The Frost Child by Eoin McNamee Page A

took a look at herself in it.
    "Blimey, not a wonder that bloke thought I was dodgy." She took out a small purse from under her coat and brushed and fixed her hair. Then she applied eye makeup and lipstick.
    "A girl should never go anywhere without it," she said, casting a disapproving glance at Cati's face.
    Cati grinned but didn't say anything. Rosie with her city fashion was so different from the Resisters, and it was odd, to say the least, to watch someone putting on
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    lipstick with an enemy fleet practically on their doorstep. But Rosie, like all the Hadima folk, seemed to put her appearance before everything else. Cati looked down at her own faded uniform, feeling a bit tomboyish.
    "I need to get back to work," Cati said. "Do you want to lie down?"
    "Yes," Rosie said weakly. There was a little color in her cheeks, but she still looked exhausted. Cati went with her to one of the small bedrooms in the basement of the Workhouse. The sheets were clean and smelled of lavender, and Rosie didn't need another invitation to climb in. Cati sat with her for a few minutes.
    "Cati?" Rosie said.
    "Yes?"
    "I was ... when I came through the tunnel ... there was a man ..." Music soared in Rosie's head, and the thought was driven away. When Cati looked down again, Rosie was fast asleep.
    She pulled the sheet up over Rosie's shoulder and tiptoed from the room.
    By nightfall the Resisters were exhausted, but they had accomplished a lot. The Workhouse was no longer a tumbledown ruin but a mighty fortress. Much remained to be done, but the defenses were adequate for the moment. Sentries were set, and the Resisters ate a little before falling into an exhausted sleep. The Raggies had been given a turret to themselves for the time being and the young children's excited talk made grim soldiers smile as they

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    marched to duty. Then the children were stilled and the Workhouse grew quiet. Yet here and there anxious eyes glanced toward the sky. Cati stood at the river, wondering where Owen was. At the cottage, Martha wrapped herself in a blanket and waited. And from the top of the Nab, Dr. Diamond sat motionless, his eyes open and unblinking as though he watched across the very seas of time for the Wayfarer's homecoming.
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    Chapter 10
    Owen's plan might have worked for the Resisters, but it wasn't going very well for him.
    The weather was the problem. The wind had risen and the Wayfarer was being tossed about on great crests, slowing her. Owen had to take in sail for fear that a gust would catch the boat and blow her over. The Harsh ships had no such problems. Their mighty hulls plowed through the waves, and they piled on sail. Looking back, Owen could see them stretched out behind him in a single, crescent-shaped line; the ships to his left and right were almost level with him. They made up the jaws of a trap, Owen thought, and any moment they would spring on him.
    It was a magnificent sight, despite the danger: the crescent of white sails against the dark sky, the northern lights flickering behind them. But Owen could feel the Wayfarer laboring under him, and his blood boiled at the
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    sight of her splintered timbers. He turned to the pursuing Harsh.
    "You won't catch me!" he shouted. "Not ever!" But there was no reply from the black ships. They sailed on, gaining yard by yard.
    Owen realized that he hadn't set the Mortmain on any particular course. Even if he did escape the pursuit, he didn't know where he was. He tried to think, but his mind was tired. There seemed to be no options. He could try putting on more sail, but he knew that he ran the risk of breaking the mast. He looked down at the magno gun. There were only three missiles left. The Harsh would laugh at him. He looked back. He could clearly see the Harsh queen standing in the bow of the center boat. And to either side the ships had overtaken and were moving in to form a circle around him. He was trapped.
    It was then that he saw a strange thing--another boat, ahead of him. It