by Matt Haig
‘Well,’ said Father Christmas, ‘why should I pay myself more than the people who work for me? They work just as hard. And, besides, I don’t do this for money.’
‘Well, maybe you should,’ said Sovereign.
Then Father Christmas turned to Sovereign and said, ‘Could I have a loan? I only need another hundred and sixty-three gold coins.’
And then Sovereign scratched her head and thought and then she scratched her head some more. ‘Yes. Yes, you can.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘But you will have to wait six months.’
‘Six months?’
‘Yes. Elves are good workers but very bad at paperwork. You know that. They’re worse than pixies.’
Father Christmas frowned. ‘Worse than pixies? No one’s worse than pixies.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sovereign.
‘No problem,’ Father Christmas said. ‘I will just save the money. We’ll have it soon enough.’ ‘I’ll go and earn the money somehow,’ I said once we got back home.
Mary was shaking her head so hard I thought it might fall off. ‘Don’t be silly, Amelia. You go to school. You are eleven years old. You are far too young to have a job.’
I shrugged. ‘I was cleaning the dirtiest, sootiest chimneys in London from the age of eight. I can work. I am made for working . . . I will go and ask Kip if he wants a hand at the School of Sleighcraft.’
Father Christmas sighed. ‘I told you. He’s a bit strange. He likes to work alone.’
‘I know. But what if I went and just cleaned up for him when he wasn’t there?’
‘I think it’s best if you stay away from Kip for a little while.’
Captain Soot jumped on my lap and began to purr, sensing something was wrong. I took a bite of pie I had saved from earlier. It was truly delicious. But I couldn’t enjoy it. That was the thing about feeling guilty. It stole everything. Even the joy of a cloudberry pie.
‘Well, I’ll just have to start sweeping chimneys again.’
Mary’s eyes grew wide in horror. ‘Sweeping chimneys? Amelia! That was your old life. That was the life you’ve been rescued from.’
‘I know. But it’s what I am good at. I’m not good at elf things. Sweeping chimneys is something I know. And, besides, it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t as bad as the workhouse.’
Father Christmas was shaking his head. ‘No, Amelia. You can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Have you seen the size of elf chimneys? You’d never fit inside one.’
He had a point. Elf chimneys – like elf everything else – were a lot smaller than human ones.
‘There is literally no way you’d be able to climb up an elf chimney. And if you did, you would never come out.’
‘But you fit in all kinds of chimneys.’
‘Not elf ones, as a rule. And, anyway, that’s different. I’ve been drimwicked. I’m magic.’
‘Why can’t I be drimwicked?’ I asked. It felt horrible being the least magical creature in the whole of Elfhelm. I was even less magical than Captain Soot because he was a cat and cats were magical simply because they were cats.
‘You know why, Amelia. You can only be drimwicked if you are dead – or nearly dead. It is the drimwick that brings back life. You can’t just drimwick someone. Drimwicks are about true and real hope. You can’t fake them. And they are very risky.’
‘And being drimwicked doesn’t mean you can do drimwickery,’ said Mary. ‘I was drimwicked nearly a year ago. And I’ve been taking those classes every week and I still can’t float in the air or move things with my mind or stop time or any of that. I mean, look at these decorations.’
We all looked around the room and started to giggle.
‘I can’t even spickle dance.’ Mary chuckled.
Father Christmas touched Mary’s hand. ‘It will happen, sweetbread. In time.’
Mary sighed as she stared at me. ‘Anyway, you are magic enough just as you are, Amelia.’
It was my turn to sigh now. It was a long one.
Then Father Christmas’s eyes sparkled a little. ‘I know!’ he said. ‘You can work in the Toy Workshop.’
‘The Toy Workshop?’
‘Yes. On Saturday. And not just any Saturday. It’s the Saturday before Christmas. In the week before Christmas elves get paid two hundred chocolate coins a day.’
‘But what if I’m not very good?’
Father Christmas laughed as if I was being ridiculous. ‘Of course you’ll be good.’
‘But at school I am rubbish at toymaking.’
Father Christmas flapped his hand in the air as if my worry was a fly that could be batted away. ‘The thing about the Toy Workshop is that it isn’t just about making toys. There is plenty to do there. We’ll find you something.’
I smiled. I was worried, but I didn’t want to be more of a nuisance than I had already proven to be. ‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘What time will I start?’
‘Very Early Indeed. Which is the elf’s favourite hour.’
I nearly said, ‘But I’m not an elf !’ But didn’t. I just said it in my head instead.
The Greatest Magic of All
o it was that I came to be in the vast gingerbread-walled hall of the Toy Workshop at Very Early Indeed on the Saturday before Christmas.
I had never been there before and it was an amazing sight, seeing all the elves – hundreds of them – hard at work.
Father Christmas showed me round the place, pointing out different things.
We passed a large circular table of elves who were stitching teddy bears and cuddly reindeer and puppy toys at high speed. It was scary watching the needles stitch so quickly. Father Christmas saw me go a little pale.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘You won’t be sewing cuddly toys. The elves who work on cuddly toys are the most experienced toymakers in Elfhelm. In the run-up to Christmas they can make a thousand teddy bears an hour, each.’
We walked on.
We passed another table with a giant red printing machine where an elf was pressing big green buttons. As he pushed the controls different books would fly out of the top of the huge machine and land into different elf hands.
‘Books,’ said Father Christmas, ‘are the greatest gifts of all. Nothing else comes close.’
I saw Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens – my favourite author, and a man I’d once met – shoot out of the machine. An elf wearing glasses caught the book, opened it up and began to read.
‘I could do that,’ I said, watching the elf read the book and check for mistakes. ‘That would be my perfect job and it looks . . .’
I was about to say ‘easy’ but I soon saw that it wasn’t easy at all. The elf was reading it faster than I had seen anyone read a book. Her fingers were turning a page every second, and her head nodded up and down so fast as she read each page her hat nearly fell off.
‘That is Annabel. She is the fastest reader we have.’
As we made our way through the room it suddenly became warmer. I looked around and saw lots of trees with thousands of tiny oranges hanging from them.
‘These are the satsuma trees,’ Father Christmas explained. ‘You see, I thought it would be a nice touch to leave a satsuma in a lot of the stockings. Something different. Satsumas! Father Topo thought I was crazy, but I knew the children would like it. They’d always remember that magic wasn’t just about toys. It can be everywhere. It can be a fruit growing on a tree. We plan it so they are perfectly ripe on Christmas Eve.’
Then the room became cooler again and we approached a noisy section of the workshop. Hundreds of balls were being tested by getting thrown or bounced or juggled.
Nearby there was a table full of elves hunched over metal spinning tops, shaping them with hammers, or painting them, or spinning them.
‘This is the section where I thought we would start you off,’ said Father Christmas happily. ‘It’s the part of the workshop where most new elves start.’
Again, the unspoken w
ords came to me: But I am not an elf. Still, I kept smiling and said, ‘Right. So, err, what do I do?’
‘That is a question for Humdrum. Come on, Amelia. Let’s go and meet him.’
‘Here he is,’ said Father Christmas as he patted on the back a nervous-looking elf in a blue-and-white striped outfit that was slightly too small for him. The elf nearly lost his balance and in the process his glasses fell off. ‘Humdrum is the Assistant Deputy Chief Maker of Toys That Spin or Bounce,’ explained Father Christmas.
Humdrum blushed and pushed his glasses back on.
‘Humdrum is one of our hardest workers. And even though he is only an assistant deputy, on weekends he is actually the main elf in charge of all the spinning and bouncing toys. Hello, Humdrum!’
‘H-h-h-hello, Father Christmas,’ said Humdrum, who was bouncing a ball and marking the height of the bounce with the help of an elf with a tape measure beside him.
‘You know Amelia, don’t you? She is a human.’
Humdrum nodded, and quietly whispered, ‘That’s right, that’s right.’
‘She’d like to start working in the workshop. Just on weekends. Because even though she is taller than every elf in this room she is actually only eleven years old and has to go to school.’
‘Hello, Humdrum,’ I said and held out my hand.
Humdrum seemed quite terrified by my hand. Maybe it was the size of it. But he shook it politely.
‘Hello, A-Amelia,’ he said.
‘Right,’ said Father Christmas, ‘I’ll leave you with Humdrum. He’ll show you what to do. And I’ll see you in ten hours.’
‘Ten hours?’ I spluttered, but Father Christmas was already walking away. I turned back to Humdrum. ‘What would you like me to do?’
‘Spinning tops,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
Toys That Spin or Bounce
started work on the spinning-top table. I was first given the job of hammering the spinning tops into shape, because Humdrum thought I would be strong, being a human. And I was strong. Stronger than I looked.
All those years of climbing chimneys meant my arms were as strong as most grown-up humans. Maybe I was a bit too strong, because I kept putting dents in the metal. So then I was given the job of painting the spinning tops, but that was even harder. If you ever get a spinning top for Christmas, you will see that they normally have very intricate patterns on them that look like they took days to paint. But the truth is an elf can paint an entire spinning top in a few seconds.
The best elf painter in the workshop was (and probably still is) a woman elf called Spiral, who had her hair styled into five tight little buns and who had red spirals painted onto her cheeks. I sat next to her, as Humdrum had instructed. And then Spiral told me what to do.
‘First, take a paintbrush from the pot.’
I took a paintbrush from the pot.
‘Then, put the green paint on the paintbrush.’
I put the green paint on the paintbrush.
‘Now, spin the spinning top in front of you.’
I spun the spinning top in front of me.
‘Right. Very good, Amelia. Now, paint the spinning top.’
I turned to Spiral. ‘So you want me to paint it while it is spinning?’
‘Of course! How else would you paint it.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe not spinning?’
Spiral shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. That would take for ever.’ She handed me a piece of card with a pretty but very complicated pattern on it. ‘This is the pattern chart. We have to do three thousand of these today.’
‘Three thousand? How many elves are working on them.’
‘Just me, Lupin over there, and you. A thousand each.’ She noticed the spinning top in front of me was beginning to wobble. ‘Quick! Get spinning! Get painting. Then I can press the button.’
‘What button?’
She pointed to the top button on her outfit. A perfectly ordinary round green button. ‘As soon as I press this button the spinning tops speed out of that chute, one by one. You spin, you paint, then on with the next one. Now, off you go. The paint pots are all in front of you.’
So I began. I spun the spinning top and tried to follow the pattern. I pressed the paintbrush against the metal and the spinning top immediately fell over and onto the floor with a loud clank. And before I knew it another spinning top was in front of me.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Spiral. ‘Try the next one. A bit lighter with the brush this time.’
And this time at least I managed not to make the spinning top fall over. Not straight away, at least. I pressed the brush, covered in green paint, very daintily onto the moving top and tried to follow the zigzag pattern on the card.
‘Oh dear,’ said Spiral, as Lupin couldn’t help giggling at my effort. ‘You will have to be faster than that! The whole thing needs to be painted and perfect by the time the top stops spinning.’
So I tried to go faster, but by the time it stopped spinning Lupin’s laughter was even louder. The spinning top was just a big mess of green and red paint. It was the worst-looking spinning top I had ever seen.
And not only that: I had taken so long there were now three spinning tops in front of me waiting to be painted – now four, no, wait, five!
‘Keep going,’ said Spiral. ‘You’ll get the hang of it.’
But of course I didn’t get the hang of it. I kept on spinning the tops and painting and spinning and painting and spinning and painting until I felt dizzy. And as I tried to go faster I was less careful with the paint, and, just as Humdrum came over to check on how I was getting along, I got a big drippy blob of green paint on the end of the brush and when it touched one of the tops the paint went flying and splattered over Spiral and Lupin and Humdrum and me.
Humdrum was the one who was most covered because he had been leaning in to have a closer look.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, wiping the mess from his glasses. ‘It’s only a bit of paint.’
There was another clank – and another – as unpainted spinning tops kept on crashing onto the floor.
The latest spinning top I had been painting fell too, and Spiral picked it up for Humdrum to inspect.
Humdrum gulped as he stared at the swirling mess of paint. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘this could go in the stocking of a very naughty child.’
‘I don’t know if anyone has been that naughty,’ added Spiral unhelpfully.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling too human. ‘I was trying my hardest.’
Humdrum, splattered with green paint, smiled meekly. ‘D-d-don’t worry. It’s just a little crazy in here. With C-C-Christmas so close. Maybe you should do some bounce testing instead.’
So I did some bounce testing.
Bounce testing sounded simple. You were meant to bounce a ball on the ground as hard as you could and then see how high it reached. However you also had to measure the bounce with a tape measure. So, bouncing the ball was easy enough but then you had to measure how high the ball reached. But that was impossible, because I couldn’t be fast enough with the tape measure.
And then Father Christmas appeared and asked Humdrum, ‘How is everything going?’ just as one of my balls bounced on his head. ‘And why have you got green paint all over your face?’
‘Err . . . well . . . the thing is . . .’ said Humdrum.
So I decided to help him out. I wanted to tell the truth. ‘The thing is, it was me. It was my fault. It turned out that . . .’
Father Christmas caught sight of the spinning tops – the messy ones I had been painting and the ones all over the floor.
‘Oh dear,’ he said.
Humdrum was still working on his answer to Father Christmas. ‘I d-d-don’t know if the workshop is the best p-p-place for a human.’
‘I’m sure we can find something you are good at,’ said Father Christmas warmly, a kind gleam in his eyes.
‘But there is nothing I am good at apart from cleaning chimneys.’
Father Christmas lo
oked quite cross. ‘Nothing you are good at! Don’t be so silly. This isn’t the Amelia I know. The Amelia who survived the scariest workhouse in London. There is plenty you are good at.’
‘Like?’
‘Like bravery. You are the bravest girl I know. And Christmas-saving. You are very good at Christmas-saving.’
‘Those aren’t jobs,’ I said, with a bit of a scowl on my face.
I could see he was struggling to think of the things I was good at. But then his eyes lit up and he clapped his hands as he thought of something.
‘Writing!’ he exclaimed.
‘What?’
‘I bumped into Mother Jingle today. She told me she had read your story about the cat who got stuck up a chimney, and she said she had never read anything like it. She thought it was amazing.’
‘Really? She said that?’
‘She certainly did. And you enjoy writing too, don’t you?’
I nodded. ‘It’s my favourite thing. After reading. But really reading and writing are the same thing. Writing is just reading a story that is in your mind and putting it on paper.’
‘Well, you are very good at it. You could be the next Mr Dickens. Maybe you should write a book.’
‘That would probably take too long,’ I said. ‘I write at human speed. Not elf speed.’
But now Humdrum was doing something I hadn’t seen him do all day. He was smiling. ‘I know,’ he said sheepishly. ‘I mean, I m-m-might know. Possibly. Maybe. Perhaps.’
‘What do you know?’ asked Father Christmas.
He took his glasses off, then put them on again. He bit his top lip. ‘Well – and this is just an idea – but I-I-I was just thinking that maybe Amelia could work for Noosh.’
‘Noosh?’ I said.
‘My wife. She’s called N-N-Noosh. She was, um, named after her mother’s favourite sneeze.’
‘Yes, I know who she is.’
‘She’s the editor of the Daily Snow. She took over from Father Vodol. I am very proud of her. She is the cleverest elf in all of Elfhelm. She knows some of the longest words in the world. Like . . . like . . . antidrimwickification and squasipetulabumpkinbreath.’ He took his glasses off again and tried to wipe away the remaining bits of green paint. ‘She is looking for new writers. You see, Father Vodol has set up a new newspaper to try to beat the Daily Snow.’