Free Winterbringers by Gill Arbuthnott Page B

could I go? There was no one in another place to take me in. I’d probably die of cold at the side of some road during the winter.
    When I got home I told my mother that I didn’t feel well – maybe I’d caught what Patrick had – got into bed and pulled the covers over my head. All night I lay awake, listening for the sound of folk coming to take me away, but there was nothing and just before dawn I must have finally fallen into an uneasy sleep.
    In the morning I kept to my bed, trying to shut out the world. There was nothing I could do to help Beatrix and Janet now. All I could hope was that Patrick Morton hadn’t repeated his accusations to Minister Cowper.
    I ignored my mother’s shouts to get up and pretended to be asleep when she came in, and to my surprise, she let me be.
    About the middle of the day, there was a knock at the front door, and my heart seemed to turn to stone in my chest. For nearly half an hour I strained to catch scraps of conversation, but I could make nothing out. Then I heard the door close and my mother’s footsteps coming towards the bedroom.
    I jumped back into bed and pretended to be asleep again, but this time she did not leave. “Agnes, wake up. I must talk to you.”
    I yawned and stretched and opened my eyes; and then she told me that the Minister had had Beatrix and Janet arrested on suspicion of witchcraft and that they were to be interrogated later.
    I don’t remember much more of what she said, except for how ill I looked.
    A little later she brought me up some broth. “Agnes,” she said, “you used to spend a lot of time with those two. Did you ever think there was anything …?” She let the question die away.
    “Of course not. They’re ordinary folk. Just like you and me.”
    ***
    I will seal these papers and the things I brought from the Kingdom of Summer in my little strongbox and put them in my father’s hidey-hole so that my family will know the truth one
day; for if they do come for me, they’ll surely let me speak to my mother or father before the end.
    ***
    My name is Agnes Blair and every word that I have written is true, so help me God.
    The twenty-ninth day of October, 1704.
    ***

7. The Smithy
    Morning came.
    Callie woke in her narrow bed. Something was different. The air sounded odd, hushed. She climbed out from under the downie and pulled a curtain aside to see a white world, everything dusted with a thin powdering of snow that seemed to muffle all the usual noises. The sky was pearl-white , clouded from horizon to horizon.
    She thought of the Winter King in the cold cave on the sea shore and her heart sank.
    The radiator creaked and gurgled as the central heating came on and she heard someone moving about in the kitchen. She pulled on some clothes and went downstairs, pushing her hair out of her eyes, Chutney Mary following her as though she was a dog, not a cat at all.
    In the kitchen, Rose moved around automatically making breakfast, her mind blank with despair. They had brought their combined strength to bear on the cold last night, and it had no difference whatsoever. Their failure had been total. There was nothing else left for them to try.
    It had been bad enough last night – already the ice creatures were abroad – but now it would get worse. And worse. And there would be no end to it.
    She tried to rouse herself to be more normal as Callie came into the kitchen, yawning.
    “Have you seen the snow?”
    “Yes,” said Rose, “and the sky looks as if there’s more tocome.”
    “What’s going on with the weather?” said Callie, as though she didn’t know.
    Rose hesitated, tempted for a moment to tell her the truth; but what good would it do? It wouldn’t help anyone. So she just shrugged her shoulders. “They say it’s the Gulf Stream moving.”
    “Do you think that’s it?” Callie pressed her.
    “How would I know? I’m not a scientist. I suppose they know what they’re talking about.”
    Callie sat down and started to butter