‘Gotcha! You wild thing!’ It was Mrs Sharpe, grabbing her arm hard. ‘Escaping the refractory, are we? Mr Creeper! I’ve got a child on the loose. Mr Creeper!’
Amelia tried to wriggle free. But Mrs Sharpe had a strong grip and a loud voice. She was trying to wake up the whole workhouse.
‘CHILD ON THE LOOSE! CHILD ON THE LOOSE! EVERYONE WAKE UP! I NEED SOME HELP HERE!’
Amelia felt the grip on her arm go soft. And she turned to see Mrs Sharpe had turned into a saucepan. Mary the kitchen maid had tipped a massive pan full of slop over Mrs Sharpe. The pan turned out to be the perfect size to fit completely over Mrs Sharpe’s head, and to trap her shoulders inside too. Grey unwanted porridgey slop splattered and dribbled all over her. Amelia could now break free.
‘Get me out of here!’ shouted Mrs Sharpe. ‘Get me out of this pan now!’
But no one could hear what she was saying because her voice was just a sloppy mumble. She kept banging into things as she tottered around and then she slipped over on a puddle of slop and fell to the floor with a clang.
‘Thank you, Mary!’ cried Amelia.
Mary shook her head. ‘No time for thank-you’s!’
Amelia heard footsteps and turned, ready to run, but saw it was Father Christmas.
‘Hobble’s letting Creeper out,’ he said, breathless. ‘We’ve got to be quick.’
Mary smiled. ‘Had a feeling there might be trouble. Let’s wait here for them, then lead them into the kitchen. I’ve made the preparations!’
The sound of Mrs Sharpe clattering around in the saucepan brought Hobble and Creeper to the dining hall, their footsteps echoing like thunder.
Then, once they were in view, Mary, Father Christmas and Amelia ran into the kitchen.
‘Stand behind the door!’ said Mary.
So that is what they all did. And it was Amelia who noticed the floor looked very shiny, even for a workhouse floor. She looked at Mary as the footsteps got closer.
‘Mr Creeper likes us to keep things clean and shiny. So I made the floor the shiniest I could using the butter Mr Creeper likes so much,’ Mary explained. And then something funny happened. Something so funny that Father Christmas laughed his first ‘ho ho ho’ in a while. Mr Creeper and Hobble arrived in the room at the same time, but instead of coming to a halt they slipped and glided and skated and slid right across the buttery floor, unable to control themselves.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh!’ said Mr Creeper.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh!’ said Mr Hobble.
When Mr Hobble tried to stand he fell back onto his bottom, while Mr Creeper used his cane to try and get back on his feet.
‘Wait!’ said Mary, laughing too. ‘This is the best bit.’ And with that she untied a string next to her and a handle began to spin. With a whistle the giant piece of pinky-brown ham that had been hanging from the ceiling and was waiting for Mr Creeper’s Christmas lunch whizzed through the air. It landed with a heavy thud on top of Mr Creeper, squishing his top hat flat and knocking him to the ground one last time. He and Mr Hobble were just a collection of arms and legs like a crumpled spider.
‘Quick!’ said Mary to the other two. ‘You’ve got to get out of here!’
Amelia’s Last Dash
here were other people in the dining hall now. Mrs Sharpe had removed the saucepan and, though still dripping in slop, was shouting, ‘Stop that girl immediately!’
A gang of obedient workhouse inmates guarded the door at the other end.
‘There’s no way out that way, gal,’ shouted Mary to Amelia. ‘You’re a chimney sweep, ain’tcha? Maybe the fireplace is your best bet.’
But Father Christmas remembered the fire was lit and he thought of the boys guarding it. ‘No, it’s lit.’
Amelia kept running, twisting herself free of the various hands that were trying to hold her back.
Mr Creeper’s voice was now booming and echoing around the dining hall. ‘STOP THAT GIRL!!! Everyone! Stop her! STOP HER NOW!!! We’ve got to stop her, Hobble!’
‘What are we going to do?’ shouted Mary to Father Christmas.
Father Christmas was about to shout back when above the commotion he heard a very faint tapping sound. A soft clicking coming from the roof.
Only he, Father Christmas, could have known what that sound was, because it was a sound he had heard many, many times before.
It was the sound of reindeer hooves landing on a roof.
‘My deers,’ he said softly to himself.
Amelia wondered what Captain Soot would do in this situation. She believed that cats were cleverer than humans, at least at escaping things. And she decided that Captain Soot would have jumped up onto the tables, and so that is what she did. She jumped onto the nearest row of tables and ran the full length of it, jumping off the end.
‘I can’t see her, sir. There’s so many people in ’ere now. And it’s as dark as a chimney,’ said Hobble.
But Mr Creeper could see almost as well in the dark as he could in the daylight.
‘There!’ he said. ‘On the tables. Look! She’s running. She’s going to try and get out the door.’
‘Don’t worry, Mr Creeper. I locked it.’
And Mr Hobble held up a large iron key.
‘Very good, Hobble. Very good indeed.’
Amelia reached the door. Discovered it was locked. Then she tried to push the door open, bashing her shoulder into it.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Come on. Come on . . .’
Everyone in the hall wanted to stop her from escaping, especially now Mr Creeper was there. The only person on her side was Mary and Father Chri . . .
It was then she realised that Father Christmas was heading away in the opposite direction. She saw him at the other end of the large room, turning his back and walking away.
Typical.
He was letting her down again.
Of course he was. What else could she have expected?
She felt anger flood through her like red hot lava and she beat against the large door.
She bashed her fists against the door in frustration.
Bash, bash, bash.
But there was nothing Amelia could do. And Mr Creeper now had his bony, ham-scented hand on her shoulder. ‘There is no way out,’ he told her, his smile curling devilishly.
Bash, bash, bash, bash, bash, bash, bash, bash, bash, bash, bash.
She gave up.
Mr Creeper nodded, satisfied. ‘You are going to be locked up for a very long time.’
Father Christmas’s Escape
here was too much noise in the hall for Father Christmas to explain to Amelia what he was going to do. So seeing the whole workhouse was heading – no, charging – after Amelia he decided the best way to help was to disappear through the corridor at the back of the hall, which ran alongside the men’s yard to the bakehouse where the fire was still roaring and the boys were still guarding the chimney.
‘What’s going on?’ the tall rattish-looking boy asked. The one with the poker.
Father Christmas was quick with a response. ‘It’s Father Christmas! He’s in the hall. They’re trying to stop him. Quick, lads, or Creeper will be mad as hell with you three . . .’
The boys looked at each other. Nodded. Went pale. Then disappeared into the hall.
Father Christmas chuckled, which popped a button off his trousers. But then he was faced with another problem. The fire was roaring. How could anyone climb the chimney without getting burned?
As Father Christmas looked at the flames he noticed a thin stream of glistening liquid falling down onto them. It kept going, slowly putting out the fire.
Father Christmas stared at the fizzing coals and the yellow downward stream and knew exactly what it was. Reindeer wee. And most likely Blitzen’s, judging from the colour.
It was a wide fireplace and Father Christmas remembered it was a large chimney, so it wouldn’t require too much magic for him to climb up it. He bent down and stood on those warm damp coals and did his best not to
touch the moist sides of the chimney as he closed his eyes. He stopped thinking and started wishing and believing he was standing on the roof with his reindeer, and indeed, a second later, there he was. And there they were. Eight reindeer. And the gleaming red sleigh.
‘Hello, my beauties,’ he said, climbing into the sleigh. He looked at the Barometer of Hope and saw it was glimmering brighter. ‘Now, quick, we’ve got work to do.’
Amelia could see Mary running along the hall, between the rows of tables, towards her. Towards Mr Hobble and Mr Creeper. She was windmilling the saucepan with her arm, swinging it round in ever faster circles.
‘Stop her, Hobble!’ ordered Mr Creeper.
So Mr Hobble obediently stood in her way.
‘Lady with a saucepan coming through!’ shouted Mary, and swung her saucepan arm back, round and up in a perfect circle. The saucepan whacked Mr Hobble square in the face, and sent him flying backwards. She then stood in front of Mr Creeper.
‘Put the saucepan down, Mrs Winters.’
‘It’s Miss. Miss Winters. Never found meself the right man.’
Mr Creeper nodded at a ratty-looking teenage boy who crept up behind Mary and tried to yank the saucepan from her hand.
‘Can I just say I wish I’d never sugared any slop for you, young Peter . . .’
‘You do realise you are committing a very serious crime, Miss Winters,’ said Mr Creeper. ‘Violence with a saucepan. On top of buttering the floor and attempted murder with a very large ham.’
‘Well, you’d know all about crime, Mr Creeper,’ said Mary as she pulled the saucepan out of Peter’s grasp, causing him to tumble to the floor. ‘This whole place is a crime. It’s wrong to keep people locked up like this. I’m not working for you no more.’
‘I save people from the streets.’
‘You enjoy the power,’ she said.
‘You’re a monster,’ added Amelia.
‘I enjoy the power to clean society of all its dirt, yes,’ snarled Creeper. ‘To keep order, and teach manners, and respect . . . And so now, Mary, you will be taken to the police station, and, Amelia, well, you are mine, by law. I own you. Like I own every child here. I will devote my life to making each day as miserable as it can possibly be.’
‘Drop dead,’ said Amelia. She had never hated anyone or anything more than she hated Mr Creeper in that moment and she lifted up her knee and stamped down hard on his foot with all her force.
‘Aaagh!’ He grabbed her and started to drag her away.
But then . . .
A noise came from the door. It definitely wasn’t Amelia. She was being held by Mr Creeper and facing the wrong way. But Mr Creeper had heard it too.
‘What the Devil?’
Boom!
The noise came again.
And it was clear that whatever was banging on the door wasn’t doing it from inside, but outside.
Reindeer to the Rescue
ho’s there?’ asked Mr Creeper. There was no response. So Mr Creeper pulled himself and Amelia closer to the door.
This was a mistake because just then something sharp and pointy broke through the wood and jabbed into the side of Mr Creeper’s head hard enough for him to feel dizzy and fall to the floor, causing him to let go of Amelia and lose his cane.
‘What is that?’ wondered Mary.
‘A tree,’ said Mr Hobble. ‘It’s a moving tree.’
Mr Creeper was struggling to get up. ‘It’s not a tree, you idiot. They’re antlers!’
Then the door burst open. Father Christmas was standing in the middle of the doorway, wearing his red coat, with his reindeer and sleigh behind him.
The whole room gasped at once. Mr Creeper pressed down on his cane and slowly got back on his feet.
‘It’s Father Christmas,’ one of the children whispered, and the whisper spread like a cold.
‘Amelia!’ shouted the man himself. ‘It’s time to believe in magic again.’
The Barometer of Hope glowed bright now and Amelia ran over to the sleigh. Father Christmas stepped back and looked at the clock in the sleigh. The time was the Middle of Night in elf time and three in the morning in human time.
Amelia, obviously, had a hundred questions, but there wasn’t time for any of them. She knew that the sleigh in front of her was the answer to every doubt she’d ever had about magic, and she ran to it.
‘STOP HER!’ said Mr Creeper, stumbling after the girl.
‘Press the button by the clock,’ said Father Christmas as he ran into the hall to get Mary. ‘Press it now!’
Amelia didn’t know which button he meant and pressed the ‘LET MAGIC TAKE FLIGHT’ button. The sleigh began to rise and hover and wobble in the air as Mr Creeper used his cane to try and pull the sleigh back down.
‘The other button!’ shouted Father Christmas. ‘The one that says STOP!’
There was chaos. The hall was crowding around Father Christmas and – too late to duck – he saw a hot poker swinging towards his head. It suddenly stopped, freezing motionless in the air a millimetre in front of his nose. The whole hall had stopped in fact.
Father Christmas ducked under the poker and wove through all the living statues in the hall until he reached Mary. She had been in the middle of swinging her saucepan at Mr Hobble when time stopped. Father Christmas picked her up.
That’s right. Father Christmas picked that time-frozen rosy-cheeked old maid off the floor and carried her like a rolled-up carpet on his shoulder. Right out of the dining hall and plonked her in the back of his sleigh. The moment he placed Mary in the back of the sleigh she began moving again. First her feet, then her legs, wriggling like fish on a boat, and then the rest of her, including the arm holding the saucepan, which kept on swinging and hit Father Christmas on the head again.
Slowly she realised where she was. And who she had hit.
‘Oh, my. I’m sorry. I’m making a habit of this,’ she said. Then she looked around at the sleigh. ‘Oh, I say, this is fancy.’
‘Right,’ said Father Christmas. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
The Return of Captain Soot
o you believe?’ Father Christmas asked Amelia. And she could tell it was a very important question from the urgent look in his eyes.
‘In what?’ she wanted to know. ‘In impossibility.’
And, right at that moment, outside the workhouse and outside time, floating in the air in a gleaming red sleigh, and seated next to Father Christmas, she knew there was only one real answer. ‘Yes,’ she said. And it was then that she noticed the small glass semi-sphere on the dashboard, with the words ‘Barometer of Hope’ above it. She was momentarily mesmerised by the sight of the green and violet lights inside, like a tiny universe blooming into life as they glowed bigger and brighter, as she said the words, ‘I believe in impossibility.’
And a sudden urge came over her. A desire to see Captain Soot again. And just as she wished she saw a movement in the sack next to her. She heard the softest miaow.
‘I visited Mr Dickens earlier,’ Father Christmas told her, as she saw her furry best friend slink out of the infinity sack.
‘Captain Soot!’
The cat’s gold eyes gleamed when he saw Amelia, and he jumped up and put his front paws on her shoulder and licked her face as if it were cream.
‘I thought I told you about licking faces!’ She laughed, feeling the cat’s warm purr motor against her chest. ‘You’re not a dog!’
She closed her eyes and kissed Captain Soot’s furry head and inhaled the scent of his fur. All kinds of things really were possible in this world, she realised. And that was a nice feeling to have back. Maybe the best.
Mr Creeper’s Fingers
ary’s eyes widened as the sleigh flew high up into the air, above the London skyline. ‘Oh, my goodness, Mr Christmas. Where are we off to?’ she asked.
‘We are off to save Christmas.’ And that was indeed the idea.
To keep time stopped and to deliver toys to every child in the world. Fathe
r Christmas drove the reindeer even higher into the air. Amelia and Captain Soot looked down to see the workhouse and the time-frozen people grow smaller and smaller below them. But then Amelia saw something that made her jump in shock.
Two bony long-fingered hands were clinging onto the sleigh. She leant over a bit more and saw the head of Mr Creeper. But as all of him except for his fingertips were outside the sleigh he was still frozen in time. She stared at him for a moment. This man who had given her the most miserable year of her life. His face looked angry, but also his eyes were wide with fear. (Mr Creeper, like all bullies, was deep down a very scared kind of person.) And, seeing that Mary and Father Christmas were deep in reindeer-related conversation, she thought she’d do something. So, she took his little clinging alive shifting fingertips and – one by one – pulled off each one and left him hanging in the air, about half a mile above the River Thames.
She looked behind and couldn’t help but laugh, seeing him suspended in mid-air.
Father Christmas heard the laugh and gasped at the sight of Mr Creeper frozen in the air. ‘Oh, my gosh.’ He looked at Amelia and she shrugged smilingly and he saw her finger hover over the ‘TIME TO START TIME’ button.
‘Oh, all right then.’
So Amelia pressed it and watched with joy as Mr Creeper fell down, screaming, and arms flailing, and landed with a splash in the Thames.
Captain Soot miaowed a few times over the side of the sleigh. ‘That’s for my great-grandfather Tom,’ he miaowed, ‘whose tail you used to stand on.’
Amelia had no idea what Captain Soot was saying but she stroked the cat and kissed his head and he licked her face with his rough tongue.
As they set off to deliver toys to every child in the world, Father Christmas introduced the reindeer.
‘And that one on the left, second from the front, that’s Comet, who has a little white streak on his forehead . . . And that one there, the dark one, that’s Vixen, who is a mystery, even to me . . . and that’s Prancer . . . who can be a bit of a handful . . . and that’s Dasher, who keeps the speed up . . . and Cupid and Dancer, who are a little bit in love . . . and in front there’s Donner, who is sensible, a safe pair of hands, and the best navigator . . . and Blitzen, who can be a bit rude with his toilet habits and is the strongest and, well . . . there has never been a better reindeer to have as a friend . . . Me and Blitzen go back a long way.’