The Frost Child (28 page)

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In five minutes' time they were behind Mary White's shop, and Owen dropped the
Wayfarer
into the snow. They jumped down and ran into the shop. Without a word, he found a stepladder and climbed up to a trapdoor in the ceiling, disappearing inside it. Silkie went to the window. Her heart ached for her friends. Minutes passed, then an hour. Impatient, Silkie climbed the ladder. She found Owen sitting on the attic floor. There were books scattered around him on the floor, and he was reading intently.

"I can't believe you're up here reading," she cried, "and those Harsh are about to freeze everybody we know!"

The face Owen raised to her was serious. He held up the book in his hand. The once-bright colors on the cover were old and faded. The illustration was of a sad-looking, fair-haired boy with frost in his hair.

"What does it say?" Silkie asked, blushing. Owen remembered that the Raggies could not read.

"It's called
The Frost Child
," he said, "and I've just finished it."

"Is it for children?"

"Yes, that's it," Owen said. "It
isa
. book for children!"

Silkie was puzzled. "What's it about?"

They heard an explosion from the direction of the Workhouse, and then another. The room shook.

"I don't have time to explain! Can you sail the
Wayfarer
on your own?"

"I ... I think so...."

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"Come with me."

Silkie followed Owen outside to the
Wayfarer
. He spread out a map on the deck and spoke to her quickly and urgently. Then he adjusted the Mortmain. "Go quickly."

"But what about you?"

"I have to talk to somebody about something that happened long, long ago."

Silkie looked at him gravely, then took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. "Be careful."

"You too." He embraced her. He watched the
Wayfarer
take off and stood looking after her until she had disappeared into the clouds. Then, tucking
The Frost Child
under his jacket, he started to run.

He cut in behind the enemy encampment, keeping down so that he wouldn't be seen, although the camp was deserted. The Workhouse was hidden by a fog of ice, but every few moments there was an explosion followed by a gout of dull orange flame and dark smoke. He did not need to be reminded that his mother and all his friends were in there.

He followed the river toward the harbor. The Hadima entrance seemed to be unmanned, but he took no chances, climbing up onto the bridge and going through the town, or what was left of it. Blackened timbers and fire-scorched masonry covered in snow were all that was left of the town he had grown up in. Rage toward the Harsh welled up in him. They had taken so much. He could still see his father as he was in the Memorator, a

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sleepy boy in pajamas. There was another explosion from the Workhouse, a roar of triumph from the attackers, followed by a woman's scream. Tears of hatred pricked his eyes. He stumbled on something in the snow--a magno gun, dropped by one of the Resisters in their headlong retreat from the sea. He lifted it.

At last he reached the shore. The Harsh ships stretched toward the horizon, a towering ghost fleet covered in frost and ice, surrounded by their ice castles. He didn't see anyone on the ships, but he knew that he was being watched.

He made his way toward the ship with the banner flying from the topmost mast. As he closed he realized that the other ships formed a circle, centered on this one vessel. It got colder as he approached and the ice creaked and groaned. The sounds of battle were distant now. Was the noise muffled by the cloud of ice surrounding the Workhouse, or were the Resisters falling before the attack?

An ornate gangplank led from the deck of the ship to the ice below. As Owen mounted it, he noticed that the filigree carving and ornate detail was made entirely of ice. He touched the rail and it stuck to his hand. As he pulled it away, he hissed in pain. It had torn a patch of skin, and now red blood dropped on the snow-white gangplank as he walked, the cold draining his strength so only the heat of his anger kept him going.

At last he reached the deck. He did not have to look further. In front of the mast stood the frost child. Owen

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raised the gun. He knew that he need only pull the trigger and the Harsh would be destroyed forever. He thought of his father drowned. His mother and his friends battling for their lives. The people of Hadima buried under ice. He remembered Cati's father, sucked into the vortex of time created by the Harsh. His finger tightened on the trigger. Then he saw that the child was looking not at his face but at the book that showed from under his jacket, and there was an unimaginable longing in his eyes.

The boy spoke now, and the voice was that of a lost child, filled with loneliness. He said three words. Owen lowered the gun, his anger draining away. He could not fire. The child said the three words again.

"Read to me."

Owen put the gun down. He knelt on the deck and opened the book. The boy sat beside him with a grave, trusting look on his face. Owen read the story of a child born a long time ago, in an other world, far from Owen's and from the Resisters'.

The child's parents could imagine things into being. That was their work. They imagined a forest and there it was. They imagined a new kind of animal and it appeared. But they were too busy at their work and they did not spend enough time with their son, leaving him alone in a garden under the stars. In his loneliness he began to imagine things to play with. At first it was just toys. And then he imagined a bear and a dog who would keep him company. But that was not enough. One day

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when his parents had been gone longer than usual, the child was angry, and he imagined kings and queens of ice. And because he missed the warmth of his mother and father, the kings and queens hated warmth. And because he hated his life, they hated life as well. At first they did his bidding, but they were willful and were soon out of his control. They went abroad and did evil. And because he had imagined them, he could not unimagine them, and they kept him close to them so he could not escape.

When his mother and father returned from their journey, the garden was frozen and the child was gone. They searched all their days to find him but he was lost forever.

Is it true?
Owen thought.
Could a child imagine the Harsh into being? Is that where they come from?

"Did you imagine them?" Owen asked. "The Harsh?" The boy nodded.

"Can you stop them? Do you know how?"

This time the child shook his head and a tear rolled down his face.

"And that means ..." Owen's brain hurt from thinking. "That you are frozen too."

The tear fell from the child's face. It was a drop of ice before it hit the deck.

Worse than that
, Owen thought.
He is frozen and lost beyond his time. The Harsh are all he has. There has to be another way. I need to talk to somebody
.

Owen got to his feet. He was so cold he could barely move. He put the book back under his jacket. The boy watched him steadily.

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"I'll think of something else," Owen promised, although he did not know what that might be. As Owen went down the gangplank, the tears ran freely from the child's eyes and fell on the deck like an icy rain.

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Chapter 28

The Resisters could not have prepared for the ferocity of the attack. A hail of fire from the Q-cars struck the leading defenses on the edge of the frozen river. Ice lances and magno rockets rained down. Frozen earth and ice were thrown high in the air, and the noise was deafening. The Porcupine could not shoot down half of the ice lances. And then the Q-cars started to advance. High on the battlements, Cati, Wesley, and Rosie watched.

"We ain't got a hope against that lot," Wesley said. Dr. Diamond, who had been watching the advance through binoculars, turned to them.

"Everything's been going much as I expected. I'm going to need each of you."

"I hope you got something special up your sleeve, Doc," Rosie told him.

"Have you ever practiced martial arts?" Dr. Diamond asked.

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"What's that?" Rosie said suspiciously.

"A form of oriental combat. One of the principles is that you use your opponents' strength against them."

"How do we do that, then?" Wesley regarded the doctor dubiously.

"Look," Dr. Diamond said, handing Wesley the telescope. Beyond the lines of Q-cars, Wesley saw the ranks of the Harsh. They had formed themselves into pyramids, with nine or ten Harsh in each. Ice started to form about them.

"That's what they done before," Wesley said. "They put their Harsh breath together and make a weapon out of it, like a beam."

"Exactly."

"And then me and Owen brought out the dressing table, the one with the mirror. Boom!"

"Dressing table?" Rosie repeated, bewildered. "What dressing table? What are you talking about?"

"Do you remember those covered discs I hung over the parapet?" the doctor said. "They're mirrors."

"Brilliant!" Cati exclaimed.

"You're all bonkers," Rosie said. A low hum rose from the ranks of the Harsh.

"Cover your ears!" Cati warned. The hum grew in pitch and intensity, sounding at first like a bleak northern wind, a wind with lonely, wicked voices in it. Then it became an ear-piercing shriek. From each of the pyramids of ice a beam of absolute cold was hurled at the Workhouse.

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"Quick!" Dr. Diamond said. "Use those ropes. Throw the covers off the mirrors!" They did as he said. The ice beams struck the Workhouse with a mighty crash. Chunks of masonry and ice were flung high into the air. Cati felt the ground under her feet vibrate with the power of the beam.

"Use the other ropes to raise and lower the mirrors," Dr. Diamond shouted above the mighty din. Cati looked down at the mirror below her, a polished disc of metal about four feet across. It was surprisingly light, and using the rope she could move it easily up and down. An ice beam was aimed at one of the corners of the Workhouse and it was eating into the old mortar and stone. Cautiously she lowered the mirror into the path of the beam. With an impact that nearly tore the rope from her grasp, the beam struck the mirror and ricocheted off into the sky.

"Well done, Cati!" Dr. Diamond shouted. "Now try to use the mirrors as aiming devices. Send the beams right back to them."

First Wesley and then Rosie intercepted a beam. Wesley's went upward but Rosie's sheared the top off a small copse of trees near the river, showering Samual with leaves and branches.

"Whoops!" She grinned.

Dr. Diamond was more successful. He managed to angle the beam so that it was sent across the battlefield, striking the left-hand wheels of the lead Q-car. It toppled slowly to the ground and burst into flames. There was a cheer from the defenders below.

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Soon Cati and Wesley were sending their beams into the middle of the attacking Q-cars. Three of them had slowed to a halt, and another was in flames. But Rosie couldn't manage to direct her fire at all. In fact, the defenders below were more in danger than the attackers as ice beams struck at random among the trenches.

"Maybe you better stop, Rosie," Cati said anxiously.

"Just one more try ...," Rosie said, her face scrunched up with effort. An ice beam moved swiftly across the front of the building, tearing at the fabric with terrible power. Rosie closed one eye to aim and dropped the mirror right in front of the beam. It was turned back on itself, and shot across the fields, over the heads of the attackers and defenders alike, and crashed into the Harsh who had fired it. The Harsh structure began to vibrate. The Harsh inside threw their arms up, their mouths wide. With a mighty crash the structure exploded, ice raining down on the battlefield.

"Bull's-eye!" Rosie shouted, and a great roar arose from the defenders. From the left flank of the battlefield, Rutgar and his men appeared, taking the enemy by surprise. Two Q-cars turned in confusion, crashing into each other, their wheels becoming hopelessly entangled. The others fired wildly, in one case striking another Q-car. Rutgar pressed on. Gradually, and then in confusion, the attackers started to retreat, many flinging down their weapons and running.

It was this mob that Owen met as he came up from the harbor, the magno gun in front of him. But none of

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them spared him a glance, the Specials running without looking back, the bespectacled Albions squealing and crashing into things. For although they could now bear the daylight, the dark glasses meant that they couldn't see very well. Owen moved cautiously. Johnston could be anywhere, and would know him instantly.

But it wasn't Johnston who recognized him. A disciplined group of men came over the rise in front of him, moving quickly, and firing steadily at their pursuers. Owen tried to get out of their way, but it was too late. The man at their head spotted Owen. It was Headley, chief corsair of the Specials, who had flung Owen in prison during his time in Hadima. A wicked grin spread across Headley's face.

"Cover me, boys," he growled. "I've got business with this young gentleman here."

Owen tried to raise the magno gun but Headley's heavy baton dashed the gun out of Owen's grasp. The next blow came at Owen's head, but he ducked and caught it on the shoulder. The pain was sickening. Headley raised the baton again. Owen threw himself sideways in the snow and Headley missed, the baton sticking in the ice. Headley struggled to free it, Owen staggered to his feet and ran toward the Resister lines, evading Headley's men, but before he had got far he heard Headley bellowing in triumph. A shadow fell over him. He looked up and his heart sank. A Q-car stood over him, its front bristling with cannon. He turned to see Headley, baton raised. Owen fell to his knees in the snow. He could run no farther. He heard the baton