Chapter 1: Fish In A Hole

Drift was on the run. His powerful legs coiled beneath him and he sprang onto a column of ice, using it as a platform to leap across the first of the crevices which criss-crossed this part of the Cold.

It had been days since he’d woken to the shouts but the words “Snowman! Killer! Get him!” still rang in his ears, making him determined to outrun his pursuers. He’d not stopped running since. A snowman like him, a drifter, wouldn’t be listened to. Nobody would believe he was innocent. As far as most people were concerned, most real people, he was nothing more than a problem to be dug through.

He misjudged the distance on another crack but managed to roll and bounce to his feet again, taking another in his stride. His stone-black eyes stayed fixed on the land ahead and he drew deeper breaths as he struggled to keep going.

It had been snowing heavily for hours and his body had taken on a great deal of extra snow. This only slowed him down. He was now eighteen feet tall and rather round. His missing buttons and broken carrot nose made him look a little untidy too, certainly not the sort of snowman who might stand around in someone’s garden.

“Phoof,” he said, panting through the flurry of snow. “Phoof.”

He slowed his run to a gentle trot and mopped his forehead. He didn’t want to dawdle. There was nothing better than a good dawdle but he couldn’t risk being caught so with a sigh, Drift shook himself and picked up the pace. His long legs served him well until the cracks became too wide even for him, and he came to a stop. He peered over his shoulder. There was nothing but white and grey for as far as his little black eyes could see and not a single sight of anyone following him.

“Well, maybe just a little dawdle would be ok,” he said. “A rest might help me.”

“Help me. Help me.”

Drift looked about. He hadn’t expected an echo out here in the vast, empty plain. “Hello?” he said.

“Hello. Hello.”

“Hello?” Drift said.

“Help me. Please help me.”

“Huh?” Drift didn’t know much but he knew echoes were supposed to repeat things. He tried again. “Hello?” he said.

“Hello.”

“Oh, that’s better,” Drift said, pleased the echo was back to answering properly again.

“JUST HURRY UP AND HELP ME!” The voice howled through the snowstorm and Drift dropped to the ground.

Drift panicked. “I’m innocent,” he said, and spread himself thinly in an attempt to hide.

“Well I’m about to die,” the voice replied. “If you don’t help me.”

“Oh dear,” Drift muttered. “Not another one.” Cautiously, the snowman raised his head.

Looking down, Drift crept back from the edge of a particularly deep looking fissure. Building himself up to his full height again, the snowman lent over and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Thanks for the warning,” he said. “I might have fallen down there. Lucky me. Mustn’t dawdle though. Bye.”

“What? No. Wait.” The voice protested. “You can’t leave me down here.”

Drift began to reshape his body, giving himself two strong legs and rather less impressive arms. He never could get the arms right. Or the hands. They always looked like flippers. He waved them in front of his face and tried forming fingers.

“Are you still there?” the voice asked.

“What? Oh. Yes. I’m here. I really can’t dawdle though. I’m on the run.” Drift was beginning to sound a little proud of that last bit.

“Well that’s very interesting, I’m sure. But I’m hanging by one arm down here,” came the reply.

“You aren’t in water, are you?” he said. “Only, I’m not very good in water.”

“No. Don’t worry. No water. At least, none in the hundred or so metres I would have to fall if my ICE COLD FINGERS SHOULD SLIP.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Drift said. “Let’s have a closer look then.” Cautiously, Drift peeped further over the edge. A girl glared up at him. She was further down the deep crack, hanging onto a chunk of rock. “Would you like any help?”

“No. Of course not. I’m perfectly happy to stay hanging on by my fingernails,” she said.

“Oh,” he said. “Well if you’re sure. I’d best be going anyway. Bye.”

“Wait.” The girl’s words stabbed upwards out of the dim crevice. “I was… never mind. I need help. Please.”

Drift could hear her teeth grit. The snowman channelled some snow from around his belly into extending an arm down into the crevice. He circled her waist, lifted her out and placed her gently onto the snow. She sank to the tops of her thick, furry boots. “Next time,” she said, “try rescuing the person in trouble a bit quicker.” She gave him a poke in the chest.

“Ow,” he said.

Standing in front of the snowman, the girl seemed tiny. It was difficult to judge how much of her was girl and how much was clothing. Layer upon layer of caribou hide reached down to her knees and this was topped with a large blanket made from soft blue-grey pelt. Dark eyes bordered by black hair stared at Drift from under a snug, fur-lined hood. A large bag, stuffed to bursting with everything she would need to live out in the Cold, hung around one shoulder.

“Right. Well. Happy to help,” Drift said. “But I mustn’t dawdle. I’m on the run, you know.”

“Hold on.” The girl waded through the deep snow to where Drift stood, ready to depart. She wrapped her arms around one of his legs and hugged him. Drift froze. He’d never had a hug before. Every other person he’d met so far had been shouty – from the first man by the two hills, to the townspeople by the sea.

“I…” The snowman gently unwrapped the girl from his leg and stepped back. He held out a large, flat hand. “My name is Drift. And I’m innocent.”

The girl took his hand and gave it a firm shake. ”Ummm… ok,” she said. “If you say so. I’m Fish.”

“Fish?” Drift said. “Really? Gosh. I’ve never seen one so big.”

“It’s my name,” Fish said. “My dad used to say it’s because I’m the best thing he ever caught.”

“Oh, I see. That makes more sense.” The snowman nodded, pleased with himself.

“So what is it you didn’t do?” Fish asked.

Everything came flooding back to Drift. He looked around, searching the horizon for signs of his pursuers. “I’m innocent,” he said.

“Innocent?” Fish said. “Innocent of what?”

“It’s a secret,” he said. “Anyway, nice meeting you. Mustn’t dawdle though.” He was about to set off running again when something occurred to him. “What are you doing out here on your own?” he asked her.

“Oh that,” she said. “I’m on the run.”

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Illustration © Carl Pugh