The Frost Child (19 page)

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Chapter 20

Weary beyond measure, the Resisters threw themselves where they could. Those with minor hurts had to tend to themselves, for there were many with grievous injuries. Contessa worked calmly for many hours, Cati beside her, painfully aware that the ring had never been given a chance to recover its full power. Several times Cati had asked after Pieta, but Contessa had merely shaken her head.

Owen met Rutgar, who had put his exhausted men back on duty and was now looking for food for them.

"It's not good," Rutgar growled. "More than half of our fighting men are injured. And we've lost a good part of our magno cannons."

"What about Pieta?" Owen asked. Rutgar shook his head and ran his hand through his graying hair.

"She'll live, they reckon, but she may not fight again. She has lost her right hand."

Owen looked stricken. He could not imagine Pieta

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without the whip flickering restlessly in her hand. And the Workhouse needed her!

"It's a bad day," Rutgar said. "We can't afford to do that again. I reckon they knew we were coming. The Specials were going to take us in the rear. If Cati and Wesley hadn't spotted them, we wouldn't have stood a chance."

But that was not the way that others saw it. Hours later Owen heard Samual in the Convoke hall, encouraging his soldiers and claiming a victory.

"We burned six ships," he said, "and we showed the Harsh that we haven't bowed the knee to them."

Yes, but we have lost over half of our fighting power
, Owen thought. He felt torn: anxious to be gone in his search for the Long Woman, and reluctant to leave the weary and frightened Resisters. He could see how their eyes followed him as he passed. He felt like crying out,
I'm not the one. I don't know how to save you!

Then Wesley was beside him, talking urgently. He'd overheard Moorhead talking to another soldier, and related the conversation.

"We could have beaten the Harsh for good if that Navigator hadn't opened the Hadima entrance. First the Albions came through it, and now these Specials. We would be free now if it wasn't for him and his Raggie friends," she had said, spitting out the word
Raggie
.

The next words made Wesley's blood run cold.

The other soldier said, "Every time he goes off in that boat of his, he brings more trouble."

"That's true," Moorhead said, her eyes shining.

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"If somebody put a flame to it, then he wouldn't go nowhere, would he?"

Owen looked at Wesley. That settled it. He wasn't going to leave the
Wayfarer
to the mercy of resentful soldiers. "There's something else," Owen said.

"What?"

Quickly he told Wesley about Rosie and the pipe. Then a cry rose from the battlements. Owen and Wesley raced up the stairs to find Dr. Diamond at the parapet.

"What's going on out there, anyway?" Wesley said, peering into the darkness. Torches were approaching across the fields.

Dr. Diamond narrowed his eyes. "Johnston," he said shortly.

Soon they could all see that it was indeed Johnston, surrounded by Specials. Johnston stopped just out of bow range.

"Good evening, Resisters," he boomed. "That was a fine skirmish today, excellent. Most refreshing. I have to say you singed a few of the Harsh. They're in a right old snit about it. You know what the Harsh are like--no sense of humor."

"What do you want, Johnston?" a voice called from the trenches.

"Sorry about going on," Johnston said, not one bit sorry. "I know you must all be tired. And maybe a little bit hungry as well? I won't detain you. The Harsh are only here for one thing. A wrong has been done to them and they want to right it. Most reasonable, I think." He lowered his voice confidentially. "And we all know that

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the Harsh can be
verrry
unreasonable." He resumed his normal tone. "As I say, they only want one thing: justice. They want to put the killer of their king on trial in their own court. Hand him over, and they hand you back the world. Simple as that. If you don't hand him over, then I'm afraid we'll have to starve you out. It won't take very long." He chuckled. "I hear the Albions did some very naughty things in your food stores. No morals, those Albions--you can't do a thing with them."

Still laughing to himself, Johnston turned away, then, as if he'd forgotten something, turned back.

"By the way, I hate to sound like a bad film, but of course you have forty-eight hours to consider the offer. No, I take that back. I actually
like
sounding like a bad film. Sleep tight!"

Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Johnston walked off into the night.

Owen was white-faced.

"The dog," Wesley said. They could hear a murmur rising from the troops in the trenches below.

"He has caught them at a low point," Dr. Diamond said. "He is very clever."

Owen looked over the battlements. Moorhead was moving among the soldiers. She spoke to a group of them, and afterward they turned resentful faces toward the battlements. There was a noise behind them. It was Samual. Ignoring Owen, he walked to the battlements and stared down at his men.

"You know what they are saying, of course?" Samual spoke without looking at Owen or the others.

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"That I should surrender to the Harsh? That the Workhouse would be saved?"

"Yes."

Wesley made a disgusted noise and spat on the ground.

"But the Workhouse wouldn't be saved," Owen said, "would it, Samual? They would not spare it, even if I did surrender to them. If I thought that I could save everyone, I would give myself up to Johnston now."

"And if I thought that by sacrificing you I could save the Workhouse, then I'd throw you over the battlements myself," Samual snarled, spinning round to face them. "You're right. The Harsh won't stop at that. But stay out of my way, boy, or I'll hand you over anyway!"

Samual strode across the roof and down the stairs.

Wesley was livid. "Don't that man know what you done for this place?"

"I don't think he really understands," Dr. Diamond said. "He has a soldier's mind."

"It's time to set sail," Owen said, "long past time."

"I agree," another voice said. It was Martha. "I only said that you should wait until the soldiers had returned safely."

"One minute the Resisters are looking up to me, the next they're blaming me for everything. Which is it?" Owen said in despair.

"I didn't say to expect gratitude, did I?" his mother said gently, embracing him. "Go now, and bring back hope."

So it was that the five friends met on the deck of the
Wayfarer
. The air was thick with smoke from the burning

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town, and the sky was red from the flames. It felt like they stood at the end of the world. Without a word Cati put her arms around Owen. Wesley stood back, but Silkie took his hands.

"Don't be daft, Wesley," she said, "give us a hug." Rosie grabbed Owen and gave him a bear hug, the top of her hat just reaching to his nose.

"Take care of yourself, Navigator," she said, looking playfully into his face. He wondered what secret was concealed behind those eyes.

They were silent for a moment. None of them needed to be told of the danger the Workhouse was in. They were only at the beginning of a siege by a deadly enemy, and already they were exhausted and short of food, with beds full of wounded. If that was not enough, the Resisters were rent by suspicion and mistrust and were about to embark on Uel and Mervyn's trial. If Owen succeeded in his mission, would there be a Workhouse to come back to?

Reluctant now that it came to parting, Owen stood at the helm. Rosie climbed up to the padlock and, feeling in her hair for a pin, had it open within seconds. Cati, Wesley, and Rosie stood in silence as the
Wayfarer
rose slowly through the smoke and then, with one last wave from Silkie and Owen, was gone. Cati felt tears on her face. Wesley put an arm around her shoulders, a warmth in the gesture that she hadn't felt from him before. She did not pull away.

"See you soon, Navigator," she murmured, but no answer came from the dark and smoke-filled sky.

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Chapter 21

From high above the Workhouse, Owen could see how bad things were. The silhouette of the Harsh fleet stretched to the horizon. The Hadima entrance teemed with men, their campfires fanning out in a semicircle facing the Workhouse. Fires smoldered in the ruins of the town, and the Workhouse rose from the smoke, still proud, but isolated, surrounded by enemies. And all around for miles, the world was white and frozen.

"Let's get the sail up," he said. "No time to waste. We have to find the Long Woman."

Silkie clambered onto the foredeck and loosened the ties that held the sail. More like shimmering air than cloth, the sail opened out in front of them. The scene below became misty and hard to see, and then it was gone. They were sailing on time.

Once he had seen that everything was going well, Owen lashed the tiller and went below. Cati had

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done well on the food front. There were biscuits and hard bread, which would last for a long time. There was a full cheese and a side of ham, dried fruit, and pickles. There were even tea bags and a box of Dr. Diamond's buns.

They brought the food out onto the deck and ate together.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful," Silkie said as the northern lights shimmered around them. Owen flinched as the
Wayfarer
dipped her bow and a shard of icy spume stung his cheek.

"We need to get into the suits," Owen said. Silkie, looking about her in wonder, did not reply.

"Silkie," he said gently.

"Yes ... I'm coming," she said. As she rose to go down below, he saw the scar on the side of her face, and his heart filled with pity for her.

After they got the suits on, Owen, to Silkie's delight, gave her the helm. The
Wayfarer was
sailing well, and there were no waves to think of. Carefully he lined up the symbol for the Workhouse on the outer ring of the Mortmain with the symbol for the Long Woman on the next ring. Each ring enclosed a smaller one, and as they got smaller they moved more, so the inner ones danced and twinkled.

Owen took the charts down into the cabin and spread them out on the table. It would seem that all he had to do was line up the Workhouse and the sign for the Long Woman on the Mortmain, but he felt uneasy: his instinct for direction told him there was more to it than that. On the map there was a dark, shaded area between the symbols, and to either side red shading. What did it mean? At the bottom of the map he saw something he had never noticed before, it was so faded. A single word:
Legend
.

204

205

He knew from school that a legend was the part of the map that told you what the symbols and lines on the map actually meant. But below it was a jagged tear--the legend had been lost. Owen stared at the map for what seemed like hours, his eyes growing wearier and wearier. He had not slept the night before, and before he knew it, his eyes were closed.

He awakened to Silkie shaking him by the shoulders.

"Owen, wake up! Wake up!" He sat up. The
Wayfarer
was no longer gliding along, but rising and falling in great shuddering leaps. Owen got to his feet groggily and was thrown back against the cabin wall.

"It just started all of a sudden!" Silkie said. Owen pulled on his chain mail visor and climbed out through the hatch. The scene before him could not be more different from the one he had left. Angry and confused wave crests towered over them no matter which way he looked. Green lightning crackled on wave edges. The sky above them was black, streaked with ominous red.
Black and red
, Owen thought,
like on the map!

He grabbed the helm, noting that Silkie had had the sense to lash it before she came below to wake him. He

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wrenched the helm around to guide them toward what looked like a calmer patch. Even with the visor on, he could see the fear in Silkie's eyes.

"It's all right," he shouted. "I've been in time storms before. The
Wayfarer
can handle it!"

But he had never been in a storm like this one. The cold was bitter. The waves were monstrous, and the storm shifted direction constantly, so every time Owen got the bow pointed into the storm, it came at him from another direction. Time and again the
Wayfarer
went over until it seemed that she would never come back, yet on she went. Owen sent Silkie below to get food, but all she could put together were some dry biscuits. The wind of time shrieked in the rigging. Owen had shortened the sail as much as he dared, but he could feel that the feisty little craft was at her limit, and there seemed to be no end to the storm. He touched the mast and felt it vibrate. Then with a loud twang, one of the stays holding the mast parted. Silkie looked at Owen, real terror in her face now.

"Take the helm," he shouted, thrusting the tiller into her hand so that she couldn't refuse. He dived into the cabin and grabbed the map he had been looking at earlier. He scanned it for the nearest place they could drop the sail and bring the
Wayfarer
out of the storm. When he saw what it was, he hesitated, but there was no choice. He climbed back on deck again and changed the setting on the Mortmain.

"What's happening?" Silkie shouted.