City of Time (13 page)

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and bounced off the ground, spiraling up to land on the roof of the tractor. It crouched there barking furiously.

Owen examined Cati's face and shoulder. Her face looked bad, but the scratches weren't deep. Owen washed her wounds out, then, following Dr. Diamond's instructions, found his medicine box in the rucksack and shook penicillin powder into the cuts.

When Cati clambered shakily back into the cab, Rosie looked concerned. "Dirty old things, those Dogs," she said.

The landscape by the side of the road had changed from snowy trees to small settlements. There were poor-looking neighborhoods with houses that were barely more than shacks, but sometimes Owen caught a glimpse of older streets, with shops and restaurants, and people bundled up against the cold eating hot food. Once he saw a skating rink with children on it.

"It's getting dark." Dr. Diamond frowned. "Or is it my eyes?"

"No," Rosie said, "it gets dark good and early around here in winter." She was quiet for a minute before she lifted a gloved hand and pointed. "Look," she said softly. "Hadima!"

Ahead of them, through flurries of snow and the golden light of the setting sun, rose a conical mountain covered in stone buildings. The winter light flashed off wet slate roofs, marking the lines of streets climbing toward the peak. But although the light was still good and there was no fog, Owen couldn't make out the very

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top of the City. Every time he tried it slipped out of focus.

Rosie glanced at him with a wry smile on her face. "They're pretty tricky folk on the top of that hill," she said. "Hard to pin them down."

Despite this, there was a beauty to the city on the hill. The houses clung tightly to the slopes, with smoke coming from chimneys. It had an air of mystery, its tightly packed streets disappearing into little squares surrounded by bare trees.

"Looks better from here," Rosie said. "Can get a bit smelly close up."

Owen looked at Cati and found her asleep against his shoulder. The scratches on her face were red and angry. He touched her forehead. It was feverish.

The drivers speeded up on seeing the City. Even Rosie had to keep her eyes on the road, constantly alert to another truck or a tricycle trying to barge its way through. "Getting dark, getting dark," she muttered to herself, "and these folks got no papers. It'll have to be the underground."

"What's the underground?" Owen asked, but Rosie didn't answer. The Speedway veered to the left and swept around the City. There was a massive concrete wall to one side and a dead drop to the other. But there were gaps in the wall and Rosie seemed to be counting them off.

Suddenly she wrenched the wheel to the right. The truck went careening across all the lanes of traffic.

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Brakes shrieked. A tricycle clipped the bumper and almost toppled. A speeding dragster had to deploy its parachute to avoid crashing into the side of them. Drivers roared and shook their fists and at least one tried to train a gun on the truck. Owen shut his eyes.

"Why am I glad I can't see properly?" Dr. Diamond said mildly.

Fighting the wheel, Rosie plunged toward the gap in the wall. Owen opened his eyes to see wooden road-work barriers blocking the way. "Look out!" he shouted, but Rosie didn't stop. Splintered timber flew high into the air as she gunned the truck into the darkness. It careered down a nearly vertical slope, then, with a sickening bang from the suspension, leveled out.

Rosie braked hard. Owen saw a wall coming toward him. The tires shrieked and the wall loomed up until, with inches to spare, the truck came to rest and Rosie turned the engine off.

Owen looked around. The truck was standing on some iron rails next to a platform covered with rubbish and building debris. "Where are we?" he said shakily.

"Abandoned underground station," Rosie said. "Welcome to the City."

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Chapter 15

Martha had walked through the town earlier that day. People stood in huddles outside shops, talking in hushed voices and looking up at the moon, which was clearly visible in the daytime sky There were two or three earth tremors each day now and some buildings had collapsed. The television showed fires raging unchecked in other cities. Some claimed that the earth was being punished for man's wickedness and that it was time to repent. A group of people had set up a camp on the cliffs overlooking the harbor and were holding round-the-clock prayer services.
They should be praying for Owen and Cati and Dr. Diamond
, she thought, her mind returning to Owen, as it did day and night. The City was dangerous and he was so young. Her heart ached for him.

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Enough
, she said firmly to herself. There was nothing she could do to help him. Her job was to help look after the Workhouse and the sleeping Resisters until he got back.

Martha had begun to piece together her lost past, although it seemed so strange that she wondered if she had dreamed it, and there was no one to ask if it was otherwise. She remembered Owen, of course, and realized how much he had looked after her in recent years, and how much he had taken on his young shoulders. She remembered being young and meeting a handsome young man. They had got married quickly, but so much after that was still a blur.

She remembered finding out that there was more to him than she'd first known. She'd thought he was involved in a revolution or an underground movement or something. There were secret meetings at night, strange visitors, things he could not tell her about. Then one night he'd sat down with her at the kitchen table and told her a story about the Workhouse, and Resisters, and how time itself had to be constantly defended.

And now everything was a jumble. There had been a journey. Then there had been pain and the sleep from which she had only just awoken.

The chest. That was it! It was something to do with the chest in Owen's room. She reached for understanding, but it slipped away into the void. And in her heart she knew what the void was: that her husband was

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gone. His car had driven into the harbor. The baby, Owen, had been rescued, but her husband was gone.

Silkie went to the window. During the night the tide had carried more of the dock away.
Safer that way
, she thought.

There were other new things as well. The moon stood high in the sky, as bright as the sun. And there was a large white tent on the cliff overlooking the harbor, with people coming and going.

Where's Wesley?
she wondered. Wesley would have an explanation for all of this. She splashed water on her face, then went to the Starry to check on the sleeping children. They still slept, in the same fretful atmosphere she had felt before. She felt helpless, looking down at the troubled, sleeping faces.

I have to guard them
, she thought.
About all I can do, so I better do it well
.

She went into the big room downstairs where the children used to gather. There was a box in the corner that only Wesley was allowed near. But Wesley wasn't there. The box was locked, but she got an old piece of metal and used it to force the lock. She reached in, took out a magno gun, and loaded it. Then she went to the highest window of the warehouse and stood there, a lone sentinel on guard over an island of sleeping children.

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Chapter 16

After the turmoil of the Speedway, the old underground station was quiet and peaceful. Owen got down from the cab. The platform walls displayed posters for cough medicines and holidays, but they were so tattered and faded that he couldn't make out any details.

"What happened here?"

"Magno got too dear to run it," Rosie said, shrugging. "Besides, there's only poor people down this end of town. The Terminus don't really care about us. Rather keep us down here and poor than have us running about uptown, getting in their way."

"What do we do now?"

"I have one contact that might be promising," Dr. Diamond said. "I got it from one of the guides. The owner's name is familiar."

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"Where is it?" Rosie asked.

"The Museum of Time. Do you know it, Rosie?"

"I think so," she said, frowning. "Down near the end of Desole Row. But first things first. We need to get out of this tunnel. Wouldn't want Dogs to come across us down here. Nor the Specials, for that matter. I don't like them, and they don't like Rosie, no sir."

"Well, then, let's get going," Dr. Diamond said.

"I'll take you as far as Cyanite Place, where I live. It's safer than most areas and you can get anything there, as long as you pay for it."

"Is there a doctor?" Dr. Diamond said. "I'm worried about Cati."

Owen looked at his friend guiltily. He had almost forgotten about her encounter with the Dog. She was sleeping peacefully, but every so often her limbs twitched and she whimpered. Owen knelt beside her.

"Don't wake her," Dr. Diamond warned. "Sleep is probably the best thing for her."

They got back into the truck and Rosie drove slowly through the abandoned tunnel. Now that they were in the City, Owen started to think about the task ahead and felt a wave of depression wash over him. How were they to find out where all the time had gone? And if they did, how would they put it back? And would that prevent the moon from colliding with the earth? It seemed as impossible as reaching out with a hand and pushing the moon away.

He wondered if the Harsh were behind it. Was this

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yet another attempt to plunge his world into darkness and emptiness?

Beside him, Dr. Diamond hummed tunelessly. If he was worried by the scale of the task in front of them, he wasn't showing it. The tunnel opened out and they came to another deserted, vandalized station.

Rosie stopped the truck. "Come on," she said, and Owen followed her out of the cab. Beyond a wooden barrier lay a darkened street. "No patrols about," Rosie said nervously. "Good. Help me with this."

Together they lifted the barrier out of the way and went back to the truck. Rosie turned the lights off. "There's not supposed to be traffic in this zone," she said. "If the Specials see us, they'll take us for smugglers."

Keeping the revs low, Rosie eased the truck out into the street. Owen peered around, trying to see what the City looked like. There were ornate wrought-iron streetlights, but the glass had long since been smashed and the cabling wrenched out. The buildings had beautiful carvings, but the windows were broken and doors sagged on their hinges. Once they saw a blue light in the distance and Rosie killed the engine. They waited for ten nervous minutes before creeping forward again.

After half an hour Rosie pointed to a red circle painted on a gable wall ahead of them, beyond which were lights. She accelerated toward it.

"That's my district. No curfew there."

As soon as they passed the red circle, people appeared

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on the streets: men in fur hats, women with long coats and tall hats. Everything was patched and darned, Owen noticed, but they wore the clothes proudly. The houses and shop fronts were old and in need of repair, but lights shone from windows and children were playing on front steps. Everywhere there was somebody selling something--old clothes, battered toys, secondhand furniture.

People stood around glowing braziers, warming their hands and chatting. There was food too--chickens being turned on a spit, potatoes roasting in the ashes, bowls of hot soup, roasted meats and fish on long skewers. The tempting smells were almost overpowering.

Rosie was grinning broadly. She opened the window and leaned her elbow on it like a truck driver. People waved and shouted to her as they passed. "Like the truck, Rosie!" "Where'd you steal that?"

They passed down several busy streets, then turned into a quieter area. She swung the truck under an arch and they emerged into a courtyard.

"Welcome to Cyanite Place."

Cyanite Place was a square of tall, crooked buildings with odd bent chimney stacks. The center was dominated by an ancient elm tree surrounded by stone seats. In the corner was a small pub, the Whin Bush Inn. As Rosie turned off the engine, a woman came to the door of the inn, drying her hands on a towel. She was small

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and broad and wore a blue crocheted shawl, and her jet-black hair was piled on top of her head in the tallest bun Owen had ever seen.

"I'm back, Mrs. Newell," Rosie said, "and I've brought some guests."

"Paying guests, I hope," the woman said in a deep voice.

"I have a fund of notes in many denominations and currencies to put at your disposal, madam," Dr. Diamond said. "I am Dr. Diamond and I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Got manners anyhow," Mrs. Newell said. "How d'you do, and who else have you got with you?"

Rosie introduced Owen and Cati. Mrs. Newell gave Owen a curious look but said nothing. Then she came over to the truck and looked in at the sleeping Cati. "What's wrong with her?"

Rosie told her what had happened and a black look came over Mrs. Newell's face. "Why didn't you tell me that first!" she cried, swiping at Rosie with the towel.

Mrs. Newell wrenched the cab door open. "Don't just sit there," she said, poking Dr. Diamond. "Carry the poor child inside."

With Owen guiding him, the doctor lifted Cati and carried her across the courtyard to the inn. They ducked under the doorway and entered a long, low-ceilinged room. A fire burned in the grate and its flickering light reflected from polished brasses and china.