City of Time

“I am going home, Mr Johnston,” she said, her own voice sounding faint and faraway.

“Do you like the moon, Mary?” Johnston said, his grin widening.

Mary shook her head. She was tired and confused and could no longer see clearly. Johnston watched as Mary pitched forward on to the roadway. Her hands moved for a moment as if to fend something off, and then she was still.

At the Workhouse, Dr Diamond looked worried. In the Skyward was a model of the solar system which moved in sequence. Powered by magno, there were no strings to keep the planets in the air. Cati and Dr Diamond both heard the clattering noise from it. When they looked at the model, they could see that the motion of the planets was distorted, with the moon in particular swinging in a wild orbit that loomed nearer to the earth.

“What is it?” Cati asked.

“Time and the fabric of space are intimately connected,” Dr Diamond said. “When one is out of shape, the other is also affected. Quickly now, get three sleeping bags from the back room and pack them. What is keeping Owen and Wesley?”

The two boys were at the river. Wesley stood looking across the fields while Owen ducked his head into the cold stream. He felt as if he could lie down and sleep. Waking Pieta had been even harder than he had thought. Wesley had unlocked the concealed stone door of the Starry for him and they had gone in. The Resisters sleeping there did not seem as disturbed as the Raggie children, but Owen could now sense an unease in the air, a feeling that things weren’t quite right.

They found Pieta slightly apart from the others, sleeping with her two children on either side of her. Her face was stern and beautiful. When Owen bent over to wake her, her mind fought with his and mocked him by slipping off into deeper and darker spaces. Where the others had sought help, Pieta’s sleeping mind twisted away. Only when he was at the absolute limit of his strength did she come towards him.

When her eyes snapped open, he fell back exhausted. A sardonic smile creased her face and she swung her legs off the bed in an easy cat-like motion, looking first for her weapon of choice – the magno whip which she wielded with such fearsome power.

“Must be some fighting to be done if you’re waking me first,” she said.

“Reckon so,” Wesley said.

“What about the others?” Pieta said, looking at her children.

“I can’t,” Owen said. “I don’t have enough strength.”

Pieta looked at him long and hard, then reached out and took his chin in her hand. “Make sure you come back later and wake them then, young Owen. Do you hear me?”

He nodded dumbly. Pieta bent swiftly and kissed each of her children on the forehead, then turned and strode out of the Starry without looking back.

Wesley helped Owen to his feet. “Thank you would have been nice,” Owen said, rubbing his back where he had fallen.

“Not our Pieta’s style,” Wesley said, looking after her admiringly. “But she’s a good one in a fight.”

Leaning on Wesley’s shoulder, Owen made his way to the door again. He was glad to leave the abnormally stale atmosphere in the Starry and felt nothing but relief when Wesley turned the key in the door. Then he feel guilty when he thought of his friends still sleeping in there – Rutgar and Contessa, even the subtle and dangerous Samual.

After Owen had ducked his head in the stream, the two boys ran back to the Workhouse. Owen worked hard to keep up with Wesley, who ran lightly in his bare feet, oblivious to the stones and branches which littered the path. They had just reached the Workhouse when what looked like a long coil of blue flame licked the ground just in front of Wesley’s bare toes. Wesley stopped dead and looked up.

Pieta returned her whip back to her belt and dropped to the ground from the branch she had been sitting on.

“You want to watch out with that whip,” Wesley said. “I need them toes.”

“I need to know what’s going on,” Pieta said, “so get talking, fishboy.”

“There’s not enough time,” Owen said.

“What?” Pieta’s eyes narrowed.

“There isn’t enough time left to keep our world going,” Wesley said, “so Dr Diamond says anyway.”

Pieta moved her head from side to side, sensing the air. “Time doesn’t feel right,” she said.

“Stale. Is that what you feel?” Owen said.

“Yes,” she said. “Stale and old and still. This is not something I can fight with my whip, boys. This is beyond Pieta.”

Owen thought that she sounded worried, even afraid.

Moonlight streamed in through the windows and woke Owen’s mother where she lay on the sofa. She snapped awake, instinctively listening for signs of danger. All she could hear was the drip of a tap somewhere and, outside, the rustle of some little night creature in the bushes.

She shot bolt upright. It was wrong that there should be no noise in the house. Where was Owen? Where was Mary? All of a sudden memory came flooding back. Memory that had been locked away for years, sharp and painful. What had happened? How long had she wandered round in a fog?

Martha recalled the years she had spent in this little house with Owen, barely able to function, all that she had been locked away in her mind. She remembered everything now. The trip to the City. The Workhouse. Owen’s father. Grief stabbed her. He was gone. His car had driven into the harbour. She bowed her head and felt the tears spring to her eyes.

But beneath it all there was a resolve which had not diminished with the years. Martha straightened again and stood up. She had to find Owen. She moved to the bottom of the stairs and listened, then went up them, instinct telling her not to switch on the light.

His room was empty. She had expected it to be. Her eyes swept over it. The old model plane hanging from the ceiling. Owen’s guitar. Then she saw the trunk under the window and knew it as once. Swiftly she knelt in front of it. It was Gobillard’s trunk, and in place of a lock, the Mortmain. She placed her hands on the trunk. She knew that catastrophe had been removed from the world and been sealed in the trunk. But by whose hand?

Surely, she thought, not Owen? He’s only a boy. But where is he?

Martha sat on the bed and tried to think. Her son was out there in the world on his own. She had neglected him for too long. Lifting his pillow, she held it to her face so that she could smell him. She put her arms around it and held it, as if the pillow were Owen.

Mary, she thought… it had been Mary who had awakened her. Perhaps she knew something?

Martha went quickly down the stairs and out of the front door. She had never seen the moon so bright. She could see the road clearly. Trees and bushes cast strange shadows across it. She walked fast, all of her senses alert to danger. Reminding her of the way she had once been, when every waking hour had seemed full of peril. Every few metres she stopped and listened, but she was alone.

Then she rounded the bend before Mary’s shop. At first, she thought the shape on the ground was a shadow, until she realised it was a body. She ran forward and found… Mary.

Martha put her hand on Mary’s face. It was very cold and at first she thought it was the chill of the grave. But as she bent to put her ear to Mary’s chest, the old woman moaned and her eyes opened. Martha looked into them. Mary was trying to communicate, but she didn’t have the power to speak. With a strength which belied her slender frame, Martha stooped and lifted the old woman.

In Mary’s cottage, Martha lit a fire and placed Mary on a chair near it. She heated some soup and held the cup to her mouth. “It’ll warm you up.”

“No, what chills me will never be warm again,” Mary said faintly. “Johnston used the Harsh cold against me.”

Martha shivered. The name of those great enemies and their world stirred a cold memory in her.

“But the Harsh are not the immediate danger this time…” Mary’s breath rasped and Martha could see the great effort she was making to speak. She took Mary’s hand. “Time… is in danger. I’m sorry, Martha, I couldn’t wake you until now…”

“Why not?” Martha said. There were tears in her eyes. “And where is Owen?” But Mary’s eyes had closed again and she did not reply.

Martha sat with the old woman. And as she watched, her memory became more complete. She remembered things that made her smile. Owen as a baby looking up at her and laughing for the first time. She remembered things that caused her pain, that made tears of regret and longing spring to her eyes. And she remembered some things that were so hurtful she almost wished that Mary had not wakened her.

The hours passed, but Mary did not speak again. When Martha touched her skin it was colder than it seemed possible for skin to be. But still the old woman’s breath came.

Martha stood up. She had to stay with Mary, the only person who could tell her where Owen was. She stretched and ran her hands through her hair.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed. She had pricked her finger. Carefully, Martha reached up and removed the long, thin key that Mary had hidden in her hair. She turned it over in her hand, frowning. The key also stirred a memory, something she couldn’t quite grasp.

When Wesley and Owen returned to the Skyward, Dr Diamond barely greeted Pieta. He had dragged a large blackboard into the middle of the room and was working frantically on it. Owen could see equations interspersed with arcs of what looked like planets.