Free City of Time by Eoin McNamee

face, gazing almost lovingly into the flame.
    With all her strength, Silkie upended the pot. Johnston looked up just as the torrent of rancid liquid reached him, sweeping the match from his hand, plastering his hair to his head and drenching his clothes in vile, fishy water. Silkie stared down at what she had done. Johnston looked almost comical, his mouth agape, his small eyes blinking out from a thicket of wet hair and slime. She lost her grip on the pot and the heavy iron vessel slipped from her hand. It bounced off the edge of the hatch with a clang, then plummeted down, striking the side of Johnston's head with a sickening thud.
    Johnston swayed. An ugly white-lipped gash appeared on his temple and blood started to ooze from it. His head turned very slowly until he was looking directly into Silkie's eyes. He didn't say a word, but he held her gaze. She wanted to look away but couldn't. It made her feel like crying.
    Johnston smiled a grim little smile to himself, then turned and left, moving more quietly than Silkie would have believed possible for such a big man. He left behind only a pool of water on the floor and the stench of old fish and petrol.
    Johnston might not have spoken, but his eyes hadgiven Silkie a clear message: that he knew her now and he would not forgive her, and that he would return. She slumped back against the hatch cover. The moonlight cast her shadow against the wall and it loomed over her, as if to remind her how alone she was.

D r. Diamond stood in the little courtyard, a delighted expression on his face. He paced about, examining the moldering shop fronts, the deep ruts in the ground. Even the very dust seemed to fascinate him.
    “It's a bit
musty
, isn't it?” Cati asked.
    “Kind of,” Owen said.
    “I mean, what is this place, anyway?” Cati said.
    “It's a … it's a frontier, a border,” Dr. Diamond said. “Or it was at one time.”
    “Like going from one country to another?” Owen asked.
    “Exactly. That's a very intelligent observation, Owen.”
    “Really?” Owen said, feeling more confused than intelligent.
    “This proves that there were comings and goings between this place and the City of Time in years gone by. That there were trade, traffic, commerce. It seems that the traffic came to a halt for some reason, and the Resisters forgot about it. It was what your father maintained, Owen. He said that there could be commerce again. I … we … were worried about it… he was inclined to exaggerate sometimes.”
    “At least he was right about something,” Owen murmured sourly.
    “And then there is this … this … ute marvel!” Dr. Diamond's outflung arm indicated the old truck in the middle of the yard. Cati and Owen exchanged glances. Whatever the truck was, the word
marvel
didn't quite seem to apply.
    “Now show me the passage you found,” Dr. Diamond said. Owen led him to the gates beside the Gobillard et Fils shop. The doctor helped him to swing them fully open. They creaked and protested and flakes of rust fell off into Owen's hair, but in the end the three friends were looking down the passage, the ground underfoot rutted by countless wheels, the walls battered and scarred. And there was that smell again, of mountains and snow. They stood in silence.
    “The way to Hadima,” Dr. Diamond said, putting a protective arm around Cati's shoulders. “To the City of Time.”
    “Do we walk or what?” Owen asked.

    “No, I wouldn't think so. Let's take a closer look at that marvelous truck.”
    The doctor led them over to the vehicle. He opened the hood latches and peered inside. Owen looked over his shoulder. The engine was a tangle of oily pipes and half-exposed wires, some with insulating tape wrapped around them. Deep in the heart of the engine he could see a faint glow of blue, indicating the presence of magno.
    “A Prentiss twin-cam eight-stroke,” Dr. Diamond said, patting the fender. “An absolute beauty. Needs a bit of work, though.”
    Owen felt Cati