by Anne Moore
'Hurry up, Mr Scrooge!’ chided Billy. ‘It's only a penny!'
'Only a penny!’ Scrooge answered. ‘Why, that was a lot of money when I was a lad.'
Despite his words, he reached into his pocket and took out a guinea.
'Here, old fellow,’ he said to the elderly man who was guarding the way. ‘Here's the toll for two of us, and you may keep the change.'
The toll paid, Scrooge and Billy negotiated the gangplank on to the ice. Meanwhile the gatekeeper looked closely at the coin he had been given. ‘May the great goddess bless you, sir!’ he called.
And now they could see the full extent of the frost fair. It seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, upriver and down, from one bank to the other, stalls and barrows and carts and tents all laid out in lines. There were flickering torches and glowing lamps, the whole scene lit by the efforts of man and by the stars in the clear sky above.
Billy led, and Scrooge followed. Past the booths decked with streamers they went, not even pausing at the eel-pie stall or the seller of fried fish. They ignored the vendors of steaming bishop and mulled wine, though Scrooge was tempted because of the cutting cold. They passed the skittle alley and the donkey rides, and did not even pause to watch the dancers who whirled to the fiddler's tune.
On and on they went, moving westwards through the bustling, noisy crowds, proceeding ever upriver. They walked until the stalls began to thin out, and the noise began to fade. And then they saw, all on his own, one man standing out on the ice.
He wore a black, full-length cloak, this man. His head was covered with a cowl, and he stood very still, as if he could stand there all day and never taste the winter.
'Here he is, Mr Scrooge,’ said Billy, as they came up to the man. ‘This is the feller what hires the skates.'
'Skates?’ queried Scrooge. ‘Do you mean we're going to skate?'
'We certainly are. Pay him the fee, Mr Scrooge.'
Scrooge hesitated. He did so not so much because of the money, but because of the disturbing stillness of the figure in front of him. But then the man turned, and under the hood Scrooge could recognize the features.
'Why, I know you,’ said Scrooge. ‘You're Charon, the boatman.'
'Used to be,’ said Charon. His face was almost hidden under the hood. ‘But you can't use boats in this weather. So I'm hiring skates now.... Come on then, give us your money.'
'How much?'
'Shilling each.'
'A shilling! Outrageous.'
Charon shrugged. ‘Please yourself. It's a shilling or walk.'
Billy nudged Scrooge. ‘Come on, Mr Scrooge. We've got to go upriver. And you can afford it.'
Billy was right, of course. ‘Yes indeed, I can afford it,’ said Scrooge. ‘I apologize.’ He reached into his pocket and took out all his change. ‘Here. Take it. Take it all, Charon. It is no use to me now.'
Moving quickly and nimbly, Billy selected two sets of skates from the pile at Charon's feet, and in a trice he had laced them up on the pair of them.
'Now—give ‘em a try.'
Scrooge pushed tentatively forward, and he found that he could skate just as easily as he could walk. Easier, in fact. His feet glided over the ice with no effort whatsoever; it was as if he were being transported on the smoothest and quietest set of wheels imaginable. He twirled and circled and came a halt.
'Ready then?’ cried Billy. His cheeks were red and his eyes were bright and his face his seemed to shine with good health and vitality. How marvelous, thought Scrooge, to see the boy so happy and well.
'Yes, Billy,’ he said. ‘I'm ready.'
'Last one there's a cissy!’ cried Billy. And he set off at a cracking pace.
Billy led, and he skated right in the center of the river, flashing effortlessly over the ice like a swallow swooping through the air. Faster and faster he went, but Scrooge had no trouble in keeping up, just a few yards behind.
And as they sped along, Scrooge could feel the bitter wind on his face. The ice beneath his feet crackled and sparkled as the steel of the skates cut into it. Bright flashes of light came from the boots of Billy, in front.
Before long, they got into the rhythm of things. They adopted a long-distance pace, skating easily and smoothly. Left, right, left, right. Long, even strokes, carving and slashing the ice.
At first, to both sides of them, there were silhouettes of buildings, and bright, twinkling lights. But before long those lights faded and the shores became invisible.
The stars, too, gradually faded and vanished. The night closed in around them.
Scrooge concentrated hard on the blades on Billy's boots. Even in the thickening gloom he could still see a flicker of silver with each movement of the feet.
Left, right, left, right. Ever onwards, into the darkness.
The dark became thicker and deeper. The sound and sight of the skates ahead disappeared. The air lost its cutting bite.
Left, right.... Left, right.
Now all that remained was a dark tunnel, the outline faintly visible, and it was all fading to gray.
Left, right, thought Scrooge.
Fading, fading, fading. And he skated to the beat of his heart.
Left, right.
Left....
Right....
Left....
Left....
Left.
FINIS
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