The Frost Child by Eoin McNamee Read Free Book Online Page A

time had seemed shallow, like a river in the dry season, and they were always in danger of running aground. Now they could feel vast quantities of time to either side, and beneath their feet enormous depth.
    "I think ..." Owen spoke hesitantly. He didn't really understand time, certainly not the way their friend Dr. Diamond did, and he was always afraid of being laughed at. "Well, do you remember the way the Harsh had
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    hoarded time so there wasn't enough to go around? Well, it looks as if they've released all that time back where it should be."
    Cati looked around in wonder. "So this is what it is meant to look like?"
    "Yes. But what are they up to? That's the question."
    A mighty wave crashed down, sending spume leaping high into the air. The spume swept over the boat, stinging their faces like shards of ice.
    "Get the suits!" Owen said. There were suits of a kind of chain mail hanging in the cabin, and Cati fetched two. Quickly she pulled hers on.
    "Take the tiller," Owen said, struggling into his suit. Cati's hand closed on it, but he could feel the boat hesitate slightly, then veer as Cati moved the tiller nervously.
    "Just hold it straight!" Owen said. "She can feel that you're nervous."
    "I can't help it," Cati snapped. "I'm a land girl."
    "Look out!" Owen shouted. Cati had not been watching what she was doing. They were driven across the side of a giant wave. The wave broke on the foredeck so that they were almost buried in the stinging spume. Cati was knocked to her knees and Owen fell back against the side of the boat.
    "Keep her pointing straight into the waves," Owen said, correcting the tiller, "and don't look away for a moment."
    With a doubting glance at Cati he pulled the maps out from under his jacket. He picked the one that looked like the master copy of them all and pinned it to the hatch
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    beside the Mortmain. Then he stood up and took the tiller.
    "I couldn't help it," Cati said, looking crossly at him.
    Owen grinned at her.
    "I know. You're a landlubber. Next thing you'll be seasick. Tell you what, you want to do something useful?"
    "What?"
    "Make a cup of tea. Go on. Everything's in the galley. I stocked up."
    Cati opened the hatch and slid down into the cabin. She closed the hatch and breathed a sigh of relief as the storm sounds were shut out. It was roomier than she would have thought, with a table at one end surrounded by soft benches that could be turned into beds. Cupboards lined the walls and at the other end there was a little kitchen.
    Must be what he means by galley , she thought. She looked around. There were small copper pots and pans that fitted neatly into each other, drawers full of beautifully shaped knives and forks and kitchen implements. There were silver platters and pewter mugs, everything made to be stowed away in stormy weather. In front of her was a small cooker on gimbals, and a sink beside it. She lifted the kettle from the cooker and put it under the tap. The water boiled quickly and within minutes she was back on deck with two mugs of steaming tea.
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    "Thanks," Owen said, setting his mug down on a shelf that seemed made for the purpose. He was engrossed in the maps, his eyes moving from the spinning Mortmain to the old parchment.
    "I need to look at these," he said. "Would you go into the bow and keep a lookout?"
    Cati, grumbling a little, made her way forward, expecting to be exposed to the waves. But she found it was cozy, crouched in the bow, as long as you ducked sometimes. The weather, if it could be called weather, went straight over your head. She munched contentedly on a chocolate biscuit, beginning to feel a little at home on the Wayfarer .
    At the tiller Owen puzzled over the symbols. The place with the tower was obviously the City of Time, Hadima. And the Workhouse was obvious as well. There was a plain, almost shapeless white symbol on the map, and if you touched it, your hand burned with searing cold. So that had to be something to do with the Harsh.