Scatterheart

by Lili Wilkinson

  When they came to the bridge, everybody stopped and gasped. Hannah couldn’t see past the crowd, so she pushed her way through, until she stood at the place where the bridge met the riverbank. Then she caught her breath.

  The river Thames was frozen solid. Instead of the usual rushing water, brown tipped with white, there was a strange, greyish-white strip that ran through the middle of London. But what was most peculiar were the traders selling their wares on this new, icy street. A sign had been crudely erected where steps led down to the River. This way to Freezeland Street.

  There were booths and tents set up in the middle of the river, edging a thoroughfare that ran all the way from Blackfriar’s Bridge to Three Crane Stairs. The makeshift street was thronged with people.

  Frost glittered on everything, making the whole world sparkle and twinkle like some kind of fairyland. People on skates soared up and down the river like birds, swooping and spinning with easy grace. Others trod carefully on hessian sacking laid down to avoid slipping, buying souvenirs and drinking steaming hot chocolate and porter from pewter mugs outside makeshift taverns with names like The City of Moscow and The Free and Easy on the Ice.

  Hannah made her way down the steps, and stepped carefully onto the ice.

  The air was thick with the sound of traders calling out their wares.

  ‘Baked ox cheek, fat and brown!’

  ‘Your feet to mend, corns to cut!’

  ‘Sheep hearts, livers or lights!’

  ‘Newcastle salmon!’

  ‘Gingerbread!’

  The smell of baking hot pies reminded Hannah how hungry she was. She walked carefully over to the nearest stall.

  ‘Afternoon, miss!’ said the pieman, winking at her. Was it afternoon already? ‘Toss you for a pie? Piping hot and mighty tasty, they are.’

  Hannah smiled at him. ‘I’m sorry? What do you mean by ‘toss’?’

  He chuckled. ‘You give me a sixpence. I toss it. If it’s heads, you get your pie, I get your coin. If it’s tails, you keep your coin and get your pie as well!’

  Hannah laughed, and handed over a coin, and the pieman tossed it high in the air, where it twinkled in the sunlight. It came down, and he caught it deftly and slapped it onto his wrist. He shook his head. ‘Heads, miss. I keeps your coin.’

  He whipped a pie out of his portable oven, and expertly cut a hole in the top. White steam rushed out of it. The pieman poured warm, thick gravy into the hole, and wrapped the whole thing in newspaper. He winked at Hannah again as he handed it over.

  Hannah saw a familiar tuft of ginger whiskers in the crowd, and felt the urge to spit out her mouthful of pie. It was Samuel Smith, the pawnbroker.

  ‘Are you all right, miss?’ asked the pieman.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, touching her earrings. ‘Thank you.’

  She ducked into a crowd of people queuing up to try their hand at the Wheel of Fortune. When she emerged out the other side, she noticed a man with a black beard leading a long-haired sheep across the ice. A one-eyed girl with a scarred face scurried around among the crowd, collecting sixpences. Hannah surrendered a coin to the girl, who bit it suspiciously, to make sure it was real, then tucked it away in a pocket.

  ‘Fanks, miss,’ she said. Up close, it looked as if one side of her face had melted, like candle wax. It was shiny and raw-looking, standing out horribly against her otherwise filthy person. There was a gaping black hole where her left eye should have been. The girl wore a grubby red pinafore. Her boots were so worn that Hannah could see a dirty toe peeking through the tip of one. The girl wore no stockings. Hannah turned away, feeling a mixture of disgust and pity.

  The black-bearded man reached a metal spit on the southern side of the river, and drew a long, sharp knife from under his coat. The crowd watched with baited breath. The man held the sheep between his knees, pulling its head back with one hand. It bleated pathetically. The wax-faced girl giggled. The black-bearded man moved with one swift, clean stroke, and slit the creature’s throat.

  Blood cascaded onto the ice, the red standing out on the white surface of the Thames. The sharp, metallic smell of blood filled Hannah’s nostrils. Another stroke of the knife, and the sheep’s entrails spilled out like coils of delicate pink rope.

  Two other men moved forward and with sharp, deft movements, removed the dead animal’s skin. The carcass steamed in the cold afternoon air. They skewered the animal onto the spit, and slipped a tray of roasting coals underneath it. The smell of roasting meat filled the air.

  As the light grew dim, traders lit lamps and torches outside their stalls, casting a warm, flickering glow which glinted gold on the surface of the river. A man produced a fiddle, and another began to sing.

  All you who are curious downright

  And fond of seein’ every sight

  If to the Thames you ’ad repaired

  You might get to see the famous fair.

  Diversions of every kind you’ll see

  With folks all drinkin’ coffee an’ tea,

  And dancin’ too, I do declare.

  Upon the Thames, the great Frost Fair!

  Couples began to dance, but the ice was slippery, and the dancers more often than not ended up falling down.

  The black-bearded man started to carve slices off the sheep.

  ‘Lapland mutton!’ he cried. ‘Get your Lapland mutton! Shilling a slice!’

  Hannah handed over a shilling, and was given a steaming slice of hot meat, wrapped in newspaper. She chewed it, even though it was tough and stringy.

  The little one-eyed girl she had seen earlier was wandering through the crowd. She brushed past Hannah, nearly knocking her over, and then scampered away, calling out, ‘Sorry, miss! King’s pictures!’

  Hannah noticed that the crowds of people, instead of milling around booths and chatting, were starting to drift to the East, where she could make out a hastily constructed wooden amphitheatre on the ice, surrounded by burning torches. Two men stood at the entrance, taking money from the crowd, which was now pushing forward, eager to get in.

  ‘Half a crown!’ shouted one man. ‘Half a crown to see the most terrifying beast of the Arctic circle in fierce combat.’

  Hannah opened her reticule, but it was empty. She looked around wildly, then remembered the little wax-faced girl bumping into her. She had picked Hannah’s pocket.

  She heard shouts coming from the entrance. A man had gotten into an altercation with one of the ticket-sellers. He tried to push past the ticket-sellers, who shoved him back. As they scuffled, the crowd surged forward, bursting into the amphitheatre, and sweeping Hannah along with them.

  ***

  eight

  As Scatterheart raised the blue ice-fruit to her lips, she felt it soften and turn to liquid. Scatterheart looked up in alarm and saw that the ice-plants were starting to melt. They dripped and cracked, as the walls of the white garden began to crumble. The white bear suddenly appeared before Scatterheart. ‘What have you done?’ he cried.

  ***

  John Huggins stepped down from the witness stand and left the courtroom. Hannah stared at the white plaster lion above the Lord Mayor’s chair of office. It was definitely moving. It wriggled and lashed its tail, growling at the unicorn, which cowered behind the crown.

  The clerk gave Hannah a shove. His touch was like a thousand needles, and she cried out in pain. The light hurt her eyes.

  The constable who had arrested her at the Frost Fair produced her earrings, which were examined by the Lord Mayor and the jury, then handed to Samuel Smith, who slipped them into his waistcoat pocket.

  ‘Can you offer any reason that judgement should not be passed upon you?’ asked the clerk.

  ***

  The amphitheatre was little more than a central ring, open to the star-studded sky. The ring was surrounded by a wall of wood, seven feet tall. Wooden benches were perched above the wall, so the spectators could look down into the ring. A small door was set into the side.

  Hannah squashed herse
lf onto a bench, beside two young men who stank of ale and a woman wearing too much rouge. The torchlight flickered and cast strange shadows on the wood and inside the ring.

  One of the ticket-sellers appeared in front of them.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he called out, his voice echoing strangely between the ice and the wooden benches. ‘Tonight we have a wonder such as never before been seen in London. An enormous creature, a terrible monster, vicious and cruel and murderous. It is a white bear from the North Pole, the cruellest and most dangerous of all bears. And tonight you will see it do battle with some of the very best and most destructive dogs that London has to offer.’

  The crowd cheered and stamped their feet. Hannah didn’t move. She felt cold all over.

  The man climbed out of the ring, and rang a brass bell that hung near the wooden benches. The door opened.

  ‘You may go anywhere, do anything you like,’ said the bear. ‘But never open that little door.’

  There was a pause. The crowd was silent, waiting. A woman laughed hysterically, and was hushed. The wooden amphitheatre creaked.

  Then there was a noise which shattered the night and made the women scream. A hoarse cry, like no sound Hannah had heard before. It was a strong cry, powerful and huge, but full of pain and anger.

  Then the creature came out through the door and into the amphitheatre.

  It came slowly, putting one paw in front of the other hesitantly. It sniffed the air, and a growl rumbled in the back of its throat.

  It was not as big as Hannah had expected. It was larger than a sheep, but smaller than a cow, a scrawny creature with fur that hung in great folds off its emaciated shoulders and long, sloping neck. It was nothing like the white bear that Hannah had imagined in the story. Its fur was matted and filthy, more of a dirty yellow colour than the pure, snow-white she had pictured. It tossed its head, agitated and frightened.

  Hannah felt sick. Where its eyes had once been, were messy, weeping open sores. Its eyes had been burnt out, and it now groped blindly around the ring.

  The creature pressed itself against the wall of the amphitheatre. People jeered and threw bottles and food scraps at it. The creature cried out again, a deep, crazed roar.

  A shrill whistle sounded, and two dogs were let in. They were large – almost as large as the bear. One was a mottled grey, with a pointed snout. The other was black, with a tan-coloured muzzle. Frothing at the mouth, they made straight for the bear, slashing at its side with their teeth. The crowd cried out with joy as blood was splashed onto the ice. The bear whipped around, quicker than Hannah would have believed possible, swatting at the dogs with a great clawed paw. The black one was tossed across the ring, yelping, but it sprang back to its feet again. Fur was torn from flesh. Hannah sat very still, fearing that if she moved she would vomit. The bear continued to cry out as it groped for its attackers.

  The mottled grey dog darted up and ripped into the bear’s flank. The bear spun around with a great roar, snarling. It caught the grey dog in its mouth and crushed it, bones crunching and splintering. The limp body of the dog fell to the ground. The bear looked up and roared again, the yellowish fur around its mouth stained red.

  The bear shook its head, spraying blood and slaver into the air, spattering the excited onlookers. Hannah felt the warm wetness splash on her cheek, and felt bile rise in her throat.

  While the bear’s head was raised, the black dog leapt at its throat. The bear let out a cry so loud and terrible that the wooden amphitheatre shook.

  Hannah couldn’t watch any more. She turned her eyes to the stars, but they were gone. Instead, there was blackness, boiling and churning in the sky, seeping in over the frozen river and into the amphitheatre, blocking out the carnage in the ring, blocking out the other spectators. There was panic and confusion as people struggled to their feet and fled the amphitheatre.

  The fog rolled in fast, thicker and darker than Hannah had ever seen before. It was not the usual London particular, the sickly greenish-yellow pall that normally hung over the city; this fog was pitch black and suffocating.

  The bear ceased its howling, and was silent. Hannah pushed with everyone else, desperate to escape the choking blackness and the thick, sweet smell of blood. She felt the solid slipperiness of ice under her feet, and realised she must have escaped the amphitheatre, but she couldn’t see a thing. She tried to run, but she slipped on the ice and fell down.

  There was a loud, booming noise, and the ice under her shuddered. Then there was an ear-splitting crack! and people began to scream.

  The burning torches of the frost fair were tiny, weak spots, as if they were very far away.

  Hannah felt the ice shift and move below her, quaking and buckling. One of the distant lights was moving, coming closer to her, getting larger and brighter. She reached out to it, and a large, strong arm clamped down on her wrist. The lamp came even closer, until it hurt her eyes, and she could feel its warmth on her cheek. She saw two faces peering down at her.

  One was wearing a constable’s cap. The other had ginger whiskers.

  ‘Them’s mighty pretty earrings,’ said the constable. ‘This is the end of your career, little miss.’

  Hannah stared up at him, her eyes wide and terrified. She was hauled her to her feet and dragged away, as the frozen river broke into pieces behind them.

  ***

  Hannah opened her mouth to deliver her speech. ‘Gentlemen of the court,’ she said in a hoarse voice, and then broke off in a fit of coughing.

  Her eyes were streaming, and sweat poured from her forehead. Her hands felt clammy and slippery, and Thomas’s handkerchief was soaked through.

  The white plaster lion lashed out with a paw, and slit the unicorn’s throat. Blood poured down the wall, over the enormous sword, and dripped onto the Lord Mayor.

  Hannah was shaking uncontrollably.

  The lion turned to look at her and snarled, revealing rows of white pointed teeth. It climbed down the wall and began to make its way over to her, stepping daintily between the desks and chairs of the assembled jury and other officials.

  ‘Hannah Cheshire, can you offer any reason that judgement should not be passed upon you?’ repeated the clerk.

  The lion drew closer. Its eyes burned. The spectators in the upstairs gallery whispered and giggled amongst themselves. The lion crouched down on its haunches, preparing to pounce.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, and threw up her hands to protect herself, dropping the handkerchief.

  Everything tilted, and she slid to the floor, shivering and burning at the same time. The wine on the floor soaked into her skirt. The jury rose to its feet and spoke a single word aloud, but it was mixed up in the roar of the lion, and she couldn’t make it out.

  Dimly, she heard the Lord Mayor’s voice, booming. ‘It is therefore ordered and adjudged by this Court, that you be transported upon the seas, beyond the seas, to such place as His Majesty, by the advice of His Privy Council, shall think fit to direct and appoint, for the duration of seven years.’

  She wondered vaguely who they were talking about, and then the lion sprang at her. She had just enough time to reach out and rescue Thomas’s handkerchief before the world went dark.

  nine

  ‘What have you done?’ cried the bear. ‘Now you have brought a curse down on both of us. If you had just waited a year, I would have been set free! But now all ties between us are broken. I must leave you and go to a castle that lies east o’ the sun and west o’ the moon.’ The white bear vanished.

  ***

  Someone was standing over Hannah, talking to her, asking her something, but it sounded like they were miles away, and all she could hear was a vague, fuzzy echo. She blinked, trying to clear her vision.

  The person put out a hand and felt her forehead. The hand burned like hot coals. Hannah trembled. The person leaned down and spoke again.

  ‘Mr Behr?’ she said. Her voice also sounded far-off.

  The person spoke again. It was Thomas. Tear
s of relief welled in Hannah’s eyes.

  He was trying to tell her something. His voice was urgent.

  She shivered, wondering why it was so cold in her bedroom. She tried to tell Thomas to put more coal on the fire, but the words came out all mixed up, and he clearly didn’t understand, because then it started to snow.

  A sharp pain stabbed at her forehead. The snow was the whitest snow she’d ever seen. It settled on Thomas’s head and shoulders like a blanket, or a coat of white fur.

  Hannah reached out to touch it, but her sense of direction was all confused, and she ended up reaching out in the opposite direction. Her hand brushed something hard and cold. A tree made of ice.

  She was in the ice-garden!

  Mr Behr had told her not to go into the ice-garden. Why had he said that? Something about her father spending all her mother’s money and getting arrested. He had been terribly angry, and yelled at her, and asked her not to go into the ice-garden. She wished the snow would stop.

  Thomas pressed something hard into her hand, and she curled her fingers around his wrist. It was covered in lots of wiry pale hairs. She ran her fingers through the hairs, and was startled to realise that it was actually fur. The white snow that had fallen had turned into a thick coat of white fur.

  ‘So you are the white bear,’ she said. ‘I thought so.’

  She examined the object that he had given her. It was a blue fruit, the same size and shape as a pear.

  Hannah opened her mouth, and raised the blue fruit to it. But it didn’t feel right. Her lips and teeth closed on something much smaller, and hard and cold like metal. A tasteless, thick liquid filled her mouth, and she swallowed automatically.

  ‘Good girl,’ said an unfamiliar voice. For a moment, everything came sharply into focus. She was back in the cell again, and a man wearing a black coat and hat stood over her, holding a silver spoon. Then she was back in the ice-garden. Thomas stood over her, his fur standing on end.

  ‘What have you done?’ he cried.