Steampunk Santa

by Marc Vun Kannon

  Steampunk Santa

  By

  Marc Vun Kannon

  STEAMPUNK SANTA

  An Echelon Short eBook

  First Echelon Publication / December 2010

  All rights Reserved.

  Copyright © 2010 by Marc Vun Kannon

  Cover illustration © Shoshanah Holl

  w/Karen Syed (Titling only)

  Explorations is a division of

  Echelon Press, LLC

  2721 Village Pine Terrace

  Orlando, FL 32833

  www.echelonpress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Echelon Press, LLC.

  ISBN 978-159080-731-6

  Published by Echelon Press LLC at Smashwords.

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  One

  Once upon a time there was a young elf named Tomparasil. Like most elves, he worked for Santa Claus, doing his elvish best to make the toys adored by good little boys and girls. Unfortunately, Tomparasil was a forward-thinking young elf, and his elvish best sometimes brought trouble.

  "Come now, Flar. It is the 19th century, and you have not even left the 15th. Magic beans, my foot."

  Flar raised a brow. "'My foot'? 'Tis an odd expression. However did you come by it, Tomparasil?

  Tomparasil stamped a foot, bells jingling. "It is all the rage, which you would know if you ever poked your head out of the workshop. And I have told you before to call me Tom."

  Flar folded his arms. "I have told you before to call me Flarbignarg, as my mother named me. And how do you know what is 'all the rage' in the human world?"

  "By means of my Electro-Scan," Tom said proudly.

  "You made it for Santa! So he would know who is naughty and nice."

  "I have to calibrate it, do I not?"

  "Hmm." Flarbignar would not admit he did not know what 'calibrate' meant. "I guess I cannot blame you, since that also explains the sudden spate of new fashion instructions for our dolls."

  "You did not come down here to ask me about dolls."

  "You know nothing about dolls, whereas I could tell you much about them. For example, they should say 'Mama', not CLANK. You should know, Tomparasil, I heard no little amount of talk of sending you to work for the Halloween King after your little…fiasco. Santa, in his wisdom, decided to assign you here—" Flar gestured at the boiler room in which they stood "—where your skill in the mechanic arts might yet prove useful."

  "My Wind-Up Walkers would be all the rage, if you would just put them into the bag!"

  "They look like spiders, and they're creepy. But we found a good use for them. If we do not wind them up, put a board on top, and cover them with a cloth they make good tables."

  He might have known. "You like my Handwavium well enough."

  Flarbignarg shrugged. "Your Handwavium is useful. Around the shop. And not in toys." Flarbignarg looked around sheepishly. "Speaking of which—"

  Tom sighed. "Your friends upstairs have beaten you to it. You are the fourth elf today I have had in here, begging for more." He sat, ending the interview. "I will let you know when I have brewed up another batch. It is not like I just wave my hands at it, you know."

  Flarbignarg waved his hands. "Well yes, I thought you did exactly that."

  Tom sniffed at this display of ignorance. "There is Art to this, Science and Art. Art and Science. Unlike your magic elixirs and potions." Make my Walkers into tables, indeed. "I will let you know when it is ready."

  Flarbignarg turned and stomped his way out of the room, the effect somewhat spoiled by the lack of soles on his slippers, and those damned bells.

  Tomparasil felt only slightly guilty, quite a lot for any elf. He'd show up on Santa's naughty list for sure, if he'd been a human child. He did in fact have some Handwavium available, a very small amount in a very small bottle in the bottom of his desk drawer. Just enough to power the Electro-Scan prototype he'd never gotten rid of.

  "—did not tell him, did you?"

  Flarbignarg stopped fiddling with the bell on the end of his long striped cap and flipped it back over one pointed ear. "Do I look stupid?"

  Another elf walked up. "No, you look nervous, Flarbignarg." Dinglefor. Tom would know his voice anywhere. He did not come down here, one of the benefits of being in the boiler room. The other elf took advantage of his anonymity and fled, leaving Flarbignarg alone. "He did not have any, did he? Or maybe he just would not let you have some? So it looks like I will win the contest after all—" Contest? "—and when I am head elf, you will spend all your time in the boiler room, right next to your good friend Tomparasil."

  "He is not my friend."

  No I'm not, thought Tom, switching his view away from Flarbignarg's predicament. Contest, contest. Where would he hear about this contest? The break room? Maybe someone would be talking about it over their cookies and eggnog.

  Hmmm, even better. A sign on the wall, good. Except Tom had not made the Scan to look at small letters, only small children. He hoped it would show the words. If not, well, he had his tools, and this was a prototype unit.

  But no, he had good fortune on his side. Well, and his devices. That is why he liked the mechanic arts, they always worked, as did science. The word 'Contest' had been writ very large, in Mrs. Claus' graceful flowing script. He scanned the rest of the parchment for other such words, and found a few more. The underlines made 'You Sleigh Me' hard to miss, as were 'Head Elf', 'Children', 'All', and 'World'. The ElectroScan flickered out, the one drop of HandWavium used up, but Tompara—sorry, Tom had no trouble filling in the blanks.

  Santa was going global, and he needed transport.

  Tom could do this!

  Could he? He could. Only…how? Sure he had all the Handwavium he could make, but would it be enough to get a sleigh all the way across the human world? The last he'd heard, it had gotten pretty big. Now would be a good time for some magic beans or some seven league boots…No. Of what value were seven league boots when the next house sat just across the street?

  Across the street boots? Even more foolish, it would take Santa all night just to get to the next town.

  Besides, he'd just snapped at Flar for his magic beans, he was not about to crawl back to him now. No, if he did this, he would do this his way. He had his boiler room, he did not need anything else.

  Well, maybe some eggnog. One cannot do proper work without eggnog.

  To work!

  First things first, he needed more Handwavium, because whatever he did would take a lot and you could never have too much. Tom pulled out his pocketwatch and checked the time. Down here in the boiler room he often lost track of the daylight, and his compound could only be made from fresh ice crystals harvested in the darkest part of the night. He could not even use a lamp, but fortunately he had his night-viewing opticals. Somewhere. The shop had gotten a little cluttered.

  Who cares, there is work to be done. Where is my pickaxe?

  A ready supply of Handwavium turned out to be the least of Tom's concerns, as it did occur to him to start a list of things he needed or probably would need for this project. That list grew quickly over the coming days, as Tom's ideas for the Santa's new sleigh multiplied.

  Chief among these was the simple qu
estion of how to get Santa's sleigh airborne, which it clearly needed to be. The literature suggested many an unusable method. Cannon would not do at all, not least for their lack of control, but the obvious issues of getting back again. Balloons were more the thing, but much too slow. Dirigibles?

  Knock, knock.

  And people knocking on the door. "I do not have any," shouted Tom.

  "I do not want any," came a muffled reply.

  Tom quickly folded over his plans for the new sleigh. "Enter."

  Flarbignarg opened the door in a rush, barely waiting for it to move out of his way before storming into Tom's domain. "Tomparasil, it is terrible! Dinglefor is cheating! Oh, and the sink in the break room is all clogged up again. Can you believe it?"

  "That the sink is clogged? Yes indeed, you lot do that all the time."

  "No! Dinglefor cheating! How could an elf do such a thing?"

  "Cheating at what?"

  For a second Flarbignarg looked all twisted about (As well he should.), but finally he slumped. Resignation, or perhaps decision. "Oh, what can it matter now, it is far too late for you to become involved. Santa is doing a contest, for an elf to design a sleigh in which he will travel the world over and bestow the precious gift of toys on all the children."

  Tom sniffed. "I knew some kind of wind was in the rigging, as they say. I am running out of ice to make my Handwavium. You lot must be using it by the barrel."

  Flarbignar lurched to his feet. "We're not! Dinglefor is cheating! He is hoarding it all for himself, only giving out the least little bit he has to so we can get the toys made."

  "That must make it hard to get a sleigh in the air." Oops, he'd erred.

  Flarbignarg did not notice, he just nodded his head. "And anything we could do without it he can do much better with it. You would not believe some of the wild schemes I have heard. Just yesterday I found Pargabrin making reindeer treats out of the magic beans."

  Tom deduced the scheme instantly. "Yes. Magic beans, magic fa—" Expanding gases. Of course.

  Flarbignarg continued, unaware of Tom's distraction. "—and I said, 'Do you really think Santa is going to want to sit back there—?"

  Right, expanding gases behind the sleigh. Propulsion, rather than impulsion. Or whatever the human words for it all were. Tom could not get rid of his visitor fast enough. There is work to be done. He had a second brilliant idea, even the sacrifice involved did not give him a moment's pause. "Here, Flarbignarg, I have something for you." He raced over to his desk, rummaged in his drawer and handed his guest the little bottle.

  Flar recognized the contents immediately. "Why me?"

  Tom thought faster than ever before in his life. "We're friends, are we not?"

  Flarbignarg brightened immediately. "Santa knows I have tried to be."

  "And Santa knows you have succeeded. Here is your reward. Well, not reward, for all know friendship is its own reward, but here is the proof." He folded Flar's fingers around the bottle, using the same motion to turn him gently around. "I must work on the sink. Good luck, and happy flying."

  "Thank you, Tompara—Tom."

  "You are most welcome," replied Tom sincerely. Now then, gas. Without beans.

  Unfortunately, Tom knew only a little about chemistry, and he'd just sent his only means of learning more off with his new and only friend.

  Okay, maybe my second idea was not so brilliant after all.

  So he set about fixing the drain instead. He did that often, cookies and eggnog have a way of…setting.

  Yes, they do, do they not?

  Uh, suddenly Tom had a thought.

  "In days past I could set my sundial by the clogging of the drains. 'The drains are clogged, therefore today must be Tuesday.' Yet today is manifestly not Tuesday. Were I an elf given to dark and mysterious thoughts, I would almost think some chicanery was afoot, something involving cookies and eggnog. And I would wonder what it could be, and how I would find out."

  Fortunately, Tomparasil, like most elves, was not given to dark and mysterious thoughts.

  Two

  Flarbignarg awoke in the darkness. Something was on his face, covering his mouth firmly, and he could not move his head. Shhh, hissed something by his side, and he shifted his eyes to see what it could be.

  Tomparasil stood above him, holding his hand on Flar's mouth to stifle any outcry. When he saw he had his friend's attention, Tom gestured imperatively, and Flar rose and followed him from the dorm. Only when they had entered the stairwell leading down to his boiler room did Tom break his silence. "You managed to get a sleigh to fly?"

  Flarbignarg sniffed. "It was only a toy, but—how did you know?"

  "Because Dinglefor knows." Tom said nothing further until they reached his domain.

  "How do you know what Dinglefor knows?" demanded Flarbignarg once he'd firmly shut the door.

  Tom pointed. Flarbignarg looked, but saw only a bewildering variety of pipes leading Santa-knows-where. Tom walked over and placed his hand on one. "When I installed my ether-bender, I intended only to learn how my fellow elves used the break room, so I would be able to set my sundial correctly. This clog offered the first deviation from that schedule. If there were extra shifts laid on I had to know."

  Flar did not see anything to distinguish this pipe, except for some bits sticking out like handles. "What is an 'ether-bender'?"

  Tom grasped one of the handles and rotated the pipe, revealing a hole. "It is a simple scientific principle. By putting small mirrors at the top and bottom, I forced the ether to bend, which of course forces the light in the ether to bend too. I used it to count feet."

  Flar looked through the tube, but saw only chair legs. "And this tells you how Dinglefor knows about my sleigh?"

  "No, this does." Tom pointed to a little horn attached to another pipe. "I went out to harvest more ice for my formula. When I returned I could hear noises from this pipe, which is the drain from the break room. So I checked my ether-bender and saw many feet, when the room should have been empty according to my records. I would not have thought anything of it except some of the feet had Dinglefor's shoes upon them."

  Flar frowned. "Who would be wearing Dinglefor's shoes, and in the middle of the night?"

  "It occurred to me Dinglefor might."

  "Ah."

  "So it occurred to me to wonder why Dinglefor, of all elves, would be there at that time. The pipe echoed their conversation to me, but not loudly enough. So I made this—" he tapped the horn "—to make it louder."

  "Ingenious. How does it work?"

  "You put your ear to it. When I did so, I heard some of Dinglefor's friends telling him they had seen you with a toy flying sleigh."

  Flar sighed. "Yes, but it does not work."

  "Why not?"

  "I towed it around the shop, as a reindeer would." He walked back to open space of the floor, one hand out in demonstration. "The toy floated, yes, but it also twisted about on the string. It would make Santa dizzy, and the toys would fall."

  "Not to mention Santa." Judging from the look of horror on Flar's face, he had not thought of that aspect. "How did you do it?"

  Flar frowned. "Using your Handwavium as a base, I concocted a potion of my own and smeared it on the skids."

  Tom nodded. "I thought so. Have you considered making the skids heavy and the rest of the sleigh light? That may solve your problem."

  Flar brightened. "No, I had not. Thank you again, Tom. You are truly my friend."

  Am I? I suppose so. "Well then…friend. Good night and good luck. May you solve the problem before Dinglefor does. Oh, and by the way, make sure the ingredients to your concoction are not kept all in one place. Let Dinglefor and the others devise their own, if they have the skill."

  Flarbignarg drew in a sudden breath, eyes wide. "I had not thought of that. I hope it is not too late."

  Tom shrugged. "There is nothing for it now. Attend to it first thing."

  Flar sighed. "On the morrow."

  "On the morrow." Tom watc
hed as his friend went back up the stairs, and turned away. He kept his own efforts under cover, as he had cautioned Flar to do, and now he drew the cover back. "It spins, does it?"

  Three

  Christmas Eve.

  Tom heard Flarbignarg coming long before the other elf found him. "Tomparasil, Tomparasil! It is terrible, just terrible! Have you heard the news? No, of course you have not, how could you? Santa wants to do the judging today. We all brought our entries out into the field last night, so we would be ready for him to look them over and we could demonstrate our work and, oh, Tomparasil, some of the sleighs were just beautiful, but now, today, all of them are gone!"

  Tomparasil took advantage of Flarbignarg's need to take a breath. "Gone? Why?"

  "Dinglefor! He brought out his sleigh, and it had everything. Everything all of us had done, all of our work taken by his friends and built into his sleigh. He even has my concoction for the skids, you were so right that I should hide my ingredients but I was too late and now Dinglefor is going to win and I will be sent to the boiler room with you."

  "Is that so bad?"

  "Well, no, but…I have not your flair with the mechanic arts."

  Tom smiled. "No, you do not. Come, help me with this." He gestured at a cloth-draped object in the shed.

  "Tomparasil, I would love to help, truly I would, but I must go and remove my poor sleigh before Santa comes—"

  "No, you must help me enter my poor sleigh before Santa comes." He threw off the cover, to reveal his own achievement, a sleigh of gleaming brass and glass, polished and glittering.

  "Oh, my."

  "You like it, yes?"

  "Yes." Flarbignarg blinked the wonder from his eyes. "Not very Christmas-y, but a pretty bauble."

  Tom snorted. "'Bauble?' This, my friend, is a fully functional sleigh, able to carry Santa from one end of the world to the other, safely, speedily, and without reindeer droppings."