by Pauline Fisk
Finally I stopped struggling. I was certain that Dr Katterfelto was going to drown me but there was nothing I could do to stop him. I hung in his arms, knowing that whatever happened next, I deserved it.
‘Let me show you one last wonder!’ Dr Katterfelto hissed, lifting my face up close to his. ‘One last trick before we part ways – and I’m sure that you’ll agree it’s my best yet!’
His eyes burned into me like twin fires. I couldn’t get away from them but, the more I looked, the stranger I felt. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t move and, in the end, couldn’t even breathe. I needed air, but couldn’t get it. My face felt hot, and my body started pouring with sweat.
I knew I had to break away, but couldn’t move a muscle. I couldn’t even feel my heartbeat any more. It was as if a coup was taking place, imprisoning my body inside my mind. I know that doesn’t make much sense, but that’s the only way I can explain it.
And that’s the way that Dr Katterfelto wanted it. ‘Now you’re mine,’ he hissed. ‘All mine. Your life in my hands, just like Gilda’s was in yours. What does it feel like? Can you tell me? Come on, say something. Don’t just stand there like a lump of wood!’
But that was what I felt like. A lump of wood. I stared at the doctor, and my arms felt like winter branches on a dead tree, my feet like a pair of gnarled, old, twisted roots and my fingers sapless and skeletal, like last year’s leaves. Worse still, when I looked into the doctor’s eyes, all I could see was a dead old tree. No sign of me. No reflection of Zachary.
Just a tree.
As if he knew what I could see, the doctor smiled. And then I understood. It surely wasn’t possible, and yet he’d done it. The famous Dr Katterfelto – undisputed master of village halls and palaces – had turned me into a tree.
‘Now you know what sorry means,’ he said, taking a low bow, as if I was his best trick ever. ‘You know it right down in your bones. What a marvel I’ve created! What a wonder you are! They should try a little hocus pocus when they want to punish murderers. It’d save a lot of trouble. Clear the backlog in the courts and cut down on man-hours and expense. And what wonderful results! For every evil, killing bastard, a beautiful tree!
‘You should thank me, Zachary Fitztalbot. For the first time in your life, people will look up to you. They’ll stop to shelter in your shade, rest beneath your branches, picnic under you and even carve their love-hearts in your skin. You’ll have a use at last, instead of being a waste of space. You’ll have a purpose to your miserable life!’
He turned to go, leaving me behind. It was the bitterest of nights, and getting colder all the time. Everything was glittering, from the stars in the sky to the Afon Gwy, which was freezing over. It was the sort of frost you read about in books – the sort that people tell tall tales about and never forget. The sort where people die.
I tried, deep down inside, to cry for help, but not a sound came out. Dr Katterfelto turned back once, to take a final look. His eyes were cruel, entirely without pity. I knew that, when he’d gone, I would remember them. I’d stand here like this, rooted to the spot, and the triumph in his eyes would remain with me for ever. It was his parting gift. It was the conjuror’s revenge.
14
Crystal Night
Above me shone more stars than I had ever seen in my life, and beneath them the valley sparkled with a frost that covered everything like a second layer of snow. Rooftops glittered as if made of jewels, and St Curig’s church spire looked like a silver space rocket pointing to the sky. The Afon Gwy looked silver too, but no longer did it run down the valley chattering on its way. Instead it was frozen over from one side to the other. Frozen and immobile, going nowhere.
Just like me.
By now, my feet were one with the river bank, frozen to it, never to move again. My blood was frozen in my veins, and my eyes were choked with crystals that confused my vision, forcing me to see as if through a prism. Everything I looked at seemed broken into pieces. Nothing looked whole any more.
Even the distant outline of Plynlimon looked like a jumble of shapes, rising from the valley floor like an abstract painting. It was hard to believe that I’d ever found myself up on that mountain, not knowing how I’d got there. What an ending this had turned out to be, after all my efforts to return to Pengwern!
The night grew colder all the time. Birds froze on their roosts, dying where they slept. I would have given anything to die as well. To deep-freeze fast and get it done with. But, oh no, I had to linger on, feeling the coldness eating into me.
Sometime in the night, I heard a distant sound of singing. I couldn’t see a soul but, as the thin notes drifted my way, I realised that I was listening to a carol. Midnights clear came drifting my way, and harps of gold, and peace on earth and wings unfurled. At first none of it made any sense at all, but then I saw lights on in St Curig’s church, and realised that it was Christmas Eve.
Happy Christmas, Zed! I thought. I couldn’t have felt more sorry for myself. In the distance, I could see tiny figures coming out of church and heading off into the darkness. One of them was Pawl’s. He climbed on to his sled and headed for home, pulled by Harri and Mari.
I watched him all the way. When he drew level with the tin house, instead of turning down the bank, he carried on. It was as if he couldn’t find his home, and was searching for it. He reached the bridge and started down its side and across the meadow. I wished that he could see me. Wished that I could do something to attract his attention. The sled crossed the frozen river, right in front of me, then turned round and came back, Pawl grinning and waving as if my wish had come true.
When I didn’t wave back, he started calling. ‘What do you … think you’re doing … standing there with … your arms in … the air don’t … look at me … like that Zed … are you all … right what are … you playing at?’ he called.
How did Pawl know that I was Zed? I stared at him woodenly, and he stared back as if my identity was obvious. Again he asked what I was doing and, when I still didn’t answer, he drew the sled round in front of me and started frowning like a cross child.
‘You can’t just … stand there help … yourself come on … don’t be so … stupid pull yourself … together Zed stop … playing stupid games …’ he said.
Still I didn’t answer, and then Pawl started getting angry. He got down from the sled and came stomping through the snow to thrust his scowling face into mine and breathe clouds of white breath all over me. I still couldn’t figure out how he knew who I was, but now even Harri and Mari were staring as if my identity was an open secret.
‘What’s wrong is … something up with … you why won’t … you move has … someone hypnotised you?’ he shouted into my face.
He didn’t mean it, of course. It was just a figure of speech. But then Pawl started shaking me as well and, in his eyes, I saw myself reflected. Only it wasn’t the new me that I saw. Wasn’t the Zed who’d been turned into a tree. It was the old me – and, as soon as I saw it, I knew that Pawl was right.
I have been hypnotised! I thought. I only think I’m a tree, but I’m not really. It’s just a trick on the doctor’s part. Sleight-of-hand and sleight-of-mind. All just an illusion. Dr Katterfelto’s played a trick on me.
Inside myself, anger started rising. No matter what I’d done to Gilda, I didn’t deserve this. Even murderers deserved justice – and this was as far from justice as anything could be.
Pawl stopped shaking, and tried to pick me up. I must have been a dead weight, because he failed. Don’t think you’ll get away with this, I raged silently against the doctor. Don’t think that you can fool me. You haven’t got a hold on me. My heart can beat all on its own, and I can breathe, and think, and feel and be. Right here, right now, I’m doing it – and you can’t stop me. Do you hear? You think you can, but really you can’t touch me!
It did the trick, too. Deep down inside myself, I felt the doctor lose his grip. Felt it like a straightjacket working loose. Suddenly my frozen body was
melting, my muscles unknotting and my mind working free. My heart began to beat properly, and the blood to pump again. My fingers moved, and my arms dropped to my sides. My feet came back to life. I blinked away the crystals and looked Pawl straight in the eye.
Immediately his scowl melted, and he gave me a big hug. I was back, and he could see it. He tore the hat off his head and the coat off his back and put them on me. Then he half-carried, half-led me to the sled, settled me on the high bench seat, jumped up beside me, and we set off up the meadow towards the village.
The dogs pulled the sled with all the strength of a pair of pack-horses. I lay back and closed my eyes. Tomorrow I’d have to deal with what I’d done to Gilda. It wouldn’t go away. I’d have to explain to Pawl about Dr Katterfelto, and what he’d done to me and why. I’d also have to give myself up to the police, and my parents would be dragged in. And then nothing in my life would ever be the same!
‘One day you’ll really get yourself in trouble!’ my mother had always said. But, this time, it wouldn’t just be my father that I’d have to deal with. It would be the full force of justice in the courts of law.
For tonight, however, I sank back into what felt like the world’s most welcome rest, listening to the sound of silver runners racing over the snow. To me it was the sound of life itself, wrapped around me like a child’s comfort blanket, welcoming me home from the strange land of the dead.
15
Memories
I was surprised that Pawl took me back to his place, but relieved as well because I didn’t know how I’d face Prospect House with the memory of Dr Katterfelto waiting on the stairs. The sled drew round the back and came to a halt in a small yard surrounded by sheds. Pawl unharnessed the dogs and gave me a hand down. I was astonished at how weak I was when I tried to stand. He had to lift me down and carry me inside.
The tin house was much bigger than anyone would expect from the outside, and it was homelier as well. I’d hardly ever been inside because, for all his friendliness, Pawl was a private man who rarely invited anyone in. Outside it was just a shack in need of paint, but inside it was warm and cosy, and smelt of Christmas cooking. It was tidy as well – never a virtue that anyone would associate with a man who mostly wore his clothes inside out and back to front – everything in its place, and everything carefully labelled.
Pawl dug out logs from a basket labelled ‘Fuel’, and coaxed his wood-burning stove back to life. Then he pulled up a sofa and settled me on it with a hot-water bottle, labelled ‘Hot Water – Careful – Do Not Boil’ and a blanket labelled ‘Spare Room’. He drew the curtains against the night, poked the fire until flames went leaping up the stove-pipe, and brought me a supper of turkey sandwiches and Christmas cake, served on a tray labelled ‘Pantry – Second Shelf’.
I stuffed it all down – even the marzipan on the Christmas cake, which I had never liked, but now it tasted wonderful. It was the first time in days that I had eaten properly and, when I’d finished, I felt exhausted. I lay back against a pile of cushions, basking like a sleepy fish in sunny waters. It was as much as I could do to keep myself from falling asleep right there and then, but Pawl had made a proper bed for me upstairs and wanted me to sleep in it.
He was obviously very proud of what he had achieved at a moment’s notice, turning an unused junk room into a welcoming guest bedroom. I said how nice it was, and fell into bed. Pawl tucked me in as if I was a baby, announcing that he would leave me in peace.
In the doorway, however, he turned back. There was one final thing that he had remembered. ‘Good news about … Cary getting better … don’t you think … turned a corner … best Christmas present … in the world …’ he said.
‘Getting better?’ I said.
Pawl nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said.
I should have been thrilled – in fact, I should have been ecstatic – but I found myself shivering as if a chill wind had blown into my life. Pawl disappeared before I could ask for details. I could have gone rushing after him, but something held me back. I lay in bed, blaming tiredness for the strange mood that had descended upon me. But I wasn’t tired enough to get to sleep.
I lay awake for ages. Long after Pawl himself had gone to bed, I was still awake. Up the valley somewhere, farm dogs barked in a shed. Downstairs in the kitchen, Harri and Mari whined. I shivered under my covers.
Once I would have lain awake waiting for Santa on a night like this, I thought, but now I don’t know what I’m waiting for.
I fell asleep in the end, but awoke before first light to hear Harri and Mari still whining in the kitchen. What was the matter with them? I looked out of the window to see if everything was all right. The yard was empty, and so was the bank up to the lane but, off in the night somewhere, I could hear those farm dogs again. It seemed to me that they were closer now. I stood listening to them crying in the darkness, and disturbing half-memories started coming back – shapes in the mist, and being chased, and other things too, which felt like the remains of a nightmare: strange white houses, and darkened rooms, and stubs of candles burning without giving any light.
In the end, to shake them off, I went downstairs. Harri and Mari looked up as I entered the kitchen. ‘It’s all right,’ I told them. ‘Don’t look like that. Everything’s fine. It’s just that I can’t sleep, that’s all.’
I gave them both a hug and wished them Happy Christmas. But if it was Christmas morning, then why had Pawl cooked his turkey a day early? I caught sight of its carcass in the pantry, and saw the Christmas cake he’d started too, and the beers he’d opened, with ‘Alcohol – Christmas – 25th’, written on their carrier. Then I saw a roasting pan in the kitchen sink as well, and discarded wrapping paper in the bin, as if Pawl had opened his presents a day early.
I stooped and got it out, smoothed it down and read the labels, telling myself that yet again poor old Pawl had got his days mixed up. But what if I was mixed up, not him? What if my strange half-memories were trying to tell me that I’d lost a day? My mind went back to the sound of bells on the mountain. I’d thought they rang for my survival, but what if they’d rung for Christmas Day instead, and something had happened to me on that mountain – something that I wanted to forget?
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m being ridiculous. It isn’t possible!’
I turned to leave the kitchen, as if to shake off my nameless fears. But suddenly a small room came to mind, and I remembered someone there with me in the darkness, and felt their presence. Then all sorts of things came flooding back, words and memories that I couldn’t contain:
‘I’d do anything …I’d go through anything …I’d give you anything …even my own life …take me instead.’
Now I said the words again, like an actor repeating lines. And I knew them all by heart, because the words were mine!
I said them, I thought. I really did. It wasn’t a dream. It actually happened. I was trapped there in that room – and I know who by!
I started flying about the kitchen, grabbing everything I’d need to make a getaway. I had to escape, and I had to do it fast. For it was payback time. I’d struck a deal with the red judge, and he’d kept his side of the bargain – and now he’d sent his Cŵn y Wbir to collect!
In the biggest panic ever, I grabbed food, drink, warm clothes, blankets and anything else that came to hand, including Pawl’s big black coat hanging on the back door. He wouldn’t mind, I told myself – not if he knew the danger I was in. I hauled it all outside, piled it into Grace’s sled, tied it down with a tarpaulin and then hugged Harri and Mari, who stood in the doorway as if they couldn’t figure out what was going on, telling them that they couldn’t come with me, and this was farewell. Then I got behind the sled, and tried to push it off. But it was frozen to the yard, and wouldn’t budge. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break it out.
In the end, Harri and Mari had to help me. They did a magnificent job, too, harnessed to the sled and breaking it free as if they were old hands, straining first to one side, then the o
ther, then lunging forward so that it came shooting out of the ice.
I had to run behind to catch them up. They pulled the sled up the bank to the lane, and would have carried on, too, if I hadn’t made them stop. I thanked them and went to undo their harnesses, but they looked at me as if I was mad. I hadn’t really meant that this was farewell, their eyes seemed to say. Surely I knew that they wanted to come too? They’d caught a whiff of something blowing up the valley – a promise of adventure that they couldn’t resist.
‘No,’ I said. ‘You can’t. We can’t. You’re Pawl’s. He needs you. You can’t come with me. You’ve got to go home.’
I glanced back at the tin house, afraid of Pawl seeing what was going on. And there he was, sure enough, standing at his bedroom window, holding back the curtain as if he’d seen it all. I went again to unharness the dogs, but he waved a hand as if to say, ‘No, no, off you go. It’s fine by me. I understand.’
Then he stepped back from the window and let the curtain drop. I knew he’d never tell a soul about what he’d seen. I mightn’t understand why, but suddenly I knew that there was more to Pawl than met the eye. I’d always felt that there was, but now I’d seen it for myself.
I waved my hand as well, wishing that I knew him better, but guessing that I never would. Then I climbed on to the high bench seat, and we set off. The tin house fell behind us. I watched it disappearing. Harri and Mari pulled the sled down the side of the bridge, then started along the frozen Afon Gwy as if it were a six-lane highway. There were no signposts to direct them, but who needs signposts?