Chapter 1: A Tight Squeeze
December 25, 1825 – Early Morning, North Pole Time
The sleigh touched down in a spray of glistening powder, the runners whispering to a halt just outside the Workshop Docks. The reindeer—exhausted but proud—lowered their heads in unison, their breath puffing warm clouds into the frosty air. A few elves standing watch gave a quiet cheer, respectful of the early hour but unable to suppress their relief.
Santa Chris Kringle sat motionless for a long moment, fingers loosely wrapped around the reins. His red coat was wrinkled and scorched in two places, and his beard had caught a respectable dusting of soot and glitter. His belt hung looser than when he’d left, and his boots were muddy with six continents’ worth of chimney grit, garden soil, and at least one awkward rooftop herb patch.
He exhaled. “Home.”
A small welcoming party rushed out from the dock doors as he stepped down, beginning with Bernard—scrolls already tucked under one arm, quill behind his ear—and followed closely by Rudy Winters, who was immediately at the sleigh’s flank, eyes on the reindeer.
“Well flown, team,” Rudy murmured, patting each reindeer in turn as they snorted and nodded, tails flicking in fatigue. “You’ll get warm mash and mint oatcakes before you even hit the hay.”
From beside the sleigh, a young helper elf with peppermint mittens—Thistle Lemmabean—handed Santa a steaming mug with both hands. “Cinnamon-root cider, extra clove, just the way you like it, sir.”
“Thank you, Thistle,” Chris said with a grateful smile, taking a long sip. “Mercy, that hits the spot.”
Bernard fell into step beside him as they made their way toward Hearth Hall. “According to our clocks, you’ve been gone exactly twenty-three hours, fifty-four minutes, and a blink,” Bernard said, flipping open a scroll. “But from the swirl of Blue Fairy Dust still clinging to your coat, I’m guessing it felt… longer?”
“Sixty days,” Santa said, adjusting his shoulder. “Give or take. I saw the sun rise in Cairo, then set over the Andes. Ate breakfast in six different time zones, and I’m pretty sure I slept on a rooftop in Kyoto… though it might have been a meditation break.”
Bernard whistled low. “We had one minor bobble with a portal sack—Bag D7 dropped a wooden camel early in Amsterdam—but Bromley reported it landed in the right courtyard, so no damage done.”
“I remember that one,” Santa nodded. “I had to climb up the neighbor’s trellis to get out.”
They reached the Hearth Hall, where the great fire still burned low and steady. The warmth wrapped around them like an old blanket. Rudy was leading the reindeer away toward the Stables, already giving instructions for warm bran, water, and light stretches.
Santa stood by the mantle for a long moment, letting the heat soak into his bones.
Bernard studied him quietly. “It worked. The Blue Dust held. The time compression stayed stable. We fed portal sacks nonstop. Elves pulled double shifts. You did it.”
Chris nodded. “We did it. But it wasn’t perfect.”
Bernard blinked. “It wasn’t?”
“There were… problems. Not with the dust. That held. But with getting in. Some chimneys were too small. Some weren’t chimneys at all—just imitation stonework. One place had a false fireplace built into a wall with no flue behind it. Doors locked with little sliding latches on the inside, no way to jiggle them open without waking the household. I had to skip a few.”
“How many?” Bernard asked, tone tightening.
“Two dozen, maybe more. Some I tried. Others I knew were a lost cause. I got stuck halfway through a stove pipe in Maine. Barely made it down a wall vent in Rome. And don’t get me started on the basement coal hatch in Nairobi.”
Bernard scribbled rapidly. “So the issue now is access. You solved time. But shape and space are limiting you.”
“Exactly,” Santa said, setting the mug on the mantle. “The sleigh and reindeer fly. The gifts arrive on cue. But if I can’t get into the home, none of that matters.”
There was a pause. The crackling of the fire filled the room, and the scent of cedarwood smoke mingled with cinnamon cider.
Bernard scratched his chin. “Could Yellow Dust get you inside?”
“Tried that last year. Teleporting inside an unfamiliar space is risky. I nearly appeared in a ceramic woodstove once. I need something more… flexible.”
Santa turned to the fire and stared at the flames.
“I don’t need to vanish or go through walls,” he said. “I just need to change. Fit myself through places I couldn’t otherwise. Make myself… smaller. Softer. Bendable. Just long enough to slip in and out.”
Bernard’s eyes lit with understanding. “Shape alteration. Temporary form shifting. You think another kind of Fairy Dust might do it?”
“I do,” Chris said. “We’ve always separated the dust into the three known colors—Red, Yellow, Blue. But there’s always been leftovers. Sediment. Stray particles that didn’t match any of the big three.”
Bernard frowned. “Leftovers… the green shimmer?”
Santa looked over, surprised. “You’ve seen it too?”
“Faint, sometimes,” Bernard admitted. “Only when the light catches just right. Skit always said it was reaction dust—impure or unstable. But maybe…”
“I think,” Santa said, eyes reflecting firelight, “we’ve been throwing away something valuable for decades.”
Bernard nodded, already assembling ideas. “We’ll start fresh with the dust separation apparatus. Pull samples from the earliest residue jars. Skit’s original Red distillate from 1812 might still have some—”
Santa leaned in slightly, voice lower. “Let’s dig between the lines. Let’s see what we missed.”
There was a rustle at the far end of the hall. Wink, one of the Messenger Elves still on duty, floated down from the upper gallery with a quiet hum of red dust. He bowed midair, then zipped off to resume his post.
Chris watched him go. “Even they couldn’t squeeze through some of the tighter spaces. I had to leave gifts on rooftops in a few spots.”
Bernard gave a small sigh. “So the race isn't just against time anymore. It's against dimensions.”
Santa chuckled softly. “That’s always been the case.”
In the fireplace’s dancing shadows, a faint green glimmer curled at the edge of Santa’s vision. It faded before he could focus on it.
Probably just a trick of the fire.
Probably.