Page 69 of Valour

Her fingers were numb inside her mittens, and it wasn’t from the cold. No, her heart would not settle as she skied as fast as she dared. For Charlotte had nestled herself into her affections just as soundly as Mister Plumpkins had once done. Well, before he turned evil, that was obviously where the comparison ended. Charlotte, with her cheery demeanour, her daily greeting of ‘good morning sunshine’, how she sang without realising she was doing it, then chuckled to herself once she’d noticed, how she kept her secret.

Hester picked up the pace.

Charlotte stared at the hole in the ice, and then fell over as she backed away, landing in a heap of poles and skis.

A husky voice said, “My love, that was very unladylike. Let me help you up.” An elegant hand reached out of the white blur of the snowstorm. “I’m Odette.”

Cold dread flooded her, and Charlotte scrambled backwards. She couldn’t even find her voice to scream. All she knew was that she had to get away.

She staggered to her feet, then fell again, shaking uncontrollably. “Oh, God, no.”

“Honestly, I’ve never seen you so uncontrolled. You are like a dancer most of the time.” Out of the swirling white stepped a woman with long hair, red as blood. She had an eyepatch over one eye. And her chest was just how the Intrepid men described it.

Impressive.

And barely covered by a dress that seemed to be made of kelp, though the woman didn’t seem to feel the cold.

Charlotte whimpered, tucked her legs to one side and pushed up on her poles. But before she could slide one ski forward, Odette was by her side, an arm draped over her shoulders.

The blood drained from her face, her heart so loud she could have sworn she could hear it.

Odette leant in and whispered in Charlotte’s ear, “Come, Charlotte. I only want to talk. Just a little friendly chat.”

“I—oh, maybe?” Charlotte stammered, the words tumbling in her mouth, palms slick with sweat. She found it hard to do anything but agree. Odette smelled of the freshness of the sea breeze, an undercurrent of brine. The eye not hidden by the patch was wholly black, with dark lashes. Her skin was deathly white, like the finest porcelain. And her voice—Charlotte was musically trained, and this woman’s voice was the most beautiful she had ever heard. And that was when she knew for sure what she faced. She had seen the image of the siren in her book. This woman matched the pictures perfectly.

“You killed James and Victor,” Charlotte managed to squeak out. All thoughts of escape were slowly freezing solid.

“Mmm. Men. They have certain uses, and then…well, then it’s just better to eat them.” She waved a pale hand, teeth glinting in a white smile, canines slightly elongated. “Come along. Just a drink. Perhaps we could sing together? You have a lovely voice—I’ve heard you singing when you think no one’s watching.”

Tears slid down Charlotte’s cheeks. She was going to die. Going to be eaten by a siren.

Odette swiped a tear away. “Don’t cry, love. Take those silly planks from your feet.”

Charlotte found herself doing exactly what Odette said, releasing her boots from the ski bindings.

Odette’s eyes lit up. “Good girl. This way.” She led Charlotte across the ice, her arm draped around her.

Charlotte peered over her shoulder at the footprints that led from her discarded skis.

Hester snapped the spyglass closed, pocketed it and skied forwards as quickly as she could. There was a bundle of something on the snow just ahead.

When she, Arnold and Betty arrived, it was as she had feared. Charlotte’s skis and poles lay in the snow, and a few yards away was a perfectly circular hole in the ice.

“Oh my God.” Betty fell to her knees by the skis. “No. Not Charlotte. Anyone but Charlotte!” Tears welled anew in her eyes.

Arnold stared dumbly at the hole in the ice, but Hester spotted tracks that led away from it. Two sets of tracks, importantly. “Look,” she said, pointing at them. “There have been no tracks by the other ice holes. And her clothes aren’t here.”

“Who could have taken her?” Arnold asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“I have my suspicions.” Would they believe her if she told them?

Arnold was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “A siren? I didn’t believe the myth, of course. I thought it was suicide. But now…”

“I fear it must be a siren,” Hester said.

“Sirens only kill men though, don’t they?” Betty asked, her face pale.

The noise of barking had them all looking up, and Marjorie and Sooty raced towards them over the ice, tails high, tongues lolling.