‘…Hibernational Insomnia or Winsomnia has many causes: some through an abnormality or trauma in the hypothalamus that denies part or full hibernation, others because of Hypnophobia or an inherited disposition towards calcification or muscle wastage. Most choose to be usefully employed during the Winter, but some, the so-called “undeserving awake”, prefer to coast through the Winter on the toil and pantry of others…’
Mother Fallopia was with Logan in her study, a small, austere chamber that smelled of furniture polish, coffee and photocopier toner. The room had a large wooden desk in the centre, but otherwise comprised mostly filing cabinets and pictures of infants on the walls. It was always unnerving being in here, and not just because of Mother Fallopia and her piercing ‘what-have-you-done-to-deserve-existence’ look: all the pictures were of the nameless children that didn’t make it past their first Winter, and the ones with names who didn’t make it past any subsequent. We couldn’t ever figure out if the images were for remembrance, an invitation for the sisters to breed better, or because Mother Fallopia just liked pictures of kids and didn’t care one way or another.
‘You have a message?’ asked Mother Fallopia.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I heard the Winter Consul interviews were open to all.’
‘You already have a job,’ said Mother in a voice like galvanised pipes, ‘you don’t need another, and believe me, you wouldn’t last ten minutes as a Consul.’
I have to admit that I felt an overwhelming desire to apologise profusely and then sneak out, but to my credit, didn’t.
‘Charlie Worthing,’ I said in a shaky voice. ‘I’d like to be considered for the post.’
‘Let’s move on,’ said Mother, ‘we’re wasting time here.’
‘No, Prudence,’ said Logan, the first time I’d ever heard Mother Fallopia contradicted or someone use her first name, ‘we’ll see anyone who wants to be seen.’
He turned to me.
‘The usual selection process is exhaustive,’ he explained, ‘but not perfect. I like to find the hidden gems the preselection process has missed. I’ve seen you about, Worthing, you one of mine?’
‘No, sir. I’m a… surrogacy that turned out wrong.’
‘On account of your head?’
‘Yes, on account of my head.[14] I was transferred to St Granata’s with half of the insurance payout. The rest went to my bios as compensation.’
‘Worthing is an insurance write-off,’ said Mother Fallopia, ‘and one that is still paying off our kindness.’
‘I disagree,’ said Logan. ‘You were a write-off. Right now you’re a candidate for the Winter Consulship. Each on their merits.’
I liked Logan instantly, and all of a sudden would do anything to work with him, Morphenox or not. He asked me if I saw myself being a career House Manager here at St Granata’s.
‘No, sir,’ I said, now sitting more upright in my chair and ignoring Fallopia’s hot gaze, ‘I recently applied to join the Winter Prudential.’
‘And?’
‘Rejected.’
‘Reason?’
‘Interference… by a third party.’
I looked at Mother Fallopia as I said it, and she looked away. Logan followed my gaze, and probably guessed what had happened.
‘Not necessarily an issue,’ he said. ‘Qualifications?’
‘I can read and write to level 4A,’ I said, ‘first aid trained, one hundred yards in 14.2, drive, swim and play the tuba.’
‘Tell Jack about your D minus in General Skills, Worthing,’ said Mother Fallopia, who had not yet given up on her efforts to torpedo my interview.
‘It was a D plus, actually,’ I said, then added: ‘Not that it makes much difference.’
‘I don’t rely so much on exam results,’ said Logan before I could go on. ‘I was bottom of the class myself. I’m actually after someone with a good memory.’
This was more interesting.
‘I came second in the Swansea Town Memory Bee with six hundred and forty-eight random words memorised after only two readings,’ I said with a certain degree of pride. It was a record that was still the third highest in the town. Sister Zygotia wanted me to go to the South Wales regionals, but I’m not really that fond of people staring at me.
‘Did you know this?’ asked Logan, looking pointedly at Mother Fallopia.
‘It must have slipped my mind,’ she said, ‘and I never expected Worthing to be so utterly ungrateful as to apply.’
Logan nodded and looked back at me.
‘I need a new Novice with a good memory to train up. Good career path. Exciting too. Lots of challenges. Bit of cash, extra pudding. Medium to high risk of death.’
‘What was the last bit again?’
‘Extra pudding.’
‘And after that?’
‘Coffee and mints?’
‘I meant on your list.’
‘Oh – medium to high risk of death.’
‘I see,’ I said, ‘and how’s your last Novice doing?’
‘She’s doing pretty good.’
‘She’s not,’ said Mother Fallopia, arms folded, ‘she’s currently in an asylum, shouting at the walls.’
‘About what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Logan. ‘Ants or Lloyd-George or buttons or something.’
‘And the one before that?’
It was Mother Fallopia who answered.
‘They returned her body but without the head.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Logan reflectively, ‘a little mean-spirited, I thought.’
‘Nightwalkers?’
‘Villains.’
Villains generally lived out on the edge of the ice-fields and often raided nearby towns for pantry and domestic servants. They traded in mammoths as beasts of burden, and dabbled in the stock market, with moderate success. They had their own code of conduct based around ice and honour and good manners and afternoon tea, and would happily kill someone if they disagreed with them – but would often write an apologetic note to the next of kin afterwards. ‘Manners,’ they were known to say, ‘cost nothing.’
‘I know I shouldn’t ask this,’ I said, ‘but why did they return her without her head?’
He shrugged.
‘Do you know, I’m not altogether sure. We could have asked them once we’d tracked them down, but I wasn’t in the talking mood, and, well, it probably wouldn’t have affected the outcome. You shouldn’t let these small details put you off. Still want in?’
I looked at Mother Fallopia.
‘Surprisingly, yes.’
‘Okay, then. There’s a test and it starts right now.’
There was a pause.
‘I don’t know what you want me to do.’
‘That’s the test.’
I sat there for perhaps thirty seconds, trying to figure out what he wanted and getting nowhere.
‘I told you it was a waste of time,’ said Mother Fallopia in a triumphant manner.
‘Well, thank you for coming in,’ said Logan after a minute had ticked by. ‘How many more to be seen?’
‘I was the last.’
He shut his notebook.
‘Then we’re done.’
I felt the despondency rise within me once more, and studiously avoided Fallopia’s gaze as I got to my feet, thanked Logan and made for the door. I grasped the handle, stopped, had a sudden idea and turned around.
‘To escort a likely lad,’ I said slowly, ‘from lower Llanboidy with collies and… brollies from Flitwick to Chiswick while… Krugers with Lugers take potshots at hotshots is enough to—’
I stopped for thought. I’d only heard it once, and wasn’t really concentrating. But it had rhymed, and that made it easier. Logan looked at me with interest.
‘Go on.’
‘—make mammoths with a gram’s worth of… hammocks feel down with a clown from Manchester Town.’
Logan nodded.
‘That’s very good.’
‘It was a piece of crap,’ said Mother Fallopia crossly. ‘Worthing added “from Flitwick” in the middle.’
‘I know that,’ I said, ‘it scans better.’
Logan smiled.
‘It does indeed. When can you start?’
‘I can start right now. May I ask a question?’
‘Sure.’
‘Why do you need my memory?’
He stared at me for a moment.
‘Because mine’s not good enough for what I might need to do.’
He then got to his feet, took my hand in his and pulled me into a Winter embrace. Now I was closer I could smell a mixture of aftershave, dinner and cognac.
‘Welcome aboard. Stay close, do what I say and make as many mistakes as you want – just never the same one twice. Got it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He released me, looked at his watch and said that he had to leave. Shockingly, he and Mother Fallopia – Prudence – kissed full on the lips. They embraced tightly, said their goodbyes and he made for the door.
‘Walk with me,’ he said, and I turned to Mother.
‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me,’ I said, trying to be sincere but actually sounding deeply sarcastic. She glared at me in return.
‘You’ll be back by Springrise,’ she said, ‘either with tail between legs or in a zinc coffin. But there’ll be no point. Your job will not be open upon your return. Good luck. You’re going to need it.’
We said nothing more, and I followed Logan out.
‘Prudence isn’t as bad as she makes out,’ he said as we walked towards the exit by way of the back hall. ‘What did you do to piss her off?’
‘I wasn’t expected to last my second Winter,’ I said, ‘and my adoption prospects were low, which kind of made me poor value for money. I’m not sure the insurance payout was actually that large.’
‘The Pool can be cruel,’ said Logan, ‘but they still do an important job. What’s the longest you’ve stayed up?’
‘One hundred and eight hours and twenty-six minutes playing sleepy phone tennis.’
‘How did that work out?’
‘Not well.’
I explained that I’d played with the now-dead Billy DeFroid and Sian Morgan and heard their jeering phone messages once I’d stirred to wakefulness sixteen weeks later. Billy won the bout at one hundred and forty-two hours, but his victory was tainted: Sian was found Dead In Sleep owing to complications arising from inadequately prepared entry to the Hib, and Billy and myself were – unfairly, we thought – found guilty of Incitement to Deprive. I took the six-week community order, but Billy’s adoptive father paid the fine.
‘Not the first time that’s happened,’ said Logan with a chuckle as we pushed open the door and stepped out of the building, ‘and certainly not the last. Do you know what kills most people during the Winter?’
‘Villains?’
‘Guess again.’
‘Nightwalkers?’
‘Nope.’
‘The cold?’
‘It’s the loneliness. In the Summer it simply makes you glum, but in the Winter it can be fatal. I’ve seen strong people collapse inside. And not metaphorically, I mean literally. Like their soul evaporated. It’s in the eyes. They glaze over all dead, like a nightwalker, like there’s nothing there at all.’
He wasn’t really selling the Winter to me, but I said nothing. He went on:
‘The enemy aren’t the Villains, womads, scavengers, insomniacs, Ice-Hermits, Megafauna, nightwalkers, hiburnal rodents or flesh-eating cold slime – it’s the Winter. To survive, you need to respect her first. What do you need to do?’
‘Respect the Winter.’ I paused. ‘Sir?’
‘Yes?’
‘What’s flesh-eating cold slime?’
‘It’s probably best not to think about that.’
We stopped at the kerb, where an orange Cosmo was parked. He unlocked it and climbed in, then wound down the window.
‘We’re done for now. I’m hitting the sack for six weeks, and will see you again at two weeks before Slumberdown. Report to the Cardiff Consulate; we’re based right next door to the Melody Black Dormitorium – you can get an apartment there. Before that, have a couple of days off. Go to the Gower, see a movie. You might want to finish any long books you’ve started, wrap up prolonged games of postal chess and deal with any outstanding issues that you think you might regret leaving open.’
‘Is it that likely I won’t survive?’
‘Simply a precautionary measure,’ said Logan. ‘Where possible, I try to ensure I never lose a Novice in the first season. Cheerio.’
The statement didn’t totally fill me with confidence, but at least I was away from St Granata’s, Morphenox rights intact. I watched as he pulled off into the traffic and was lost to view down the road.
I turned around and looked at the old building that had been my home for the past twenty-two years. I thought of wandering in, telling everyone my news and then going out for an extended gorge-crawl at all the local eateries on the seafront – kebab, fish and chips, burger, tofu, kebab – then collapsing, belly distended, armpits bulging, groaning with indigestion at three in the morning, happy and penniless.
But that was no longer an option. My entrance into this Winter would be as something I’d never been before: light.