Rudolph Saves Christmas

11: The Real Fake Real One

It seemed very dark inside the Toy Factory, especially in contrast to the sunny brightness of the practically unbroken white outside.

Hulking shapes loomed threateningly above him as Rudolph walked slowly forward. He paused and moved back to the doors. The crack of light from where he'd come in wasn't enough to illuminate more than a couple of feet inside. That's feet as in length, not feet as those things stuck to the ends of your legs. If he'd seen any of those, Rudolph would quite possibly have run back out of the doors, preferring the wrath of the snowmen to whatever horrors any dismembered feet might bring.

He knew he risked being discovered, but there were so many large dark silhouettes menacing him that he needed to know what was just a pile of boxes and presents and what was, possibly, something much more sinister. If he was to face someone Naughty, he'd much rather do it where he could see.

He crept over to Flop, or what there was of him.

"Shut the door," the little (or littler now) squirrel said. "You'll be seen!"

"And I can see him," said Rudolph. "Neither of us can hide now."

"Yes, but you need to hide to see what's going on!"

Ah. Good point...

"Too late now," said Rudolph. "I'll see you soon."

I hope, he thought, as he turned and walked deeper into the Factory.

The Toy Factory was a wonder of hidden rooms and staircases that seemed to go in three and a half different directions at once. Rooms were often found inside others, either sharing doorways or having the entrance to one being the exit to another. Some where no bigger than 4 feet 2 and an exceedingly essential bit, whilst others were cavernous spaces filled from floor to ceiling with gifts or wrapping or ribbons. But it didn't matter how insane the design seemed to be, you always ended up exactly where you needed to go. If you wanted the office of Williamson Williams, chief dice numberer, then three right turns and a left and you'd be there. Or four left turns and a right, up a flight of stairs and fourth door along. Or second door on from Pinchet and his doll shoes. It really didn't matter which route you took as you always found the precise office or storeroom you wanted.

Which was how Rudolph, with his nose not-so-bright, found himself stepping out behind The Chair. Big and red, with dents in the seat that two elves could sit in. The Chair. Santa's throne! Not that Santa ever felt or acted like he ruled the elves. Everyone had a say in things here, but, when it came down to it, Santa was in charge. And The Chair was where he ran the Factory. A massive desk stood in front of it, covered in jottings and notes and doodles and two books. The covers of both were red, but in one there was a long list of names - the Nice children. Those that had been good all year. Or even mostly good for most of the year.

In the other book was a much shorter list, but one that seemed to be growing longer year by year.

This was the Naughty list. This was the register of names for those that wouldn't know Nice if it came along and bit them on the bum every Wednesday from now till next Christmas.

A low, rumbling came from The Chair. Rudolph's heart was thumping so loud he thought it was playing drums for a rock band. Surely someone would be able to hear its frantic beating. He crept closer and peered slowly over the back corner of the arm. One of the problems of being a reindeer, apart from the over-sensitive glowing red nose, was that you had antlers sticking out of the top of your head like a television aerial. And they couldn't even pick up SpongeBob. They made peering or peeking or just plain sneaking very difficult indeed.

He just managed to stifle a gasp before it jumped out and betrayed him. There, in The Chair, head lolling to one side like a ragdoll's that had been thrown in a corner and forgotten about, was Santa! And he was snoring, his nose snorting and his throat grumbling in turn as his mighty chest rose and fell with each breath.

It wasn't just the elves and the reindeer who had been Dazzled! It was the father of Christmas too! Someone was playing a very dangerous game indeed, if they dared to tackle Santa!

Then Rudolph saw beyond The Chair. He saw the desk. He saw the figure standing over two very special books, pen scribbling furiously. The names in the Nice List were being scrawled out! As each was crossed through, it was disappearing, to reappear again in the Naughty book. The hand holding the pen was a blur as it moved feverishly across the pages, the other hand flicking them over one after another after another.

Rudolph looked up to the face of the saboteur and this time the gasp managed to escape and jump the gap between them, landing right in the other's ear. A long, pointy ear. The ear of an elf. The ear of...

"Ethelbert...?"