The Ho Ho Ho Mystery (3 page)

T
he only thing we hadn’t seen yet was the sleigh departure area and I asked if we could be taken there. Mrs Claus took us to a metal door – somewhat incongruous amidst the pine – and pressed a button on the wall beside it. It slid silently open and we were ushered into a tiny room, barely big enough to fit us all. Inside she pressed another button on a console and, after the door had closed again, we began to descend. Cool, I thought, we’re on our way to some secret underground base.

I didn’t realise how right I was. Once the lift had stopped and the doors opened, we stepped out on to a balcony overlooking a brightly lit, high-tech facility that bore no relation to the house constructed above it. Mrs Claus saw my look of astonishment and nodded.

‘Yes, it’s a bit different, isn’t it? This is where the real business of Christmas is carried out – as well as at our North
Pole base, of course. What’s above is only for show and to satisfy the expectations of the locals. After all, they do have certain preconceptions we must meet.’

I was tempted to tell her that these expectations could have been met with a lot more subtlety and taste, but bit my tongue before saying something I’d probably regret later. Instead I walked over to the edge of the balcony and looked down. Below me a large ramp curved up from the ground towards a flat ceiling, where it seemed to end abruptly. To one side a group of reindeer were being brushed down and led away to straw-lined stables. Over speakers that dotted the walls a loud voice was saying, ‘Attention, attention, flight SCA219 has arrived safely from the North Pole. Reindeer have been unhitched and are being refuelled for the return flight, which will depart in approximately two hours. Please ensure all cargo has been loaded and safely strapped down. We do not want a repeat of the frisbee incident.’

I looked over at Mrs Claus and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

She sighed heavily. ‘One of our more infamous accidents. During a Christmas delivery back in the fifties a number of frisbees fell off the sleigh as we flew over a place called Roswell. We managed to gather them all back up before they could do too much damage, but unfortunately some of the larger ones – the ultra-giant luminous ones – were seen by a number of the locals. They caused quite a stir, you know.’

Now there was a perfect definition of the word ‘understatement’ – and she’d said the whole thing without any suggestion of irony.

‘Ever since then we’ve made sure to keep all cargo securely fastened to avoid any further unpleasantness,’ she concluded.

‘I’m sure you have,’ I said, trying to keep a straight face. ‘Did anything else happen to fall off the sleigh at the same time?’

‘Yes, we did lose two inflatable toy aliens as well. We never did find them that night. I’ve often wondered where they got to.’

Basili nudged me sharply in the side. ‘Don’t even be thinking about telling her, Mr Harry,’ he whispered.

I nodded and bit my lip – but I was tempted. ‘Mrs Claus, is it possible to talk to the air-traffic controller who was on duty when your husband disappeared? I’d like to get a better idea of the timings.’

‘Yes, of course, and please call me Clarissa; Mrs Claus seems so formal, don’t you think?’

She led us to a small control room that seemed to be wall-to-wall computers and consoles showing a bewildering series of numbers, radar displays and what presumably were flight paths. Sitting in front of them, speaking urgently into a large microphone was one very stressed air-traffic controller who seemed to be talking to seven different sleighs at once.

‘Yes SCA74 you are clear to land. SCA42 please keep circling at your current height until you hear otherwise. No,
SCA107, I didn’t get to record the Hubbard’s Cubbard concert on TV last night for you. What’s that, SCA92? Say again. Did I hear you correctly, you have a lame reindeer? Keep on this flight path and we’ll divert you to the emergency runway. We’ll have rescue teams standing by. Ground control out.’ He pressed a button and sirens began to wail all around. ‘Emergency, emergency; rescue teams to emergency runway. Repeat, rescue teams to emergency runway. We have a landing-gear problem on SCA92.’

There was a flurry of activity from down below as rescue teams in fire engines and ambulances raced out to the runway to await the arrival of the stricken sleigh. I turned to Mrs Claus. ‘Does this kind of thing happen often?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really – and, frankly, it’s not much of an emergency either. All the reindeer has to do is keep his legs up when he lands and the others will bring him in safely. Our man here,’ and she pointed at the harried controller, ‘just likes to do things by the book.’

‘Any chance I might have a quick word? I won’t keep him too long.’

‘Go right ahead.’ She tapped the controller on the shoulder. ‘Charles, this is Mr Pigg. He’s investigating my husband’s disappearance. He’d like to ask you some questions about the night he vanished.’

Charles nodded once but never took his eyes off the displays in front of him.

‘OK, Charles. Can you tell us what happened?’

‘Sure. Santa’s private sleigh left here as scheduled at 21:00 hours. At 22:00 hours he contacted us to let us know that things were OK and that he was ascending to his cruising height. After that nothing, and he never arrived at Polar Central. That’s all I know.’

‘How long would the flight normally be?’

‘About three hours, give or take.’

‘And would it be unusual for Mr Claus to maintain radio silence for the duration?’

‘It depends. It was a routine flight, so apart from an occasional update we might not hear from him until he was beginning his approach to Polar Central, so it wouldn’t necessarily be a cause for concern. He does this run very regularly, you know.’

‘I see, OK. Thanks, Charles.’ He barely acknowledged me as he turned his attention back to his screens. I looked at Mrs Claus. ‘Mrs Cl … I mean Clarissa, this is a most peculiar case. I can find no evidence of any wrongdoing here nor can I explain your husband’s disappearance. Clearly he’s missing, but I can’t explain it. It is possible that I may be able to find out something by interviewing the staff at your North Pole base. How soon can you organise a flight for us since I’d like to start talking to them as soon as possible?’

‘You can leave right now,’ she said. ‘We have a number of private sleighs – state of the art – that we keep on standby for any sudden or unexpected departures. They’re very comfortable and should get you there in a matter of hours.’
Mrs Claus turned to Charles. ‘Ask the ground crew to prep
Jingle Bells
for an immediate departure to Polar Central.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied and issued orders into a nearby radio.

As he spoke we were shepherded downstairs into an (admittedly very comfortable) departure lounge, where we were given heavy fur coats to wear – which didn’t bode too well for the journey ahead. Once we were warmly wrapped up we were taken to the sleigh.

I have to confess at this point that I was expecting an open box with a hard wooden seat and large storage area; all sitting on top of two long, curved, metal skis with a team of smelly, flea-ridden reindeer attached to the front.

The reality was so very different.

A sleek red-and-white (of course) chassis, like a giant covered bobsleigh, rested on huge, sturdy-looking skis. To my relief there was no sign of outside seats so it looked as though we’d be inside – and warm, I hoped. Naturally it wasn’t all high-tech. I’d been expecting something like rocket-powered engines, so I was a tad disappointed to see a team of twelve reindeer being hooked up to the front of the sleigh, but at least they looked the part too: sleek, strong and very healthy looking. I just wasn’t too sure they’d manage to get the sleigh off the ground.

Mrs Claus saw my look of uncertainty and quickly reassured me, ‘They’re Class Two reindeer; some low-level
raw magic and power. Don’t worry; they’ll get us there without difficulty.’

Magic: I knew there’d be magic involved somewhere. I didn’t share her confidence. Magic and me just didn’t mix. If something was going to go wrong with this craft, chances were it would be when I was travelling in it.

Slowly and with a large degree of caution I approached the sleigh. As I did, a door in the side slid quietly open, revealing a luxurious interior. Large, comfortable-looking seats lined the walls and a plush carpet covered the floor. No prizes for guessing the colour scheme. Hey, maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all.

One of the ground crew approached. ‘Everyone inside please, we depart in five minutes.’

We all entered and quickly strapped ourselves into the seats. I sank into mine and it surrounded me like I was in a hot bath. This was the life. If I didn’t know better I’d have thought I was in someone’s living room. Across from me Basili struggled with his seat belt and looked anxiously at me. I gave him a reassuring smile, but he didn’t seem too convinced. Maybe he didn’t like flying either – which was strange, considering he used to be a genie and spent most of the time when he popped out of his lamp hanging in the air with smoke for legs. I hoped for his sake we’d have an uneventful flight.

Behind me Mrs Claus was talking to our in-flight steward and asking him to organise drinks and something to eat as
soon as we were airborne. As he walked back to the galley, there was a sudden jolt and the sleigh began to move forward along the ramp. As we began to pick up speed, I noticed – somewhat nervously – that we were racing up the ramp towards the ceiling I’d seen earlier. The sleigh got faster and faster as we approached the blank wall ahead.

‘Shouldn’t there be a door or something?’ I shouted over my shoulder to Mrs Claus, who was lying back with her eyes closed, seemingly blissfully unaware of our imminent collision.

‘Don’t worry, Mr Pigg. I’m sure the pilot knows what he’s doing.’

Outside, the scenery was passing by in a blur as the reindeer picked up speed, apparently oblivious to their impending doom.

The ceiling got closer and closer and I got more and more scared. ‘Ohmigod, we’re all gonna die; we’re all gonna die; WE’RE ALL GONNA DIIIIAAAARGH.’ As I screamed in terror at our imminent collision with the ceiling, it suddenly split in two and the sleigh shot out through the opening. Through the window I got a blurred glimpse of the swimming pool parting on either side as we came up through it. Seconds later we’d left the ground behind us and hurtled into the night sky.

‘There,’ came a sleepy voice from behind me. ‘I told you he knew what he was doing.’

I
sank back in my seat, sweating … well, um, like a pig actually. I was close to hyperventilating and tried to get my breathing under control before I passed out. Across the aisle Basili was studying me with interest, seemingly oblivious to what just happened.

‘You are well, Mr Harry?’ he asked.

‘I’ll live,’ I gasped. ‘But I don’t think I’ll be able to cope with any more scares like that.’

Behind me, a gentle snoring sound suggested Mrs Claus was far less worried than either of us.

‘I am sure there will be no more incidents until after we are arriving at our destination.’ Basili unfastened his belt – which was clearly making him uncomfortable – let his seat back and closed his eyes. Seconds later he too was snoring, but much louder than the ladylike trilling from Mrs Claus. Great: snoring in stereo for the rest of the trip! I wondered if
there was an in-flight movie; I could certainly do with some distraction.

Unfortunately, it looked as though the nearest I was going to get to in-flight entertainment was looking out of the window. Mind you, judging by the speed at which the clouds passed by it seemed that the reindeer were moving at quite a clip. Maybe there was some germ of truth in what Mrs Claus had told me. If these were Class Two animals, I wondered how fast Class One reindeer could go. Idly musing on thoughts like this (and because I had nothing else to do – the current case proving to be completely devoid of any leads), I eventually sank into a light doze.

A loud blaring brought me to my senses. The captain was shouting at us through the intercom. ‘Attention, passengers. Ground control has detected another craft approaching us at speed. We have as yet been unable to make contact with them. Please return to your seats and ensure your seat belts are securely fastened while we establish what is going on. Thank you.’

Just as he finished there was a loud thud on the side of the sleigh as something made heavy contact. The impact caused the sleigh to lurch wildly and turn on its side. Before I could grab on to anything, I slid across the floor and smashed into the cabin door. Showing scant regard for safety regulations and quality construction, it swung open and I dropped out of the sleigh into the freezing night.

I felt a trotter bang off something as I fell. Using whatever innate survival instincts I possessed (I certainly wasn’t doing this by design – trust me), my other trotter swung around and clung desperately to one of the sleigh’s landing skis. The sleigh careened wildly as it was hit again and I just managed to keep my grip. Almost immediately, Basili’s semi-conscious body fell out of the cabin above and plummeted past me. Using the same innate sense of self-preservation I’d used, his arms were stretched out trying to grab on to anything that might save him. Unfortunately for me, he wasn’t quite as good at it as I was. Instead of grabbing the ski, he wrapped an arm around my legs and clutched them tightly.

I tried to look down at the ex-genie dangling from my legs. ‘Basili,’ I shouted, trying to be heard over the wind, ‘can you climb up my body and grab on to a ski?’

‘I do not think so, Mr Harry. I am barely feeling my hands. It is a most unusual and unpleasant sensation. Perhaps if I am letting go, you may be able to climb back in.’

‘Not an option, Basili,’ I muttered through gritted teeth. ‘We need to come up with something else – and quickly.’

‘Trust me, Mr Harry,’ came the strained voice from below. ‘I am thinking as fast as I can.’

As I gamely struggled for inspiration, there came a voice from above asking what was, in the circumstances, possibly the most idiotic question I’d ever heard.

‘Are you two gentlemen OK?’ asked Mrs Claus, peering down from the open door.

‘Not really. Now if you would be so kind as to find something we can grab on to before we end up trying to fly of our own accord, we’d be really grateful.’

‘One moment, I’ll see what I can do.’ Her head disappeared back into the sleigh before I could point out that we really didn’t have the luxury of a moment to spare.

‘Hold on, Basili,’ I roared down to the genie. ‘Help may be on its way.’ As I did so, my trotters began to slip away from the skis. Frantically, I tried to hold on, but the strain was too much. My trotters protested at what they were being asked to do – they didn’t seem to think it was fair. Inch by inch they began to slide apart. I wasn’t going to manage it.

Just as I was about to give way, Mrs Claus shouted down at us again. ‘Here, grab on to this.’ Something snaked past my shoulder and I grabbed on to a thick rope and held on to it as if my life depended on it (which it did).

I was just thanking my lucky stars, lucky rabbit’s foot, lucky anything-else-lucky-I-had-in-my-possession when the big, ugly, hob-nailed boot of fate stamped down on me one more time. The sleigh skewed wildly as our attackers hit it once again. There was a scream and I saw a blur of red as something large fell past me. There was an almighty tug on my legs as if someone had attached something heavy – like, say, a truck – to them.

Whatever chance I had of hanging on while Basili dangled from my legs had disappeared when Mrs Claus added her ample frame to the equation. Now, I could feel
the rope sliding through my trotters as my arms finally gave up, shouted surrender and lay down their weapons. I didn’t know how long the rope was, but from the speed I slid down along it I didn’t think there was much more left to hold on to. This was it; this was the end.