Callie came back in, damp and clean, and watched as he chipped away at the box.
“I wonder how long it’s been up there?” Josh said.
“It looks pretty old. What do you think it’s made of?”
“Metal, I think. Iron? I’m not sure.”
At that moment, the lights went out. They sat suspended for a few seconds, waiting for them to flicker back on, but they didn’t.
Callie got up. “I wonder if it’s just us? I’ll have a look.” She went to the front door and looked out through the snow. There wasn’t a light to be seen anywhere.
“Looks like a power cut,” she said, coming back into the kitchen. “I’d better get the smithy fire going in case it’s off for a while. It’ll take ages to warm up if the heating’s off and it all cools down. You carry on. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Josh went back to work on the box, though it was hard to see what he was doing with only the dim, pearly light from the snow-filled sky.
Callie came back from lighting the fire and began to look for candles, and Rose and George came back over from the garden, looking grim. Rose went straight through the kitchen, lost in thought.
“Power’s out for miles around,” said George. “The man in the fish van stopped to tell us. How will you get on at the cottage, Josh? It’s all electric, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He hadn’t thought of that.
“Rose and I thought that maybe you and your mum would do better here. We’ve plenty of spare beds.”
“Thanks. That’s really kind. I’ll ask her.” He put down the knife. “I suppose I ought to go back and see what’s happening.”
“I’ll take you round in the car,” said George. “By the way, did the cat turn up yet?”
“She was stuck up the smithy chimney,” said Callie, “sitting on this.” She gestured at the box.
“Very interesting I’m sure. We’ll have a look later, but I ought to take Josh home now.”
“Thanks. I’ll get my jacket.”
The snow didn’t look so heavy when they were in the car, driving through it. In a few minutes they were back at the cottage.
“I’ll come in and see if your mother wants to come down to us.”
Josh opened the door and found himself facing a suitcase. In the kitchen Anna was packing food away in boxes. She turned when she heard them.
“Oh Josh, I’m glad you’re back. Go and pack your stuff up, would you?”
“Are we going to stay with the Fergusons?”
She looked blank. “No. We’re going home. David and Susan phoned. Their washing machine’s flooded our flat again. Susan’s been in for a look and some of the kitchen ceiling’s come down.” She seemed to notice George for the first time. “Thanks for bringing Josh back. The power’s gone off.”
“I know. We wondered if you wanted to stay with us until it’s back on. We’ve still got heat and cooking and so on.”
She looked flustered. “Thank you. That’s very kind, but we need to go home.”
“But mum, we can’t!”
“Why not? I’m sorry, Josh, but …”
“Because … it’s our holiday … and you haven’t finished your book … and …” His voice trailed away. He couldn’t say Because I promised the Winter King I would come back. “Surely David and Susan can sort things out? It’s their fault, after all.”
“Well, I’ll let you get on,” said George, sensing a brewing argument. “Goodbye, Josh. I hope you’ll come back and see us soon, when things are better.”
“Yes,” said Josh miserably. He had never felt so frustrated, so powerless, in his entire life.
***
Half an hour later they were packed up, the car was loaded and the cottage keys had been handed back. All the time Josh had been trying to persuade Anna to go to the Fergusons’ instead of going home, but she was adamant.
They drove slowly down the track away from the cottage.
“At least stop and let me go in and say goodbye.”
“All right. Just five minutes though. I’m sure it’s getting heavier.”
He climbed from the car and trudged heavily up the path. Callie’s face when she opened the door told him that she already knew.
“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “She won’t listen. There’s nothing I can do. I’ll get back as soon as I can, somehow.”
“Does it matter anyway?” she asked. “He said there was nothing anyone could do.”
“But he called me, and he said he needs me close to keep him here. And I promised to come back.”
She lifted her head and looked him in the eye for the first time. “Then come back. Quickly.”
8. On the Road
They didn’t talk. Anna was concentrating on driving in the snow, and Josh Wasn’t Talking To Her – not that she seemed to have noticed.
By now they should have been able to see the St Andrews skyline, the Cathedral and St Rule’s Tower poking out of the mass of roofs, but there was nothing to be seen but a featureless grey-white swirl of air as they came slowly down the long hill.
There wasn’t much traffic on the road, although there was only a couple of inches of snow lying. No one would have thought anything about it, if it had been winter.
“Can we stop and get some lunch?”
His mother frowned. “I think we should get down the road as soon as possible.”
“Oh, come on, mum; I’m starving – and it’ll be ages before we get home.”
“Well, all right – if we can find anywhere that hasn’t shut because of the power cut. Just half an hour though.”
They crept along South Street until they found a parking space.
“That looks open.” Josh pointed at the window of the West Port Café, through which he could see candles flickering.
Heads down against the snow, they crossed the road and pushed the door open.
Although there were candles on the tables there were no customers inside. After a few seconds a waitress appeared from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, we’re shut. We can’t cook.”
“Oh no,” groaned Josh, “I’m starving.”
“I don’t suppose you could just make us a sandwich, could you?” said Anna. “It’s just that I don’t know how long it’ll take us to drive home in this.”
“Well …” The woman sighed. “How about some soup? We made it earlier and it’s still hot.”
“Thank you. That would be great.”
They sat down and the waitress disappeared into the kitchen again. Outside the snow continued relentlessly. Josh thought of the Winter King in his cave and felt a sharp stab of sorrow and guilt and anger all mixed together, that he had let him down.
The waitress reappeared with two bowls of lentil soup and a plate of crusty bread and butter. They ate in silence. Josh knew his mother would be worried about the drive: she wasn’t very keen on driving at the best of times.
The soup was good: thick and tasty and – yes – still pretty hot. Josh ate it as slowly as possible, trying to think of something that might delay them further, but no idea would come.
“This is on the house,” said the waitress, putting two slices of chocolate cake that they hadn’t asked for down in front of them.
“Great! Thanks,” said Josh.
Anna looked at her watch. “I think we should go.”
“Oh come on, mum. We can’t leave this, it would be rude. Anyway, it’s too good to leave.” He shoved another forkful into his mouth.
All too soon however, he had finished the last mouthful and his mother was paying for the soup. As they left, the waitress was blowing out the candles and preparing to close up.
They cleared the car windows and the lights before they got back in. The snow was definitely lying more thickly now, three or four inches of it.
“It’s all right,” Anna said, half to herself. “It’s a major route. They’ll have the snow ploughs out clearing it.”
They set off again.
***
> George looked at the box and gave it an experimental prod with the end of the screwdriver. “I reckon it’s made of iron. I think it must be some sort of strongbox, and the Smith put it in that recess up the chimney for safe keeping. I wonder how long it’s been there?”
He tilted it gently, listened to something slide from end to end. “I hope that’s gold coins I hear in there. Let’s have another go at getting it open.”
At that moment Rose passed through the kitchen. “George,” she said without looking round as she passed. “I think we should bring in as much wood as we can, and coal. We’ll need to keep the fire going.”
“All right dear.” He put the screwdriver down. “I’ll have a try a bit later. I’d better do the wood now.”
When he’d gone Callie looked disconsolately round the empty kitchen. She didn’t usually mind being on her own, but just at that moment she felt terribly lonely. She picked up the box and the screwdriver and took them up to her room, where the kitten was curled on the bed, and at least she could listen to her radio, since it ran on batteries.
She soon gave up on the radio though. No matter what station she tried to tune in to, all she could get were crackles and whines. With a sigh, she turned back to the box and began to work at the edge opposite the hinges.
“Mum, are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Josh as they edged out of St Andrews. The car heater was on full, but it didn’t seem to be having much effect. There were two cars creeping along ahead of them, headlights on. Josh looked at his watch: two fifteen.
“It’ll be fine once we reach the motorway,” she replied absently, concentrating on the car in front.
***
There were flakes of soot all over the carpet, and her hands were filthy. Whey hadn’t she thought to put a newspaper down? Rose would do her nut when she saw it. Oh well, no point in stopping now. She had just managed to wedge the tip of the screwdriver in between the lid of the box and the base. She twisted the handle of the screwdriver, trying to use it to lever the lid open. The first few times it just slipped out, but then she seemed to get some purchase and she felt the lid give, fractionally. She moved the screwdriver slightly further along and tried again. The lid moved a bit more. Everything else forgotten for the moment, she continued to prise the lid loose, until with a creak of protest and a shower of soot the hinges freed themselves and she lifted back the lid of the box.
Inside was a small, cloth-wrapped bundle and a sheaf of folded yellowed paper. She took out the little parcel and unwrapped it to reveal a small bottle. It looked as though it was glass, but it was so smeared and clouded by its time up the chimney that it was hard to tell. The neck was stoppered tightly. She made to open the bottle, then thought better of it, put it down, and picked up the papers instead.
They felt stiff and fragile as she unfolded them, to find that they were covered in spidery black writing. She got her torch and shone the light on the writing, trying to decipher it. At first she couldn’t make it out at all, but as she concentrated, the letters seemed to untwist themselves and make sense. She began to read.
***
My name is Agnes Blair. I am sixteen years old and I am afraid.
***
They’d lost sight of the cars that had been in front of them. Anna was hunched over the wheel, staring into the flying snow. As soon as they’d gone through Guardbridge the weather had seemed to get much worse and they’d lost sight of the rest of their little convoy.
“Mum, we’re never going to get to the motorway.”
“Yes we will. We’ll be all right once we get to Cupar.” She seemed to think she could will the car through the snow.
There was no use arguing. He shut up again and hunched deeper into his jacket.
***
Oblivious to her surroundings, oblivious to the cold, Callie read what Agnes had left behind so many years ago, word by laborious word, for it was still difficult to decipher the writing. She drew a sharp breath, picked up the bottle again and stared at it as though it too was a message from the past.
“That’s it!” she said to herself. “That’s it!” She got to her feet, staring at the snow-filled sky. “Josh, come back! I know the answer!”
***
They were nearly at the big roundabout before Dairsie when, without warning, a wall of snow hit them, so thick that for a few seconds they were completely blinded. The car slewed across the road as Anna tried to get her bearings, and then the snow suddenly diminished again and they could see.
Josh gasped. “Mum – look out!”
There was a tractor heading straight for them. He heard his mother scream as she yanked the wheel hard to the left and then the car skidded off the road and into the snow-filled ditch that ran alongside and stopped abruptly.
9. Off the Road
Callie stood by the window to make the most of what little light there was and shone the torch on the papers as she read Agnes’ story again. From time to time she glanced down at the little glass bottle on her bed. Finally she folded the papers again and put them back in the box.
“That’s it, cat,” she said to Chutney Mary. “Agnes took the bottle from the Queen of Summer and they must have been meant to take it back, but they never did. That’s why she’s dying – it belongs in her kingdom. We can do something. The King’s bound to know how we can take it back. I need to get to the cave.” She looked out of the window again. “Oh, Josh, why did you have to go just then?”
Suddenly she gave a squeak of exasperation with herself. “Idiot! You’ve got his phone number.”
She scrambled in her desk for her phone and found Josh’s number. It rang and rang and rang, but there was no reply. She sent him a text, pushed the box and its contents under her bed hoping her grandparents would have forgotten about it, and took the phone downstairs with her.
George and Rose were in the kitchen listening to the wind-up radio. The freak weather seemed to be affecting the whole country; in fact it wasn’t as bad here as in many other places. There were numerous power cuts, but the electricity companies were hopeful that power would be restored everywhere in the next twenty-four hours.
There were candles in jam jars all over the house now, ready to be lit, and a big fire burning in the smithy hearth. There wasn’t much else they could do. Surprisingly, it was the usually unflappable Rose who seemed most upset by events, constantly on the move, looking out the window, unable to sit still.
“Shall I make some tea?” asked George.
“Yes please dear. That would be nice.”
There was a knock at the door.
***
The driver brought the tractor to a halt as quickly as he could in the road conditions, jumped down and ran back to where the car had ploughed off the road and into the ditch, his heart in his mouth at what he might find.
The car sat at an angle, nose down and tilted over to one side. As he reached it the driver’s door opened and a dazed looking woman got out.
“Are you all right?” he yelled.
“Yes, I think so.” She reached into the car. “Can you manage, Josh?”
“Yeah.” A teenage boy clambered out of the car, shaking his head to clear it. “I’m fine. It’s okay.” He shook off the woman’s proffered hand.
“I didn’t see you until it was too late,” the woman said. “That great blast of snow just came out of nowhere and …”
“At least you’re both all right. Where were you trying to get to?”
“The motorway, to get back to Edinburgh.”
“You wouldn’t have got through anyway. The road’s shut just the other side of Dairsie – there’s big snowdrifts. I doubt they’ll clear them today. Is there somewhere local you can stay?”
Josh saw his mother’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Yes, if we could just get the car back on the road.”
“That’s easy. I can pull you out of the ditch. Get in the cab to keep warm and I’ll hook her up.”
They climbed up into the high cab of the tractor, squash
ed together beside the driver. He reversed back to the car and jumped down again with a rope which he attached to the tow point of the car and the front of the tractor.
“Let’s see now,” he said, climbing back up. He put the tractor in reverse and they watched as the rope grew taut. For a second, nothing else happened, then the car began to move, and in a moment it was free of the ditch.
They all climbed down again to check the car for any obvious signs of damage, but apart from a broken indicator, it looked fine.
“See if she’ll start,” suggested their rescuer. Incredibly, the car started first time, as he removed the tow rope and coiled it up.
“I’m going through St Andrews to Brownhills farm. You can follow me if you’re going that way – might make it easier.”
“Oh thank you, yes, we will.” Anna was close to tears. Shock, Josh supposed. His own head ached dully, and so did his left shoulder, where he’d been thrown against the seat belt. His feet were so cold he could hardly feel them.
He climbed back into the passenger seat and they set off behind the reassuringly solid bulk of the tractor. It seemed to shelter them from the worst of the snow, and the going seemed a bit easier in this direction. Probably just because they didn’t have so far to go, thought Josh, and there was a reasonable chance of them getting there.
Forty minutes later, they were waving goodbye to their good samaritan as he turned off into Brownhills farmyard.
“Not far now,” Anna said, “and it’s not nearly so bad here.”
It was true; although the snow was thicker than when they had set out, there was less of it lying than there had been even as close by as St Andrews.
“I hope the Fergusons really meant it when they said we were welcome to stay. If not, we’ll just have to get the keys to the cottage back.”
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