“On the subject of guests,” said Orwell, “our new friend Terrence Deer-Hart is coming over on Monday night. Can you get some nice wine at the market?”

“Didn’t he turn out to be an evil whatchamacallit?” said Cait.

“No, it was that ridiculous woman he was going out with. The publisher. The one who tried to kill me? Anyway, I think he’s over all that now,” said Orwell. “We’ll see.”

“Okay, fine,” said Cait. “But you can get your wine yourself. I’m only buying things I actually want today.”

“All right,” said Orwell. “Fair enough. I’ll probably get better wine than you anyway.”

Once Effie had eaten her second muffin she got dressed in her warmest clothes and her sturdiest boots. It was freezing outside, although it hadn’t snowed again.

“Ready?” said Cait.

“Yep,” said Effie.

Effie never knew exactly what to talk about with Cait. But today that didn’t seem to matter. Cait insisted that being selfish involved getting a minicab to the Winter Fair Market, which meant they were there in under ten minutes. The whole place was throbbing and pulsing with activity. It reminded Effie of the Edgelands Market when she’d first met Festus.

“Right,” said Cait. “Here’s ten pounds. Buy whatever you like. Meet you back here in an hour?”

“Are you sure?” said Effie, taking the money.

“Oh yes. No offense, but I like shopping by myself.”

“Me too, I think,” said Effie.

“I’m actually quite enjoying this day of selfishness,” said Cait. “It feels a lot more honest somehow. Normally me and your father would be back and forth endlessly over who was going to do what for whom. It’s so much simpler just to act for yourself and let other people do the same. I do hope he doesn’t turn out to be right about all this. But it is fun for a day. Anyway. One hour?”

“Yes,” said Effie. “See you then. Thanks again.”

“And we can have lunch together if you like too.”

The Winter Fair Market was both hot and cold at the same time. There was steam and smoke everywhere. Most stalls had some sort of little fire going in a portable stove or wood burner. Effie bought a small paper bag of hot chestnuts, and another of soft, gooey pink-and-white toasted marshmallows. It began to snow as she walked from stall to stall, with big fluffy flakes falling as if in slow motion.

The majority of people in the Realworld ignored magic for most of the year, claiming that it was just a fiction, a mass delusion clung to only by the feebleminded. But Midwinter was a time when everybody liked to feel a little bit more magical, and so people tended to indulge whatever small piece of esoteric belief they had, however deeply it was buried.