by Rachel Ford
Here, he paused. “Wait, what now?”
“We will attack on the morrow. You will fly the sleigh. You have proven yourself more than adept at that. I will –”
Jack shook his head. “Hold on, hold on. I’m supposed to be getting off the island.”
“You will,” Estelle said. “But it won’t be safe to fly until Krampus is dead. He will shoot you down if he sees you trying to escape.”
He scowled at her. “So I’m not going anywhere until we defeat Krampus?”
Mrs. Winter apparently took this to be a statement rather than a question, because she clasped his hand. “Thank you, Jack. I’m glad you see it our way. We will work together to defeat the monster that has plagued Pleasant Vale. And then, when the skies are safe, you shall take your leave whenever you see fit.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The first order of business was contact with Mayor Cristobal. And – naturally – that fell to Jack. The sleigh that was too dangerous to fly off the island apparently would be safe enough to fly down to town. Because those were Jack’s objectives.
Fly to Pleasant Vale.
Speak to Mayor Cristobal.
Convince the people of the Vale to join the siege.
Now that the gifts had all been delivered, Jack could fit his entire party into the sleigh. Even Shimmerfax and Frosty – the least annoying of the four names the game allowed him to pick for the dragon – fit.
Jack wasn’t happy about any of this, of course. He didn’t want to be running back and forth, or sieging Krampus’s creepy castle. But it was all fairly predictable, too. The developers would drag the quest out for as long as possible, and another trip to and from the Vale was just another way to do that.
So he piled into the sleigh with the others. Arath plunked down beside him, smelling vaguely of wine and vomit. He didn’t look much better than he smelled. The others all crammed in wherever they’d fit.
“I won’t be sorry to see the last of that place,” the ranger declared as they lifted off.
“Me either,” Migli sighed.
“Nor of its mistress,” Arath said.
Ceinwen laughed, and Karag snorted. “If it’s any comfort, I’m sure the feeling is mutual.”
“She’s a fool,” the ranger declared, “and a wretch. She deliberately made fools of Migli and me, after leading us on all day. And then compounded our humiliation by chumming it up with you lot.” He cast a contemptuous glance around the sleigh.
“Oh, really,” Karag said, “you mustn’t be so hard on yourself, old boy. You must take credit where you’ve earned it. The lady had nothing whatever to do with you looking a fool. That was entirely your own handiwork, and you deserve the credit.”
Ceinwen smirked, but Migli shook his head. “That’s not true at all. She did lead us on. She was all smiles and friendliness, until she snapped our heads off.”
“Yes, friendliness,” the elf woman said. “She was friendly. Not flirting.”
Arath shook his head. “She was definitely flirting.”
“No,” Jack said, “she wasn’t.”
“She just lost her father,” Er’c put in. “She was in tears half the day. Honestly, Mr. Arath, I don’t understand how you would even arrive at the conclusion that her friendliness was anything more than that.”
Arath glanced over to the dwarf. “Well, look at that, Migli: it seems we must stand corrected. The boy and the virgin have opinions.”
“Next,” the dwarf snorted, “you’ll be telling me Pepper wasn’t enjoying my company.”
“Oh, she was,” Ceinwen said. “Until you shamelessly propositioned her boss right in front of her.”
He ignored her, though, and shook his head. “I tell you, I’m a bard, and I know all the great songs of women and love. And I’ve made my own personal study of them besides; and not even I understand the ways of women.”
Arath nodded. “They’re insensible creatures.”
“One minute, they’ll have nothing but eyes for you; and the next, they’ll refuse to even acknowledge your existence.”
Karag shook his head. “You know what would really teach them? If a pair of catches like you two swore off women for a while. Or, forever.”
Ceinwen smirked again. “Oh yes. That would teach womankind a real lesson.”
Arath nodded. “Believe me, I’m tempted.”
“I don’t know that I subscribe to the idea of collective punishment myself,” Migli said.
Jack groaned. “I don’t know. We’re all collectively being punished by having to listen to your whining. So I guess you’re not entirely opposed to it.”
Migli turned cold eyes his way. “If you find me so bothersome, Sir Jack, maybe you should tell your ghost girlfriend to find another body to haunt.”
For the first time since they’d got into the sleigh, Arath’s grim façade cracked a little. He actually laughed. “I heard about that. Chasing the dead are we now, Jack? There’s hard pressed, and then there’s just sad.”
“You should hold your tongue more often, Arath,” Karag suggested, in tones so mild they put a shiver up Jack’s back. “It would be a pity if something you said in spite precipitated an unfortunate response. I’m sure no one would mean to harm you, of course. But at a thousand feet above ground, well, anything could happen.” He glanced over the side of the sleigh. “And it is a very long way down, isn’t it?”
“Are you threatening me?” the ranger demanded, though, for all the anger in his tone, he looked a little paler than usual.
“Of course not, my dear fellow. I’m only pointing out that an injudicious word – especially on matters so volatile as lost loved ones – might cause someone to commit a hasty and regrettable bit of violence. And we would all be so very sorry to lose you. Wouldn’t we?”
A few half-grunts and noncommittal murmurs sounded.
“You see? Do yourself, and all of us, a favor, and say no more.”
Arath scowled, but he followed the giant’s command all the same. So they passed the rest of the journey in silence.
It was almost dark by now, and the lights of the town blazed in the late dusk. Cristobal’s manor was lit up in a hundred colors, and Jack guided the sleigh toward it. This time, he landed not on the roof, but in the yard. “You stay here, Shimmerfax and Frosty. The rest of you, follow me.”
They did as he said – all but the little dragon, who scampered along after them. Jack didn’t notice him until they’d reached the door. And by then, it was too late, because Klaus opened it even before he knocked. He was wearing a dark blue suit that seemed to be caught in the middle of a magical storm, as shimmering flakes fluttered all around it, vanishing before they hit the floor. He had the same almost manic energy about him as before, and a great, broad smile that lit up his entire face.
“Mister Jack: Merry Christmas to you, my friend. And to all of you, good tidings. Come in. Do, come in. We’re just sitting down to dinner. Will you not join us?”
“We can’t,” Jack said. “Thank you. We’d love to. But we’re on a mission from the Winters.”
Klaus clasped his hand. “Oh, the dear Winters. You must express my deepest gratitude to Father Winter. He’ll know what I’m talking about. Tell him, he saved Christmas, and I am eternally grateful. Yes, tell him that. And it’s no exaggeration. He’ll know what I mean.”
“I would,” Jack said. “But…well, that’s part of why we’re here. Father Winter is dead.”
That seemed to suck the life out of the little man. He demanded the story, of course, but long gone was his good cheer. He listened and nodded grimly, and said now and again, “What an unmerry business,” or “what wicked tidings,” or, “truly, this is a season of despair.”
“So,” Jack concluded, “we need to speak to the mayor right away. The Ladies Winter are planning a counteroffensive, to stop Krampus once and for all.”
Klaus nodded, a little color coming back to his cheeks. “Yes. Yes, of course. We must respond. We have no choice. Not now. Not wit
h Winter dead. Oh, what a wicked season this is.”
With several such lamentations, he led them to the dining room. Cristobal was there, and so were a good many members of the community. He glanced up when Jack and his party entered, but beckoned them in. “Come, join us. Join us! There are seats aplenty.” He stared dubiously at Karag. “Although, I’m not quite sure if we have any to fit that fellow. And the little creature – I do hope it is house trained?”
Once more, Jack told his tale; and once more, his listeners gasped and lamented the unseasonable nature of his wicked tidings. Finally, he got to his point. “Lady Winter requests that you and the people of the Vale join her and the residents of the North Pole in a siege to end Krampus’s reign of terror once and for all.”
But unlike Klaus, whose answer had been an immediate affirmation, the mayor shifted in his seat. “Oh dear. Oh I see. Well, yes, I suppose that would be her response. She lost her husband. Oh dear.”
Jack frowned. “Does that mean you will join them?”
“Well, I would love to say that we will, of course.”
“Then say it,” Karag said, a bit contemptuously. “It is your town she is fighting for as much as the North Pole.”
“I would, of course. But really – well, I don’t suppose outsiders will understand. But I am not convinced this is the right way to do it. No, no I’m not convinced at all.
“I do understand Mother Winter’s thinking. Of course I do. And I sympathize deeply for her loss. But I am mayor of Pleasant Vale, not the North Pole. I must do what is best for the Vale.
“I cannot allow my town to be drawn into conflicts without just cause.”
“You have a demon shooting people out of the sky over your town,” Ceinwen said. “Is that not reason enough?”
“Well…not to put too fine a point on it…but no. You may have noticed, my pretty elven friend, that we of the Vale do not travel by sky. Only those from the North Pole use such conveyance. So if Krampus really is shooting people out of the sky as you say – and I don’t doubt your word, of course. But if he is doing that, I do not see that as an attack on my people, but a provocation to – or a response to a provocation from – the people of the Pole.”
Karag snorted with contempt. Arath shrugged. “He’s got a point, Jack. The old woman can fight her own battles. These people don’t have a plum in this pie.”
Jack tried, and failed, to persuade the mayor to aid Lady Winter. He was all apologies and sympathy, and he hoped very much that Jack would do his sentiments justice to the lady, and so on and so forth. But the long and short of it was the North Pole was on its own.
Then, tiring of the conversation, he declared it done. “I would implore you to dine with us. But I imagine the lady needs her answer as soon as possible, and I would not inconvenience her for anything – not even the pleasure of your company.” Then, with a quick nod to Klaus, he said, “See them back to their sleigh, will you, Klaus?”
Jack had half a mind to speak to Richard and ask what he’d done wrong. But then the game alerted him,
Objective complete: Speak to Mayor Cristobal
The final objective, the one to convince the people of the Vale to join him, remained active. Which led Jack to suspect that the mayor wasn’t the endgame. He had the horrible idea that he might wind up paying dozens of house calls all over town to persuade people on an individual basis.
Klaus, meanwhile, ushered them out. “This way, if you please. We mustn’t keep Lady Winter waiting.”
Jack followed the other man with a scowl, regretting, now, that he’d ever helped him with his suit. Is this the way you thank your fairy godfather? Bastard.
Klaus led them to the door, speaking loudly as they went. “I hope your flight back is a safe one. Do remember us to the lady, with the mayor’s best.” Then, though, just as Jack was stepping outside, the other man caught his arm. Speaking in a quick, low tone, he said, “You and the lady are right, Sir Jack; we must not sit idly by. So tell the lady: we will be there.”
Jack frowned at him. “But Cristobal said…”
Klaus brushed his objection aside. “The mayor must do what he thinks is right, of course. But we are free citizens. We will be there.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“We will be there,” Klaus said again, this time with a firmness that would brook no argument. “Leave it to me. Do you understand?”
“Uh…yeah. Great.”
Klaus nodded in the same resolute way and shut the door on him. An alert flashed through Jack’s thoughts.
Objective complete: Convince the people of the Vale to join the siege.
Chapter Twenty-Two
For Jack, the interim between his return and the battle was spent mostly in eating and drinking comfortably in the ice palace. Then, bored with listening to Migli’s lamentations put to song, and Arath’s lamentations uttered in gruff, half-drunk outbursts, he turned in and slept the remaining time away. He couldn’t do it all at once. Without the influence of alcohol in his system, his sleep came in spurts – twenty minutes here, half an hour there. This was a point he decided he should also make to Jordan: he’d slept soundly after intoxication. No big deal in real life, but he’d consumed digital alcohol – and his mind had responded as if it had been real, just like it had with the hangover.
He had the sinking feeling that the barrier between the real world and the game world was coming down in his mind. What would come of him when that happened, he didn’t want to venture to guess.
So he focused on the battle before him. And finally, the appointed hour arrived. Despite Klaus’s assurance that the people of Pleasant Vale would join them, no one showed up. Lady Winter had declared that they would prosecute their siege regardless of the success of Jack’s mission. Still, he was a little disappointed in the little man. For all his indefatigable manner and unwavering confidence, it had come to nothing anyway.
He and his companions met at the sleigh. He wasn’t sure about taking Frosty with them. Though the little guy had wings, he’d never used them in Jack’s presence; nor had he used the frost breath that he apparently had. But the dragon seemed incapable of following orders. So though Jack told him to stay put, it scampered along behind them all the same, jumping through the snowbanks and chasing snowflakes this way and that.
Elfkin had mounted a cannon on the side of the sleigh, which Jack rather looked forward to utilizing. So he got in the sleigh first, a little eagerly. Frosty followed. Karag waited outside as the companions assembled and stopped them one at a time. “Migli, I have something that might be of use to you,” he told the dwarf, pulling the quill he’d swiped from old Mr. Pecksniff’s house from his pack. “You are a poet. I thought such a weapon might be useful for you. It deals a lingering damage that will drain your enemy’s health rather drastically.”
“Arath, I believe your specialty is ranged weaponry. This ruler will boost your effectiveness in close quarters combat. The crushing damage will cripple your opponent’s limbs.”
The ranger had eyed the giant suspiciously at first, but upon receipt of the weapon, he started to grin. “Smashing bones, eh? I like it.”
For Shimmerfax, Karag had the old witch’s knitting needle. “It’ll add a good deal of range to your horn,” he explained. The battlecorn whinnied excitedly.
Here, Karag seemed to run out of bounty to share. For when Ceinwen stepped up, he had nothing for her. “I’m afraid my travels did not put me in the way of anything that might be of use to you,” he told her.
She raised an eyebrow at that, but said, “Oh. Well, that’s fine.”
Arath snort-laughed from inside the sleigh. “You got a woman no gift, and she says it’s fine? You’re a dead man now.”
Karag and Ceinwen shot him dirty looks. “I only mean that her skills are well-balanced, and she is more than capable. You cannot improve upon that which is already ideal.”
It was Migli’s turn to snort. “An impressive save. You’d have made a good poet yourself, my friend.
”
Ceinwen ignored them both, and said in low tones to the giant, “I hope you have something for Er’c, at least.”
The giant blinked, then glanced at the boy, who was just now running into the courtyard, and nodded. “Of course.”
She studied him a bit skeptically, and no wonder: his tone had sounded anything but certain. Then, though, she nodded. “Good. We are a team; it would not do to leave him out.”
“Of course,” Karag said again, and stood rooted to the spot with a thoughtful frown plastered to his face.
Er’c, meanwhile, sprinted up offering his apologies. “I hope I’m not late. I was helping Pepper enchant her armor, and before I knew it…” He glanced up at the frowning giant. “Is everything alright?”
“What? Oh, yes. I was just waiting for you, is all.”
“For me? Why?”
“The holiday spirit has seized him,” Arath said. “He’s giving out gifts.”
“Weapons,” Jack said. “He’s giving everyone weapons. Well, almost everyone.” He was trying to be a good sport about being left out, but it did rankle a little.
Arath nodded. “Best type of gift I can think of.”
“Oh.” The boy’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s very kind of you, Mr. Karag.”
The giant laughed a little nervously. “Not at all.” The boy stood there, waiting expectantly. Finally, Karag sucked in a long breath, and fished around in his pack. He produced the blunderbuss. “Right. This – this is for you.”
Jack scowled. He would have loved to have got his hands on that, but Karag had been insistent on keeping it for himself. And now he’d parted with it after all.
Er’c, though, beamed. “This is a princely gift, Mr. Karag. I am in your debt.”
“Don’t mention it,” the giant said. “Please.”
Then, they piled into the sleigh, Er’c in the throes of rapturous excitement, and Karag glum and resigned to the loss of his prize weapon.
