City of Time (14 page)

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There were several dark wooden tables and chintz sofas, and battered but comfortable leather armchairs. There was a small counter at the end of the room, and beside it was a large black stove on which pots bubbled softly.

Mrs. Newell led the way through a door beside the counter. They followed her up a narrow, twisting staircase with uneven steps and into an even lower-ceilinged bedroom. Under the window was a bed with feather pillows and a bright red quilt.

"I'll put her to bed," Mrs. Newell said. "Take this lot down and give them some stew, Rosie. That lad looks half starved."

While Mrs. Newell fussed over Cati, Rosie led them downstairs. She ladled stew into deep plates and put them on the table. Then she found hunks of fresh white bread. There was silence for five minutes while they tucked into the delicious hot food, using the bread to mop up the last drops of gravy.

A radio was playing behind the counter. The volume was low and Owen hadn't really been aware of it, but Rosie sprang to her feet and turned it up. Voices crackled out.

"... subversives."
Owen heard a harsh male voice.

"Where'd they come from?"
said another.

"Down the Speedway. A boy, two girls, and a weird-looking man. Reckon the Albions had a go at them on the way."

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"That's us!" Owen said.

"They in the City?"
the first voice went on.

"Hard to tell. Might've gone down one of the old under ground tunnels."

"Told you we should've blown those places up."

"That's the Terminus' call."

"Too cheap to pay for the explosives."

"Could use a few of them hostages--they could do with a little bit of exercise,"
the second voice said with a harsh laugh.

"Over and out."

Rosie turned down the radio again. "Mrs. Newell keeps an eye on the Specials' radio. She likes to know what's going on."

"We were noticed," Dr. Diamond said.

"That we were. We'll have to be careful."

"We need to find a tempod quickly," Dr. Diamond said.

"The traders used to bring them down the river," Rosie said. "To sell them in the Bourse."

"The Bourse?"

"The exchange. For buying and selling stuff."

"Of course. You said. Where is it?"

"Uptown. I can show you, for a price. Speaking of which, I ain't got paid at all yet."

Dr. Diamond produced his wallet. He opened a side pocket and shook out some silver coins. "Is that enough?"

"I don't want no foreign currency," Rosie said. "No

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good around here." Then she picked up one of the coins and stared at it. There was the faintest of blue glows from it, as though magno had been used in its making. Quickly the coins disappeared into a pocket of her dress. "That'll have to do," she said, although Owen had the impression that she had been very well paid indeed.

Just then Mrs. Newell came down the stairs.

"How is Cati?" Owen asked anxiously.

"I don't know," Mrs. Newell said, frowning. "There's no infection as such, but wounds from a Dog bite or scratch can have very strange effects."

"What sort of effects?" Owen demanded, but Mrs. Newell merely shook her head.

"I gave her a drink and her temperature is down. More than likely she'll be right as rain in the morning."

"I think we should--" Owen began, but Rosie cut in with a warning look.

"Mrs. Newell knows what she's doing."

The woman's arms were folded and her lips pursed. "That's not all," she said. "That child has felt the breath of the Harsh in the past. There is a cold in her bones."

"She has. I was with her when it happened," Owen said.

"And who are you, young man?" Mrs. Newell said. "Why would the Harsh take such an interest in you and your friend?"

"We just ... we just got in their way, I think," Owen stammered. He wasn't sure if the fact that he was called

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the Navigator would mean anything to Mrs. Newell, but he felt reluctant to let her know about it.

"Specials were on the scanner," Rosie told her. "They know we got in."

"Specials aren't that interested in the likes of you," Mrs. Newell said. "It's about time some business got done here. Including which, that stew needs paying for."

Dr. Diamond produced his wallet. He took Mrs. Newell over to the counter and they talked in low voices. When he came back he had arranged for them to stay.

Mrs. Newell left the room and returned with a wooden box. She put it down on the table and opened it. It was full of eyeglasses, many of them with bent frames on cracked or missing lenses. "The late Mr. Newell kept a market stall," she said. "He used to sell glasses, among other things."

Owen tried to keep a straight face as Dr. Diamond tried on different kinds of glasses, including pince-nez and monocles. Eventually he settled on a pair with big black frames and the thickest glass that Owen had ever seen. Even Mrs. Newell looked startled when he turned to look at her with his eyes magnified to three times their normal size.

"That's better," he said. "Now, Rosie, can you take us to the museum?"

"You'd better walk," Mrs. Newell said. "That truck sticks out like a sore thumb."

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"It's late. The museum might be closed," Owen said, sipping at the piping hot tea that Mrs. Newell had placed in front of him.

"We have to try," Dr. Diamond said.

"This'll be more money," Rosie said with satisfaction.

"What about Cati?" Owen asked.

"Best let her sleep," Mrs. Newell said. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her."

"Go up and see her," Dr. Diamond said to Owen, hearing the worry in his voice.

He climbed the narrow stairs once more and went into the little bedroom. Cati was sleeping peacefully. He sat on the bed beside her for a few moments, then got up to go.

As he did so her eyes opened. "Navigator," she said, and her voice was strong.

"Cati! You're awake!"

Her eyes were clear. "I'll be all right," she said. "I'm just a little sore. But I'm much better. You need to find the Cati! You're awake."

"I'm worried about you."

"I am the Watcher," she said, her voice stern. "And my father before me."

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a grin, and saluted. She lifted a pillow from the bed and threw it at him weakly.

"I'll report in later," he said, the relief clear on his face.

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"Go on," she said, smiling.

After he left Cati lay thinking for a few moments before her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep. When Mrs. Newell looked in an hour later, Cati was still asleep, but frowning and making small troubled noises.

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Chapter 17

Outside a biting wind was blowing through the archway. Owen got hats and scarves from the truck, and they set out. There were fewer people on the street, but still Rosie exchanged greetings with shopkeepers and stallholders. If they were curious as to who her friends were, they didn't ask. They passed houses where the faint strains of music could be heard and once Owen looked in through a cracked window and saw two children in pajamas in front of a fire, being read a story. He felt a pang of longing as the freezing wind blew sleet against the back of his neck. The district looked like a good place to live, he thought. For all that it was run-down and poor, there was a warmth to it and its people.

The next streets were quieter again. There were few shops open and everyone they met appeared to be

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hurrying home. Rosie pressed on without looking back, stopping at each junction and checking the roads carefully. They entered a work district where large deserted factories loomed, closed off with ugly barbed-wire fences. There was less cover here and Rosie seemed more nervous. The pavement beneath their feet was black with ice.

"What are these places?" Dr. Diamond asked, as if he was out for a stroll among some ancient monuments.

"Not sure," Rosie muttered.

They turned into a narrow street with tall buildings on both sides. The wind channeled down the street and made Owen's eyes water, and he heard it whistling through the wires overhead. At least that's what he thought until Rosie gave a low groan.

"Specials," she said. She looked around frantically. The whistling noise was rapidly getting louder and Owen could see a blue glow nearing them. "Quick!" Rosie said. "Get in behind these bins."

"What about you?" Owen said.

"I've got ID, so they can't arrest me," Rosie said. "I'll try to lead them away from you."

Owen and Dr. Diamond ducked behind battered steel bins outside a doorway. Rosie walked toward the end of the street, where the whistling was coming from. A group of men appeared around the corner, carrying a magno light. Owen had expected a recognizable police force, but this crew was as villainous-looking as Johnston's men. Their faces were unshaven and rough;

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they carried an assortment of cudgels and knives and wore bandoliers of ammunition. The only thing that distinguished them as anything but thugs were the hats they wore--tall, old-fashioned domes with a brass button on top and tarnished silver badges on the front. They had whistles on chains around their necks, which they blew continuously and noisily, interspersed with rough laughter and belching. They came down the street, kicking at doors and swinging cudgels at the few windows left unbroken. They hadn't noticed Rosie yet, and Owen thought she looked very small and brave as she walked toward them. Then, as if at a signal, they stopped and stared at her, like hunting dogs who had just spotted prey.

"Please," Rosie said in a little girl's voice, "have you seen a cat? I've lost my kitty."

As an excuse for being out alone this time of night, it was pretty thin stuff, Owen thought.

"Cat?" one of the Specials said. "What's it look like?"

"Black and white."

"I thought I seen one floating in the river," the man said with a roar of laughter.

"I seen Dogs chasing one," another said. "I think they ate it an' all."

There was more laughter and jeering. Then one Special stepped forward. He was taller and thinner than the others, with a pale, sickly-looking face. He held out his hand. "Papers, please." He didn't raise his voice, but the others fell quiet.

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Rosie took a document out of her pocket and handed it to him. He caught her hand and pulled off her glove.

"You won't find much magno down around here," he sneered. "Nor will you find many cats, if you're telling us the truth."

"I am telling the truth, sir," she said, with a half curtsey.

Don't overdo it, Rosie
, Owen thought. The little-girl act might fool the other Specials, but this one seemed different.

The man's eyes narrowed as he looked at her. "These magno hunters are a nuisance," he said. "Cocky enough when young, then of course the hands fall off and they end up begging. Just as soon send them to the Terminus jail at this age." He examined her ID and smiled thinly. "It seems we have a financial investment in you, Rosie, so we'd better let you go on looking for this cat of yours. Though you're probably scrounging around in the filth looking for magno shavings. There aren't any left, you should know that."

Owen could feel his face going red with anger at the way the thin-faced man was treating Rosie. He started to get to his feet, but Dr. Diamond put a restraining hand on his arm. "Don't," he whispered. "This is her world. She knows what she's doing."

The man handed her back the papers. Rosie reached out for her glove, but he threw it on the ground at her

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feet. "You're just outside the curfew zone. Don't let me catch you in it. Who knows what unpleasantness might await you in the Terminus."

The Specials guffawed. Rosie bent down to pick up her glove. "Yes, sir," she said quietly.

He watched her put the glove on. "Don't think I'm fooled," he said. "This city is full of trash like you. I put a dozen in jail every day. If you didn't owe us ..." He turned to the other men. "All right, let's go." The whistling and roaring resumed as the patrol moved away.

"That looks like a very dangerous man," Dr. Diamond said.

Rosie stood still on the pavement until the patrol was out of earshot, then she beckoned the others out of hiding.

"Are you OK?" Owen asked.

"Course I am." She smiled thinly. "Although I didn't expect to run into Headley."

"Headley?"

"The thin one. The chief corsair himself. Must be something going on if he's running around with that bunch of fools. Let's move before they come back."

They crossed a patch of open ground at the top of the street. The buildings on the other side changed again. This time they looked like merchants' houses, once more boarded up and abandoned. In one window torn brocade curtains flapped in the wind.