‘You remember the bortrekker told us about that wind,’ explained Alex, ‘but he called it a draught. The North Draught. A cold one. I think that’s what’s coming our way – the North Draught – so batten down the hatches, there’s dirty weather coming, Clo.’
He didn’t really know what the last couple of phrases actually meant, but he’d heard them in films and they sounded dramatic enough for him.
‘But what I want to know is how you know?’
‘I just feel it,’ replied Alex vaguely. ‘It’s sort of in the air. Can you see any snowflakes?’
‘No. There aren’t any. You can’t get snow inside an attic. There’s not enough moisture.’
‘I hope you’re right, sis.’
The draught was increasing in strength now, blowing straight down the middle of the attic. It began to get colder too, as the strength of the draught grew. The chill factor increased and increased until Chloe realised she would have to follow Alex’s example and put on some more clothes. Luckily there were plenty to be had. They were hardly the height of teenage fashion, but she was prepared to give way on that score. It was better to miss out on being the best dressed girl in Winchester, than to freeze to death. Thus with two scarves wrapped around her neck and head, a thick old-lady’s overcoat, sheep’s-wool mittens and another pair of slacks over her jeans, Chloe felt half ready to deal with the blizzard which came hurtling at them.
And blizzard it was.
There was no snow, as she had predicted, but the wind was so cold it froze all the surface moisture on the boards and over the junk, leaving a white hoar-frost in its wake. After struggling against it, heads down, the force of the draught was too much for them. Seeking shelter they found two or three tables and turned them on their sides to make a windbreak. There they huddled while the draught screamed around them, cutting through cracks and whistling through holes. No arctic wind was as cold as that North Draught. The bortrekker had tried telling Alex just how fierce it was, but no description whatever could have prepared them for this freezing blow.
Chloe hunched there, her back against the bottom of an upturned table.
‘Are you all right?’ yelled Alex. ‘Try to keep covered or you’ll get frostbite.’
She nodded, thoroughly miserable. If there was one thing Chloe hated, it was being cold. Alex didn’t seem to mind, however. He peered out from between the layers he was wearing with bright brown eyes, not at all put out by this wild onslaught.
Indeed, the frost turned to ice crystals, which twinkled with a million glints in the poor light. Ice crystals make everything look colder than it actually is. It turns a frosty spring morning into a harsh winter’s day. Chloe thought about unpacking their stove, but realised it was no good trying to light the little cooker. Such a fierce draught would not allow it. They simply had to sit and wait it out. Objects picked up by the high draught clattered against the tops of the tables: some were thrown against them with real force. Clothes and other light materials flew through the air like giant birds, flapping helplessly. At one point Chloe thought there were wolves out there, but it was in the end only the North Draught, telling everyone it was king of all Attica.
‘Seventy miles an hour, I’ll bet,’ said Alex. ‘Gale force ten.’
For once Chloe remained unimpressed by her brother’s knowledge.
When it had decreased in strength a little, Alex emerged to find he was able to keep his feet once more. He encouraged a reluctant Chloe to stand and follow him. Off he marched, into the teeth of the gale, holding his head low, while Chloe trudged on behind. They passed white mounds which were probably junk, and white frozen-over water tanks. The whole aspect of the attic had changed in the frost and ice covering. It was as if the attic were trying to disguise itself with a mask of linen and lace.
Somewhere along their trek that sturdy ginger tom Nelson joined them, his shoulders hunched, his fur fluffed against the cold. He three-leg-limped alongside Alex, his head straight into the blast of the blizzard, as if he was determined to prove that man’s best friend is not always the dog.
Not long after Chloe had climbed back up into the attic, the bortrekker had looked back to see that some creatures