SANTOPIA
Book I:
Santa & the Lost Princess
Being the heretofore most secret Annals of Santopia as related to Sir Nicholas by the High Custodian of the Santa Museum & Historical Society
Sir Nicholas Throckmorton
Edited by Andrew Delaplaine
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Gramercy Park Press
All rights reserved.
Published on Smashwords
* * *
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Cover Art & Map by Max Forward
Email: gppress@gmail.com
Dedication
To Amanda Throckmorton
* * *
Her name is Amanda, or that’s what they say,
This is her book—I’ll give it away.
She’s a dealer in magic, a dealer in fun,
And she likes a bite of my cinnamon bun!
If you are what you eat, and that’s what I hear.
She’s sweet with her cakes and her candies, the dear.
Give her no spinach, no green Brussels sprout,
She’ll put an army of veggies to rout!
No, give her some cookies, some milk and ice cream.
Doesn’t that sound like a wonderful dream?
She’ll have a small tiffin and sometimes a tuffin,
But she’ll go much further and munch on a muffin.
She may not be a Throckmorton, that’s true,
But that’s not a problem, we all muddle through.
So here’s to Amanda, you’re not quite to blame,
We love you so much—whatever your name!
Table of Contents
Chapter 2 – The Flying Trelves
Chapter 3 – The Death of Connie
Chapter 5 – The Birth of Noelle
Chapter 7 – Taraxa and Inula Worry
Chapter 8 – Prince Deck & the Princess Dazzle
Chapter 10 – The Volcanic Palace
Chapter 14 – No Slookery Juice for Baby!
Chapter 16 – Hurry, Henry, Hurry!
Chapter
19 – A Job Well Done
Chapter
20 – Into the Koliback Wood
Chapter 22 – Across the Hyssopus Field
Chapter 23 – The Sending Off Ceremony
Chapter 25 – The Forest of Shadows
Chapter 26 – The Flying Trelves Deployed
SANTOPIA
Book I: Santa & the Lost Princess
Preface
Finally, the story can be told!
Now that the current Santa has granted permission to reveal the true and accurate history of his homeland, Santopia, a heavy burden is lifted from my gladdened heart.
As I am far into old age, it is my fervent hope that I will have the strength to set down this history before I am taken away.
Though the history of Santa is a long tale spanning many centuries, my modest goal in this first volume is to tell you the story of a true Princess of Santopia, and how she came to be “lost.”
While this is certainly not the first book that could be written in the Annals of Santopia, its subject is most certainly one of my favourites.
Perhaps that’s because it is also the story of the first Santa that I actually knew personally, and though I did not come to know him intimately until he was fifteen, his story begins—does not every story?—on the day he was born.
Sir Nicholas Throckmorton - London
Santopia
Book I: Santa & the Lost Princess
Chapter 1
In faraway Santopolis, in the Kingdom of Santopia, there’s a bell on every rooftop.
Well, there’s always more than one bell, for the simple reason that Elves like to hear them ring-ring-ring, jingle-jingle-jingle and jangle-jangle-jangle every morning when they wake up. Santa always told the Elves that it was up to them to be happy when the new day began. What better way to wake up than with the sound of cheerful bells ringing every morning?
So down through the centuries it became a custom to erect a small cluster of bells at the top of each new house the day it was built and before the Elves moved in. When the new Elf family moved in on that first day (only Elf families get houses—before they are married, Elves live in Blue Boy Barracks and Elfies live in Pink Girl Barracks), the father Elf would pull the string that ran down the side of the house to the front door, ringing the bells for the first time, and the new house was ready!
From then on, when father Elf went to work, he would ring the bell on his way out. And during the day, mother Elf would ring the bell to call in her children for meals, to do their chores, or to signal an emergency.
And so it was that Elf Duncan opened his eyes with a start when he heard bells ring, ring, ringing, and his wife, Elfie Molliso, push, push, pushing on his shoulder. One could even accuse her of jab, jab, jabbing his shoulder, so much did it hurt.
“Wha—? Wha—?” was all he could manage to say.
“Hurry, Duncan! Hurry!—this must mean the baby’s born!”
Elfie Molliso, as was her habit, had been up much earlier than Duncan, baking the oversized morning bun they’d share before going off to work—she to her job in the Santa Museum, and he to Toy Workhouse No. 7, where he was Foreman.
Duncan enjoyed a rejuvenating yawn and took a little longer to raise himself from what had been a deep slumber. He’d had a long month, working to get all the toys in his division ready for Christmas. Duncan’s mouth stretched itself into another wide yawn. The blue tint in his cheeks (all boy Elves in Santopia have a blue tint to their cheeks) grew a little bluer as he fully roused himself. He pinched both his cheeks.
“All right, I’m coming, Molliso—just put on the kettle, will-ya? I’ll have a cup before we join the town.”
Elfie Molliso’s small head popped through the doorway into the bedroom. The pink in her cheeks got pinker (all Elfies in Santopia, of course, have a pink tint to their cheeks) and she regarded her husband with disdain.
“You are coming into the street with everybody else, Duncan! This very instant!” she commanded.
“All right, all right! I’ll be right behind you. Let me find my cap.”
Sure that Duncan was right behind her, Molliso dashed through the red front door of their cottage faster than a brisk North Wind.
Duncan crawled out of bed—it was but a short hop to the floor for one so small—and pulled on his pale blue jumpsuit with its gold badge on the right breast pocket indicating his rank as Foreman of Toy Workhouse No. 7 and his yellow cap with a miniature four-inch flag pole with a tiny version of Santa’s pennant hanging from it. He shook his head to get rid of the cobwebs, went to a wash bowl in the corner and splashed his face with some water to wake up a little more, and then padded into the tiny kitchen where he put the kettle on. He thought by the time Molliso turned around to look for him, she’d think he was lost in the cheering crowd, which Duncan could hear in the distance.
Elf Duncan’s nose twitched involuntarily, his eyebrow arched up, and his lips curled into a mischievous grin when he spied a large hot cinnamon bun Molliso had just taken out of the oven and left on the kitchen sideboard where it sent out sweet hunger-inducing aromas.
Maybe he could drink two cups of tea, he thought, before joining the surging throngs now filling the quaint streets, alleyways and narrow passages of Santopolis.
* * *
Here it was, just two days before Christmas Eve, and the bells from every rooftop jingled and jangled, ringing out in celebration as all of Santopia poured into the streets to welcome a new Prince born to Santa and his wife, Connie.
High above the town, gathered in Connie’s bedchamber to view the newborn babe, were her husband, Santa, Santa Pops, Ameritus, the Great White Sage of Santopia, Lord Elfington, Chief of all the Elves, and Connie’s doctors and attendants.
Connie, the very picture of exhaustion, held up her baby boy to Santa’s outstretched arms. Santa knelt beside her.
“You look so weak, my dear. Will you be all right?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Connie said with a weary smile. “Look, Santa, he’s so adorable!”
“I just love to look at him,” Santa said with a smile.
“And I love to look at you looking at him,” Connie said tenderly.
Santa smiled at her, but glanced up over the headboard where Connie’s chief physician stood next to Lord Elfington and saw the man shake his head, his manner grave.
“I’m going to show the people our new son, and then I’ll be back by your side.”
“You have Christmas in two days, my dear—don’t worry about me.”
“I love you more than Christmas. I love you more than anything.”
“Show the people our boy,” Connie said, languishing. The physician came around the headboard and sat on the bed to hold Connie’s hand as she fell asleep with fatigue.
“Go, Santa. I’ll be here,” said the doctor.
“I’ll be back quickly.”
Santa took the squealing baby and walked over to stand by his father.
“How’s Connie?” asked Santa Pops.
“Not so good.”
“Let’s get through this, then, so we can come back to her,” said his dad.
Santa turned to all the dignitaries in the room.
“I name my son Prince Nicholas, heir to the Kingdom of Santopia!”
There was great cheering from all the notables.
Santa Pops nudged the Great White Sage.
“It would not be out of order for the White Sage, Seer of Some Things Unseen, to issue a Prophecy on such a momentous occasion, eh, Ameritus?”
“Indeed you are right, Santa Pops,” said the White Sage, drawing himself up to his full height of four feet ten inches.
The White Sage took in a couple of long, deep breaths, expanding his puny chest, as if by so doing he might somehow magically improve upon his height. Alas, for all his other magical powers, he was destined to remain short. (All White Sages in Santopia’s history have been short, but not as short as Elves. They were distinguished by their highly intricate facial hair designs—that is, complicated moustaches and sideburns. Even the White Sage’s Welves, his protectors and guardians, were festooned with elaborate designs of facial hair. And they were a full foot shorter than the White Sage.)
The White Sage’s eyes dashed about the room, catching the glances of all the people looking at him in high expectation while he turned over in his befuddled mind the different prophecies that he could conjure.
Ah, yes! he thought.
“I, Ameritus, Great White Sage of Santopia, proclaim the first girl born after Prince Nicholas to be his rightful Queen—”
There was a murmur throughout Connie’s bedchamber. Santa caught the twinkle in the White Sage’s eye.
“—and, on his eighteenth birthday, when he is invested with mystical powers at the Ritual of the Green Gloves and proclaimed the future Santa, the Prince will claim her as his bride and future Queen!”
The buzz in the room rose, and nodding heads indicated general approval of the White Sage’s Prophecy.
Santa turned, still holding the child.
“You please me, Great White Sage. With the Baroness von Drear so close to giving birth to her child—and we know it will be a girl—we will be able to bring more happiness to her people when they rejoin our Kingdom.”
“I am happy you are pleased, Santa,” said the White Sage with a bow.
As Santa moved out to a large terrace overlooking the town square to show the new Prince to the wildly cheering Santopians gathered before the Palace, Santa Pops moved closer to the White Sage. Over the cheering and clamouring in the square below, he whispered.
“Do you think a marriage between the houses of Drear and Santa is wise, Great White Sage, knowing how the Baroness has always hated Christmas?”
The White Sage nodded.
“Ah, but Santa has always wanted to change her heart, bring more happiness to the people of Drear. What better way than this to bring about such a fine deed—the union of these two houses?”
“I hope you and Santa are not investing Drear’s heart with a goodness that is not there,” said Santa Pops as they both moved onto the terrace to look upon the happy multitude of Santopians throwing their caps up to the sky.
Santa Pops knew full well there was no undoing a White Sage Prophecy. Even the White Sage himself could not undo a Prophecy once he officially declared it. This became a perplexing situation to which Santa Pops realized then and there he’d have to devote a lot of thought.
There was no possibility the Baroness would have a boy. No ruler of Drear (and all the rulers of Drear since the Great Schism had been female) had ever had a boy. Only girls.
Just as no Santa had ever conceived a girl. Only boys.
“I wonder,” mused the White Sage.
“What?” replied a sullen Santa Pops as he snapped out of his reverie.
“How do thousands of Elves find their caps after they throw them all into the air?”
Chapter 2
As the news of Prince Nicky’s birth spread over Santopia, Gelf Spicata, the High Representative from the Realm of Drear, ran down to the lakeside and his waiting sleigh. He had to get back to the Realm as fast as the sleigh could carry him. He knew how urgently the Baroness von Drear wanted to know the smallest detail about the birth.
She’d sent an Official Skelf Courier along with him, and Spicata’s very precise instructions were to send the Courier back on the Flying Trelves with all the details of the birth. (Couriers rode in a sling precariously balanced between two Flying Trelves.)
“We have to hurry,” he told his Gelf driver.
The driver nodded. That meant driving the Hyssopus-bred reindeer relentlessly hard and fast across Frozen Lake.
But the driver knew what Spicata knew: it was still half a day’s trip back to the Castle, even if they changed reindeer midway at the White Sage’s Volcanic Palace.
The Courier came up, followed by the two Flying Trelves carrying the sling, as Spicata got into the sleigh.
“Orders, sir?”
“Yes, you’re to tell the Baroness that Santa has a new son, and that Ameritus the White Sage has prophesied…”
Spicata watched as the Flying Trelves readied the sling. He didn’t much like Trelves, either the Land Trelf or the Flying variety. But he’d been thrown with them much more since he rose to become the Count’s right hand Gelf. Trelves formed the rank and file of the security forces in the Realm of Drear.
He’d actually flown in a sling twice before, although it was considered very inelegant for a Gelf of his standing to fly in a sling. Though it was quick work to get across the lake in just a few hours, it was a rough-and-tumble mode of transport, and one bounced up and down in the sling with every flap of the Trelves’ wings. Then there was the whole distasteful matter of Trelf drool. Trelves drooled. And drooled. And drooled. And their drool was not only wet, it was smelly.
Flying Trelves provided the only form of airborne travel in the Realm available to important officials.
Santa had the mammoth Helleborean Reindeer that could fly to the Other World. They were each as big as a house.
Within the Kingdom, there were other flying reindeer, but they were normal sized and could only fly within the Kingdom, not beyond.
The Baroness had her ordinary reindeer bred in the Hyssopus Field, used for surface transport. Then she had her fierce, fire-snorting Reindeer Flagare specially bred on the far side of the Frizolean Glacier used only to transport her and her powerful oracle, the Black Haruspex, a Seer of Some Things Unseen, but that was all.
As for the sling, the Baroness wouldn’t be caught dead “slinging it” between two drooling Trelves.
Ugh, thought Spicata. My clothes will be ruined. But he would be first back with the all-important news! Not half a day behind the news.
“Courier!”
“Sir?”
“I’m bumping you.”