Authors: E.G. Foley
On it sat a strange brass device that reminded
Jake of an oversized pincushion bristling with porcelain buttons on long metal stems. Each button was painted with either a letter or a number.
“Very well,” said Santa, peering over the rim of his spectacles at Jake. “Y
our address?”
Jake told him. The old man punched the keys, carefully spelling it out.
With that, he glanced around at them. “Righty-ho! Who wants to go first, then? One at a time, step into the fireplace.”
They looked at one
other in trepidation.
“Don’t be alarmed, it’s perfectly safe. I call this ingenious bit of sorcery my Chimneyway. You go in through here
”—he gestured toward the empty fireplace—“and it spits you out on the other end at whatever address you punch in. You’ll be back in London in the twinkling of an eye.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not in the least, Miss Dani,” Santa assured her, but although they trusted him, it was a strange enough mode of travel to make them all a little nervous.
“Well, I’m the eldest. I’ll go first,” Isabelle said, much to her brother’s relief.
Gentleman that he was, Archie always felt honor-bound to protect the girls, but as a great lover of gadgets, he was keen to see the Chimneyway in action.
Isabelle stepped bravely into the fireplace, crouching down to avoid bumping her head.
“Ready?” Santa asked.
“Ready, Santa.” She waved. “Goodbye!”
“Good luck,” Dani said with a frown.
Then Santa hit the button
labeled
Go
.
A loud whooshing sound of air rushed through the room like wind through a tunnel. Isabelle’s hair blew around her in all dir
ections. She looked up into the chimney with a small gasp, then suddenly disappeared in a puff of golden sparkles.
“Izzy!” Archie started forward in shock.
“Are you next? Go on, hurry!” Santa shouted over the clamor, and waved him on.
Archie stepped uncertainly into the fireplace. Right before their eyes, the boy genius vanished, tool-bag and all, in another poof of golden sparkles.
Jake and Dani exchanged a worried glance.
“Red?” Jake waved his pet toward the hearth.
“Becaw!” The Gryphon bounded to the fireplace and had to squash himself in before he, too, disappeared.
Whoosh!
Jake waved Dani on ahead of him as well, but instead of going directly to the Chimneyway, she ran over to Santa and gave him a hug. This done, she went dutifully to the magic fireplace, and once more—poof!
The carrot-
head was gone.
Santa nodded at him with a smile. “Run along, Jake. You’ve still got a busy night ahead. Happy travels.”
“Thanks for everything, Santa. Give my best to Mrs. C!” With the jar of Dusting Sugar tucked firmly under his arm, Jake waved farewell, then bent down and stepped into the fireplace. “Hey! I almost forgot to wish you a merry—
whoa!
”
The next thing he knew, he was tumbling out of the unused fireplace at Everton House, sprawling in a heap on the rug.
Somehow he was still holding on to the Dusting Sugar and had managed not to break the glass jar.
Jumping feet were all around him. The room was filled with the cheering of his friends, who could not contain their joy at finding themselves back safely
in time for Christmas.
Teddy was also making a ruckus, barking as if to scold Dani for leaving him behind. She scooped the
little brown terrier up in her arms while Red crowed in boisterous relief.
“
What
is going on up there?” a voice suddenly shouted.
Miss Helena!
The room went silent as the girls’ pretty, black-haired governess marched in. “Where in the world have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Nobody said a word. Where to begin?
She looked at them in exasperation. “Fine. We’ll talk about it later. For now, is everyone all right?”
“Yes, Miss Helena
,” they all said, nodding innocently.
She
eyed them with skepticism and let out a huff, then called out the chamber door: “Never mind, Henry, I found them! They’re up here!”
“Well, tell them to hurry! We’re going to miss the train!” the
boys’ tutor hollered back from downstairs.
“He’s right
, you know. There’s no time to lose.” Miss Helena glanced at the locket watch that hung around her neck. “The train to Gryphondale leaves in half an hour. If we’re not on it, we’re going to miss the Nativity play—and if that happens, Her Ladyship will probably turn us all into hedgehogs. So, I suggest you hurry up!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sorry, miss,” they said, but she had already stalked off to finish preparations for their jaunt out to the country.
“Close call,” Archie murmured after she had gone.
Jake brushed the soot off his clothes. “You lot take the train with Henry and Helena. I have to go undo the bad magic from Humbug’s Spiteful Spice with this stuff. Santa said it had to be done right away.”
“Cutting it close, coz.”
“I know, but I gave my word. Don’t worry, it won’t take long. I’ll just shake a bit of this Dusting Sugar around those bakeries and on the gingerbread people, then I’ll fly to Gryphondale on Red. Is that all right with you, boy?”
“Caw!” Red bobbed his head. He knew the way to their home village blindfolded.
Jake nodded. “Thanks.”
“You’d better not be late,” Dani warned. “The vicar’s counti
ng on you to be St. Joseph.”
“And I, for one, don’t care to try life as a hedgehog,” Archie drawled.
Jake grinned at the thought. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there. Beard and all.”
“Come
on
! Time to go! Children, honestly!” Miss Helena insisted from the direction of the entrance hall.
“Red,” Jake murmured to his pet, “we’d better
get out of here before Henry and Helena start asking questions.”
“W
hat are we supposed to tell them?” Dani asked.
“Just say I wanted to keep Red company on the way to Gryphondale.
It’s Christmas Eve. Poor fellow shouldn’t have to fly out to the village all alone. It’s not like we can take him on the train.”
“Good enough,” she replied
.
“See you there,” Jake said with a curt nod in farewell.
Then they parted ways.
CHAPTER NINE
TEEN
The Gingerbread Wars
T
hough it was only five thirty in the afternoon, the early darkness of winter concealed the odd sight of a boy flying on a Gryphon over London.
A light snow blew around Jake and Red
as they hurtled through the sky. The night was cold, but nothing like the bitter temperatures they had experienced at the North Pole.
Meanwhile, in the streets below, shops were closing early.
Clerks and masters alike were eager to go and join in the festivities with family and friends. Jake hoped Bob and Marie’s bakeries were also closed by now, too.
They looked to be, he thought as Red approached.
At Jake’s urging, the Gryphon landed on the flat roof of the narrow brick building that the two bakeries shared.
With the Dusting Sugar securely tucked into his coat, Jake dismounted with a word of thanks to his trusty feathered friend, the
n crept to the edge of the roof and peered down over the side to see if anyone was coming.
At once, he
waved frantically at Red. “Get down!”
The Gryphon flattened h
imself as a bobby came sauntering down the street. When the helmeted constable passed on the sidewalk below them, Jake’s fingers twitched with the urge to dump some Dusting Sugar on him, but he doubted it was Flanagan.
Nah, he’s got all
those kids. He’s sure to be home with them tonight. It’s Christmas Eve.
Besides, if he was honest, even Jake could admit that behind that gruff exterior, Constable Flanagan was a good, stout-hearted, honest man.
After the bobby
on patrol had passed below, Jake faced the question of how to get inside. No Gladwin to let him in this time; he was going to have to use his old thieving skills.
Just as he started to get up from his cr
ouched position, Marie herself stepped out of her shop below. Keys jangling, she turned around at the front door to lock up for the night.
Jake paused.
When he saw the haughty Frenchwoman directly underneath the spot where he knelt, he could not resist giving British Bob a bit of unseen help in the romance department. He slipped the Dusting Sugar out of his coat, flipped up the silver lid, and silently shook some out onto Mademoiselle Marie.
It swirled
on the wind as it wafted down on her and mingled with the snowflakes dotting her dark velvet bonnet.
She put her keys away, none the wiser.
Merry Christmas, Bob,
Jake thought with a roguish smile.
Hope it helps.
Mademoiselle Mar
ie walked off down the lamp-lit cobbled street, alone on Christmas Eve.
As soon as she had
disappeared into the shadows, Jake stole back to Red and asked him to fly him down to the ground.
With people co
ming and going at odd hours, he did not want to risk being seen. The last thing he wanted was to get arrested and end up spending Christmas in the Clink. No magistrate would ever believe his story of breaking in simply to do a favor for Santa Claus.
No,
his best chance at avoiding detection was to go in through the back. He could climb in through the kitchen window over the sink—he remembered it well from the night he had come here to kidnap Humbug.
In short order, Red glided
him down into the alley behind the double-bakery building. Jake slid off his back and sneaked over to Chez Marie’s kitchen window. He used his telekinesis to unlock it through the glass, then he lifted up the sash.
The height of the window made it rather awkward.
He summoned Red over to give him a boost.
But as Jake stepped on
the Gryphon’s back, climbing in the window, he found himself wondering what Humbug’s fate had been after his meeting with Santa.
He never did hear if the wayward elf had been sent back to his old job in Mrs. Claus’s kit
chen or if he had been put on reindeer stall-mucking duty, as he’d feared.
Then, squeezing through the window, Jake nearly put his foot down in
a large pot full of soapy water. Apparently, it had been left to soak in the sink overnight. He fell into the kitchen with a low curse.
“Becaw?” Red pushed up onto his hind legs and peered through the window.
“I’m all right,” Jake whispered in annoyance. “Stay out of sight till I come out.”
As Red bobbed his head and flew away, Jake turned, hearing whispers
from somewhere nearby.
“Rollio, look! Who’s that coming in the window?”
“What does it matter, Juniette? Forget him. We are about to take leave of this miserable world. Oh, brokenhearted sorrow—”
“But w
hat if he’s a thief? Or a murderer?”
“So what if he is
? We have resolved to die anyway.”
“Yes, but n
ot like that! What if he steps on us? Oh, Rollio, I’m frightened! His feet are so very large.” She screamed. “He’s seen us! He’s coming this way!”
“Fear not, fair Juniette. I will protect you!
” The gingerbread boy drew his tiny candy sword and brandished it as Jake warily approached. “Stay back, foul giant!”
Jake held up his hands in a token surrender. “
Don’t worry, I only want to speak to you.” When he crouched down toward them, trying to look nonthreatening, Juniette shrieked once more and buried her pink-frosted head against her gingerbread boyfriend’s shoulder. “Please, don’t be afraid. Santa sent me. I’m here to help.”
“S
anta, you say?” Rollio asked while Juniette abruptly stopped covering her candy-button eyes. “You don’t look like an elf to me.”
“Nevertheless.”
The gingerbread couple was standing
on a low shelf above a milk pail.
Jake eyed
the scene suspiciously. “Sorry if this sounds nosy, but I couldn’t help overhearing. What’s all this about you two killing yourselves?”
Rollio and Juniette exc
hanged a glance.
“We have no choice,” the ginger-boy said at last.
“Our families have been feuding for ages. They forbid our love. We’ve tried to run away together many times, but some strange curse lies on our people and always prevents us from escaping together.”
“A curse?” Jake echoed.
Juniette nodded, apparently realizing he was not a threat after all. “We fall asleep when the sun rises. Then, when we awaken at nightfall, Rollio and I always find ourselves right back where we started, back at home with our families again—separated! There is no explanation.”
Actually, the explanation was fairly obvious to Jake.
Mademo
iselle Marie and her workers were no doubt puzzled as to why they kept finding the gingerbread pair on the floor together in the morning. They probably thought it was some kind of prank.
Jake would’ve bet that Marie blamed Bob for it, while Bob probably blamed Marie. Meanwhile, the shop employees simply kept putting Rollio and Juniette back where they belonged in their separate displays.
“Every night we try to elope together, but the curse is too strong. We can’t go on this way!” Juniette said. “’Tis too painful.”
Rollio comfort
ed her, but directed his words at Jake. “That is why we have decided to jump into this vat of milk and drown ourselves this very night. Then we shall dissolve and be together for all eternity!”
“Welcome, oblivion!” Juniette wailed most dramatically.
“But it’s Christmas Eve,” Jake protested.
“No
matter! We’d rather die together—end it all—than live apart!” Rollio declared.
“O
h, blimey.” Jake rubbed his forehead. “Now listen here, you daft pastries. You mustn’t talk like that. Nobody’s killing themselves here. For your information, your relatives are at each other’s throats because they have been
poisoned
with Spiteful Spice. That’s what makes them fight.”
“Poisoned?” they cried.
“Santa sent me with this antidote.” Jake showed them the Dusting Sugar. “It’s guaranteed to make them sweeter, more agreeable. I think…if I give them an extra-large dose, it might just make them end this family feud, and reconcile.”
“Oh, can
it really work?”
“Santa said it would, so let’s go try it. In the meanwhile, y
ou two stay away from that milk pail. Follow me.”
Rollio and Juniette barely dared h
ope that the antidote might succeed, but at this point, they had nothing to lose. They climbed down from the supply shelf and followed at a safe distance, wary of the Jake’s giant feet.
He
could hear their own tiny footsteps tapping along on the floor behind him as he left the kitchen and stalked out into the French pastry shop.
Moving stealthily
down the dark aisle, Jake went toward the gingerbread display, taking care not to bump the
Croquembouche
Christmas tree on the end.
As he approached,
he marveled to find Marie’s gingerbread Versailles in an uproar.
The fanciful meringue shepherdesses beat back Bob’s invading soldiers with their shepherd hooks, while their marshmallow sheep ran to and fro, bleating in distress.
The swans squawked in the blue-frosted fountain, trying to steer clear of long-haired courtiers clashing with the castle knights from downstairs.
Riders from a cookie cavalry whacked at enemy foot soldiers with their
candy swizzle-stick sabers; the invaders, in turn, lobbed lemon-drop cannonballs at the walls of the gingerbread palace.
One bashed a hole in the clock tower.
Jake shook his head at the melee and took the Dusting Sugar out of his coat. Pouring a bunch of it into his hand, he stepped closer and, without warning, flung it all over them.
Not even h
e was sure what might happen next.
The Dusting Sugar enveloped
the gingerbread Versailles for a moment in a thick cloud of fog. The angry battle sounds went quiet.
Jake heard some coughing here and there
from inside the display, the confused whinny of a gingerbread warhorse.
As the sweet dust settled and (hopefully) began to work, there was a moment of stillness. Then little gingerbread soldiers started walking out of the clearing dust cloud. They wove back and forth on their frosted feet, stumbling and disoriented. One hiccupped.
Jake lifted his eyebrows.
“What happened?” one of Bob’s ginger knights asked the nearest French
cookie courtier, who shrugged.
“Je ne sais pas, monsieur.”
Rollio was still climbing up the licorice rope that he had looped over a corner of the display table. He had let Juniette go ahead of him, so she arrived first.
The pink-haired ginger
bread-girl hurried into Marie’s display to check on her family. “Papa? Papa!” she called toward the palace. “Are you alive?”
Movement stirred under the rubble where two peppermint-stick columns had collapsed in the siege, bringing down the elegant white-frosted portico.
“Papa!”
“Daughter! Is that you?” came a muffled replied.
Juniette ran to help free her father from the wreckage just as Rollio reached the summit, jumping onto the display table.
“Rollio, help me!” she cried over her shoulder. “Father’s trapped!
I can’t budge it. It’s too heavy!”
“I’ll get that.” Jake felt a bit like his old friend, Snorri the Giant
, as he reached into the display and easily lifted the roof of the broken portico off Juniette’s father. “There you are.”
She helped the little Sun King to his feet, but cried out in dismay to find one of his arms had cracked off.
“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” he said. “A little royal icing, and I shall be good as new, I promise. I do have a question, though.”
“What’s that, Papa?”
“Perhaps I got knocked on the head very hard, because, for the life of me, I can’t remember why we are having this war in the first place.”
“Neither can I,” the leader of the invading knights replied, lifting his little silver-frosted helmet as he approached.
“Father!” Rollio ran toward him.
“Son! I thought you ran away.”
“I came back, Father—but there’s something I must say!” He turned to all the gingerbread people and drew himself up in defiance. “Juniette and I love each other. We want to be together, no matter what!”
“B
-but, son, these are our enemies!” his father spluttered. “We despise each other!”
“
But why?”
Rollio’s father scratched his head. He looked confused, clearly still feeling the effects of the Dusting Sugar. “We must have had a
reason… Actually, now that we’re all calm, these Frenchies don’t really seem half bad.”
“And you British do not seem like the buf
foons we always assumed.”