City of Time (21 page)

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changing direction suddenly without anything being said, as if each of them shared one thought. In every street where they appeared, they struck fast and ran. Clancy felt that after the two big raids they should steal only enough to eat until things died down. With her pack instinct, Cati could tell that Patchie wasn't happy about that. There was a surly current in the thoughts that passed between them, and often Patchie and a group of thin curs would sit apart from the rest. Sometimes if she was on her own, Cati would remember Owen and Dr. Diamond, but she had only a vague memory of the mission that had brought them to the City.

They raided all day and were on their way home when a thought went through the pack and they veered left and started to climb a narrow tunnel. Up and up they went, until the tunnel narrowed to a ventilation shaft, and still they climbed. After twenty minutes they emerged onto a narrow platform high above the City. In the dusk they could see lights burning, and the smoke of a thousand chimneys. In the distance was the cold foggy outline of the Terminus.

Cati shivered and turned her eyes away from it. Clancy squatted down on his haunches and the rest did likewise. He looked around to make sure that they were ready before lifting his face to the sky and starting to howl. After a few seconds, the others joined in. Cati felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up; then she too

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lifted her face to the sky and opened her mouth. She didn't know where the sound, both mournful and triumphant, came from, but she felt a thrill run through her and howled all the louder.

She could not tell how long they stayed there; an hour, perhaps. When the howling had finished they sat quietly. Then one by one the Dogs got up and began to file down the ventilation shaft.

Clancy had howled louder and longer than the others; had he not, he might have been more cautious. There were few places that the Dogs visited regularly, but the top of the ventilation shaft was one. Headley had posted small teams of men around the City to listen for the howling. The minute they started, Headley had been informed. Immediately he sent men into the tunnel where the shaft emerged.

Clancy trotted in front of the weary Dogs. Patchie brought up the rear, snapping at the heels of those who dawdled. Clancy emerged first into the railway tunnel. He waited until all the others had filed out, then turned toward home. Even before he paused and raised his head in the air, the others could sense his uncertainty. The Dogs stopped, confused. Patchie emitted a low growl. Cati could feel the fear sweeping through the pack. Then there was an earsplitting blast of whistles. The Specials were upon them!

The Specials had formed a line across the tunnel on either side, and at the signal they advanced, banging their truncheons and clubs off the walls. The older

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Dogs ran to the front and faced their attackers. Clancy was first to leap. He caught hold of a cudgel and almost ripped it from its owner, but another weapon caught him in the ribs and knocked him back, winded.

The Specials struck at any Dog that came within reach. The Dogs tried to fight back, but the Specials towered above them and made sure to cut off any avenue of escape. At the rear, Patchie and his pack were fighting bravely. Cati saw a Special swat several large Dogs aside and raise his club over Mo's head. Cati leapt forward and sank her teeth into the man's ankle. With a cry, the man swung at Cati and caught her behind the ear. She reeled away, half dazed. The man raised his club again, but Mo darted between his legs and he tripped and fell.

Cati looked around. The tunnel was full of yelling Specials and Dogs squealing with pain or rage. Several of the Dogs lay unmoving on the floor. Patchie and his band stood shoulder to shoulder, while Clancy tried to draw the Specials away from the smaller Dogs. She saw Patchie mutter something to his companions. Then, as one, they charged the Specials. Caught off guard, two fell back. It was enough. Patchie and his curs slipped through the gap.

As they ran toward the safety of the empty tunnel, Patchie turned. He stared straight into Clancy's eyes and then he was gone, abandoning the rest of the pack to its fate.

Clancy looked around. The remaining Dogs were

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pinned against the wall by flailing clubs. The only reason more of them were not lying injured was that the Specials were getting in each other's way as they tried to hit the Dogs.

Cati was among the Dogs pinned against the wall. Mo had taken a heavy blow on the shoulder and one arm hung limp and useless. Cati tried to shield her as best she could, but it was no good. They were trapped.

Then Clancy was among the Specials, a furious growling, biting, kicking ball of energy. The Specials fell back, some of them bleeding. They hit out wildly with their clubs and cudgels, catching each other as often as not, as they attempted to hit the desperate Dog, fighting like someone possessed.

"Run!" he shouted. Cati realized fleetingly that this was the first word she had heard him utter.

"Quick," she shouted. "This way!" She ran for the gap left where one of the Specials had stumbled. She scampered over the fallen man and felt the others follow. They raced down the tunnel, Cati going to the rear of the limping, bleeding line of Dogs to urge them on.

She looked back. The Specials had turned all their fury on Clancy, who could no longer evade the whirling cudgels. Involuntarily she took a step toward him as he went down under the blows. Her eyes met his and she heard the words as if he had been standing beside her, although he never opened his mouth:
Go! Run! Save the others
.

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With her heart feeling as if it would break in pity for their brave leader, she did as he ordered.

Rosie woke in total darkness, almost forgetting where she was. Blind panic swept over her. With a trembling hand she felt around for the lamp. It took a few moments to get it lit. She was calmer then, but more than a little disoriented. Was it morning or the middle of the night? She forced herself to remain calm and eat the last of her bread and cheese. It was hard to swallow. She had forgotten to take water into the tunnel and the air was warm and dry.

When she'd finished, she decided to go back to the surface. She would have to tell Owen and Dr. Diamond that she'd found no sign of Cati and the Dogs. She tried to persuade herself that it was the lack of water that was forcing her to give up her search, but in her heart she knew that she couldn't stand another day alone in the dark tunnels.

She started off marching confidently in what she thought was the right direction before coming to a place where the tunnel roof had collapsed and could go no further. She tried to retrace her steps, but this new tunnel came to a dead end. She attempted to still the growing feeling of panic. It was an underground line, and tracks went
from
somewhere
to
somewhere. So eventually she would come across a station where she could get to the open air.

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After two hours she found herself back at the collapsed tunnel and realized she was lost. Worse still, she found that the oil in her lamp was almost gone. She would be trapped underground with no light. And even worse again was the feeling that she was no longer alone in the tunnel.

As fast as she could, Rosie continued moving through the tunnels. And then she
did
hear a sound, and another one. She started to run, not knowing if she was running away from the sounds or toward them. There were shouts of anger and moans of pain. She ran until her heel caught and she fell. The lamp went flying out of her grasp and struck the wall. In despair she watched as it flickered and went out.

But Rosie wasn't in absolute darkness. A faint light was seeping in from somewhere. And in the distance, but coming closer and closer, she could hear the sound of running feet. She shrank back against the wall of the tunnel. The feet were getting closer and she could hear the sound of labored breathing.

Then a pack of Dogs burst into view. She was surrounded in the darkness, and could smell blood and fear in the air.

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Chapter 26

Pieta looked amused as she turned from the window in the Workhouse. "Johnston has got the chest and Mortmain, and in the meantime you pair of beauties are making friends with a Harsh child."

"He saved our lives," Silkie said.

"Yes, and that is strange."

"What do we do about the Mortmain and the trunk?" Wesley said.

"There is nothing we can do," Martha said.

"Johnston doesn't have the power to do anything with it," Pieta said.

"But the Harsh do," Martha said.

Leaving the adults in the Workhouse, Silkie and Wesley went outside. Apart from the oversized moon

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looming overhead, it was a fine, cold day on the river-bank. A crisp wind blew and the sun was shining. But when they looked up they saw flocks of birds wheeling through the skies, swallows and pigeons flying aimlessly.

"They can't steer," Wesley said.

"Do you think the Harsh child was trying to freeze us when he hit the wave?" Silkie asked.

"The Harsh don't miss, not from that range anyhow," Wesley said. "He wasn't trying to kill us."

"He was in the water too. You know how the Harsh fear the water. ..."

"Maybe things in the Harsh world aren't as cut and dried as we thought."

"What was he doing at the tent on the cliff?" Silkie asked.

Wesley turned to her with a grin. "Maybe we'd better find out."

Wesley and Silkie walked openly down the road into the town, but no one took any notice. The town was full of strange characters. Preachers had set up on street corners and were competing with each other in predicting the end of the world. Many of the town's inhabitants had moved to higher ground because of the rising tides. Most shops were shuttered, but some of them had been looted during the night and gangs of youths roamed the town after dark.

As they got close to the harbor they saw more and more people wearing white, making their way there.

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"Hang on a mo'," Wesley said. He climbed over a garden fence and came back with two sheets from a clothesline. He tore a hole in each and they put their heads through them. "Now we look the part."

Silkie sniffed dubiously. "We look stupid."

"We look the same as everybody else," he said.

They joined the crowds making their way down toward the camp on the cliffs. All normal work at the harbor had stopped. Most boats were abandoned and many had been swamped or sunk by the high tides. The crowd followed a route around the harbor and up the cliff path. Silkie looked down anxiously at the warehouses.

"I know," Wesley said. "I don't like leaving them alone either. We'll only stay five minutes."

The people in the crowd seemed ordinary, Silkie thought, apart from the fact that they were all wearing white. Most of them looked scared, eager to find any comfort they could. For a few minutes they walked alongside a man who was carrying a portable radio. The news was of earthquakes and tsunamis, of people fleeing to the mountains, and of rioting and looting in towns and cities.

When they got to the top of the cliff they saw that another huge tent had been erected, and this was the one people were flocking toward. Hundreds gathered around the entrance and men with whips were beating people back. Silkie found herself turning her head away and wishing she could close her ears to the voices

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pleading to get in, the moans of those being struck. "Let's get out of here, Wesley."

"No." Wesley was grim-faced. "There's bad being done here, Silkie, and me and you got to find out what it is."

A metal fence prevented people from going around the side of the tent, but the two thin Raggies had no trouble squirming through. They ran, bent double, toward the side of the tent and flung themselves on the ground. Wesley lifted the edge of the canvas and peered underneath. He found himself looking up at wooden trestles.

"Come on," he hissed. "We can get in under the seats." He disappeared and Silkie followed him into the dim space, which smelled of sawdust. The spaces between the benches above them were open, so they could see people's feet. They scuttled toward the front on hands and knees. They could hear a voice, but they couldn't make out what it was saying.

Suddenly the voice rose sharply. Above them the crowd began to applaud and drum on the seats. The noise was unbearable. Silkie put her hands over her ears until it stopped. They moved forward cautiously again. As they reached the front of the seats, they lay flat on their stomachs and squirmed forward so that they could peer between people's feet.

The seats were arranged in a semicircle facing the end of the tent, where a stage had been erected. Above it

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hung a great silver moon. Below was a raised dais with a podium to one side. And at the podium stood Johnston, wearing a white suit.

"Look!" Wesley said, pointing toward the dais. A small figure in white was sitting on an ornate chair. It was the Harsh boy. He looked straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the crowd. Johnston had fallen silent, allowing the applause to die down. He started to speak again, his voice low, so Silkie had to crane forward to hear him.

"For centuries an enemy has been sleeping among you," he said. "Rebels and outcasts. They have risen up, not against governments but against time itself, and the leaders of this rebellion have brought this terrible crisis upon us."

Johnston's voice began to rise and Silkie was reminded of a wave in the distance, something that started as a whisper, then grew and grew until it was a thing of raging power.

"These rebels, these Resisters, have interfered with the very fabric of time and are now trying to bring it down so that all that is left is emptiness, nothingness!"

"That's not fair," Silkie said indignantly. "That's what the Harsh want to do. We want to stop them!"

"I know," Wesley said.

"Where are they, I hear you ask?" Johnston went on. The crowd was rapt. "Not a mile from this building, they lie in wait!"