Doctor Who: Summer Falls

by Amelia Williams

  ‘But…’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ he said. Kate did not think that he looked fine, but sometimes adults said things that were not true.

  She turned towards the lighthouse and ran. The cat hesitated, uncertain whether it was more interested in her, or in Barnabas slowly vanishing beneath the frozen waves. Then it followed her.

  Kate edged up the harbour steps as quickly as she could, ignoring the lack of a handrail, ignoring the dizzying drop to the ice below. The cat trotted easily behind her.

  ‘Well, there you are,’ said a voice. ‘We’ve been waiting.’

  Standing by the lighthouse was Mr Mitchell and a snarling Brewster. At their side was a cowed-looking Armand.

  Kate considered what to do or say, and used a trick of her mother’s – she only acknowledged the person she found least annoying.

  ‘Hello Armand,’ she said. ‘You look cold.’

  Armand nodded miserably.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Kate. ‘It’s not too late.’

  Mr Mitchell, annoyed at being ignored, laughed loudly. ‘Hah!’ he snarled. ‘Happily it is, I tell you it is. I’ve summoned him and he’s coming. Look!’

  He pointed up to the sky. And there, pouring out of it, from the horizon, from the sea, was the Lord of Winter.

  Chapter

  10

  Later, Kate tried to describe the Lord of Winter. She couldn’t. Or at least, she couldn’t without the urge to run from the room and scream. In the end she made a list.

  Big.

  Dark.

  Claws.

  Eyes.

  Lots of Eyes.

  ‘Wowser,’ hissed the cat.

  The Lord of Winter spoke, like ice splintering, or the wind on the coldest day. ‘You called and I came,’ it said. ‘Who summoned me?’

  ‘I did!’ said Mr Mitchell. ‘I want it to be the perfect day for ever.’

  ‘And so it shall be,’ the voice promised. ‘I give you winter.’

  Mr Mitchell smiled. It was not a nice smile.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Kate’s voice cut across the storm. She shouted, stopping the wind from snatching her words away. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I think you’ll find that I summoned you, actually.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ protested Mr Mitchell.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ Kate spoke hotly. ‘Mr Mitchell may have wanted to, but I did it – I just didn’t intend to, that’s all. It was more of an… accident.’

  The whole sky frowned. The many, many eyes turned to Mr Mitchell.

  ‘Then I am afraid,’ it boomed, ‘the decision is yours no longer.’

  ‘No,’ cried Mr Mitchell. ‘I possess two of the three. Surely—’

  ‘The girl summoned me. And she carries the key. That which governs the others.’ The Lord of Winter sounded impatient. ‘We should abide by the rules.’

  ‘Rules?’ Kate pulled out the key and waved it at Mr Mitchell. ‘See?’ she said.

  Mr Mitchell made to snatch it.

  Armand blocked his way, gripping his hand. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s Kate’s decision. Let her decide.’

  Mr Mitchell knocked him to the ground. Armand grabbed him, and the old man and the boy rolled in the snow. Kate stepped quickly forwards and stared into the sky. The sky stared back at her.

  ‘Well,’ demanded the Lord of Winter. ‘There is not long. What is it to be?’

  ‘Firstly,’ said Kate, ‘what’s in it for you?’

  ‘Honestly?’ The sky laughed. ‘I have drifted for so long. Now I shall have a home.’

  ‘I see,’ she said eventually. ‘Then what is in it for me?’

  ‘Give me the world… and I will give you this town and this day, and you can enjoy it always. You won’t grow old, or grow up. The snow will always fall. You’ll have no cares. It will always be perfect.’

  ‘What about my mother?’ Kate asked.

  Hundreds of eyes narrowed a little. ‘Would you miss her?’

  ‘Well…’ Kate found herself considering the question. It was an interesting one. All her mother did was sleep and be cooked for. Without her, Kate would have a lot less tidying up to do. She glanced at the snow-covered town. It was all so peacefully neat. Like someone had taken the real world and added a lot of straight lines and blank pages.

  Actually, she rather liked it.

  Mr Mitchell stood up. ‘Ha!’ he gloated. ‘I knew you’d come round.’

  ‘I’m thinking about it,’ Kate admitted. She turned back to the staring sky. ‘What if I refuse to let you stay?’

  The voice rumbled sadly. ‘As I go, this tiny little pocket will collapse.’

  Out at sea, the mountains of ice fell and tumbled.

  ‘You have not got long,’ prompted the voice.

  ‘And if I say no… well, I will be all right, won’t I?’ she said. ‘I can go home?’

  ‘Ah.’ The sky smiled nastily at her. ‘If I lose my hold on this world, I won’t go home empty-handed.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  The sky shrugged. ‘Merely a possibility.’ It paused. ‘Place the three objects together, and my shield will be complete. I can step into this world. And then there will be perfect order. For ever.’

  ‘Or…?’

  ‘Turn the key in its lock and we will fall together.’

  ‘Where is the lock?’

  ‘I need hardly tell you that,’ coaxed the Lord of Winter. ‘You won’t need it.’

  ‘No,’ admitted Kate. ‘No, I won’t.’

  Kate took a deep breath. The snow drifted down, the sea continued to crumble, and Armand and Mr Mitchell looked on. Armand looked worried. Mr Mitchell looked triumphant.

  This was the moment.

  There was a polite little cough.

  ‘Made up your mind?’ asked the grey cat. ‘Only, you’re running out of time.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Kate. And ran forward.

  Kate hurled herself at the steps up to the lighthouse. Behind her she heard Mr Mitchell’s shout of anger. He let go of Brewster’s leash.

  Kate raced up the spiral stairs around the lighthouse, skidding and slipping against the iced metal. Her hands wouldn’t grip on the frozen handrail. Behind her the hound growled at her feet.

  To start with it made her climb faster and faster. But then she ran out of breath. And still the dog bounded up the steps, ironwork echoing its thundering gait. Snarling as it got closer.

  She took another step before the animal pounced. Its jaws snapped at her face. She backed away, pressing against the railing. She threw her arms up, fighting to keep her balance. The dog snarled and leapt again.

  She could hear her screams. She could hear the dog’s hatred.

  But worse, she could hear the Lord of Winter laughing.

  It was a long way down. A long way up to the distant glow of the lamp at the top of the lighthouse. She was petrified and the dog showed no signs of giving up. She flailed out with the key, but the dog simply seized on it like a stick, tugging it away from her. She knew she’d made a mistake and didn’t dare let go.

  Nor did she dare push back as the dog’s jaws worried at the key, jerking her off balance. Kate suddenly felt very small and alone.

  She could see Mr Mitchell, his face triumphant.

  She could see Armand, worried and sad.

  And, in the distance, out at sea, she could see Barnabas, pulling himself out of the ice, staring at her, waving and shouting. He had such a nice face, she thought. A good last thing to see.

  Kate closed her eyes and got ready to fall.

  Then she heard it. A screaming howl and a yap from the dog. She opened her eyes.

  The grey cat was locked in a struggle with Brewster, a whirl of claws and fur. Brewster let go of the key, turning to clamp down on the cat. The cat howled, hissing and spitting at the dog. The two tore back and forth across the narrow steps.

  ‘Hurry!’ yowled the cat. ‘You’re running out of time…’

  ‘But, but…’ said Kate.

  ‘Hurry!�
�� the cat hissed, leaping up onto the handrail, then plunging onto the dog. Brewster jumped up to meet it, and the cat swiped sideways, wrapping a tail around the dog’s face.

  The cat landed, spun and turned, puffing itself up into a large, angry spiky greyness. It let out a wailing howl of warning. The dog gulped out breath and drool and then bounded for the cat. It smacked into it, carrying both of them over the side of the lighthouse.

  Kate watched them tumble down for a second then turned away before the loud thud.

  She was crying, but she carried on running.

  She made the last ten steps. At the top of the lighthouse the wind was fierce, plucking at her hair and skin.

  The wind grew. Out at sea the last of the mountains collapsed, melting away like ice cubes in squash. The terrible dark face of the Lord of Winter leered down at her.

  ‘You are out of time! This little realm is nothing, a stepping stone to your home… Give me the key, little girl.’

  Kate smiled at the Lord of Winter, feeling the icy breath cut into her. She stretched out her hand, thrusting the key onto the top of the little light, fitting it neatly into a slot. She turned the object. At last she saw what it was. A key, yes, an arrow, perhaps… but really it was a weathervane.

  The little gold dart spun in the wind.

  The lamp glowed and burned out into the world. The Lord of Winter glared at Kate with all of its many, many eyes. Then it screamed.

  Light poured from its mouths and its eyes, the clouds snapped down, and the world broke apart and stopped.

  Chapter

  11

  The world started again.

  Kate was lying on the platform at the top of the lighthouse. A patch of clear blue sky burned through the clouds. The sun was warm against her frozen skin. She sat up.

  Feet thundered up the metal steps and Armand ran to her, helping her up. Behind him came Barnabas, holding something in his arms. At first she thought it was a coat.

  Then she realised.

  It was the body of the grey cat.

  ‘Oh,’ said Kate.

  She ran towards Barnabas. ‘Do something!’ she yelled.

  He shook his head, sadly offering her the bundle in his arms.

  She cradled the cat, and its eyes flickered open.

  ‘Ah,’ it said. ‘Hello.’ It tried to lick a paw, but gave up and blinked at her. ‘It’s nice and warm up here,’ it said. ‘Finally.’

  Kate looked up. The patch of blue sky was spilling out. The clouds hurried away, almost embarrassed. A shaft of sunlight shone down, glinting off the weathervane.

  ‘Winter is over,’ said Barnabas sadly. ‘The sun is coming out.’

  ‘I see.’ The cat made a feeble effort to nudge Kate under the chin. It gave up. ‘So, this is what death feels like. I had wondered. Interesting.’ Its whiskers twitched. ‘Could you hold me up to the sunlight, please? I’d like to feel the heat.’

  Kate did so, her hands stretching up as far as they could. ‘Nice,’ muttered the cat, and yawned.

  ‘No!’ sobbed Kate.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said the cat. ‘I am so terribly, terribly tired.’

  Its eyelids flickered and steadily drew shut. The grey cat purred away to itself for a while, and then went silent.

  Kate held out the still bundle until her arms ached, and then Barnabas took it gently from her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Kate wiped her nose, and then stepped to the railing. ‘Where’s Mr Mitchell?’ she demanded.

  Armand pointed. Mr Mitchell stood there, defiantly on the ground.

  ‘Do what you like!’ he roared. ‘I’m staying here.’

  Barnabas crossed over to the railing and stared down. ‘Little boys,’ he thundered, ‘should not play with toys they’re not supposed to.’

  ‘I am not a little boy,’ retorted Mr Mitchell, proudly.

  ‘Oh yes you are,’ Kate told him. ‘You grew old, but you never grew up. It’s a shame. You’ve wasted your life.’

  ‘Come up here,’ urged Barnabas. ‘This world is falling away and we’re going back home. The top of the lighthouse is the only bit that’s safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ shouted Mr Mitchell. ‘Fat chance. I’m staying here.’

  ‘You can’t!’ said Kate. ‘There’s still time! The Lord of Winter has gone. Summer is coming back.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Mr Mitchell was defiant. ‘I’ll be young again! He can’t be defeated by a stupid girl.’

  At that point, Kate decided she really didn’t care what happened to him.

  ‘I’m staying,’ shouted Mr Mitchell.

  As he spoke, figures sprang up across the sea. Ghostly figures with young faces. They were in uniform and they were marching silently towards the shore.

  ‘You see?’ laughed Milo. ‘They’re all coming back home. All my friends. We’re all going to be young forever! I finally get what I want.’

  As he spoke, a crack echoed across the sea. The ghostly figures vanished as the sea split apart, water pouring up from a zigzag, icebergs crashing down towards the harbour. The walls shook under the impact and the lighthouse lurched at an alarming angle. Actually, thought Kate, if you’re standing on top of a lighthouse, any angle that isn’t perpendicular is alarming.

  ‘Quickly!’ yelled Barnabas. ‘Grab on to a railing! It’s about to get very exciting.’

  The lighthouse tipped, falling up into the sun which was suddenly coming towards them very fast.

  Chapter

  12

  The town woke up to a glorious late summer day. At first no one noticed anything amiss. True, over the next few days, keen gardeners were surprised at the early appearance of snowdrops and daffodils.

  But no one said anything much. Town gossip was consumed by the surprise disappearance of the pharmacist. At first, many fingers were pointed at Mr Dass, but then, when a constable cycled over from Minehead, a lot of interesting things were found in the storeroom at the back. Suddenly, sheepish men were trying very hard to be nice to Armand’s father, while sour-faced ladies said of Mr Mitchell that They Had Always Known.

  It was the last Sunday afternoon of summer. Kate had just finished helping her mother string up a hammock in the garden. (‘Well, dear, it has such a nice view,’ her mother had said, before shutting her eyes and falling asleep.)

  Armand stuck his head over the hedge. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  Kate waved back.

  ‘It doesn’t seem real,’ he said. ‘There really will be school tomorrow.’

  ‘I know,’ Kate laughed. ‘Just think. If it wasn’t for me, there’d never be school ever again. Oh.’ She frowned. ‘I wish I hadn’t said that out loud.’

  ‘It might not be that bad,’ Armand suggested. ‘People might actually talk to me this term. Now they no longer think my father’s a poisoner.’

  ‘True,’ admitted Kate. ‘Puts my problems into perspective. I’ll add that to the list.’

  ‘Do that,’ said Armand. ‘If it helps.’

  They stood, looking at each other for a minute.

  ‘It’s a nice afternoon,’ said Armand. ‘We could do something. You know, have a proper nose round the museum. Something pointless and unplanned.’

  Kate smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’

  ‘Well, only if it’s open.’

  ‘I’ll go and ask Barnabas.’ Kate hadn’t seen the Curator for days. He’d been out.

  She ran to the side of the garden, past her gently snoring mother, and squeezed herself through the hedge.

  Barnabas’s garden was empty, grass baking in the afternoon sunshine. The grand old house was quiet. She went round to the back of it, and noticed the candy-striped tent still there. A flap was open. She pulled it back and peeped inside.

  The small tent was empty, but a smell hung in the air. The smell of earth after rain. She sniffed and, somehow, oddly, she knew that she would never see the mysterious Barnabas ever again.

  She stepped out of the tent, and somet
hing moved in the corner of her eye. She turned, just in time to glimpse a cat’s tail vanish into the hedge. It was grey.

  Heart beating, she made to go after it, but then the bell on Armand’s bicycle called to her. She ran down the garden path into the lane.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’ve only got an afternoon left. Let’s make the most of it.’

  And they did.

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