{ pathetic.org }
 

The S.A.N.T.A. Conspiracy (Ch 1-6)

by Graeme Fielden

 

THE S.A.N.T.A.CONSPIRACY  

PROLOGUE

On Earth it’s a popular misconception that the persona known as Santa Claus[1] is a portly, white-haired gentleman with a fondness for red suits, long beards and jovial laughter. While on a superficial level several of these characteristics are true they are little more than titbits of a more incredible story: spanning generations, blending realities between the mortal world of man and the worlds of magic. Nicholas Augustus Claus is an incredible man. Renowned in our world as the face of Christmas he is lesser known as the founding Chairman of S.A.N.T.A. INC, an equally incredible company.

S.A.N.T.A. Inc. is the oldest and it remains the most prolific toy production and transportation company in existence. It’s a multi-world conglomerate that’s listed on the Fortune 500 of the ELFTEX[2] with a brand that’s recognised on five major worlds. Best-known as the founder of mass production and multi-verse logistics, S.A.N.T.A. Inc. is a magnological[3] revolutionary whose democratic work structures have set the basis for employee relations throughout the civilised worlds. Yet despite its notoriety, S.A.N.T.A’s workings remain a mystery on the Earth, meaning its name remains inextricably linked to the jolly fat chairman whose image is franchised to the department stores that littler its surface.

Where Nicholas came from is the subject of conjecture for little is known of his history prior to his establishment of The Workshop at the North Pole.

Why he chose the location was a mystery. It was as remote and hostile a location as could be chosen on a planet regarded by most as insignificant and remote. Certainly there were benefits to be derived from its tax-free status, which made his accountants happy yet it offered little by way of facilities or transport links to the S.A.N.T.A. Inc. workforce, which made the decision more perplexing.

Nicholas had his critics. They laughed at him when he asked for finance, they criticised his vision. Many he’d regarded as friends refused him when he sought their help. They just didn’t believe. How could they? They didn’t know about the Gateway, about the Elves…

It’s a little known fact that the North Pole houses a Gateway. Known to humans as the Northern Lights, its purpose is not purely decorative. You see in reality those lights are a Gateway: a multidimensional portal that acts as a link between the Earth and the magical worlds of dragons, elves, and fairies. Used correctly a Gateway can be an amazing tool. It filters the natural magic that accumulates about the poles, distilling it from its raw, erratic form into a positive energy that S.A.N.T.A. Inc. has learnt to harness. When I say that S.A.N.T.A. learnt to harness the energy, well, that isn’t quite true - it was the Elves that learnt to harness the energy. Nick befriended the Elves and together they worked in harmony to make S.A.N.T.A. Inc what it is today.

Something’s changed…

 

Time:           9:40p.m.

Date: 23rd December.

Location: Clonmel, County Tipperary, Eire.

 

Outside it was bleak and black. Not the usual bleak where low strung clouds and fog joined seamlessly to form a pea-soup horizon, just inches from your eyes. Tonight it was worse. Winds howled from every direction. Icicles clung to drainpipes, bending sideways with the wind. The moon had given up; seemingly it had moved to a more deserving portion planet where it could dance over pristine oceans and be gazed upon by canoodling lovers, sipping ridiculous cocktails with paper-made umbrellas, which stuck in your eye when you tried to drink them. No one walked the streets: they were empty except for oversized rats that skittered across the cobbles in search of food scraps from the local chipper. An electric-powered scooter leaned against the wall beneath the squeaking, swaying sign of Paddy O’Shea’s famous pub where it was rumoured that the finest pint of Guinness in the whole of Ireland could be found. A shiny black helmet, with in-built solar panels on its top and miniature wipers on its screen, hung over the scooter’s handle. Embroided neatly within the helmet’s black silk lining, were the words: Seamus Padraig O’Murphy – Inventor Extraordinaire

 

*                  *                  *

 

It was the 23rd December and Seamus was seated alone at the bar of the Paddy O’Shea’s, cursing his absent-minded relatives who’d forgotten, once again, to invite him to Christmas dinner.

”Christmas? Bah humbug!” Seamus mumbled into his drink.

”Bah humbug!” a voice replied.

Seamus looked about him at the bar, which was empty except for the publican, Paddy, who polished the spirit bottles with an old rag. 

”Excuse me,” said Seamus. ”Did you say something?”

Paddy looked at Seamus with a vacant expression and shrugged his shoulders. ”Another pint sir?” he asked.

”Humbug! Humbug! Humbug!” repeated the voice.

”You said it again!” said Seamus.

Paddy flashed Seamus a tight-lipped smile then placed the Guinness upon the bar. ”Two-twenty, thank you, Sir,” said Paddy.

Seamus collected his Guinness. He turned to find his seat but he tripped and fell to the floor. When he looked up he found that he was staring into a luminous set of bug-like eyes…  Time stopped and the world seemed to freeze as he looked into them. They grew larger, drawing him closer as he followed their whirlpool movement. He heard the sound of distant incantations and it seemed as though his mind was swimming through an infinite sea until he heard the distant sound of clicking fingers. Click. Click.

Seamus was in a dream. He heard voices: a kaleidoscope of shifting, moving sounds that floated through his sub-conscious. Sometimes it seemed that there were many voices until they’d blend to a single source and he’d see those luminescent eyes. The voice, Echo, Echo and Echoed.

“Yes,” it said to him. “Yes, yes, yes.  You can do it. Follow me, Seamus. With my help you can do it.   We can do it, it, it."

Click. Click. 

Seamus opened his eyes to find that he was at the grand front door of O’Murphy Manor, where he had the sudden urge to prepare the guest bedroom for the strange, bug-eyed man, who followed in his wake.

 

*                  *                  *

 

Seamus woke the next morning with a clouded head. ”Too much Guinness, such strange dreams!” he said as he wandered down the stairs for breakfast.

For most people the preparation of breakfast is simple. Toast, eggs, bacon, black pudding, coffee, orange juice; add a toaster, fry pan and a cook top - et voila - breakfast is served. Alas, Seamus was not like most people. You see, he was an inventor, an extraordinary one!

Seamus’ aim was to take complex tasks and make them simple by converting them into binary code. He fed the code into his computer, BUD[4], which commanded the amazing devices that ran O’Murphy Manor. 

A series of 1’s and 0’s darted about the room at supersonic speed as Seamus flicked a switch.

”Brr, Brr, Brr,” BUD hummed as it woke with a cybernetic version of a yawn. ”Top of the morning to you, Sir,” said BUD’s lilting Tipperary accent.

“Hmm,” Seamus replied.

”A pleasant sleep I hope. Will it be a cooked breakfast?”

”Extra bacon,” Seamus grumbled as he nodded before burying his nose in the morning paper.

In the background a small army of cogs and gears whirred as they began to spin. The conveyor hummed and the cooker switched itself on while a fry pan lowered itself to the hotplate. The cappuccino machine gurgled as Seamus continued reading, oblivious to the frantic activity. Two sausages made their way across the bench top, dropping into the fry pan where they sizzled beside fried eggs that flipped automatically at the appointed time. The toaster popped, sending two pieces of toast flying through the air to land on Seamus’ plate.

BUD continued its cheery banter. ”Today’s forecast is for early fog to clear by mid-morning to reveal a partly cloudy day with a top temperature of five degrees Celsius.”

”Stocks,” said Seamus.

”Starting in New York. The top movers overnight were: ADT up 40,

Unisco up 35, CBA down…” said BUD.

”Humbug,” said a voice.

Seamus looked at BUD’s monitor.

”What did you say?” asked Seamus. 

”CBA down 20 points following news,” said BUD.
          “Humbug,” the voice repeated.

”You said Humbug!” said Seamus.

If it is possible for a computer to look confused and to shrug its shoulders then that’s the effect conveyed by BUD’s pause…

”CBA down 20 points following,” BUD continued.

”Humbug?” screamed Seamus, his chubby red face glowing with fury as he punched the table.

”Humbug it did!” said the old man from across the table.

”Whhha? Whaaaa!” answered Seamus.

The man was washed and dressed in Seamus’ oversized flannel dressing gown. He picked at Seamus’ monogrammed slippers as placed his feet onto the table. ”I said humbug!” said the strange man with a grin.

Seamus looked on in furious amazement.

”I thought you were a dream!” 

”A dream? A dream indeed! Are you telling me you don’t remember our deal?”

”Deal?” 

”We had a deal, and I’m sure you’ll remember if you try,” the strange man said as he stared at Seamus. Next his eyes began to spin. Like a whirlpool they spun faster and faster. Seamus stopped mid-sentence, transfixed as a section of his mind awoke and suddenly he remembered a long involved conversation with the strange old man and his name was… Malcolm? Melvyn? It was something very similar yet Seamus couldn’t quite remember but he did remember the essence of the deal.

 “Yes,” said Seamus. “We had a deal. A deal to kidnap…”

Time:           6:00a.m.

Date: 24th December.

Location: The Workshop, North Pole.

Nicholas A Claus sat heavily into the rich leather chair, selecting his finest port tobacco, which he rolled into a ball and pushed into his red wooden pipe. He reclined, placing his heavy leather boots onto the desk then he flicked his thumb, which caused a steady yellow flame to appear. He placed his thumb to the pipe and drew back slowly until puffs of sweet smelling smoke filled the room.

It had been another busy year. According to the census the population had increased eight-per-cent worldwide with growth rates increasing in Asia and Africa, they’d slowed in the United States and Australia, plateaued in Europe. Better than the ten-per-cent increase last year. Still, eight per cent meant twenty-four million more people, twenty-four million more presents, a challenge indeed!

Nicholas puffed gently at his pipe as he synchronised the palm-pilot. He downloaded The List, prodding the screen to ensure the hyper-links were working. The tracking systems were the first to come on-line, followed by the GPS. He waited for temporal distortion monitor, which flashed as it ran a self-diagnostic. It pinged in unison with the cloaking device, which meant everything was in order. Nick ran one more systems check, just to be sure, before switching it off and placing it back into its cradle.

Nick sighed as he stood before a mirror. He slapped his rosy red cheeks and adjusted his shiny leather belt. ”Ho! Ho! Ho!” he bellowed as he placed his hat to his head. He pressed the switch to the intercom. ”Malakai, Is everything ready?” 

”It’s Norbert Sir.” 

”Where’s Malakai?”

”I don’t know Sir, haven’t seen him all day.”

”Hmm,” sighed Nicholas, shaking his head. ”He wanted to talk to me before the meeting. He’s made me late!”

 

*          *          *

 

Nicholas walked through the ice-covered corridor, into the boardroom, which quieted as he entered. The directors at the main table stood as he took his seat. A polite applause started following the echoed announcement: “The 1023rd annual general meeting of S.A.N.T.A. Inc. will commence in five minutes…”

The boardroom was impressive. For most of the year it was crimson, filled with chandeliers, mirrors and serious portraits that stared down from its walls. Christmas Eve and the room transformed. A wall was removed, which linked it to a high roofed auditorium with seating for two thousand. Spotlights blazed over the stage, illuminating it, then leaking light over the eager audience.

They were a mixed bunch, shareholders and members of the press mostly, although at the rear a group of workshop elves made the most of the complimentary drinks. They sang carols in barbershop harmony while Norbert shot annoyed glances at their manager to quiet them.

Nicholas chuckled softly as he leaned over to speak with Norbert. "‘Tis the season to be jolly," he whispered.

The members of the Board sat impatiently under the bright lights. They shuffled papers, playing with their microphones, tapping and adjusting them to the correct height. At the centre sat Nick. He fanned himself with a card, waving and winking whenever anyone from the audience called for a smile. Flash. Flash went the cameras each time this happened. The seats to either side of Nick were empty. They bore silver embossed nameplates declaring their owners to be Malakai and Norbert. Beyond them sat the remaining S.A.N.T.A. Inc directors: ten wizened elves with sparse silver hair, wrinkled and regal: sombre and sober, like judges at a bench. At the rostrum stood Norbert, Nick’s personal assistant, his right-hand-man. Norbert’s large, pointed ears wiggled with anticipation as he ordered his papers into a neat stack. Running his long thin fingers through his thin silver hair, he adjusted his gold monocle and cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “Hmmm hmm…if there are no objections, I will call this meeting to order. Is everyone present and accounted for?”

“Malakai sends his apologies,” said a voice.

Norbert’s head turned to Daniel, a silver-haired elf with a twitch. He waved sheet of paper in his hands. “He says he’s running late although he’s given me his proxy, and something else.”

“Noted in the minutes,” said Norbert, whose wrinkled hands scribbled as he spoke. “If there is no objection, I will announce this meeting open. The first item on the agenda is the Chairman’s report. Mr. Claus, would you do us the honour?”

Nicholas rose from his seat. He walked slowly across the stage and adjusted the microphone to match his height.

Despite the bright red suit and the jolly laughter Nick was an imposing figure. Standing well over six feet tall with a wide-heavy frame, he dominated the rostrum, which barely reached his waist.

The stage lights dimmed and the spotlights converged upon him. Small television cameras flitted through the air, surrounding him like moths about a flame; they captured his image, beaming it to billions of households throughout the multi-verse.

Nick’s rosy red cheeks glistened under the lights. A happy tear appeared in his eyes and Nick began to shake. It was just a little to begin with, but it grew so that his whole body became like jelly as he shook with laughter. He held his stomach as happy tears rolled down his cheeks. “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Nick bellowed.

The audience was silent. Stunned. They had seen it all before yet each time this happened it never ceased to amaze them. Gradually the audience began to chuckle. One by one their stunned eyes softened and their silence turned to a polite guffaw; then into a roar of laughter. Moments later the entire audience was doubled over with hysterics, writhing in their seats. The workshop elves began a chorus. “We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year,” which echoed through the auditorium.

Nick looked into the audience. He had them where he wanted them, under his control. He took a notebook from beneath his robe then licked his thumb as he turned the page to read his speech, which was written in a neat cursive style. He bent over to the microphone, and tapped it twice before speaking. “Welcome dear friends. Welcome, to the 1023rd annual general meeting of Santa Inc. I am Nicholas Augustus Claus, your humble Chairman, ” said Nick’s soft, husky voice.

Behind Nick, unseen within the darkness, Daniel reached into a pocket and retrieved a small intricately carved crystal, which he pushed onto the table. Deep shades of emerald green, ruby red, and sapphire blue reflected from its tiny surfaces, making it glisten under the bright lights. The audience stared at Nick, listening to his speech; they didn’t notice the slight hum as the crystal started to spin. Narrow beams of light scattered as its speed increased. Slowly, inch-by-inch, it began to levitate: beams of light spread through the auditorium.

One by one, the spotlights fizzed then popped as the crystal’s light reached them, leaving the stage in a progressive state of blackness except for the crystal, which hung in mid-air. A luminescent cloud gathered around it and the audience gasped as one as a shape began to appear...

“It’s been another successful year at S.A.N.T.A. Inc.” Nick stuttered, his eyes darted around the room as the light faded and the audiences restlessness became too much. He turned about as the cloud was starting to dissipate. At its centre the crystal spun furiously, projecting a bright light upward toward the roof. An object began to materialise within the light: something small and wrinkled, with sharp pointed ears and large, bug-like eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” Nick whispered.

“Humbug,” said a familiar voice.

 

Time: 9:20a.m.
Date: 24th December.
Location: Clonmel, Eire.

           

          Boom. Timothy O’Flaherty stood at the oak-panelled doorway to O’Flaherty Manor, wrestling with the heavy gargoyle-faced iron knocker, balancing a home-baked fruitcake on his Zimmer frame as he lifted the heavy knocker once again with two shaky hands. Boom.

Seamus approached BUD’s monitor. “Who’s that?” he asked.

Switching to camera twelve, Tim’s kind, wrinkled face appeared on the screen. His bushy silver eyebrows had folded with concentration as his watery eyes focused on the gargoyle knocker, which pinned his polka-dotted necktie to the door. Seamus scrolled mouse pad, prompting the camera up then down, showing Tim, thin and unsteady, dressed in an oversize pale blue suit, pink shirt and brown corduroy joggers. His shaking hands steadied him against the door.           Seamus chuckled as he zoomed the camera further to read the identity badge, which was pinned to Timothy’s chest. “Clonmel Orphanage - Official Collector,” Seamus read aloud.

“Who’s that?” asked the strange man.
          “Identify,” said Seamus.
          BUD retrieved Timothy’s file, which ticker-taped across the bottom of the screen.

“Subject: Timothy Keegan Flaherty. Address: 2 Mary Street, Clonmel. Age: ninety-two years and fourteen days. Height: five-feet-eight inches. Weight: One-hundred-and-sixty pounds. Interests: Geology, gardening, classical music,” recounted BUD.
          “What does he want?” asked Seamus.

“No data available, Sir.”

“Do you think he’ll go away if we ignore him?”

“No data available, Sir.”

“I’ll see what he wants,” said the old man as he ran to the door, which he pushed but it didn’t budge. He set the latch then, taking a run-up from the corridor he charged it from a distance. 

Boom.

 The door opened violently; sending Timothy over the Zimmer frame; catapulting the cake tin high into the air, then down onto the crown of Tim’s bald, pink head. “Ouch!” Tim winced before collapsing to the ground.

The strange man scuttled forward, but Seamus was too quick. Seamus caught him by the collar, lifting him from the floor so that his legs kept running, mid-air.

“What have I done?” asked the strange man with an indignant tone.

“Quite enough!” said Seamus. “To be basement with you! Let’s see whether you can make trouble there.”

Seamus helped Timothy to his feet and they stood there for a moment.  Next they walked through the expansive hallway, past the grand spiralled steps, into the drawing room and the old chez lounge where Timothy stretched out his creaking body.

“Some water?” asked Seamus.

Timothy’s vision was blurred. Seamus’ face wobbled back-and-forward, mingling and morphing against the grand chandelier, which hung directly above. He shook his head, closed his eyes tightly, before re-opening them to look about the room. It was filled with dust-covered chairs and sofas; sideboards, which were covered with precious ornaments, set about a fireplace at the centre of the room. Above the fireplace Seamus’ stern portrait hung, watching over the room.

 “Anything stronger?” asked Timothy.

“There’s whiskey, but it’s in the cellar,” muttered Seamus.

“Whiskey?” said Timothy, and his eyes began to sparkle.

 

Seamus didn’t often have visitors. Since the death of his mother he was never comfortable with people at the Manor. Seamus wasn’t a people person. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, quite the opposite in fact, for they fascinated him and intrigued him, yet he found them confusing and unpredictable. You see, Seamus liked logic, which explained why, even as a child, he preferred machines and computers. They were logical. They obeyed fundamental rules, which Seamus found re-assuring. Seamus liked order. He liked rules. His rules to be precise…

 

Seamus tripped his way down the dimly lit stairs, through the blackened corridor whose old timber floorboards creaked with each step. The old cellar door lay just ahead and Seamus edged toward it like a blind man, feeling his way along the dark passage. He heard a sound.

“Hwwh-Myrrrh-Waaah-Yar-Caaan-Arrr-Dooo-Hrrry-Faaar-Naaaah-Duuuuum.”

It was the strangest of sounds and it came from behind the cellar door. Seamus pressed his eye to the gap and peered inside…

 

*                  *                  *

 

In the stone-lined cellar of O’Murphy Manor sat the strange man: cross-legged, precariously balanced on a rickety stool; leaning over the round oak table as he massaged his temples with his long wrinkled fingers. He stared at the crystal. Its multi-coloured surfaces sparkled exquisitely, even under the pale-lit bulb that barely illuminated the room. It was extraordinary: unique and very rare: shiny and beautiful. He focused on it, leaning progressively forward until his large yellow-green eyes reflected in each of its sparkling, multi-coloured surfaces. His pointed ears wriggled with anticipation as he continued the ancient incantation.

“Seeeyah-Caaan-Naaan-Yabba-Doooo-Seeyah-Waaah-De-De-Yaamana.”

The crystal began to spin. It spun faster, levitating inch-by-inch above the table. Sparks appeared around it, like lightening. They flashed, sending plumes of fog that condensed about it like a cloud, which grew progressively dense. At its centre, something started to materialise.

“Neee-Yaaahh-Wooon-Yabba-Deeh-Yabba-Daah-Yaamana.”

It was very small at the start, like a miniature room, with figurines jostling in their seats. Yes, it was like a tiny audience, and they were seated before of a stage with a jolly round figure dressed in red.

“Seeeyah-Caaan-Naaan-Yabba-Doooo-Seeyah-Waaah-De-De-Yaamana.”

The strange man heard a faint voice as he tilted his ear toward the cloud. 

“It’s been another successful year at S.A.N.T.A. Inc., and I would like to thank each and every one of you for your support,” said the soft, husky voice.

          The strange man blinked. When he re-opened his eyes, Nick’s face was floating mid-air above the table. 

“Malakai! What is the meaning of this?” said Nick.
          “Yes, what’s happening?” asked Seamus as he pushed his way through the door and into the room.

“Malakai! ” said Nick.

“Malakai?” said Seamus.

“Who’s he?” said Nick and Seamus in unison as they watched each other’s face hovering in the cloud before them, dimensions apart.

Click. Click.

Lightning flashed within the cloud, filling the room with a blinding light that stunned Seamus: its force threw him to the ground, knocking him unconscious.

 

Time passed…

 

Seamus opened his bleary eyes to find the cloud dispersing, filling the cellar with a dense fog so it was impossible to see more than six inches ahead. Seamus found his way to the door, which he opened and closed, like a fan, which cleared the fog. He was alone. Malakai and Nick were nowhere to be seen. Only the crystal remained, hovering above the table. It was spinning progressively slower, fading in brightness. It lowered gradually to the table, tipping then it toppled onto its side.

Seamus picked up it up. Ouch. It was hot to touch so he found a cloth, which allowed him to examine it closer. Its multicoloured surfaces still shined, despite the heavy condensation on its surface, which he wiped carefully away.  At its centre a fading light pulsated, losing its brightness like a fading heartbeat. He stared into it and gradually it’s sparkling, reflective quality returned.

“Funny! My eyes never seemed so large, nor so yellow,” Seamus said as he watched them in the crystal.

“Humbug!” said a familiar voice that seemed to echo through his head.

 EDITORIAL NOTATION:

 

Extract from the Omniversal Book of Laws: Federation of Magic Planets Enabling Act (Definitions.)

 

(Extract)

Definition 231: federation of magic planets (FOMP):

 

(i)    is the amalgam of self-governing worlds, which exists space-time, which is signed to the FOMP Enabling Act.

(ii)  Shall be subject to any such laws as defined by the United FOMP parliament.

 

Definition 437: Cor·po·ra·tion: 

 

A corporation is defined as any (a) individual, (b) group, (c) an amalgam of individuals not recognising themselves as a group, yet working in conjunction for a mutual aim, outcome, or objective: (d)  group of groups or (e) any other perceptual, individual or collective meeting of minds, self-recognised or not: which form any type of conscious structure, whether real or perceived, which is recognised; now, before, or after:  or any by any other concept that may be physically, conceptually, ominisciently, dimensionally or inter-dimensionally convened or interpreted: in the physical or metaphysical world, for the purpose of cultivating, manufacturing, or supplying or selling any good, service, entertainment, or anything supplementary to the provision thereof; for benefit, whether monetary or through barter or via any other measurable tangible means: shall be defined as a corporation, and shall be subject to the Laws of the Federation of Magic Planets Enabling Act.

 

Time:           6:10p.m.
Date: 24th December.
Location: The Workshop, North Pole.

 

The generator began to hum and the stage lights flickered then slowly came to life. They lent a soft light, which spread shadows about the stage.

Nick remained at the dais. His bushy white eyebrows furrowed as he tapped his fingers, one by one, while the mysterious puzzled pink face disappeared into the cloud.  Malakai had replaced it at its centre. His skinny frame protruded from the clouds remnants, which he waved away before he straightened his suit.

Click. Click. With the snap of his long-bony fingers, the crystal disappeared. 

Malakai’s silver hair sparkled and his yellow eyes glowed above the audience, who remained in darkness although their chatter filled the room.

What they had witnessed? Was it another of Nick’s infamous stunts? Surely he wouldn’t try something like this after what happened last time. Would he?

Malakai walked to the centre of the stage. He raised a finger to his lips, quieting the audience, but not so the Directors, who chattered behind cupped hands although Norbert banged his gavel. “The Chairman has the floor,” he repeated, over and over – emphasising each statement with a bang.

“And I would gladly surrender it for an explanation of the spectacle we have just witnessed,” said Nick as he looked across to Malakai.

 “That was my intention,” Malakai said, as he turned sideways to face between the audience and the Board, swaying between both, to address them simultaneously. “First good people, my apologies for my late and dramatic entrance. My role as chief auditor has necessitated my absence today to collate information, which I will present to you now. That such evidence came to light today, the day of our annual general meeting, is a happy coincidence for as you know it is rare to have so many stakeholders gathered under one roof. The matter is of utmost importance. It concerns not only the fortunes of S.A.N.T.A. Inc. but also the existence of Elves on this planet. You see, dear people, I have uncovered evidence that humans have discovered the Gateway, and they plan to use it against us. It’s a conspiracy so large and so bold that it is almost beyond reckoning. Mankind wishes to domesticate Elves, like cats and dogs.”

Malakai paused. He allowed his words diffuse through the audience whose eyes widened further as the silence continued. The seconds ticked by in silence until he snapped his fingers. Click. Click.

A screen appeared upon the stage. Next a pointer materialised in his hand. Malakai continued. 

“With the exception of those involved within Omnispheric[5] accountancy, most of you won’t have seen these,” he said as he waved the pointer to the screen where a three-axis graph appeared before him. “They are the accounts for the Gateway, which record the flow of magic from the Omniverse to the Earth. As you are aware, F.O.M.P.[6] controls magic throughout the Omnisphere and as its licensee on earth we are singularly responsible for every micro-ziotule[7] of magic that enters the Gateway. We have unlimited liability for any breach that may occur as a result of its loss or misuse. And this, dear people, is my tragic news. An envoy from F.O.M.P. has contacted me today. They have audited our accounts and discovered something quite disturbing. S.A.N.T.A. Inc. is under investigation."

Malakai extracted a small pair of gold-rimmed glasses from his pocket, taking a sip of water from a crystal tumbler before turning to face the screen. He cleared his throat to quiet the hum of the audience. "If we consider the diagram on the right you will observe a disparity between the readings during three consecutive months. June, July and August,” said Malakai as he ran the pointer up and down each peak during his two-second pause. “Allowing for Strod’s Law of Magical Absorption[8]; Kaylee's Inverse Square Law[9], we are showing a deficit of twelve-and-one-half-per-cent! To put this into perspective our greatest accountancy error to date was in 1842 when Chief Statistician, Parvy the Elder, celebrated is 1,000th birthday for two-hundred-and -seventy consecutive days. Even at his most debauch the median level of accountancy error was calculated at two-and-a-half per cent!”

Malakai paused again as he looked into the audience.

“Twelve percent is beyond mistake. It is beyond miscalculation. It can only represent a breach of security­­.”

A loud murmur broke from the audience.

Norbert interjected. “That’s quite and accusation Malakai, but where’s the evidence? And who do you accuse of such a conspiracy?”

Malakai continued. “ Less than ten minutes ago a face appeared upon the stage with mine. A human face whose appearance can only be explained by?”

“Yes,” replied Norbert. “I agree. The face was human.”

Norbert nodded his head slowly. He gripped his chin, tilting his head to the side. ”And?”

“The human can only have appeared by magic,” replied Malakai.

“Yes,” Norbert conceded. “Get to the point.”

“Someone must have supplied him with the magic or shown him how to get it!”

“Who would do such a thing?” said Norbert.

“Who more likely than another human?” Malakai continued. “Who is the only human within our ranks with sufficient clearance to gain access to the Gateway? Who spends almost as much time among humans as he does around Elves?” said Malakai as he gazed scornfully toward his Chairman.

Nick turned to face Malakai. His eyes squinted as he took a deep breath and prepared to speak.

“I call for an adjournment,” said Norbert and instantly the stage rotated and a partisan wall dropped to separate it from the auditorium…

 

 

Time: 9:30a.m.
Date: 24th December.
Location: Clonmel, Eire.

 

Seamus looked about the room. He searched for Malakai, whose voice echoed through his head. “Malakai, where are you?” asked Seamus.

          “Never mind where I am,” Malakai replied. “I need you to listen, just listen, because we don’t have much time. Close your eyes and pick up the crystal.”

          Seamus closed his eyes and found the crystal with his hands. The darkness subsided despite the fact his eyes were closed. A blurred image appeared, like staring at the sun: a suffusion of white light that diffracted to form a rainbow that danced through his mind. The lights melded and morphed into separate spheres with two black points at their centre. They were watching, he could feel it. "Have I got your attention?" said Malakai.

"Where are you?" asked Seamus.

"Never mind where I am. I’m using the crystal to communicate. I know exactly what you are doing and thinking as long as it’s in your possession," said Malakai.

"And what if I throw it away or destroy it?" asked Seamus.

"Go ahead and try," Malakai laughed. "Let’s see if you can."

Seamus tried to move. Every muscle in his body tightened as he squeezed the crystal, which it seemed stuck to his hand, absorbing into him bas he tried to throw it away. He felt the magic rise within him yet he persevered, fighting a seemingly uncontrollable spasm, forcing his way to the workbench were he placed his hand with the crystal within it onto the hardwood surface.

"Ha, ha," echoed Malakai’s resonant voice. “Try! harder. Harder!”

Seamus reached across and took a hammer from the rack. What was happening? It felt as though gravity had increased its weight tenfold! Seamus struggled to raise his arm he looked upon his target, the crystal. At the peak of his swing Seamus paused and stared at the crystal, which lay before him on the bench. He heard voices inside his head. They were telling him, “No!” Seamus breathed deeply… its beauty was mesmeric. Its colours sparkled radiantly. It was too beautiful, too beautiful. The word Beautiful echoed and his will lessened as he stood there. Eventually, he bent down to stare into it one last time. “Too beautiful,” said Seamus.

"You’ll never destroy it," said Malakai. "I won’t let you, and you can’t throw it away. Not until you’ve fulfilled the agreement. Seamus, you know our agreement!"

Seamus’ eyes squinted as he looked deeply inside the crystal. Its sparkling prisms reflected every colour of the rainbow, mesmerising him with a light so bright that it blinded him, momentarily. Yet, even in darkness he saw it in his mind’s eye.

"You can hear me, Seamus," said Malakai. "I know that my voice echoes through your body."

Seamus nodded and his body shook with each word spoken by Malakai. "I need you to listen," Malakai continued.

"I hear you," Seamus replied. "I will listen. I will obey."

"Nick will arrive soon," said Malakai’s anxious voice. "I’ll show you how to do it. Open your eyes, Seamus, look before you."

Click. Click.

Seamus’s eyes snapped open. He looked down, before him, to the workbench where a large, leather clad book suddenly appeared. Its old, weather beaten cover faced him; covered in seemingly alien runes that seemed to move as he watched them. The cover was turned, as if by an invisible hand and it opened to a page and its letters seemed to rise toward his eyes. "Unlocking the power of crystals," Seamus read aloud.

"We can use the crystal to catch Nick," laughed Malakai. "But we’ll need to hurry. He’ll be here shortly!"

 

*                  *                  *

Meanwhile at Clonmel Orphanage…

 

Teddy O’Flannigan’s ruddy, freckled cheeks shone with excitement as he gathered momentum. Beads of perspiration glistened. His gangly elbows, scuffed knees, pumped like pistons - up and down. He started forward, toward the dormitory room. The dormitory was long and huddled. Old school photos hung on the walls, hiding peeled paint, which flaked onto the beds below. Between their rows, uniformly iron-grey blankets with starched sheets, the shiny timber floorboards seemed to glimmer with anticipation.

The hall outside offered Teddy the perfect launch pad. From the stairs, a twenty-meter gap, paved with old carpet, along which Teddy gathered speed. Feeling the grip of old shag-pile between his toes he sprinted toward the dormitory door, onto the floorboards. Teddy timed his run perfectly. His feet, tied with rags, smeared with polish, hit the floorboards. Woosh! He slid past Billy O’Duinn, who heaved at an inhaler as he twisted his head to watch. Bobby Murphy, the fifth year prefect laughed aloud, “Go Teddy!” he said before he returned to oiling his hurling stick.  Craig O’Keefe, Teddy’s arch-nemesis, banged his head as he turned suddenly to investigate the commotion. “Wait ‘til Mr. O’Flaherty hears about this!” said Craig’s bitter voice.

“Don’t even think about it, ” Bobby answered, shaking his hurling stick in Craig’s direction.

Teddy skidded forward, gathering speed.

The fourth storey window loomed ahead. It looked over the valley and into the township: small red-tiled roofs speckled with snow; smoking chimneys and ice covered roads. Teddy looked over them as his hands reached for the sill that he approached at near terminal velocity. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer…

BANG!

 “Geez, Teddy,” said Bobby Murphy’s nervous voice. “Are you ok?”

At the last moment Teddy had ducked. His arms folded as he’d crashed against the wall directly beneath the window. Teddy lay motionless on the floor.

Craig O’Keefe was the first to approach him. "Showing off again, eh, O’Flannagan?" said Craig. "Serve you right if you’d gone straight through that window. We’d be scraping you from the cobbles. Ha! That would be such a pleasure!"

"None of that," said Bobby. "Sit him up, lads."

Billy and Bobby collected Teddy under each armpit. They lifted him to his feet although he remained doubled over, even after they lay him on his bed.

"You didn’t half give us a scare," said Bobby as he slapped Teddy’s cheeks. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Teddy opened his eyes and the room was spinning. He recognised the voices yet everything was blurred. Teddy wheezed.

The brilliant orange, which capped one of those pink-shaped blobs, was familiar. Teddy couldn’t remember why. Its’ voice seemed familiar too, although there was a ringing in his ears so he couldn’t quite make out what it was that it was saying. Teddy tried to speak. "Arrgh, " was all that he could manage because the wind had been knocked from his lungs. His eyes focused upon the bright orange hair, which re reconciled to be Bobby. Things were beginning to make sense.

"Deep breaths," said Bobby. “Just relax. It’s no worse than a hit in the chops with a hurling stick!”

"Mr. O’Flaherty," Teddy blurted out as the colour returned to his cheeks. "Mr O’Flaherty?" Bobby repeated.

"He said that I had to polish the floorboards before I could have dinner. It seemed like the fastest way to do it," said Bobby.

"Where is O’Flaherty?" asked Bobby.

"He was collecting at O’Murphy Manor but don’t worry, I’ll find him. Ha, ha, ha…Teddy’s in trouble!" said Craig as he ran out the door and down the stairs, his voice trailing behind.

          “We’d better follow him, Teddy,” said Bobby as he hung his hurling stick above the bed. “Hurry lads,” he continued as he looked around the room.  “Get your jackets on or Teddy’s going to cop it!”


[1]  A.K.A.: Saint Nicholas, Saint Nick, Santa, Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Father Christmas etc.

[2] Elfin Technologies Trading Index.

[3] A complex process involving the harnessing, distillation and employment of raw magic as a power source

[4] BUD – Binary Understanding Device

[5] Pertaining to the Omnisphere, which is the amalgam of the universal hemispheres

[6] Federation of Magic Planets

[7] Ziotule -  the common measure of magic within the Eastern hemisphere of the Omnisphere. 

[8] Which states that magic will be absorbed at the inverse of 2C/mc4 in the presence of multi-polar, time refracted energies

[9] For the refraction of magic through inter-dimensional space, allowing for multi-dimensional gravity and multi-dimensional, multi-polar conductivity

08/19/2006

Author's Note: the saga continues...

Posted on 08/19/2006
Copyright © 2024 Graeme Fielden

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 08/20/06 at 12:59 AM

Phew!! The plot really thickens! Lots of mysterious goings-on! Keeps one on the edge!

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/05/06 at 04:04 PM

I don't have time to read all of this again, but none the less happy to see it here for others to enjoy. Brilliant piece of work!

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