‘So I went away. I fought in that terrible war. And, somehow, I survived. I’d like to think that the Lord of Winter watched over me. But I was never the same again. Childhood seemed such a long way away.
‘I moved away, and I waited. Such a long time. Until my Lord said I could come back.
‘And I was only too happy to. As a twinkling old man, running a little pharmacy. It was perfect. All those girls who’d called me names – they were old now. Old and frail. They didn’t recognise me when they came in and I handed over their medicines.’ He smiled. ‘Oh, it was ever so easy to shift the blame onto my assistant.’
‘Mr Dass!’ said Kate.
Armand flushed and looked at the ground.
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Mitchell. ‘That’s why Armand is so eager to help me. Just like his father. He is afraid I will fire him, but I’m only too happy to keep him on, only too happy. After all, he’s taken all of the blame for my crimes.’
Armand glared at Mr Mitchell. It was a look of bitter hatred. The old man just laughed.
‘We have an understanding.’
Kate found Mr Mitchell baffling, even for an adult. ‘So you killed your friends?’
‘Happily. They’d ruined my fun. And they sent me feathers…’ His voice took on a childish tone. ‘I had to get my painting back, didn’t I? I didn’t know who had it, but it was bound to turn up – after they’d gone. Still, all done now.’ Mr Mitchell smiled brightly, as if he was dismissing a mildly disagreeable trip to the dentist.
‘What happens next?’ asked Kate.
Mr Mitchell sat back on the rock. ‘We have to find that key. Once we have, the shield will be complete, and the Lord of Winter can rule forever!’
‘But why?’ asked Kate. ‘I mean, you’ve explained your plan very neatly. But what is in it for me? At the moment, nothing.’
‘But, don’t you want to be my friends?’ Mr Mitchell looked surprised. ‘We can stay here and be children always. It’s peaceful. It’s beautiful. There are no grown-ups telling you what to do. And what would you rather have it be? Choose Kate – the last week of the school holidays or a Christmas day forever?’
‘It’s not my decision,’ said Kate.
‘Oh, but I’d like you to have a say, both of you,’ Mr Mitchell adopted a cajoling tone. ‘You’ve helped me. You brought the Lord of Winter back. You’ve made all this.’
Strictly speaking, Kate thought, a cat did all this, but she doubted that was helping.
‘Sure,’ she said, and then, ‘All right.’ A pause. ‘Right then. Big decision.’
‘Yes?’ Mr Mitchell looked like there wasn’t much contest.
The pause hung in the air. Armand did not meet her eyes.
‘Tell you what,’ said Kate, ‘I’ll get back to you.’
And she ran away.
Kate looked over her shoulder. For a moment, it seemed as though Armand would follow her. But he stood his ground.
So, she was in trouble and on her own. Normally she despaired of grown-ups. They were lazy, or messy, or rude or unhelpful. But right now, she really very much wanted a grown-up. She wanted to run back to the house and find her mother, and cry until her mother gave her a hug and got her a hot water bottle and put a tin of beans on the stove. Her mother’s drawbacks as a cook were normally a source of some irritation to Kate. Kate had made it her business to learn at an early age the secret of omelettes, soufflés and roasts. But right now she wanted very much a plate of her mother’s lukewarm beans on cold toast.
She ran on along the cliff face, feeling the wind salty on her face – and then she realised. They were her tears. This was no good. She needed to change tactic. She crouched down behind a gorse bush at the cliff edge and watched. There was no sign of Armand or of Mr Mitchell. But they were somewhere between her and town. And, if she was going to get an advantage, she needed to get past them. She needed to find that key.
Right now, she was stuck. She needed a way to get past them. An alternative.
Kate thought about it, frowning until an idea was pressed into being. If she could climb down to the beach, she could go round the boys simply by making her way across the frozen sea.
There were at least two disadvantages to this that she could think of, but it seemed like a good enough plan.
Kate pushed herself over the headland, took her gloves off to improve her grip, and started to clamber down the rocks. All went well for the first few handholds, and then she stopped.
New problems presented themselves. It was growing dark, and she couldn’t really see beneath her. It was so cold her hands were numb and slipping against the snow. She was far enough down that clambering back up seemed an impossibility, but going on seemed even worse.
She slithered down another few feet, her shoes resting on a narrow ledge that criss-crossed the slope. She heard a light skittering of stones as she shifted her weight onto the ledge.
Kate breathed out quietly. So far, so good. If she kept this up, she would —
The ledge gave way, and Kate slipped down the cliff face.
Her legs kicked out helplessly, finding nothing to grip against. In desperation, one hand grabbed another of the little ledges, and somehow held, jerking the rest of her body with a painful snap.
Kate gasped and then gasped again. She threw another hand onto the ledge, and then, gingerly, tapped her feet along the rocks until one foot found purchase.
She was very, very frightened. She was cold. She was miserable. She was about to fall.
Chapter
7
Kate hung helplessly from the side of the cliff.
And then something tutted.
A small furry head poked over the side of the ledge, stared at her unblinkingly, and then nuzzled her grazed hand.
‘Hmm,’ said the grey cat. ‘How funny.’
‘It is not funny,’ Kate grizzled, voice thick with tears.
‘It is from where I’m sitting,’ replied the cat.
‘Help me,’ she begged.
The grey cat shrugged. ‘Sure,’ it offered. ‘Are you hungry? If so, there’s a little nest of voles just over there. I could get you one if you want.’
‘No,’ Kate said tightly. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Oh, but I insist. I won’t hear another word.’ The cat trotted away.
Kate reflected. Her miserable situation was about to made worse by having vermin dropped on her. She cast around for a lower foothold. It was now so dark she was doing this by feel alone. But what if she simply found a clump of mud and put her entire weight on that? Would the fall kill her? She risked a glance to see how high up she was, and wished she hadn’t.
Something small and brown tumbled squeaking past her.
‘Oops.’ The cat’s face appeared over the ledge. ‘You missed it. Not to worry. I’ll get you another. Just try and catch better this time.’
‘No!’ Kate shouted at the cat. ‘I’m stuck. I can’t see a way down. I’m in terrible danger. It’s hopeless. Help me.’
Barnabas’s cat considered her, unblinkingly. It looked about to say something and then stuck a paw up and cleaned it thoroughly.
‘Goodness me,’ it said eventually. ‘You people do get yourselves in such messes.’
‘Please!’ Kate was painfully aware of how tired her hands were.
‘Tricky,’ said the cat. And vanished.
Kate clung to the side of the rock. She was starting to shake – whether from cold or fear, she didn’t know.
Something brushed against her leg. She glanced down.
It was the cat. Rubbing against her ankle.
‘You silly food-bringer,’ it said. ‘There’s a perfectly good ledge here.’
‘I couldn’t see it,’ Kate protested, shifting her feet onto it gratefully.
‘I know,’ sighed the cat. ‘Humans have such limited eyesight. A little hunting would help you no end. Put your hand there. And – ah yes – there.’
With the cat’s help, Kate clambered and slid down the slope, at
last feeling her boot crunch into the snow. The cat weaved around her feet.
‘That took such a long time,’ it yawned. ‘I have things to do.’
‘Do you now?’ Kate scratched it between the ears.
‘Oh, all right, then,’ it purred. ‘I’ve got time enough for a little fuss.’
‘Don’t leave me,’ she told the cat. ‘I could do with the company.’
‘Hmm.’ The cat closed both of its eyes. ‘Will there be biscuits at the end of it?’
‘Yes. If I can find any.’
‘And warmth?’
‘Yes. I’m going to try and get summer back.’
The cat opened an eye. ‘And will there be hunting?’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ said Kate. ‘The biggest hunt I’ve ever been on.’
‘It’s a deal.’
Kate made for the sea, but the cat stopped her.
‘Not that way,’ it said. ‘There’s something I want to show you.’
It led her to the back of the tiny cove, springing from rock to rock until it brought her to a single stone, alone and tall at the front of the beach, just proud of the cliff.
‘They call this the Frozen Witch,’ the cat said. ‘When the tide is high, they talk about the Witch being blind.’
Kate shuddered. ‘Was it a real witch, once?’
‘They say she was the first to stop the Lord of Winter.’ The cat rubbed against the stone.
‘The Cold Lady!’ Kate cried, remembering the poem. ‘Something about her eyes being opened – like now, when the sea is frozen. The key’s hidden here.’
‘Ah,’ said the cat. ‘Come here…’
It led her around the back of the Frozen Witch. There was a thin crack in the rock wall. It led into another cave.
‘Hurry,’ said the cat. ‘There’s someone waiting for us in here.’
‘What?’ Kate was alarmed.
‘Oh, don’t worry. Fairly sure he doesn’t want to eat you.’ It sniffed the air. ‘He doesn’t smell hungry.’
They edged through the narrow dankness. It was almost completely dark now, and their path was almost totally obscured.
‘You’ll have to guide me,’ said Kate, feeling her way with her fingertips.
‘Honestly,’ sighed the cat. ‘Must I do everything?’
But it led her on. The way narrowed until Kate thought she’d have to give up. The cave walls pressed in around her.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I can still hear the sound of the sea in here. Funny that.’
The cat did not reply.
At the very narrowest point, the cave suddenly opened out. She squeezed through into a vast, dark space. Her footsteps echoed and crunched.
‘Hello…?’ she called out. Her voice echoed back.
And then, all of a sudden —
A match was struck.
A face loomed out at her.
Chapter
8
‘Hello you!’
It was Barnabas, the museum curator. His voice was muffled.
‘Oh!’ Kate exclaimed. ‘You took your time getting here.’
‘And you’re a very ungrateful girl.’ Again Barnabas’s voice was muffled.
‘You’re just in time, though,’ she said. ‘We’re in terrible danger.’
‘Well,’ Barnabas sounded regretful. ‘I’d love to help, but my hands are tied. Literally.’
‘What?’
‘A little boy hit me over the head and tied me up.’ Barnabas sounded quite resentful. ‘He seemed quite nice too.’
Kate went over to him, and started at the ropes holding him. ‘I’ve never been any good with knots,’ she said.
‘Just try your best. He did gag me as well, but I’ve managed to do a little about that,’ Barnabas said.
Kate worked, marvelling at how long the Curator’s match burned. It was clamped in his hands and gave her just enough light to see how to undo the knots.
‘No good,’ sighed Kate, and started reaching around for a stone or something to cut the ropes. Instead her hand closed on something cold and metal. Perhaps a rusty fork left behind by a picnicker. She hacked away at the Curator’s bonds with it.
Then she stopped.
‘Carry on!’ Barnabas urged.
‘But,’ protested Kate, ‘it’s the key! This is it!’ She held it up. It glinted bronze by the light of the match.
‘Coo,’ said the Curator.
‘So that’s what the poem meant about the Cold Lady.’
‘I did wonder,’ Barnabas said.
‘I don’t know if it is a key after all. More like an arrow,’ Kate considered.
‘Hmm,’ agreed Barnabas. He stroked it with a hand. ‘Feels funny… From the same bit of material. Well, well done.’
The cat climbed up the cave and dangled its tail in Barnabas’s face. ‘Geroff,’ murmured Barnabas.
‘Shan’t,’ said the cat, and turned around three times on the Curator’s head before settling down to sleep.
Kate sawed steadily through Barnabas’s bonds with the key and took the gag off. She regarded him.
‘Was it you – about an hour ago?’ she asked.
‘What? In the cave? Yes. I was gagged. I was trying to warn you about the dog.’
‘Ah,’ said Kate. ‘What were you doing in the cave?’
‘Um,’ said Barnabas. ‘I was scrambled. I came looking for you, and I met this charming little tyke. He asked me to look at something he’d seen in a cave and THUD!’
‘That,’ Kate said crossly, ‘was Milo. He’s really Milo Mitchell. And also Mr Stevens, the pharmacist.’
‘Really?’ Barnabas looked interested. ‘And he’s been wandering around here as a little boy?’
‘Yes,’ Kate sounded cross. ‘Which is impossible. And therefore wrong.’
‘Not necessarily. Strange things have been happening here for a long time.’ Barnabas lifted the cat off his head and slung it over his shoulder. He started to crunch across the stones, leading them out into Skull Cove. ‘We’ve a lot to do in a very short time, and I shouldn’t let a bit of magic worry you.’
‘Magic?’ Kate snorted. ‘There’s no such thing. Is there?’
‘Magic?’ Barnabas shrugged. ‘Why not? Magic is cool.’
‘But there has to be a rational explanation.’
‘Oh there is,’ Barnabas led her out of the cave and back to the shore. The frozen sea stretched before them. ‘But a rational explanation is rather complex. We’re dealing with a psycho-temporal entity manifesting through a critical mass of its sentient shell… um. Magic sounds more fun.’
‘You have a talking cat,’ Kate pointed out. ‘There’s no logical explanation for that.’
The grey cat yawned. ‘Yes there is. I’ve been spending too much time sleeping in his shed,’ it said.
‘There we are then,’ said Barnabas. ‘Magic. Now then, let’s walk on the sea.’
He took her hand and the two of them stepped onto the waves.
Chapter
9
Kate considered walking on the sea to be an entirely curious experience. It was just as slippy as skating on a frozen lake, but made harder by the frozen waves – forcing them to clamber and slide. The grey cat trotted along beside them, springing from one crest to the next.
‘The good thing about this,’ grunted Barnabas, ‘is that it gives us cover from the town.’
‘The bad thing,’ Kate winced, grazing her shin on a frozen starfish, ‘is that it’s quite slow.’
‘Yes.’
‘We still have to get the painting.’
The Curator smiled at that. ‘The important thing is the key. That can either stabilise or banish the Lord of Winter.’
‘If only we knew how.’ Kate looked at the lowering sky.
‘Oh yes,’ Barnabas agreed. ‘Tricky that.’
They trudged on, inching towards the harbour. Behind them, the giant frozen waves shivered, and the sky grew darker. The creaking increased.
‘We are running out of time,’ said
Barnabas. ‘The Lord of Winter is coming.’
‘But what is the Lord of Winter? In English.’
Barnabas considered. ‘The memory of something old and powerful that shouldn’t be here. And wasn’t. Until Mr Mitchell found its shield. And the shield remembered its owner and brought him back to life.’
‘Is that possible?’
‘Magically? Yes.’ The Curator grinned. ‘And we’re going to use the same magic to defeat it before it’s too late.’
There was a loud groan behind them. In the distance, giant waves grew dark and shattered as the great shadow swallowed them.
‘I think,’ announced Kate, ‘that now may be too late.’
‘This’ll be fun,’ said the cat.
They broke into a run.
As they ran, the sea shivered and shuddered. In the distance, vast towers of ice toppled and fragmented, ruins skittering across the splintering waves. The cinereous sky pressed in around them.
The darkness was at their backs, and the harbour seemed no closer.
Behind them came a sound like giant’s footsteps, and the ice shook and cracked, sheets of it rearing up like behemoths.
Kate made a list of things she liked about this. It was a very short list. She just kept staring at Barnabas’s heels. She made herself keep going.
A crack jagged across the sea in front of her, a sudden pit that she toppled into.
The Curator spun round, shot out a hand, and pulled her across the chasm.
‘It feels…’ she gasped, ‘like the end of the world.’
Barnabas grinned. ‘I know! The fun bit.’
They ran from the chaos towards the harbour steps. Around them the boats creaked, buckling under the tearing ice. The wind chittered through the masts.
Another chasm zagged open in front of them. The cat leapt over it. Barnabas picked up Kate and tossed her across, her legs slipping on the ice on the other side. As she landed, she heard a yell behind her, and turned in time to see Barnabas vanishing down the hole. The ice closed around him, jaws clamping around his body. Kate ran back to him, but he waved her away. ‘No time!’ he gasped, as the sea pressed in. ‘Get on.’
Doctor Who: Summer Falls Page 5
