‘Barnabas!’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Hoping someone would pick up the phone,’ came the answer. ‘Hello, Kate Webster, I’m glad it’s you.’
‘Where are you?’
There was a short pause. ‘I’m out of town,’ he said. ‘And, to be strictly honest, having more than a little trouble getting back in. But don’t worry. Help is on the way.’
‘You’ve called the police? The fire brigade? The coastguard?’
‘No,’ Barnabas admitted. ‘I’m help. I’m on the way.’
‘The town’s frozen, all the people are gone, and something bad’s happening. You’re just a museum curator. How can you help?’
‘Take a deep breath.’
‘What?’
‘It will calm you down.’
Kate took a deep breath.
‘Now,’ said Barnabas’s voice, sounding a long way away. ‘Here’s how I can help. What’s happening to the town has something to do with its past. And museums are all about the past. Which is where I come in. Hopefully. If I can get there in time.’
‘But—’ shouted Kate.
‘Deep breath!’ admonished Barnabas.
‘Deep breaths just allow me to shout louder,’ Kate informed him. ‘It’s all very well to know that you’re on your way, but please also call on a responsible adult.’
‘You don’t need a responsible adult. You need me. Listen—’
Kate realised she was the only grown-up in the world.
She hung up.
‘What did you do that for?’ gasped Armand.
‘He was being silly.’
‘Who was that?’ demanded Milo.
‘It was the museum curator.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Milo.
‘My neighbour. This is his museum. He says he’s coming to help.’
‘Well, he won’t be able to.’ Milo looked serious. Tears were not far off. ‘We’re trapped here and we’re going to die.’
Kate braced herself to be comforting and the phone rang again.
This time Armand picked it up.
‘It’s for you.’ He offered her the receiver.
‘I know,’ said Kate.
‘He’s really very insistent.’
‘He’d better be.’
She took the telephone.
‘You hung up on me.’
‘I know.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s a very interesting museum,’ said Kate. ‘And you weren’t being very helpful.’
‘I see.’
There was a pause.
‘Right then. Your painting shows two objects. It’s like a treasure map. You just have to find the objects.’
‘Worked that out. Got the ring already.’
‘You did? I told you not to.’
‘I know. Your cat found the ring.’
‘Oh. Grey cat, funny whiskers, doesn’t laugh at jokes?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Hmm. No tuna for him.’
‘And now we’re trying to find the other one. The key held by the lady.’
‘The Cold Lady,’ mused Barnabas.
‘What?’
‘I was about to tell you.’ Barnabas sounded annoyed. ‘Somewhere in my museum is an old poem –
When Summer Falls,
The Lord of Winter will arise
When darkness calls
And opens the Cold Lady’s eyes.’
‘Who is the Lord of Winter, anyway?’
‘Trouble. It’s why I’ve got to get there. And believe me, I’m trying.’ Over the phone came a small explosion and terrible grinding noise. Kate assumed this was Barnabas’s car.
‘You should be more careful changing gears,’ she informed him.
‘Thank you.’ Barnabas spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You’re proving quite hard to get to.’
‘We’re all alone. It’s just the three of us.’
‘We?’
‘Me, Armand, and a young boy called Milo, Oh, and his dog. Hurry. We’re running out of soup.’
There was another grinding of gears. Over this Kate heard the Curator tell her to ask his cat about the Lord of Winter and to be very careful about who she decided to trust.
Mind you, she thought, Barnabas must have been calling her from his car. This seemed an odd thing to her. Even in London there weren’t telephones in motor cars, were there?
‘Are you suggesting we search Watchcombe for this Cold Lady?’ wailed Milo. He looked miserable. Brewster was similarly forlorn.
‘Well, we’ve got to locate that key,’ Kate said. She was finding boys increasingly annoying and unconstructive creatures.
‘I think the key is in Mr Mitchell’s painting,’ suggested Armand.
‘Really?’ Kate wasn’t convinced. ‘All he does is paint the sea.’
‘Very nicely,’ put in Milo.
Armand persisted. ‘He also paints the lighthouse a lot. Why? I think it’s a clue.’
As they neared the lighthouse, Armand cooed triumphantly. ‘See! It looked different in the painting – the top of it was glowing.’
‘I don’t think Mr Mitchell would have got anything wrong,’ said Milo loyally. ‘Maybe it’s been a while since the lighthouse was working.’
The cat sidled past. Brewster growled and snapped at it, and the cat retreated up onto the lighthouse steps.
‘Wait!’ called Kate, running after it.
The cat turned to her with annoyance. ‘I am on patrol,’ it hissed through gritted teeth. ‘Do something about that dog, would you?’
‘But I have something to ask you. Barnabas says you can tell me about the Lord of Winter.’
‘Well, I could,’ admitted the cat, staring very intently at something only it could see. ‘The Lord of Winter is very old and doesn’t really belong here.’
‘But what is he? I mean…’ Kate tried to keep her eyes off the darkening sky. ‘I mean, is it even a he? I can’t see…’
‘I can’t describe the Lord of Winter to you!’ The cat sniffed the air disdainfully. ‘You can’t see the Lord of Winter, not yet. But you can hear him.’
‘Nonsense!’ Kate protested. ‘It’s completely silent.’
The cat stared at her pityingly.
So Kate listened. The only sounds were the distant wind, the creaking of the frozen waves… and a giant’s footsteps. Coming closer.
‘Oh,’ said Kate.
The cat nodded. ‘Better hurry up and find that key before he gets here,’ it said.
‘Come with us,’ she said.
The cat shook its head. ‘I won’t, thanks. Don’t like the dog.’ It trotted away.
They looked around the lighthouse without success.
‘This,’ said Kate, ‘was not a good idea.’
Armand was unperturbed. ‘Well, Mitchell also paints a lot of the nearby coves.’
Kate pointed out that she didn’t really fancy climbing over frozen rocks looking for a magic key.
‘I don’t think we have to,’ said Armand, simply. ‘You and I are here because we’re associated with the objects.’
‘I’m not,’ wailed Milo. ‘I’m from Leighton Buzzard.’
‘Ah yes,’ Armand was patient. ‘But you were sleeping on a beach. Maybe that’s where the key is.’
Comprehension dawned in Kate’s eyes. ‘So we just have to search the beach where Milo was sleeping?’ She suddenly thought Armand was quite clever.
Milo burst into tears. ‘I can’t remember where it was!’ he cried.
They headed out of Watchcombe. Armand offered to punch Milo until he remembered where he’d been. Kate did not think this was quite so clever.
The children split up, roving across the various headlands, trying to recognise the beach from Milo’s memories. After what seemed an age, Milo gave a shout, popping his head up over the headland. ‘I think… I think it’s this one!’
They ran to him, scrambling down the hill path to the beach. Here, out of the snow and the wind, it
almost seemed like summer again. They trod over iced rock pools clustered with frozen jellyfish. Brewster would pause and lick the occasional pond. The pebbles of the beach were frozen under foot. It was lethally hard to keep upright.
‘I’m sure… I’m sure this is it!’ exclaimed Milo. Brewster yapped excitedly.
Armand looked at Kate. He seemed nervous.
‘Is anything wrong?’ Kate asked him.
He shook his head. ‘No… I don’t think so. I just don’t like it here very much.’
Kate shrugged. ‘We don’t have much choice.’
Armand looked around them. ‘Do you know what the locals call this place? Skull Cove.’
Kate’s eyes drifted around at the rocks above them. Two small caves high up… and another at ground level. If you squinted, it did look a little like a skull.
‘Coo,’ said Milo. ‘I never saw that. Wow. Those caves would make smashing hiding places.’
‘I don’t like them,’ said Armand. He seemed nervous.
‘Well, true – those high-up ones look like an awful risky place to hide something. But what about the mouth? That seems easy enough. Let’s go inside!’
‘Steady on,’ Kate put out a hand. ‘You’re younger than us, so you should stay outside. With Brewster. I don’t want you getting into trouble. If anything happened to you, I’m not sure I could face being banned from Leighton Buzzard.’
Milo protested.
Armand looked glum. ‘You want us to go into the cave?’
Kate tutted. It wasn’t quite the same as a sigh, so it seemed allowable. ‘Fine, scaredy-cat. I’ll go on my own. You just look after Milo and Brewster. And if something attacks me, I’ll try to keep my screams reasonably quiet.’
She was quite pleased with that, although, as she stepped towards the cave mouth, she felt a wave of panic rising in her. It was just so dark. And really did look like a mouth. Even a normally trickling stream was frozen into a snake’s tongue. Her boots crunched on it.
Kate pulled out the torch she’d brought with her, and it flickered over the roof of the mouth. Thankfully there were no stone teeth clamping down on her, but it was all very oppressive.
She took another step and another. She kept talking to Armand and Milo, but the sound of her voice echoed back to her. She glanced back to the boys, and they seemed suddenly so far away. If she did panic, if something did happen to her, could she reach them in time?
She made herself take another step forward, wishing she had the cat with her. But Kate was alone. Utterly alone, completely —
She heard a noise ahead of her and something brushed her hand. Someone else was in the cave with her. She heard it make a groan, and that was quite enough. She turned, beginning to run, run out of the cave, back to safety.
Which was when she found that something was running into the cave towards her. A terrible, snarling beast.
Chapter
6
Kate gasped in horror. The creature bearing down on her was Brewster, but somehow terribly transformed – slavering jaws and mad staring eyes. She backed away, crying out for help, and felt the torch knocked from her hand by the impact of the dog.
Ordinarily Brewster was quite an unassuming little dog. But now it was just a whirl of teeth and anger.
‘Help!’ she called, hoping for Milo, or even Armand to come to her rescue – but she could see no one at the cave mouth. Kate was on her own. The dog lurched towards her, and she fell backwards, the breath knocked out of her. All of her stung, the dog on her before she had a chance to get her senses back.
She felt something flowing down her neck. Oh, she thought, I’ve been bitten, I’m dying. And then she realised it was drool from the dog.
Brewster darted back, ready for another go. It reared up to spring, and as the dog did so, Kate grabbed the cave wall and launched herself towards the leaping hound.
The soles of her shoes caught Brewster, sending him spinning backwards, slipping helplessly on the ice.
Kate dragged herself up and ran past the dog, who was shaking himself with confusion. She pelted past him, making for the beach. She broke out into the meagre daylight.
‘Milo! Armand?’ she called. ‘It’s Brewster! He’s gone mad!’ But her voice echoed back off the empty beach. The boys had vanished.
Behind her she could hear snarling.
With no time to make for the path, she started to clamber up the cliff face, her bare hands already needle-numb from the cold. Brewster snapped at her heels, spurring her on. She made it to a little ledge, halfway up.
There was still no sign of Milo or Armand.
There was also no going back now. She inched her way along the ledge, reaching the side of the Skull Cove. Here there was a narrow path, little more than a track for rainwater, but it made the ascent slightly easier. By now the pain in her hands was biting – the higher she climbed, the more exposed it became and the colder she got. She shook her head and pulled herself on, further and higher, until she flopped over the top of the cliff. Her coat was cut by thorns, her hair was a mess and she was panting like she’d done cross country. But she felt an enormous sense of achievement.
When she stood up, she saw Armand and Milo standing there watching her.
‘There you are!’ she said, relieved. ‘Where did you go to? What happened to Brewster to upset him so?’
The two boys continued to watch her, blankly.
‘Something spooked him. One of you had better be brave enough to go and calm him down – I’m not up to it.’ She gave a little laugh.
Neither of the boys laughed.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked them. ‘What’s happened? Milo?’
Milo stared at her, his eyes wide.
Her suspicions aroused, she turned on Armand. And she noticed something. He was nervous. Shaking. Afraid.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What have you done? You’ve done something horrible, haven’t you, Armand Dass? It’s just like you to let me down.’
Armand shook his head, slightly.
‘No.’
The firmness of Milo’s voice startled her. The little boy with the golden curls and the simple smile was transformed. His simple smile was now thin and cruel, his blue eyes no longer sparkled.
‘What’s happened?’ she demanded. ‘What’s Armand said to you?’
‘Nothing,’ smirked Milo. ‘Well, nothing except that he was only too happy to obey me. You see… Armand and I have an agreement. He has been working for me. He doesn’t even like you. I made him pretend.’ He grinned. ‘You thought you had a friend. Two friends. You don’t. You’re all alone. In my world.’
‘Your world?’ Kate was baffled.
‘My lovely world.’ Milo giggled. ‘I painted it. My name is Milo Mitchell.’
As Kate stared at the little boy, his features changed and shifted again, his body growing taller, his hair uncurling, the golden hue going grey. The skin on his face sagged and wrinkled, but the eyes still danced blue.
Milo Mitchell was suddenly Mr Stevens, the pharmacist.
Armand took a step back. Kate would have as well, but she’d have fallen off the cliff.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ the old man laughed. ‘Oh, it’s been jolly fun being young again,’ he rubbed his hands. ‘Now, I bet you both have questions.’
Kate opened her mouth, but the man held up a hand.
‘I can guess! Yes, my real name is Milo Mitchell. Yes, I painted all those pictures, so very long ago. Yes, I was just a little boy. And yes, I was very talented.’
‘But you’re so old now!’ protested Kate.
Mr Mitchell’s smile faded slightly. ‘Perhaps, perhaps I am.’ He sat down on a rock. ‘My old limbs feel the cold so. But look at this!’ Milo flung an arm around at the world. ‘This is the day I made Summer Fall.’
He patted the rocks. ‘Come, sit down. I’ll tell you.’ He paused.
They sat down, and Mr Mitchell started to speak. Kate decided he rather liked being the centre of attention.
&nbs
p; ‘It’s a lovely story. When I was young, I was always painting, painting, painting. I used to paint on things I found washed up on the beach – driftwood, sides of tea chests, normally. But then, one day, I was out with friends and we found something on the shore – a sort of canvas or gabardine, but like tin foil. It felt strange to the touch. There was nothing else to hand, so I sat in Skull Cove and I painted on the sheet.
‘It was the end of summer, but I imagined how the town had looked in winter. My friends danced around me, ignoring me, chasing each other. Until their cries silenced. And I realised that it had started to snow. In August. The more I painted, the more the snow fell. At first my friends were delighted – then they were frightened. I stopped painting, but it carried on snowing. I tried rubbing the painting out, but it still snowed. Until the whole town had frozen over and the world stopped. Empty apart from my friends and I.
‘That was when the Lord of Winter came. He swept across the sea to us. He spoke to me then. He promised me I could live in that day forever. And I stepped forward to agree – but some of my friends stopped me. They were just girls.’
Kate frowned
‘But,’ Mr Mitchell went on, ‘they were strange girls from old families. They shouted at the sky, used strange words, and the more they spoke, the angrier the Lord of Winter became. They hacked at the canvas, the three of them. One tore off a strip and wore it as a band. The other fashioned the foil into a key. The third seized the picture. I tried to grab at them, but the wind howled, and the Lord of Winter screamed… and the snow faded away and it was summer again.
‘They took my painting, the ring and the key home to their parents. The elders of the town told me that the Lord of Winter had been waiting outside the town for a very long time, and that I’d found his shield. They said I had summoned an old, dark force by accident, and I wasn’t to feel bad about it.
‘But I hated them. I painted the same picture, over and over. And nothing happened. I longed for the fall of Summer. But it never happened. A war came. All the boys went away to fight in it. But not me. I stayed here and painted. None of them every came back, and suddenly that long ago magical day seemed more important than ever.
‘And those girls who’d stopped me, they didn’t understand – they sent me feathers and called me a coward.
Doctor Who: Summer Falls Page 4