The navigator (19 page)

190

Owen stayed on his hands and knees for what seemed like hours, although it could only have been minutes. The music swelled and died away, swelled and died away, then swelled again until it reached a crescendo, then gently and finally died away. There was a long silence broken only by the needle scratching round the old record. Finally Johnston opened his eyes.

"Caruso," he said. Owen looked at him, not knowing what he was talking about. "At La Scala," said Johnston, as if that explained everything. He got up and moved swiftly over to Owen, towering over the boy. He reached down and grasped Owen's chin and raised him to his feet, tilting his head back until he looked directly into his eyes. Johnston's eyes were dark brown with gold flecks and full of life, like the eyes of a hunting animal. Owen felt that he was being probed for weaknesses. The man smelled of garlic and engine oil. Like a French garage mechanic, he thought, and fought the urge to break out in hysterical giggles. But it was Johnston who smiled. He straightened and with a flicking motion sent Owen sprawling across the room.

"The mirror was a good trick," he said, showing great tombstone teeth in a ferocious smile.

"Wh-what?" Owen stammered.

"The mirror. The way you turned the ice light back on the Harsh. Never seen them so put out. Sent them scuttling back north like old maids with their skirts hitched."

"I thought you ..."

191

"What? Worked for the Harsh? So I do. But it's contract work, son. You don't have to love them to work for them. Do you know what a Harsh lacks, son? A Harsh lacks a sense of humor. It can get a bit dull around them. They'll win in the end, though, and there won't be much laughing then."

"If they win, that's the end of you too, isn't it?" Owen said.

"Me and the boys is took care of--that's part of the deal. Them Harsh can work time the way a man works a hand of cards. Your Dr. Diamond plays at it, but he's not a patch on the Harsh. Look around you. Time don't change much here, and that's what they done for me. I got myself an island in time."

Owen looked around. It was true. The manor seemed to have experienced no decay. Even Johnston's record player would have ended up as a heap of nuts and bolts if it had been outside.

"Anyway, enough chatting," said Johnston, and suddenly his voice sounded grim. "What are you doing here? And where is the Mortmain?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Owen said, his voice sounding unconvincing to his own ears. "I came over the river to go to my own house and I got lost."

"Your own house is nothing but a few moldy bricks on top of each other by now, son, and well you know it. No. I know why you're here. You think your father left the

192

Mortmain here somewhere and you've come to retrieve it. Well, I've a hundred men scouring the ground outside at this very minute. Old Gobillard and his box of tricks couldn't best me, so don't think that a whippersnapper of a boy can."

Owen felt his heart sink. He had crossed the river to retrieve the Mortmain and he had ended up by handing it to Johnston on a plate. And that name again, Gobillard. The box of tricks Johnston referred to--could that be the chest in his room?

Johnston took Owen by the scruff of the neck and propelled him toward the door, which opened. Whit-washisberd looked up at Johnston with a question in his eyes. Owen saw that the pen was poised by his name, just at the place where a skull had been drawn in beside the other names. But Johnston shook his head.

"We're going north tomorrow," he said, "and we're taking this one with us. The Harsh want a cold word or two with him."

For some reason this provoked great mirth among the men in the corridor, and they started to chant. "Pretty Rat! Pretty Rat! Pretty Rat!"

Taking a great key from his belt, Johnston opened an iron-bound door in the opposite wall of the corridor. With a sweep of his hand, he flung Owen through the door and slammed it. Owen tumbled down damp stone stairs and landed with a sickening thud in a pool of water at the bottom. He looked around him. There was only a chink of light from a high barred window, enough to

193

show that he was in an empty stone cellar. A dungeon, he realized, without hope of escape. He had given away the location of the Mortmain and with it the hopes of his friends. And now he was to be handed to the Harsh. Owen buried his head in his hands and felt despair wash over him.

194

The Sub-Commandant woke Cati gently before dawn. She wrapped up well and grabbed a slice of warm bread and jam from the kitchen, but still she shivered in the cold predawn air. In silence they walked down the river toward the harbor, the Sub-Commandant softly greeting the people coming the other way, Contessa's porters, who had been bringing food for the trip.

The sun was beginning to cast a chilly light by the time they got to the harbor. Boat was tied up by the quayside and the Raggies were loading it, seemingly oblivious to the biting cold. Wesley stood on the bridge with his arms folded. Dr. Diamond was on the quayside with two cases of scientific instruments. He looked excited

195

and he was trying to get the Raggies to load the instruments.

"I'd better help him," Cati said. Despite everything, she couldn't help feeling a twinge of excitement at the voyage ahead.

"Go ahead," said the Sub-Commandant absent-mindedly, then murmured, "Where is Chancellor?"

After much translation of Dr. Diamond's backward talk, Cati persuaded the Raggies to load the cases of instruments. Then she went on board herself. She had never been on Boat before. In fact, she had never been out on the water before, and it took her a few minutes to adjust to the slight swaying beneath her feet before she could take a proper look around.

Boat was about twenty meters long. There was an enclosed wheelhouse, with an outside bridge and another wheel for fair weather. Beneath the bridge there were cabins with diamond-pane windows facing out onto the main deck. There was a forecastle at the front with similar cabins underneath. In the middle of Boat was the engine. The cover had been taken off and Silkie was bent over it. She was wearing her ragged and oily overalls and was working with a spanner in the middle of the huge jumble of coils and belts and flywheels that transmitted the power of the magno core to the long, seemingly spindly oars. As she worked, she was cursing steadily, emitting a stream of bad language that would have put Rutgar's troopers to shame. But when she

196

looked up and saw Cati, her oil-covered face broke into a smile.

"Is everything all right, Silkie?" Cati asked.

"Everything's not all right," said Silkie, scowling again. "They sail her too fast and pay never a thought to cam belts. One day a cam belt's going to snap and then where will they be? Down on power like you couldn't believe, that's where. And then they'll be looking for somebody to blame."

"Can you fix it?" Cati asked anxiously.

"Course I can fix it," said Silkie gruffly. "They shouldn't of done it, is all."

Cati realized that something had upset Silkie and she guessed what it was. "They're not going to take you with them?"

"Wesley says somebody has to look after the rest of the children when he's away," Silkie said miserably. There were tears in her eyes. She looked up and saw Wesley looking down at her, and quickly ducked her head back into the engine.

Cati sighed and walked on up the deck. There was a mast in front of the engine with an enclosed crow's nest at the top of it. Cati wondered what it would be like sitting up there, all closed in, with the wind whistling round you. She stepped round the mast and opened a door. The cabin had a low ceiling, with a small bed in the corner and a locker beside it. There was a radiator on one wall, probably using excess heat from the

197

magno. Sunlight fell across the rough bedspread from the diamond-pane window. Cati had her things in a bag over her shoulder and she put it down on the bed, hoping that everyone would take the cabin as being hers.

Back outside, all the supplies were now on board. Uel and Mervyn were sitting at the stern of the boat, looking tense and alert, their magno crossbows in their hands. Dr. Diamond was putting his instrument boxes in his cabin and the Sub-Commandant was pacing the deck. Cati knew that he was worried about Chancellor's lateness. She climbed the little steps up to the bow and from that height she saw Chancellor hurrying down the path. As he did so she felt a snowflake gently touch her cheek, and then another.

"We're in for a big snow, I'm afraid," a voice said. Cati turned to see Dr. Diamond standing beside her. "By my reckoning," he said, "we are now entering the little ice age that occurred circa AD 1130 to circa 1310."

"That's a long time," said Cati.

"Well, it won't last that long because we're going backward so fast, but it will be a few weeks. Are you worried about Owen?" he said, suddenly changing tack.

"Yes ... yes, of course I'm worried."

"Here," he said, taking a Polaroid photograph from his pocket. It was starting to fade, but you could still make out Owen's face. He was in the Skyward and looking comically surprised as he faced the camera. "He sneaked back to the Skyward to take another look back through

198

time. Whatever he saw there sent him over the river. And I'd say whatever he is after there, it isn't eternal friendship with Johnston."

"Why didn't you show this at the Convoke and tell them that?" Cati asked.

"Remember, there is still a spy in our midst," Dr. Diamond said.

"S-so you don't believe that Owen is a spy?"

Dr. Diamond shook his head and smiled. "No, Cati, I don't think he is a spy. I think he is an important person, with a part to play in all of this before the end. But I don't want you to discuss this with anyone else. There are undercurrents--"

Dr. Diamond was interrupted by Chancellor, who jumped awkwardly from the quay onto the deck.

"My apologies for being late," he said. "I had a lot to do before we left. Is the Mortmain on board?"

The Sub-Commandant tapped the pocket of the long coat he now wore, a military-looking leather coat with a fur-lined collar and faded markings in what appeared to be Russian on the sleeves. The snow was starting to fall heavily now and visibility was dropping.

"We'll have to go," Wesley said, "or we'll never get clear of the sandbar."

"It'll be a problem setting a course, though," the Sub-Commandant said. "A compass will not work with the distortion in the magno caused by the vortex, and if it snows, we will see no stars."

"I believe I have the answer to this slight problem," said

199

Dr. Diamond airily, as though he had been waiting for this moment. "A small invention of no great consequence-- a compass that works according to the timeline when time started going backward. It remembers due north, in other words." He coughed modestly.

"It'll be no use to man or beast, your fancy compass, if we don't cast off in the next five minutes," Wesley shouted. Cati thought that Dr. Diamond would be offended, but he merely grinned and set about unpacking the memory compass from its box.

The snow was falling in great soft flakes. Suddenly, things started to move very fast. Silkie, working frantically, replaced the cover on the magno motor. Seeing her pale, disappointed face, Cati ran and hugged her. Wesley shouted something and the stern rope was detached, and Uel started to haul it on board. Boat was held only by the bow cable now. With a grateful smile, Silkie broke free of Cati's hug. She stood for a moment on the deck looking up into Wesley's eyes and it seemed to Cati that even though nothing was said a universe passed between them. Then Silkie skipped across the gunwale and down the gangway.

The minute she did so, the gangway was withdrawn. Wesley shouted again and the bow cable was thrown into the water. Boat was free. The long oars moved slowly, barely stirring the water. Cati noticed that all the Raggies were gathered on the quayside, their faces indistinct in the driving snow. She saw others there--Contessa, Pieta, Rutgar, all waving, their faces taut with anxiety. She felt a

200

sudden ache in her breast, almost a physical pain, at the thought that she might not see them again. The great danger they were in had never really struck her before. She tried to call out their names, but the snow seemed to muffle her voice. She tried again, desperately this time, but their faces faded as though Boat was sailing against the flow of time and leaving them behind. Once more she called out, and again there was no reply. Feeling a strong hand grip her shoulder, she turned to see her father. Cati leaned her head against his shoulder and watched the last stretch of gray quayside fade into the snow.

And so Boat and its crew slipped away on their voyage, away from danger and into greater danger. On the quayside the Raggies strained to catch a last glimpse of their ship and its captain. Silkie wept openly. The Workhouse people watched in grim silence.

"The best of us are on that vessel," said Pieta quietly.

"No," Contessa said with a smile, "not all of the best of us."

"You had better go, if you're going," said Rutgar gruffly. "I worry about their plans for Owen. I wish you would let me go with you."

"They'd spot a big tramping goon in a minute," Pieta said with a flash of her old sourness, but Rutgar just shrugged.

"You're right," he said mournfully. "They'd smell me before they saw me."