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he tried not to think about. “There was a—an accident…,” he stammered.
    “Suicide,” Samual said. “Wasn’t that it?”
    “No …,” said Owen.
    “Is there a point to all of this?” Contessa asked, her voice cold. She obviously didn’t approve of Samual's questioning, but he ignored her.
    “Have you ever heard of Gobillard et Fils?” he demanded sharply, his face almost pressed against Owen's now, his eyes eager.
    Gobillard et Fils, Owen thought. That's what was written on the trunk in his bedroom! How did this man know about that? He could feel Chancellor and the others watching him intently.
    “N-no,” he stammered, “no … I’ve never heard that name before. …” The lie was out before Owen knew what he was saying. Why had he not admitted that he’d heard the name before? The blood rushed to his face. Would someone notice?
    He was saved by the Sub-Commandant. “The boy is not a prisoner to be interrogated, Samual. That is enough.”
    Samual looked for a moment as if he would defy the Sub-Commandant. Then he thought better of it and turned away.
    “You may go, Owen,” the Sub-Commandant said gently.
    Owen's mouth was dry and his head was spinning, but he knew that there was one question he must ask before he was made to leave the hall. He turned toward the Sub-Commandant and his voice was no more than a whisper.
    “Please,” he said, “what has happened to all the people?”
    There was a long silence, then Contessa spoke.
    “You are thinking about your mother, of course. I will explain it as we understand it. In turning back time, the Harsh intend to go back to a time before people. The minute they started the reversal, the people disappeared as if they had never been. So nothing has happened to them, but they have never been. Except for us, stranded on an island in time—as you now are.”
    “If we stop the Harsh, you’ll get your mother back!” It was Cati's voice. She had somehow evaded the watchers on the door. “You’ll get her back and it’ll all be the same again!”
    Contessa gave Cati a stern look, but Owen thought he could see the ghost of a smile hovering around her lips. “That is true. We have stopped them before.”
    “But this time is different,” Chancellor said. “The Harsh are stronger than ever and we are weaker. I cannot see how we can overcome them.”
    “We are the Resisters,” the Sub-Commandant said softly, “and it is our duty to resist, come what may.”
    Chancellor looked as if he was about to say something more, but in the end he only shook his head and sighed.
    “Cati,” Contessa said, “you should not be here, but as you are, I would like you to take Owen out of the Convoke. We have many other issues to discuss.”
    Cati took Owen gently by the arm and the crowd parted again for them as they walked toward the door. Owen wanted to ask more questions. What was the Starry? And what had the Mortmain—whatever it was— to do with him? And why were the Resisters so interested in him, anyway?
    Owen glanced toward the armchair beside the fire. To his surprise, the owner of that harsh voice was much younger than she sounded. Pieta was slim with blond hair and a girlish face. She was asleep, snoring gently, and wearing a faded uniform similar to his own, but attached to her belt was an object unlike anything he had ever seen before. It looked like a long, coiled whip, but this whip was made of light—a blue light shot through with pulses of energy, so it seemed a living thing. Beside the woman was an empty bottle and a glass. As Owen stared, she opened one eye and looked directly at him. Her eye was bloodshot and bleary, but Owen felt instantly that she knew everything there was to know about him.
    Pieta's lips curved in a brief smile, weary and sarcastic, then her eyes closed again and Owen felt Cati haul him toward the door, which opened for them as they reached it and closed gently but firmly behind them.
    Owen felt numb. He had never thought about