The Frost Child (12 page)

"I'm afraid it might take more than courage," Rutgar said heavily, "but we'll do what we can."

On the battlements Cati felt a familiar deadly chill, one that swept over her in the presence of the Harsh.

"They are coming," she said, almost to herself, then out loud: "To war, Resisters. The enemy is on us!"

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Chapter 12

The skies darkened. With a howling such as none of them had ever heard before, the ice came. Afterward they described it to each other as sleet, but it was more like frozen knives than sleet, and when it hit, it exploded into white powdery crystals that found their way into every crevice of their clothing. The corridors of the Workhouse were filled with the white powder, and Resisters walked blindly in it, unable to call out to each other in the tumult and howling. Some lost their heads and would have run wildly into the white blast, but their comrades restrained them.

Dr. Diamond went among them with his face wrapped in cloth, wearing goggles.

"It isn't the attack!" he shouted. "Keep your heads down. It will be over soon. I can see into the mist with these goggles."

As he finished his sentence, the white hail stopped.

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The Resisters looked at each other. They were half deafened by the noise and covered in the powdery snow, which hung in the air like fog. The Workhouse slowly emerged like a ghost building.

"What is this?" Cati asked, moving her hand through the freezing powder that swirled in the air.

"It's the cold that built up around the Harsh ships as they sailed through time. When they passed through into our time, the cold reacted with the moisture in the air," Dr. Diamond said.

"Never mind that," Samual snapped. "Where are they now?"

"Not far away," Dr. Diamond said, "not far away."

The lookouts on the battlements saw the ships first, as the icy powder settled on the ground. But it wasn't long before everyone could see them and stood in awe and fear. The Harsh ships had alighted on the ice beyond the shoreline at the harbor. A forest of masts towered above the town, reaching to the horizon, rank upon rank of cold, white warships, their gun ports open and pointing toward the Workhouse. And above them all, on the lead ship, flew the pure white standard of the Harsh.

"How many of them are there?" Rutgar breathed.

"Not as many as you think," Dr. Diamond said, "and I suspect that the crews are small. But still, what a sight!"

Rosie looked up at the Workhouse, the black banner fluttering defiantly above the strong stone walls. But how

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could they last against the might of the Harsh? On the battlements she could see small figures moving about-- she recognized Dr. Diamond and several other men, struggling with a large object concealed under a tarpaulin. But she didn't have time to think about what they were doing. There was a sudden report from the ships, then another and another. A great whistling sound filled the air, and an ice missile struck the Workhouse wall with a mighty crash. The wall did not buckle, but Rosie saw how the missile left a scar on the stone.

Another missile struck further up. In minutes they were raining down on every part of the Workhouse. One crashed into the ground right in front of Rosie, sending stones and frozen dirt high into the air. Rosie ducked, then lifted her head to look at it, a jagged lance of blue-white ice. Rosie reached out but one of the soldiers grabbed her hand before she could touch it.

"Them edges are razor sharp!" he said gruffly. "And that's not ordinary ice. That would give you frostbite with the one touch!"

Rosie looked at it with new respect. Her hands had been badly damaged from handling raw magno before they had been cured with the ring given to her by the Yeati--a strange and magical creature they had rescued in Hadima. She had no intention of hurting them again.

Further down the river, the ice missiles slashed through the trees, sending broken branches high into the air. Rosie could see men and women duck down into their trenches and foxholes.

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"How long can they keep this up?" Rosie said, almost to herself. Rutgar looked at her without speaking.

He looks worried
, Rosie thought.

Deep in the bowels of the Workhouse, Owen heard a distant drumming, like rain on a roof. He clambered out of bed and went into the corridor. There was no one about. Frowning, he climbed the stairs. The drumming was louder now. You could feel it in the fabric of the building. He started to run.

Owen burst onto the roof just as a shower of the ice lances landed. The impact of the ice against the building was the cause of the drumming sound! A Resister soldier crouched in the doorway.

"Get down!" he shouted. "They're aiming at the roof!"

The slate roof had been torn up in places by the ice missiles, and giant pieces of ice lay everywhere.

"Why didn't somebody call me?" Owen said furiously. The soldier shrugged. Owen could see men lying on the ground around an object with a tarpaulin half covering it.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"They got hit in the first volley," the man said. "The doctor was doing something with them."

"The doctor?"

"Yes--" Before the man could elaborate, Owen was sprinting across the roof.

"Come back," the man shouted, "it's too dangerous!"

Owen dodged an incoming lance, which exploded

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against the rooftop beside him. Splinters of ice and slate hit his right side, but he kept going. One of the men on the ground was moaning and moving his head from side to side. The others were still.

"Dr. Diamond!" he shouted.

"Over here," a weak voice replied. Owen saw a boot protruding from behind one of the big Workhouse chimneys. He scrambled over, slipping on the ice.

Dr. Diamond had found shelter behind the chimney. His face was white and he was holding his left arm.

"I think it's broken," he said weakly. "They got us with the first volley. Sheer luck. What about the men?"

Owen looked out from behind the chimney. "I don't know," he said. "One of them's moving."

"What about the Porcupine?"

"The what?"

"The Porcupine. Underneath the tarpaulin."

"Whatever it is, it hasn't been touched."

"Then get me over there," Dr. Diamond said, struggling to his feet. Owen was going to object; the doctor was in no shape to enter a fire zone. But one look at his friend's face told him that arguing would be useless.

"Come on." Owen put the doctor's good arm over his shoulder. As they rounded the chimney breast, a missile glanced off the top, shattering the chimney pots.

"I was ready for them," the doctor gasped, wincing. "I hope this hasn't done too much damage.... Grab the other end of the tarpaulin," he said, reaching out with his good arm.

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Together they hauled the canvas off, and Owen found himself staring at a very strange machine. The center of it looked like a huge golf ball, from which tendrils of steam arose. Attached to it were dozens of what appeared to be vacuum cleaner extensions. It had a forlorn look, like something found in a junkyard. The extensions drooped and the enormous golf ball was dented and scratched. Owen ducked as another ice lance whistled over his head.

"Get out of there," a soldier shouted. "You're completely exposed, you fools!"

Dr. Diamond fished in his pocket until he found a remote control held together with tape. A car radio aerial had been attached to the top.

"You remember the last time they used the ice lances against us?"

Owen remembered it well, and how destructive they were.

"I put my thinking cap on," Dr. Diamond said unhurriedly, just as if they were out for an afternoon stroll. "What is ice made from?"

"Water," Owen gasped as a fusillade sailed over their heads and slammed into the roof behind them. "Dr. Diamond, do you not think maybe--"

"And then I thought, what happens to ice when it is exposed to heat?"

"It melts," Owen said impatiently as another barrage of lethal ice struck the chimneys behind them. "But Dr. Diamond--"

"Of course it does." The scientist beamed.

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"Dr. Diamond," Owen burst out, "we're going to get killed here."

"Time to get the Porcupine going. Of course, it doesn't really look like a porcupine, but it reminded me of--"

The scene in front of them disappeared in a cloud of ice splinters.

"Dr. Diamond!"

"Yes, yes, yes. Now, where was I?" He poked a finger at the remote control and the golf ball started to move, slowly at first, rotating one way, then the next. The vacuum cleaner extensions waved wildly in the air.

"Yes. Very good. I think multitargetting is called for." The scientist poked at the remote again, selecting three of four buttons. The golf ball wheezed and spluttered, and steam jetted out from underneath it.

"No, not quite ..." Dr. Diamond stabbed another button. Owen looked up to see another salvo of ice lances heading straight for them. There wasn't time to get out of the way. The Porcupine coughed again, wheezed, then spun around with incredible speed. First from one vacuum extension, then another and another, a white beam shot out, each beam striking an ice lance in midair. There was a hissing sound, then nothing except a cloud of vapor in the air. Owen looked at the doctor with his mouth hanging open.

"Nothing to it," the doctor said. "Jets of superheated steam. They melt the ice lances in midair. Once you establish the general principle, it's simple."

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The Porcupine spun again as another salvo came in. The same thing happened. Dr. Diamond pressed another button. This time the ice lances never got near the Workhouse. They were stopped in midair over the town.

"That's the full range, I'm afraid," the doctor said. "Doesn't really melt them after that. But this is only the Mark One version, of course. I have a few refinements in mind."

"Well done, Doctor," Contessa said, bursting out from the stairs.

"Well, it stopped them for now," the doctor said.

Owen leaned over the parapet and inspected the scars that the ice missiles had left on the stonework. Then he looked up at the vast fleet moored off the harbor. Dr. Diamond caught his eye.

"I know, Owen," he said softly. "It is only a skirmish, and they've done much damage. And they will have other weapons. We cannot fight them and hope to win, so we must outthink them."

"And outlast them," Contessa murmured, "for the Workhouse is now under siege."

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Chapter 13

Johnston's feet crunched in the snow as he walked down the road. Otherwise the night was soundless. The Workhouse stood tall and proud over the river, sentries pacing the battlements, but he did not glance at it. He went as far as the town bridge and slipped over it, down onto the riverbank below. Moving lightly for so big a man, he reached the Hadima entrance and stood under it. He took a rope and a grappling hook from the bag he carried over his shoulder and threw the hook toward the entrance. It caught on the stone lip, and silently Johnston climbed up it, hand over hand.

The tunnel was dark, but he could see starlight at the other end. He emerged after a few minutes into the little courtyard surrounded by shops. Everything was frozen and still. When he opened the doors to the tunnel that led down toward Hadima, the creaking noise rent the silence. But Johnston was not concerned. He walked into

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the tunnel. He did not get far before he knew that he was not alone.

"Agnetha is waiting for me," he said loudly. Almost instantly he felt something hard and sharp and cold at his throat.

"Take your filthy fingernails away from my throat, Albion," he said, "or you will answer to the Harsh for it."

The shiny metal nails seemed to caress his throat for a moment and then were withdrawn. Johnston walked on, knowing that the darkness around him teemed with the creatures.

After a few minutes he felt hands push him toward the side of the tunnel. There was an opening there and he clambered through it, finding himself on a staircase that led upward. He emerged into a dark chamber, lit only by what starlight found its way through a gap in the ceiling. Enough light for Johnston to see Agnetha seated in front of him on a chair of black obsidian, her long black dress lying in folds around her. Her white hair shone in the starlight, but her eyes were pools of darkness. Her courtiers were gathered around her. Every pale eye in the chamber was fixed on Johnston.

He made a mocking bow.

"If it may please your ladyship."

"No false words, Johnston, in the black chamber." Her voice was low and musical, but the words were spat out.

"I saw Harsh ships in the night," she went on. "I saw ice rain on the Resisters."