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.”
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 same again!”
Contessa gave Cati a stern look, but Owen thought he could see the ghost of a smile hovering around her lips. “That is true. We have stopped them before.”
“But this time is different,” Chancellor said. “The Harsh are stronger than ever and we are weaker. I cannot see how we can overcome them.”
“We are the Resisters,” the Sub-Commandant said softly, “and it is our duty to resist, come what may.”
Chancellor looked as if he was about to say something more, but in the end he only shook his head and sighed.
“Cati,” Contessa said, “you should not be here, but as you are I would like you to take Owen out of the Convoke. We have many other issues to discuss.”
Cati took Owen gently by the arm and the crowd parted again for them as they walked towards the door. Owen wanted to ask more questions. What was the Starry? And what had the Mortmain – whatever it was – to do with him? And why were the Resisters so interested in him anyway?
Owen glanced towards the armchair beside the fire. To his surprise, the owner of that harsh voice was much younger than she sounded. Pieta was slim with blonde hair and a girlish face. She was asleep, snoring gently, and wearing a faded uniform similar to his own, but attached to her belt was an object unlike anything he had ever seen before. It looked like a long, coiled whip, but this whip was made of light – a blue light shot through with pulses of energy so that it seemed a living thing. Beside the woman was an empty bottle and a glass. As Owen stared, she opened one eye and looked directly at him. Her eye was bloodshot and bleary, but Owen felt instantly that she knew everything there was to know about him.
Pieta’s lips curved in a brief smile, weary and sarcastic, then her eyes closed again and Owen felt Cati haul him towards the door, which opened for them as they reached it and closed gently but firmly behind them.
Owen felt numb. He had never thought about time before, or the fact that it might possible for it to go backwards. “What did Contessa mean by an island in time?”
“That’s where the Workhouse is – on an island in time,” Cati said. “Time is like a river flowing around us, but the Workhouse never really changes. And we don’t change either.”
“You mean you don’t get older or anything?”
“’Course we get older,” Cati said with a heavy sigh, as though she was explaining to an idiot. “It’s just that we grow old at the same rate as normal people, no matter what time does. You look like you need air.”
“I need…” Owen began. But what did he need? A way to understand all of this? Sleep to still his racing mind?
