Free The Frost Child by Eoin McNamee Page A

Owen,” Dr. Diamond said. “Buy us as much time as you can, but a day will do a lot.”
    Owen scrambled on board the
Wayfarer
, which rose off the ground. He adjusted the helmet, which he had pushed back on his head, so that the chain-mail visor covered his face, but as he put his hand on the tiller his mother ran up.
    “You don’t understand,” he said. “I
have
to do this. For all our sakes.”
    “I know you do,” she said. “Pieta isn’t the only warrior among the womenfolk around here.” His mother’s eyes flashed in a way that he hadn’t seen before. “Ibrought you this,” she went on, placing a magno gun and ammunition inside the boat. “Take care of yourself,” she said. “Use your speed and maneuverability. Trust the
Wayfarer
. And remember, we don’t need that long.”
    Owen looked at his mother standing straight and tall with the wind blowing her hair back, and felt a rush of pride. He grasped the tiller firmly. The
Wayfarer
pointed her bow toward the sky. Within seconds she was speeding upward. Martha stared after her son.
    “Take care,” she said faintly.
    “That can’t have been easy,” Dr. Diamond said, putting his arm around her shoulder.
    “It was hard, but he is ready,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the distant craft.

H igh above the Workhouse Owen lashed the tiller so that it wouldn’t move, and clambered forward to unfurl the sail. As it billowed out, catching the winds of time, the
Wayfarer
surged forward. The scene below faded from view. Owen felt both nervous and exhilarated. For the first time he was alone on the
Wayfarer
.
    “Let’s find some Harsh,” he said grimly, and the
Wayfarer’s
bow appeared to rise in response.
    It didn’t take long to come upon the enemy ships. Within twenty minutes Owen had spotted the tops of their masts on the horizon. He felt a thrill of fear. Even from this distance the Harsh fleet was impressive. He examined the chart and the Mortmain. They couldn’t be far from the Workhouse, and as he came closer, he saw that there were Harsh standing in the rigging of the great ships.
Ready to take in sail
, he thought, and when they did, they would emerge at the Workhouse.
    As the
Wayfarer
rose and fell jagged fragments of spray struck the chain-mail armor and his face mask, but still he urged her on. On the first ship, a sail was run down and then another, but he was still too far away to attract their attention. He looked around wildly, then saw the magno gun. He grabbed it and fitted one of the glass missiles. Shooting one-handed from the bucking deck of the
Wayfarer
, he wasn’t likely to do much damage, but he might attract their attention. He put the gun to his shoulder and fired. The missile arched into the air and exploded. As the magno spread in the shimmering sky, it pulsed a deep blue. The Harsh stopped what they were doing and looked up. It bought Owen a precious minute. By the time they bent back to the sails, he was within hailing distance.
    “Hey, you!” he shouted. “Hey!”
    The
Wayfarer
sailed under the bow of the lead ship. The Harsh were high above him, but he could see a group of them clustered round the wheel. They were in their true shape of ancient kings and queens, haughty and evil-looking, but the Harsh in the rigging were in the form of teenagers—young men and women with spoiled faces.
    The
Wayfarer
tossed wildly in the bow wash from the massive ship. The dark planks of the ship’s bow reared above him, and Owen could see that there was ice between the planks, as though it held the ship together. Fighting to keep on his feet, he reached for the magno gun again. He fitted a missile and fired wildly in thedirection of the ship. The bolt glanced harmlessly off the ship’s planks and exploded in the air. Three of the younger Harsh ran to the side and looked over.
    “Come on, frostface!” Owen shouted, wheeling the boat around. “Come down and fight!”
    Above his head, a gun port opened and the muzzle of a