The Frost Child (25 page)

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the Mortmain were shimmering slightly, perfectly aligned.

"Where is the Long Woman?" Silkie whispered, as if afraid to break the silence.

"There is one more thing to be done," Owen said, though he could not have told how he knew. He closed his eyes and thought hard about the Long Woman. Forced the image of her face to come into his mind, and emptied his thoughts of everything else. He heard Silkie gasp but he didn't open his eyes.

"We're sinking!" she cried. But Owen knew they were not. They were traveling downward through time, and he could feel time all about him as though he was immersed in clear cold water. And then it was gone.

He opened his eyes. The
Wayfarer
was floating in a lake in moonlight. In front of them was a small bare island. And on the shore a tall dark figure stood waiting.

There was no wind. Owen had to rig an oar over the stern and use that to propel the
Wayfarer
toward the shore. It took a long time, but the figure did not move.

"Is that her?" Silkie said fearfully.

Owen nodded. Silkie did not speak again, but kept her eyes fixed on the Long Woman as they neared.

Finally the keel grated on shingle. Owen leapt down, followed by Silkie. They walked along the shoreline until they reached the Long Woman. She towered over them in a long faded robe made of cloth that must once have been beautiful. She wore a tall headdress with a piece of

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ragged lace fluttering from the point. Her face was stern and her eyes were black and Owen could feel Silkie shiver when the Long Woman turned. Her skin was dark brown, the color of bog oak, and one side of her face was rent from temple to jaw, as if she had been struck by an axe. Without saying anything she bent down to Silkie, took hold of her face with a long elegant hand, and examined the scar. Then she let go, as if dismissing her. She turned to Owen.

"You have grown a little, Navigator, no? You find Long Woman all on your own."

She made a cawing sound that might have been laughter.

"So now you follow grandfather, and hope maybe a little bit to find father."

"Did my grandfather come here?"

"He did. Leave message for you."

"A message! What is it?"

"Long Woman not know. Come."

They followed her to the low hill at the center of the island. Owen didn't recognize anything. The last time he had been here, the lake had been frozen.

At the edge of the hill they entered a long dark tunnel. There was a dim greenish light and Silkie could see that the walls were covered in ferns and mosses, and from time to time something seemed to move behind the cover of the plants. She shivered and moved closer to Owen.

At the end of the tunnel was a large moss-colored

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door. They had reached the Long Woman's house. She pushed the door open and they followed her in.

The house was lit with a dim green light that seemed to come from the walls, which were of rock and were slick with damp. Great ragged draperies stretched from the ceiling to the floor, shifting in the draft from the open door. Off in the darkness to the left something squeaked and scuttled away. There was a fish tank against the wall, but the glass was so covered in slime that you couldn't see much of what it contained, although Owen thought he saw a pair of bulbous eyes watching him.

As before, the Long Woman had fruit and nuts for them to eat. Silkie got a glimpse inside her larder before she closed the door. The shelves were full of things that glistened and slithered.

"The Harsh attack Workhouse?" the Long Woman asked.

"Yes," Owen said. "I don't know how long they can hold out."

"Navigator's work to stop Harsh. Why do you come here?" the woman demanded.

"I think my grandfather had an idea about stopping the Harsh. He was on the track of something ... I don't know what, though."

"Time for you to see message then," the Long Woman said.

"Is it written down?" Owen asked.

"No. Is in Memorator."

"What's a Memorator?"

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"Come, see."

The Long Woman brought them down a narrow staircase of tree roots, and then into a tunnel that appeared to be part of the living earth. More tree roots grew in and around it, and in the walls earthworms and beetles crawled. Silkie walked beside Owen, not taking her eyes off the Long Woman for a second.

At the end of the tunnel they came to a door made of bone.

"Memorator in here," the Long Woman said. Silkie looked at the door with fear in her eyes.

"Are you sure you should go in there?" she said in a shaky voice.

"You will see little mirror. Breathe on mirror, then step away. Touch no one in Memorator," the Long Woman said. "One touch, all die."

What did she mean by
no one?
Owen wondered. Who was in there? He stepped up to the door. Silkie gripped his arm. There was a pleading look in her eyes.

"I have to," he said gently. "I have to find out. But I need to ask something first." He turned to the Long Woman. "Why did you not give me this message when I first came here? Why wait?"

"Grandfather say not to give it to child. You were child then. Strong now. The Navigator!"

The Long Woman took a key from her belt. Silkie put her hand to her mouth. The parts of the key that went into the door and turned the lock were made from actual teeth.

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The Long Woman inserted the key and bent to the lock. The door swung open.

"Go in."

Owen stepped through the door. It swung shut behind him. The light inside was dim and gray. He stood at the mouth of a series of tunnels. He moved further inside and saw that they were interlocking. He touched one of the walls. It felt like plastic, although softer and warmer, like a living substance. He remembered a biology book at school that pretended that you had shrunk and were inside a human brain. His surroundings looked suspiciously like that. It was brighter up ahead, and he walked toward the light.

His hands were shaking. A thousand questions ran through his head. What form would the message from his grandfather take?
Touch no one
. But whom might he touch?

He emerged into a large room, made of the same material as the tunnels. A mirror about twice the size of his hand was attached to the wall. It appeared to be mounted on rubber. He steeled himself and approached it. It looked like an ordinary auto mirror, something that had fallen off an old-fashioned car. He leaned forward and breathed on it. The glass fogged, then cleared. He looked into it and found to his surprise that he was looking at a light in the mirror. Peering into the glass, he saw that it was in fact a hall light with a shade. And as he got closer still he saw that the light was in a room, which had a sofa and a leather armchair. One

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wall was lined with books. The other was covered in maps. The floor was of polished wood. Then, to his utter surprise and amazement, the room started to
grow
out of the mirror. In the space of a second or less, the room had gone from a miniature in a mirror to a real room, right in front of him. Owen stared, then moved as if to step into the room.

"Hold it there, son!" A man's voice startled him. He looked up. A man had just entered the room from a side door. He had short gray hair and blue eyes and wore glasses with thick black frames. He was thin and tall and moved with a restless energy. He had a towel in his hands.

"Good thing I caught you," the man said. "I was just drying the dishes. Now, let me get a look at you."

"Granddad?" Owen said, his voice shaking.

"Yes, yes, of course," the man said, coming closer, but not touching Owen. "You are the picture of your father, I'm glad to say. I hope they had the sense to call you Owen."

"Yes ... but you ... you're alive!"

"Well, not exactly. Probably been dead for years at this stage. I wonder what got me. Probably something stupid. It's always the stupid things that get you." The man shook his head. "Well, at least the Long Woman kept her word. I was afraid the old trout wouldn't. She can be a bit tricky, the Long Woman. Pays to keep on the right side of her."

"I don't understand," Owen said.

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"Well, it's one of these strange time things. A device called a Memorator. I'm still in my time--about thirty years ago--and you're still in your time."

"So in your time, I haven't been born yet," Owen said.

"And in your time I'm as dead as a dodo!" his grandfather explained cheerfully. "We have to be careful that we don't say anything that changes things in each other's times--that isn't allowed. But you can give hints." The old man gave Owen a broad wink. Suddenly there was a loud crackling sound, and the scene in front of Owen distorted, as though it was painted on a sheet of rubber and someone had stretched it. Then, just as suddenly, it returned to normal. The old man frowned.

"Dodgy batch of temporal alternators--Higgins, the old dog, swore they were fine." He turned to Owen, his voice urgent now. "We mightn't have much time with this machine. Tell me what's happening."

Owen quickly outlined the Harsh attack on the Workhouse and the larger world.

"I think you were on the track of something that would defeat the Harsh," Owen said.

"Not exactly defeat," his grandfather said. "It's more complicated than that. You know about the song?"

"Yes." Owen's eyes swam as the scene in front of him stretched and distorted again.

"The line you need is at the end." The old man began to sing, his voice quavering.

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Time's child was left alone

Time's child fears the warm

The heart that's froze

Set cold kings ablaze ...

"What does it mean?" Owen asked.

"It means the Harsh aren't who we suppose they are. We have to think differently about them." His grand father was speaking urgently now.

"There is a book ...," Owen said.

"Yes," his grandfather said, "a book. I don't quite understand that bit myself, but it seems there is a book you must find. ..."

But Owen wasn't listening. He had seen a door behind his grandfather open. A young boy wearing pajamas stepped into the room. He was rubbing his eyes sleepily, and looked to be at best half awake. There was a book with a bright cover under his arm. He squinted at the light, seemingly unaware of Owen, who instinctively stepped back into the shadows so that he wouldn't be seen.

"I woke up, Dad," the boy said. "I thought I heard voices."

"You must have been dreaming, son," the old man said. "There's no one here. Go back to bed."

Watching from the shadows, Owen held his breath. For years he had longed to see his father one more time, but he had never thought it would be like this. This sleepy boy with tousled brown hair was his father! And as he watched his grandfather lead his father to bed, he felt his eyes mist over.

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In a minute, his grandfather was back. The old man rubbed his hands over his face wearily. "I do worry about that boy. Too like his dad, I suppose."

I always wanted to see him one more time
, Owen thought, but he dared not say it. In his own time his father was gone, and it would not be fair to tell his grandfather. There was enough pain in his eyes already.

The room flickered again, and Owen heard the crackling sound, louder than it had been before. The whole scene disappeared, then reappeared, but shot through with static, so that he couldn't see part of the room.

"The book!" his grandfather was shouting. "Find ... book ... then ... understand ..."

His grandfather vanished, then reappeared, very close to him, a wolfish grin on his face.

"Good to ... you," he yelled, "... proud of you!"

There was a final massive crackle and then his grand father's room was gone for good. There was nothing except bare gray in front of him. Owen put his fingers to his face. His cheeks were wet.

Silkie had followed the Long Woman back to the fish tank room, not knowing what else she should do. As far as she could tell, the Long Woman had forgotten she was there, or simply didn't care one way or another. The Long Woman sat down at a dressing table draped with old and fragile lace with great holes in it. She took off her headdress and let down her hair--a wild and tangled mass that reached her waist. She picked up a hairbrush and tugged at the hair, but it was full of knots and burrs and thorns,

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and every stroke made her wince and hiss under her breath.

"Here," Silkie found herself saying, "let me do that." Before the Long Woman could react, Silkie had taken the hairbrush from her hand. The Long Woman didn't move, and Silkie found that her hand was shaking. Nervously, she picked out a small thistle head and started to brush.

The hair was very fine, and the tangles fell out easily. Silkie felt as if she was dealing with a very old fabric. The hair appeared gray to start with, but as she brushed, strands of gold started to appear. Silkie had often brushed the children's hair in the warehouse, and she enjoyed it. And as she brushed she sang a Raggie song about a young man who met a beautiful girl on the beach one day. They fell in love and got married, but the young man was foolish and lost his bride back to the sea. Midsong she faltered. The Long Woman had grasped her wrist, hard enough to hurt, and had turned so that Silkie was looking into her eyes, into fathomless depths filled with strange knowledge that Silkie could not imagine. But there was something else, dancing just at the corners of her eyes. Perhaps not even a smile, just the memory of a smile. The Long Woman closed her eyes and released Silkie's hand, and Silkie brushed on and the hair grew finer and finer so that it seemed to fly about her in a golden cloud.

How long Silkie had been asleep she could not tell. She did not remember falling asleep, but when she woke she