The Frost Child (10 page)

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up. It was not until Owen drew alongside that the man finally glanced in his direction.

"It's a stormy day to be out, traveler." His voice was deeply accented. He had sallow skin and dark hair, and there were both laughter and darkness in his deep-set brown eyes. He wore a long black leather coat, studded with rivets, against the spray, and a pair of goggles was tied around his hat. His crew wore similar coats in all sorts of shapes and colors. They had the same sallow skin, and they moved nimbly on bare feet.

"Are you sinking?" Owen said, giving a nervous look around at the Harsh.

"After you, that lot, are they?" the man said, not answering his question. "They don't like us too much either. Looks like we're both in trouble. But I got an idea."

"What's that?"

"I got the fastest ship in the seas of time, but my rudder's busted, and I can't steer. You can steer, but with respect to your pretty little boat, she won't outrun the Harsh."

"What's your idea?"

"Lash the two of them together. You can steer, and the
Faltaine
, which is my craft, can give us speed."

Owen hesitated.

"Make up your mind, son. If the Harsh close that circle on us, we're all done for."

"Yes," Owen said. He didn't know if it would work or not, but he didn't have any other ideas.

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The man smiled, showing brilliant white teeth.

"Captain Yarsk."

"My name's Owen."

"Right, lads," the man shouted. The crew swarmed all over the
Wayfarer
with ropes and grappling hooks. The crew wore the same tall hats, men and women, and under their long coats they had black breeches stuffed into knee boots. In seconds the two ships were lashed together tightly.

Owen didn't notice the slow withdrawal from the gun port nearest to him of a gun that had been pointed directly at his head. The port stealthily closed.

With the two boats tied together, Yarsk began to bark orders. His crew swarmed up the mast, and new sails billowed from the spars.

"Keep us pointed for that gap," Yarsk said. Up ahead the two lead ships had almost completed the circle, but there was still an opening between them. Owen could feel the
Wayfarer
begin to pick up speed. Within seconds they were tearing ahead. The tiller felt incredibly heavy with the weight of the larger ship attached, and it took all of Owen's strength to keep the boats aimed toward the gap. It was going to be close. Owen looked across at Yarsk. The tall man had lit a cigar and was puffing on it calmly.

"We're not going to make it," Owen shouted. The stern of the
Wayfarer
was dug in, and the bow was so high he could barely see over it.

"No, doesn't look good," Yarsk admitted, picking a

102

piece of tobacco leaf from his teeth. The two great ships ahead had lowered sails and were bow to bow. The boats were two hundred yards away, the ships gathered around them in a circle. The
Wayfarer
and the
Faltaine
were trapped.

"Looks like we'll have to fight," Yarsk said. "Better if we cut you loose, boy." Before Owen could object, the
Faltaine's
sailors were onboard, cutting the ropes that bound the two vessels together. Meanwhile, the gun ports of the two Harsh ships in front of them fell open with an ominous clatter. The
Faltaine
's gun ports opened as well, and Owen saw the polished barrels of her guns sliding into position.

"Wait!" Owen shouted. They were still just out of range of the Harsh guns, but Owen knew that the
Faltaine
could not outfight the entire Harsh fleet.

"Wait to die, or charge in glory," Yarsk said, flicking his cigar overboard and drawing a sword from his belt--a sword that shone with the fire of magno, Owen saw.

"No! I have an idea," Owen said. Yarsk turned to him and raised one of his narrow eyebrows.

"Hark at the lad," he said.

"Give me a minute," Owen said.

"A minute? I'll give you five." Yarsk sheathed his sword and sat down with his back to the Harsh, putting his feet up on a rail. He took an apple from his pocket and began to peel it--as if, Owen thought, the Harsh weren't there.

Owen urged the
Wayfarer
forward and she leapt clear of the
Faltaine
. Up ahead the Harsh guns were being

103

run out. Owen steered straight for the queen's ship. As he did, the ship came round slightly to bring her guns to bear on the
Wayfarer
. Owen darted out of range again, then sailed close in. Once more the ship had to turn a little to point her guns at him. He did this four times. He could see the queen on deck, urging the helmsman to move faster. He seemed to be arguing with her. Owen could feel the cold power of her fury.

Once more he darted out of range, then back in, but this time he sailed as close as he dared, his heart in his mouth as the guns caught up with him. Anxiously he measured the distance to the hull of the ship. When he thought he had got it right, he leaned back and the
Wayfarer
came to a halt.

Owen ran up the deck and into the bow. He took off his helmet so the queen could see his face, and bowed.

"A message for her most gracious majesty, Queen of the Harsh," he shouted, "from her friends in the Resisters." He paused, then pursed his lips and blew the loudest and longest raspberry he had ever done.

The effect was instantaneous. The queen screamed, the icy blast tearing through the rigging of her own vessel, and her hand chopped downward--the signal to fire. Owen could see the helmsman reaching out to stop her, but it was too late. Owen glanced toward Yarsk, who smiled and touched the brim of his hat in appreciation. Then the guns roared.

For a second nothing happened. Then, with a tremendous hissing noise, thirty ice missiles shot from the side of the Harsh ship, directly at the
Wayfarer
.

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But Owen had got it right. The
Wayfarer
was too close to be hit. The missiles passed over her masthead with inches to spare and flew on--straight into the side of the next Harsh ship.

With a mighty crash, the whole side of the ship seemed to disintegrate. One of her masts crashed down onto the helmsman. Fragments of timber and ice were thrown high into the air. Owen was flung from the bow as debris rained on the
Wayfarer's
deck. Spray and steam filled the air. The
Faltaine
drew alongside.

"Follow me," Yarsk said. Owen jumped to his feet and grabbed the tiller. Steering the wake of the limping
Faltaine
, he found himself clear of the Harsh fleet. He looked back just in time to see the stricken ship crash into the side of another.

Yarsk leaned one elbow casually on the wheel of the
Faltaine
, looking for all the world as if he was out for a Sunday sail. A smile spread over his face as two more ships collided, their rigging getting tangled in the process.

"They won't be chasing anyone in a hurry," he said. Owen noticed that the
Faltaine
was moving closer to the
Wayfarer
.

One of the
Faltaine
crew approached Yarsk.

"Permission to board the prize, Captain?"

"What does he mean by 'prize'?" Owen called across the gap that separated the two boats.

"Prize?" Yarsk said. "Oh, yes. That would be you. You've been captured, you see."

"What?"

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"Simple, really. You're ours now."

"What! You mean you're pirates?"

"I'd prefer the term
buccaneer
, actually, but yes. You are, I suppose, more or less ..."--here Yarsk paused to examine his nails--"our hostage."

"But I saved you!" Owen protested.

"I suppose you did. But you see, if the ships hadn't been chasing you, then we wouldn't have been in trouble in the first place."

One of the pirate crew leapt onto the deck of the
Wayfarer
and reached for the sail.

"Leave that alone!" Owen cried. He snatched up the magno gun and leveled it at Yarsk. "Tell him to stop."

"I don't think you'll shoot," Yarsk said with a faint, bored smile. "You aren't the type."

"Maybe I'm not usually, but there are a lot of people depending on me."

"Still," Yarsk said, "I'm right about these things most of the time. Take the sail down, Majellan."

The man moved to obey. Owen kept the gun trained on Yarsk, but the man was right. He couldn't shoot him in cold blood. Owen lowered the gun. But just then Majellan's eye fell on something.

"Captain, look!"

Owen groaned inwardly. The man was pointing at the Mortmain! If the pirates took it, he was done for.

Yarsk leapt across the space between the boats. He knelt to examine the Mortmain, then stood up.

"You should have told us," Yarsk said.

"Told you what?"

106

107

"Who you are."

"I never got the chance."

Yarsk bent again to examine the chart next to the Mortmain.

"It is a long time since these objects were seen. In those days, this place was full of ships, a prize every month. Then the ships disappeared and time itself ran dry. But that has changed. Time flows as it should. What is happening?"

Owen explained to him that the Harsh had stockpiled time and now had released it so that their fleet could attack the Workhouse.

Yarsk turned to his men. "We cannot take this ship as a prize."

There was a murmur of dissent among the crew.

"It's our first prize in a long, long time," a gaunt woman cried. Owen noticed that they were all quite thin.

"How long have you been out here?" Owen asked.

"How long since we last saw Port Merforion, our home port? In your time, about thirty years."

"Thirty years!" Owen gasped.

"We cannot return home without a prize. We've bought or borrowed or robbed supplies here and there, but no prize."

"So why not the
Wayfarer?"

"The Navigator sailed with us for a time. We cannot take one of our own as a prize."

"The Navigator!"

Yarsk looked Owen up and down.

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"Yes. Your grandfather, I would say."

"My grandfather--a pirate?"

"Buccaneer," Yarsk said. "It sounds so much more civilized. But yes. We taught him what we knew about the oceans of time, and in return he guided us to lots of prizes."

"Damn fine prizes," a grizzled crewman murmured, and they all smiled as if at a fond memory.

"Anyway, we have to let you go. We'll have time to slip off and fix the damage while the Harsh are sorting themselves out. Which is a pity, since if we were to haul sail now, we're at the exact spot in time for Port Merforian."

On hearing the name of their home port repeated, the pirates looked at each other sadly. From the other end of the
Faltaine
, someone started to strum a guitar. The sailors put their arms around each other, and the gaunt woman started to sing a lonesome song.

"What are they singing?" Owen asked.

"Oh, they're always singing about Port Merforian and so on. Oddly enough, they never sing about the stinking harbor barrooms where they spend all their time when they're in port." Yarsk started to sing softly along with them.

... to sail time's ocean wide

In time and time's divide

Till the book of the past

Thaws winter's child at last
.

109

"What does that mean," Owen said, " 'thaws winter's child at last'?"

"Haven't the foggiest. I think your grandfather taught it to them," Yarsk said, dismissing the subject. "It's about time we were all moving."

Owen looked around. The Harsh fleet seemed to be re-forming and putting on sail.

Yarsk jumped lightly back onto the deck of the
Faltaine
and took the wheel. The gap between the two boats started to widen.

"I don't know how to get back," Owen said.

"'Fraid I can't help you," Yarsk said. "I don't know where the Workhouse is."

The
Faltaine
was twenty yards away now.

"Wait!" Owen called. "Does Port Merforian have a symbol?"

"There's a lighthouse on the pier with a light in the shape of an eye. Next time bring us a prize, Navigator!"

In reply, Owen raised his hand, although he wasn't sure if Yarsk could see him. The
Faltaine
blended in against the sky and Owen could no longer see her, though he thought for a moment that he could hear a snatch of a mournful song as the sad pirates set out again on their quest.

Owen turned to the Mortmain. He scanned the symbols anxiously. It was there--a lighthouse with an eye in the center. But there was no corresponding symbol on the map. Owen went back to the map. Behind him the Harsh fleet had taken their damaged ships under tow.