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realizing that there was no reflection. He felt a single bead of sweat run down his spine and his voice dropped to a whisper.
    “N-no,” he stammered. Before he had time to wonder why he had lied, the man in the red uniform stood up.
    “I’ve had enough of this. Where is the Mortmain? Tell us that, boy. Return it to its rightful owners!”
    “Enough, Samual!” the Sub-Commandant said. He didn’t speak loudly, but his voice cut through the tension in the room like a whiplash. The man in red sat down again, grumbling.
    “That subject should not have been mentioned,” the Sub-Commandant went on. “Let the boy ask his questions now.”
    Owen looked around. A thousand questions swirled in his mind. “Where am I?” he said, and then, with his voice getting stronger, “Who are you? And what has happened to … to everything?”
    “I will try to answer,” Chancellor said, getting to his feet. “There are three parts to your question. As to where you are, you are in the Workhouse, the center of the Re-sisters to the Harsh and the frost of eternal solitude that they wish to loose upon the earth. We are not the only Resisters. There are pockets elsewhere, perhaps even in other lands, but all hinges on us, on our strength and strategy.” There was pride in his voice, even vanity, but sorrow as well.
    “As to who we are,” he went on, “we are the Wakeful. We sleep the centuries through until we are called. Youcould say we are the custodians of time. Like everything else, time has a fabric or structure. And sometimes that fabric is weakened or attacked and requires repair or defense. But we do not have much time to explain things, and others can tell you more of us. The most important of your questions is the last. What has happened?”
    “I will answer that,” the Sub-Commandant said, “since the boy and I both witnessed it, although he did not know it at the time.”
    “The floor is yours,” Chancellor said stiffly.
    Once more Owen could feel the people in the hall bend their attention to the slender figure, as if he was going to relate a terrible story that they had heard before but felt compelled to hear again.
    “You may perhaps have learned that time is not a constant, that it is relative.” Owen nodded, hoping that he looked clever. The words that the Sub-Commandant used were familiar from school, but to tell the truth he hadn’t been listening when these things were talked about, and he hadn’t understood what he had heard.
    “What happened today is an extension of that. Do you remember when you saw that dark flash in the sky?” Owen nodded. “The process is complex and subtle, and many events took place both together and apart. But to put it in the simplest possible terms, a terrible thing has happened. A thing that our enemies have sought to achieve for many eras.”
    The Sub-Commandant paused. The whole hall seemed to hold its breath and Owen understood that althoughthey knew in their hearts what had happened, it had yet to be confirmed to them. The Sub-Commandant's face was stern and gray and age showed in it, great age.
    “They have started the Puissance,” he said. “The Great Machine in the north turns again and time is flowing backward.”

A shuddering sigh flowed through the hall. Owen stared blankly at the Sub-Commandant. How could time flow backward? What sort of machine were they talking about? He didn’t know how long he stood there until the Sub-Commandant stepped forward and gripped him by the shoulders.
    “It's a lot for you to understand and I won’t trouble you with any more tonight. You’ll have questions and we’ll answer them as best we can. But for now, I think it is best if you rest.”
    “Wait!” The man they called Samual rose to his feet. “I have a few more questions.” He moved up close to Owen and walked round him, studying him, his eyes glitteringwith dislike. “What is your understanding of your father's death?” he barked.
    Owen froze. It was something