The Frost Child (7 page)

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resting on it. Had he dreamed it, or had the tiller given an urgent jerk? The hatch opened and Cati leapt out, pulling on her boots.

"What is it?" Owen said.

"I don't know," she said, scratching her head. "One minute I was sleeping and the next I was on the floor." She looked down at the deck in disbelief. "I think the
Wayfarer
threw me out of bed!"

Then, as if a curtain had been drawn aside, the bank of fog lifted, and they were sailing in a clear silvery light. But it wasn't the sudden emergence from the fog that drew the sharp intake of breath from Cati, or the gasp from Owen. They were no longer alone. All around them, and towering above them, were great white ships moving silently and swiftly, their ranks of sails billowing, a ghost fleet sailing through time.

"What is it?" Cati said in a whisper. A familiar chill started to creep through her bones.

"I don't know," Owen said. One of the ships was bearing down on them, and he moved the tiller so that the
Wayfarer
passed just under the bow. As they passed under he saw that the ship was nameless but bore a figurehead on her bowsprit of a haggard queen. And as the ship swept past them, he saw the gun ports on the side, and how the masts towered far above the
Wayfarer's
little spar.

"Look!" Cati said, her voice trembling. At the helm of the ship stood a gaunt figure in white, cold eyes fixed on the horizon.

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"The Harsh!" Owen said, weaving in between two more ships coming behind the first. Cati shivered and hugged herself tightly.

"Why can't they see us?"

"They're not looking," Owen said. "They don't think that anything can harm them, so they don't have any watchmen, and the Harsh at the wheel look like they are wrapped up in steering the ships. Still, better to be safe."

He put the tiller hard over and brought the
Wayfarer
just in under the stern of the last ship.

"They won't see us here."

"That's why they put all the time back," Cati said. "They wouldn't be able to sail their ships--it's like water that is too shallow. The
Wayfarer
could do it, but they're far too big."

"The real question is, where are they going?" Owen said. They looked at each other.

"The Workhouse!"

"Not just the Workhouse. Our whole world! They sent the storm on ahead to clear the way," Owen said.

"They're invading!"

"Yes, but why now?" Owen said. "Why like this?"

"The king," Cati said, her voice shaking. "You killed their king."

"You think that this ... this armada is for me?" Owen looked incredulous.

"Maybe not all for you. They always wanted to crush the world, to destroy heat and light. There are so many of them, Owen. There have never been so many. What will we do?"

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Owen put his arm around her shoulders.

"We'll find a way to stop them, Cati."

"How do you know for sure?"

"I can ... I can feel it." Owen turned to look at her. Her face was pale and when he touched her hand, it was freezing. Any time she was close to the Harsh, it affected her. His gaze swept over the ghastly fleet. He tried not to let Cati see what he was thinking: there were too many of them, far too many.

Cati's voice broke the silence. "If they are heading for our world ..."

Sudden realization dawned on Owen. He grabbed the tiller. "We need to get there ahead of them! We need to wake the Resisters!"

Owen eased the
Wayfarer
from the side of the ship and sailed away from the fleet. The fleet seemed to stretch off into the distance, each ship with three or four towering ironbound masts, from which sails were stretched. Cold, glassy lanterns hung on the decks and from the masts. The ships appeared to be made from timber, but a timber that was frosted and cold, and ice hung from the rigging. Cati had to turn her eyes away from the ghastly captains who stood at the wheels.

When they were almost out of sight, Owen reset the Mortmain so that they were now on a course for the Workhouse.

"I'm not sure how to set the time," Owen said. "I could turn it back so that we arrive just after we set out, but I don't want to miss. If I get it wrong, then we could

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arrive in three weeks' time instead. We have to rely on the
Wayfarer to
do it for us."

"Can she do it?" Cati said dubiously. As if in answer the boat leapt forward; Cati staggered back and sat down suddenly on the deck. Owen grinned.

"You shouldn't doubt her. All right,
Wayfarer
, let's get back to the Workhouse!" He leaned forward and the
Wayfarer's
sails billowed until they filled the sky. Owen could feel the frame of the boat tense as she picked up speed.

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Chapter 8

Rosie made a forlorn sight as she trudged down the snowy road. She was even dirtier and more disheveled than she had been when she emerged from the tunnel. Her clothes were torn and stained and provided scant protection against the biting cold. A mile from Johnston's she passed a little shop on the side of the road. She stole a look through the window. The shop was low-ceilinged and cozy and beyond it through a doorway she could see a blazing fire with armchairs to either side. She stood at the little door for several minutes, uncertainty tearing at her. The inhabitants might be friendly, but could she take a chance? Owen and Cati and Dr. Diamond had never mentioned such a place. In the end she decided she couldn't risk an encounter with a stranger. She sighed and walked on, not knowing that Owen's mother, the one waking person in this world who would have known about Hadima and the Harsh and would
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have welcomed her, sat at the kitchen table, unable to sleep.

On Rosie walked, and this time she came to a gate where she could see down a slope toward a river running through a line of trees. Just beyond the river, a dark shape loomed. She squinted, trying to see more clearly. Her heart leapt. Owen and Cati had told her that the Workhouse stood beside a river! Climbing the gate quickly, she ran down the field. When she got to the riverbank she could clearly see the gaunt, lifeless building beyond. Puzzled, she stared at it. Owen and Cati had told her about the Workhouse when the Resisters were awake. She had no idea that it was disguised as this crumbling ruin when the Resisters slept.

There was no way to cross the river except by an old tree trunk. Rosie climbed on and gingerly made her away across. But the bark was slippery with ice and Rosie was weak. Halfway across she lost her grip and tumbled off. She braced herself to hit water, a fleeting thought crossing her mind that she could not survive the night in the open in wet clothes. She landed with a bone-numbing crunch--the river was frozen solid.

She picked herself up and made her way to the far bank, her whole body aching. She clambered up the bank and looked around. The Workhouse loomed above her, silent and forbidding.

"Owen!" Her voice echoed in the trees. She climbed the bank toward the Workhouse. There was ivy growing through the windows, and it was roofless. She called out,

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"Owen! Cati! Dr. Diamond!" time and again. For an hour she explored the Workhouse, calling as she went. In the end she sank down on a stone.

Her mission had been in vain. She was shivering uncontrollably and knew that if she did not find some shelter for the night, she could die in the snow. Wearily she rose to her feet and walked to the river. Downriver, the town lay sleeping, but instinct forced her away from it. She was a traveler in time, a refugee from a great city whose presence the people of this world had not even guessed at. Even if people could see her through the shadows of time, she could not risk contact with them.

Finally she had her first piece of luck since she had stepped through the Hadima gate, if luck it was. Rosie wandered off the snow-covered path along the river and found herself floundering on a hillside, forcing her way through snow-covered bracken. Suddenly there was something slippery underfoot. Her feet shot out from under her and she fell flat on her face in the bracken. Her eyes pricked with tears of self-pity. Angrily she wiped them with her sleeve, then blinked and blinked again. She was looking down through the scratched sheet of perspex into a room that was dimly lit by the glow of a piece of magno. There was a battered old sofa, and a table with a little cooker on it, and she remembered Owen talking about a place he went to be on his own. She had stumbled on the Den!

It took another half an hour of casting about before she found the entrance. Then, swaying from exhaustion,

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she fell into the cozy little room. She saw the sleeping bag on the sofa. With one last effort she pulled the bushes across the entrance, then without another thought climbed into the sleeping bag and closed her eyes. Once more a snatch of music drifted through her head before a sharp pain drove it away. The pain faded and she fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Dawn broke clear and cold over the Workhouse and over the snow-covered town. A few birds sang, but only to keep warm, and the others saved their energy in the hope that a thaw would reveal some food. There were few other sounds--sometimes the sharp crack of the sap exploding within a frozen branch or the rustle of snow sliding from a roof to the ground, but otherwise it was quiet. There was no one to hear the faint whistle of a streamlined hull cleaving the air as the
Wayfarer
appeared in the sky, and swooped downward.

Cati had lowered the sail at Owen's signal. For several hours the
Wayfarer
had skimmed across time, never faltering, while Owen stayed at the helm and Cati stood anxiously in the bow. They had moved much faster than on the outward journey, but time was still short. Owen worked the tiller so that the craft swooped low over his own house.

"To the Workhouse! To the Workhouse!" he shouted as loud as he could, and as they sped away he saw his mother's bedroom curtain move. The
Wayfarer
crossed the fields and the river, hit the ground hard in front of

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the Workhouse, and slithered to a halt in the snow. Before the boat had stopped moving, Owen and Cati leapt over the side and ran toward the Starry. With trembling fingers Cati took the key from around her neck and unlocked the door.

Inside, after their frantic dash across time, the quiet struck them like a blow, and for a moment they stood looking down at the rows and rows of sleeping Resisters. Then Owen broke the silence.

"Come on," he said, "you start on that side."

Owen moved toward the first Resister, a young soldier in red who was smiling in his sleep. Owen tapped him sharply on the shoulder.

"Wake up!"

The soldier stirred in his sleep and after a moment sat up, rubbing his eyes. But by this time Owen had moved on. Cati hesitated as she realized she was standing beside Samual, the angry, suspicious leader of a group of Resister soldiers, who was no friend to her, or to Owen. She touched his shoulder.

"Wake up, Samual," she said. "The Watcher calls you."

Samual's eyes snapped open and he sat up, studying Cati as if she was up to no good. Cati moved on to the next sleeper, a man in a red coat, another of Samual's soldiers.

As fast as they could, Owen and Cati moved through the Sleepers. They tried not to stop too long at old friends. Owen woke Contessa, and the wise and gracious head of the Workhouse kitchen smiled gently at him on

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opening her eyes. Cati woke Rutgar, the leader of the Resister army and a grizzled veteran of many fights.

"Wake up, Rutgar. The Harsh are coming!"

"Are they indeed," Rutgar said, rubbing the great scar on his cheek, sitting up and swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. "I'll be ready, Cati!"

Owen woke Pieta, the subtle and dangerous warrior.

"Time to fight, Pieta," he said. But as he started to walk away, her hand closed around his wrist in a grip of iron. With the grace of a panther she rolled out of the bed to stand beside him.

"Call my children next, Navigator," she said.

Hello would have been nice
, he thought, but in his heart he knew why she asked. Her children had once not woken when called because the Harsh had been interfering with time.

"Aldra, Beck. Wake up!" he said. And this time they woke easily and stood, a tall, quiet boy and girl who took up their stations at their mother's shoulder.

Owen was tiring as he reached Dr. Diamond. He touched his old friend's shoulder gently and the doctor's strange blue eyes opened. He stretched his lanky frame and smiled at Owen.

"Owen, you see to Good," he said, and grinned apologetically. "I have to stop speaking backward."

"times old like Feels," Owen replied with a smile. When the Harsh had turned time backward, Dr. Diamond had sometimes got mixed up and started speaking in reverse.