Jake & The Gingerbread Wars (A Gryphon Chronicles Christmas Novella) (The Gryphon Chronicles) (16 page)

“I see,” Jake murmured, then he stared once more into
the snowy, half-outdoor workshop, where, instead of elves, two dozen snowmen were busy with scissors, cutting out special snowflakes just for Christmas Eve.

The train rolled on, slow
and steady, on its tidy little tracks. They were getting down to the end of the line now, only a few departments left.

The next step was the
Sleigh Station
, where mechanically minded elf driving experts were tuning up Santa’s massive sleigh.

They were
balancing its weight on a large mechanical platform that mimicked wind conditions. It rocked and bucked and tilted to and fro. The greasy mechanical elves didn’t even look over when the train stopped to let more elves on or off. Wrapped up in work they obviously loved, they shut off the mechanical platform and agreed they needed more wax on the sleigh’s long, ski-like runners.

During this short break, a few of them jumped up onto the sleigh to polish its already-spotless brass fittings. Others shined up its lanterns. Still others nearby rubbe
d saddle oil into the harnesses to keep the leather soft and supple so it would not chafe the reindeer.

“Busy, busy,” Dani said, staring at them.

But the
Sleigh Station
was nothing compared to the beehive of activity going on in the very next department, titled
Mailroom
.

Here, twenty elves rushed around collecting long, narrow, winding strands of pape
r from the ticker-tape machines that ran constantly, spitting out the endless requests from children around the world, telling Santa what they wanted for Christmas.

“Look at all these last-
minute gifts! How can they only be making up their minds now?” a harried elf cried, as the ticker-tape curled around him like a friendly paper snake. “They know we’re coming every year, and they only decide what they want on the afternoon of Christmas Eve? Ahh!” He fell over as the ticker-tape kept winding around him, flailing about with muffled cries, until the other hurried over to roll him out.

But Jake and his companions had gone silent at the news the elf had blurted out. They had lost all track of time, and now it was already
the afternoon of Christmas Eve.

They looked around at each other in dismay, b
ut no one dared say it aloud.
We’re going to miss Christmas.
There was no way they could get back home in time to share the holiday with Great–Great Aunt Ramona and Lord and Lady Bradford—or with Henry and Helena, for that matter.

“Poor Teddy,” Dani murmured. “He’s going to be all alone.”

“Poor us,” Archie answered. “Aunt Ramona’s going to kill us for ruining the village pageant. The Nativity, remember? Vicar’s going to be out of luck. No Mary, no Joseph, no angel, and only
two
wise men.”

Jake’s heart sank as he realized he had ruined Christmas for more people than Humbug ever could.

“Becaw,” Red offered.

“Quite right.” Isabelle nodded at the Gryphon, then
she turned to the others. “You mustn’t give up hope. Santa might still have a way.”

“Maybe that sleigh is fast enough to take us home and then dash back here in time for takeoff,” Archie said.

“I doubt it,” Jake mumbled.

But his cousin glanced back longingly toward the
Sleigh Station
. “I wouldn’t mind taking a ride in that little beauty, I can tell you.”

The girls just looked at him.

The last stop before Mrs. Claus’s kitchen was the
Candy Factory
. Normally, Jake would have dropped everything to go in there, but the realization about missing Christmas had put a damper on his mood.

Isabelle nudged him, sensing his emotions. “Smile, coz. At least we’re alive.”

After the yetis, the polar bears, the wolves, the creepy wooden soldiers, and the brush with hypothermia, he had to admit, she made a good point.

So he tried.

At last, the train rolled to a halt. The conductor gave the whistle a toot, and Crystal smiled at them. “Here’s your stop!” she chirped.

Jake glanced up at the sign over the arched doorway:
Mrs. Claus’s Kitchen
. His companions were already climbing off the train. Crystal came along to introduce them to Santa’s wife.

Jake jumped off the train and waved in thanks to the
conductor. As he turned toward the delicious smells floating out of the kitchen, he was suddenly very eager to find out what sort of snacks Mrs. Claus might have to offer them.

He hurried after his friends.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Missus

C
rystal led them through the arched doorway into Mrs. Claus’s large, cozy kitchen, where they paused, taking in the heavenly smells—and controlled chaos—of the place.

The kitchen elves were hard at work everywhere, painting cookies, rolling dough, whisking eggs, washing dishes, drying them. Some splashed buckets of glaze over carrot cakes fresh out of the oven; others shook chocolate sprinkles over rows of pastries spread out over yet another worktable. One elf scampered up a ladder precariously propped against a giant spice rack as a tall bookcase, laden with countless labeled jars.

But the dominant figure amidst all this hubbub was Mrs. Claus herself. There was no mistaking her, the female equivalent of Santa. Tall, broad, and sturdy, she wore a red dress with the sleeves rolled up, a white apron, and black boots. Her snow-white hair was piled atop her head like a dollop of whipped cream, adorned with a sprig of holly. Little glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose, and her hands were encased in giant oven mitts.

She gave the impression of smooth, sedate control, but in fact, she was in constant motion, a whirlwind of a woman who could have put a house brownie in awe.

She didn’t miss a beat, giving orders that sounded like dulcet-toned requests, and making her rounds as clockwork cooking timers went off constantly with a series of shrill
dings!

She broke an egg with one hand and mixed a batter with the other, handed the job off to an elf, then fixed a drip of white frosting on a gingerbread man where one of the painting elves had botched it. From there, she glided over to a potbellied stove and lifted the lid for a peek into a huge cauldron. “Pudding’s finally boiling.”

Ding!

Another timer chimed
, but an elf hurried to take the next batch of meringues out of the oven for her. “I’ll get it, Mrs. Claus. You’ve got visitors.”

“I do?” She spun around and gasped in delight when she saw them. “Children! You made it!
At last.” She clapped her oven mitt-padded hands together and rushed toward them, where they still lingered uncertainly in the doorway. “Oh, come in, come in, my dear half-frozen little dears! Thank goodness you are safe!”

Without warning, she grabbed all four kids at once into a big, warm, grandmotherly
hug and laughed, giving them a group squeeze before she released them.

None of them were used to such shows of affection and weren’t quite sure what to make of it, or of her.

“Now then. Your snack is almost ready. Mr. C. told me you were on the way. And the Gryphon, too! Oh, aren’t you a handsome beastie!” She took off an oven mitt to give Red a doting pat on the head.

He looked charmed in spite of himself.

“Well now, don’t just stand there in the doorway!” she chided. “Come in. Sit, sit, children. There, at the table by the fire.”

“We don’t wish to be
in your way, ma’am,” Isabelle said. “You seem very busy.”

“Not at all, sweeting! Nothing I can’t handle with my eyes closed after all these years. It’s all in the planning, you see.” With a bright chuckle, she pointed at her chalkboard calendar on the back wall, which had jobs written out for every day of the year.

“Blimey,” said Jake. “That’s daunting.”

Indeed, Mrs. Claus was remarkably calm for one of the busiest women on the earth. Here it was, with Christmas right around the corner, and she was prepared to stop everything to give them some food.

“Now then. Your snacks are almost ready. Oh, here—put a bit of this on your hands and faces while you’re waiting.” She fished a small bottle of something out of her apron pocket. “It’s anti-frostbite cream, just in case. You young ones aren’t used to our
brisk
arctic weather, I fear. Off you go.” She shooed them past the elves’ main workspace to a cozy kitchen table that stood atop a braided cottage rug before the crackling fireplace.

The kids had barely finished rubbing the anti-frostbite cream on their noses, cheeks, an
d hands, when another timer went
ding!

“Ah, that will be your snacks.
” A moment later, Mrs. Claus carried over a large tray with five covered dishes and handed them out.

When Jake took the lid off his plate,
his eyes misted with pleasure. Great Scott, if Mrs. Claus considered a plate piled with roast beef, gravy, and mashed potatoes a mere “snack,” then he had clearly discovered utopia.

Of course, one didn’t grow a
Santa-sized belly eating celery, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised.

She pulled the lid off Red’s plate for him and wiped her hands on her apron. “Need anything else?”

They said no and thanked her dazedly.

“E
at up!” She beamed at them and went back to work.

“I love her,” Jake whispered to the others. “Do you think they’d let me live here?”

“What, in the North Pole?” Dani asked.

“No, right in this very kitchen.”

“You are a life-support system for a stomach, coz,” Archie said.

Jake grinned, then they dug in to their pre-Christmas feast.

Mrs. Claus came back a little later to check on them. She was so happy to see them enjoying her cooking that she took a short break from her nonstop work and stayed to chat, leaning against a chair. “So, how is poor Humbug? And how was our Snow Maiden when you saw her? I do worry about her so. Oh, I see—can’t talk with your mouths full. What well-mannered children! Perhaps you were a good influence on Snowy. Did you get to meet Jack? Isn’t he charming? Takes after his grandfather, that handsome rascal. You should’ve known Santa when he was younger.” Mrs. Claus gave them a mischievous wink. “He was a wild one. Oh, but I straightened him out once I got hold of him, believe you me.”

The children glanced at each other, tickled by this unexpected revelation.

She bustled off and brought them the perfect dessert, something not too sweet after their overindulgence on Marie’s French pastries—a plate full of lemon biscuits, washed down with a hot cup of peppermint tea.

When Jake finished these
, he flopped back in his chair, feeling happy and extremely lazy. “Mrs. Claus,” he declared, “you’re never getting rid of me.”

She laughed. “You’re a little tall for an elf, but if you insist, I’m sure we can find you a job making toys. Of course, that’s a craft that takes time to learn. You might have to start out by shoveling snow. What do you think?”

“No, ma’am, there’s only one job that I’ll consider: official food taster for the North Pole.”

“Why, so you can be as fat as Santa?” she teased.

But Jake’s playful decision to move into Mrs. Claus’s kitchen was cut short, for a moment later, he was summoned to Santa’s office.

I
t was time to see about his reward.

CHAPTER EIGH
TEEN

A Sprinkling of Sugar

“S
ir?”

Arriving in the doorway of the
office, Jake found Santa seated at his desk. He could barely see him behind the stacks of thick ticker-tape loops, apparently sent up from the Mailroom.

With his spectacles perched on his nose, the old man was sorting the Christmas wishes int
o several bins variously marked
Approved, Maybe Next Year,
and
Absolutely Not!

“Ahem. You sent for me, sir?”

Santa looked up and grinned brightly. “Ah, there you are, my boy! Come in. I trust you had a nice visit with the Missus?”

“She is first
rate,” Jake declared as he shut the office door behind him.

Santa
chuckled. “Ah, yes, everybody loves the Missus. The power behind the throne,” he added with a wink. “Well, m’boy! No time to lose. Let’s get down to business, shall we, in the matter of your reward.” Santa gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk.

Jake walked over and eagerly took a seat.

“As promised, for the safe return of my poor, misguided Humbug, one Christmas wish granted—whether I approve or not, no questions asked. Have you had a chance to figure out what you want?” Santa asked, taking a sip of his hot cocoa.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Come and tell me in my ear.” Santa put his mug down and beckoned him around the desk with a businesslike flick of his white-gloved fingers.

Heart pounding, Jake rose and stepped around the desk. He felt a little silly—this seemed an exercise for little kids—but with a real Christmas wish at stake, he was not taking any chances.

He leaned down and whispered his request in Santa’s ear.

“Hmm,” the old man said
.

Jake straightened up again and stepped back, nervously t
rying to read Santa’s reaction. It was hard to judge his expression behind the big, snowy beard.

“Hmm,” he said again. Then he glanced shrewdly at Jake. “I’m impressed
. That’s a good wish.” Santa nodded, studying him. “A very good wish, actually. That’s what you want? You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

“Can you do it?”

“Course I can.” Santa gave him a don’t-insult-me glance. “It’s done.”

Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s it?”

His blue eyes twinkled behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Look into the matter after Christmas morning if you doubt me. I think you will be pleased. Now then, since you’ve proven yourself such a reliable young man, leading your friends through such treacherous dangers, I wonder if I might ask you for a favor?”

“Me? Certainly, I’d be honored.”

“Good lad!” Santa rose from his desk. “I wouldn’t normally bother a civilian with something like this. It’s just we’re in the final countdown to Christmas, and I find myself a little short on time. But steps must be taken, and quickly, to reverse the effects of that nasty Spiteful Spice our little friend sprinkled all over those poor bakeries.”

“Humbug confessed?
” Jake asked in surprise. “Fancy that. We said we wouldn’t tell on him.”

“And that was very generous of you, considering ho
w horrid he was to you all. But no. He didn’t have to tell me what he’d done. I already knew.” With a low chuckle, Santa tapped the side of his nose in the age-old sign of secrecy, then he moved around his desk and headed toward the fireplace.

“Blimey,” Jake murmured, turning in his chair.
Santa really did seem to know everything about everybody. “How can I help?”

“One moment and I’ll show you.” With heavy footfalls Santa strode across the room
and lifted a large and very pretty snow globe off the mantel.

It looked familiar. Then Jake realized he had seen a matching one in Mrs. Claus’s kitchen. He watched curiously as Santa gave it a shake and
made the “snow” inside it fly.

Setting it back on the mantel, wh
ich was at eye level with him, Santa pressed the brass button on the front of the snow globe’s painted wooden base. Under the button, the little plaque said:
Push To Call
. He leaned toward the snow globe and said loudly: “Come in, Lollipop! This is Midnight Flier. Do you read me?”

Mrs. Claus’s face suddenly appeared in the snow globe.

“Right here, dear.” Busy managing her domain, she stepped into view drying her hands on a dish towel. Jake could see parts of her kitchen behind her, and was intrigued to realize the enchanted snow globes were some sort of communication device. “What can I do for you, love?”

“I need that, uh…
oh, what’s it called?” He cast about. “The fluffy, white, powdery stuff. In the jar. The doctor what’s-his-name concoction? It’s on the tip of my tongue—”

“
The Dr. Starshine’s,” she said, as though reading his mind.

He snapped his fingers. “That’s the one!”

She smiled. “On its way.” Mrs. Claus gestured to an elf to bring it to him at once. Then she turned back to Santa. “Anything else, dear?”

“Better send the young’uns to the parlor
, Lolli. Master Jake and I are almost done here.”

“Oh, what did he wish for?” Mrs. Claus asked
in suspense.

“Tell you all about it over supper. What are we having, by the way?”

“Your favorite. Roast beef.”

“Hello, Mrs. Claus!” Jake waved
to her in the background.

“Hello again, Jake! Oh, sorry
! Pudding’s boiling over. Lollipop out!” She reached toward her snow globe and pressed the button, and the image inside the glass ball disappeared.

“Clever device,” Jake remarked.

“Yes, they’re very handy.” Santa had no sooner turned away from the snow globe when there was a knock on the door.

At about knee level.

Blazes
, thought Jake. He knew by now that Christmas elves were fast, but even Santa looked surprised at how quickly the elf had arrived from Mrs. Claus’s kitchen on the far end of the Great Igloo. He answered the door, bending down to take the concoction from his little helper.

A moment later, he
returned, carrying a red and white striped jar with a silver metal lid. “Here we are. Dr. Starshine’s Delightful Elven Dusting Sugar. It’s very simple to use. Just flip the metal spout up on the lid and shake some of this stuff on anyone or anything Humbug might’ve tainted with the Spiteful Spice.”

“What does it do?”

“Turns them sweet, of course. But you must see to this task as soon as you possibly can. The longer the Spiteful Spice sits, the more it soaks in, the more powerful it becomes, and the nastier the effects.”

“I’ll do it right away,
sir, as soon as I get back to London. Though…I don’t know exactly when that might be.”

“Ha! Come with me. We’ll get you home tonight.”

“Really?” Jake’s eyes widened. He jumped up eagerly out of his chair. “How?”

“You’ll see. Let’s go meet your friends in the parlor.”

Santa finished the last gulp of his hot chocolate and headed for the door. Jake trailed after him but hung back, hesitating slightly.

This was his only chance to ask Santa the painful question that had
long troubled him. “Can I ask you something, Santa?”

The old man paused halfway to the door and turned around. “Of course. What is it, lad?”

Jake faltered. “I didn’t really like you in the past. Because it seemed like you always forgot about kids like me.”

Sadness wreathed his
lined face. “My dear boy.”

Jake swallowed hard. As difficult as this was, he had to ask, for his fellow orphans’ sake. And his own. “Why didn’t you ever come? To the orphanage, I mean. Was it because we were all too bad to be give
n any presents? Were we on the Naughty list? I mean, I for one probably deserved it, but the little ones, like Petey…”

“No, no, no. Oh, my dear lad.” Santa came toward him with a pained look. “I’m so sorry you felt forgotten
, Jake. But the truth is, I did come. I was there. Every year, without fail.”

“What?” Jake stared at him. “I never saw you.”

“You were sleeping. That’s always been my policy, to visit while the children are asleep.”

Well, that’s convenient,
he thought skeptically, eyeing the old fellow for signs of deception. “Why is that?” he challenged him.

“Because if people could see me right there in the room, they’d have proof that I’m real and then they wouldn’t have to
believe
. Believing is what Christmas is all about, Jake,” Santa said.

Santa’s answer reminded Jake of
the Snow Maiden’s angry words about her grandfather’s stubborn refusal to prove his existence to the world. “
If they want to believe or not, that’s up to them,”
she had reported him as saying.

“
I would
like
people to trust in me even if they don’t have any proof. Besides,” Santa continued, gazing at him, “presents are nice, but they’re not the main thing, are they? No. The main thing, the most important part of Christmas, Jake, is the love. And every year, when I stopped in the orphanage, I walked among all you dear, sleeping children, and I always gave you that. Like this.” He held up his hand and a sprinkling of the most delicate gold dust rained down from his white-gloved fingertips.

Jake stared at it in wonder.

“Even if you can’t see me or don’t believe I’m there, the love soaks in—just the opposite of Spiteful Spice—and helps you find the strength to keep on going. The truth is, I can’t always leave presents, even for good children. It’s, just, well, it’s a big world, and sometimes, I need people of goodwill like you to help me in that department. But that doesn’t mean that you and the other orphans were
ever
forgotten. You always had my love.”

Jake w
as silent for a moment, not sure what to say to that.

“Well,” he forced out awkwardly, “i
t’s nice to know at least somebody cared.” Then he smiled. “I do have to admit, though, a present now and then would have been nice.”

“Ah, Jake,” Santa said with a smile. “The greatest Present of all was given to mankind
on the very first Christmas, long ago. You think my little trinkets can ever top that?” He shook his head fondly. “No, the toys and treats I bring are only reminders of the
true
gift of His pure love, and I myself am only a shadow of who the real Giver is.”

Reverently, Jake absorbed this
and could only regret his preoccupation with “trinkets,” as Santa had called them. Hadn’t he learned on his recent trip to Wales to see the goldmine he had inherited, that material things were not the answer to all life’s problems?

The old man laid a kindly
hand upon his shoulder. “Now then. Are you ready to go home, Jake? I daresay Miss Helena is frantic, trying to find you and your companions.”

He managed a nod. “We’ve got a Nativity play to put on in our country village.
It means the world to Aunt Ramona.”

“
I know.” Santa gave him a wink and said, “Follow me.”

They left the office. Santa
led him to the parlor in the Clauses’ private living quarters within the Great Igloo.

There
, Jake was reunited with his friends.

Da
ni came running. “Mrs. Claus said Santa has a way to get us home this very night!”

“She wouldn’t tell us how, though,” Isabelle chimed in.

“I’m hoping it’s in the sleigh,” Archie confided.

“Caw.” Red looked worried that he might have to pull it.
The Gryphon had come in last, shoving the parlor door closed behind him with his tail. He prowled over to sit on the floor beside Jake.

“Don’t worry, Gryphon, you
don’t need the sleigh for this mode of travel,” Santa said. “Jake, I trust you have an unused chimney somewhere in your house?”

“Yes, sir.” He immediately thought of
the fireplace in an extra bedchamber on the upper floor of Everton House—the one Gladwin used to come and go as she pleased.

“Excellent.” Santa strolled to
the fireplace on the parlor’s back wall.

Jake furrowed his
brow as the old man unhooked a candy cane from where it hung on a branched candelabra sitting on the mantel. To their surprise, Santa bent back the straight end of the candy cane, revealing a hidden key within.

H
e fitted the key into a discreet keyhole in the narrow edge of the mantel. He turned it, and they heard a click; a portion of the fireplace bricks popped forward, like the door to a hidden safe, about one foot square.

“A secr
et compartment?” Archie murmured.

Santa smiled at him and
pushed the brick façade aside. He reached into the compartment, pulling out a sliding shelf.