When the enchanted animals of Hexwood discover they soon won't be magical anymore, they have to concoct an unlikely plan to save their village and themselves.
'Last Christmas in Hexwood' is a seasonal story of witches, enchanted animals and a series of unlikely plans to save Christmas.
Chapter 23
The living room of the witch’s house in the middle of Hexwood was once again full of animals. The bare book shelves were full of mice; the mantlepiece was lined with voles. Rabbits crowded the window sills, and there were weasels in the coal box.
There were also children, sat in a rough semi-circle, staring up at the figure standing in front of the fire. Most of them had already spent time in his presence today, but none of them had gotten over it yet. The actual Father Christmas, twice as large as life and three times as wonderful, right there on the hearth.
“Well now, young Greta, what are we going to do with you?” said Father Christmas, pulling at his beard. "Lying to these animals, kidnapping these children, trying to stop me from my Christmas Eve duty. You have, according to my list, been very bad.”
“Exactly.” Greta was unrepentant, even in the presence of Father Christmas himself. "That’s why I had to do it. There was no way I was getting any presents any other way, was there? That’s what I needed all these good kids for. Besides, I wasn’t trying to stop any of them of themfrom asking you for what they wanted. Why would I? They wouldn’t have got any presents for me otherwise, would they?”
“I don’t think that’s the defence you think it is,” said Father Christmas. "You’re still admitting to the lying and kidnapping.”
“Well, I might have lied a little bit,” said Greta. "But everyone did that. And the kidnapping was their idea,” she pointed at Urchin. "And they kidnapped me first. And they did it to get to you.”
“Did you now?” said Father Christmas, turning to Urchin. "Is this true, little hedgehog?”
“It was the plan,” said Urchin. "It was our plan to save Hexwood, after the witch went.”
“Which I helped with, didn’t I?” said Greta. "I helped them by getting you here and keeping you here. That’s a good thing, right? Helping people?”
“Well, yes and no,” said Father Christmas. "I’m not sure helping people to do something bad counts.”
“But without you, we’ll turn back into animals,” said Urchin. "We need your magic. That was Reynard’s idea.”
“Aha,” said Father Christmas. "The conspiracy unravels. I wondered when we would get to my fiery friend here. So this was all your idea, was it, fox?”
“His idea,” said Buck. "But our doing. We’re all in it together. To save Hexwood.”
“Besides,” said Miss Sleekit, "it was also his idea to save you, sir.”
“He has firm friends, I see,” said Father Christmas. "So let me hear from him.”
“My friend Buck,” said Reynard, "has often pointed out that I have too many ideas for all of them to be good ones, and I fear this one may well have been bad. But yes, it was mine. Allow me to explain, sir.
“Madame Befana has, as you know, left this house and this wood, taking with her her magic and, more importantly, her mushrooms. Or rather, your mushrooms, I believe, from Lapland, wherever that might be, land of lichen and lights. Anyway, I’m getting distracted as usual. I mention the mushrooms because Madame Befana has given us to understand that these are why we can speak, why we have created in this wood our village of Hexwood, and why -- now they have gone -- we will revert to being just animals again, losing our village and ourselves.”
“Which we didn’t want to happen,” said Buck. "Hence the plan.”
“The plan being,” said Reynard, "to get you to return to the wood and to petition you for help. You have magic; your reindeer talk. We hoped you might be able to help us.”
“And you think tricking me here and then delaying me on Christmas Eve is likely to make me well disposed towards you?” said Father Christmas.
“Well, as I said earlier, this may not have been one of the good ideas,” said Reynard. "Things got a little out of hand. Especially with Greta here.”
“Hm, yes, Greta,” said Father Christmas. "And so we come back round again. The truth is -- and this should not leave this room, you all understand -- that I am not really all that strict with the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ business. No one is wholly bad, not really; and absolutely no one is wholly good. If I was really tough, no one would get anything. As it is, I like to think of the presents as an encouragement, rather than the lack of them as a punishment. Carrot instead of stick, you know. Definitely carrots, in fact, for the reindeer.
“Speaking of which: it’s Christmas Eve, and they’re all on the front lawn fretting. Time’s a-wasting and I must be going. And so must all these children. You all go home straight away and get tucked up and asleep by midnight and we’ll call that good enough to get a present: does that sound fair? Yes, even you, Greta. It’s Christmas after all, and I can’t bear for anyone to go without a present at Christmas.
“As to you little animals, I really don’t know. Children are my business; you’re a little out of my jurisdiction. If the witches have decided that magic must leave this wood, well, there we are.”
“Sir, Father Christmas, if I may,” said Reynard. "I have a notion.”
“One last chance to get this right, fox,” said Buck.
“This whole business began because we didn’t want to turn back into brute animals, to lose our village,” said Reynard. "So it seems to me that the most appropriate punishment would be for us to lose it. To have it taken away, or, rather, to be taken away from it. Taken far away somewhere distant, perhaps somewhere like your Lapland, for instance.”
“Oh ho!” said Father Christmas. "I see why your friends put so much faith in your ideas, Mr Fox.”
“I might also point out that we have among us a number of extraordinarily gifted toy makers and craftspeople,” said Reynard. "And one thing Greta has given us is a very in-depth knowledge of toys and entertainments and how to make them. Should you know of anyone who might have a use for such knowledge and skills.”
You don’t, I suspect, need any description of Father Christmas’s laugh, do you? You know how it goes. You know it is merry and jolly and all the other things, and that it made the room bright and merry and jolly too.
“Oh yes, and a fox to have all the ideas too, no doubt,” said Father Christmas. "Well, little animals, I’ll think about it. I have a deal of business to do tonight, but I’ll think about it. You make sure all these children get home, and I’ll think about it.”
They did. Once Father Christmas had backed the sleigh up and managed an even trickier take off than it had been a landing, they saw all the children home. And while some of them were at that, the rest of them set about emptying the witch’s house again.
All the tables and chairs were carried up to the lofty beech grove on top of The Ledge. The bare tree limbs were hung about with lights, fires were lit between the tables, and places were laid for food and drink. The otter band came up the hill from the River Ringing, and Mayor Matagot -- who had, with his dependable political nose, stayed out of the whole kidnapping business -- rehearsed his traditional Christmas speech. Mrs Mouldywarp brought up the book they had stolen from the witch to read out the Christmas poem, and the animals of Hexwood held what was likely to be, one way or another, their last Christmas party.
A little bit of Father Christmas’s jollity still lingered in the wood, and it wasn’t an entirely mournful affair; but under all the singing and joking and speechifying, there was a bass note of sadness. The animals knew that they would soon be leaving their lives in Hexwood behind. Perhaps they would not remember them. Perhaps, by next Christmas, they would be nothing but wild animals in a wood.
High overhead, above the lights and the fires and the party, the night was clear. All around the wood the country was covered in snow, and overhead the stars were glittering, distant and cold, ringing in the night sky like bells. Or perhaps that was the sound of a sleigh, passing high overhead, on its way somewhere on important Christmas business.
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