The Twisted Christmas Trilogy (Complete Series: Books 1-3): The Twisted Christmas Trilogy

By Daniel Parsons

ONE VICTORIAN CITY. ONE MAGICAL UPRISING. ONE BOY CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF IT ALL.

 

A dark Victorian fantasy adventure you won't be able to put down.

 

Fate has never been kind to twelve-year-old Toby. Not when he was abandoned on the steps of a workhouse as a baby. Nor when he escaped into the magical underworld that hides in London's shadows. But when the futures of thousands of lives come to rest in his hands, Toby quickly realises that perhaps fate had a good reason. Perhaps it was preparing him.

 

As the peacekeeper between both worlds, human and magic, can he find the inner strength to become a hero or does fate have darker intentions?

 

This complete set contains all three books in The Twisted Christmas Trilogy about a young boy, an old man and a spellbinding troupe of magical performers, written by bestselling author Daniel Parsons. Over 700 pages of magic, mischief and cinematic creatures. Now, for a limited time, save over 50% by grabbing the entire series in this special bundle deal!

 

This Boxed Set Includes

Book One: The Winter Freak Show

Book Two: Face of a Traitor

Book Three: The Wrath of Oberon

 

What Readers Are Saying About the Series

★★★★★ "A Christmas tale with a dark but magical twist which I thought was great."

★★★★★ "A delightful combination of Charles Dickens, The Santa Clause, and The Polar Express."

★★★★★ "Well paced, with loads of twists and full of action. The main character might be a boy but it is definitely a book for readers young and old."

★★★★★ "This is a really fresh, nice interpretation of the St. Nicholas legend. I loved it."

★★★★★ "I'm 70 and enjoyed it as much as I would have at 10."

★★★★★ "I loved it, with all its twists and turns, never quite knowing who's really real and who you can trust."

★★★★★ "I wished I'd read it slower to enjoy it longer - it really is THAT good."

 

The Twisted Christmas Trilogy is a fast-paced thrill-ride loaded with heart-warming charm, perfect for fans of Percy Jackson, Skulduggery Pleasant and A Series of Unfortunate Events.

 

Pick up The Twisted Christmas Trilogy to discover this white-knuckle adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AmWriting Ltd
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781913564063

Book preview

Chapter 1

‘T hree more children snatched from their beds! Queen Victoria’s word on the scandal. Child kidnapper still at large,’ cried a newspaper seller in the busy, London street.

An eclectic group of Londoners huddled around him, waving their money and chattering excitedly while they stood in line for the latest edition of The Times. Nearby, their children played and fought, waiting impatiently for their parents without a care in the world. They oozed happiness. They regarded the simple act of buying a newspaper with amused interest, just as they did everything else. Carriage rides through the park, fur coats for the ladies, monocles for the gentlemen, tasty hot food, and a loving family – all of these things were extravagances they took for granted. They lived a life of luxury. For them, it was commonplace. For young Toby Carter it was a dream far beyond his reach.

He watched, as if in a daze, from the highest window of the workhouse. His life was a million miles away from the fortunate folk just a few feet away in the street below. He worked all day and struggled to sleep at night, his stomach aching from a lack of food. Toby gazed affectionately at the bustling street, as he always did when he got the chance. He could nearly taste freedom. Every day was hard. Every day was hopeless. Every day, except this one.

The previous day, Toby had made a breakthrough that would change his life forever. He had found a gap in the wall. It happened when he was moved from one room to another to free up some space for new arrivals. When storing what little possessions he had next to his new sleeping place, he noticed a loose part of the wood panelling in the wall of the boys’ dorm. Prying it away slightly, he realised that what he had found wasn’t the result of disrepair. Maybe it was a secret passageway! Whoever had slept here before had been working on an escape plan. Maybe it had even worked! But it must have been years ago, otherwise he’d have heard of such a daring escape.

‘Hey, Carter! Get back to work before I smack you!’

The venomous tongue of Mr Snarky, the workhouse manager, rang close to him, snapping him out of his thoughts, and back to the factory floor. His escape would have to wait, as Toby had a shift to finish. He started at five o’clock, and he finished at noon. No matter how harsh Snarky’s threats were, Toby knew that his actions were worse. Carrying a heavy box of threads for the looms, he resumed his work on the dusty factory floor, in the dimness and stale air.

Dinnertime couldn’t come fast enough. During lunch, Toby wolfed down the customary bowl of gruel and headed to the boys’ dorm room, claiming he was ill.

He had no friends in the workhouse since most of the other orphans he befriended in his early years had perished from cruelty or starvation long ago. So he felt no need to share his secret with anyone. Nobody would dare to go with him, and he didn’t want to risk someone raising the alarm.

Lying on his side, in the dim light of a candle, he laboured desperately, prying the wood from the wall. The sounds of muted mealtime conversation droned in the background.

The wood panelling cracked alarmingly as he pulled at it the first few times. After that, he bent it more slowly, trying to minimise the noise he was making. Splinters dug into the ends of his fingers, but his excitement masked the pain. After a few minutes, there was a space large enough to allow him to poke his head in to see behind the panel. The void behind was pitch-black, but there was a slight, cool breeze, which gave him hope. He craned his neck out to get his candle, but there was nothing left of it.

This was it; he was committed now. He’d damaged the panelling too much to hide it so he slipped into the hole he’d created, lying flat on his stomach. First his head disappeared into the gloom, then his shoulders, and then his body. The baggy, ragged clothes he wore were too big for him and he seemed to get snagged on every protruding nail and splinter like they were Snarky’s twisted, clawing hands. His shirt and trousers were tearing to shreds as he writhed into the gap.

If he didn’t manage to get out of sight before the other boys returned from their meal he knew he could say goodbye to the opportunity forever. And if he got caught by one of the masters he was as good as dead. Punishments in the workhouse were swift and severe. He had seen some younger children beaten to death for stealing food. Nobody could challenge the masters. Nobody would help him if he got caught.

Toby made steady progress until he got to his hips. Then he realised that the gap wasn’t quite big enough. Too late. Toby suddenly realised he couldn’t crawl further in and, when he tried to back up the way he’d come, he found that he couldn’t move back either. He was stuck.

‘C’mon, Toby,’ he mouthed breathlessly to himself, trying to heave his scrawny frame out of the jam.

Far away, he heard a sound. It was only faint, but it was familiar, and it filled him with dread. Someone was coming up the hall, and he was jammed in the gap in full view of the door. He was about to be caught red-handed. Toby’s heart leapt. He panicked.

‘No. No. No. No. No.’ he mumbled feverishly, wriggling, kicking his legs, trying everything he could to dislodge himself.

‘Carter! Is that you making that racket?’

The voice was Mrs Brisket, one of the nurses. She had probably been sent to check on him. He regretted his decision to feign illness. Toby fought harder. He had to make it through the gap before she found his kicking feet protruding from the wall.

The floorboards creaked under her bulbous frame as she made her way along the passage to the dorm. Her heavy footsteps spurred him on. She would be there at any moment. And then she’d report him. Snarky would be the first to know about it. Toby would be paraded as an example to the rest of the boys. The hole would be blocked up forever, and his dream would be gone. He probably wouldn’t get another opportunity as good as this for the rest of his life. That was, if he lived to see it. A beating would be inevitable, but he didn’t want to think about how far they’d go.

Five seconds until she opened the door; that’s all he had. He writhed, loosening his trousers.

Four seconds.

They wouldn’t come free.

Three.

His belt was wedged on a shard of protruding wood. When he forced himself forward, the stitches cracked a little and began to give. Toby reached into the black void. The only thing holding him back was the panel. It had him.

Two.

The doorknob swivelled slowly.

‘Toby Carter! Are you still sick, boy?’ came her voice from just outside the door.

One.

The edge of the panelling exploded and Toby fell into the void. A shower of splinters accompanied him. Dust clouded around him. The air tasted like charcoal. It was cramped and he reached out blindly with his hands, feeling only walls. He headed towards a slight breeze of cool air. After just a few moments he felt metal. It was a flat piece of ironwork, about nine inches off the ground. He felt along it, and found another, at a different angle, but the same size, and another nine inches or so higher. Feeling along the horizontal ironwork, his fingers encountered a vertical pillar. Then he worked out what it was. A spiral staircase!

It really was a secret passageway. He had no idea where it led, but the thrill of escape took hold of him. He had something he’d never felt before. Hope.

The inky darkness pressed around him as he groped his way to climb the staircase. He let out of sigh of relief, hoping that he had escaped Mrs Brisket’s view just in the nick of time.

Then the chaos began.

‘Oh my! Mr Snarky, he’s escaped! One of the boys has escaped!’ Mrs Brisket’s words slammed into him like the kick of an angry horse.

Chapter 2

Toby’s adrenaline spiked and he burst into action. As the sounds of shouting and running echoed far away, he clambered up the metal staircase. Crawling up the stairs on all fours, he continued to use his outstretched palms like feelers so he didn’t injure himself. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.

With no light to offer him guidance, it seemed as if the stairs went up forever.

‘I think I can hear him in this wall!’ came the muffled voice of a child.

‘You in there, Carter? Scurrying through the walls like the rat you are, aye?’ Mr Snarky spat the words at him, from below. Toby was grateful now that the wood was so difficult to break through. There would be no way Snarky could follow without breaking it down with some tools. ‘We’ll find you, boy! You’ll get lashes for this, let me tell you!’

Toby clambered onward. By now his heart was almost beating out of his chest. All hope seemed to be extinguished. They had discovered him sooner than he’d hoped. It seemed like his escape was to end in disaster. Then, when he considered giving up, his hope was reignited with a greater ferocity than ever.

Above him, a shred of opportunity presented itself: Daylight. It was a smudge of light that illuminated the stairwell above him. With renewed energy, he climbed faster.

The workhouse children were in uproar. For them, the prospect of an escape was a spectacle many had never witnessed. Toby could hear their chants and cheers through the wall. With the masters running around in search of him, they were able to shout unhindered. Nothing could contain them. There now hung in the air the heady prospect of freedom. If Toby could chance it, then so could they. It occurred to him that he had suddenly become a beacon of hope to every child in the place. If he succeeded, he would be a legend. They would talk about him for years to come as the boy who made a mockery of the masters and escaped their tyranny.

‘Boy, come back this instant! You’re only making it worse for yourself when we catch you!’ Snarky again. This time he was shouting through a vent in the wall. Thankfully, it wasn’t near Toby. That was a good sign. It meant they didn’t know exactly where he was.

The slim shard of light above his head beckoned him onward. Only a few feet to go, he thought as he clawed his way up the remaining part of the staircase.

At the top of the stairs he saw where the light was coming from. Just as below in the dorm, it appeared that something had been blocked off by a wooden panel. Only this time he was behind it. A cold draught whistled through a few cracks in the wood. The early December weather enticed him, despite the cold. It was refreshing and reminded him of how close he was to freedom. Close, but not there yet. He was sweating heavily from the exertion and the oppressiveness of the confined space. His lungs ached every time he inhaled.

He pushed the panelling, seeing if it would break easily, and more importantly, quietly. It creaked a little, but it obviously required more force to break through it. He applied more force, leaning his back against the wall opposite in the narrow space, and pushing with one, then both feet.

Crack! It started to splinter.

Encouraged, he gently kicked it, and it yielded a little more.

Plucking up his courage, he took a chance and gave it a boot, and a hole opened up big enough for him to crawl through. Piling through the hole, he tumbled into a more brightly-lit room. Groaning, he climbed to his feet and glanced around.

He immediately recognised where he was. It was a large room, furnished with piles of old furniture covered in dustsheets. At one end was a locked door that he had seen far too many times. At the opposite end there was a wide, latticed window that had been left open.

No. Not here. Anywhere but here.

He had hoped to make it to the roof but instead he had only climbed to a room where Snarky put unruly children, locking them away to freeze and starve until they lost their rebellious edge. Toby had once spent two days in solitary confinement here. By the time the room had had its way with him, he had to be hauled out pale and shivering.

He couldn’t stay here. But the door was locked, he knew that without having to check. If they knew where he was, Snarky and Mrs Brisket would find him in minutes. Had he made too much noise in breaking his way through the panel? There was only one other way out. Rushing to the window, he leaned outside.

With the biting winter wind on his face, he took a moment to gaze over the city, taking stock of his surroundings. London looked wonderful under the frosty cloud cover. Church spires and the pitched roofs of houses and businesses were spread out before him like a mountain range to the horizon. The music of distant carol singers echoed from its depths. He could see sparkling Christmas trees and homes decorated with gaudy colours dotted throughout the metropolis, a tell-tale sign that Christmas was nearly here.

The whitening sky hinted toward snow but was yet to yield. Museums, houses, offices, and shops: there was a labyrinth of places to hide. It was the Promised Land for those seeking a new life, and looking to leave behind the problems of their last one. It was a fairy-tale setting for his new life. And he was a young hero, hoping to embark on an adventure of his own. He could already taste the freedom.

His euphoria didn’t last long.

The door at the other end of the room opened and an unwelcome face joined him. It was Mr Snarky. The hulking man in the wax coat growled when he saw the runaway peering through the window. Toby turned, eyes wide, abruptly torn back to the reality of his situation. With nowhere to go, he was cornered. And Mr Snarky was closing in.

Chapter 3

Toby was three storeys up, too high to jump, trapped between a vicious brute and a deadly fall. He was staring out of a dormer window. Below, the gutters were old and rickety. It was unlikely that they would hold his weight if he tried to climb down the drainpipe to the forecourt below. What he really needed was another escape route. Something safer. Maybe he should take his chances back inside the chimney. Once he scurried back through the hole, the adults couldn’t follow and he would have time to re-evaluate his options. The problem, though, was getting there in the first place. Mr Snarky, stood between him and the hearth.

‘Get ‘ere, boy. You had a good run,’ gnashed Snarky, his voice deep and sadistic.

‘Not a chance, Snarky. I won’t let you take me back.’ Toby laughed out loud. He had always feared Mr Snarky but the rush of potential freedom gave him confidence.

‘Don’t be a fool, boy, or I’ll have to bring Mr Sparrow up here.’

‘What’s wrong, Snarky?’ Toby mocked, showing a brave face. ‘Can’t catch me yourself so you’re getting help from a real man?’

Toby shuddered at the name of The Beadle – the tyrannical officer of the parish that ran the workhouse. If there was one person he feared more than Mr Snarky, it was the heavy-handed Beadle, Mr Sparrow.

Toby climbed up onto the windowsill, and crouched, looking back over his shoulder at Mr Snarky. Snarky edged forward, his hands splayed, ready to catch the runaway. There was a hint of concern on his face. The workhouse was used to drawing controversy, but a child jumping from a third floor window would be a scandal too far. The whole place could be closed down. Snarky couldn’t risk that.

Mr Snarky gritted his teeth. ‘I always knew you was a wilful one, boy, but I didn’t know you was stupid, too.’

Snarky took a swipe at Toby. Too slow. Toby darted into action. Tumbling out of the window, he slipped down the tiles of the pitched roof that the dormer window faced out of and stopped just in time at the edge of the roof. Balancing near the guttering, he clung to the tiles, shaking as the shock of vertigo took over his limbs.

Immediately below him, in the open workhouse courtyard, a crumbling single-storey lean-to was being repaired. A tree had worked its roots through the extension’s roof making it unstable. The tree had been allowed to grow for some time, and they had tied the top off to the second floor window, so they could cut it without it toppling over and taking the whole extension with it. That meant there was an escape route just a few feet below Toby’s current position. All he had to do was jump for the rope, shimmy down the tree, and get onto the roof of the extension. Not much to ask.

Toby shot a glance over his shoulder, and up to the window. Snarky’s face looked like a lion, wild and dishevelled. He practically glowed with anger as he swung his own leg out of the window to follow the runaway. It was clear that he was out of shape.

Without a choice, Toby grabbed hold of the gutter and swivelled his body so he hung over the side of the roof. It was a rash decision and he regretted it instantly. What started out as an ingenious plan to shimmy from the gutter to the rope turned bad when he felt the old guttering crack under his weight. A sharp jolt caused his fingers to slip. For a moment, time stopped and Toby’s stomached churned. He was freefalling. Releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, he yelped. He had misjudged it completely and found himself plummeting towards the ground.

He stretched as far as he could, but he was falling too fast to grab the rope. Somehow he just managed to grab a branch.

The tree that mushroomed out of the top of the lean-to stretched almost to the top of the workhouse’s second floor. Feeling the sinewy wood slap into his palm, Toby gripped it tightly. It wasn’t enough. Simply slowing him down, it bent then slipped away and he flipped between the branches, cartwheeling through the air.

Almost at the flat roof of the extension, he smacked into a clump of boughs and crash-landed on the roof of the lean-to.

Just when he thought his journey was over, he rolled to the edge of the roof and fell several more feet to the ground.

‘You alright, boy?’ asked one of the workers, clearly alarmed at seeing a boy who had, from his perspective, just fallen from the sky.

Toby could only wheeze in response. He was winded and his whole body ached. Luckily, nothing felt broken as far as he could tell. And the courtyard gate was wide open, less than twenty feet away with workmen going to and fro to get tools and supplies.

Climbing dazedly to his feet, he squinted up at the window he’d escaped through, the pale winter sun in his eyes. Snarky stared down at him in disbelief. He shouted down into the courtyard below him. ‘Stop that boy!’ But nobody at ground level was expecting to hear it, so there was a delay before anyone reacted.

Toby took this as his moment and ran through the gate with all the enthusiasm of an escaping dog. He ran like his life depended on it, because it did. He darted through the bustling streets of London, and when he couldn’t run any more, he jogged. And when he couldn’t jog, he walked, lost in his own journey, sure that the workhouse would never find him again.

Finally, he was amongst the fortunate people of the city. He was with the people he had longed to meet every day for as long as he could remember.

As a small boy exploring the city for the first time, Toby was in awe. He was hypnotised by the twinkling firelight of the gas lamps, and the joyous music of carol singers. He window-shopped on Regent Street, bedazzled by gentlemen in fine suits and top hats, and the ladies in extravagant gowns. All of the people seemed to be encrusted with jewels, and the smell of food on the winter breeze tantalised his taste buds. Everything about London was better than he had dreamed.

His only problems were that he had no money, no friends, and no family to give him refuge. Surrounded by food, it soon became apparent that it was there to torture him. His stomach growled. Around him were all the riches in the world. But as the night drew on and the cold fingers of winter crept into his flesh under his ragged clothes, Toby realised that he may have made a terrible mistake.

Unsure of what to do, he continued to walk, certain that an opportunity would reveal itself. He naïvely hoped that a kind stranger might somehow hire him as a serving boy, or a market seller would see his wretched outfit and offer him some food. He knew it was a long shot, but it was almost Christmas after all. If there was ever a time for a miracle, this was it.

Nothing.

When dusk finally fell, Toby looked for a place to rest for the night, away from the piercing wind. His extremities were numb and his eyes were weeping with the cold. Everybody else had turned in for the night. Windows all around him emanated a warm, orange glow.

Toby finally stopped in Mount Street, a road not far from Park Lane, when his legs refused to carry him any further. There, he found a park bench on which he could lay. At the same time, the misty sky gave way, like frosting on a cake, and the biting snowflakes danced to earth and began to cover him in a milky-white blanket. He almost didn’t notice. He was lost in thought, disillusioned. Escaping into the world wasn’t as much fun as he thought it would be. He found himself longing for a bowl of sweet gruel, and his bed.

Certain that he would never find kindness from a stranger, he submitted to the growing fatigue that ached inside him. He thought that if he fell asleep now, he would never wake up. Although, he didn’t really mind at all. Perhaps that was his destiny. To die here, alone on a park bench. At least his last day had been the happiest of his life. And how many other lonely street urchins had already suffered the same fate? He was sure that they would be there to welcome him in the afterlife, just another twelve-year-old among their ranks. That sounds nice, he thought dreamily and let the dream world take him.

Toby was oblivious to what happened next as he lay in the rising snow, on the brink of death. A soft, sad tune floated down the street on the winter wind. A violin’s haunting melody enchanted the air. In the street lamps, flames flickered and danced along to the mystical melody like tiny ballerinas in music boxes. The whole street became charmed by the lilting music. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

Out of the shadows, trundling methodically along the cobbles, rolled a procession of over twenty gypsy carriages, and flatbed carts shrouded in tarpaulins. The lead caravan – a richly painted, green and red one, decorated in a gypsy style – was pulled by a soot-coloured horse that walked without direction from its driver. In the driver’s seat sat a portly old man, shrouded in blankets and wearing a red top hat. A luxuriant, white beard spilled from his face like a waterfall. His reins lay on his knees as if he trusted the horse to know where he wanted it to go. Laying his violin to one side, he halted the convoy when he spotted the sleeping child, blanketed in snow.

Pondering over the boy, he dismounted and strode up to the bench where he lay. Then he grunted to himself knowingly, bent down, and scooped up the limp young body. A bundle of blankets were handed to him by an assistant that came to his aid. Toby was carried to one of the carriages. Having delayed his journey for long enough, the old man swung nimbly back onto his caravan and set the horse off again with a resolute cough. They vanished into the night as an icy fog settled over London.

Chapter 4

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.’

Chapter 5

Nicko escorted Toby to the flap in the tent that acted as a door. Outside, Hyde Park was a hub of activity. A flat area of grassland had been transformed into a travellers’ village where Nicko’s group were stationed. A giant ring of painted wagons and fur-covered tents surrounded a massive bonfire. Opposite them, a black and red circus Big Top had been erected, surrounded by fiery torches. The sound of an audience murmured from within.

Dozens of children, some very young and others almost adults, bustled around the camp, chatting and squeezing into costumes of all varieties. Some spoke in a strange language to each other, with elegant, lilting intonations that sounded graceful to Toby. It was unlike any dialect he had heard spoken around the workhouse. He wanted to hear more. However, when they saw him, they smiled and switched effortlessly to English as if trying not to exclude him.

A team of acrobats pirouetted and flipped, dancing in the snow while attendants in dark, snugly fitting uniforms made from black and jade velvet opened horseboxes. Strange animals that Toby had never seen before emerged from the travelling boxes. They were huge beasts with sturdy legs, thick winter coats, and impressive crowns of antlers.

‘Ah, I see you’ve spotted the reindeer already,’ Nicko beamed. ‘Beautiful creatures, but be careful around them. They’re proud. Back home, we call them the Kings of the Scandinavian wilderness. I’m sure they’ll love you when they get to know you.’

Toby looked uncertain.

‘A promising young boy like you will fit in well here, Toby. You’ll feel like one of the family in no time,’ Nicko continued, resting a hand on his shoulder. Then he turned away to deal with a rowdy bunch of performers that had gathered around him, shouting over each other. Each seemed to have a different problem requiring immediate resolution.

Toby looked around awkwardly, not sure what to do with himself while Nicko was distracted. That’s when a familiar face approached him. Melvin smirked, eyes sparkling. Brushing his mop of dark hair out of his eyes, he raised his hand to shake Toby’s.

‘Hey, I’m Melvin.’ His accent was strange, but he seemed friendly.

‘I know. Nicko told me. You’re his Head Elf?’

‘Yeah, it seems you’re at an advantage, since I don’t know your name.’

‘Toby Carter.’

‘New guy, aye? That’s good to know, Toby Carter.’ Melvin bowed low, his boyish smile never wavering. ‘Welcome to The Winter Freak Show. In my position, I need to know everyone. Has the Big Man shown you around yet?’

‘Nope. He was just getting round to it.’

‘Of course,’ Melvin snickered. ‘Spread himself too thinly as usual. Always trying to help everybody, that one. It’s not his fault. His heart’s too big and he’s only got one pair of hands.’

‘You speak highly of him.’

‘You will too when you get to know him.’

‘So, this is a freak show?’ Toby asked.

‘Only the best one in the whole world.’

‘Where are the freaks?’ Toby asked curiously, scanning the camp.

‘They’re all around us,’ Melvin told him assuredly.

Toby shot dubious glances at the costumed performers. Their outfits were well put together, created from leather, fur, feathers, and metal scales. They were striking, but it was obvious that the children were not the monsters they pretended to be. They were just dressed up as beasts. Nobody would be fooled into believing that they were actual freaks of nature.

‘They’re not very… freakish,’ said Toby.

Melvin chuckled knowingly. ‘Just wait and see.’

A voice summoned Melvin to the other side of the camp. He glanced apologetically at Toby and gestured to a piece of paper in his hand. ‘Duty calls, I’m afraid,’ he said, leaving. ‘If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask. Nicko can forget things sometimes. He’s a busy guy. That’s where I come in.’

With that, he jogged away and Toby looked back at Nicko expectantly. The old man had finished with all the crises that had called for his attention. He was searching for Toby and stroking his white beard.

‘Oh, there you are,’ he chuckled as he realised that Toby had been standing right under his nose the whole time. ‘You’ll have to forgive me, Toby. One of the reindeer had a little stage fright. Nothing uncommon though. Happens almost every night. Take my advice – never work with children or animals.’ He belly-laughed heartily and turned to the rest of the camp.

‘Elves! This is our first night in Hyde Park. Now remember, we have standards to maintain. Remember your training, work hard, and – most importantly – have fun. Take up your stations and let the show commence!’

The excited chatter fizzled away rapidly. Everyone had stopped what they were doing and looked serious. They were performers, psyching themselves up for their waiting audience. Melvin yelled commands to get them organised. His foreign accent suddenly seemed harsh, not at all like Nicko’s lilting voice. They obediently arranged themselves into two single-file lines.

When everyone was ready, Nicko strode forward and took his place at the head of the two lines. His blood-red violin was handed to him and he began to approach the Big Top. A slow, deep drumbeat vibrated from within the main tent.

‘Tonight you can watch from the wings, my boy,’ he whispered. ‘Enjoy it. You’re in for the show of a lifetime.’

Then he turned and started to play. The instant Nicko’s bow touched the strings, Toby felt a ripple of energy flow over him. Puffing out their chests, the procession marched towards their audience. The hypnotic drumbeat and the song of the violin urged them on. It was as if they weren’t simply walking; they were performing an intimate ritual, a spiritual experience, and Toby was a fortunate observer.

After a few strides, Melvin stepped to one side and held the curtain open for the others to go inside. The performers broke into a jog. It seemed like panic had broken out among their ranks, as if they were fleeing from something. They barged past Toby, leaving him behind, and charged into the Big Top. Toby assumed that the nervous energy of the imminent performance was what drove them forward, so he held back.

‘You better watch out,’ Melvin said with a twisted smirk as Toby approached.

‘For what?’

‘Them.’

Toby turned around. It was then that he saw why the others had run so fast into the tent. The costumed performers behind him were no longer human.

Something in the music had transformed them. Like monstrous butterflies from a gothic cocoon, their fur coats and colourful masks clung to their skin and faces. Nature and costume merged and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The performers no longer wore the costumes – their costumes were their new skin.

Some shimmered like silver, their fur bristling like falling snow. Others became shocking, furry, animal-human abominations with fangs and pointed ears. Startling, yet beautiful. A few had turned into shadows, melting into the ground and flitting from place to place like ghosts. The scene was surreal. The freaks had revealed themselves.

Melvin roared with laughter at the sight of Toby’s open mouth. Toby gasped and took a step back. He had never seen anything so weird. Worried that the supernatural creatures were as murderous as they looked, he spun on his heels and fled.

Or he would have, if a reindeer hadn’t been standing in his path. He ploughed face-first into the unsuspecting animal. His sudden movement startled the beast and it reared up, struggling with its child handler who tried to hold on as it thrashed wildly. But he was unable to stand his ground and was brushed aside. Spooked, the majestic creature bucked and snorted hot breath.

Suddenly, there was nobody to reassure the threatened animal. Rearing up again, the full wrath of the muscular animal rained down on Toby’s head. Everything became a blur of hooves and antlers but Toby had no time to get out of the way. Lying helplessly at the creature’s stomping feet, Toby closed his eyes and braced himself.

Chapter 6

Just as the thrashing animal stamped its hooves in the spot where his head had been, Toby was wrenched out of the way. A firm, claw–like hand clamped over his mouth to stop him from calling out. As suddenly as it appeared, the stag was reigned in and pulled away by its keeper, who had now regained control.

‘You are safe, brother,’ whispered a girl’s voice.

Toby looked up. He guessed she was about fifteen. Her skin was laced with soft, snow-white feathers. Removing her hand from his mouth, she revealed yellow, gnarled fingers. Her fingernails were blackened and sharp like hooked talons. But other than those monstrous deformities, the rest of her was as enchanting as a mythical princess.

‘Remember, it is just an illusion,’ she soothed, and the talons on one hand melted away in a foggy vapour, revealing a slender girl’s hand beneath. ‘I’m Stella,’ she smirked. ‘Don’t be afraid. We don’t bite. Much.’ Stella, the owl-girl, pulled Toby to his feet and he dusted himself down breathlessly.

‘C’mon, people! Chop chop! We’ve got a show to perform,’ Melvin interrupted. He ushered the performers who had stopped to watch the drama into the Big Top to take up their positions. Re-joining them, and now recovered from the shock, Toby followed them into the tent and waited in the wings as Nicko had instructed. The Winter Freak Show was about to begin.

Toby was astounded by the sheer size of the Big Top. From the outside, it looked only slightly more spacious than the other fabric dwellings, but the inside was huge, to the point where it seemed impossible. In a circle of tiered bench seating sat hundreds of spectators.

Gentlemen held their top hats in their hands while their wives watched through looking glasses. Children squabbled over sweet treats handed out by some of Nicko’s uniformed attendants. In the centre was a circular stage where Nicko himself now stood.

He waited patiently, playing his mesmerising tune, his top hat shining in the hazy light of the flame torches. To settle the crowd, the living shadows darted from place to place. They sprung up from under seats to hush rowdier audience members and guided children back to their parents.

The Big Top fell into an expectant hush. The metronome of the drumbeat boomed on, building gradually to a drumroll. With expert timing, both the drums and Nicko’s fiddle stopped playing simultaneously. The Top was plunged into silence.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I am Nicko, your ringmaster. Welcome to the annual Winter Freak Show!’ Nicko began confidently.

From the sides of the stage, attendants lit indoor fireworks. The rockets streamed into the air and lit up the whole tent as they exploded. Many of the crowd had never seen such a spectacle before so they marvelled at the multi-coloured light show. Toby’s eyes twinkled as he stared at the scene in awe.

‘Tonight,’ Nicko continued, ‘you will witness bizarre creatures, mesmerising acts, stunning acrobatics, and feats so brain-bogglingly impossible, you’ll wonder how we did them for the rest of your lives. Give a round of applause for… The Winter Freak Show!’

As the spectators erupted into rapturous applause, Nicko slipped off the stage and his performers charged in from the edges of the platform. The creatures of illusion poured in on all fours, or unfurled their wings and took flight. A torrent of excited and frightened gasps passed through the audience.

The steady drumbeat returned as background noise, joined now by panpipes and a harp. In all, there were over thirty elves on show. A team of acrobats scurried up ropes and began swinging and flipping into the crowd, never colliding despite coming incredibly close.

The Winter Freak Show had indeed began, and for the next hour, the acrobats performed. They made human towers, executed complex trapeze acts, flipped and flew, the danger of their feats never letting up, not even for a second. It was a fluent, practiced display of skill that even experienced circus performers would marvel at.

Yet there was something about the way they moved that suggested all was not as it seemed. It was as if they were bending the laws of physics. Toby was certain no human had ever achieved what they did. And yet, despite their remarkable skills, the performers acted as though their talents were commonplace.

The act moved on to sword swallowing and fire breathing. It was unclear how they performed the latter without the aid of paraffin or any other flammable liquid. Then the two skills were combined in a breath-taking finale of flaming blades.

When the dazzling display was over, Nicko moved back into the centre of the stage