In The Grip Of Old Winter (7 page)

“I will help Una sort the
woollen garments that we promised,” she said. “That you might take a gift of
thanks to the brave men who shield our home.”

Oswald’s voice echoed down
the passage. “They will delight in such a gift,” and their conversation drifted
out of earshot.

Peter stretched and his bones
cracked. He peered over the top of the chest, the longer he delayed, the
greater the chance of one of them returning.

He crouched and half-ran,
half-scuttled across the room. Women’s voices came from somewhere farther off
than the kitchen. He jumped when Oswald’s voice boomed.

“Tobias, come down from
there. Have some mead to warm you.”

A distant call came back in reply.
Peter inched his way down the passage until the long hallway came into view. Oswald
stood at the opening at the far end.

“You say what?” Oswald called
back in reply to Tobias. “This way?” The old man stomped out of the doorway and
out of sight.

Peter tiptoed back to the
kitchen. With his back flat to the wall, he shuffled through the gap, crossed
the kitchen and darted outside. He crept around the manor, out of view from the
tower and, bent almost double, he took a deep breath and raced into the first
line of trees.

He ran until he thought the
manor must be well behind him, then crouched and glanced back. Oswald appeared
next to the tower with Tobias and they walked into the manor together.

 The tree with the charred
branch must be close. With no obvious markers to guide him, like his bedroom
window, he needed to guess the distance between the manor and the tree.

He spotted it to his left.
He’d run too far and approached it from behind. The charred branch pointed at
the sky like a black finger and beside it sat a figure, hunched under a hooded
cloak.

***

“Come closer.” A high-pitched
voice, old and cracked, but male.

Peter didn’t move. More care
taken running through the trees might have saved him from being heard. Even so,
to reach the charred branch meant approaching this person, so it didn’t make
any difference. Might he reach it if he sprinted? He tensed, one foot forward,
ready to run.

“Come, come.”

He hesitated, such a small
person, but with such an old voice. If he ran fast, he might knock him over. Of
the two of them, he must be the stronger.

“I cannot tarry, we must
speak. Come, hurry.”

‘Tarry?’ Peter didn’t know
what that word meant. More curious than frightened, he stepped nearer, ready to
run at the first sign of danger, until he stood before the hooded figure.

The brown robe that covered
the man from head to toe, showed tears and stains and threadbare patches that
age and living rough gave to the homeless who sat on the Council Hall steps in
Peter’s town. The hood fell so far forward that the folds hid his face. Strips
of dirty cloth bound the fingers, except for the thumb and first finger of the
right hand which ended in stumps. The figure didn’t smell, but why not? He
looked right to stink.

“That is good.” The head rose
and in the hood’s shadow, Peter saw a glint of light as it caught the eyes.

“I must give you ...” With
its maimed hand, the figure parted the robes and reached deep inside. A chain
of thick links dangled from the bandaged fingers as he reached up to pass what
he held.

Peter frowned. “What is it?”

“For the one who is waiting.”
He thrust his hand at Peter, who had no choice but to catch the object or let
it fall to the ground. It slipped in his gloved hands and he gripped it
tighter.

“You must be gone, this place
crawls with eyes.” The figure rolled sideways away from the charred branch and
Peter’s mouth went dry, for no shins or feet grew below the knees.

“Away,” and using his arms
like a second pair of legs, the strange man scurried into the undergrowth and
out of sight.

Peter glanced around, fearful
that other strange-shaped men might appear, but nothing moved and no twig
cracked or bush rustled.

He opened his hand. A medal,
as big as the ones they presented to the winners in the Olympic Games, filled
his palm. No writing or figures decorated the surface. It didn’t shine either,
just a black disc suspended on a chain of black links. He turned it over to
reveal another surface just as bare.

‘For the one who is
waiting’.  What did that mean? He hadn’t heard anybody say that they waited for
anything in his time. Did the man mean in this time? Something that Leonor or
Oswald wanted? Oswald mentioned waiting for support, but Peter thought he meant
men, did he mean this as well? How might this help? Unless it was some sort of
token, or sign, but why did the strange man give it to him? None of it made
sense and he thrust the disc into his anorak pocket. Granddad might know.

He glanced over his shoulder.
No sign of Oswald or Tobias and he reached out his right hand and touched the
charred branch.

The day flashed from light to
dark and then back to light and the old tree grew and uncurled faster than he
counted seconds.

The sensation made his
stomach turn, so that when it stopped he needed a moment to catch his breath.
Fewer trees crowded close. The house now stood where he’d seen the manor
moments before and he heard the repetitive slice and thump as granddad
shovelled snow.

He must wonder where I’ve
been, because at least an hour must have passed in the other time.

He picked up the shovel and
ran through the trees until granddad came into sight. He’d cleared very little
snow and the big footprints that Peter made before he walked into the wood
still showed.

Perhaps the other time moved
at a different speed, or perhaps this time didn’t move at all when he was in
the other time. It made his head spin, but thinking up an explanation proved
impossible.

Granddad stopped shovelling,
stood up and groaned as he stretched his back. “How are you getting on, young
man?”

“Um ...”

“Just do as much as you can
manage.”

Peter took a deep breath.
“Granddad, I found this.” He pulled the black disc out of his pocket and held
it up for him to see.

He squinted. “What’s that
then?”

“I don’t know.”

Granddad took it by the
chain, thrust his shovel into the drift and then gripped the disc between his
finger and thumb. He frowned and his eyebrows bristled. “Where did you find
this?”

“No, the ... I found it under
a tree.” To explain what happened needed time and to do that without using the
right words and remembering events in the correct order might make him sound
stupid. Better to lie a bit than be thought mad. More important, he needed to
ask the question the carrier told him, however strange
that
sounded.
“Are you waiting for it?”

Granddad’s eyes flicked from
the disc to the house and then back to the disc. “You’ve seen the carrier.” He
didn’t ask, he stated it as fact.

“I’ve seen - someone with no
legs who gave it to me. There’s another ...”

Granddad peered at the disc.
“I’m thinking this is iron. Keep it safe, Peter. It is a special object.” He glanced
up at the house. “I remember Almina once telling... but no, that happened many
years past, I doubt this is the same.” He handed it back.

Peter pinched the iron disc
between his finger and thumb. “But what is it?”

Granddad took hold of his
shovel. “I don’t know.” He rested his elbows on the handle. “It looks old, very
old, as ancient as the ground upon which we stand. But I do not know for what
purpose it was made.”

Peter wrapped the chain
around his wrist. “Why did you call that person the carrier?”

“I’ve seen him before.”

Peter swallowed. “Then you’ve
been to the manor, that other house, when you touch the branch, where Leonor
and Oswald live?”

Granddad shook his head. “No.
I’ve never been there.”

“But, how do you know about the
carrier?”

The falling snow caught on
granddad’s woollen hat. “Generations have lived and died in this house and on
this land and not all of them are forgotten. Some stay, for reasons dear to
them and passing time is of no consequence. Sometimes, when the cold bites, old
and new times mix.”

“Like - Leonor?” asked Peter.

“Is that the child’s name?”

“She was in my bedroom last
night. She wants me to help her, but I don’t know how. And I saw her in - that
other time. She was real then, not a - not a ghost.” He glanced at the disc.
“Perhaps she wants this.”

“She spoke to you?”

“Not in that other time. I
hid, because there was an archer. He shot an outlaw - but he missed - though he
didn’t mean to hit him.” Peter pointed into the trees. “Let me show you the
branch. You touch it and everything changes.”

Granddad raised his hand.
“No, I will not meddle in these events. They are not for me. I have enough to
think about already.” He leaned close. “You though have experienced much. There
is meaning in that. Something needs doing.”

From the house came a distant
call.

Granddad stood straight.
“There’s grandma. Fancy a hot drink and a sausage roll?”

The carrier appeared in
this time?
Did he appear as a ghost
too, like Leonor last night? Peter thrust the disc into his pocket. “Yes,
please. The old time moves much faster. I’m starving.”

***

Aunt Almina sat at the head
of the kitchen table and watched grandma and mum as they fetched plates and
cups, waited for the kettle to boil and checked the AGA. Dad sat at the other
end and studied his mobile.

“Ah.” Almina beamed when she
saw Peter and granddad. “Bonjour, mon amours, bonjour! How’s the path-clearing
progressing? I was watching you from my window.”

In daylight, Almina’s make-up
reminded Peter of an old painted doll he’d seen once on TV in an episode of the
Antiques Roadshow. That face too shone with bright colours, too bright and
heavy in daylight. A long coat, brown and silver, like animal fur, draped from
her shoulders.

Granddad grunted. “Almost
there.” He poured warm water from a jug into a bowl and rinsed his hands and
Peter rinsed his too.

“It’s like the Forth Bridge,”
Almina laughed. “You finish one end and then have to start back at the
beginning again.”

Dad muttered. “They’ve found
a new paint. They don’t do that anymore.”

Granddad sat down at the
table. “Well, I’m hoping the snow won’t last for ever. I like to keep the path
clear to the track in case we need it.” Peter sat beside him.

Almina nodded. “Very wise. I
hate the thought of being trapped in this cold old house. The last time I was
as cold as this was touring Hamlet in Poland.” She leaned toward Peter. “I
played Gertrude, the Queen. Thank goodness they gave me heavy gowns to wear - I
feared pneumonia, I can tell you.”

Grandma banged a plate of
sausage rolls onto the table. “We’ll get the fires lit as soon as we’re done
eating.”

Almina raised her hands as if
surprised. “Oh, I’m not complaining.” She took hold of Peter’s wrist. He
winced, but didn’t draw back, he even tried to smile.

“I’m treating this whole
visit like the most exciting adventure.” Almina’s eyes widened. “Will we
survive? How long until the food runs out? Who will be the first to be eaten?”

“Almina,” chorused mum and
grandma.

“Stop frightening Peter,”
scolded grandma. “We’re not going to run out of food.”

Almina sat back and a
satisfied smile creased her powdered cheeks. “Peter’s not frightened - a fine
young man like him. I saw him roaming through the woods all by himself.” She
leaned forward with the speed of a striking snake. “Did you find anything
interesting?”

Peter gulped, shocked by the
force of her question. “I didn’t - I wasn’t looking ...” Did she see him at the
old tree? Did he vanish when he touched the charred branch, is that what she
meant? Then again, she might mean the disc when he showed it to granddad, but
why did she care about it? Granddad called it ‘special’ and to Peter ‘special’
meant secret. “No, I was just wandering about.” He bit into a sausage roll.

“Coffee, Almina?” Granddad
poured a cup from the pot mum set beside him.

Almina added milk and two
spoons of sugar. “There are all sorts of interesting things in and around this
old house. Have you seen the picture of Eorl Bosa on the third landing?”

Peter stopped chewing.
Almina’s smile didn’t waver. Peter shook his head.

“Then I must show you. We’ll
do it when you’ve finished, shall we?”

Peter gave a quick nod and
concentrated on eating. Like an exam at school when he didn’t know the answer
to a question, Almina seemed to expect him to pass some sort of test, though he
had no idea what that test might be about.