Dead of Winter - James Goss [3]
Ponies? I shook my head and tried to keep focused. My head was pounding, and I didn’t even know my own name and so much enthusiasm and… I was on my own and…
‘What year is this?’ I asked her. As I said it, I realised it was an odd question, but one I was used to asking. Was this a problem I often had? A memory tugged at my head. A memory of something blue, lying on its side in the sand. Cold water, blue light… wet sand.
‘1783.’ Maria nodded, clearly proud.
‘Oh, very good, Maria, that’s absolutely right,’ I said, moving with difficulty. I tugged at the quilt, realising for the first time that I was wearing a really rather lovely old lace nightie. I swung my legs onto the floor, realising that the room was very cold. I looked at her. ‘Now then, Maria,’ I said seriously. ‘I am going to try walking. Then I am going to find out where I am.’
‘And then will we play a game?’ Maria was all excited.
‘Quite possibly “Catch me if you can”,’ I vowed. ‘I’ll go first.’
I took a step, the world spun and the floor collapsed under me.
At which point, the door burst open and two men piled in.
Someone said, ‘Hey! Steady on!’
Someone else cried, ‘There she goes!’
Two sets of arms grabbed me and I found myself back on the bed with the ceiling dancing around and around. All that was missing were some dancing stars and the sound of a bird tweeting.
When things settled down a bit I looked at the two men. It was like fireworks went off in my head. One was wearing a suit badly, the other a worried expression and a frock coat. He was holding my hand, checking my pulse.
‘Maria!’ I shouted, suddenly very pleased with myself and the world in general. ‘My name is Amy Pond, and these are my boys!’
Dr Bloom’s Journal
5th December 1783
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!
Kosov found the three strangers lying on the beach this morning, just as the sun was rising. Kosov likes to go for walks. I tell him, I tell him so many times not to leave Prince Boris unattended, but it is like Kosov has a mind of his own. He does so love to go down to the beach, probably to talk to… well, you know what I mean.
According to Kosov, he found the three of them huddled together on the sand, soaked to the skin. I wonder that they did not perish in the night – it would have been a blessing for all of us if they had, no doubt. The girl was quite unconscious, but the two men were just starting to sit up, rubbing their heads and groaning. It was the sheer amount of complaining they were doing that first made Kosov suspect they were English – Ha ha! Dear Kosov is no fool. Lord knows, we’ve all had to listen to the endless cries and lamentations of that London brute Nevil. It’s as if Mr Nevil doesn’t realise that he’s here for his health not a holiday. The stupid man does not trust me at all.
‘Let me cure you, sir,’ I begged him when he arrived.
‘God will cure me,’ he belched, then started complaining about the food.
The stupid man does not understand that there is a reason why the rooms are so well ventilated, why the meals are so simple, and why there is an absolute ban on guests drinking beer, wine, or porter. Honestly, the man is a disgrace, but that’s beside the point. Oh, he infuriates me – but I shall cure him. I shall cure everyone! Yes, I shall even cure Mr Nevil.
Where was I? Ah yes, as ever, The Sea…
Kosov could see the morning mist gathering heavy around them and acted quickly before it could settle on them – the men could just about support each other, and he carried the girl all the way back here himself. Imagine it – that lumbering giant lugging her in like a bundle of firewood! I’d barely started my breakfast when he came in with her, those two gibbering fools staggering in behind him.
‘What is the meaning of this, Kosov?’ I heard myself demand (oh dear, oh dear, when did I get so pompous?), already leaping up and helping him settle the girl down on a couch. I could see that she was breathing, that everything was fine, and that the two men were very concerned about her.
I straightened up, patted