Fergus was thankful, too, but as they crossed the water he grew nervous that someone would tell the rescuer about his talent. It was bad enough that so many people already knew what he could do. But no one said a word about him—or to him. In fact, most of the people wouldn’t even meet his eyes, and those who did gave him nasty looks, as if they blamed him for all their misfortunes.

His mother had been right, Fergus thought bitterly. Sharing his secret had only ever caused him trouble. It made people see him as an object, a tool to be used when it suited them and then tossed away when he was no longer needed, and he resolved never, ever to share his talent again, no matter what.

The boats docked at a small harbor ringed by timber houses. Smoke rose from their chimneys and the smell of cooking food hung in the air. The promise of a hot meal by a warm hearth seemed tantalizingly close. The man in furs tied his boat and stepped out onto the dock. “Welcome to Pelt Island,” he said.

With a sudden chill, Fergus realized where he’d heard that name before: it was the fur-trading island Captain Shaw had been trying to reach when they were wrecked on the iceberg. Before he’d quite wrapped his mind around this, he saw something on the dock that astounded him even more: a weather-beaten lifeboat with the word Hannah on the side.

The captain and his men had reached the island after all. They were here.

A moment later, someone else noticed the lifeboat. Word spread quickly through the crowd, and soon a mob of angry people was demanding to know where Captain Shaw and his men were.

“They left us to die!” a woman shouted.

“They threatened us with pistols when we tried to save our children!” a man cried.

“They made us eat mouse-dropping soup!” said a scrawny young boy.

The man dressed in furs tried to calm them down, but the people were bent on revenge. They snatched his rifle, stormed into town, and discovered Captain Shaw and his men in the tavern, drunk as skunks.

A savage fight erupted. The crowd fought the captain and his men with anything they could find: rocks, pieces of furniture, even flaming logs pulled from the hearth. They were outgunned but the captain and his men were badly outnumbered, and finally, beaten and decimated, they fled into the snowy hills above the town.

The passengers had won. Several of them had been killed, but they had settled the score with evil Captain Shaw, and they’d reached dry land and civilization in the bargain. There was much to celebrate—but their cries of victory were soon interrupted by cries for help.

A fire had broken out.

The man in furs came running. “You idiots set our town on fire!” he shouted at the crowd.

“Well, put it out, then!” replied an exhausted fighter.

“We can’t!” the man said. “It’s the fire station that’s burning!”