Treacherous Toys (2 page)

“This is great! How do they do it?” The snowball was definitely real, and a little hard. My shoulder stung where it had hit.

“Every hour, real snow falls from the castle,” Bart explained. “Maybe
falling
isn’t the right word. It’s more like
shooting
out of the castle. Sometimes you can get enough of it together to make a ball before it melts.”

“And you threw yours at me,” I joked. “How thoughtful of you.”

He threw his massive arms around me and hugged me tight, lifting me off the snowy ground. “How are you doing? Chase sent me to meet you. He was otherwise detained. You know. Everyone wants him, right?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, keeping it to myself that my car had broken down on the side of the road on my way from Columbia, my landlord was opting to change my apartment into a condo, and I was probably going to be one of a vast group of job hunters next year. Why ruin our reunion? I hadn’t seen him in months. “What’s Chase doing?”

“He was breaking up a fight over at the Dutchman’s Stage. Two of the comedians got into it. I think one of them threw a punch at Chase. Stupid man. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

That wasn’t surprising. Chase Manhattan was the Village bailiff—judge, jury, and police officer all rolled into one. He was also my boyfriend.

“It’s good to see you, Bart.” I hugged his mammoth form dressed in brown tights and a red tunic with a blazing red and white cape across his shoulders. “How’s Daisy?”

He shrugged. “She threw me out last night. She’ll get over it. That’s just the way she is. I love her anyway. I only wish she crocheted instead of making swords. It would be a lot safer when we fight, you know?”

I laughed, understanding the problem but glad they were still together. “I don’t know. I’ve heard people can be vicious with those crochet hooks.”

He laughed, his wide shoulders and broad chest heaving with the force of it. His large, plain face and sometimes deliberate manner hid a sharp intellect and a warm heart. “That’s true. May I walk with you to the Dungeon to await the bailiff, my lady?”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll check in with work. I’m apprenticing with the new toy maker. Have you met him?”

“Sure. He’s jolly and nice. Daisy said he’s as round as an apple, but I think it’s just because he wears those big red suits. They aren’t very flattering on him.”

“So he’s more like Santa than Father Christmas?”

I smiled at two of the monks I recognized from the Monastery Bakery. They acknowledged me with a nod, appropriate for them. The Brotherhood of the Sheaf made the best cinnamon rolls and bread I’d ever had. The mere smell of them made my stomach grumble.

“I don’t know. They seem to love him. Everyone really loves his toys. He has all those little elves helping him every day. It’s a nice touch for the holiday.”

The Village had located the toy maker in one of the brick manor houses on Squire’s Lane, not too far from the Main Gate. It was the first time I’d ever seen the houses open. They had dressed up the three stately homes with wreaths and lots of fake snow. There were colorful ornaments on all the nearby trees. Children were waiting with their parents in a line that stretched around Mirror Lake and up toward the castle. Obviously, a
very
good attraction for the season.

“I’m going to go in and say hello,” I told Bart. “Thanks for meeting me. Maybe we can have lunch or something later.”

“That sounds nice. I’ll tell Daisy you’re here. That will give me an excuse to talk to her without
really
talking to her. That’s the way we make up. Bye, lady.”

As usual, Bart wasn’t much help in describing what was going on. He always kind of wandered around a topic until it was hard to decide what he was talking about. It didn’t really matter in this case—I was about to dive right into the holidays. My bruised spirit needed all those well wishes and special treats that come with this time of year.

“No, you’ll have to wait in line with the others,” a heavyset woman said at the side door. She was dressed like I’d expect Father Christmas’s wife to be—deep shades of burgundy velvet with a long skirt and white trim.

She looked a little frazzled, her snowy white hair standing up around the matching burgundy velvet hat she wore. She had a pretty face with pink cheeks and bright blue eyes, silver-rimmed glasses set on her nose. It was easy to imagine her making cookies for the elves.

“I’m Jessie Morton,” I said. “I’m your apprentice. They should’ve told you I was coming for the season. I can help make toys, run the shop—”

“You’re hired!” She pulled me inside with surprisingly strong fingers. “Thank God you’re here! We’re terribly understaffed for this crowd. I don’t know what those executives are thinking! I’m Christine Christmas. Let’s get you an elf suit. You can take over the photography. Right this way.”

I didn’t exactly have photography in mind. But every apprenticeship I’d ever done had required some flexibility. I’d done some things during apprenticeships that I wouldn’t have done at any other time. I was as familiar with Lady Visa and Sir MasterCard as I was with a duster and a mop. I’d coddled lords and ladies by fetching tea, giving foot rubs, even listening to their problems. There probably wasn’t a floor in the castle that I hadn’t scrubbed.

I had no regrets. I was very close to finishing my dissertation—“The Proliferation of Medieval Crafts in Modern
Times.” Once I received my doctorate, I’d be able to go anywhere, do anything. Maybe make enough money to put some aside for things like broken-down cars and electric bills, not to mention new apartment hunting. All the stresses of real life outside the Village make-believe.

I’d worked hard on my dissertation through the past few years while managing to have a good time, too. I could make and shoot arrows, blow glass, weave baskets, make hats, and forge swords (which was how I knew Daisy and Bart so well). I was even partially responsible for getting the two of them together. Playing Cupid was more a hobby, but I excelled at it.

I pulled on the ivy green tights and tunic, then stuck the Robin Hood-like hat on my head. I looked in the mirror—there was a six-foot elf with blue eyes staring back at me, strands of flyaway brown hair sticking out around the hat. I wasn’t sure if they’d be able to find any size-twelve elf shoes for me.

Christine knocked impatiently on the bathroom door. “Are you almost ready in there? These kids are going wild.”

I wasn’t really good with kids, though I’d become better while working at the Village. I got impatient with the younger variety too easily. I could handle the college kids, but sticky hands and runny noses weren’t my favorite things.

As I emerged from the bathroom, Christine gave me a quick once-over. “Those tennis shoes are going to have to do. We don’t have any adult-sized elf shoes.”

Before I could ask if she had any kid-sized elf shoes, two children came up and tugged at her skirt. They were dressed like me, except they had tiny elf shoes with jingle bells on the toes.

“Mom, we’re almost out of candy,” the boy, maybe nine or ten, said.

“And we’re completely out of coloring pages,” the girl, eleven or twelve added. She had a sprig of holly in her very blond hair.

“All right. We’ll take care of it in just a moment! Merry Beth, you take this lady to the camera. She’ll be taking pictures. Garland, you go to the workshop and pick up more candy and coloring pages. Be quick now!”

Merry Beth took my hand as Christine headed in the opposite direction. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. “I hope you’ll stay longer than the other photographer they sent. He couldn’t handle it. I’m not surprised!”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Merry Beth,” I replied to the pretty girl at my side. “My name is Jessie Morton. I doubt that I’ll be here taking pictures long. I’m the toy maker’s apprentice for the next few weeks.”

She smiled and pushed her long hair away from her face. “I think that’s what happened to the last photographer. I’m not sure he was supposed to be taking pictures either. In fact, I think he was just here to make a delivery. Mom is desperate. She’ll make anyone take pictures.”

“Why not you?” She seemed capable and mature to me. “You’re old enough, right?”

“Thank you. I keep telling her that. I’m not a little kid anymore. I can do all kinds of things now that I’m eleven.”

We stopped walking as we reached a big room containing a large, gilded chair, a huge, decorated tree, and an old-fashioned instant camera—the kind my grandmother had once had on a tripod. The rest of the room was filled with children, noisy, crying, demanding children.

They gathered around the beautifully decorated tree, which reached the high ceiling and had a star on top. They ran restlessly around the camera. Their parents seemed to have given up on any order while they waited to see the toy
maker. The only place they didn’t go was on the thronelike seat. Probably afraid Father Christmas wouldn’t like it.

I was about to ask where the man himself was when another door opened and he bounded into the room. I was immediately caught up in the old poem about Saint Nick.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples: how merry, / His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.

He was the perfect Father Christmas. Leave it to the Village to hire the best. The fact that he was also a talented, highly regarded toy maker was icing on the holiday cake.

I’d never seen such a beautiful outfit before. It had to be his own and not a rental. The long coat was embroidered with gold thread and had bright gold closures on the front. It was made, as were his trousers, of the plushest velvet.

His beard and mustache looked real, too, soft and white. Seeing him was enough to make my heart sing a few bars of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

He was probably a little more seventeenth-century Saint Nicholas than Renaissance, but the costume was good. As always, Renaissance Village erred on the side of what looked best and would sell tickets, even if it wasn’t historically accurate.

He came right up to me and took my hand in his white-gloved one. “You must be Jessie, my new apprentice. It’s very good to meet you. I apologize for the delay in taking you to the workshop. The Village didn’t tell us they were opening the Father Christmas visitation today. I’m a little short staffed, even with my brood.”

His blue eyes smiled at me in a kind way, and his voice held the enthusiasm one would expect from the jolly old elf.

I looked around the room and saw more elves—eight in all, varying in age from older teen down to preschooler—walking
around and talking with the children there to have their pictures taken. “Are all of those elves yours?”

He laughed in a low-key yet contagious way. “It gets cold up there at the North Pole, you know. And Mrs. Christmas and I share a great love.”

“I wasn’t criticizing. I think it’s wonderful!”

“You wouldn’t think so early in the morning when they’re all looking for breakfast. Or at night when they have to get along with one bathroom.” He chuckled. “But it makes them closer, Jessie. Do you have family?”

“One brother. My twin, actually. He and I are kind of close. He works here, too.”

“That’s the way to be. I hope you’ll be happy here with us for the next few weeks. We could certainly use your help. It gets really crazy around this time of year.”

I couldn’t believe he’d taken the time to talk with me while the line of children grew longer. It was a nice gesture. Nothing melodramatic or strange here like some of the other people I’d worked for in the Village. I couldn’t wait to see Chase and ask him about Father Christmas’s history.

Or maybe not.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to spoil what might be an illusion. Very few people at the Village were what they seemed to be.

“I guess I better get up there and hear some wishes.” He put his head back and laughed again. “I’m sure we’ll get along famously. I have so much to share with someone interested in learning to make toys. When we’re done here, we’ll go on to the workshop. Thank you for being here.”

He started to walk away, and I remembered that he hadn’t told me his real name. “What should I call you?”

“Why Father Christmas, of course. You might know me by other names—Santa or Saint Nick. But here, I’m Father
Christmas. Chris Christmas, in fact.” He smiled, went to his chair, and sat down.

The effect was completely charming. I was swept away by it.

Garland was there a minute later, distributing coloring pages and candy to his brothers and sisters. They all began weaving through the crowd, passing out the goodies while the first child came to sit on Father Christmas’s lap.

The little girl had been wailing when she and her mother approached the big chair. She stopped crying immediately and had a contrite look on her face as he lifted her. They discussed what she wanted for Christmas at length, despite the crowd. She got down, smiled, and waved, and the next child came up.

It was so heartwarming that I totally forgot I was supposed to be taking pictures of it. A small elf hand pulled at my tunic. “You have to take the picture while they are
on
his lap,” Merry Beth suggested. “Once they’re gone, it’s too late.”

Not like I didn’t know that. I had just been transported into holiday heaven for a moment where my brain wasn’t working. It was as though this man was the real thing and all I could do was stand and marvel at seeing him. He had a huge amount of charisma. Good line of work for him.

The camera was tricky. It wasn’t made during the Renaissance, but it was old enough to be classified as an antique. I wasn’t even sure how to use it. My cell phone might have been better.

I tried to secure it on the tripod, but the connection was the wrong size. I finally held it with one hand and managed to snap the picture with the other. Immediately, a developing photo (not very good) was spit out.

The second child’s mother raced over and jerked it away
from me. “I’ll take that. No telling what you people would do with my daughter’s picture. And don’t forget, it’s free. I don’t have time for a sales pitch either.”

Too bad Father Christmas didn’t seem to have the same calming effect on the adults that he did the children. As each child sat on his lap, I took the picture and a greedy, rude adult snatched it from me. Where was the holiday spirit?