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

by Foley, E. G.

  Crystal led them around the perimeter of the huge, domed gift-sorting area in which they had first arrived.

  On the far side of the room, they followed her through a tunnel of giant candy canes just as a small, brightly painted passenger train came chugging around a bend in the hallway to their left, heading toward their stop. The steam whistle blew and the train began to slow.

  “Gift Sorting!” called the conductor, riding on the engine seat in front. He was a plump elf dressed in green overalls, and tipped his striped hat to Crystal as the train glided to a halt. “Welcome, guests!”

  When the train stopped, some elves jumped off the little open train cars and others jumped on.

  “Come, VIPs sit up front.” Crystal beckoned them into the first train car, which was slightly larger than the elf-sized ones behind it.

  “Where you headed?” the conductor asked.

  “Kitchen,” Crystal told him.

  “Have you there in no time. All aboard!” he called one more time, blowing the whistle to summon any other elves who needed to get to another part of the Great Igloo.

  None came, so off they went.

  The kids (and the Gryphon) stared in wonder at all the fascinating departments they passed as the train wound through Santa’s elaborate North Pole operation.

  Given that the elevator had spit them out in Gift Sorting, the last stop before the presents were delivered, they viewed the various steps in reverse order as the train made its rounds.

  For example, before the presents could be sorted, of course they had to be wrapped. Gift Wrapping had miles of colorful paper on spools and long tables where the elves were hard at work, judging just the right length of paper to cut and making perfect creases on every box in sight.

  Next door was the Bow Department, where elves tied ribbons into perfect bows and handed them up to doves, who flew off over the wall divider into Gift Wrapping, and dropped them onto the presents, just where they were needed.

  Farther down the tracks came a dizzying array of workrooms dedicated to the making to various types of presents: Dolls, Doll Wardrobe, Doll Furniture, Doll Houses, Stuffed Animals, Ball Department, Sports Equipment, Jump Ropes, Art Supplies, Telescopes, Scientific Toys, Educational Toys, Figurines, Music Boxes, Books, Toy Painting Department, Carpentry.

  Archie pointed eagerly at the next workroom, where elf scientists and engineers in white lab coats and goggles were discussing their sketches of strange toys on large chalkboards.

  “Research and Development?” he read aloud.

  “Toys of the future.” Crystal nodded sagely.

  “Look, Puppies!” Dani pointed into the next room, a large, loud but cozy kennel, where a dozen elves were trying to contain the yipping, tail-wagging, floor-soiling, irresistible puppies running and tumbling around. The kids laughed, watching the elves chase the puppies about, trying to capture them so they could be tucked into Christmas stockings for delivery to their new owners.

  Kittens came next, and you can imagine the trouble it caused when one of these escaped (as kittens tend to do) into the area for Puppies.

  Across the hallway was a glassed-in overlook onto the Reindeer Training arena below, according to the sign. Then they saw the proof of it and gasped as a reindeer leaped up off the sawdust track and flew up past the glass, and higher, into the open space under the high dome.

  It circled around and was followed by another. Santa’s famous reindeer were doing a few laps to exercise their legs ahead of their marathon night of delivering toys. The kids marveled, watching the reindeers’ galloping strides in midair.

  But the indoor train chugged on, past a section of rooms grouped under a hanging sign above the tracks that said Decorations. On the right was Garlands & Wreaths. Across from it was Flowers, with endless rows of bright poinsettias and lush amaryllis growing under warm lamps. Elves in garden gloves misted their blooms with little squeeze bottles and made sure to talk to the plants, telling them how pretty they were.

  The next department kept its glass door shut because, though shielded from the wind, its back wall was open to the elements. Jake’s eyes widened as he read the placard over the door: White Christmas.

  “I thought Jack Frost handled all the snow,” he said.

  “Well, he’s young, you know boys in their teens…he’s just a wee bit casual about showing up on time,” Crystal said discreetly. “Santa likes to keep his own backup supply of Christmas Eve snow, just in case.”

  “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 rubbed 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 paper 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, but 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 emo
tions. “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

  Crystal 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, and 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.

  “Eat 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.

  It was time to see about his reward.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A Sprinkling of Sugar

  “Sir?”

  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 into 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 trying 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?”