Crimson Overcoat Versus Christmas
By Luke Monroe
Copywright 2011 Luke Monroe
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Grey skies and cold rain made for an unpleasant December commute. Alexander Valtam grumbled to himself as he dismounted his motorcycle in the parking lot of the low slung brown office building where he worked. He pulled on the door of the building only to find it locked. He fumbled in his pocket for the key card and swiped his way into the lobby. 
The building was full of small tech firms and consulting agencies. Most were staffed by only a few people. That left the building empty as Christmas approached, with the independent firms taking time off for the holidays. Alexander walked down the hallway passing various small logos and nameplates of neighboring firms until he reached his office. The door sign read “Fortunato Thaumaturgical and Transhuman Consulting” in bold letters, with “G. Fortunato, Th. D.” below it. The “G” stood for Gretchen, his boss, who was currently out of town attending a professional convention. For magicians that meant it would be high on the hoity-toit and posturing with at least two magical duels to the death. 
Alexander was the only member of the four person staff that was going to be in the office for the next two weeks. The secretary was only part time, and the intern had gone home for the holidays. That left him to check up on their few regular clients. Most were basic magical security jobs. Some of the work was local geomantic forecasting for the farm bureau. The rest were one-off information requests sent in by the DNR or local government. Alexander was no wizard, but he knew more than enough to handle the small stuff. 
He flicked the lights on in the cramped office. He grabbed the mail from beneath the door and tossed it onto Gretchen’s desk. He stripped off his wet crimson overcoat and threw it over the tiny conference table. He threw his brass rimmed goggles on top of the coat. 
The office was filled from floor to ceiling with various implements. Some were technological, others mystical, and the rest somewhere in between. Cords ran across the floor to several different computers. White boards filled with scribbled formulae lined the walls. Technical manuals and tradecraft journals with post-its marking pages were piled up on every available surface. Alexander wove his way through the office to his cramped workspace. It was more chaotic than the rest of the office, scattered with half finished devices.
He sat down at his workspace and ran his hand through his messy hair. It was still wet from the ride over. He stretched his long frame in the small work area, pulled out a soldering iron, and went to work on one of his pet projects. Wisps of smoke rose from the esoteric mechanical project spread out in front of him. In the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and gentle rumble of the building furnace he found contentment.
Alexander lost himself in his work. After several hours, a half a case of Mt. Dew, four oatmeal cream pies and a package of licorice whips he stood and stretched. He rubbed his stubbled face and massaged his hawkish nose. Despite the poor start it was turning into a good day.
As he settled back into his work the door buzzer rang. He rolled his chair over to the computer next to his work station and activated the front door camera. A short slender figure wearing a hooded cloak and scarf stood at the office door. After waiting a moment, the figure buzzed again. Alexander pressed the intercom button next to the computer.
“I’m sorry, but our office hours are by appointment only,” said Alexander to the person hoping that would shoo them away.
“I need to speak to Miss Fortunato. It is a matter of utmost importance,” the figure said in a woman’s voice.
“Understandable, but Dr. Fortunato works by appointment only. Walk-ins and magic don’t mix,” replied Alexander as he waited for the unwanted guest to leave. 
“Then may I speak to her Champion, Mr. Alexander Valtam, also known as Crimson Overcoat?” the woman asked again,
Before she could finish pronouncing the last name, Alexander had drawn his ray gun, which would be at home on the cover of any science fiction magazine from the 1930s. The red Bakelite shell and nixie tube lightning bolt on the side belied the menace the weapon radiated. An ominous hum issued from it as the pistol powered up.
Papers and books scattered in his wake as he made for the door. The detritus flew in slow motion through the air behind him as he threw open the door and pointed his pistol at the body mass of the would-be customer.
“No one has called me that name since the late 50’s,” growled Alexander as he prepared to vaporize the unknown visitor.
The woman stood firm as the wiry Alexander loomed in the doorway, his physical weight a presence in the surrounding hallways. The lights dimmed and the hall darkened as the two faced off.
“You certainly live up to your reputation,” said the woman “Your ire is palpable. The elders were right to seek you out,” she finished.
“Seeing that you have neither shit your pants and run, nor tried to kill me, I assume that you do in fact mean business,” he said, not moving his aim. He was able to get a better look at the woman up close. She was short, not even five feet. Her face had sharp exotic features. Her skin was pale; her cheeks rosy, and had unnaturally red hair. Laugh lines were visible around her eyes and forehead, but her age was indeterminate. Warm hearth smells mixed with earth and pine swirled around her like perfume. Her voice in person had an odd undertone that Alexander recognized.
“As a rule I don’t like Faeries of any kind,” he said. “One bad experience taught me my lesson.”
“I give you my word that I am here to barter for your services and intend no ill will or harm come to you on this visit, and I promise to abide by all rules of hospitality,” she said.
“In that case,” Alexander said, “come in. This is getting awkward.” He holstered his ray gun. There were almost no Fae that could lie, and a promise such as hers was a near ironclad guarantee of no shenanigans.
With a quick word and a gesture he let her through the wards. She stepped inside and Alexander closed the door behind her. He grabbed his own coat from the table and put it on. Promise or no, the extra armor that the coat provided was a comfort he needed. After he donned his coat he cleared the tiny conference table of the few remaining items not scattered by his headlong rush to the door.
“I apologize about my less than friendly greeting. We’ve gotten a few unpleasant guests before. You threw out a name that almost no one knows. I don’t go by that name anymore,” said Alexander as he took a seat.
“You may not go by that name anymore,” the Fae woman said, “but that does not mean that isn’t who you are.”
“Alright, I don’t need mystical crap about my identity. The superhero ship sailed decades ago. Right now I have an elf, if I am correct,” he said as she nodded in confirmation, “sitting in my office looking to hire the boss, who is out of town. Since you know my name, what may I call you?”
“You may call me Holly,” she replied.
“How delightfully seasonal,” said Alexander with a flat tone.
“We are in need of outside assistance, and your Mistress comes highly recommended,” she replied.
“By whom, I wonder,” Alexander thought out loud.
“Word travels.” she said. “You are also spoken of in certain circles.”
“My reputation in the nether parts of the world are not up for discussion,” he said.
“Anyway, we normally don’t deal with spirit world or Fae politics. Too messy and complicated, not to mention long term. There are others who specialize in that sort of diplomacy. If I am correct, our reputation is of a different sort,” said Alexander working his way to the point.
“Yes. You and your Mistress are both known to be Champions. My elders wish to contract you on their behalf,” she said.
“You’re looking for muscle. Don‘t try to Tolkien that crap up,” Alexander spat. 
“The Champion may be required to fight on our behalf. That is part of the duties required,” said Holly nonplussed by Alexander’s distaste.
“I might be able to pitch a window unit air conditioner like a fastball, but that’s nothing special in your neck of the woods. That’s neither here nor there. This stuff stinks of mythic world tree talking squirrel destiny crap anyways. Thank you for your time, but no thanks. I don’t want to know anything else. Jobs like this combined with you people have a tendency to snowball out of control,” Alexander finished.
“Perhaps I could turn your heart with tales of our plight-” started Holly as Alexander cut her off.
“Nope. This ain’t my first rodeo. I don’t want to know and don’t care, either. There are plenty of others out there who aren’t smart enough to say no who will gladly take your money, or whatever you want to pay with,” he said as he stood and gestured to the door. “Good day, Holly.”
Holly put her coat on and walked to the door. Before she could leave, Alexander rose and grabbed her arm. A red LED matrix next to the door was blinking in dot matrix runes. It was a signal that the office wards were being probed. Alexander gestured to Holly to be silent as he drew his ray gun and stepped back from the door.
He withdrew to the inner office, where frantic readouts were blinking six shades of warnings. He had built the system himself but only knew what half of the symbols meant. It was more of a labor saving device for magicians than anything else.
The office door caved in under a massive blow before he could make sense of the readouts. A small broad figure leapt through the door. The creature was humanoid, four feet tall and near as wide. It grasped an ornate war hammer in both hands like a baseball bat. Red leather armor lined with fur covered thick ropy muscles. A dark beard hung from his chin and wild hair covered sparkling dark eyes.  He wore a tabard, but Alexander did not recognize the coat of arms. He didn’t have much time to think as the dwarf charged him from across the room.
With one hand Alexander threw Holly beneath a desk. With the other he fired a single blast of liquid heat and energy from his ray gun. The bolt tore into the charging dwarf. Burnt fur and flesh mixed with the pine and musk coming off the attacker. He hesitated long enough for Alexander to take charge of the situation. 
Alexander holstered his pistol. Despite popular belief one did not want to bring a gun to a knife fight. In one smooth motion he kicked the dwarf in the same spot that he shot him. It was like kicking solid rock. The dwarf stumbled back, knocking over the conference table. He had a sizeable hole in his chest. Dark blood dripped from the wound.  The dwarf regained his feet and swung the massive hammer at Alexander as he came in for a follow up attack to his kick.
Alexander shifted his attack into a roll. The hammer missed his head by a fraction of an inch as he struck the dwarf’s kneecap hard enough to shatter it. The blow that would have crippled a human only infuriated the dwarf. It still slowed him enough for Alexander to make his way to the weapons cabinet on the far wall. 
The cabinet was locked and Alexander didn’t have time for a key. He punched through the sheet metal and ripped the door of the hinges. He found what he was looking for and pulled it from the cabinet. He turned to face the dwarf with a hammer of his own. The handle was double wrapped in orange safety tape. The head was little more than a crude cube of iron shaped by brute force. A smiley face was painted in yellow on the business end.
The dwarf charged again. He swung his hammer with both hands over his head like he was trying to drive a giant nail into the ground. Alexander dodged and attacked simultaneously in an almost liquid maneuver. The dwarf smashed the ground hard enough to knock the books off the shelves in the entire room. Alexander swung his cold iron hammer in a swift blow to the dwarf’s spine. Bones shattered and the dwarf howled in pain. 
The dwarf lay still, wincing in pain. Alexander drew his ray gun and stepped away from the creature, never taking his eye off of the now wheezing warrior.
“It is rare that one of Kringle’s mercenaries is bested in single combat,” said Holly as she came out from the back room.
“Wait, did you say Kringle?” asked Alexander. “As in Kris? Jolly Old St. Nick? Santa, the man in red, Father Christmas, all that?” he finished.
“The Master has many names in this world,” said Holly.
“That makes you one of Santa’s elves?” he said, still incredulous. “And that whatever reason you came here looking for a Champion was reason enough for Claus to send a berserker dwarf assassin to stop you? “ finished Alexander.
“Yes, as you would understand it, that is the case.”
“Finish me, human. You dishonor yourself by hesitating,” growled the dwarf from the ground.
“Quiet. The grownups are talking,” said Alexander.
While Holly and Alexander spoke, the dwarf reached into a pouch on his belt. He thumbed a small mechanical switch connected to a dwarvish machine embedded in his leg. The mercenary vanished in a flash and a puff of sulfurous smoke.
“Shit,” cursed Alexander.
“You should have killed him when you had the best of him,” said Holly.
“Too much paperwork,” said Alexander. “Insurance is going to have a fit over this anyway.”
“Don’t go anywhere,” said Alexander to Holly as he walked to the door, picking up the office phone on the way. Something on the frame had caught his eye. As he dialed, he pulled a small brass box off of the wood. It was a complex mass of clockwork, crystals and brass. It appeared that it was what cracked the wards. He put it into his pocket and waited for the phone to pick up.
“Hello?” said a female voice on the other end.
“Kristina, it’s Alexander. I know it’s the holidays and all, but we’ve had some issues at the office and I need you to come in right away and wait for maintenance. It will be time and a half. The boss won’t mind.” said Alexander.
“I’m in the middle of Christmas shopping and the kids are out of school. My arms are full of bags as we speak,” she replied.
Alexander continued talking as he walked over to the broken cabinet. He pulled out a canvas go-bag that he kept packed and ready at all times.
“Bring the kids. They can help clean up. It’s a real mess,” said Alexander in a gross understatement.
“What happened?” Kristina asked.
“I’ll tell you later. I’ll be out of touch for a while. Big job that just came up. Just get here, please. I’ll get you and your old man something extra nice for Christmas, and I will owe you big. Please come in,” he pleaded.
“Alright, you divot-chinned charmer. We’ll be in as soon as we can,” Kristina said as she hung up.
“May I speak now?” asked Holly.
“Yes,” said Alexander. 
“Does this mean that you will accept our offer to act as Champion?” she asked.
“Yep. Ever since Gimli kicked down the door, I’ve been tits deep in your little game. That’s why I hate this mythological spirit world bullshit, Holly. Once you get wrapped up, it’s never over until you see it through. Stupid cosmic bureaucracy bylaws. So we’re headed out, you and me. You can fill me in on the rest of the details as we travel. Where are we going, or do I even need to ask?” Alexander said, knowing the answer before she said it.
“We’re going to the North Pole, of course.” said Holly without a hint of irony.
Twenty minutes and a wet drive on the interstate later Alexander and Holly pulled up into the dirt lot that she had directed them too. A broken and faded road sign advertised the “Kristmas Kingdom” promising self cut trees and family fun. The lot was massive and long since closed. Rows of full size pine trees stood silent. A chain link fence locked with a chain and deadbolt circled the 40 acres of forest that used to be a tree lot.
The pair dismounted. Holly led them to the locked fence.
“The way is through here. Please follow me so you don’t find yourself lost,” she said. She then scrambled up and over the chain link fence and landed without a sound on the other side.
Alexander followed, clearing the fence in a single leap without touching it. His boots squished in the sand and mud pine needles on the other side. Holly walked into the woods and Alexander followed. The trees were large and strong, cultivated and then set free. The scent of fresh pine permeated the air. In its heyday, this lot must have been the “Family Holiday Fun Destination” it claimed to be.
The temperature began to drop as they walked. It had also started to snow. The woods were silent, footsteps muted by the thick layer of pine needles over sandy soil. Holly would stop every now and then, feeling some unseen current, and change directions. They ambled through the woods at what seemed to be random patterns. Alexander almost never went to other dimensions or planes on purpose so he had little clue as to how they were supposed to get to the North Pole from here.
It was cold now. Alexander was unaffected by normal cold temperatures. It had to be far below zero for him to become bothered by it. The snow was also coming down harder. Visibility was getting bad. Snow covered the ground. It was odd how he hadn’t noticed the change. It bothered him how easy it was to slip out of one world into another. 
The trees became larger and further spaced and the snow was now several feet deep. It also grew darker even though it was just past noon. The world felt ethereal, shapes and colors out of a half-remembered dream. Scents carried memories of past holidays, amalgams of experiences. Some belonged to Alexander, others were never his. It all reminded him of how much he hated the spirit world.
“We are almost to Messestadt,” said Holly. “From there we can arrange passage further North.”
Orange and gold lights became visible a few minutes later. A snow covered road lit by gaslights wove through the woods. Holly and Alexander walked in the wheel tracks left by sledges that had passed through. As they neared town Alexander found himself staring in wonder. Childhood memories welled up without being beckoned by the sight of the village ahead of them.
Messestadt looked to Alexander like Charles Dickens and Norman Rockwell got together, took a heroic dose of magic mushrooms and designed a town. Cobbled streets were filled with more or less human looking people going about their holiday business. Wreaths and red bows hung from the gaslights. Red brick buildings lined winding streets, where urchins hurled snowballs at unsuspecting sweethearts stealing a kiss. But the saccharine sweetness was dulled by the menace of the surrounding forest. The trees grew oppressive, and the storm grew worse the further one got from town.
“I feel like I’m in a Coca-Cola ad,” remarked Alexander as the two walked down the sidewalk of Main Street. People mostly ignored the pair as they went about their business. 
Holly led them through a series of alleyways. They were festive and sinister at the same time, the dark side of holiday celebration. A group of young men jostled the two as they sang a filthy drunken carol that Alexander had never heard before. Behind a trash can, an anthropomorphic rat in Dickensian garb robbed a pair of pixies at knifepoint. He hurried on, eyes forward, determined not to get in any deeper than he already was.
They stopped at a small shop tucked into a dead end street. The window was dirty with accumulated coal soot and snow. The writing on the door was in an odd script that Alexander didn’t recognize. He thought of Gretchen, who would be having fits of joy at the weirdness of the whole adventure. Alexander had been around long enough to know to ask as few questions as possible. Take what you saw at face value and everything would come out peachy.
Holly rapped the door with her knuckles. After a few moments a mechanical iris opened up revealing smoky red glass that glowed from within. The iris shut, and the door opened.
“Please, do come in,” said a stooped, ancient man wrapped in a fur robe and wearing a decaying garland on his head.
The inside of the shop was filled with odd mechanical devices and toys of all shapes and sizes. Some were new, others ancient, and all in various states of disrepair. Alexander scanned the shelves while the Holly and the old man exchanged greetings. They spoke in a lilting musical tongue and embraced after a quick exchange. Holly removed her hood revealing her head of full dark red hair. 
“Alexander, this is Carnot. He will help us get to the North safely,” said Holly.
“In due time,” said Carnot. “First, a cup of hot tea, perhaps some schnapps, and I shall discuss some things with your Champion. I am certain that you have many unanswered questions. I will answer them to the best of my knowledge. Please, come,” Carnot said as he led them into a small apartment in the back of the shop. 
The two elves sat on ornate wooden stools while Alexander kneeled at the small table. He felt like a giant in the small quarters. The old man shuffled about the kitchen, deft wrinkled hands moving like lightning as he prepared what amounted to a small feast in a few minutes. 
With the table set, Carnot and Holly began to eat. Before Alexander touched anything on the table, he reached into a pocket hidden in his overcoat. In there was a small totem, a small clockwork device that served no purpose other than to tie him to the mundane world. He had been tossed about through space and time one too many times throughout his long years. He had the time-space anchor built for him by a very powerful magician in the mid-eighties. With the gears turning and the machinery beating slow and steady like a tiny heart, he felt confident that he could eat and drink without fear.
After some of the best food he had in years, the three relaxed around the table to talk. Tea and schnapps were poured and the fire stoked. The warmth of the fire and the powerful drink made the encounter more relaxed.
“I was once indentured to the Yule Lord, Kringle, as Holly and her clan are now,” began Carnot. “Our people have worked for him for ages, long before he acquired the power that he has now. We enjoy the work. It is what we are made for. Kringle defended our people from the goblin tribes that roam the North, fed and sheltered us through the dark of winter, and gave us purpose. But he can be a cruel master. Those that fail him are punished with the utmost severity. He sees and hears near everything in his domain-”
“You mean he knows when you’ve been sleeping, he knows when you’re awake? He knows when you’ve been bad or good?” interjected Alexander, a wry smile on his face.
“Precisely,” said Carnot, “and he tolerates no one stepping out of line. He sends his enforcers to give warnings. He sets his demon on those whom he wishes to make an example of,” said Carnot..
“Demon?” said Alexander.
“Yes. Bound in chains and adorned with bells, Krampus is given free rein to torment those whom his master deems unworthy,” said Carnot.
“I never saw that Claymation special,” said Alexander.
“So how come you don’t work for the big man anymore? He sounds like a peach,” said Alexander.
“I bought my freedom. I’ve always been somewhat odd for an elf. My skills as a hedge wizard are minor, but enough that I was able to earn my way out of the factories and away from the North. I don’t bear Kringle any ill will. He has done much good, It is only that our ways are foreign to you, and your understanding of him.” said Carnot.
“And no one ever talks about all the good things Hitler did. Whatever,” said Alexander, finishing his drink and pouring another. He had the constitution of a sofa bed. 
“Please, you must understand. He is most certainly the least of the evils in this cold land. Kringle is a being of extremes. He can go from gregarious to rage in an instant. He is not a man, so do not compare him to one,” added Holly.
“Enough bandying around the point. Why do you need me?” asked Alexander.
“One of the young men in my clan failed in his assigned duties and missed a major deadline. Kringle has those that fail in such extreme circumstances executed and their clans enslaved. My father, the clan leader, prostrated himself before Kringle to spare the boy and the clan. Requests such as these are settled in trial by combat before the entire assembled court as part of the Christmas Eve festivities. Law allows for a Champion to fight for the clan.” said Holly.
“Hmm,” said Alexander, taking it all in. He had spent Christmas Eve in worse situations.
“My clan has little by way of material wealth, but we have much knowledge that we could offer you in payment. You are a maker and tinkerer yourself, are you not?” asked Holly.
“Yeah, you could say that,” said Alexander.
“With the accumulated knowledge of my clan, we could advance your knowledge of the ferromantic arts far beyond what they are now,” said Holly.
“So, to summarize. I fight for Santa’s amusement at the Annual Christmas Gladiator fight, and you teach me Christmas elf technomancy. Is that about right?” asked Alexander.
“Yes, that is it.” said Holly.
“So what about the dwarf assassin, who works for Santa’s army? The guy who busted up my office? If you can have a Champion, what the hell was that about?” asked Alexander.
Holly blushed, her face turning beet red.
“That was a personal matter. I am sorry I did not say so. That was Grimold. He and his brother Gromold wish to purchase my sisters and I, if we are enslaved. They are part of Kringle’s mercenary guard. It was in his personal interest that my clan fails in the trial.” said Holly.
“Anything else I need to know?” asked Alexander.
“Nothing more. My father and clansmen will wish to meet you as soon as possible,” said Holly.
“Not tonight,” said Carnot. “Rest safe behind a hearth tonight. Trolls will be about celebrating Yule, and that is something you will wish to avoid,” he finished.
“I don’t sleep often,” said Alexander, “I catch a few hours every couple of days, and It’s a bit cramped for me to stretch out in here,” he said.
“I would like to sleep before we travel,” said Holly.
“Please, take my bed and rest, child. I will visit with your Champion. I rarely sleep myself. It’s part of being old,” he chuckled. 
While Holly slept Alexander and Carnot drank and talked through the night. They moved from schnapps to stronger liquor as the night went on. The howl of merrymaking trolls echoed outside. Occasional muffled screams and wet snaps were also heard. More logs were put on the fire, and the two men continued to talk.
Morning came. It was dark and the stars still shone, but it lacked the cruel edge that true night held in these lands. Neither man was worse for wear after the long dark night. Holly awoke early and prepared to travel. They all ate a hearty breakfast of sausages and eggs, with some sort of odd berry juice that Alexander was unfamiliar with.
After breakfast, Carnot went deep into the attic of his shop for a while. He returned with two small ornate mechanical rams in the palm of each hand.
“These will bare you to the North as swift as can be,” Carnot said. “Some of my best work. Please, be safe. Holly, give my love to our people. Alexander, I wish you good luck. I hope to meet you again,” he said.
“Same here. I’m older than I look, and it’s great to be crotchety in good company,” Alexander said as they shook hands. 
Holly and Alexander departed. They walked to the northern edge of town. There was a great wooden gate set into a stone wall. Two of the town watch were manning the gate, and stopped the pair as they approached.
“Given how you’re dressed, I take it you’re heading North,” said the first guard.
“We can’t dissuade you? You’d be better off staying here for Christmas and going afterwards. Things only get worse the further you go north of the wall this close to Christmas,” said the second guard. He was sincere in his suggestion. It was clear he was afraid of the North and its denizens.
“I’m afraid not,” said Alexander. “I’ve got business to take care of, and I can’t be late.” he said.
“Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” said the first guard.
“We’ll light a couple of candles for you two,” said the second as he pulled the lever to crack the door. 
Unseen machinery opened the heavy doors enough for Holly and Alexander to pass through. After they passed the door shut behind them with a snap, leaving them alone outside the walls.
Holly took the two mechanical rams from her pocket and set them on the ground. She took a small key and wound each one up, chimes ringing as the key turned. 
“Step back,” said Holly.
The rams sprung to life. They began to jump and play, butting heads and generally acting like rams. The movements were lifelike. Alexander wasn’t impressed with magic that often, but the two clockwork toys were something to see.
Without warning, the rams leapt into the deep snow outside the gate and disappeared. Alexander watched the snow bank. Nothing happened for a minute. He began to doubt that the rams were going to do anything when they sprung from the bank, large and robust. The details were even more ornate when viewed up close. Layers upon layers of complexity were built into the clockwork creatures.
Holly climbed on top of the nearest ram. Alexander followed suit and mounted the other. He grasped the reins and the two creatures shot off into the depths of the winter forest. The rams were sure footed and swift. They knew the way to the North allowing Alexander to take in the sight.
The forest was lit from within. The snow sparkled with its own light. The trees were adorned with frost that twinkled like a department store Christmas tree. It felt like he was riding through a greeting card. Small winter animals were visible, and birds flew as they passed like a mechanical wind.
Things started to feel off after several hours of riding. Wildlife grew scarce. Trees went from whimsical to menacing. Shadows moved and vanished. Alexander was certain they were being watched. He called to Holly to halt, and they stopped their tireless mounts in a clearing. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small glass sphere. Inside was a tiny mechanical device rotating in a strange chemical soup. Alexander shook it up and tossed it straight up into the air. 
The sphere went up about ten feet and stopped. It began to glow, bathing the clearing in a electric green light. Alexander reached up to the rim of his goggles and adjusted a small dial. He kept adjusting and looking through the clearing. He stopped and in a blur of inhuman speed he pulled his ray gun and fired. Where there was an empty spot in the clearing was now a smoking goblin corpse. The twisted features were hideous. It reminded Alexander of the nursery rhyme about the Crooked Man.
The clearing exploded into activity before Alexander could further investigate the corpse. Twisted horribly, heavily armed goblins leapt out from every direction. Whatever invisibility they were keeping up was gone. They swarmed over the ground like angry black ants toward Alexander and Holly.
Time slowed down for Alexander. Other than his more obvious physical gifts he possessed what Gretchen called “Tactical Prescience”. He could see the future in a directed short term way and react on it with instinctual speed. The conscious mind could catch up after he survived. Combined with his other knowledge and abilities, it made him a very scary man.
He flew into action. Snow filled the air, kicked up from the speed that both Alexander and the Goblins were moving. Trees groaned as goblin bodies were thrown against them with enough force to crack the trunks. Alexander snatched crossbow bolts out of the air and return-fired them at the bowmen. The goblins were brutal and skilled, but lacked discipline. Those factors made it all the easier to predict and direct the battle. After several violent seconds, the remaining goblins retreated as quick as they appeared. The clearing was black with goblin blood and  fallen pine needles. Trees were cracked. Weapons lay broken and scattered on the ground. In the center of it all Alexander crouched, bleeding and bruised from all sides. His breath was labored and his eyes were distant. Bursts like that detached him from reality to a dangerous degree.
Holly moved to Alexander to help him up. His hands were bleeding from hitting the goblins, who were almost as durable as the stone-skinned dwarves.
“I think I may have broken a couple of ribs and fingers,” said Alexander as he began resetting his more obvious broken extremities before they began to heal.
“I have seen few move as fast as you did. You are a great wizard after all,” said Holly, impressed.
“Nope. Just a freak,” said Alexander with a casual tone. “But it keeps me employed.”
Holly did her best to clean Alexander up and help him set his bones. Her nimble fingers flew over his body, subtle magic guiding her hands in repairing his broken bones.
“Once the bones are set, I’ll be good in a few hours. I don’t think they messed up anything big, so with a bit of rest I will be OK,” said Alexander as he mounted his ram.
Before Holly was able to mount up, a deep basso tone rang out from the forest.
“Kringle’s mercenaries,” she said, “they must have been tracking the goblins,” she finished.
“Same guys that tore up my office?” asked Alexander, preparing for another fight.
“Unlikely, but it is best that I speak to them. Be still and silent, and we should be alright.
A dwarf clad in a red hunting cloak and bearing a huge axe stepped into the clearing. The small company of dwarves waited behind him. They were difficult to see in the dense forest. Alexander also suspected a bit of concealment magic was involved as well. 
He called out to Holly in the same language that she had spoken with Carnot. His was guttural and accented, a far cry to the flowing conversation of the native speakers. She knelt and replied. Whatever she said must have been funny, because he bellowed out in laughter. He called back to his men, in another language, and they burst out in laughter as well.
“You,” called the dwarves captain in English, “you bear our colors but are not our kind. Why do you travel alone with this servant in the domain of the Yule King,” he finished. He seemed to be amused by something. Alexander didn’t think this was funny at all. 
“You may call me Crimson Overcoat,” replied Alexander. He startled himself at using his old superhero moniker. It felt right, so he went with it.
“The elf says that you defeated these creatures,” he said gesturing to the goblins. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe what you like, dwarf. If you have business with us, then state it. If not, we have business to attend to,” said Alexander.
“What business is that?” asked the dwarf.
“Ours,” said Alexander. “Now blow.”
Holly grimaced and mouthed at Alexander to stop, but it was too late. The dwarves marched into the clearing and surrounded them.
“Let me tell you what I think,” said the dwarf captain. “I think that you were working with the goblins. That you were the loan survivor of this battle where my soldiers and I routed you. And your colors were intended to infiltrate the Master’s lands and menace the peaceful peoples of the North. Why, I bet you intended to ravish this fine elven female as your first dastardly act,” finished the captain. The dwarves soldiers hooted and laughed in approval.
Alexander sized up the situation. He was outnumbered twenty to one. He was still wounded and dazed from the last battle. In optimal conditions it would be a hell of a fight. There was no way he could take them now. 
Several dwarves soldiers moved in and chained Alexander. They stripped his bag and weapons and threw them into their sledge. The chains were strong enough to hold the rampaging whatnots that roamed the forest. That made them strong enough to hold Alexander. The company formed up and left the clearing, dragging Alexander behind.
“You’d best be off,’ said the dwarf captain to Holly, “Lest  I decide you’re a goblin conspirator as well,” he said with a cruel smile.
Holly looked at Alexander as they dragged him away in chains. Able to do nothing more, she shrank and pocketed Alexander’s ram, mounted her own, and sped away from her now captured Champion.
The march with the dwarves was rough. They moved faster than their squat forms should be able to move. They marched in silence. From Alexander’s considerable knowledge of military science, it seemed they were patrolling. He was told that they kept the goblins at bay. None of that mattered now. He was angry that he was captured, sore from his fight, and still mad that he was wrapped up in weirdo spirit world conflicts. 
The forced march continued into the night. The constant movement prevented Alexander from healing as fast as normal. He never fell behind, much to the chagrin of the dwarves. During their only stop he tried to listen to their conversation in their native language. It was some sort of proto-Scandinavian language that took off on its own strange course. He did not have much time to listen as they continued their silent march.
Alexander had lost track of time. He was tired, something that didn’t happen that often. He had been exerting himself at his peak for hours without rest, combined with whatever magic the chains held that was draining him. He was grateful when they arrived at an outlying village to stop for the night. 
The village was filled with elves. It seemed they were working shift work in the various workshops and houses scattered through the town. In a sick way it made sense. Christmas is only a few days away, thought Alexander as his captors dragged him into the barracks.
He was dragged into a holding cell carved out of solid rock and chained to the wall. He dropped to the floor and tried to find a comfortable spot. Getting as close as he could to comfortable, he relaxed and focused on healing. The dark cold cell was what he needed to mend.
Upstairs, another company of dwarves came in from their patrol. What passed for dwarves conversation echoed into the darkness of Alexander’s cell. He ignored it, up until the door was thrown open and a pair of dwarves walked in. Before he could see them, he was punched in the face by one and kicked by the other.
“I told you you should have finished me, human,” said Grimold as he struck Alexander again. 
It was a rare occasion these days that Alexander found himself beaten unconscious. But Grimold and Gromold did the job quite well. He wasn’t sure when he blacked out, but figured it was sometime between the cat-of-nine-tails and the axe handle.
Alexander woke up upside down hanging from a chain. His nose had been broken again. One eye was swollen shut. He was well tenderized by the angry dwarves. He thought that he may have been in the same room,  but he did not know for sure. Upstairs the dwarves slept and snored. It sounded like someone was trying to drown a chainsaw in a bucket of lard.
His hands were free. That was one thing. He had been stripped from the chest up. His coat and shirt were on the floor in the corner of the cell. He still wasn’t cold. The dwarves hadn’t done their homework if they were trying to kill him with exposure. At least his head was clear. A nap was a nap.
Alexander looked at the chains. They were Fae iron, and enchanted out the wazoo. The layered enchantments were bindings of various stripes, meant to keep the prisoner cowed. While he was no wizard by any stretch of the imagination, that did not mean he didn’t know any magic. He always thought of magic like drawing. Anyone can draw a stick figure. Some are decent amateurs. Some, like Gretchen, were in a league of their own. 
Idiot savant was what Gretchen often called Alexander when it came to magic. He excelled at one thing-counter magic, disenchanting, and generally taking apart the hard work of others. He could do it on a level that magicians liked to call “High Magic”, which meant that he skipped all the gobbledygook and gesticulation and did it with well placed intention. Gretchen often tried to blame it on his prescience, but she was just jealous.
Alexander cleared his mind and focused on the chains. He visualized the layers of spell craft intertwined with the metal. Molecules bonded with willpower given form and function. He saw the bonds between the metal and the magic. With slow calculated intent, he began to peel apart the spells. The magic that gave the Fae iron strength bled into the ether. Alexander pulled the single thread of magic until it unraveled the entire enchantment. The weakened metal was little more than tinfoil without the magic binding it. Alexander tore through it and landed with a thud on the cold floor. 
He waited for the dwarves to wake up and come for him. But the snoring never abated for a moment. He stood and dressed himself. Now he needed to find his gear. Ray guns were expensive to build, and if he was going to see this whole mess through he was going to need firepower.
Alexander crept up the stone stairs to the solid wooden door. He  probed the wood and hinges. It was nothing spectacular. Captives were not expected to make it past the chains. He felt the edges of the door along the hinges, which were fused to the stone foundation. There was no doorknob or any other visible means of opening the door. 
He looked closer. Set within the door were wooden cogs and gears. The entire door was one massive clockwork device. The connections were so fine that they weren’t visible unless you were looking for them. The entire set up reminded him of both the ward breaking device and the mechanical rams. The door was made by the Christmas elves. He began to inspect the door, looking for the mechanism that opened the door.
He ran his hands along the surface. It was smooth and grained like a solid piece of wood. He focused through his wounds and let his prescience guide his hand. Subtle uses of his ability were far less taxing than combat. His hands slid over the surface and found a small raised pine knot. He pressed it and the door folded into itself, vanishing into the doorframe. 
The room was dark. It was lit only by the dying embers of a hearth fire in the far side of the room. The dwarves slept on fur pallets on the floor. The noise from their snores was even louder than he thought it would be.  Half eaten hunks of meat and loaves of bread were scattered everywhere, The room stunk of dwarf sweat and ale.
Alexander crept across the room, careful to avoid stomping on errant dwarf body parts. As he walked, he searched for his gear. It didn’t take long to find it. The dwarf captain was asleep in a corner propped on an empty keg of ale. The contents of Alexander’s bag was dumped on the floor in front of him. He bent down and began to gather his gear, not wanting to leave any of his dangerous devices in the hands of drunken dwarves. He waited for the dwarf to stir. Nothing happened. The dwarf captain continued to snore without interruption.
The main door of the barracks was a simple deadbolt. No fancy elven devices, no traps or clockwork contraptions. Alexander let himself out into the dark frigid night. The street was dark and the snow fell hard. The houses were dark. No one was on the streets. The silence was a physical thing, menacing and cruel. 
He took no chances as he snuck through the dark village. Alexander kept to the shadows and walked on top of the snow, which was much harder than it looked. He made almost no sound, and what noise he did make was muffled by the snowfall. He saw no guards or watchman. It struck him as odd, seeing as how the goblins appeared to be an ever-present threat. Then he heard the howls and feral laughter he had heard the night before. The trolls were out celebrating.
Raucous howls and grew closer. Alexander moved from street level to the rooftops trying to stay out of sight. He couldn’t see the trolls, but he could smell them. They smelled worse than the dwarves, a mixture of rotten meat and despoiled earth. He still couldn’t see them, but they sounded like they were right on top of him. Then he saw why.
The trolls were huge, half as tall as the largest trees. They blended in, their skin grey, black and cracked like tree bark. Most had multiple heads. A few had extra limbs. They lacked bilateral symmetry and were ugly as sin itself. 
They ambled into town, joking in some awful feral language. One carried a large sack that wiggled and writhed. It reached into the sack and pulled out a struggling elf. He screamed as the troll tossed him into his open maw like a pretzel, crunching and swallowing the elf with relish. 
Alexander shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought as he began to sprint across the sloped rooftops toward the snacking troll. Snow fell in sheets from the roof as he sacrificed stealth for speed. He pulled his ray gun and targeted the troll carrying the bag. Alexander squeezed the trigger. The bolt of energy flashed and burned as it struck the troll in one of its massive fingers. It howled with incoherent rage as it dropped the bag from his burning hand.
Alexander pushed his busted up body with as much speed as he could muster. He kicked up a rooster tail of snow as he sped  toward the massive bag. He jumped and grabbed the massive burlap sack and dragged it away from the troll. The bag and Alexander hit the ground. Alexander rolled to his feet and the elves tumbled out of the sack ass over elbows. 
The trolls began to take notice of their escaping hors d’eouvres. The injured troll turned one of its misshapen heads toward Alexander and the escaping elves. They were running out of the bag and vanishing into the woods as Alexander held open the bag. The wounded troll raised his massive foot to stomp them flat. Alexander fired his pistol at the bottom of the trolls foot. It recoiled as the bolt burned the grey flesh black. 
Elves scattered into the woods. Alexander followed the fleeing elves. They were fast and quiet. The trolls began to give chase, deciding that fast food would be the menu for tonight. Horrible howls filled the dark forest. One of the elves stumbled in front of Alexander. Without slowing down he reached down and grabbed the small figure by the cloak and tucked him under his arm like a football. 
“Make for that hill,” cried the elf, pointing ahead to a small brush covered hill between a copse of trees.
Alexander ran as fast as he could. Behind him trees splintered and trolls bellowed. As the neared the hill, the elf gestured and hissed a spell. A secret door opened up and the pair leapt through the open portal. It slammed shut as fast as it opened. Alexander felt his inner ear pop of a rapid spatial shift as he landed on the stone floor of the cave.
The elf dropped to the floor. Alexander began to feel sore again as the rush of adrenaline faded. He sat down and leaned on the edge of the cave. The cool stone felt good on his bruised back. The elf turned to him and stood up. He had red hair and rosy cheeks the same as Holly. He was short, just shy of five feet.
“Thank you,” said the elf. “My kin and I owe you our lives,” he finished. 
“I should thank you as well. Without that handy portal you opened, we would not have lasted long. What can I call you?” asked Alexander.
“You may call me Black Peter,” said the elf, who offered his hand.
“Crimson Overcoat,” said Alexander, again using his superhero moniker on reflex. He chided himself. He was getting too wrapped up in the weirdness.
“You have been spoken of amongst my people. The Amaryllis Clan sought you and your Mistress as a Champion, did they not?” asked Black Peter.
“If you mean a young lady called Holly, then yes. We hit a few snags and were separated. I’m trying to make my way to the North to find her,” said Alexander.
“Then you need travel no further. You are in the lands of Kringle, within his factory. Come with me, and I shall take you to her and her clansmen,” said Black Peter as he helped Alexander to his feet. 
The two followed the tunnel a short distance. Alexander had to duck. He wasn’t too tall by any means, but his near six foot frame was giant compared to the elves. At the end of the tunnel he was able to stand. They stepped out onto a wooded walkway into a massive factory. 
It was hard to perceive the size of the factory itself. Massive boilers belched steam. Oversized gears turned complex assembly lines. Elves flitted about, managing machines and working the lines. The factory was a temple to efficiency melded with craftsmanship. Magic interwove with machinery with seamless ease. It made Alexander, with all of his mechanical skills, look like a kid with a box of tinker toys.
“Wow,” said Alexander, dumbfounded.
“Indeed,” said Black Peter. “Follow me.”
Black Peter led Alexander through the factory. Every bit of space was used for something. Alexander ducked and weaved in and out of the laboring elves, all of whom were engrossed in their respective jobs. They went deeper into the factory to a mechanical elevator. They stepped in, Alexander having to crouch to avoid the ceiling. 
“The one you called Holly arrived with disparaging news of your capture yesterday. It is unfortunate that you had a run in with the dwarven mercenaries. Inefficient foreign barbarians. I was nearly eaten by trolls because of their drunken stupidity. I have long petitioned Kringle to use my mechanical soldiers in their stead,” said Black Peter.
“I don’t disagree with you there,” said Alexander, remembering the stench of the sleeping dwarves.
“My rescue will earn you favor with the court,” said Black Peter, “My clan serve as chief weaponers and engineers to Kringle, and I am among the elders,” he said.
“That won’t really matter,” said Alexander. “I’m here to serve as a Champion in a trial by combat.”
“Favor with Kringle comes in many forms,” said Black Peter as the elevator stopped. 
The two stepped out. They were on the surface now. The well-maintained warehouse was filled with industrious elves, wrapping presents and packing crates. Black Peter led Alexander to a foreman’s desk where an elf with graying hair poured over a ledger. He looked up at Black Peter, and then to Alexander.
“Thank Kringle you have arrived,” shouted the elf. “When Holly arrived without you, I had feared you lost to the depravities of the North,” said the excited elder elf. “Forgive me. I am called Elder Amaryllis. I am the one who sent for you.”
“Crimson Overcoat,” said Alexander, offering his hand.
“We will speak further after the shift is done. It was good of you to bring him here, Black Peter,” said Elder Amaryllis.
“He saved me and several of my kin from trolls. You have found a worthy champion, Amaryllis,” said Black Peter.
“Come with me,” said Black Peter to Alexander. “You shall enjoy the hospitality and gratitude of my Clan while you wait.
Black Peter led Alexander outside the warehouse. They were in a mountain valley surrounded by snow covered peaks. Stars twinkled and the northern lights cascaded far brighter than they ever had in the mundane world. Neat rows of houses and workshops lined a single winding street. At the edge of the valley set in the edge of the mountain was a great hall, what had to be the castle of Santa. It was more Viking longhouse than fantasy castle. 
Black Peter led Alexander far up the streets. The houses grew larger and more ornate. Coats of arms became more impressive as they grew closer to the Great Hall. Black Peter led Alexander to a hall within spitting distance of Kringle’s palace grounds. The hall was impressive in and of itself. Elves with similar dress and appearance to Black Peter rushed to the pair as they arrived. Emotion ran thick and the lilting tongue of the elves intertwined with tears of joy. 
Alexander found himself swarmed with elves as well, shaking his hand and hugging him. They switched to English, thanking him for saving their kin from the trolls. They led the two into the hall, and before long a great celebration was at hand. The elves were excellent hosts. His wounds were dressed. He was given a chance to bathe in a wonderful hot shower (the elves were big on indoor plumbing). He found his clothes mended and cleaned, his boots polished to a shine better than new, and his crimson coat cleaned and oiled. The brass buttons shone like new.
The feast was remarkable. The wealth and status of Black Peter’s clan was everything that Alexander was told. Music, dancing, drinking and feasting were the rule of the day. The gratitude and hospitality of the Christmas elves was beginning to change his opinions of the Fae.
Later in the day a loud whistle blast blew, signaling the change of shifts in the great factory. Black Peter and one of his kin came over to Alexander. He was sitting and healing, mending his wounds with the force of will. 
“Crimson Overcoat, this is Ronald. He will take you to the Amaryllis Clan Hall. Thank you again, and if there is anything else you may need while you are among our people, please let me know.” said Black Peter.
“I appreciate your kindness,” said Alexander and he stood and shook hands. 
Alexander left the hall to thankful cheers. It would have bolstered his ego, but he knew that the hard part was still to come. 
Ronald led Alexander to a smaller, more modest hall further from the Great Hall. Elder Amaryllis was waiting with Holly to greet him.
 “I see that your stay with Black Peter was kind to you,” said Elder Amaryllis.
“Quite. Holly, I’m glad you made it home safe,” said Alexander. Holly ran forward and hugged Alexander tight.
“Please, come inside. We should discuss the matter that has brought you to us,” said Elder Amaryllis.
Amaryllis Hall was neat and tidy, like everything else amongst the elves. It was home to the majority of the clan. Some were resting, while others chatted and ate. Children ran about, playing with remarkable handmade toys. The Elder signaled for drinks to be brought to the head table where they sat.
“I understand that I am to be Champion representing your clan in a trial by combat. Your labor negotiations get right to the point,” said Alexander.
“You must understand that our entire clan is at stake. We will be enslaved if you fail, with the young misfit, who brought this upon us, executed. We love our work. We are one with our magic. The two are inseparable. It is rare that we have a bad egg amongst us, but the mischief of our outcast may cost us dearly,” said the Elder.
“If you say he wants to be a dentist, I’m leaving,” said Alexander.
“No such nonsense as that,” said the Elder. “His heart is set on mischief. Antisocial behavior is very rare among our people. When one such as our misfit misbehaves, it disrupts the harmony of the whole,” said the Elder.
“Whatever he did, it’s done. No take-backsies. So you went to the boss and invoked whatever labor contract you have, and now it’s pistols at dawn,” said Alexander.
“The trial will be held on Christmas Eve, before the Hunt during the grand Celebration at the Great Hall. It will be before all the clans and dignitaries, overseen by Kringle himself,” said the Elder.
“Any formalities prior to the event?” asked Alexander.
“No. You merely need to present yourself at the time of the trial. Kringle will call forth the Clan Elder or the Champion they have chosen. You step out, declare yourself, and win.” said the Elder.
“Who or what am I fighting?,” asked Alexander.
“That is decided by Kringle, who will declare a Champion of his own. He often sends his mercenary dwarves to fight,” said the Elder.
“I can take them. No problem,” said Alexander.
“I have spoken to him of our payment, and he has accepted,” interjected Holly.
“You have knowledge of what you call technomancy, if I correctly understand?” asked the Elder.
“Yes. But I have seen the works of your people. I thought I was good until I saw some of your work. I’m like a monkey with a ball peen hammer compared to your elves.” said Alexander.
“I have prepared a Codex Mechanica for you,” said the Elder as he presented Alexander with a cube of meshed gears and mechanical parts. The parts within the cube shifted and changed of their own accord, and interlocking web of gears and machinery.
“How does it work?” asked Alexander as he inspected the cube.
“Figure that out,” said the Elder with a smile, “and you will learn all that you need.”
Most people would be angry about a payment made with a riddle, but Alexander loved puzzles. He understood learning by doing was one of the only ways to learn magic. He placed the codex in one of his inner pockets.
“I know this is probably a silly question, but what day is it? Night and day are different here than in my home, and I’ve been teleported at least twice since I have been here. That tends to throw off my inner clock,” said Alexander.
“It is December the 24th. We approach Christmas Eve. The Celebration begins in four hours. You should prepare yourself. I have prepared a room to sequester yourself until the celebration to meditate. You will then be guests of our clan at the Celebration. If it is to be your last meal, it will be the best you have ever had. Kringle is as generous as he is cruel,” said the Elder.
“I hate the spirit world,” Alexander mumbled to himself as he was led to the room prepared for him.
The next few hours were spent checking his gear and weapons, and focusing on healing. Alexander dropped into a deep meditative trance, letting his body heal the myriad of fractures, bruises, and punctures he suffered at the hands of the dwarves. The preparation time was more than he usually afforded before a huge fight.
Alexander was pulled from his trance by the blowing of great basso horns. He stood and removed his bandages and bindings, which he no longer needed. He stretched and found that he was once again in fighting form. No matter what came next he would be on the top of his game.
Holly entered the room wearing her Christmas finery. She was attractive and alien at the same time.
“The feast begins. You are to accompany our clan. Follow me,” she said.
Alexander followed Holly to the street. It was packed with elves dressed in their finest clothing. The class system was apparent, with the lowest elves in peasant clothing and the highest dressed like princes. Amaryllis clan came somewhere in between, more than modest but less than kingly.
The dwarves were here as well. They marched in a long column, flag bearers carrying the crests of the various mercenary units. They were impressive massed together. Uncouth as Alexander found them they could still put on a hell of a show. 
The Great Hall was lit and decorated with gold and silver. Garlands sparkling with fairy fire lined the buildings surrounding the Hall. The snow sparkled and the icicles were artfully placed. Topiaries danced and frolicked among the trees, all of which were lit with red and green candles.
The Hall was larger on the inside than it was on the outside. This sort of thing didn’t bother Alexander. It was a common enough trick that he had seen it several times before. The scents and sounds and sights were best described as elemental Christmas. The Great Hall was the spiritual locus of worldwide winter festivals and celebrations predating history.
At the far end of the hall was a throne of ornate wood and gold filigree. It stretched upwards into a living Christmas tree, covered in silver and gold and sparkling with light. Fine furs covered the throne. Below the raised dais were several occupied chairs. Black Peter sat in one of them and bowed his head in recognition of Alexander.
Alexander took his place at the table with the Amaryllis clan next to Holly. The rest of the merry throng filed in, all taking their seats. Some of the dwarves noticed Alexander and cursed him, but he couldn’t hear them over the cacophony. Being mature, he scratched his head with his middle finger and pretended to ignore them.
When everyone was seated, Black Peter rose and slammed a staff on the floor. The sound was massive and the room fell silent. 
“All hail the Yule Lord, Master of the North, Lord of the Hunt, Kris Kringle!” cried Black Peter.
In a flash of fire from the fire in the center of the hall, Santa appeared. 
Kris Kringle was not what Alexander expected. For one, he was tall, at least among the assembled throng. He wore a red fur-lined cloak. His features were sharp, and his beard and mustache were close cropped. He had a sword and whip connected to his thick leather belt. What Alexander first thought were fur leggings were his legs. His lower half were white hair ending in black hooves. Leather chaps covered the front of his legs. A set of mighty antlers curved out of his forehead, and a crown of garland sat upon his brow. He was built like bricklayer, strong undefined muscle with a slight belly pooch. Calling him fat would be a mistake.
“LET THE FEAST BEGIN!” he bellowed, shaking the hall with the power of his voice.
“Holy crap,” muttered Alexander. Even with everything he had seen he was still astonished. Christmas at the North Pole was getting crossed off his bucket list.
Despite his anxiety, Alexander ate like a horse. It was the best food he ever had, and there was no shortage of it. He listened to the songs sung by the elves, and even to the epic poetry the dwarves performed. His sharp senses were overloaded by the experience and he had to focus to clear his head. The whole party was ephemeral and he was starting to lose touch with reality, something he could not afford. He reached into his pocket and thumbed his totem. It was beating fast like the heart of a small animal, a sign that he was being enchanted or otherwise ensorcelled by other dimensional powers. He flicked the toggle on its side, and a burst of energy shocked him back to his senses hard enough to throw him from his chair.
“Are you alright?” asked Holly.
“Fine,” said Alexander, lying.
Alexander put on his goggles and adjusted them to try and block out the intensity of the feast. It helped enough to clear his head up in time for the real festivities. Tables were cleared and moved from the floor. Risers were assembled and the crowd took their places as Kringle announced the beginning of the trials. There were three that evening, the final being Alexander’s. 
Kringle sat on his throne and watched as the first combatants took the floor. One of the dwarves’ captains, a grizzled and scarred dwarf named Crushtar served as his Champion. The first battle was over as quick as it started. The elf charged Crushtar who allowed himself to be stabbed by the elves short blade. It bent and broke as it struck his stone like skin. The dwarf grabbed the elf by the skull and squeezed until pale blood ran out of his ears. He dropped him to the floor in a heap. The entire crowd roared in approval. Christmas was a rough time of year at the North Pole.
The second battle lasted three seconds longer than the first. This time Crushtar crushed the elf’s ribcage with a head butt. It was ugly, but Alexander saw enough to calculate a winning strategy against the brute. He was set so far in his ways as to be predictable to a fault. 
Alexander’s time had arrived. 
“I CALL FORTH THE COMBATANT OF CLAN AMARYILLIS TO ASSERT THEIR RIGHT TO TRIAL BY COMBAT ON THIS CHRISTMAS EVE!” bellowed Kringle. 
Alexander stepped out into the room. It was silent for a moment. He was decked out in full superhero gear. His  brass goggles glowed with an inner light, concealing his eyes. His hair and sideburns were free and flowed in the breeze that circulated the room. His coat was open enough to give him access to his ray gun and tool belt. At his waist were two small rocket mounts, allowing him to fly for brief periods. 
“I, Crimson Overcoat, stand as Champion for Clan Amaryllis,” he said. It was nostalgic but he did his best to keep focused.
“STEP FORWARD AND MEET MY CHAMPION,” called Kringle. 
Alexander waited for the dwarf to step forward. Instead, Kringle pulled an iron bell from his waist.
“KRAMPUS, YOUR MASTER BIDS YOU COME!” called Kringle. 
The room shook and grew cold. A miniature blizzard blew into the hall, extinguishing  fires and knocking over revelers. In the center of the floor, the blizzard coalesced into a demonic form. Horns protruded from his forehead and fangs filled his maw. He was dressed in blood soaked rags. Chains were wrapped around him. Small tinkling bells were attached to the chains, making a faint jingle as he walked. His hooves froze the space on which he stood into ice. He looked at Alexander and laughed. It was a musical laugh, which made it all the more sinister coming from the demonic visage.
“DO NOT BEGIN TO THINK THAT I DO NOT KNOW ALL THAT TRANSPIRES WITHIN MY REALM, CRIMSON OVERCOAT,” said Kringle. “I WISH FOR SPORT THIS EVE, AND YOU WILL PROVIDE IT. FIGHT!” he said as he leaned back on his throne and sipped from his large stein.
Krampus giggled as he leapt into the air and arced toward Alexander. Chains of carved bone flew from the basket on Krampus’ back. Alexander blurred across the room and the chains followed. Alexander reached for the next seconds of the future only to be met by visions of terror. Children screamed as they were pulled from their homes by the demon. Frantic screams mixed with jolly laughter followed every course of action. Alexander stumbled at the psychic onslaught and the chains bound him.
Krampus swung Alexander in a long arc and smashed him into the floor. The demon pulled the chain again, whipping Alexander against the wall. The rafters shook and the dwarves cheered. The elves remained silent.
Before he could be tossed about again Alexander regained his footing. He wiggled his hand free, pulled his ray gun, and shot the demon in the face. The chains went slack as the creature roared in pain. Alexander turned up the power to full and fired again. The blast lit the entire room in white light. Where Krampus stood there was a crater in the floor.
The elves cheered, but Alexander remained cautious. He touched the future and saw that he was still blocked by the demon’s influence. He smelled brimstone and heard a whistling sound in time to drop to the ground as the demon teleported on top of him. 
Krampus stomped on Alexander’s forearm. The bones cracked but he kept his grip on his gun. Alexander reached into his belt and pulled the cold iron hammer from his belt. With one smooth motion he struck Krampus and broke his leg.
The demon leapt off of Alexander’s arm howling in pain. The skin smoldered and smoked where the iron struck his skin. Alexander grinned and charged the creature, hammering away at the demon. Chunks of burning flesh flew off after each blow. Krampus clawed and kicked and bit, but Alexander kept hammering away. Alexander fought through the pain as he beat the creature to death.
“ENOUGH!” cried Kringle, “I DECLARE CRIMSON OVERCOAT, CHAMPION OF CLAN AMARYILLS TO BE VICTOR, AND ALL CRIMES AGAINST MY THRONE DISMISSED! SUCH IS THE MERCY OF THE YULE KING!” declared Kringle.
The elves and even some of the dwarves cheered. Alexander limped to a chair and sat down. 
“YOU ARE NOT FINISHED YET, CHAMPION,” said Kringle as he rose from his chair. “YOU SHALL CONTINUE TO PROVIDE SPORT THIS EVENING.”
“I’m done. I don’t want to sit on your lap. I want to go home,” said Alexander.
“YOU ARE THE STRONGEST CHAMPION TO ENTER MY REALM IN HUNDEREDS OF YEARS, AND MY BLADE YEARNS FOR BATTLE. MY SERVENTS SING PRAISES OF YOUR STRENGTH AND VALOR. LET ALL THOSE HERE WITNESS THE POWER OF THEIR LORD AND MASTER AGAINST THIS WORTHY AND HONORABLE OPPONENT!” cried Kringle. He unsheathed his sword and whip and took to the floor. Everyone rose to their feet and cheered except for Alexander. 
“TAKE THE FLOOR, CHAMPION! FEW HAVE HAD THE HONOR THAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO RECEIVE!” said Kringle.
“I punched out a drunken Santa in a bar once for groping a nice young lady. That’s good enough for me,” said Alexander.
“YOU HAVE NO CHOICE,” cried Kringle. The god rose to his full height and attacked.
It was like fighting a force of nature. Alexander had fought supervillians, real nasty destroy-the-world types, in his bygone days. This reminded him of those fights. No time to think, just act. Kringle was a whirlwind of destruction. Every direction that Alexander looked to the future he saw the winter god waiting for him.
Fighting was a no-win option. Alexander pulled his gun out and set it to overload. 
“Merry Christmas,” said the bloodied Alexander as he threw the ray gun at Kringle. The explosion was a brilliant rainbow of color. Kringle was thrown back. Alexander triggered his rocket belt and shot through the smoke vent in the roof.
The rockets were a short term option. They were not for long distance travel, and would burn out soon. He set his goggles to scan for alternative transport. It detected an energy surge in the stables. Alexander laughed at his dumb luck. He shot to the stables and landed in a puff of snow. He was met with snorts and hoof beats of eight massive reindeer. 
The stable boy looked at Alexander for only a moment. He then motioned for him to come inside.
“You saved my mother from the Trolls. I am forever grateful. I can feel Kringle’s wrath from here. You must leave this realm before he ends you,” said the young elf.
“Then help me hook this team up,” said Alexander.
The elf moved with the rapid supernatural efficiency of his people. The reindeer were not tiny, nor were they jolly. But they exuded magic. Alexander pulled out a electromechanical compass from his belt. He adjusted the dials and levers, and got a bearing.
“Thanks,” said Alexander as he took the reins of the sled.  He grabbed the whip from the bench and snapped it over the team. They stood still, stamping at the ground.
“Do I really have to do this,” said Alexander, knowing the magic needed to escape. He could hear the call of hunting horns and the baying of hounds. He didn’t have long.
“Alright. Now Dasher! Now Dancer!, Now Prancer and Vixen!, On, Comet, On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!” cried Alexander as he cracked the whip again. The team took off with a shot, out of the stable and into the air. The lights of the North Pole receded below him. The cries of the hunt below him faded as he took to the skies. He checked his compass and followed the bearing it gave him. 
The needle flew back and forth as the course home changed. He went over the treetops, scraping the snow off the pine trees. The speed was incredible. He tried not to think about the fact that he had just sled-jacked Santa’s reindeer and sleigh.
The needle on his compass was set to a single point. The totem in his pocket beat a steady tone as he approached the mundane world. The team landed and slowed to a stop outside a small copse of trees. They refused to budge further. 
“Thanks for the ride,” said Alexander.
“You’re welcome,” replied Donner. “It was our pleasure,”
Alexander shook his head and checked the compass needle. He followed the winding course it charted through the trees. Trees grew dense and the snow stopped. The ground was wet and sandy. Alexander came to a fence. He slipped into the mundane world without fanfare. He leapt the fence, went to his bike, and drove home.
At home, he found a message waiting on his work cell phone. It was from Gretchen, the only one who ever called him on that number. He dialed his voicemail and listened to the message.
“Alex, it’s Gretchen. Kristina called and said the office was trashed. Call me,” she said at the end of the message. There were twelve more messages like that, each increasing in anger and frustration. 
He dialed Gretchen. She picked up, but before she could talk he interrupted.
“Long story. Fought Santa Clause. Bah, Humbug. It’ll be in my report,” said Alexander.
“What? Whatever; call me tomorrow. Merry Christmas,” said Gretchen.
A merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night, he thought as he went upstairs for a much deserved long winter’s nap.
###