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Toby woke up in a shadowy room. A canopy of furs and fabrics bowed low over his head then folded in at the corners of a wooden frame. He appeared to be inside some kind of tent. Engulfing him almost to the point of suffocation, a bundle of thick blankets made up a nest in which he had slept. His body was sweating under the mass of covers, but his exposed face felt chilly. Underneath, a spindly makeshift bed held him inches off the ground. A mahogany writing desk was perched at the foot of the bed. There was no floor to the shelter; its interior was carpeted with grass.
‘Ah, you’ve made it,’ commented a deep voice, sounding pleased. It was a strange, foreign accent to Toby, but it sounded kind and grandfatherly.
A fold of furs at the end of the tent swayed open and made way for a plump old man. He wore a long, crimson coat, and a cherry-red top hat that he hung on a hat stand next to the desk at the end of the bed. From his breast pocket, a golden pocket watch hung on a chain, covered partially by his white beard.
Leaving briefly, he returned with a glowing lantern and placed it on the writing desk, bathing the room in a warm glow. Its curling firelight tinged his bushy, white beard pale orange.
‘Where am I?’ Toby asked, confused.
He opened his blankets and swivelled around, placing his feet on the floor. He was surprised to see that they were bare; his shoes were on the grass next to him. The air was cold, vaporising their breaths like dragon-smoke.
‘Hyde Park. What is your name, boy?’
‘Toby Carter, sir.’
‘Mmm, Toby... good strong name. You’ll be perfect.’
‘P-perfect for what, sir?’ Toby’s mind was still a little fuzzy.
‘Never you mind. There’s plenty of time for that,’ soothed the pleasant old man, beaming. He ruffled Toby’s hair and sat at the end of the bed. ‘Why were you sleeping in the snow, Toby? Haven’t your parents taught you better that that? It’s dangerous, you know.’
Toby looked solemn. ‘I don’t have parents. I ran away from the workh...’ He paused, not sure if he should say any more, but continued anyway saying, ‘Please don’t send me back.’
‘Oh, there’s no danger of that, my son. Don’t you worry...’ The man chortled softly and held out a hand. Toby shook it. ‘It’s lucky I found you then. My name is Nicko. That’s an interesting birthmark you have there, my boy.’
Toby glanced down at his forearm and looked at the bluish-red mark that had been there for as long as he could remember. It was roughly the shape of a flying bird. Nicko inspected it, nodding resolutely as if making some sort of judgement. There was something comforting about Nicko, although Toby wasn’t sure what that might be.
Nicko whistled. It was a strange sort of whistle that Toby had never heard someone make. It seemed to resonate off the roof of the tent. Moments later, a figure darted into the room. He was spindly and small – a child – most probably younger than Toby. He had a broad smile and a rosy glow that oozed impishness. He handed the old man a parcel of papers.
‘There you go, Nicko,’ he said in a sing-song voice, then nodded cordially at Toby. Toby nodded back.
‘Thanks, Melvin. Could you see to it that the others get ready? It’s almost time.’
‘Rest assured, Boss, everything is on schedule,’ Melvin replied and seemed to glide out of the tent, his footsteps making no sound at all.
Nicko gestured to the door. ‘That’s Melvin. He’s my Head Elf. He helps around the place. I don’t know what I’d do without him.’
‘Elf?’
‘Oh, forgive me, Toby. I forgot to explain. We are The Winter Freak Show. There are lots of children living here. They’re all runaways, like you. I call them “elves.” It’s a quirk of mine, you understand.’ Toby wondered what Nicko meant by ‘freak show’ but he didn’t want to ask too many questions.
As Toby recovered from his sleep, another couple of Nicko’s assistants bustled into the room, handed the two of them steaming mugs of broth, and left, giggling together. Nicko unwrapped the stack of brown papers and covered the entire writing desk with single sheets.
‘Do you know why I saved you, Toby?’ he asked, absently.
‘For my great conversation skills?’ Toby asked, still waking up.
‘Ha ha, you have a sense of humour. That’ll serve you well here. Where I come from, in the Scandinavian wilderness, a person’s character can be read like a novel. It’s called reading your aura and it’s a spiritual ability that was taught to me back in my homeland long ago by someone I once knew. He taught me how to tell from a single glance exactly what kind of person a child will turn out to be.
‘From the first instant I saw you, I knew that you were something special. Your aura is the brightest I have ever encountered. You are destined for great things, Toby Carter. I could not let you perish. I saved you so that you could live with us... Now then, would you like to see an illusion?’
‘I’d love to.’ Toby was warming to the old man. He had never encountered anyone quite so endearing. Or so odd.
Nicko turned to the writing desk, and briefly glanced at his pocket watch. Its face shone like a mirror. Bright orange light reflected from the fire into Toby’s eyes. He shifted out of the reflection’s path.
‘Just enough,’ Nicko mouthed quietly. He placed the watch back in his breast pocket and held out his hands.
Muttering something under his breath, he splayed his fingers above the papers on the desk. Initially, nothing seemed to be happening. A soft light radiated from under his open palms and rippled across the pages. One by one, they shimmered daintily and began to move. They folded themselves, growing taller, and then three-dimensional shapes. A tiny, toy town sprung up from the worktop, fashioned out of paper. Toby watched the spectacle in awe. A herd of miniature paper animals bounded between the buildings and he gasped in delight. It was like they were actually alive, but he could see the folds in the paper.
Nicko winked at Toby and snapped his fingers. In the blink of an eye, the papers fanned out, flapped, and took to the air. As if caught in an updraft, they whirled around the inside of the tent, gradually getting closer together. When all of the pages reached the middle of the invisible whirlpool they huddled together, stopped dead, and burst into flames. Fragments of glowing confetti rained down on them like a flurry of fiery snow. The whole thing was over in seconds and then it was as if nothing had happened.
‘Whoa! That was brilliant!’ Toby blurted out in amazement.
‘I can teach you how to do it if you like.’ The rosy-cheeked gentleman chuckled, pulling a handful of sparkling sand out of his pocket and tossing it into the air over Toby. ‘Magic dust, because no illusion is complete without it.’ He unwrapped one last piece of parchment and placed it in Toby’s outstretched hands.
‘Think back to an early memory – the happiest you can remember. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it’s happy,’ Nicko instructed. Toby didn’t have to think for long. It was experiencing freedom for the first time. ‘Good,’ said Nicko as the paper started to shimmer. Slowly, it crumpled and spun into shape.
‘You’ll have to do this when you’re practicing on your own. When you’re in a show, however, you can rely on the happiness of the children in the audience to fuel your magic. The happier the children, the more powerful the illusion,’ Nicko explained. Toby looked dubious, but said nothing.
Toby felt like the paper had its own spirit. He maintained the illusion, sensing he was in control and could end it at any time. Despite holding the power, though, the paper told a story all of its own. He had no control over the lives he created. Folding, creasing, and folding again, it finally chose a form. The page became a robin. It perched on his finger. Toby leaned towards to paper bird and it hopped towards his face, its feet crinkling on Toby’s arm.
Caught in the moment, he forgot that he was supposed to be concentrating on the happy memory. The robin took flight. Fluttering in the tent, it circled three times before erupting into a luxurious inferno. Toby blinked and the bird was gone. It had burned into nothingness.
‘Wondrous, m’boy! I knew you could do it,’ Nicko congratulated him. ‘Come on! I’m already late and I still need to introduce you to the rest of the family before the show. We’d better get going.’
- Writer
