The reindeer’s heads swiveled to follow him as he bounded back to the sleigh and jumped into its seat, grabbing up the reins. The twins Dancer and Prancer looked back at each other, then straightened in unison, ready for action. Blitzen stretched his neck, snorting at the stars, his passive indifference to the world gone for once, as beside him Donner put aside his fright with equal valor, gritting his teeth as he stood poised and ready for their impending flight.
“So give me that extra effort,” Santa Claus cried. “I’m counting on you!” He tugged on the reins, giving the signal for liftoff. “Yo!”
The six reindeer leaped forward and galloped down the tunnel, launching away into the sky with all the speed and energy of eight.
In Dooley’s study, Anya watched the sleigh’s departure through the telescope, a thing she always did, because she believed it brought him luck, and brought him safely back to her. This was one time that she did not want to miss his departure. Her heart beat with a confusion of emotions, as she watched her husband of centuries fly off on what might be his final mission: pride, courage, loyalty, fear . . . but most of all love, a love that over the centuries had only grown stronger. She was afraid for him, and yet she understood perfectly what made him so determined to go—the knowledge that he alone held the fate of a lost little boy in his hands. He was her Claus, and he could do nothing less than what he had chosen to do tonight. As she lifted her hand in a wave of farewell that was also a salute, the sleigh and its lone occupant disappeared into the night.
Nineteen
Cornelia paced restlessly about her bedroom, ready for action in a warm coat and blue jeans, but unable to sit down or to stop worrying. When she had returned to her room after breakfast, she had found the letter she had written missing from her desk. Since no one had come into her room to drag her away as they had done with Joe, she thought that it must have magically found its way to Santa Claus. But if he had gotten her letter, where was he? What would she do if he didn’t come? What if—
Suddenly a great whoosh filled the hearth of her fireplace with a cloud of ashes, and the man she had been longing to see appeared abruptly on the flagstones. Santa Claus stood smiling before her, answering her own joyful smile of relief; but then his face turned sober with concern.
“It’s you,” Cornelia burst out, overwhelmed with relief. “Thank heavens!”
“How is he?” Santa asked urgently, glancing around the room as if he were searching for Joe.
“I don’t know!” she cried, her desperation abruptly returning as she remembered why Santa was here.
“Where is he?” he said.
Cornelia’s hands made fists. “My step-uncle’s got him. Listen—” She broke off, suddenly embarrassed to hear herself speaking so abruptly to Santa Claus. Struggling to recapture her good manners, she said, “I mean, excuse me, but I’ve got to tell you something else. Those candy canes—”
But Santa was already gesturing her toward the chimney. “Tell me on the way.” He swept her into the circle of his magic spell, and, touching the side of his nose, transported them to the roof and into his waiting sleigh. The reindeer launched off into the sky at his command, flying over the city and the surrounding countryside by daylight for only the second time in all their lives. At Cornelia’s instruction, the sleigh banked and headed eastward over Long Island toward the B.Z. Toy Company. As they flew, Cornelia breathlessly explained to Santa all that had happened, trying very hard to concentrate on her story and not on the fact that she was really flying over Queens in Santa’s own sleigh.
“They exploded?” Santa asked, aghast, as she finished describing the problem with Patch’s candy canes.
She nodded. “That’s what he said. When they got hot. I called the police, but I don’t think they believed me.” She was old enough to realize that people in authority thought she was still too young to be trusted.
Santa’s face grew even grimmer. “We haven’t a second to lose—” he said, and shouted to his reindeer, “On, Donner! On, Blitzen! On, Dasher! On, Vixen! On, Cup—” He broke off, remembering, as his eyes found only empty space. “Oh, I forgot. We’ve only got six.”
“Times are tough, huh?” Cornelia said soberly, and suddenly thought of Joe; the more time they spent together, the more they sounded alike. She met Santa’s questioning, worried glance with her own, and they flew on in silence.
Patch sat at his control board, lost in a daydream as usual, as the robot machines made their endless candy canes with mindless efficiency. But once again, as it did two or three times a day, the buzzer sounded as the stardust hopper’s gauge registered empty. Patch roused himself from his seat and started for the door to the subcellar. He clattered down the metal staircase, and, with a quick glance over his shoulder, entered the dark, dank room.
Striding sure-footedly toward the metal filing cabinet, Patch suddenly stopped short as a small, muted sound registered in his ears. He turned, peering around in the darkness as his eyes adjusted. It sounded like . . . someone crying? He began to search the supposedly empty room, tracking the sound with his sensitive ears. At last, rounding a large rusty trash bin, he found its source: a young boy, bound and gagged, tied to a pipe.
“What—?” Patch breathed, for a moment not believing his eyes. “Oh my gosh—” He kneeled down and with fumbling hands started to untie Joe’s hands and feet, stopping only to remove the gag from the boy’s mouth. “What are you doing down here?” Patch asked, his voice shaky with surprise.
“As if you didn’t know, creep,” the boy said bitterly, his reddened eyes blazing.
Patch sat back, his astonishment complete. “Me?” he asked.
“You’re the one,” the boy said furiously, tears of helpless anger still running down his cheeks. “You ruined Christmas.”
“I never did!” Patch said indignantly, not having the slightest idea what the boy was talking about, but feeling a strange, painful twinge of guilt anyway. He stood up, his own anger rising as he remembered why he had left the North Pole, and that Santa had never called him back. How dare this kid tell him that he had ruined Christmas!
The boy scrambled to his feet and stood before him with clenched fists, looking ready to start a fight at the least provocation. “He told me!” the boy insisted, his own voice shaking with anger. “He said the kids didn’t like him no more on account of you!”
Him—? The boy could only mean Santa Claus. “You don’t even know Santa Claus,” Patch said, all his sympathy for the boy’s plight forgotten, and his own temper flaring. No wonder someone had dumped the nasty little brat here.
“Do so!” Joe cried.
“Do not!” Patch shouted back, sinking rapidly to the boy’s level.
“He said I was his only friend left, ya dumb punk!” the boy said shrilly. He began to cry again.
Patch froze, his anger draining away as suddenly as it had come, as he realized that the weeping boy was really serious. His heart sank. Was it true? Had he really ruined Christmas? Had his plan to win back Santa’s love and respect truly backfired so completely? Was that why Santa had never sent for him? He thought of B.Z., and suddenly all the vague and formless doubts that had been floating free in his subconscious mind formed one awful image. B.Z. had taken advantage of him in ways he had never even dreamed of, and he had only himself to blame. He had never meant anything like this to happen . . . He stood without speaking, no longer even looking at the boy, caught inside his sudden revelation.
All the wild fury that had been trapped inside Joe during his ordeal spilled over as he saw what he took to be Patch’s silent indifference; he lunged forward and began to punch and pummel the elf. Patch squawked with surprise and put up his hands, flailing back at the boy in self-defense, trying without much success to fend off the painful blows. He had not practiced his elf-defense moves in far too long; and besides, this kid didn’t bother to fight fair.
“Yeah!” Joe sobbed hysterically, kicking and swinging. “He saw what you are—a big dummy stupid-head stin
k-face creep who made kids hate the best guy that ever—” As they struggled together, something dropped from the boy’s pocket and clattered across the cement floor. Joe and Patch broke apart at the noise, looking down in startled surprise. It was a brightly painted toy, of a kind very familiar to Patch’s trained eye.
He moved away from Joe, their fight forgotten as he bent down to pick it up. Holding it in his hands, he discovered that it was a carved wooden elf; and for the first time he saw its features clearly. His breath caught. “What is this?” he murmured, and his own eyes grew misty with sudden tears.
“Gimme that,” Joe cried, “it’s mine!”
He reached out to grab it, but Patch pulled it away from his grasp. “Where did you get it?” he demanded.
“He gave it to me,” the boy said, his jaw jutting with stubborn pride as Patch’s face changed. “See? I told you I’m his best—”
Patch looked down at the carved elf again, seeing in its face a perfect re-creation of his own, carved by Santa’s own hands. He took a deep, tremulous breath as a profound, unexpected emotion filled him. “He does like me,” he whispered. “He does like me after all.” In spite of all his terrible mistakes, in spite of everything that had happened . . . He looked up at Joe again, his eyes shining, and gently handed the wooden figure back to him.
“Huh?” Joe muttered, confused by the complete and unexpected change in Patch’s manner. Cradling it protectively in his hands, he looked down at his wooden elf in curiosity, noticing for the first time the resemblance between its face and the face of the elf before him.
Patch’s eyes filled with resolution as his racing mind fitted pieces of a new plan together with lightning speed. “Come on, kid!” he cried, gesturing to Joe. He started out of the room, heading for the stairs. At least it wasn’t too late to set right his mistakes, and make it up to Santa Claus.
“Where we going?” Joe called, hurrying to catch up with him.
“The North Pole,” Patch said decisively. “We’ll both go. And for once, we’ll bring Santa Claus a present!”
Joe caught up with him on the stairs. Looking at the expression on the elf’s face, he began to grin. Everything was going to be all right after all!
Patch led him through the factory to the vast storeroom where a glowing mountain of magic candy canes lay at the foot of a huge chute, waiting to be wrapped for shipping. Patch held out his hand proudly, gesturing at the great pile of presents. “There’s enough here to take care of all next year’s Christmas orders.” He grinned, his enthusiasm infectious. “Santa Claus can take a year off! His first vacation,” he said eagerly. “Won’t that be great?”
“Hey, neat!” Joe nodded, grinning as he gazed at the incredible display of candy—never dreaming, as he thought of the happiness it would bring Santa, that instead they would be bringing him a mountain of potential disaster.
Patch swept up an armload of the candy canes, and started back toward the Patchmobile. He dropped the armload into the rumble seat, and hurried back to the storage area for more.
Following his example, Joe picked up an armful of candy and trailed Patch to the car. He dropped his own load into the back seat and stared at the Patchmobile in open amazement. “How’s this thing work?” he asked, fascinated. He had seen a lot of really sharp cars in his time, but he’d never seen anything like this. It was really awesome.
“It’s elf-propelled,” Patch said proudly, dropping in another load of candy canes.
Twenty
Santa’s sleigh soared over the wintry suburbs of Long Island, silhouetted by the glorious red-orange of sunset over the distant, smoggy New Jersey shore. Far below, the usual evening rush-hour traffic jam was turning the Long Island Expressway into a river of light. Fortunately, no one caught in it bothered to lean out of their car window into the icy breeze to admire the sky, or notice the curious spectacle passing overhead. The six reindeer traveled more slowly than eight, and they did not have the time-stopping magic of Christmas Eve to help them along tonight. But with Cornelia’s sure guidance, they were closing in rapidly on the B.Z. Toy Company’s factory.
Not so very far away, inside the factory, Patch and Joe had just finished loading the huge mountain of candy canes into the back of the Patchmobile. By now one of the things that fascinated Joe the most about the strange car was the seemingly infinite capacity of its back seat. The glow of all the enchanted candy canes was dazzling, making the darkened building almost as bright as day; the glow seemed to pulse with energy, as if the candy canes had a life of their own.
At last Patch climbed into the driver’s seat, and motioned for Joe to join him. Joe hopped excitedly into the car and settled down in its patchwork bucket seat, staring at the dials and lights of the instrument panel before him.
Patch picked up a small black box with buttons on it, which looked to Joe exactly like the kind of thing somebody would use to open their garage door. Patch pressed one of the buttons, holding it out at arm’s length, and the big star-bedecked hangar doors at the end of the room began to slowly grind open. Outside, the sky was indigo with twilight, glowing a deep red-orange at the horizon.
Patch glanced over at Joe. “Fasten your seat belt,” he instructed.
Joe looked down in surprise, realizing that Patch was wearing one and he was not—in his excitement he had forgotten all about it. Obediently he pulled the strap across and fastened himself in. “Can I drive it later?” he asked eagerly, remembering his trips with Santa.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” Patch asked, looking at him skeptically. This kid hardly looked old enough to ride a bicycle.
“No.” Joe shook his head, his face falling.
“Sorry,” Patch said, shaking his own head with a shrug, not bothering to mention that he didn’t have one either. Patch switched on the ignition and the engines roared to life.
The Patchmobile charged up the runway and soared out through the open hangar doors, rocketing away into the ozone.
Santa and Cornelia looked down over the side of the sleigh as a sudden distant roar sounded far below them. Cornelia saw her step-uncle’s factory looming black and silent below. Then she saw, high above it now and still climbing fast, the rocketing Patchmobile.
“It’s them!” she cried, pointing ahead. “Both of them!” She was sure she could see Joe riding beside Patch in the car. She watched them soar away with very mixed feelings of relief, amazement, and dismay.
Santa’s own wide stare of surprise changed suddenly to a look of fear. “Oh, no!” he cried.
“What is it?” Cornelia glanced back at him in sudden fright.
“Look!” Santa raised his arm. Cornelia followed his pointing finger to the rear of the Patchmobile, where the metal roll-top of the rumble seat was glowing a hot puce from the extreme concentration of volatile candy canes inside it.
“The candy canes! They’re in the car with them!” Santa cried.
Cornelia’s hands flew up to her mouth, as the realization struck her. “Patch and Joe don’t know they explode,” she said.
Desperately Santa shouted to his reindeer, “Faster! Faster! Come on boys, fly like the wind! Fly like you never flew before!”
The reindeer leaped to his command as they heard the urgency in his voice. They surged forward across the sky with fiery determination in their eyes, their nostrils flaring as they sucked in the icy air, their chests heaving with the tremendous effort of pursuing Patch’s rocket car as it headed north at unbelievable speed.
Completely unaware that Santa’s sleigh was in hot pursuit of them, Patch and Joe watched the sprawling suburbs of greater New York fall away below them—Westchester County, Putnam, Dutchess . . . Patch opened the Patchmobile up all the way, his foot pressing the accelerator flat to the floor; he was having the time of his life showing the awestruck Joe what his pride and joy could do.
“Man, this is neat!” Joe cried, the wind whistling past his ear. He wondered fleetingly if Santa would ever consider giving up his old-fashioned sleigh f
or something hot like this.
Patch honked the horn exultantly and listened as it played his song, happier than he had been in ages. “It does anything I want it to do!” he shouted. “Watch!” He leaned forward and at the same time jerked the steering wheel sharply to the left, then to the right, and back again, like a teenage hot rodder. The Patchmobile lurched erratically and plunged downward through the air, spiraling through great swoops, like a leaf falling from a tree, or a barnstormer’s plane in an airshow. Joe laughed in giddy delight. Patch righted the car’s dizzying flight again and shot up toward the stars once more, aiming directly for the North Star. They were already almost to Canada. He couldn’t wait to get back to the North Pole and show Santa . . .
While behind them, Santa himself wanted nothing more than to see them slow down or turn around. The tired reindeer kept up their valiant pursuit doggedly, but he could see that they were already showing signs of exhaustion. They were only flesh and blood, so they couldn’t keep up this pace forever like a machine . . . but, unlike a machine, they had noble hearts that would make them give him their best efforts to the end. And that was the reason he loved them, and would never ever trade them in on a flying car.
“Can’t they go any faster?” Cornelia cried, seeing the Patchmobile pulling away from them once again.
Santa shook his head. “They usually get a year’s rest! They’re doing their best!” Taking a deep breath, he shouted, “Fly, lads, fly!” Up ahead now he could still track the car by its glowing back seat. The sinister pulsing puce light seemed to be glowing noticeably hotter now.
And inside the Patchmobile’s trunk, where no one could see what was about to happen next, the candy canes pitched about wildly as Patch put the car through another set of turns at Joe’s urging. Patch and Joe whooped in ecstasy as the car rolled and pitched. And beneath the load of candy canes, a stress crack opened in the Patchmobile’s groaning framework, revealing unprotected wiring. Another wrenching dive tore the wires apart. A spark flickered, and then another, as the short-circuiting wires began to sizzle.