The Winter Ghosts - By Kate Mosse Page 0,38

dying with the stench of the charnel house in his nostrils, his men blasted to pieces by mines, by bullets, choked by gas. But to think of Fabrissa trapped in such a place, her beloved Jean dead beside her, this was horror of another dimension.

‘It was perhaps a week after he had died, about the time of the Espéraza winter fair, when we saw tendrils of smoke rising up above the tree-line. And we knew, then, that the village was burning. Angry they still had not captured us, even though they knew we were somewhere close by, they put everything to the torch. The church, the Ostal, our homes. Everything was destroyed.’

‘Fabrissa . . .’

There was nothing more I could say.

‘Later, when the thaw began and we had begun to think ourselves forgotten, we became careless. Two men were seen coming back into the caves by night. The soldiers followed and placed a sentinel. Then they found one of the entrances and it was only a matter of time before they found the others.’ She paused. ‘We heard them, piling up the stones, hammering as they braced the rubble with timbers. The light became more shallow, then darkness overcame us. What was a refuge became a tomb. Every opening was blocked. We could not get out.’

I felt Fabrissa slide from my arms. I was suddenly dizzy. The nausea I’d managed to keep at bay overwhelmed me.

‘No one came back,’ she said. ‘Not one.’

I feared I was going to pass out. My palms were clammy and my chest tight. I leaned forward, head down, my arms resting on my legs.

‘Freddie?’ said Fabrissa. I heard the concern in her voice and loved her for it.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Freddie,’ she whispered, ‘do not be afraid.’

‘Afraid? I’m not af—’

I jerked my head up, setting colours dancing before my eyes. Heard her lullaby voice saying my name. And this time, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it had been Fabrissa’s voice I had heard through the storm. ‘But how?’ I murmured. ‘How?’

I glanced at her in mute confusion, seeing my own anguish reflected in her face. I was so tired now. I had worn myself out by talking and I realised I was deathly cold.

Fabrissa, too, seemed to be tiring. She did not move, but I sensed a restiveness in her, as if she had already lingered too long. I could feel her slipping away and, much as I wanted to keep her with me, I felt powerless to stop her.

‘It’s morning,’ I said, looking down at the village stirring beneath us. ‘I should take you home.’

Sweat was trickling down between my shoulder blades, though I was shaking, frozen right through. I tried to stand but found that I couldn’t. I raised a heavy hand to my forehead. My skin was hot to the touch.

‘Perhaps I could see you again?’ I tripped over my words. ‘Later today. I . . .’

Did I even speak out loud or only in my head?

Again, I tried to get up, but my knees buckled. I slumped back to our makeshift bench, feeling ridges of the bark jabbing into my skin.

‘Fabrissa . . .’

It was a struggle to hold my head up. I wanted to free myself, to escape from the prison of my memory.

‘I must . . . take you . . . home,’ I repeated, but it came out all wrong. I tried to focus on Fabrissa’s face, on her grey eyes, but there were two girls now, and the image floated in and out of focus. I tried to say her name again, but the word turned to ashes in my mouth.

‘Find me,’ she whispered. ‘Find us. Then you can bring me home.’

‘Fabr—’

Was she leaving me, or was I leaving her? My heart turned in on itself.

‘Don’t go,’ I murmured. ‘Please. Fabrissa!’

But she was already too far away. I could not reach her.

‘Come and find me,’ she whispered. ‘Find me, Freddie.’

Then nothing. Only the dreadful knowledge that I was alone once more.

The Fever Takes Hold

‘Monsieur Watson, s’il vous plaît.’

Someone was calling my name. There was a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. But I did not want to wake.

‘Fabrissa . . .’

‘Monsieur Watson.’

My whole body ached. I was stiff everywhere and unpleasantly conscious of the bones along my left side - ribs, hip-bone, knee-joint - pressing against the hard ground. I swept my right arm in an arc around me and felt dust and wooden floorboards beneath my hand.

I tried to raise my head, but the