The Ho Ho Ho Mystery

by Bob Burke

  How wrong I was.

  ‘My Manolos,’ she wailed. ‘You’ve destroyed my Manolos.’

  Manolos? What were Manolos? I looked at Basili. Maybe he knew what she was talking about.

  ‘I think she is most unhappy that the suitcase you have ejected from our craft was full of her very expensive shoes.’

  Oh, was that all? So it wasn’t serious then, although from the sound of her you’d think someone had just died. She hadn’t cried like that when we were in danger. Women!

  7

  Ice Station Santa

  The North Pole was cold. No, that’s an understatement: ice cream is cold, beer is cold; this was a whole new sensation that the word cold had only a passing acquaintance with. This was extremities turning blue cold, struggling to breathe cold and, most of all, impossible to walk on sheet ice with trotters cold. As soon as I stepped out of what was left of our battered sleigh, I wanted to race right back inside, huddle under a cosy blanket and wait until spring. At least now I knew why we’d been given all that warm gear back in Grimmtown.

  We walked – well, slid might be more accurate – towards a small welcoming committee. Four people stood outside the arrivals area, clearly waiting for us. When we were near enough for them to approach without landing on their backsides the smallest of the group, a very pleasant and worried-looking woman, rushed forward and hugged Mrs Claus tightly.

  ‘Oh, Clarissa,’ she wept. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe. When we heard the news we feared the worst.’

  Mrs Claus pushed her away gently. ‘It’s all right, Mary. It wasn’t too pleasant, but we’re here now and we’re OK.’

  ‘Wasn’t too pleasant!’ That was like saying Red Riding Hood wasn’t too irritating – it made no effort to describe exactly how terrifying our experience had been. Before I could tell everyone how I had saved us all from certain death, I caught the warning look Mrs C was giving me – better not say too much until we knew exactly who was listening. I still had no idea what was going on but despite my initial doubts there was clearly a mystery to be solved here – and with my usual magnetic attraction to such mysteries, it was one of those that was hell-bent on putting my delicate hide in as much danger as possible.

  No change there, then.

  As I mused on how consistently unlucky I was in my choice of clients, I became aware that Mrs C (that’s what I was calling her now – it seemed catchier than Mrs Claus and I was still nervous about calling her Clarissa) was trying to make introductions. She waved at the woman first. ‘This is Mary; she runs the show at the North Pole while we’re in Grimmtown. You’ll find she is a most capable administrator and can probably tell you anything you want to know about what goes on here.’

  Mary grasped my trotter in a firm, welcoming handshake. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Mr Pigg. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

  ‘Glad to meet you too, Mary. Mary um …?’ I replied, trying to get her surname. ‘Mary,’ she said.

  ‘Mary?’ Once more with feeling.

  ‘Mary.’ And again.

  ‘Ah,’ Mrs C interrupted. ‘There seems to be some confusion here.’

  You have no idea, I thought.

  ‘This is Mary Mary. She’s a bit contrary, hence the difficulty. We originally hired her to look after our gardens here, but she was so good she eventually became our facility manager.’

  They had gardens here? What grew in them? Icicles?

  ‘Ah,’ I said, ‘I see.’ Although I wasn’t sure I saw at all.

  ‘And these are our heads of toy manufacturing.’ She indicated the three elves who had accompanied Mary. ‘This is Carigrant, head of Trad Toys.’ The first of the elves gave me a weak, dismissive half-wave. ‘And this is Gladaerial, head of Tech Toys.’ Again, another superior, flippant acknowledgement. ‘And finally, this is Gilgrisum, head of R&D.’ Gilgrisum raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, which I assumed was the elven equivalent of rushing over to me, hugging me tightly and roaring ‘Great to meet you’ in my ear.

  Mrs Claus continued, ‘They will arrange for any interviews you might want to have with the workers.’

  In truth, I didn’t want to interview any elves; it was more a case of having to. For reasons outlined before, I disliked elves intensely. It was hard to trust a race who spent most of their time being obsessed with personal hygiene and looking at themselves in mirrors. And I wasn’t too enamoured with the way they spoke either.

  As if he could read my thoughts, ‘A detective arrives; mysteries will be solved this night,’ said Carigrant, right on cue.

  See what I mean. Why not just say it plainly: Harry Pigg is here; all our problems are over. This genius detective will have things wrapped up before you can say something long-winded and pretentious.

  ‘How many elves do you have working here?’

  ‘One hundred,’ said Mary Mary promptly.

  Great – one hundred gibberish interviews. I wondered if it was possible to get an elvish interpreter – although I imagined after two days in the job they’d be quite insane. As jobs go, I’d rate it up there with Orc etiquette coach and wolf dentistry. Still, this is why I get paid the big bucks (or, as is more usual, small bucks paid in instalments or replaced by a basket of fruit or an IOU – usually the last).

  It was time to get down to business. I addressed everyone, ‘Right, we’re not sure what has happened to Mr Claus – I mean, Santa. It’s quite likely he’s been kidnapped, so someone here may know something about it. I’ll be talking to everyone so please make sure your teams know this. I’d also appreciate it if you would ask them to be as candid as possible. The more information we have, the better. It may be just one small detail that they might even consider unimportant, but it could be crucial.’

  From the looks on their faces, they seemed to take my statement with a degree of disbelief, as if I was impugning the integrity of their workforce. Who, me?

  I continued, ‘We’ll also need some place to work out of for the duration.’

  Mrs C nodded. ‘I’ll make sure you have somewhere suitable. Mary, please organise a room for Mr Pigg.’ Mary nodded and scurried off, followed a few moments later by the elves – who didn’t scurry, they were far too dignified. They moved gracefully over the frozen surface as if it was made of asphalt. Typical – even on ice they looked elegant.

  Behind me I heard a strange rattling noise. Too cold for snakes, I thought as I turned to investigate. It was Basili’s teeth hammering out a very impressive drum solo he was so cold. ‘P … p … perhaps we g … g … go inside now, p … p … please. It is m … m … m … most c … c … cold out here.’ He wasn’t used to temperatures like this. When he was attached to his lamp, he probably spent his time being washed up on warm sunny beaches and being summoned into bright sunlight to do as his latest master might bid – or at least that’s how I imagined it. Poor beggar probably only saw ice when he added it to his margarita after settling down in his lamp of an evening after a hard day’s magic.

  ‘A good idea,’ I said. ‘It is a bit chilly out here.’ My talent for understatement is unsurpassed.

  Minutes later we were in – oh joy – a warm and welcoming reception area. A Christmas theme was (inevitably) the order of the day, except that here large images of the main man dominated. A huge picture that stretched from floor to ceiling hung behind the reception desk and large red statues of Santa dotted around the room were hard to miss. I wondered if there might be some over-compensation issues here – on top of everything else – but I was smart enough to just nod my head maniacally and comment on how tasteful the décor was. Basili gave me an incredulous look, but I managed to nudge him sharply in the side before he could say anything that might reflect badly on me.

  Mary Mary approached us and ushered us into a slightly more tastefully decorated meeting room. A tinny ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town’ was being piped in to set the atmosphere. Not this year, I thought, unless I suddenly had a major breakthrough in the case.

  ‘You can use this room for the d
uration of your stay,’ said Mary Mary. ‘Everyone has been instructed to cooperate fully with your investigation. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to contact me.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ I said. ‘Apart from the elves, is there anyone else here I should be talking to?’

  Mary Mary thought for a moment. ‘Well, there’s Rudolph. He is quite close to Santa. He might be able to help.’

  ‘Right then, we’ll need to speak to him too. Can you set it up for us?’

  Mary Mary shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, you don’t really talk to Rudolph; you listen. He’s got quite a strong personality.’ By that I presumed she meant he was an arrogant, superior reindeer with an attitude problem. That was fine; it wouldn’t be the first time I’d experienced that.

  ‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’ I said. ‘I’m sure he’ll talk to us. In fact, why don’t we get him in here as our first interviewee?’

  ‘Oh goodness, no,’ Mary Mary exclaimed. ‘He doesn’t do house calls. You’ll have to make an appointment to see him. He’s very busy, you know.’

  I wasn’t having any of that. ‘I doubt it very much. I imagine the only time he’s busy is on Christmas Eve when he does his “Rudolph with your nose so bright” routine at the front of the sleigh. Let’s go and see him now.’ I strode purposefully out of the office and stopped when I realised I had no idea where I was going. Somewhat abashed, I waited for the others to join me.

  ‘OK, where does Rudolph hang out when he’s not on sleigh duty?’ I asked.

  ‘His rooms are this way.’ Mary Mary pointed down a nearby corridor. ‘But I don’t think he’ll see you.’

  ‘Oh, I beg to differ.’ Determination writ large on my face, I marched down the corridor. Seconds later I stood outside a heavy wooden door. A large sign surrounded by flashing fairy lights read: ‘Rudolph. Unavailable from 24th December to 26th December. Any other time by appointment only.’

  ‘Who does he think he is?’ I muttered as I flung the door open and walked in. Inside, a very nervous gnome sat at a small desk, guarding a set of double doors at the far side of a small lobby. When he saw us, he stood up and brandished a pen angrily in our direction.

  ‘You can’t go in there,’ he squeaked. ‘You don’t have an appointment.’

  ‘Wrong. I can, I do and I will.’ I walked past him towards the double doors.

  In fairness to him he tried to stop me, but I brushed him aside, swung the doors open and stopped abruptly, jaw hitting the ground. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to see, perhaps a plush office, ornate mahogany desk, comfortable leather chairs, expensive carpet and lots of plants; I certainly didn’t expect … well, the first thing that caught my eye was the reindeer.

  Instead of a flea-ridden, hay-chomping animal resting up in a straw-lined stable getting ready for his big night, I got a sleek reindeer draped across a divan, clad in a red dressing gown and matching silk pyjamas. An elf stood on either side of him; one dropping grapes into his upturned mouth while the other waved a large feather over his head – presumably to cool him down. On a small table beside him a large cigar burned away in an ornate ashtray.

  As we entered Rudolph looked up sharply, clearly annoyed at the unexpected intrusion.

  ‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in here uninvited? Do you know who I am?’ His voice had an upper-class twang that was purely for effect. It sounded like he’d practised it every day until he got it just right and used it to intimidate people. Well, he was intimidating the wrong person here. I walked straight up to where he was lying and stuck my snout into his face.

  ‘I’m the guy who’s been asked to find out what happened to your boss. I invited myself and, yes, not only do I know who you are but I don’t really care. Any more questions?’ I stood there staring into his eyes, willing myself not to blink first. We continued to glare at each other, each waiting for the other to crack. He didn’t realise he was up against the best; I could outstare a basilisk. This time, however, I thought I’d met my match as he glared at me, gaze unwavering, his brown eyes drilling into mine, challenging me. Just as my eyes began to water over (please don’t blink, Harry; please don’t blink), Rudolph capitulated, clearly realising who was boss (or maybe he just had to close his eyes) and turned his face away. When I was sure he couldn’t see me I blinked furiously to relieve my aching peepers. Pig 1, reindeer 0.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’d like to ask you some questions.’

  Rudolph was still trying to gain the upper hand. ‘I’m somewhat busy at the moment; if you’d care to make an appointment I’m sure I can squeeze you in early next week.’

  I’d had enough. I grabbed him by the silk lapels and pulled him up so he was staring once more into my face. This time I wasn’t interested in a staring contest. ‘Listen, antler boy, I don’t know who you think you are but I don’t have time for this upper-class twit-of-the-year nonsense. Your boss’s wife has asked me to find him and I’m going to do that to the best of my ability. As part of that investigation I need to talk to you and we are going to do that right now. Are you OK with that, or do I have to incentivise you in some way?’ I flicked my head casually towards Basili, who was standing nervously in the door. Now I knew that, as an enforcer, Basili was about as useful as a snowman stoking a furnace but Rudolph didn’t and, in fairness, Basili did look the part – up to a point.

  Rudolph looked at Basili, looked back at me, looked at Basili again and made up his mind. ‘OK, let’s talk.’ As he did so, I noticed something very strange happen to his nose: it began to glow slightly, giving off a reddish light that cast his face in shadow.

  ‘Does that happen often?’ I said, fascinated.

  ‘Usually when I get emotional,’ Rudolph replied. ‘The more emotional I get, the stronger the light becomes. It’s what sets me apart from the others.’

  I was tempted to point out that dressing in red silk pyjamas and being fed grapes probably set him apart from the others too, but I didn’t; sometimes I’m just too nice.

  ‘So you really do lead the sleigh on Christmas Eve then?’

  Rudolph nodded. ‘Yes, it can get very foggy, you know. That’s when I’m needed most. But they have to make me very angry if it’s to be really effective.’

  ‘What do they do, deprive you of elocution classes?’

  Sarcasm was completely lost on him. ‘No, they just put me in with the rest of the reindeer for a week. That really bugs me: no dress sense, bad table manners and an unhealthy fascination with reality TV. I tell you, it would make anyone mad, let alone someone of my obvious refinement.’

  I almost felt for him. Maybe it would have been easier just to take his jimmies and grapes away. That’d probably do the trick without the need to inflict him upon the other unfortunate reindeer. Why should they have to suffer too? That was just cruel and unusual. And speaking of cruel and unusual, now I had to try to interview this twit.

  I went through all the usual questions and received all the usual answers until I came to the ‘Any reason why anyone might want to kidnap Santa?’ one. Although he shook his head and said he couldn’t think of any, there was that same hint of evasion I thought I’d detected with Mrs C. Now I was beginning to get the feeling that there was more going on here than I’d previously thought. Despite their denials, both Mrs C and Rudolph had given the distinct impression that they knew more than they were letting on. But what was it? And how did it relate to the case? More questions; fewer answers. Maybe the elves might be able to tell us something – although I doubted it very much.

  Telling Rudolph not to make any travel plans as we’d probably need to speak to him again, we left and made our way back to our interview room.

  ‘What a clown,’ I said to Basili. ‘And now we get to talk to elves.’

  Despite my own reservations, Basili seemed to be looking forward to the next set of interviews (ah, the enthusiasm of the newly minted detective!).

  8

  I Am N
ot Spock

  ‘Very well then,’ Basili said, rubbing his hands – he was really getting into this – ‘it is time to be talking to some elven peoples.’

  ‘Well, that could be a bit of a misnomer; it’s more like we’ll look at them blankly while their mouths make noises that could perhaps be construed as talking, then we’ll try to make some sense of whatever we think they’ve just said. And we’ll have to do this one hundred times,’ I replied. ‘Just so as you know, this will be like pulling teeth, only more painful. I suspect that by the end of the day your ears will be bleeding and you’ll wish you were back with Aladdin.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Harry, I do not think so. Surely nothing could be worse than spending year after year stuck in that lamp waiting to grant one final wish.’ He did have a point there, although it was probably a photo-finish to decide which was worse.

  After the seventh interview, I suspected he was having a change of mind. I could see his eyes were glazing over and a thin trail of drool trickled from the corner of his mouth. He was rapidly losing his sanity, his grip on reality and his will to live – and we had another ninety-three elves to talk to! He buried his head in his hands and wailed mournfully. ‘Oh, Mr Harry, I do not know how much more of this I am taking. I am failing to comprehend any word these elvish folk are speaking.’

  I understood his plight; I was hovering on the brink of complete mental breakdown too. My grasp of what was real – already eroded by Christmas decoration overdose and my conversation with Rudolph – was now being washed away in a sea of double talk and nonsense. Just to give you an example:

  Conversation One:

  Question: When did you last see Mr Claus?

  Answer: The gentleman in red was perambulating the environs some weeks hence but has not been in attendance at the child’s plaything fabrication facility for some thirty-six planetary rotations.

  Conversation Two:

  Question: Are you aware of any reason why someone might want to harm Mr Claus?