[On the streets of Montfort]

Reetha and Horace sat in the outdoor section of one of Montfort's more
expensive restaurants. It was a clear night; the stars were out. A
perfect Christmas Eve. As they waited for their food, they took in the
sights, sounds, and smells of the Montfort Christmas Festival, which was
just making its way down the street in front of them.

"Oh, Horace," said Reetha. "This is the best year ever!" The large
woman squirmed around in her chair and adjusted her new dress. She would
have liked it to have been silk, but when she asked the clotheir if they had
enough silk to make her a dress, the woman laughed and laughed and was still
laughing then Reetha left the store.

"Indeed it is, my bride. Indeed it is. This is the best Christmas
festival they've had in...quite a while. Hey... look there!" Horace
pointed at a clown across the street. He was juggling flaming batons.
Either he was completely inept or was a hell of a showman... for he seemed
constantly on the verge of dropping one of the fiery objects on his head and
setting himself alight. People walked by and dropped money in the clown's
hat, which was on the ground by his feet. "Wonder how much money he's got
in that hat?"

"Hmmm...." said Reetha.

"Your meals are ready, sir and... uhh... madam." said the waiter. A
well-dressed man had wheeled a cart over to their table and started
unloading food. Horace had a single plate of the largest steak he'd ever
seen. Reetha had two plates of the same, plus a few servings of various
other meals... chicken and dumplings... turkey and dressing... even a
tankard of the chef's special onion and mushroom soup. The waiter left
and returned a short time late with a bottle of some expensive wine... not
the MOST expensive, but rather close to it. He poured their first
glasses and then vanished quickly.

Reetha tore into her food as if she hadn't eaten since last Christmas.
Horace ate slowly, but mostly because he kept his eyes on the clown's hat.

"Was that gold?" he mumbled "Looks like sombody dropped some gold in that
hat!"

"Shut up and eat!" Reetha managed to say. The lump of food lodged in her
mouth made the words almost unrecognizeable.

"Yeah," Horace tasted his food, but kept eyeing the clown.

"Wan me to stuff one of these turkey legs in my bodice?" said Reetha.
"The boys can fight over it when they get through workin'"

"What? HELL no! We can't afford ta feed turkey to those greedy
bastards!"

Reetha shrugged and kept eating.

Horace took another bite of his steak.

"...though, if one of 'em managed to snag that clown's hat later, I might
reward 'im with a biscuit or two. Naaahh forget it. They're way on the
other side of town anyway..."


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


[St Augustines]

Bang! Bang!

The door knocker echoed around the cold empty hallway, devoid of all
furnishing save a long faded rug. Feet pattered distantly, growing louder
as a blanket wrapped stout woman rounded the corner and hurried toward the
door.

"Who's there?" she asked, her breath steaming in the cold air.

"Your saviour, of course!" Reverend Miles Trent answered, smiling as the
woman opened the small wooden window in the door to peer out.

"MILES!" she exclaimed, her face lighting with joy. "Come in, come in -
though it isn't any warmer in here than outside, I'm afraid..."

Her hands fumbled with the bolts and locks, the metal clanking and
screeching as she tugged the bars through their retaining bands. The door
creaked open, letting in a whirl of snow to scatter at the woman's feet.

Miles stepped inside, rubbing his hands briskly. Sister Josephine hadn't
been wrong about the temperature. It was icy cold inside, the rug under his
feet crackling from the cold as he stepped onto it. What softness it might
have had was long since frozen out by the chill that permeated the hallway.
He followed the nun further along the corridor, and into a small room where
other Sisters of St Augustines were huddled together. A single log burned
in the fireplace, the heat barely taking the bitter chill off the room. For a moment,
he felt a twang of guilt at the coins he had held back for himself - but only for an
instant.

"Sisters," he said, fishing about in his robe. "It is the season of
generosity, and I have here," he held out the purse to Sister Josephine,
"a small gift from the people of Montfort."

Gasps rose from the gathered nuns as Sister Josephine took the leather
purse.

"I heard that St Augustine's was in dire need this harsh winter, and as you
can see, the Church of The Ever-Burning Flame has been able to offer some
small salvation. I hope it meets with your approval?"

"Oh Sir," Sister Josephine exclaimed, hardly believing her eyes, "it's
beyond anything we could have hoped for - enough to see us through this
terrible weather. I just can't believe how much there is here..."

Miles groaned silently. He could have creamed more off the donations than
he'd done - and still had the nuns grovelling at his feet. No matter, it
was done now - and he would remember for next time.

"Don't thank me, my good woman - it's the kind citizens of Montfort you
should be thanking. In fact, perhaps we will see you at tomorrows service?"

He knew the faith of St Augustines didn't exactly pull them to worship in
his church, but he had a feeling at the moment they would be willing to do
almost anything he asked... Hmm - that gave him an idea... He pulled his
thoughts back from *that* particular vision, and beamed around at the
assembled nuns.

"Good, that's settled then. I'll see myself out, while you stay here in the
warmth. May the Ever-Burning Flame light your way to Him, banishing the
shadows that seek to engulf you on the way."

Miles Trent slipped out of St Augustines, smiling as he heard the quiet
whispers behind him. The nuns would swell tomorrows congregation, even if
they didn't entirely approve of his interpretation of the faith. And now,
it was time to head home to his cosy cottage - to a good stew that his
housekeeper had promised to leave for him. He licked his lips as he trudged
home, thinking of the taste of the succulent meat...

-----

The door banged behind Miles Trent as he kicked it shut with one foot. He
pulled his overshoes off, throwing his gloves into the corner with his thick
cloak. He listened for a moment, hearing only the cottage settling as the
cold worked its way into the beams.

"Mrs Pennyforth? Mrs PENNYFORTH?"

His voice echoed emptily around the small cottage. His housekeeper must
have gone early, and who could blame her - it was Christmas Eve after all.

Reverand Miles Trent hurried into the small kitchen, eager to tuck into
supper. The smell of slowly cooked meat and gravy wafted to his nose, and
he made a beeline for the small oven, grabbing
a thick cloth on the way.

"Aaaaagh, Mrs Pennyforth, you have surpassed yourself again," he said,
pulling the earthenware dish from the warmth within. The lid chinked,
lreleasing a puff of steam as he set it down on the table and turned back to
rummage for a ladle and plate.

"Oooh, yes, what a lovely feast this is..."

He scooped a generous amount out of the pot, licking his lips in
anticipation. Carefully, he replaced the lid and put the remainder back
into the oven, to keep warm for a while longer. Miles tore into it
ravenously, savoring the rich mix of vegetables and tender meat that started
to warm his chilled body from within. The food disappeared at a frightening
rate, until only the last remains of the thick gravy were left.

Eventually, he leaned back, resting his hands on his now bulging stomach.
He'd let the meal go down for a while, he thought as he got up and headed to
his small sitting room, then get started on writing tomorrow's sermon. It
wouldn't take long - they never did - but he supposed he should make a bit
of an effort for tomorrow. The choir would be encouraging the faithful to
raise their voices, and he had an idea for a theme that might make them
empty their pockets a little more generously tomorrow.

Miles smiled as he settled into his comfy chair in front of the small fire,
pulling a pen and sheaf of parchement from the desk beside him to make a
start on tomorrow's scripture.


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


[On the streets of Montfort]

"HELLLLP!"

The little boy turned the corner and nearly ran Phillip down.

"Slow down, boy!" yelled Phillip. It was more instinct than anything.
His mind was on the armful of Christmas presants he was carrying. He vowed
to do his shopping earlier next year... so he could catch the festival with
the rest of his familly.

"Help me, sir!" yelled the boy. "They're going to CATCH ME!"

"eh? What's that?"

At that moment a gang of five boys rounded the corner. The lone boy took
off running, and the five newcomers went after him. They didn't bother
going around Phillip.... they ran right into him.

"HEY, LOOK OUT! WHHOOAOAAAA- OOOF!"

Phillip hit the ground, and presents scattered everywhere. The boys
paused long enough to grab a couple of presents each... even the one they'd
been 'chasing' came back and grabbed something. Phillip felt a hand slither
into his coat pocket and then disappear with his wallet. By the time he
realized what was happening, they were all gone... along with his money and
the presents for his family.

"Come BACK HERE!" he shouted "You can't DO THAT! IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE!
DAMN YOU, COME BACK HERE!!"

The boys were already on their way to their next victim.

---

"Excuse me, sir," said the little man in the funny red hat. "Excuse me,
can I ask you something?"

Horace and Reetha turned to the elf that had approached them on their walk
back home. It was a slooow walk, mostly due to Reetha's need to stop and
rest every few blocks.

"We got nothing for ya," said Horace. "Go away."

"Sir... I'm looking for someone. Have you seen any strangers around?
Strange looking elves?"

"Other than you, no."

"How about a man in a red suit? As anyone like that been around your
house in the past few days?"

Suddenly Horace didn't like this little elf. He grabbed Reetha's meaty
arm and pulled her along, leaving the strange man behind them.

"He's coming after the naughty people, Mr. Horace!" shouted the elf.
"And he doesn't care who he has to hurt to get them! Keep watch tonight!
Don't let him in! Don't open the presents! For the children's sake,
don't let him in!"

Horace and Reetha turned the corner and were soon out of earshot of the
annoying elf. Man in a funny red suit indeed. One thing bothered
Horace,though... just how did that elf know his name?


---


High above the streets of Montfort, the sound of tinkling bells filled the
night air. All the good children were asleep, but had they looked up, they
would have seen a trail of glittering silver dust drifting down behind a
sleigh. A portly figure cracked the reins suddenly, and the sound of elven
laughter mixed with the sound of the bells.

Pulling the sleigh were half dozen deer-like creatures with antlers, their
breath snorting into the clear night sky to leave a trail of vapor behind.
One of them had a nose so bright it seemed to glow, the red shine lighting
the way for the others as they streaked across the night sky.

"So, where do we visit next," one of the elves asked Santa, his felt hat
tipped rakishly to one side.

"Have you got the list there?"

"Yup, it's here somewhere..."

The elf scrabbled about in his pockets for a moment, before pulling out a
long rolled up piece of paper. It unrolled, and unrolled, and unrolled
still further, until the end whipped about in the wind behind the sleigh.

"Well, looks like we've got quite a choice - Oh looky there!"

The elf leant out over the side of the sleigh, paying no attention to the
long drop to the rooftops below. He pointed towards a couple walking home,
their arms linked together.

"Aaah, ain't that sweet," the elf said, "and I do believe that's one of the
houses just beyond them..."

"Fancy a little fun then lads?" Santa asked, his face beaming around at the
elves clinging to the enormous sack behind him.

"Yes! Yes!" came the chorus of responses. With one quick flick of the
leather straps, the reindeer plunged downwards. The wind whistled past the
sleigh as it plummeted toward the street, mingling with the shrieks of
delight from the elves. Before they knew it, the sleigh had dropped
between the roofs of the houses, heading right for the couple. As they
skimmed overhead, barely missing the woman's hat, the elves yelped and
whistled, watching as the couple ran for cover.

"Yeeehaaaaaaaa!" one exclaimed. "Again! Again!"

The sleigh just cleared the roof at the end of the street, and Santa wheeled
around to the left, dropping onto a roof with a thud, the runners ploughing
long furrows in the snow and ice before they came to a stop. Santa leapt
out, pulling a couple of brightly coloured packages from the sack, and
tossed them to an elf.

"Well, get on with it then," he whispered, pushing the elf toward the small
chimney.

"But,"

"No buts. Or I'll put YOU on top of their tree..."

The elf paled, and looked hesitantly over the lip of the chimney. Strong
hands pushed him from behind, and he toppled over, falling... falling....

THUMP!

The cloud of dark soot cleared slowly from the room below, revealing the
filthy elf lying on his back amongst the cold ashes, still clutching the
presents. He clambered to his feet, brushing the dirt from his brightly
coloured clothes. The elf grumbled under his
breath, looking around cautiously before throwing a handful of glitter into
the air and scampering over to the tree.
Glistening speckles danced in his footsteps, whirling around and around
before vanishing up the chimney in a whoosh of light, leaving the room
spotless behind.

The elf put the presents under the tree, wedging them in amongst the others.
He chortled quietly, wishing he could see the children's faces tomorrow -
then ran back to the chimney and sprang up it, disappearing back into the
night without leaving a trace.


---


[Penner's House]

Later that evening, Charles Penner prodded the fire with his poker,
releasing a shower of sparks to whirl up the chimney. His home was bereft
of any forms of yuletide decorations, for Charles had no wife or family to
celebrate Christmas with, and didn't much see the point of it anyway.
The only good thing about it was the increase in trade for the couple of
weeks that lead up to the festivities.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching his feet out toward the
fire to warm the toes. He turned the page of the book he was reading,
feeling the thick vellum between his fingers as he read onwards, the words
his only companion on Christmas Eve.

A clock chimed, the deep resonant tones breaking the silence as it tolled
the hour, and Charles looked up in surprise. It was later than he thought,
closing the book and placing it on a table. He put an extra log on the fire
to see it through till morning, and unhooked the oil lantern from the wall.
One hand slipped into his pocket, fingers searching out the warmth within
the soft folds of material. They curled around a small box instead, and
Charles' brow wrinkled as he pulled it out.

The brightly coloured wrapping crinkled as he turned it over. He sat back
down, deciding that one night wouldn't make any difference. No-one would be
any the wiser that he'd opened it on Christmas Eve...

His nimble fingers slipped the ribbon off, working a small wooden box out of
the paper. It was highly polished rosewood, if he wasn't mistaken - and as
he opened the lid, he gasped in surprise. Inside, nestled in thick blue
velvet, lay a pocket watch. The finely crafted case gleamed golden in the
light, and as he looked closer, he saw leaping figures had been engraved
around the edge. It even had his initials, he saw.

Charles turned the watch over in his hand, trying to fathom who's handywork
it was. He opened the cover, and started as he saw the watchface inside its
protective glass shield. Highly polished, it reflected Charles' face back
at him, but the strangest thing were the markings. Instead of marking off the
hours clockwise, he saw it seemed back to front. Where the numeral 3 usually
resided, instead 9 had been placed there.

He puzzled over it for a moment, turning the watch around to try and make
sense of it. The mechanism was of the finest quality, of that he had no
doubt. But the face - why would someone have made such a fundamental error.
It didn't make sense. The hands ticked off the seconds, counting clockwise
in the normal fashion, as was the minute hand.

Charles snapped the cover shut and slipped it into his pocket. He'd hang
place it on his counter, sure that whoever had arranged for the gift would
comment on it - and then he'd be able to point out the error. He took up
the lantern again, and made his way up to bed.

[To Be Continued]