sleep. You’ll need your energy.” Owen nodded quickly and ducked into the Den. Rutgar looked after him thoughtfully, then turned away.
In the Den, Owen collapsed on the old sofa. He pulled the sleeping bag over him and kept his clothes on. There was a cold feeling lurking in his bones, but before he could think about the Harsh and their icy terror, tiredness overcame him and he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Down at the river all was quiet. A sentry called out and another answered in the dark. They did not want to be caught out again. One of the sentries appeared at the end of the fallen log, examined it, and walked on. All was still. Then a shape detached itself from the shadows underneath the trees on the Workhouse side of the river. Keeping low to the ground, the shape moved toward the trunk, looking at first like an animal and then like a human figure hunched under a cloak. It clambered onto the end of the log and then, moving in a fluid and seamless way, crossed the river, slipped off the end of the log, and disappeared into the field beyond. As it did so, a fine lace of ice formed along the edge of the river where the water met the bank. And as the figure disappeared with no more than a rustie into the darkness, there was a whispering noise as the ice melted and dissolved back into the black water.
O wen woke early the next morning and ran straight to the Workhouse without even a drink of water. He ran up the stairs and into the main hallway. Even though people were busy, moving with purpose, he saw more than one curious glance cast in his direction. He found the stairway that led to the kitchen, and he plunged downward. When the stair opened out into the kitchen he found it calmer than the previous day. The great ovens were glowing and many huge pots were simmering on them. He saw Contessa and he half walked, half ran over to her. She turned to him. Her face was grave but she spoke before he did.
“Cati will recover, Owen. I think you saved her. But only just. I had to put her back to sleep in the Starry. Shewas frozen to the very core of her being. I am surprised that you were not. Perhaps you have a special resistance.”
“I was cold,” he said. “Freezing.”
“The cold they emit is not just physical, Owen. It freezes the very quick of you. Your soul. You’re very strong.”
“Strong,” said a voice. “You’d be good and strong, maybe. But maybe they had fair cause not to freeze you. Them ones could have had cause to spare you.”
Owen turned to see a tall, thin youth with a solemn face. His trousers were torn and on top he wore something that might have been a shirt at some time but now was so ripped and dirty that it could have been anything, and was certainly no protection against the cold morning air. When Owen looked down he saw that the boy's feet were bare.
“Wesley,” Contessa said sharply, “I won’t have malicious gossip repeated in my kitchen.”
“It's what people do say,” Wesley said, but he grinned in a mischievous way and stuck out his hand. Owen took it and Wesley shook his hand vigorously.
“Wesley,” he said. “I do be one of the Raggies. I brung fish for the lady Contessa.”
Owen looked down for the first time. There were perhaps twenty boxes of fish on the ground around them, bringing with them a smell of the sea.
“I have an idea,” Contessa said. “There are those who wish to ask you about last night, and their thoughts are not kindly for the moment. You would be better out ofthe way. Would you take him to the Hollow with you, Wesley?”
“I will, lady.”
“I want to see Cati,” Owen said.
“She is asleep,” Contessa said, suddenly seeming taller, her eyes glittering with a dangerous light. “Are you not listening?”
“Come on,” Wesley said cheerfully, pulling at Owen's sleeve, “before the lady do devour the two of us.” Contessa didn’t say anything and her eyes were like stone, but as they walked away with a chirpy “Cheerio,
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