Fish or die.”

 
    CHAPTER 8
    THE FISHING SHIFT
    The fishing line was wound around a slab of bone, with a vicious hook and a lump of metal at the end. The boy had no idea what to do with it. What’s more, he did not want to waste his time fishing; now that he was out of the brig, he wanted to be in the belly of the ship, hunting the demon.
    Still,