The Claus Affair: The Christmas Round Robin - Part 3

[leethet.livejournal.com]

One of the things they hadn’t covered in Survival School, Napoleon thought, was how to dress for a ride in Santa’s sleigh. Though he wore the sort of coat and scarf appropriate for a New York winter, the sleigh bounded into the air – not without a little turbulence as the reindeer jostled into position – and in minutes was so high Napoleon wondered if the air had actually become thinner; what he knew without a doubt was it was bitterly, brain-piercingly cold, with a wind-chill factor of omigod.

Waverly seemed comfortable – not surprising in his thick suit. Oddly, Illya – clad as what might best be described (though not within Illya’s earshot) as an Irish ballet dancer – didn’t seem to notice the cold at all. Then again, maybe the sulk he was currently engaged with – a level 8, if Napoleon was any judge – might be keeping him warm.

The wind precluded any conversation, so it wasn’t until they swooped down and rumbled to a bumpy stop on a big , flat, industrial-building roof that Waverly spoke.

“I know the reason THRUSH took Noel -  as the first step in their nefarious plan.”

“Which plan is that?” Illya grumbled from the depths of his sulk.

“The usual,” Waverly replied. “World Domination.”

“Ah.” Napoleon nodded, afraid if he didn’t his neck would freeze. “Well, it’s the time of year for old chestnuts.” He clambered out of the sleigh and shoved his hands into his pockets, fingering his “gift.” It was about the size of their cigarette holder communicators, but lighter.

“They plan to use a duplicate – a false St. Nick – to wreak havoc and mayhem the world over in the days leading to Christmas. I don’t have any specifics, but I do know they aim to make the world hate and fear Santa Claus, and to turn to them for help against him.”

Napoleon felt his brows rise. Not frozen, then. “Novel,” he observed, then, when Waverly scowled at him, he added, “But nefarious.” He scanned the vast plane of the rooftop, eying several large ventilation shafts and a small structure that he hoped housed a stair.

“Sir,” Illya said. “It’s not Christmas for days. Why do you – and, more pointedly, I – need to be in these ridiculous costumes being dragged about by this herd of overaged venison?”

“We, too, have a job to do tonight, my jolly elf,” Waverly said – the steely gleam in his eye was a poor substitute, Napoleon thought, for Santa’s legendary twinkle.

He rubbed his hands together. “Well, good luck, you two. I’m going inside, where it’s probably going to be a lot hotter than I like.”

“Save Noel,” Waverly adjured as he picked up the heavy leather reins. “Stop the false St. Nick.”

“Without hurting anyone,” Napoleon said, nodding. “I remember. Ho ho ho.” Actually Waverly had said without violence, but that was far too broad a ban for Napoleon to take seriously. His boss didn’t correct him.

“Good luck,” Illya called to him, still sunk into his elvish snit.

Napoleon waved. “Don’t take any wooden milk and cookies!”  And he trotted toward the building he hoped contained stairs. Behind him the heavy harness bells jangled, reindeer snorted, hooves thudded – and the sleigh was aloft again, passing over Napoleon’s head eastward. He looked at it for a moment, marveling, then hurried to the building.

~*~*~

The building did open onto stairs, and those stairs led him into a factory of some sort, huge and open and harshly lit, with machinery in the middle and offices lining the walls on the ground floor. Napoleon paused in the shadows by the door, casing the joint and wondering what role a manufacturing plant might play in THRUSH’s alleged scheme to ruin Christmas and blackball Santa. Mass manufacture of coal?

Napoleon shook his head sharply. Weird as this seemed, it was a mission, one with personal value to the old man. He needed to take it seriously. If possible.

He checked that the little gift box was still secure in his pocket and moved smoothly along the catwalk to the nearest stairs. Machinery hummed in the distance but he didn’t see any THRUSHies at work.

Downstairs he ducked into a likely looking corridor and found himself confronted with rooms on either side, doors closed but each with a viewing window for observers.

Knowing the kinds of things THRUSH like to “observe,” Napoleon steeled himself and moved forward, ever alert for discovery.

The first room was an empty white cube. The second contained a table with a box on it. The box looked as if it had exploded – as if it had contained a bomb. Past the burnt and curling edges Napoleon glimpsed the remains of a festive Christmas wrapping paper.

The next room was strung with Christmas lights – several strings hung parallel across the ceiling. They seemed to go on and off in order as he watched, one, two, three, four, one, two three, four—

HE flinched at the sharp sound of sparks and watched as the first string of lights exploded in sequence, like a series of firecrackers, spitting glass and smoke and flame. The second string followed after, then the third…

But by then Napoleon had gotten the point and moved on.  The next room contained a fully decorated Christmas tree, six feet tall and bristling with ornaments. As he watched, the entire tree exploded into flame and smoke – so much he flinched back from the glass, though it seemed apparent these rooms had been designed to contain these experiments.

Clearly THRUSH were testing some Christmas-themed devices of mayhem. No doubt to be used to fill the sack of their sinister Santa.

Napoleon shook his head. You’re alliterating. Stop it. But there was something particularly creepy about these festive time bombs. As he continued he pondered how he might put this entire nasty wing of the building out of commissions – but Noel Perry came first.

A few more glances as he proceeded showed him further items of holiday horror, but still not a single live person. He reached a T-junction and arbitrarily chose right.

Amazing what you can do with a candy cane were his last thoughts before a sharp smell of pine and a heavy club to the skull simultaneously overwhelmed him. Pain kicked him in the back of the head and he sank quickly into blackness.

Comments

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

So many reasons to like this chapter :D
“Novel,” he observed, then, when Waverly scowled at him, he added, “But nefarious.”
Napoleon is especially cheeky, something that always suits our brave CEA. Having sunk into blackness, what can possibly happen next?

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Thanks for this well written and suspenseful chapter, with its - alas, believable - scenes of Christmas horror. Lots of good quotes: for example a wind-chill factor of omigod. and maybe the sulk he was currently engaged with – a level 8, if Napoleon was any judge – might be keeping him warm.

[ssclassof56.livejournal.com]

Poor Napoleon. A holiday headache and he hadn’t even had any eggnog yet. Thanks for another great chapter.

Loved You’re alliterating. Stop it.

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

Delightful! My favorite lines:

One of the things they hadn’t covered in Survival School, Napoleon thought, was how to dress for a ride in Santa’s sleigh.

a wind-chill factor of omigod

It’s not Christmas for days. Why do you – and, more pointedly, I – need to be in these ridiculous costumes being dragged about by this herd of overaged venison?

I'm glad you were able to build upon my weirdness and give us a great chapter. So far, I think this is our best round robin to date.

[selyndaep.livejournal.com]

What a wild ride! Love the offhand bits like ‘a chill factor of omigod’ through to the ‘amazing what you can do with a candy cane’ we’re wonderfully delightful! The lead-in for the next part (mine) was resolved with a look at our Christmas Elf’s viewpoint (whew). Fun, zaniness, and nefarious Thrus intrigue—delicious chapter.