[Penner's Clocks, Montfort]

Tick... tock...
Tick... tock...
Tick... tock...

The wooden cuckoo clock on the wall marked off the time as it always had,
second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour. Carvings decorated its
face, painted in bright cheerful colours. The slanting roof even had a
mound of moss clinging to it, and the pendulum had been skilfully crafted to look
like a hanging strand of ivy.

Charles Penner roused himself as the door to his shop opened, the gust of
icy wind tinkling the tiny bells hung above it as a young lad ran in.

"Delivery for you," the boy said, blowing his hands to warm them. "Where do
you want it?"

Charles looked at the delivery lad, frowning.

"What delivery, I wasn't expecting anything today!"

"From Johnson, Mister. Told me 'twas urgent, and that I should bring it
right away."

He hadn't ordered anything from Johnson & Mannet. Nor, to his knowledge,
had Steph, his apprentice clockmaker.

"Just a minute, while I check the books," he said, reaching under the
counter for his ledger that recorded the shops business.

"I'll just bring them in, shall I?" the lad said over his shoulder as he
disappeared out the door again, banging it shut behind.

"No," said Charles, his word dying away as he realised the boy had already
left. He thumbed through the pages, looking for any sign that Steph had
placed an order - which he had no right to be doing anyway.

Jangle-Jingle BANG!

"Ere ya go," the delivery boy said, a box sliding off the top of the stack
in his arms and thumping to the floor.

"CAREFUL!" Charles said, his exasperation plain. "You will take back any
damaged goods..."

He ran his finger down another page, squinting at the writing and lines of
figures. Nothing, nothing - THERE! The order jumped out at him, plain as
day - in Steph's writing. Why had the damn fool put an order in to Johnson
& Mannet without asking him first. He scowled at the delivery boy.

"Okay, put them over there. Carefully."

The boy grinned at him, piling the boxes up where Charles Penner had
indicated. Charles saw the smirk, and his scowl deepened. Steph would have
a lot of explaining to do when he got back from his errand.

"Now get away with you," Charles said, flicking a small copper coin toward
him. The boy caught it deftly, tipping his hat as he ran out the door again
to his waiting handcart.

Charles turned back to the boxes, and started to sort through them, opening
them with care and easing back the straw packing inside. He saw clock case
after clock case - far more than they needed.

"Damn fool has ordered too many! I'll whip him soundly for this - and take
the cost out of his wages to boot," grumbled Charles Penner.

Just then the rear door banged, and he heard feet clomping through the
narrow wooden passage toward the front of the store. Steph. Charles
scowled and waited as the apprentice came in, whistling.

Steph's smile dropped from his face as he saw the boxes, the straw strewn
over the floor.

"Glad you're back from that errand, Steph," Charles said quietly. "Would
you like to explain this?"

Steph looked at Charles, then back at the boxes.

"I or-or-ordered some more, because we were g-g-getting low and you said
that we should n-need th.."

"STOP!" Charles' voice rang out in the confines of the small shop, and his
hand banged down on the counter - hard enough to crack the glass.

Steph cowered away, shielding his head with his arms.

"No, p-p-please don't, not again..."

Charles' face was twisted with anger as he drew the bolts across the door,
then turned and advanced on the poor apprentice.

"Every time I tell you to do something, you mess it up. EVERY TIME! Well,
that's the last time, m'lad."

Charles' fist was thumping rhythmically into the palm of his other hand,
beating a slow steady counterpoint to Steph's wildy pounding heart.

"C'mere, you worthless little snivelling wretch," Charles snarled, hauling
Steph up from the corner he had backed into.

"No, no..."

"YES!" Charles shouted, his fist slamming into the side of Steph's face.
The skin paled under the blow, then reddened rapidly into a darkening
bruise.

"It's time someone beat some sense into you..."

Steph stumbled to one side, flinching away from another swing. His foot
caught, and he sprawled sideways.

"GET UP!"

Crunch!!

A foot kicked him in the ribs, once - twice, and he curled up, moaning in
pain. Excruciating pain radiated suddenly from his kidneys, as Charles
landed another blow with the hard leather boots he wore.

"Aaargh!"

"Stop crawling around on the floor and GET UP!"

Smack! Thump!

Steph scrambled away from the torrent of blows, hands scrabbling for
purchase on the floor. He caught a glance of Charles' face, and the
blankness on it terrified him. He'd had beatings before, but never this
severe. He fixed his gaze on the end of the narrow corridor, shutting the
pain out and willing himself to move fast enough, to get to the end.

SMASH!

Something hard flattened him to the floor, glass flying everywhere. As a
small silver object rolled past his face, he realised Charles had thrown one
of the display cabinets at him. He scrambled out of the heap of splintered
wood, oblivious to the small speckles of blood that spattered on the floor.

"GET YOUR PATHETIC FACE OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Steph ducked as another dark shape flew overhead, then screamed as his foot
slipped suddenly on the floor. He fell sideways, breaking his fall with his
hand. He looked at it in horror, seeing a tall thin spike of glass
glistening wetly between his flesh. Almost four inches long, it thickened
toward the base, and Steph howled in agony as he clutched his wrist.

"And STOP that infernal WHINING!"

Steph crawled away from the terrible voice, forcing himself onwards on
elbows and knees. He could feel the warm wetness trickling over his hand,
felt the pulsing of his blood echoed in the throbbing bruises. Only a
little further now...

Something hit him on the back of the head, and he slumped forward. His
vision swam, the door hazily drifting in and out of focus. A cool breeze
wafted over him, and he reached out for it. His fingers touched wood.

WOOD!

The door!

Steph coughed, pink foamy spittle running down his chin. He groaned in
agony, each breath grinding bone against bone from his shattered ribs. Just
a little further...

Steph's body went limp, his fingers sliding down the door to rest on the
floor. Behind him, the trail of blood and glass shone wetly in the dim
light. Charles snarled, turning on his heel at the far end.

Damn boy, he cursed. Nothing but trouble. He'd not bloody his hands
tonight - Steph could stay in the passageway until he came round. The door
slammed shut, the bolts sliding home with well-oiled ease.

He looked at the counter, shocked. A small package lay there, wrapped in
brightly coloured paper, and tied with a silken ribbon. A tiny slip of
parchement was folded under the bow, and Charles slipped it free.

'Mr Penner. Season's Greetings. Please accept this small token of thanks.
Yours, S.'

S. Who on earth had left this here - one of his customers no doubt.
Charles puzzled over it for a second, then rammed the small box into his
pocket. He wrapped his thick cloak tightly around himself, then snuffed the
lanterns out and left the store.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


[Somewhere far away from Montfort]

Deep in the darkness, something shifted. A groan echoed briefly, followed
by a scraping scuffing sound.

"Twinkletoes?" a deep voice asked, sounding very loud in the silence.

"Hey, that's me!" a voice replied cheerfully.

"Where are we?" the original voice asked.

"Er, not where we should be, methinks."

"I KNOW that. Can you shed any more light on our predicament than that?"

A fizzing pop sounded, and the area was slowly illuminated by dancing
flickering lights.

"Not quite what I meant, but it will suffice. Oh dear, oh dear me."

The light revealed a portly gentleman, dressed in a red suit, trimmed with
white fur. His long white beard had bits of straw sticking out of it, and
his normally shiny black boots were covered in mud. He struggled to his
feet with some effort, walking over to the bars that enclosed the fourth
side of the stone room he was in. The stone glistened with moisture, his
breath fogging in the cold.

"This is not good, not good at all."

He pulled a small watch out of his pocket, shaking his head as he looked at
the time. Here it was, Christmas Eve, and they were stuck in - where were
they anyway...

"Can you not slip between the bars, Twinkie?" he asked, peering into the
gloom. "You are, after all, just a size or twenty slimmer than I..."

"Nope. Tried that earlier. There's something nasty that crackles and hurts
when you touch them. I wouldn't try it if I were you - Bella tried it
earlier too, and she's still not woken up again."

Santa's hand went to his belt, where he normally kept a small leather pouch.
His fingers groped empty air.

"Er, Twinkle?"

"Yeah?" the elf replied.

"Have you got your pixie dust still?"

"Nope. They took that too."

"Did you see them?" Santa asked.

"Yeah. Nasty little imps. Spiteful too. AND dressed up just like us."

Just like us. The words rang in Saint Nick's head. They had been locked
down here - while out in the skies above, imposters were doing heaven knew
what.

"Any others of you out there?" Saint Nick asked, his voice booming around
the stone chambers.

A chorus of high pitched voices sounded in reply, and Santa counted off
roughly a dozen elves. Almost all of his helpers were imprisoned with him -
but there were a couple of voices missing. Where they were, he wasn't
sure - the best he could hope for would be that they had evaded capture some
how. He didn't want to think on what the worst could be...


---


[The Church of the Ever-Burning Flame]

Chink.

Chink.

Reverand Miles Trent counted the last handful of coins out onto his small
wooden desk. The church was cold, the candle on his desk doing little to
banish the chill in the small ante-chamber, and he shivered. The two piles
of coins gleamed in the flickering light, and he smiled as he rubbed his
hands together. St. Augustine's would be grateful for anything they
received - the nuns had approached him with such tales of hardship that he'd
taken pity on them. He hadn't taken as much for himself out of the collection
than he usually did; they were after all, followers of the light of God too,
even if they did see it slightly differently.

Miles scooped the larger pile into a soft velvet pouch, concealing it in the
folds of his long robe, then scooped the rest into a rather small leather
purse. He would drop it off tonight to St Augustines, on his way home. He patted
the leather pouch at his waist reassuringly as he blew the candle out.
Light still flickered dimly through the doorway, and he walked through to
make one final check on the church before taking the money to the nuns.

Light played warmly over the vaulted wooden beams of the church,
highlighting the garlands of leaves and berries strung up around them. His
parishioners had gathered the decorations themselves, looking for those
bushes that bore rare branches of golden or white flecked leaves. The result
was stunning, the twisting vegetation skilfully accenting the natural beauty
of the church.

Flames hissed and spat, the two golden dishes placed each side of the
alter burning with a fierce twisting fury. Miles knelt before them, closing
his eyes and bowing his head in prayer. The church was silent, save for the
crackle of the flames in their shallow burners.

Raising his head once more, Miles pushed himself up from the floor. He was
a little creakier this year, he thought as his knees slowly straightened,
popping alarmingly. The wind moaned quietly around the spire, and Miles
shivered. The fiercly burning flames lit the inside of the church well
enough, but did precious little to take the chill out of the stones. He
brushed his robe down, and stepped over to a small cabinet tucked behind one
of the pillars. Pulling out a drawer, he took the scoop from it, and returned
to the alter.

One measure should see the flame burning through the night, he decided,
sprinkling a handful of the coarse powder into each bowl. The flames jumped
higher for a moment, tingeing with green before settling back down to their
steady golden flicker.

Miles tidied up, took one last look around the church, then made his way to
the main door. His feet echoed in the quiet, then just as he reached for
the handle on the tall door, it turned sharply underneath his fingers and he
jumped backwards.

"What?" he exclaimed, not expecting any parishoners this late. An
icy wind blew in as the door opened, and an old lady held something
up to him.

"Thought I'd better tuck this inside, where it'll be safe," she croaked,
handing him a box. "Leave it outside here, and it'll be gone before you can
blink."

Miles looked at the box, then back at the woman.

"But what is it," he asked, puzzled.

"Don't ask me, I just saw it here on the front step. Can't have been here
long though, or those young jack-a-napes would have pinched it. Not a one
of them is god-fearing these days."

The woman sniffed, her breath blowing huge white plumes in the cold air.

"Well, thank you," he said, taking the package from her. "I'll be seeing
you at tomorrow's service?" Miles asked, smiling.

"Yeah, I'll be there. Got nothing better to do, anyways," she said as she
turned to go, her boots scruching in the snow.

"Take care now..." Miles added, waving at her departing back and muttering
under his breath, "and bring a decent donation this time..."

He watched her as she shuffled down the street, then tucked the box just
inside the church, locked the huge wooden doors, and set off toward St
Augustines.


---


[The Coiture Emporium]

Velasa, the clotheir's apprentice, sighed and drummed her fingers on the
wooden counter. It was well past closing, but she still had to wait here
for that obnoxious woman's servants to come and retrieve the gaudy dresses
she'd picked out the day before. She SHOULD have been home getting her
own clothes ready for the Christmas festival, but the clotheir insisted she
mind the store until this final bit of business was concluded.

At least Madam Fenigton wouldn't be coming in person. Velasa didn't thing
she could stand any more of that horrible, horrible woman. The way she
treated people was atrocious, and the fact that she had a young daughter
made it even worse. What foolishness was she pouring into that little girl's
mind? What kind of example was she setting?

But Velasa had to give some credit to the clotheir... Emma had charged Madam
Fenigton fully THREE TIMES the amount that the dresses normally went for.
The amount was still nothing to someone as rich as the Finigtons, but the
very fact that the witch had been duped brought a broad smile to Velasa's
lips.

Velasa heard a sudden noise. It sounded like someone had just entered the
store, but she was certain she'd locked the door. She peered around the
corner, but didn't see anyone there.

"Hello?" she said. "Hello is anyone there?"

There was no response, but she DID hear another sound. Sleigh bells?

"Hello? Are you hear for the dresses?" Velasa walked from behind the
counter and started peering up and down the rows of dresses. She picked an
aisle and started down it, stopping every few feet to listen and look.
"Hello? Hello? Emma is that you?"

"HO HO HOOOO!"

"AAAAAAAIIII!" The loud, boisterous laugh almost made Velasa wet her
clothes. She spun around and saw the large man in the Santa suit just a
few yards behind her. His face was red and his hair was white. He held
both hands clasped behind his back, which forced his large belly to stick out
even more. He smiled at her like the jolly old elf he was dressed up to
be.

"You SCARED me!" said Velasa with a sigh.

"MERRRRY CHRISTMASSS!" He bellowed.

Velasa smiled.

"You're very good," she said. "Where EVER did you get that outfit?"

Santa raised and eyebrow.

"You must be here for the festival. I'm sorry, but we're closed. I'm
just waiting for some people to come and pick up a package."

"OHoooo..." he nodded. He turned around and walked back down the aisle.

At first Velasa thought he was headed back toward the door, but instead, he
turned the other way and went towards the back of the store.

"Hey, WAIT!" Velasa shouted. "You can't go back there!"

She ran after him. She reached out for him, but Santa spun around and
threw something at her. It was a circular leather ring with five leather
steamers coming down from the edge. The streamers were adorned with bells.
Sleigh bells.

"Wha-"

Velasa didn't even have the chance to finish her sentance. The leather
contraption came ALIVE in mid air! The streamers lashed out like
tentacles... growing longer and longer as they came for her. They wrapped
around her neck, chest, waist, hips and ankles... then snapped impossibly
tight, pinning her arms to her body and forcing the air from her lungs!
She couldn't BREATHE!

"HHHH!!!!!"

Velasa fell to the floor and struggled to free herself. The bells jingled
with her efforts, but it was for nought. The straps grew tighter and
tighter...

"ack! k! aaak! K!K!K!"

And the bells kept jingling. The clotheir fought and strained. She
wiggled and squirmed. The straps kept getting tighter. She felt her flesh
being bruised and then pulped against her bones. The bells kept jingling.

"....AK!!!!..."

Finally, just as her consciousness began to fade from lack of air...

KRUK!

Her neck snapped like a chicken bone in a hound's mouth, crushed by one
of the straps.

The murderous sleigh bells unwound themselves and shrank back to normal.

The contraption rested innocently on Velasa's motionless chest... just a set
of perfectly ordinary sleigh bells

Meanwhile, Santa had retrieved a bundle from the back room and brought it
to the front. He stepped right over Velasa's dead body as if it were a
misplaced roll of holiday ribbon, and deposited the bundle by the floor.
He reached inside his coat and pulled out an oddly-shaped gift wrapped in
festive Christmas paper. It was mostly flat, and had a large circular part
connected to a straight shaft. He hid it in the bundle of clothes and
nodded silently to himself.

Then, he retrieved his sleigh bells and left the store, leaving the bundle
by the door where the next person who wandered in couldn't help but see it.
The tag on the bundle read: Madam Anya Fenigton.