Christmas in the Multiverse

by R E McLean

  “No,” said Horace.

  “You’re making a mistake.”

  “We don’t believe you. You can stay there till Boxing Day.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  The hatch slammed shut.

  Alex slumped back. She was stuck in a tiny room in a parallel universe with a Santa who’d proved to be nothing like the myths she’d believed and another who was recovering from a blow to the head. She had no idea where thecae had sent the other Santas. She could only hope her dad was safe.

  And Christmas only knew where Rudolph had got to.

  She pulled the remains of the candy cane from inside her elf outfit. Luckily it was too small for the elves to have spotted it.

  She looked at the ur-Santa.

  “You don’t deserve this, you know,” she told him.

  She popped the candy into her mouth and bit down.

  There was a pop and a puff of smoke.

  Mike had disappeared. She was alone with the ur-Santa. And all the candy had gone.

  Fifteen

  Fat Cat

  He looked down at her empty hand. “You were supposed to get me out of here.”

  “I’m supposed to fix this situation. If you don’t make nice with those elves, Christmas won’t be happening. You need to negotiate with them.”

  “Negotiate? I’m Santa. The real thing. Saint Nick. Father Christmas. Sinterklaas. Kris Kringle. I don’t negotiate with anyone.”

  “Things change.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  He spread his legs wide, filling the space. She shifted away from him then thought better of it and pushed back.

  “Tell me,” she said. “How do you get down all those chimneys?”

  “You should know that.”

  “You’re right. It’s quantum entanglement. Means you can be in two places at once, no matter how distant. Multiply it out and you can be everywhere in the multiverse at the same time.”

  “That hobby horse was wasted on you.”

  “So why can’t you apply that to the workshop?”

  “The workshop isn’t my responsibility. It’s the elves’”

  “But you oversee things.”

  “Not since the Christmas Eve uprising of 1913.”

  “The what?”

  “They rebelled. Told me they wouldn’t do what I said anymore. Took over management themselves.” He stroked his beard. “I have to admit, they turned out to be rather good at it. And it means I can put my feet up between Christmas Eves.”

  “You really are a fat cat, aren’t you?”

  He stopped stroking. “Don’t compare me to one of those ghastly creatures.”

  “You know what I mean. Sitting on your massive behind, taking all the credit for the work the elves do. There are plenty like you on my Earth.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Christmas would be nothing without me.”

  “Hmmpf.”

  He went back to stroking his beard. She watched him, the germ of an idea growing. Fat cat…

  She hammered on the door.

  “Elves!” she shouted. “I know how to solve all your problems. I just need a box!”

  Sixteen

  Box

  The hatch opened. It was a new elf, dressed in a purple jacket and yellow tights.

  “Nice outfit,” she said. “Sarita would approve.”

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

  “Sorry. Look, I know how to fix this. I just need a cardboard box.”

  “A cardboard box?”

  “Yes. An empty one.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I promise you, this is for real.”

  “You’re just going to get in it and disappear.”

  “How would I do that?”

  A shrug. “You’re with him. You’re going to play a trick on us.”

  Horace shoved the purple and yellow elf to one side.

  “What are you trying to get past Violet here?”

  “I need an empty cardboard box. I can use it to solve your problem. Reduce your workload.”

  “How is a cardboard box going to reduce our workload? Do you know the hours he makes us work?”

  “I do. And I think it’s wrong. But I can help.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Just let me try. A box, please?”

  He rubbed his nose. It glowed at the tip.

  “Alright then. But out here, with us watching. And he stays in there.”

  The hatch slammed shut.

  Alex stared at it, her breath shallow. The ur-Santa was breathing down her neck. She pushed him away.

  “You heard them.”

  He muttered and drew back. “You’d better get us out of here.”

  “I will,” she said. “And you’ll start treating those elves with some respect. You don’t want to put Christmas at risk again, do you?”

  He wrinkled his nose.

  There was the sound of a lock being slid open. Then another, and another. At last the door opened a crack. A small purple arm came through and grabbed Alex. Violet pulled her through the door, her feet skittering on the wooden floor.

  She stumbled out, struggling to stay upright. The door slammed shut behind her.

  She leaned against it, staring at the elves. Dozens of them surrounded her, their small beady eyes menacing.

  They were in a workshop. Long tables lined the walls, rolls of wrapping paper strewn on them and interspersed with toys. Bikes, toy ponies, LEGO Batmen. A Barbie stared at her, its blue glare accusing.

  Horace wove through the crowd. He held a brown cardboard box at arm’s length.

  “Here you are. Prove yourself.”

  “Thank you.”

  She took the box and held it in front of her. Her idea had seemed so sensible when she was talking to the ur-Santa, so scientifically logical. But now she was standing in a room full of angry legs armed with nothing but a cardboard box.

  She opened the box’s lid. It was empty. She stared into it, remembering what the ur-Santa had told her about quantum entanglement.

  She looked back at the elves. They were looking from her to the box. She could sense them tapping their feet.

  “I need you all to look away,” she said.

  Horace shook his head. “You think we’re stupid?”

  “It doesn’t work unless you’re not observing it. Don’t you see? That’s how Santa does it. It’s why only children who are asleep get a visit. Because they can’t observe him.”

  “If we look away, you’ll escape.”

  “My only way out is back into that room. And you know I can’t get out of there, or you wouldn’t have shut me in in the first place.”

  Horace stopped rubbing his nose.

  “And if I try to run through you, you’ll feel me. Even with your eyes closed.”

  Horace sniffed. He pulled at his nose.

  “Alright then. But only for a few seconds.”

  “Perfect. You can count to five, and keep your eyes closed only for that long.”

  Horace raised a hand. The buzz that had been passing through the elves stopped.

  “Did you hear that, comrades? On my mark, we’re all to close our eyes for the count of five.”

  “Why?” came a voice at the back of the crowd.

  “Because the physics won’t work if we’re watching.”

  Alex nodded at Horace. He understood.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “This had better not be a trick.”

  “It isn’t.”

  I hope. She closed the lid of the box.

  Horace raised his hand higher. “Now!”

  The elves closed their eyes. Alex scanned them, checking that all eyes were closed.

  “One,” said Horace.

  There was a cough from the center of the crowd. Alex saw an elf open his eyes. She frowned at him and he closed them again.

  “T
wo!”

  She took a deep breath. She looked down at the box, feeling its weight in her hands. It was flimsy. She hoped they used sturdier boxes on Christmas Eve.

  “Three!”

  Alex looked up at the ceiling. Her heart was pounding. Behind her, she could hear the ur-Santa. He was singing Santa Baby again.

  She frowned.

  “Four!”

  The elves all had their eyes closed. Their chests rose and fell as one. It was as if they were in a trance.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Five!”

  She felt the box shift in her hands. It was heavy. It was moving.

  She opened her eyes. The elves were staring at her. She gripped the box tightly, worried it would slip from her hands.

  Her heart thudding against her ribcage, she prized the box open. If she was right, they would change Christmas forever. But what sort of gift would be in there? And why was it moving?

  She opened the lid fully. A head popped out. A familiar head. She stared into its eyes.

  “Miaow?”

  Seventeen

  Cat

  “Schrödinger!”

  Alex scooped the cat out of the box and gave him a hug.

  “How did you get here, boy?”

  “Miaow.”

  “Yes, I know. The magic of being a quantum cat. Well done. But you were supposed to be a present.”

  “Miaow.”

  “You’d make the perfect present. I know. But I don’t think you’re what the elves need.”

  “What’s going on?” Horace glared at Alex’s fat ginger cat, the tip of his nose glowing red.

  “This is Schrödinger. He’s a quantum cat. Likes boxes.”

  “I can see that. How does he solve our problems? We can’t give every child a cat.”

  “I’m sure they’d love it if you did.”

  “Their parents wouldn’t. Not to mention the bird population.”

  “Miaow.”

  “Sorry, Shrew,” said Alex. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “Miaow.”

  There was a thump at the door behind her. The ur-Santa was getting impatient.

  She opened the hatch. “I’m getting there.”

  “It doesn’t sound like it. I can’t put cats in all the stockings, you know.”

  “No.”

  Alex turned back to the elves.

  “You need to let him out.”

  “No way.”

  “The physics will only work with the combination of Santa and the box. And it has to be the right kind of box.”

  “All you’ve given us so far is a cat.”

  “Miaow.”

  “Shush,” Alex told Schrödinger. “You need to go home.”

  “Miaow.”

  Schrödinger wasn’t going anywhere. She held him under her arm, not an easy feat given the number of mince pies he’d been stealing from the kitchen cupboard when she wasn’t looking. There were many advantages to being a quantum cat.

  “OK,” she said. “Let me try one more time. I need three things.”

  “Three? I thought you just needed the box?” said Horace.

  “That wasn’t enough. I need a Christmassy box, not a plain one. And a letter. A child’s letter to Santa. And I need Santa to be holding the box. Or at least touching it.”

  “What else will you be wanting, the reindeer?”

  “I’ll do it in there.” She gestured towards the room where Santa was imprisoned. “You don’t have to let him out.”

  “Very well.”

  Horace opened the door, wagging a finger at Santa to make sure he didn’t budge. He pushed Alex back in. Schrödinger struggled under here arm but she managed to hang onto him, finally letting go when the door had been closed.

  “Miaow.”

  “Who’s this?” asked Santa.

  “Schrödinger. He’s my cat. He has quantum powers.”

  Santa ran a large hand down Schrödinger’s back. Schrödinger arched towards him, purring.

  “He likes me.”

  “You don’t deserve him.”

  “So, what’s all this about me holding a box?”

  “You’ll see.”

  The hatch opened. A brightly-wrapped box was pushed through, and an envelope.

  Alex opened it and read the letter inside. “This’ll do.”

  The purple and yellow elf, Violet, was peering through the hatch.

  “Letters is my job,” she said. “That’s one of my favorites. I get fed up of the kids who ask for ponies, or kittens, or world peace.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let you have it back as soon as we’re done. But I need you to close that hatch.”

  She sniffed and closed it.

  Alex turned to the ur-Santa. “Now I need you to hold these. Close your eyes.”

  The ur-Santa took the box and the letter. He rolled the letter up loosely, closed the box and placed the letter on its lid. Then he held them in his outstretched hands. His pudgy fingers made the box look tiny.

  “I’ll count to three, then we both close our eyes,” said Alex.

  “Go on.”

  “One, two—”

  “Three!” shouted the ur-Santa.

  Alex closed her eyes. She put her hand over Schrödinger’s face. He struggled against her but she held on tight.

  There was a sound. A voice.

  Alex tore the box open. There was a doll inside, with large yellow eyes.

  “Are you my mummy?” it said.

  “Takes all sorts,” said the ur-Santa.

  She banged on the door. “It worked! Let us out.”

  The hatch opened again: Horace. “Show me.”

  She held up the box, and the doll.

  “I love you,” the doll said.

  “You didn’t smuggle that in?”

  “It appeared in the box. Just like Schrödinger here in his box.”

  Horace narrowed his eyes at her.

  “Let us out,” she said. “He can replicate it.”

  “Me?” said the ur-Santa. “Just how many presents do you want me to materialize?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s like the way you travel around the world. As long as the boxes are touching, you can do as many as you want at a time. The elves just have to assemble the boxes and the letters.”

  “I can do that!” came Violet’s voice.

  “What if they don’t have letters?” asked Horace.

  “You’ll work something out,” said Alex. “Maybe they’ll duplicate from the ones with letters. Maybe you’ll hack into their computer cookies.”

  “Go on,” said Violet. “The letters have the power. Let’s do it!”

  The door opened. Alex motioned for the ur-Santa to pass. He shuffled out on his hands and knees. He was greeted by a hard silence from the elves.

  “How do we know he’ll do it?” one of them asked.

  “If he doesn’t, Christmas won’t happen,” said Alex. “You don’t want that, do you Santa?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “That’s it then. Violet, get some more letters. Make a pile of boxes.”

  The elves dashed around the room, jostling each other. Violet ran outside and returned with a bulging sack full of letters. Her comrades piled gift-wrapped boxes on the tables and she tossed the letters into them.

  “Right. Let’s all close our eyes,” said Alex. “One, two, three—now!”

  She scrunched her eyes shut. The room went quiet. Then there was a sound, a tiny clapping sound. It was followed by the beep of an electric toy. Then more beeping, and some whirring.

  She opened her eyes. The beeping and whirring had been joined by louder, more worrying sounds. Meowing. Barking. The squeak of hamsters. And a pony braying. It tore its way out of a box, shaking its pink mane.

  Violet shrugged. “We were lucky. Normally more of them ask for ponies.”

  Schrödinger leaped out of Alex’s arms and into the melee. Torn-up wrapping paper lay in piles on the floor, a menager
ie of creatures tearing through it. Dogs ran after cats, cats ran after mice, and hamsters hid in the gaps between floorboards. The pony looked at it all dismissively then started chewing the paper.

  “This isn’t what we wanted,” said Horace.

  “Sorry,” said Alex.

  “It’s alright,” said the ur-Santa. “I can temper it.”

  “Temper it?”

  “While you all had your eyes shut, I was working hard. Imagining the children getting their perfect gift. I can amend my thought processes, shut out any thoughts of live creatures.”

  Schrödinger screeched and jumped into Alex’s arms.

  “Not you, Shrew,” said the ur-Santa, bending to tickle between his ears. He narrowed his eyes at the man. Alex wondered if they understood each other.

  “You’ll let me go, then,” she said to Horace. “And tell me where Mike is.”

  “I can do the first,” he said. “But I have no idea where your partner is. That’s all on you.”

  Eighteen

  Nose

  Alex stumbled through the snow. The elves had given her a cat basket for Schrödinger and she clutched it to her chest, ignoring his annoyed meows.

  “It’s all your fault for refusing to go into another box,” she told him.

  “Miaow.”

  “I know it had a picture of dog food on it, but still.”

  “Miaow.”

  She shook her head and trudged forwards. The elves had let her go but were unable to help her get home. She’d come here using Hive technology and she’d have to go back the same way.

  Which meant finding Rudolph.

  She whistled.

  “Rudolph!” she called. It was getting dark, and the paper-snow-covered trees glowed in the dusk.

  He could be anywhere.

  She headed down the hill. She thought of following her footsteps from earlier but there were none; either because more snow had fallen, or more likely because paper snow didn’t form footsteps.

  She looked towards the white Bay, trying to remember which way the Hall of Justice was from Mount Davidson. Normally she’d have the map of the streetlights to guide her, but here the fairy lights fell away in straight lines, fanning out from the cabin.