The navigator (13 page)

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fired on Rutgar's flanking party. Not only did he almost hit him, but the shot told Johnston where Rutgar was. If not for Pieta, they would all be dead."

"Is this true?" Chancellor said.

"Yes, but--"

"He admits it!" cried Samual.

"He was trying to save Rutgar," Cati said angrily.

"Some of my friends were killed in that sortie," came a voice from the crowd that had gathered. Owen's tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. There was an angry murmur from the crowd, and it would have gone badly for Owen if Rutgar had not appeared in the doorway. There was a dirty, blood-soaked rag tied round his head.

"What's all this?" he growled.

"Samual saw Owen shoot at you," Chancellor said.

"Shoot at me?" Rutgar said softly. "Shoot at me?" There was a dangerous gleam in his eye. "If Owen had not fired to warn me, then Johnston would have attacked us from the rear and wiped us out. Owen saved the sortie. Leave the boy alone and consider something else."

"What?" asked Samual suspiciously.

"I would like to know how Johnston found out we were going to try to flank him. Why was he waiting in that exact place? He had to know our plans. It was the same all day--everywhere we went, they were there. Every time we tried an offensive it seemed that they knew in advance. They knew all our plans."

"A spy?" Chancellor said.

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"A spy," said Rutgar heavily. He was looking straight at Samual.

The richly dressed man snorted contemptuously. "Your plans are too predictable. A child would know that you would try that flanking movement."

The two men glared at each other. Chancellor made an impatient movement with his hand. "Enough! We haven't seen the Harsh yet; does anybody think there's something strange about that? There's more to come. Something is afoot. I think that was only a softening-up attack. Get something to eat and go back to your posts."

Samual wheeled away. His men released Owen, and Rutgar clapped the boy on the back.

"Never mind that Samual. He was born wicked. I won't forget what you did today. Now let me go and get this head cleaned up."

They watched Rutgar walk away, but Owen could tell that many people weren't satisfied with what he'd said. He was aware of people turning their backs on him as he and Cati walked toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was chaotic. Even Contessa did not look her normal calm self and she hardly spared them a glance as they helped themselves to food. When they left the kitchen, Owen saw Samual glowering at him. "Let's go back to the Den," he said.

"Right," said Cati. "I couldn't eat properly with old sour chops Samual staring at me."

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They walked back along the path, meeting only a few weary men who barely glanced at them.

"I'm tired of it," Owen said.

"Tired of what?"

"People being suspicious of me. I haven't done anything to Samual or any of his lot."

"It's not you exactly that they're suspicious of," Cati said slowly.

"What is it, then? My shadow?"

"It's what you are, or what you might be, if you follow me."

"No, I don't follow you," said Owen crossly.

Cati sighed. "Every time I say something you just get crosser and crosser. I think we'll eat this, then go to Dr. Diamond. And then we'd better go and see how Wesley is."

"Were the Raggies in the fighting?" Owen said, worry replacing his anger.

"I heard that the Planemen attacked them again," Cati said.

"Let's hurry, then." Owen broke into a trot. He did not know that much would happen before nightfall, and that they would not be going to see any of their friends.

At the Den, Cati managed to get the fire going from a few embers and Owen put on water for one of his remaining tea bags. He opened out the cloth he had been carrying. There was fresh crusty bread and cheese. Cati

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had snatched some pickles and preserves, and two slices of rich almond cake. They ate greedily and in silence, and when they had finished they stretched out on the soft moss floor of the Den while the fire warmed them.

Owen was just about to remind Cati that they ought to get going when they heard it--a low sound at first, but building in intensity, a hum that got louder and louder and then turned into a shriek, finally bursting forth with a racket like a hundred fire sirens. The noise drilled into their heads and drove out their thoughts till it seemed that the only thing to do was to lie down with their hands over their ears.

"What is it?" Owen roared at the top of his lungs. Cati shook her head. It was clear that she had never heard the sound before. She ran outside and Owen followed. They scrambled up the bank to the swing tree. For the first time in many days the white mist had drawn back and a great object stood on the far bank. It was like a cathedral of ice and in it, as if imprisoned, he could see the shapes of the Harsh--perhaps ten of them. Above the point of its frozen spire, lightning crackled and small but violent blizzards swept along its gleaming walls.

But even if the Harsh were frozen inside, they were still moving, their arms waving slowly and rhythmically, their mouths open in the terrible howl the children had heard. And this howl, it seemed, had taken shape in a white beam of absolute cold, now pointing straight across the river, freezing and destroying. Every object it

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struck was frozen, then exploded from within. Trees and boulders detonated as soon as they were touched. The beam gouged great icy trenches in the ground and in the bank where Owen and Cati stood. The air was full of shards of frozen tree and icy slivers of rock. Far below, they could see the shapes of men and women crouched in terror and awe.

They watched for over an hour. It was clear that the beam was concentrated on the river defenses, which were gradually being flattened. Owen saw Samual lead a small sortie. They crouched in the lee of the riverbank, then at a signal they rose and fired the magno guns at the ice cathedral. The bolts of magno glanced off harmlessly and then the beam swung in their direction. Owen did not like Samual, but there was no denying his courage. The red-robed man fired twice more as the beam moved swiftly toward him. Just in time he ducked under the riverbank and, bent double, ran downstream with his soldiers as the beam fell with savage cold on the place where he had stood, leaving a hole in the ground from which icy vapor rose.

Owen heard a noise and turned. Dr. Diamond was coming across the slope toward them. He hunkered down beside them, surveying the scene.

"What is it?" Owen shouted.

"I don't know exactly," the scientist said, "but at a guess I would say that the Harsh are joining their thoughts together. They don't think the way we do. In fact, you could say that their thoughts are frozen drafts blowing

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about their heads. There's a lot about the Harsh that we don't understand."

"You mean they're thinking about us?" said Cati. Her face was pale and strained.

Dr. Diamond nodded. "Something like that."

"What happens when it hits the Workhouse?" asked Owen.

"The Workhouse is very old and stronger than it looks," Dr. Diamond said, "but if they destroy all the defenses, will the Workhouse stand? I don't know."

Cati stifled a sob. Dr. Diamond looked at her with concern.

"Owen," he said, "your friend is very strong, otherwise she would not be here, but their sound is hurting her. You had better take her to the harbor, where she'll be out of its range."

Owen was going to object, but one look at Cati made him realize that Dr. Diamond was right. With a tenderness that surprised even himself, he put his arm around her and led her gently away.

As they walked toward the harbor the terrible noise faded and Cati brightened. "Sorry about that," she said. "I just get this frozen feeling inside when I hear them."

"They scare me too," Owen said.

"Do you think we can stop them?"

"I'd say Dr. Diamond is cooking up a surprise for them right this moment," Owen said with as much confidence as he could muster.

At that moment the scientist was clambering into the

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big chair surrounded by levers in the middle of the Skyward. Frowning with concentration, he started to manipulate the levers. The polished exterior of the Skyward started to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster until it became a blur, then faster again until it seemed like a flashing disc of light in the darkening sky.

Inside the Skyward, something had changed. An observer would have noted that only one of the five time clocks was now moving. A device that looked for all the world like a submarine telescope came down from the ceiling. (Indeed, it was a submarine telescope that Dr. Diamond had adapted from a U-boat.) Dr. Diamond took the handles and put his face to the eyepiece. For ten minutes he turned the periscope to and fro. Then he closed the handles and the periscope rose into the ceiling again. Dr. Diamond started to manipulate the levers. All five clocks started again. Outside, the revolving Skyward started to slow down. Dr. Diamond pushed the last lever back into place and lay back in the chair. His face was thoughtful.

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The warehouses had been attacked by the Planemen and there were holes in the roof and great gouges in the stonework. But Wesley had led most of the children to the basement, and the shooting skills of Uel and Mervyn had kept the Planemen at a distance. All in all, Owen thought, the Raggies had fared better than the defenders at the Workhouse.

Owen and Cati told Wesley what had happened. Wesley's face was grave. He looked toward the Workhouse. The air overhead seemed to be full of a fine sleet. "I've never heard of this. And you tell me they fired on the Workhouse?"

"They're attacking the defenses," Cati said.

"They do be looking to take the Workhouse whole,"

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said Wesley. "Could be they want something ... the Sleepers in the Starry, I would reckon."

Wesley gave them food but they didn't want to eat. It was getting dark now. The noise made by the Harsh got louder. Cati sat as close to the fire as she could, looking miserable. As darkness fell, an eerie dome of ice hung over the Workhouse.

"They need help," Wesley murmured, "but who will help them?" They stood at the door and stared mutely toward the battle. Then Owen stood up.

"I have an idea," he said. "I have an idea, but I can't do it on my own."

Wesley looked at Cati. She was dozing in the heat of the fire. "Looks like it'll have to be me then," he said eventually.

"Let's go," said Owen.

The two boys ran all the way. They could feel the cold on their faces as they got close to the Workhouse and there were small chunks of ice floating in the river.

"What's your idea?" Wesley gasped. But Owen was too out of breath to tell him. They ran under the town bridge and on, the air full of ice granules. They skidded round the last corner and gazed openmouthed on the battle scene.

Johnston's men had crossed the river and were fighting in front of the Workhouse. The Resister men and women had gathered in a hollow in front of the building where the ice cannon could not get them and were

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fighting hand to hand in an icy sleet that enveloped the whole area. Owen even saw Dr. Diamond in the middle of it, wearing an ancient karate suit, dealing out spidery kicks and blows.

They saw the beam from the cannon that had already devastated the landscape and now roamed restlessly, searching out targets.

"Perfect," Owen said. Wesley looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Come on!" Owen urged, and ran off at full tilt without looking to see if Wesley was following.

They charged down the path to the Den, leaping over trees that had been cut in two and pieces of boulders strewn in their way. The Den seemed unharmed. Owen ran over to the old dressing table and gasped, "Grab the other end." Wesley's eyes widened, but he did as he was asked. Together the two boys heaved the dressing table outside.

"Up there," Owen said, pointing toward the swing tree. Together, inch by laborious inch, the two boys pushed and heaved, their task made more difficult by the trenches gouged by the beam. Once the beam swung in their direction, making a terrible tearing, icy noise.

"Down!" Owen hissed. "We don't want them to see us yet!" Wesley ducked, clearly not liking the sound of that "yet." With a cold, malevolent roar, the beam passed them by and they resumed their struggle. Once Wesley lost his footing and the dressing table slipped back down the hill, picking up momentum until Owen threw himself behind it and somehow managed to stop it.

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"Get it under the swing tree!" Owen shouted. "Turn it round so that it's facing the river." He adjusted the mirror slightly. "All right," he said calmly. "Ready now." To Wesley's amazement, he started to jump up and down and wave his arms in the air, shouting.

"Over here!" he yelled. "Come on, ice-cube brains!" Wesley stared at him, then an inkling began to form in his mind and he too began to jump up and down.

"Here! Bet you can't hit us with your damn beam," he shouted. "Get away on out of this place. Go on!"

Then the Harsh spotted them. The beam swung toward the boys, greedy for their warmth, and Owen felt a shiver go down his spine. Faster and faster the beam moved, roaring as it tore up the ground, thirty meters away, twenty meters, ten, and then it was on them.

"Now!" Owen shouted. The two boys threw themselves behind the dressing table. But as they tried to turn it toward the beam, Wesley slipped. Owen watched in horror as Wesley sprawled down the slope in front of them. The beam moved forward slowly as though following a trail. Frozen debris peppered Owen's face, drawing blood. Then the beam seemed to sense Wesley and started moving toward him, picking up speed. Wesley lay still on the ground and Owen saw blood on his temple. The beam would be on him in seconds.

Without thinking, Owen threw himself down the slope, trying to draw the beam to him, but it didn't deviate from its path. In desperation, Owen ran right under it, so close that he could feel the material of his clothes