His Frozen Fingertips

by Charlotte Bowyer

  “Why in Eodem are you in my bed?” Asa moved off the mattress, tugging down his nightshirt and staring at his friend in bewilderment. The memories of yesterday flooded back to him. “Oh for the love of Erebus! We’re meeting that man from yesterday at sunrise.”

  “The sofa was cold.” Asa saw Avery sit up in bed, dishevelled, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. “Don’t worry, Asa. We’ve got about an hour until sunrise.”

  Asa threw a book at his friend, face screwed up in disgust. “Don’t you dare ever climb into my bed again. Why in Eodem would you do that?”

  Avery sighed and stood, the bedsprings creaking impressively as he did so. “Like I said, the sofa was cold. You can’t expect your guest to freeze to death.”

  “Oh, I wish,” Asa muttered, pulling a blanket over his shoulders and chucking another at Avery. The room was indeed colder than Asa thought. The floor in particular was frigid. He took a few shivery steps to the door and placed a pale hand on the handle. His fingers stuck to the frozen metal for a moment as he hissed. “Freezing! How, I’d like to know, is this house this cold? Winter’s been and gone.”

  The door opened with ease and the pair of them crossed through the sitting room to the kitchen. Asa struck a small fire in the stove as Avery lit the candles in the room. In a few moments, the kitchen was filled with dancing light.

  “What’s for breakfast?” he asked Asa, as the latter examined the fire over his shoulder. “I’m starving.”

  “Whatever you can make without my help,” Asa replied, rubbing his temples. “You can cook, can’t you?”

  “Sure,” Avery said, standing to rifle through a cupboard. “Yeah, you’ve got bread and stuff. I’ll make toast. You want some?”

  “Blackened pieces of charcoal with some melted butter?” Asa scoffed. “No, thank you. I’ll go without ingesting raw carbon for today.”

  Avery speared a rough slice of bread on a toasting fork. “Suit yourself. You not going to have anything?”

  “I’ll abstain from breakfast for today.” Asa pulled his thin legs up to his chest and shivered. “Why do you think it’s so cold?”

  At this, Avery looked anxious. He shoved the bread in the fire as he looked out of the black window where he and Asa were reflected back at them. “You don’t think—”

  “What?” Asa huffed.

  “Well, it’s not happened for so many years, but what if it’s . . . him?”

  “‘Him’ being?”

  “Erebus,” Avery cleared his hoarse throat, toasting fork shaking as he said it. “What if it’s getting bad again, Asa?”

  “No, it won’t be.” Asa shrugged the idea off, rolling his eyes. “I can remember the last times it happened. It was all destructive and violent, not a sudden cold snap. No, some sort of imbalance in the air caused this. It’ll fix itself, it always does.”

  “Hmm.”

  Asa could tell that his friend was still upset. He smiled reassuringly at him. “Don’t worry. You’re too young to be fretting about Erebus and all of that nonsense. Think of something more suitable, like girls or horses or something.”

  “Pfft, girls,” scoffed Avery. “No, thank you. Anyway, you’re two months older than me. That counts for nothing.”

  “It counts for something,” Asa asserted. “I can do all sorts of stuff you can’t. I’m also significantly more responsible.”

  “You are not!” the blond exclaimed.

  “So says the child holding a fork of flaming bread,” coughed Asa.

  “Oh dear.” Avery pulled the blackened toast out of the fire, blew on it, and took a scalding bite. It crumpled to dust in his teeth. “Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

  A few embers fell on his tunic, burning tiny holes in the fabric. Avery tried to bat them out, ripping and staining the material further. He groaned in defeat and continued eating the obliterated bread.

  “As I said, charcoal,” Asa reminded him. “Only you are not civilised enough to spread butter on it.”

  “The taste completes itself,” the other affirmed. “I don’t need any butter, thanks.”

  “Only because you’re afraid that it would collapse in on itself under the weight.” Asa smiled.

  “Hey!” Avery chewed for a few thoughtful mouthfuls. He swallowed and made some vague gesticulations. “Oh yeah. Asa? These are my only clothes. I can’t go out when they’re covered in soot. I’ll look absurd.”

  “Good for you,” Asa replied, examining a mug ring on the wood and wondering where it was from. He elected to cover it with a coaster in the hopes of reversing the damage.

  “I was wondering, well, could I borrow some of yours?” Avery grimaced. “I have trousers and undergarments, but do you have a spare shirt?”

  “I have one that could fit you.” Asa examined Avery with a critical gaze. “Yeah, I think it’ll do. Come upstairs and we can see.”

  Avery furtively threw the toast into the fire and stood, dusting himself down. Asa shook his head in mock anger but led his friend through his cold apartment to the bedroom, still as cold and dark as when he awoke. Asa lit the single candle on his bedside table and pulled the coverlet over his messy bed. He looked to the wardrobe and opened it, one hand ready to catch any avalanche of clothing that fell upon them. None was forthcoming, so he rifled through the different colours and fabrics until he found one shapeless, rough piece of material.

  “What is that?” Avery asked.

  “Your tunic,” Asa tutted, pulling the large tunic out of the wardrobe and examining it against Avery’s body. “Yes, I think that should fit you, Avery.”

  “Fit me?” the taller exclaimed. “Yes, I should think so. It’s enormous.”

  “Do you want it or not?” Asa eyed Avery’s grubby clothes.

  “I want it,” his friend said begrudgingly. “Hand it over.”

  Once dressed, Asa and Avery made their way to the front door and started to pull on boots and cloaks. They were fairly quiet but were only completely silenced when there was a knock on the door. Asa glanced at Avery and leant forward to open it, not bothering with the chain. They both knew who it was going to be. The door creaked as it opened, heavy hinges protesting. There was a strong scent of violets.

  The man who had given Asa the invitation the day before stepped through the doorway. “Mr. Asa Hounslow, your carriage awaits. I hope you are wearing suit—excuse me, who is this?”

  “Hey, I’m Avery Hardy.” Avery held forth a callused hand. The man took it in his own paper-thin one.

  “Charmed, I’m sure. I am Clement Kean, of the queen’s own council,” he purred. “Yes, the real queen’s council.”

  “Didn’t dispute it,” Avery said comfortably, ignoring the man’s smugness. “So, Asa, we ready to go?”

  “Hold on a moment!” Kean said. “You cannot be coming as well?”

  “Yeah, what if I am?”

  “I—I don’t . . . This is not correct behaviour,” Kean insisted. He squared himself up to Avery, and Asa could not have seen a centimetre’s difference in their heights. Kean was thin and Avery was broader than him by about a third.

  “We know,” Asa replied, hoping for no physical violence between the two. He ushered them out of the door, locked it with a key from around his neck, and checked the handle. He replaced the golden object under his tunic, fingers almost caressing the white string. “Come on, then.”

  “It isn’t protocol to allow more than two people at one time in the carriage,” Kean argued. “If your friend wishes to ride behind us for moral support, then he is more than welcome to do so.”

  “I’m sure that there is enough room,” Asa said. “What if I were to sit on Avery’s lap?”

  “It is a weight issue,” the man insisted.

  Asa looked exasperatedly at him. “Then why don’t you ride behind us then?”

  “Protocol.”

  “Are you having a laugh?” Avery confronted him. “Are you saying that you won’t allow one extra person when the two of you are like toothpicks already?”
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  “Well, I guess,” Kean stammered. “Fine, you may both squeeze upon the same seat. But don’t blame me if the carriage falls over.”

  “We won’t,” Asa promised. “How cold is it outside?”

  Kean gestured to the staircase. “Sufficiently freezing. Now please get moving.”

  The staircase seemed mustier than Asa remembered. The paint was still peeling, damp stains running down from the ceiling. It was like walking through a sloping green cave. The floors were uncarpeted, their heavy boots clanked satisfyingly on the wooden planks. What little light could get through the grimy windows was watery, unable to fully permeate the darkness.

  Asa reached the front door first, where simple black paint was scratched and worn from many hands’ paths. He struggled to lift the heavy bolts. They were thick and strong, able to withstand whatever outside threat would come their way. However, he was not an outside threat, so he should be able to open it. Surely he could manage this. Avery reached forward.

  “No, Avery,” Asa warned. “I can do this by myself.”

  He struggled for a few more moments, pulling fruitlessly at the warped metal. His fingers slipped along it as he worked the bolt loose. Kean tutted, tapping a foot on the grubby floor. Asa managed to slip it through the designated hole and the bolt made a satisfying clicking noise. He tugged on the handle and the door sprung open.

  It was like they were stepping through a portal into a parallel universe. The gust of air that met their skin was freezing. A flurry of what seemed like ice fragments tumbled through the open passage, falling onto their shoes. Asa shivered in his warm clothes, and Avery shifted from side to side as the bitter wind tore through him.

  “What is it?” Avery asked, rubbing his hands together. “What’s wrong with the weather?”

  “I don’t know,” Asa hummed, touching the cold, white substance that was collecting on the ground outside.

  “Don’t touch it!” Avery warned. “What if it is corrosive?”

  “It doesn’t feel corrosive,” Asa mused. “It’s just cold and wet.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” sniped Kean, who had been silent for some time now. “Haven’t you two ever seen snow before?”

  “Snow?” Asa asked curiously. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. Is this what it is like, then? Cold, wet mush? It doesn’t feel at all as soft as it sounded in the books.”

  “The Moving Mountains have snow,” Avery said. “You can see it capping the peaks.”

  “Well, yes,” Kean answered Asa’s question, ignoring Avery. “This is snow. I do not know why or how it is here, though. It does not usually come farther north than Tresnell.”

  “Tresnell’s a strange place, alright.” Asa raised an eyebrow. “But no wonder, if they have to combat this on a regular basis. I am rather glad that we are leaving Brandenbury. I don’t know how well the locals will deal with such a situation.”

  They left the building, Asa shutting the door behind him. The snow was crisp and crunched underfoot, leaving a trail of footprints through the town square. Asa noted a small pony grazing through the white substance. He paused, dragging his friend to a stop next to him.

  “What, Asa?”

  “Isn’t that your pony?” Asa inquired. “The one that got away?”

  “Well, yeah,” Avery said guiltily. “I should leave him, though.”

  “Why?”

  “His owners might miss him,” Avery mumbled, tanned cheeks flushing visibly.

  “You didn’t.” Asa gaped at him. “You’d never—”

  “I wanted to get here as soon as possible,” his friend justified, biting his lip. “It wasn’t a crime. I was just borrowing it.”

  “You little thief.” Asa pushed him in mock aggression. “Leaving stolen goods outside my apartment? If I get arrested I will turn you in so quickly it will blow your mind.”

  “And you say that you’ve matured?” Avery rolled his eyes, but traipsed over to loosen the knot all the same.

  “Come on!” Kean called over to them. “We don’t have all day.”

  They followed Kean out of the town square and down one of the many side streets. The houses were old and covered in a layer of snow that looked like sugar. They trekked along the dark road, casting shadows on the white-dusted streets below. Asa strode ahead, hand adjusting the cowl he wore. Avery, however, was more skittish. His hazel eyes were jumping from the shadows to the dim patches of light cast by the movements of houses just waking up.

  “Where is it?” he asked, flinching as a bird flew across the road. “Where is the carriage?”

  “I left it in a more respectable part of Brandenbury,” Kean replied, picking his way across the frozen cobblestone.

  “Excuse me!” Asa protested. “This is a safe area. Security has been a lot better recently, and it has beautiful architecture.”

  “I will take your word for it,” Kean said, gazing down at fox prints crisscrossing the road.

  “Is it always this rough, Asa?” Avery asked, flinching at the scrabbling sound of some animal.

  “It’s not rough!” Asa said. “It’s a lot more bearable than living in a village. Salatesh was too small, too stuffy. I couldn’t breathe there.”

  “And this is better?” Avery gestured to the gutters on the sides of the road, where the small tracks of rodents could be seen. “This is a complete and utter sinkhole!”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad.” Asa surveyed the streets with a seasoned eye. “No rubble. No wreckage. Little violent crime. Even the thieves here are literate.”

  “But Salatesh is your home.”

  “Salatesh was my home,” Asa corrected. “I don’t have time for that place anymore. It holds no appeal to me.”

  Avery tripped on a loose stone, eliciting a yelp of surprise from somewhere in his throat. He straightened himself and retied the loosening rope belt around his waist.

  “Your parents’ house is empty now,” he stated simply. “All of the windows are smashed in. The door hangs from its hinges.”

  “Well.” Asa dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “That doesn’t concern me, does it? I sold the place.”

  “I guess not.” Avery scratched his nose.

  They followed the lean man in front of them down the freezing street, the silence between them tense but not altogether uncomfortable. All had been said, the air was clear between them. The words themselves, however, lingered. Avery tried to take Asa’s hand in his own warm one but the smaller man kept his limp and unresponsive, giving his friend a short scowl of dissent.

  “Here we are,” Kean’s voice was a low purr, like a satisfied cat. Asa could see why. The carriage was stunning. His steps came to a gentle stop in front of the vehicle. The bodywork was painted white with the gold edging indicative of the royal family. Two handsome horses drew it. Asa stroked the decadent detailing with an awestruck hand. It was of more worth than anything he had ever seen in his life. Was he to ride in this?

  The driver, a small, meek looking man, emerged from inside the body of the carriage. His mousy brown hair was cut to chin length, as had long been the fashion in the wealthier areas. He wore a spotless white and gold uniform to match the paintwork. Azure blue eyes raked up and down the common garments of the incomers. He tutted under his breath and spread white shawls over the velvet upholstery. This made Asa bristle against Avery’s shoulder. So, they were to dirty the seating were they?

  “I can assure you, sir, that we are quite clean.”

  The frostiness of his tone unnerved him, sounding as chilly as the surrounding town.

  “That is no way to treat special visitors, Grant,” Kean chuckled. “Dear me, we wouldn’t want your superiors to know about this, would we?”

  His voice, once so mild, had turned malevolent. Avery followed Kean into the carriage, careful of the doors as if he thought that his fingerprints would sully them. Asa hopped in behind him, with Avery and him opting to take the forward-facing seats rather than the backward ones, which Kean took for himself. Grant gave them an
oily smile, still unnerved by Kean’s threat, and closed the door with a snap. Kean drew the white curtains over his windows and, with a wave of his hand, instructed Avery to do the same to his and Asa’s. Avery’s rough skin caught on the soft gilded fabric.

  The carriage at that point gave a lurch forward as the horses started to move. Asa peered out of the gap between the curtain and the window as they began to move out of central Brandenbury into the surrounding farmland. His mind was lingering on goodbyes to the town that he had called his home for the past six years, which he half hoped he was never to return to. They began to travel through fields with frostbitten crops sticking their heads out of the blanket of snow. The farmers would not be able to salvage them.

  Asa crossed his legs, letting loose the curtain and stroking the soft velvet seating instead. Avery laid a reassuring hand on his knee. Asa smiled at him, clasping it gratefully. He could hear his heart throbbing in his head, like the bass line of some unfortunate piano tune. Small flickers of a strange mixture of fear and excitement tormented his senses.

  “It’ll be okay,” Avery whispered in his ear.

  “Thanks,” Asa said.

  Kean opened his briefcase. Again came the strong odour of flowers. Asa leaned forward to investigate the contents and found a scented handkerchief placed on his lap. The thin man gestured to his sleeve. Asa frowned, looking to Avery who was examining the swatch of cloth unsurely. He tried an experimental dab of his arm and his friend gratefully followed suit. Kean laughed but attempted to cover it with a sneeze. He withdrew his own and showed them the correct way to fold the cloth so that it would fit in their sleeves.

  “Don’t you know how to act in court?” he asked patronisingly.

  “No,” Asa replied tautly. “Funnily enough, that particular situation hasn’t come up yet.”

  “Pity,” Kean tutted.

  He didn’t speak for a few moments, preferring instead to thumb through the interior of his case, rearranging items as he saw fit. It was rather small but packed to the top with trinkets and papers such as Asa had never seen before. He and Avery exchanged glances, waiting for further instruction. However, he did not speak more on the subject.