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4
It was very late when Pim returned to his quarters. His head buzzed. ‘What a marvelous contraption,’ he sighed. ‘How does Santa make it fly?’
Drifting into sleep, he felt himself drawn into the twinkling night sky outside his bedroom window, beyond the dome of Borealis. He imagined himself up there, heard the ching, ching, ching of sleigh bells, flapping reins, the whoosh of air. The stars seemed especially close and bright. He dreamed he was looking down at a cheerful cluster of lights on a vast, moonlit ice field – Borealis. Higher and higher he soared until… his eyes popped open and Pim found himself perched on the end of his cozy bed, one hand gripping an imaginary set of reins, the other raised over his head, waving to the cheering citizens of the North Pole.
‘That was no ordinary dream!’ he told himself. ‘It was too real. It was a dream meant to be!’
He jumped off the bed, pacing back and forth, thinking hard. ‘Somehow I must go with Santa,’ he said. ‘I will go!’ In this mood, he fumbled into his cloths, grabbed a quick flask of hot chocolate, and strode out of his barrack down the slumbering main street of Borealis, heading for the ice tunnel and the toy factory.
~~~
Dabbledee stretched. She yawned. She sat on the end of her bed, blinking for a minute or two. Then she woke with a start. ‘It’s Christmas Eve Day,’ she whooped. No day in the year was as exciting. Every minute would be filled with joyful activity, but the highlight, of course, would be Santa’s send-off. ‘Oh I do hope Pim is at the ceremony!’ she smiled, remembering their very strange encounter the night before. Then she blushed. ‘What foolishness!’ Dabbledee scolded. Of course Pim would be there. All Borealis gathered in the massive sled hanger every year to cheer and wave Santa on.’
It’s tradition in that mythical land, for everyone – even old grumpus Fanafroo – has a part to play in the making of dreams, and their hearts beat proud and happy to see all their year’s work on its way to the homes of millions upon millions of children. Elves are like that. They can’t help it.
‘This will be the best Christmas ever,’ Dabbledee vowed, a vow she had made every Christmas within memory. As she hurried down Yuletide Way, past shuttered shops, she heard others stirring. But Dabbledee would be first into the sled room. Down the bluish tunnel she bustled, through the empty Toy Factory, and through the sled room door. ‘Ahh!’ she sighed, for Santa’s sled was exactly as she’d left it – perfect.
A little more polish wouldn’t hurt, though, so Dabbledee wasted no time. She burnished the trim until it shone like glory. Shone like perfection. Shone like wonder. Shone like…
She stopped mid-stroke and stared into the back of Santa’s sleigh, amazed. For there on the floor was a small, lumpy sack that she hadn’t noticed the night before, and the likes of which she had never seen. She examined it closely and noticed something even stranger. The sack moved! Its sides puffed in and out – as if it were breathing.
‘It’s alive!’ she gasped, springing back.
After a doubtful moment, she screwed up her courage and peeked in again. ‘What is it?’ Dabbledee wondered. But a second later she took herself to task for being so nosy.
‘It’s none of your business Dabbledee Hort’n’furzz,’ said chided, ‘and you should just pretend it isn’t there.’
But curiosity is a powerful instinct and the harder Dabbledee tried to put the sack out of mind, the more she wondered what could possibly be in it. She simply had to find out. Casting about, her eyes alighted on the long handled broom Pim had left leaning against the wall the night before. Grasping this like a spear, she thrust inside the sleigh, giving the sack a poke. Whatever was inside made not a sound. In fact, the sack became perfectly still, holding its breath.
‘Hmm?’ Dabbledee wondered, then she jabbed again.
‘Woof,’ it protested.
‘Woof?’ Dabbledee inquired.
‘Woof,’ the sack repeated, annoyed.
Dabbledee put up her probe and considered the situation. ‘It’s not a very convincing woof, I must say,’ she thought, drumming her chin with her fingers.
The sack whined, as if to say it had given its best woof. Dabbledee could not remain adamant after that, for the whining – once you got over the fact that it too sounded… well… fake – might have been a puppy’s.
‘Of course!’ Dabbledee laughed. ‘Santa is simply making a little boy or girl’s dream come true. Some tot has asked for a dog, and he has had to go and get one himself, because all the hammering, gluing, cutting and carving in the world – such as we do in the Toy Factory – cannot manufacture a single puppy.’
Satisfied with her answer, and anxious at the delay the sack had caused in her morning chores, Dabbledee immediately set herself to work, polishing and cleaning with a vengeance. As far as she was concerned the mystery had been solved and she forgot all about the sack in the back of Santa’s sleigh.