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 17
“I’m going to need more children.”
Greta had convened a special session of The Emergency Action Planning Board in the witch’s library to tell them what emergency action she had planned for them. It was more kidnapping, apparently.
“These ones are no good,” she said. "They’re asking for too many things for themselves. They need to be asking for things from this list,” and she waved the list at them.
“I had the impression that that was the point,” said Reynard. "Doesn’t one ask Father Christmas for presents for oneself?”
“One asks Father Christmas for presents for me,” said Greta. "Because I’m in charge here. And don’t you forget it.”
Hob the weasel put his head round the door.
“Another one done,” he said.
“Right,” said Greta. "The next one’s to ask for a toy machine gun, got that? Make sure. And tell them to take their time. We need to stall him.”
“Stall him?” said Mrs Mouldywarp. "To give us time to ask about the witch’s magic?”
“To give you time to get me more children,” said Greta.
“It’s not that easy,” said Buck.
“I’ll tell you how easy it is,” said Greta. "I tell you to do it and you figure out how. You’re the Emergency Action Planning Board. Start planning. Now. It’s an emergency. I’m going to make sure those kids get it right.” And she went back into the laboratory.
“I don’t know about this,” said Miss Sleekit. "I’m not sure I like all this kidnapping.”
“I agree,” said Reynard. "It doesn’t seem very Christmassy, does it?”
“Nonsense,” said Lady Ermine. "Children should do as they’re told.”
“Apart from yours, apparently,” said Buck, who had had apples stolen by young Toby Stoat slightly too often.
“They do get to speak to Father Christmas,” said Mr Tuft. "That’s Christmassy, isn’t it?”
“Quite right, quite right,” said Cuwert. "It’s very Christmassy, fox, so let’s get on with it.”
“It’s not Christmassy and I’m not doing it again,” said Buck.
“Is there anything in particular you would like Greta the Witch to turn you into?” said Cuwert.
“A rabbit who doesn’t have to put up with all this nonsense,” said Buck.
“Be careful what you wish for, old man,” said Reynard. "That’s precisely what you’re going to become when the magic finally leaves Hexwood, remember? In fact, I have a notion that keeping Father Christmas here might be best for all of us. After all, he is magical, and while he’s here…”
“Hexwood is magical,” said Miss Sleekit. "And we are still ourselves.”
“Precisely,” said Reynard. "Perhaps we ought to get those extra children after all.”
“Well, I’m not dressing up as one of those silly characters again,” said Buck.
“You’re going to stay dressed as that silly character, are you?” said Reynard.
“I’m my favourite silly character,” said Buck.
“Well, if you’re not going to pretend to Mr Jam again,” said Cuwert, "you’re going to have to think of an alternative.”
“I have a notion,” said Reynard, “That in order to catch a human one needs to think like a human.”
“It’s bad enough that you think like yourself,” said Buck.
“Anyway, we tried that,” said Cuwert, “With Mr Jam and the rattle and it worked but now this recalcitrant rabbit says he won’t do it again.”
“Do you mean, how would a human catch something?” said Mr Tuft.
“They hunt,” said Miss Sleekit, “I could make us some nice red hunting coats.”
“There’s no call to go that far, mademoiselle,” said Reynard, “No, I meant we have to think about what might tempt them, into a trap, do you see?”
“Now who’s going too far?” said the mouse, “Are you suggesting that we catch children with a piece of cheese?”
“It would work on him,” said Buck.
“It would, it’s true,” said Reynard, “A nice strong piece of cheddar.”
“Nonsense,” said Miss Sleekit. "Human children like sweets more, don’t they? Greta certainly does.”
“They do,” said Reynard. "But now you mention what Greta likes, you’ve given me an idea. I have a notion I can think of something even better than cheese. If such a thing were possible. I have a feeling that this is going to be a lot easier than we think it's going to be.”
It was, in fact, a lot harder than they thought it was going to be.
The problem was that someone had been snatching away the children from the village of Inkstone. As it turned out, the parents of Inkstone took exception to this. Especially at Christmas. It is very annoying to have bought a lot of Christmas presents and then have the recipients abducted. Moreover, despite spending most of the year shouting at the children and trying, much against the children’s inclination, to make them be good, the parents of Inkstone actually loved their offspring and were somewhat perturbed when they got kidnapped.
As a consequence, no one in the village was letting their children roam about anywhere where they might easily be swiped by magical creatures. Especially not on Christmas Eve.
The sun was low already and a special task force of The Emergency Action Planning Board -- in the persons of Reynard the Fox, Buck Rabbit, Brock the Badger and Miss Sleekit -- hugged the shadows behind a shed at the bottom of the garden of one of the houses that backed onto the cemetery of the village church.
Mr Tuft’s head appeared over the edge of the shed roof and then he came scrambling ungainly down. He may have been a squirrel, but his teacher’s gown tended to get in the way of climbing adroitly.
“There’s two children in there, on their own,” he said, getting his breath back. "I can’t see anyone else in the house.”
Hob the Weasel came sliding in under the fence behind them,
“Car’s gone from the drive,” he said. "Must’ve gone out.”
“Right then, this is our chance,” said Reynard. "Who’s with me?”
The others stared at him.
“Silly of me to ask,” said Reynard.
“Silly of me to answer,” said Buck. "Come on, then, if we’re going.”
They snuck across the garden, slinking through the shadows along one fence, but there was nothing for it when they reached the patio. Reynard took a deep breath and stepped out into the light streaming out through the french windows.
Nothing happened. Inside two children sat on a sofa, watching a television on the wall, entirely oblivious to the tinsel looped around the walls, the flashing fairy lights on the Christmas tree and the fox in a green velvet jacket standing on the patio.
Reynard tapped gently at the glass. Nothing continued to happen. He rapped loudly. Finally one child looked round and then grabbed the other. They stared at Reynard with the same fixed wonder as they had been staring at the television. He waved at them and then beckoned Buck over.
Buck sidled unwillingly into the flickering light shining through the windows. The children stared at him too. Reynard beckoned to them now, motioning to them to open the doors.
They conferred for a moment and finally, hugging close together, opened them.
“Hello,” said Reynard. "We’re enchanted animals who live in a magical wood. Would you like to come with us and meet Father Christmas?”
They would, as it turned out. They were also very happy to meet, behind the shed at the bottom of their garden, a squirrel in a mortar board and a mouse in a beautiful little dress. They were slightly less excited about the moth-eaten old badger who smelled of beer, but they let him help them up over the garden wall and into the cemetery on the other side. Reynard gathered everyone under a yew tree up against the church wall.
“Do you know of any other children who might like to come with us to meet Father Christmas?” asked Reynard. They could, actually: almost all the other children, apparently. More importantly, they could think of ways to get in touch with those children and encourage them to sneak out of their houses too.
Slowly word spread across the village and slowly children found ways to sneak out of houses, across snowy gardens, down secret little alleys and into the churchyard. They thronged among the snowy gravestones like quiet little ghosts in the gathering gloom.
“Right,” said Reynard. "Quick or you’ll miss Father Christmas!”
And the crowd swarmed out past the church, darted over the road, across the corner of the village green and were gone into the dark wood beyond.
To be fair, he hadn’t been lying about Father Christmas.
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