seriously. Jack said he’d have a word with some of the more whacked-out dudes he knows, test the water, see if it comes up frozen, that sorta thing, but me—‘ He took a last sip of his soup and replaced the spoon carefully in the bowl before continuing. ‘Me, I took off for the bright lights, baby. You better believe it. I had tickets for the Dead in ‘Frisco and the promise of an after gig party with Nancy Sinatra and Richard Carpenter; you don’t turn down that sort of peachy deal for a geriatric with paranoia eating him alive. So yeah, I headed off down the Bay, hooked up with Pete Fonda on the way, went and saw Garcia tear the stage up. God, man, it was some trip. Next thing I know it’s two days later, I wake up just in time to see Cher tiptoeing out the hotel room, big blue shoes in her hands, and the Defence Alarm beeping like a coked-up Simon Says in the corner. I was out of that hotel in two minutes, tops, and at the Pole within the half hour, but I was too late. The old man was gone, and his workshop was all smashed to shit. Most of the little guys had run for it, but every so often I’d turn over a chunk of plastic or a bag full of broken Barbies, and there’d be one of them lying underneath.’ He sniffed, the memory moving him visibly. ‘Anyway, I finally finds one who’s still able to talk and he says that this thing from the world’s worst trip came outta nowhere and really did a number on the troops. Like the devil, man, he says, like the actual fucking devil. That’ll be Pitch, I says. Killed any of us got in his way, he says, smashed up everything he could get his hands on, then grabbed the old man, threw him into a sack and disappeared back into the snow.
‘You know me, 105. I’ve never given up without a fight in my life, so I shoved a coupla air pistols in my diaper and headed straight after them with my freak flag flying high. Caught up with Pitch just about where you found me. I tried the old diversion trick, make him think I was going to magic his ass with my juju, then shot the breadhead bastard with my pistols.’ He shook his head. ‘Never made a mark on him. He just laughed and set fire to my wings. The cat burned them like they was paper, man. I could smell the feathers as they lit up. I could smell them.’
He said nothing more for a minute, remembering afresh the horror of that moment. Then—
‘There was no sign of Santa, though. The elf said that Pitch took him, but if he did he’d stashed the old guy before I caught up.’
‘Bu—‘ Sheila was trying to speak, but for some reason the words failed to come. She was stunned; that was the only word for it. When 105 had told her of the secret group, La Défense de la Monde, she had been flattered and fascinated in equal measure. She would never have guessed that Cupid, Mother Night and the other creatures she has always assumed were mythical were, in reality, a crack group dedicated to protecting the Earth from supernatural menace.
Once 105 had explained, though, it made a certain degree of sense. Cupid was an alien, from a frozen and dead planet, marooned here millennia ago. Mother Night and Mother Courage were a rather sweet elderly lesbian couple from the 14th century who had stumbled on an amulet which bestowed – amongst other powers – ever-lasting life. Theo Possible was...well she had never really understood the explanation for that peculiar individual. Over hundreds of years they had become aware of one another and, in time, had bonded to protect the planet against anything the cosmos chose to throw at it. It was, Sheila thought, quite a beautiful thing.
But Santa? A member of La Défense? Preposterous. If Pere Noel were real someone would have spotted him climbing down a chimney by now. And what could he do in such a team anyway? An obese old man who is only active one night a year. She put that very question to 105 and Cupid as soon as the latter stopped speaking.
‘What does the old guy do, lady?’ Cupid asked, temporarily forgetting to be charming. ‘He runs the Defence, of course. The whole thing was his idea.’ He turned to 105. ‘Since you’ve told her anyway, could you fill her in on the details? Because I’m dead beat and need to get some zees, man.’ He lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. 105 beckoned for Sheila to follow him as he slipped through the bedroom door into the hallway beyond.
‘I am sorry that Cupid lost his customary good humor just now, my dear. But the whole of the Defence hold Nicholas – Santa – very close to their hearts. They will not rest until he is safe again – and nor shall we. It is best if I do not go into great detail about Nick’s role within the Defence, but sufficient to say that if he is not found before Christmas Eve then things could turn out very badly for the Earth.’ He looked at the little balloon and sighed. ‘This is likely to be very dangerous, Sheila. I intend to go back to the place where I found Cupid. You must stay here and look after our guest. And Rodrigo, too. He must know nothing of what has occurred, Sheila. I fear that he might try and follow me, and Pitch – if the stories are to be believed – is one of the most deadly beings the world has ever known.’
‘Stories?’ asked Sheila, hopefully.
105 took a moment to reply, stroking his fingers through his greying beard, evidently unsure how much to tell his friend. With a decisive nod, he came to a decision and spoke quietly to the bobbing balloon in front of him. ‘I – we – believe that Pitch is a demon from some infernal location unmapped by mankind. Call it Hell if you wish, but whatever and wherever it is, this region is so well hidden that nobody has ever managed to trace it. Pitch himself has been appearing, the story tellers say, since before history was written down. He is the Devil and the Trickster, red as blood and tall as a giant, carrying his deadly trident, the merest touch of which will boil the flesh from your bones. Or so they say. All I know is that he hates the Defence and has attacked them before. This is his first success, however.’ He attempted to reassure Sheila, but they both knew that his smile was false. ‘I must go now, in any case. The weather will be inclement and I must check for clues before everything is covered by the snow.’
He bowed, then strode away, heading for the helipad once more.
It can dangerous to land a helicopter at the Pole but 105 was an experienced pilot and managed to bring the little machine to earth with barely a tremor. The blizzard had stopped, fortunately, and the sun come out, turning the region into a single sheet of pure, unsullied white beneath a similarly unbroken blanket of palest blue. At moments like this, 105 considered, he could understand why Santa chose to make his base here.
Less fortunately, before the snow stopped it had covered every inch of the ground with a fresh layer. Any evidence which had been there had been entirely eradicated.
Not eradicated. Covered up. 105 surprised himself with the thought. It was true that the snow had coated everything for miles around in a uniform covering but it was not so deep that it could completely disguise the underlying shape of the ground beneath. Over there, a mile or so across the flat plain; what had caused the deep dip in the earth, like the Chicxulub crater seen from space? He checked his snow shoes were securely fastened and began to tramp in the direction of the mysterious indentation.
Back at Señor 105’s home, Cupid sat bolt upright in his bed. ‘Beware the Jisa!’ he shouted, ’Defenders! Beware the Jaguar Men!’ But there was nobody in the room to hear him and by the time Rodrigo came hurrying to check on the commotion, the little man was asleep again, and could not be woken.
105 prodded a finger into the light dusting of snow. Surely, it would be more natural for the snow to pile up high in deep indentations like this? Here and there the snow had disappeared altogether, exposing grey rock underneath. It was hardly surprising really; the ground under his hand was warm to the touch, as it was throughout this little hollow in the earth.
After half an hour of meticulous searching, he believed he had found the heat source, or at least a path to it. Here, under the paint-thin coat of snow, he had found four slender but deep holes in the rock, covering about eight inches in an up-turned semi-circle, like a frown. Below this curve, and slightly to the left, was another such hold, separated from the others by another few inches. Fingerholes. He sli
d his right hand over the holes, and then pressed his fingers inside and twisted as though unscrewing the lid on a jar.
With a creaking, groaning, cracking sound the entire hollow began to move, shifting along an invisible curve. Rather than a solid chunk of earth, it turned out that the area was actually capped by a separate plate of rock, a foot thick at most, which lay on top of, but unconnected to, the bulk of the rock underneath. Twisting the hidden dial caused this cap to slide into a fissure in the ground.
A heavy metal plate lay exposed underneath. Alongside this, someone had carved the likeness of a jaguar into the rock. 105 smoothed the leather of his mask and twisted the thick, iron wheel in the centre of the plate. For a moment he thought it was going to open, but after a quarter turn it stuck fast, and refused to budge any further, even when 105 removed his jacket to allow himself more room to manoeuvre. He straightened and cast about for other possible entranceways. With nothing in sight but snow and more snow, he squatted down and examined the wheel more closely. This could take some time.
‘I’m telling you, it’s up there