Wintersmith

pack of cards in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Go and fetch them.”
    “Is this like gambling? My father said that people shouldn’t gamble.”
    Miss Treason nodded. “Good advice, my dear. Don’t worry. The way I play poker isn’t like gambling at all….”

    When Tiffany awoke with a jolt, playing cards sliding off her dress and onto the floor, the cold gray light of morning filled the room.
    She peered at Miss Treason, who was snoring like a pig.
    What was the time? It was six at least! What should she do?
    Nothing. There was nothing to do.
    She picked up the Ace of Wands and stared at it. So that was poker, was it? Well, she hadn’t been too bad at it, once she’d worked out that it was all about making your face tell lies. For most of the time the cards were just something to do with your hands.
    Miss Treason slept on. Tiffany wondered if she should get some breakfast, but it seemed such a—
    “The ancient kings of Djelibeybi, who are buried in pyramids,” said Miss Treason from the bed, “used to believe that they could take things with them into the next world. Such things as gold and precious stones and even slaves. On that basis, please make me a ham sandwich.”
    “Er…you mean…?” Tiffany began.
    “The journey after death is quite a long one,” said Miss Treason, sitting up. “I may get hungry.”
    “But you’ll just be a soul!”
    “Well, perhaps a ham sandwich has a soul, too,” said Miss Treason, as she swung her skinny legs out of the bed. “I’m not sure about the mustard, but it’s worth a try. Hold still there!” This was because she had picked up her hairbrush and was using Tiffany as a mirror. The fiercely concentrated glare a few inches away was as much as Tiffany could bear on a morning like this.
    “Thank you—you may go and make the sandwich,” said Miss Treason, laying the brush aside. “I will now get dressed.”
    Tiffany hurried out and washed her face in the basin in her room; she always did that after the eyeballing, but she’d never plucked up the courage to object, and now certainly wasn’t the time to start.
    As she dried her face, she thought she heard a muffled sound outside and went over to the window. There was frost on—
    Oh, no…oh…no…no! He was at it again!
    The frost ferns spelled the word “Tiffany.” Over and over.
    She grabbed a rag and wiped them off, but the ice only formed again, thicker.
    She hurried downstairs. The ferns were all over the windows, and when she tried to wipe them off, the rag froze to the glass. It creaked when she pulled at it.
    Her name, all over the window. Over all the windows. Maybe over all the windows in all the mountains. Everywhere.
    He’d come back. That was dreadful!
    But also, just a bit…cool….
    She didn’t think the word, because as far as Tiffany knew the word meant “slightly cold.” But she thought the thought, even so. It was a hot little thought.
    “In my day young men would just carve the girl’s initials on a tree,” said Miss Treason, coming down the stairs one careful step at a time. Too late, Tiffany felt the tickle behind her eyes.
    “It’s not funny, Miss Treason! What shall I do?”
    “I don’t know. If possible, be yourself.”
    Miss Treason bent down creakily and opened her hand. The seeing-eye mouse hopped down onto the floor, turned, and stared at her with tiny black eyes for a moment. She prodded it with a finger. “Go on, off you go. Thank you,” she said, and then it scuttled off to a hole.
    Tiffany helped her upright, and the old witch said: “You’re starting to snivel, aren’t you.”
    “Well, it’s all a bit—” Tiffany began. The little mouse had looked so lost and forlorn.
    “Don’t cry,” said Miss Treason. “Living this long’s not as wonderful as people think. I mean, you get the same amount of youth as everyone else, but a great big extra helping of being very old and deaf and creaky. Now, blow your nose and help me on with the ravens’ perch.”
    “He might still be out there…” Tiffany mumbled, as she eased the perch onto the thin shoulders.
    Then she rubbed at the window again and saw shapes and movement.
    “Oh…they came…” she said.
    “What?” said Miss Treason. She stopped. “There’s lots of people out there!”
    “Er…yes,” said Tiffany.
    “What do you know about this, my girl?”
    “Well, you see, they kept asking when—”
    “Fetch my skulls! They mustn’t see me without my skulls! How does my hair