City of Time by Eoin McNamee Page A
Authors: Eoin McNamee
Tags: Fiction, General, Children's Books, Fantasy, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Action & Adventure - General, Fantasy & Magic, Ages 9-12 Fiction, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Time
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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, fish boy."
"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 and Wesley looked at each other. She sounded worried, even afraid.
68
* * *
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 tiny 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 harbor when Owen was a baby. She bowed her head and felt the tears spring to her eyes.
But beneath it all there was a resolve that 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 mounted the stairs, 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 at once. Swiftly she knelt in
69
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's? He's only a boy. But where is he?
She 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 was Owen.
Mary , she thought. It had been Mary who awakened her. Perhaps she knew something?
Martha went quickly down the stairs and out 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. This state reminded her of the way she had once been, when every waking hour had seemed full of peril. Every few meters she stopped and listened, but she was alone.
Then she rounded the bend before Mary's shop. She thought the shape on the ground was a shadow, until she realized it was a body. She ran forward. It was 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
70
didn't have the power to speak. With a strength that 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 the older woman's 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
"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, fish boy."
"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 and Wesley looked at each other. She sounded worried, even afraid.
68
* * *
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 tiny 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 harbor when Owen was a baby. She bowed her head and felt the tears spring to her eyes.
But beneath it all there was a resolve that 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 mounted the stairs, 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 at once. Swiftly she knelt in
69
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's? He's only a boy. But where is he?
She 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 was Owen.
Mary , she thought. It had been Mary who awakened her. Perhaps she knew something?
Martha went quickly down the stairs and out 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. This state reminded her of the way she had once been, when every waking hour had seemed full of peril. Every few meters she stopped and listened, but she was alone.
Then she rounded the bend before Mary's shop. She thought the shape on the ground was a shadow, until she realized it was a body. She ran forward. It was 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
70
didn't have the power to speak. With a strength that 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 the older woman's 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
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