LITMIR.BIZ

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him as he did so. He felt his heart beat faster and faster, and as he approached the dais, his foot caught the hem of a woman’s cloak. He would have fallen had not a hand reached out and grabbed his elbow. Owen turned and found himself looking into the eyes of a tall older man with a beard and a terrible scar which looked like a burn on one side of his face. The man grinned and winked at him, managing to look both villainous and friendly at the same time. The sight gave Owen heart. At least he wasn’t without friends in the hall. He pulled himself upright and strode to the dais where the Sub-Commandant addressed him.

      “You are welcome to the Convoke, young Owen. Have you anything to ask us?” But before Owen could open his mouth the man with the long hair broke in.

      “He’ll have time enough for questions. For the moment I want to ask him a few things about himself and how he got here.”

      For the next ten minutes Owen found himself answering questions about where he came from, his school, his friends, his age and how well he knew the area around the Workhouse. Such was the piercing quality of the man’s eyes and his air of command that it was impossible not to reply.

      Chancellor was particularly interested in Johnston’s scrapyard. Contessa asked him about his home and about his mother, and listened sympathetically as he tried to make things with his mother sound better than they actually were, while feeling that he was letting her down with every word.

      “Do you have any great fears, things that terrify you for no apparent reason?” Chancellor asked. His voice was casual, but Owen could feel that the whole Convoke was intent upon the answer. In his mind the image of a deep, still pool of black water formed, and he saw himself bending over it and realising that there was no reflection. He felt a single bead of sweat run down his spine and his voice dropped to a whisper.

      “N-no,” he stammered. Before he had time to wonder why he had lied, the man in the red uniform stood up.

      “I’ve had enough of this. Where is the Mortmain? Tell us that, boy. Return it to its rightful owners!”

      “Enough, Samual!” the Sub-Commandant said. He didn’t speak loudly, but his voice cut through the tension in the room like a whiplash. The man in red sat down again, grumbling.

      “That subject should not have been mentioned,” the Sub-Commandant went on. “Let the boy ask his questions now.”

      Owen looked around. A thousand questions swirled in his mind. “Where am I?” he said and then, with his voice getting stronger, “Who are you? And what has happened to… to everything?”

      “I will try to answer,” Chancellor said, getting to his feet. “There are three parts to your question. As to where you are, you are in the Workhouse, the centre of the Resisters to the Harsh and the frost of eternal solitude that they wish to loose upon the earth. We are not the only Resisters. There are pockets elsewhere, perhaps even in other lands, but all hinges on us, on our strength and strategy.” There was pride in his voice, even vanity, but sorrow as well.

      “As to who we are,” he went on, “we are the Wakeful. We sleep the centuries through until we are called. You could say we are the custodians of time. Like everything else, time has a fabric or structure. And sometimes that fabric is weakened or attacked and requires repair or defence. But we do not have much time to explain things, and others can tell you more of us. The most important of your questions is the last. What has happened?”

      “I will answer that,” the Sub-Commandant said, “since the boy and I both witnessed it, although he did not know it at the time.”

      “The floor is yours,” Chancellor said stiffly.

      Once more Owen could feel the people in the hall bend their attention to the slender figure, as if he was going to relate a terrible story that they had heard before but felt compelled to hear again.

      “You may perhaps have learned that time is not a constant, that it is relative.” Owen nodded, hoping that he looked clever. The words that the Sub-Commandant used were familiar from school, but to tell the truth he hadn’t been listening when these things were talked about, and he hadn’t understood what he had heard.

      “What happened today is an extension of that. Do you remember when you saw that dark flash in the sky?” Owen nodded. “The process is complex and subtle, and many events took place both together and apart. But to put it in the simplest possible terms, a terrible thing has happened. A thing that our enemies have sought to achieve for many eras.”

      The Sub-Commandant paused. The whole hall seemed to hold its breath and Owen realised that although they knew in their hearts what had happened, it had yet to be confirmed to them. The Sub-Commandant’s face was stern and grey and age showed in it, great age.

      “They have started the Puissance,” he said. “the Great Machine in the North turns again and time is flowing backwards.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      A shuddering sigh flowed through the hall. Owen stared blankly at the Sub-Commandant. How could time flow backwards? What sort of machine were they talking about? He didn’t know how long he stood there until the Sub-Commandant stepped forward and gripped him by the shoulders.

      “It’s a lot for you to understand and I won’t trouble you with any more tonight. You’ll have questions and we’ll answer them as best we can. But for now, I think it is best if you rest.”

      “Wait!” The man they called Samual rose to his feet. “I have a few more questions.” He moved up close to Owen and walked round him, studying him, his eyes glittering with dislike. “What is your understanding of your father’s death?” he barked.

      Owen froze. It was something he tried not to think about. “There was an accident…” he stammered.

      “Suicide,” Samual said. “Wasn’t that it?”

      “No…” said Owen.

      “Is there a point to all of this?” Contessa asked, her voice cold. She obviously didn’t approve of Samual’s questioning, but he ignored her.

      “Have you ever heard of Gobillard et Fils?” he demanded sharply, his face almost pressed against Owen’s now, his eyes eager.

      Gobillard et Fils, Owen thought. That’s what was written on the trunk in his bedroom! How did this man know about that? He could feel Chancellor and the others watching him intently.

      “No…” he stammered, “no… I’ve never heard that name before…” The lie was out before Owen knew what he was saying. Why had he not admitted that he’d heard the name before? The blood rushed to his face. Would someone notice?

      He was saved by the Sub-Commmandant. “The boy is not a prisoner to be interrogated, Samual. That is enough.”

      Samual looked for a moment as if he would defy the Sub-Commandant, then he thought better of it and turned away.

      “You may go, Owen,” the Sub-Commandant said gently.

      Owen’s mouth was dry and his head was spinning, but he knew that there was one question he must ask before he was made to leave the hall. He turned towards the Sub-Commandant and his voice was no more than a whisper.

      “Please,” he said, “what has happened to all the people?” There was a long silence then Contessa spoke.

      “You are thinking about your mother, of course. I will explain it as we understand it. In turning back time, the Harsh intend to go back to a time before people. The minute they started the reversal, the people disappeared as if they had never been. So nothing has happened to them, but they have never been. Except for us, stranded on an island in time – as you now are.”

      “If we stop the Harsh you’ll get your mother back!” It was Cati’s voice. She had somehow evaded the watchers on the door. “You’ll get her back and it’ll all be the

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