Face of a Traitor

3

3

The hand tightened around his ankle and pulled his leg.

‘No!’ Toby shouted. ‘Get off me!’

It was too late. Having been discovered, he kicked to clear a path and rolled from under the bed.

‘We’ve got you!’ said one attacker.

‘Not yet,’ Toby replied. ‘First, you’ve got to catch me, Belle!’

‘Cheater! That’s not the rules!’ complained the little girl with pigtails now in front of him. She stamped her foot but the noise was cushioned by her clumpy monster-foot slippers.

Splaying her fingers, his sister roared with all the ferocity of a lion cub. Beside her, her twin Violet bounded onto the bed and adopted a similar stance.

‘Oh, no! Bad elves!’ Toby said, lacing over-acted fear into his familiar script.

The game they called freak show chase originated from a bedtime story he told his sisters, in which magical creatures roamed the city unnoticed. They loved nothing more than playing the role of the nefarious bad elves threatening to steal away their brothers.

As one, they pounced and Toby laughed, ‘Alright, alright, you caught me. Now I’d better get back to work.’ His face fell when he remembered the piles of homework his tutor had left him to complete over Christmas. ‘If Dad knew how much time I was wasting playing games, he’d have a fit.’

‘What was that about Dad?’ came a deep voice from the hallway. Toby froze. Rounding the corner, his father entered the room.

John Thornton was a tall, athletic man with the sort of presence that naturally commanded attention. He could make an ornate room look underdressed, outclassing it with a clipped hairstyle, a three-piece suit from Savile Row in Mayfair, and gleaming, leather brogues. They were his working clothes and he never meant business more than when dealing with his children.

‘What have I told you about this room, children? You can’t play in here! Honestly, your mother and I leave you alone for twenty minutes and you disregard the rules as if they mean nothing. Toby, you should be setting an example as the eldest. If I believed such things would do you good, I’d show you the useful end of my slipper!’

Toby grimaced but said nothing. His father’s violent words reminded him of the workhouse in which he’d been raised, separated from his family by a cruel twist of fate. His masters had been tyrants, especially Mr Snarky, a demon of a man who pummelled the orphans for the smallest violation until they needed stiches.

His father was strict but, compared to Snarky, he was practically all carrot and no stick. Having said that, it didn’t mean Toby wasn’t terrified of him. Lacking violence, Mr Thornton had another weapon at his disposal: guilt.

After everything the Thorntons had done for him, Toby felt a disapproving eyebrow-raise like a dagger twisted in his ribcage. Disappointing his parents after they showed him so much kindness was too much to bear. The other children took their privilege for granted but he knew just how far he could fall should his father decide that he was too much of a problem dog to keep in the family home.

It was a weird feeling – safer than before, but somehow worse. At one point, the only thing he’d owned was his life. Now he had so much and yet he felt like he had traded it all for that one vital thing; feeling alive. He had been domesticated.

He had found his happily-ever-after with the perfect family but he was still a damaged stray. Even now, he found himself playing games based on his former life. The other children didn’t realise their significance. Charlie wouldn’t remember, thanks to the elves who had wiped his memory with magic. But Toby knew. And in the quiet moments, sometimes, he missed it.

‘And where’s Charlie?’ bellowed John, snapping Toby out of his own thoughts.

Violet had climbed down from the bed now and hid behind Belle, tears welling in her eyes. In front of her, Belle just stood there, wringing her hands, eyes facing the floor. As soon as their father stepped out of the door frame, they scuttled past him.

‘Charlie! Come out!’

A shuffling noise revealed Charlie’s location in the wardrobe. There was a heavy thunk and Toby’s younger brother fell face-first through the wooden doors in a landslide of boxes and clothes.

One of the boxes split open, spilling its contents of Christmas decorations. Out of the wreckage, a hard, glass object rolled across the floor and spiralled to a stop near Toby’s foot. He picked it up. It was a snow globe – a very special one he had forgotten existed. Holding it by its golden base, he watched the snow swirl inside, waiting for it to settle. It never would.

‘Not you, too, Charlie,’ said their father. ‘I thought better of you.’

‘Don’t be angry with him,’ Toby interrupted, sliding the snow globe into his jacket pocket. ‘It’s not his fault. I asked him, Belle, and Violet to play the game. Charlie was doing his chores.’

John glared down at Charlie as he picked himself off the floor and bundled the decorations back into the wardrobe.

‘I don’t care whose fault it was. You’re all to blame. Charlie, don’t you have a cartload of homework to get done for Vanessa?’

‘Actually, I finished it this afternoon, Father. The book report’s done.’

‘Oh, and have you finished, Toby?’

Toby squirmed before responding. ‘No I haven’t, but–’

His father raised that familiar eyebrow. Another jab of the dagger.

‘I see. No excuses. I pay Vanessa a great deal of money to tutor you boys ready for Oxford. Do you want to end up penniless like your mother and I were?’

Toby had no answer. They had heard this lecture countless times. Spending his infancy at the workhouse meant Toby was already several years behind the other children. He tried hard but nothing was ever enough to impress his father.

‘Charlie, go to your room. And don’t let me catch you here again. Am I clear?’

‘Yes, Father,’ Charlie mumbled and slipped away.

‘Toby, I think you’d better come with me.’

John escorted Toby from the spare room. On the stairs, they passed the family maid, who was getting ready to visit her sister in Bristol, and went to John’s office off the lounge. It was a plush room with a regal desk, a corn-coloured carpet, and a Winchester sofa. Sculptures and paintings decorated every space and a skyline of bookshelves bordered the walls. John Thornton breathed culture, having educated himself well beyond his meagre origins.

‘Now, Toby,’ he said, taking up a position behind the desk and gesturing for Toby to perch on the leather sofa. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

He laced his fingers, allowing Toby enough time to come up with a suitable defence. ‘I’ve really been trying. I enjoy reading – I really do – but the books Vanessa give us are all so boring.’

John held up a hand. ‘This isn’t about the work, Toby. I can see a bigger problem. You think we’re soft, don’t you? Boring.’

‘No, sir.’

‘It’s OK. You can admit it. You’ve lived most of your life under such terrible people. It’s only natural. I can see the hunger in your eyes, boy. It’s there when we eat dinner together. You lean over your plate like a wolf ready to defend it. When you play, you run faster than the others, like your life depends on it, even when that’s not the game. And when you’re studying, I can tell you don’t think it means anything in the real world.’

‘That’s not true, sir. I know you hope for me to go to Oxford but–’

‘It’s fine, Toby. I’ve seen that look before. For a while, I wore it myself, but nowhere near as long as you. You’ve seen danger, and I know you want to see it again.’

While John was speaking, Toby’s fingers ventured near his jacket pocket. The cold glass reminded him of what Nicko told him about the trinket. The snow inside has been enchanted so that it will fall for as long as we are around to protect you, your family, and the children of the world. The ancient man’s words were as clear now as they were when he first read them from the letter Nicko had left last Christmas.

‘I am right, aren’t I, boy? You’re struggling to adjust. There’s help available if you are. All I need to do is write a letter.’

Toby’s eyes flicked up to his father. He knew exactly what he was suggesting. A plague of nightmares followed by insomnia had infected the people of London in recent weeks. Some doctors blamed it on bad air and locomotives. Others claimed an altogether more sinister cause: a disease, brought into the city from foreign lands that resulted in distress and bad dreams.

The conclusion widely agreed upon was that mental health was becoming big business. A psychiatrist had posted an advert on the front of the latest issue of The Times. The broadsheet was still folded neatly and tucked into John’s desk drawer.

‘No, sir,’ Toby lied. ‘I’m fine. My life here is better than ever. I’m where I should be, with my family.’ That last part was true. Although, he still couldn’t help missing the people he had grown close to at the travelling circus. He had classed Nicko, Stella, and the others as his family, too. They were the first people to make him feel welcome. ‘It’s just…’ he trailed off, not sure how to say what was on his mind.

John leaned forward behind his desk. ‘Yes, Toby? Just what?’

‘I’d like to revisit The Winter Freak Show when they come to London this year. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by saying–’

John sighed loudly, toying with his wedding ring. ‘You know we can’t let you do that. It took so long for you to settle into this new way of life that seeing those vagabonds might just cause you to slip backwards.’

‘Backwards? They’re not vagabonds!’ Toby’s eyes blazed. ‘They’re my friends.’

‘No, Toby. I’m sure they’re well-meaning people, but they’re travellers, and questionable ones at that. Wasn’t their leader caught up in some scandal just before he brought you home to us?’

‘Yes, but you don’t understand. It was me who–’

‘Your mother and I have come to an agreement on this matter. I’m sorry, but we think revisiting The Winter Freak Show will only encourage you. They set a bad example. Fortune led them to us, but that’s all they were – a channel to better things. Visiting them will do more harm than good. Just the other day at breakfast, Violet was saying how grubby that old man looked. To have a child her age associating us with men of his… calibre. I mean–’

Toby’s grip tightened around the concealed globe. ‘So, we’re listening to an eight-year-old now?’

John stopped dead, his eyes cold. ‘Watch your tongue, lad.’

Toby ignored him, thinking he should have seen this coming. When he first moved to Chelsea, the Thorntons had agreed to his every request. It appeared that guilt fuelled their actions.

When the novelty of having him with them wore off everything changed. Without actually coming out and saying it, they subtly dissuaded him from visiting his old friends, claiming that new ones could replace the bond he had developed with the travellers. It was only a matter of time before they flat-out forbade him.

John waited for the moment of fury to pass before continuing. ‘Now, do you see why you need to forget about them and become a real child again?’

Despite his anger, Toby considered the question, thinking about what it meant to abandon his friends at The Winter Freak Show. Admittedly, Nicko had played a part in their separation. The old Scandinavian man, known as Father Christmas to most, had ordered his elves to cast an amnesia spell on everyone involved in the child-snatching scandal last Christmas.

Toby’s parents remembered the performers, having visited the shows themselves before meeting Toby, but they knew nothing of the old man’s true identity. Nor did they realise the troupe of performing children he affectionately called elves really were supernatural creatures. To the Thorntons, and everyone else in London, they were just a travelling circus. Only Toby remembered the truth.

Was this Nicko’s intention all along? he wondered. Did he mean for me to start a new life and never see him again?

He hoped that wasn’t the case. Nicko was intelligent and secretive, but he would never actively deceive him, surely? Not after Toby helped save Nicko’s life and the future of Christmas.

‘What do you say, Toby?’ his father pressed him. ‘Are you willing to give our life a proper chance?’

Toby pulled the snow globe out of his pocket and rolled it from one hand to the other. Inside, the artificial blizzard glittered. The tiny Big Top and travellers’ wagons that represented The Winter Freak Show were buried under a bed of permanent white powder.

‘I guess so,’ he said. He placed the globe on the edge of his father’s desk and sighed. ‘I’ll try harder.’

John’s close-cropped beard perked into a smile. ‘Good, because we’re not going to toss you out into the cold, my boy. You don’t have to prepare for danger at every turn. You can invest in your life here with us. I assure you, we’ll get you on track with your studies. First, we’ll…’

Toby nodded slowly, already aching at the prospect of breaking his promise. While agreeing with his father, he stared at the glass orb on the desk, foreboding rising in his chest. The flaky snow now fell more slowly than before. Toby frowned, wondering how he had not noticed the flakes getting sparser in their liquefied atmosphere. Transfixed, he zoned out his father’s voice, watching with extreme interest as the snow reduced to a handful of feathery particles suspended above the Big Top.

‘Toby, are you even listening?’ John said, colour rising in his face.

‘I can’t do it,’ Toby said, never taking his eyes from the transparent dome.

‘I’m sorry?’ John frowned. ‘You can’t do what?’

‘I can’t promise to stay away from The Winter Freak Show.’

John growled ‘And why’s that?’

‘Because, the snow’s stopped falling. Something’s wrong.’