The Frost Fair

The Sunday before Christmas was always extra special in Moonvale, for it was the night when the Moonberry Market became the Frost Fair.

At the stroke of midnight, the market square would fill with stalls as it did every Sunday, but on this particular night, everything appeared a little grander. The floating lanterns resembled snowdrops shining in the moonlight, frost covered the colourful awnings and every stallholder seemed to possess an extra measure of festive cheer. Even Boris was known to argue less about his love of mashed potato, although he still maintained that no Christmas dinner was complete without it—and if you disagreed, then you simply did not possess enough festive cheer.

Gertrude’s moonberries sparkled beneath a dusting of sugar that looked remarkably like snow. Clarissa exchanged her dangerously romantic bouquets for wreaths of holly and winter flowers, though visitors were still advised to smell them with caution. Winter love was more dangerous than most, and Christmas magic was notoriously unpredictable.

The Frost Fair was the only time of year that Bernard allowed himself to set up a stall away from The Crooked Spine. He arrived with armfuls of books tied in ribbons and arranged them beneath a deep green awning.

“Books are the greatest gift you can give,” he would say wistfully whenever anyone asked why he had come.

He took great care to ensure that each book went home with its rightful owner. Bernard believed that every book instinctively knew who needed the story held inside it. He feared the day a book chose Boris, as he knew the poor thing would end up being used as a potato press for Boris’s beloved mash.

Visitors from beyond Moonvale were encouraged to visit the square during this annual celebration. It was believed that the Christmas joy brought by strangers made the season even more magical. They arrived bundled in scarves and winter coats, carrying tales from distant towns and leaving with moonberries, books, flowers and, more often than not, a sack of Boris’s potatoes.

At the end of the market sat Ethel and Asteria, with Moss snuggled up beside them. Ethel kept an enormous pot of hot chocolate simmering throughout the night, while Asteria watched from her favourite chair beside the fire. Moss handed out warm mugs topped with squirty cream, marshmallows and a sprinkling of cinnamon, enjoying the rare pleasure of having nowhere else she needed to be.

She allowed herself the Christmas period off to rest and celebrate with the people she loved. The Literary Freakshow could wait until the new year. History was never going anywhere, even if its stories were so easily forgotten.

When the Town Hall clock prepared to strike two, the lanterns did not simply fade as they usually did. One by one, they rose above the square until they formed the constellation of a snowman in the winter sky. Only then did the awnings fold themselves away and the Frost Fair disappear for another year.

By morning, the square would be empty once more, save for trails of silver frost, scraps of colourful ribbon and the faint scent of hot chocolate lingering in the cold air.