The Book of Elf X (-MAS)
an excerpt

Part 1: (Everybody’s Waitin’ for )The Man with the Bag

Chapter Two—The Hol(e)y Mission

I spent the next several cycles incognito, wandering the streets of workshop swathed in disguising robes when most elves would be indoors, or holing up inside my studio and continuing to ignore all callers when elves were likely to be out and about. I was suffering from the overwhelming urge to create something, but the chunks, pieces, and slabs of materials on which I worked refused to reveal any direction to me, becoming large doodles of no purpose. I tried to sketch, but all my drawings eventually became more twisted figures of downtrodden elves, at least to my mind, and I gave up the effort as hopeless.
Then, on the third cycle of my self-imposed hermitage, I found a note had been left on the stoop of my studio door. In a simple, bold hand were written the words:

Sometimes in order to cut through a stone,
All that one needs is to refresh one’s hone.
The top of the hill,
The sculpture of will,
A meeting at midnight fulfills what you’ve known.

-T

Well, I give him points for creativity and intrigue. And good timing, too. I was just about to go stir-crazy. Now I had something on which to focus. I spent the remainder of the cycle reading in calm anticipation. No more notes were received.
I arrived at the plaza shortly before midnight. I looked down and around at the glowing lights of homes and Ministries accentuated with the sparkles of trade ships plying Rudolph Bay to and from outside, taking out goods to be used at or distributed from the Spain and Lapland facilities and bringing in raw materials to be turned into items to please all manner of recipients, elven or human. The darkness of the Garden Forest valley was a rift of full night all the way to the shore, dividing Bergsend from the rest of Upper Workshop with its dark quiet. Lately there had been rumors of Ministerial interest in allowing certain types of construction in this area that was historically set aside for nature. Popular dissent against such intent was nothing if not vocal, however, so thus far the preserve had continued to be just that—a natural refuge from daily urban elven life. It also served the additional function of an unofficial but universally recognized buffer zone between Workshop Proper and the bawdy entertainments of Bergsend and the Subbergs.
I turned to face the sculpture, diffusely lit from the edges of the niche to seem like a figure floating in mist. I walked around to the rear where several persons waited, including one somewhat shorter than the rest and obviously pleased to see me, as though he had some personal stake in my showing up. Tchotchke scuttled forward to greet me.
“X, I knew you would come! The others didn’t think you would, but I had a good feeling about you.” At this, the other two elves coughed loudly to recall Tchotchke back to their company and manner of aloof stoicism, from which Tchotchke had briefly slipped. I nodded to Tchotchke first, then to the others. I then folded my arms across my chest and waited patiently for them to speak. They called this meeting; they would have to start it.
The one on my left, wearing a colorful, belted tunic but with bare feet (a habit of the upper class) finally cleared his throat uncomfortably and proceeded to speak. “Thank you very much, X, for your willingness to meet with us on such short notice. Our young companion here, while adamant about giving you your requested several days of solitude, was also insistent that we act quickly. As we have a prior history of trusting his judgment, we decided there was no point in delaying.” Who are these elves? And what was up with this kid with the heretical opinions, odd connections, and inscrutable intent concerning myself? “But I get ahead of myself. Let me introduce us. This is my partner and friend, Multicolored Wiring Magician, and my name is River of Thoughtful Determination.” Well, at least that answers my first question. I hope they’ll settle for nicknames.
“I am happy to make both your acquaintances.” Polite but noncommittal would be my mode until I figured out what was going on. A round of nods followed.
“First off, let me say that we have seen your new sculpture in its surprising entirety, along with some other previous works upon whose completion you felt it unnecessary to invoke the right of anonymity. It is an amazing piece, the one in the plaza, and we can certainly see how one might prefer not to have their name attached to such a project. But don’t you think it is more honorable to claim your own work, no matter how controversial or upsetting it may be? Isn’t remaining anonymous by its nature traitorous to your sense of pride and connection to your art?” He was the first elf I had ever heard to refer to sculpture as art rather than craft. I began to warm up to him.
“I understand your logic, but, you see, your reason for my decision is not MY reason for my decision. Therefore, I see no need to refute your point or defend my choice.” Warming up to him didn’t necessarily mean I would make things any easier, just that I would be less inclined to summarily dismiss him.
At this, the other elf, Multi-whatever interjected. “We are not attacking you, so there is no need for defense. We just want to better understand your intentions. If we are wrong about your motives, we’re sorry, and we would appreciate the chance to learn the real reason you kept your name off of this project, aside from the fact that it is your legal and religious right to do so.”
As I am never one to fault good manners, and as I truly believed that he was in earnest, I proceeded to explain. “I have never claimed anonymity on any of my public works, only in gifts to friends and especially clan, who tend to be rather religious and frown upon any credit-taking where gifts are concerned. Therefore, I must have a driving reason behind my decision to remain nameless for this project, beyond the fact that our cherished religion encourages, if not requires, anonymous giving in the tradition of our beloved saint.” I thought I would confuse them with the religious tone of my facts, just to soften them up a bit. “I would be lying to you if I tried to deny that remaining anonymous would shield me from adverse public repercussions, but it would also prevent me from benefiting from any positive public opinion that may develop either. In contrast, anonymity would NOT shield me from Assembly repercussions, as they KNOW who perpetrated the deed in that case. Revealing my identity, however, would allow them to shift blame from themselves to the crafter of the piece. Of course, they can still attempt to shift blame, and I’m sure they will, but it will be hard for the public to blame an unknown artist that they can’t specifically fault and revile. Their ire will instead be directed at the most convenient scapegoat, the administration in charge of commissioning the statue. To keep the statue means the distinct possibility of losing a large section of popular opinion, but to remove it shows weakness in a regime that prefers to feel that it is absolutely authoritative on all points. It automatically puts them in an insurmountable bind. That, sirs, is why I chose to remain anonymous.” I walked over to the sculpture and caressed its rigid shell. “It was not because I didn’t want to take credit for such a work. But sometimes, remaining anonymous is not only the right thing to do, it is the most effective thing to do.”
My three companions all mused quietly on this talk. RTD eventually asked me, “Why didn’t you reveal the back of the sculpture at the unveiling? It seems like that would have been a particularly effective time to do so, yet you waited. Why was that?”
I wanted to laugh out loud, but I opted to remain mysterious. “Sometimes, the universe makes the decision on its own, having generally better ideas than I do. Besides, just because one given time would be particularly effective doesn’t mean it would be most effective. Sometimes revealing difficult news too flagrantly engenders rejection rather than acceptance.” I wasn’t about to fully admit to them the consipirations of Circumstances Beyond My Control in the matter.
“Has the Assembly found out yet?” This question was asked by the Colorful Wires.
“If the Grand Assembly’s attention has been brought to my little artistic statement, it has not been brought to my attention,” was my reply.
They both paused for a moment, digesting whatever they had gleaned from the conversation. Soon, River of Thoughtful Determination moved on to other topics. “Thank you, X, for indulging us on the matter. I find no fault with your reasoning, and applaud your spirited efforts. They must be missing you very much at the Ministry of Memory, I imagine.” As he presented the statement in such an unconcerned fashion, I suspected he wanted very much to find out about my relationship with the Ministry, though I couldn’t imagine why. History buff?
“I was always industrious and dedicated to my various posts with the Ministry of Memory, and I flatter myself that they were at least a little sorry to see me go, though probably not terribly much more than that.” I figured that was honest enough without actually telling them anything of real value.
“No doubt they were more sorry than you suspect or admit. In fact, wasn’t it Mossy Bones who first brought your work to the attention of the Grand Assembly? Surely this speaks well for his estimation of your ability.” River O’TD phrased his response suspiciously casually.
Well, they had bothered to do a little homework, at least. But what were they getting at? Was my old Minister in cahoots with these people? Or perhaps they wanted him rubbed out. Perhaps I had been watching too much human screen programming. “Mossy Bones, or Boney, as I always called him, was a good friend and an even better Minister. He is one of the few elves I’ve met who actually seemed to understand and appreciate what makes me tick. His recommendation of me to the Assembly was a very gratifying gesture, though I’ve not spoken to him since receiving the assignment and have therefore had no chance to discover his reasoning.” And I had really wanted to speak to him about it, but I couldn’t decide whether to tell him about my intentions with the sculpture while I was planning and fabricating it. I finally decided that it would be best to respect his position in the Assembly and not awkwardly burden him with private knowledge of my intentions, thus making him, in effect, my accomplice. Thereafter, I avoided him, fearing that I wouldn’t be strong enough to keep the secret.
“Well, you may not have spoken with him about it, but I feel certain that some assumptions about his admiration of your talents can safely be made. I don’t suppose he has seen the sculpture in its fullness yet?” Completely nonchalant, and completely obvious.
“I can’t say whether he has seen this side of it or not. I haven’t spoken to anyone but Tchotchke here since the official unveiling. I haven’t been in a particularly social mood.” I tried to glower a bit when I said this. I don’t think anyone noticed.
“Well, thank you most especially then for being so good as to meet with us. We realize that you are taking time out your personal schedule, and I suppose we shouldn’t delay you any more than is necessary. Therefore, I would like to ask you to consider helping our organization in its efforts to free elves throughout workshop from the shackles of the bogus holy mission.” He started off so politely that when he came to the words “bogus holy mission” all I could do was blink repeatedly. I felt as though I briefly started hearing things in a different language all of a sudden. He sensed that some elaboration would be necessary, and continued forth, despite my mindless fluttering of eyelids.
“I see I’ve taken you somewhat aback by my statement. However, I would not take the statement back. You see, we represent a growing faction of elven society who believes that this supposed “Holy Mission” much-endorsed by the current administration is nothing more than an excuse to accumulate political power, squander resources, and keep the common elf too busy to catch on. It is time for great reform in elven society. We don’t mean the silly, insipid, ineffectual social reforms put forth by the flunkies of our exalted Grand Minister. We mean TRUE reform. All elves should have some say in how this place is run. High appointments shouldn’t be bought and sold, and they most certainly shouldn’t be tenured for the lifetime of an elf. We need better distribution of wealth. The poor working class is just being pushed further away and aside in an attempt to just ignore the problem to make it go away, rather than actually fix it. We believe all these things and more, and when we saw your work, we knew that you were the exact help for which we’ve been searching these past moons. We hope that you will consent to aid us in our campaign to finally bring to light all the shadowy dealings of our government, and starting with the greatest lie of all, Santa Claus.” The way this was delivered, I could tell he had rehearsed it several times and was confident of its proper delivery. I admit it was effective. I waited to see if more would be forthcoming.
I was not disappointed, only surprised at the origin of the next statement, the quiet, colorfully-wired one. “We need someone with close ties to the Ministry of Memory, someone who fosters respect, and someone with the ability to properly express their views. You are everything we’ve wanted. Will you help us?” He tried to act like he would rather have anyone at all except me helping them, but he couldn’t keep the pleading tone out of his voice.
I decided it was time for me to take the reins. “Why do you need someone with ties to the Ministry of Memory? I do not relish the idea of abusing hard-earned respect and close friendships with the department at which I’ve spent the ten Seasons of my Employed life.”
The River’s response was an immediate flow of assurances. “Oh, no, we would never ask you to do anything to jeopardize your working or personal relationships. We simply need someone who knows how to properly research, and who has the connections necessary to get at documents that the ordinary elf might have trouble acquiring.” He seemed about to say more, but glanced first at his wiry companion for some sort of confirmation.
Colored Wires picked up where the Determined River left off. “We want to prove that Santa Claus doesn’t exist.”
I laughed out loud. I didn’t mean to, and I think I may have slightly injured the dignity of the two (I did get an appreciative snicker out of Tchotchke, though, who had so far been otherwise quiet and well-behaved). But I mean, really. How ridiculous can you get? Everyone knows that Santa Claus exists. There are records going back to before the current workshop was established, when Santa Claus’s headquarters were still on the mainland, before the New World was even added to Claus’s gift list. I have seen in person the stacks and stacks of Naughty and Nice lists, some written in Santa’s actual hand, saved from the centuries in the Ministry of Memory’s vaults before switching to digital databases, before the printing press, even. Just because he had been absent a few centuries didn’t mean he never existed. I said this to them, once I had my chortling under control.
“We don’t mean that he NEVER existed. Don’t be ridiculous. We mean that he NO LONGER EXISTS. In fact, he is dead, and Ruprecht may have, in fact, killed him.” Wires said this completely seriously. I was silent.
“One of our members came across a document that alluded to certain unsettling circumstances around the time of Santa Claus’s supposed departure from Workshop. It hinted at a feud between Claus and Ruprecht resulting in Claus’s death and a conspiracy to cover up the truth of the events of their prolonged absence. Of course, we shouldn’t need to explain the impact this information would have on society were it true, and common knowledge.” Complete revolution, that’s what the impact would be. Santa’s immortality was one of the basic tenets of faith. Santa Claus wasn’t like other humans. He couldn’t die. But then, I had never thought it likely that he went out into the world to further his mission, either. It seemed a bit too altruistic for someone who had founded a society geared toward fulfilling his whim of fulfilling other’s whims. I suppose I always thought he just got sick of us and took a sabbatical. I know I would have.
“Do you have this document? I should very much like to see it.” In fact, I would give the three gold coins hiding in my boots for just so much as a peek. Alas, it was not to be.
“No, I’m afraid that the document is now either hidden, or even destroyed, which is one reason why we need you. We need someone to delve into the innumerable records of Workshop and try to find out information about this cover-up.” Aha. Now I get it. The Ministry of Memory is thorough in its holdings, but if you don’t know what you’re doing, sifting through the morass of information to get at specific records can be very much like sleighing at foggy midnight without a Rudolph to guide you.
“So, you want me to do your snooping, basically, because you’re too ignorant to do it yourself?” I figured that ought to get a reaction. It did.
“Ignorance is nothing we care to cultivate,” retorted River of Thoughtful Determination. “Ignorance is, in fact, something we wish to eradicate. However, we realize that an elf with a thorough knowledge of the workings of the Ministry of Memory will accomplish our goals in a fraction of the time it would take one of our own, especially since we would be unable to approach any mistrusted member for assistance so that our purpose is not discovered. We would be searching blindly, awkwardly, and, in effect, slowly. You can change all that.”
Well, he was right, but not completely and entirely right. I rebutted, “And how do you see this playing out in reality? Don’t you think my spending a lot of time at the Ministry will arouse suspicion? And what about being in contact with rabble-rousers such as yourself? I have a reputation to protect, you know. And let’s just assume for a moment that, ludicrous as it sounds, that evidence of Santa Claus’s death actually does exist somewhere. Do you really think that it would just be sitting around in public records, just waiting for the right elf to bring it to light? Surely that kind of information would be guarded like nobody’s business. I can’t imagine that the search will be very fruitful.”
Multicolored Wiring Magician fielded this one. “It shouldn’t be a problem to come up with some sort of excuse to visit the Ministry regularly. Just say that you’re researching for some new project, simple as that. And we, of course would be very discreet and limited in our future contact with you. You would have the choice of places and times to meet if more meetings are necessary. Otherwise, information can be dropped off for us to pick up at agreed-upon locations. As for whether the information is actually available, well, that’s a chance we’re taking. If it’s there, it’s the pot of gold at the end of our rainbow. If not, then nothing is really lost, and no harm is done. But we’re confident that something will turn up, and we don’t think your time will be wasted.” He bowed his head slightly as he ended, punctuating his confidence.
I stared at the sculpture for a moment, then turned back to stare squarely at Tchotchke. “I want to know what Tchotchke thinks.” For some reason, I felt that his opinion was important. That may have been because his opinion was instrumental in the creation standing over all of us, but I still think it was something in his eyes, like he could see things no one else could see, although maybe it was just because his name was so much easier to say.
The aforementioned eyes widened noticeably at my sudden request. He looked at River of Thoughtful Determination and Multicolored Wiring Magician, not seeking their approval with his glance, but simply their reaction. I didn’t look at them, so I don’t know what their reactions were. I didn’t care, because they didn’t matter.
Tchotchke eventually looked back at me. He took in a breath and held it for a noticeable moment, then expelled it in a slow, even gust. Words followed suit. “I think the sculpture is amazing. Nothing like it has ever been created by an elf, much less seen. It makes me want to spend day and night staring at it, getting to know it better and better, even though I know that I will never understand it completely.”
I interjected, “Don’t worry about that. I don’t pretend to understand it completely myself. Sometimes these things take on a life of their own.”
He nodded, looking up at the frozen elves above. “I also think that you’re the elf for the job. No, I know that you’re the elf for the job. If the proof is to be found, you can find it. You are going to turn workshop on its pointy ears; I’ve got a good feeling.” Obviously, this was all he felt it necessary to say, for he immediately clammed up and retreated into the shadows of his elders (though I hesitate to say his superiors). The muted sounds of Workshop night filtered by on a drifting breeze. I needed a moment on my own to think, to make sure of myself. I told them, “Wait right here. I will either return in five minutes with my answer, or I will not return at all, also giving you your answer. Either way, you will know in five minutes.” Without bothering to get their consent, I turned on my booted heel and circled back to the front of the sculpture where we could not see each other for the statue’s bulk.
I looked up at Santa Claus’s round, rubicund smile. As an apprentice, I had prayed to images of that face in my guardian’s home, assured that he hears everything and that if we devote ourselves to his Mission, he will consider grant our requests. I wanted so much to believe that was true, I even DID believe it for a while, but I just couldn’t keep up the willing suspension of disbelief in the face of all the harsh reality around me. My beliefs were one thing though; messing around with the beliefs of the entire city of Workshop was something else entirely. I was comfortable with the statue because, as public and abrasive at it was, it was still nothing more than my beliefs, put out there for everyone to see. Now, however, there was the potential to actually DISPROVE other’s beliefs, notions much-cherished, ideas held sacred for centuries. What right did I have? Maybe the Ministry was right to suppress such information. Were elves even capable of handling the truth? Maybe the idea was just too shocking. How could Santa Claus have led us to believe that he was immortal if he really wasn’t? But then, was it really easier to believe that he left us on our own voluntarily? Wouldn’t his absence be easier to accept if there were actually a reason for it other than, “I felt like going somewhere else?” I hoped to find the answer in the serene jollity of his static expression. Then I thought about my life and the things I had accomplished, the things I regretted, and, most of all, the few things in which I believed. I believe in myself. I believe in the world around me. I believe that there are some things in life that are hard to believe, but that doesn’t make them any less true. I also believe that everyone has the right to believe whatever they darn well please, in light of or in spite of information from the surrounding world, as long a they respect my right to do the same. But above all, I believe that beliefs are to be challenged, regularly. Any belief that cannot withstand other beliefs is not a strong belief to start. I finished circumnavigating the path around the sculpture and returned to the small company in the center of the niche with my answer. I tried to turn down the intensity of their beaming smiles, precipitated by my return, with my declaration.
“I agree to the assignment under certain conditions. First off, I will research in whatever way and at whatever speed I feel appropriate. I am open to suggestions and ideas, but I will ultimately do as I please.” This garnered an agreeing nod from them both. I continued.
“Second, should any such information be found, I will determine how the information is handled and subsequently presented to the public.” This garnered frowns, rather than nods.
“We can not allow that, X. Though we respect you highly, proof of Claus’s death is too important to leave to a single elf. We are certainly not the only members of our organization, nor even the most important members, and we can not promise that you will have the right to handle the proof as you see fit.” River said this apologetically, but firmly.
I was equally firm, but entirely unapologetic with my reply. “I was not asking for your approval. I simply stated a fact. If I find the proof, I will have it before you. I will then do with it as I see fit, whether that be turning it directly over to you, or something else entirely. You will not know what my decision is until it has been acted upon. Consider this information for your edification.” The frowns were even more pronounced now.
Wiring Magician spoke up. “But X, you couldn’t mean to give anyone else the proof? What’s the point? No one else would use it.”
“I am not meaning to do anything at the moment. All I’m saying is, I will make my own decisions as decisive junctures come upon me. But don’t worry, my third condition will make you feel a little bit better, I think. Number three is that Tchotchke will be my research assistant and our official go-between. I don’t want to see you, hear you, even smell you anywhere near me. If you have information or requests for me, give them to Tchotchke. I will likewise give my research to him to give to you as I discover items of merit.” I now addressed Tchotchke in the shadows. “I need someone to help me sift through information and make sense of things as we find them. A second pair of hands and eyes and ears is of inestimable value when researching, if you are willing. And I will need you to begin immediately, Will you do it?”
He didn’t even look at the other two this time. He stepped forward and said, “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
I smiled and replied, “Tell your partners goodbye. We’re headed to the archives.” I turned and left without so much as a goodbye to River and Magician, sure to give them an interesting story to tell to their alleged superiors. Tchotchke was quick on my heels.
“Hey, you’re really going to make them mad acting like that, you know,” he said, as he caught up with me on the downhill slope.
“I know exactly what I’m making them. I’m making them understand that I am not their puppet, but that our goals just happen to coincide for a portion of our journeys. I don’t intend to cheat them or be dishonest in any way. I just didn’t like how smug and certain they were. They needed a healthy dose of realistic uncertainty thrown into their plans. It’ll keep them alert.” Tchotchke chuckled at this.
“They’re not bad guys, you know. They just don’t know you very well. They really want to do what’s best for Workshop,” he said.
“I’m sure they do, but I’m not sure they KNOW what’s best for Workshop. I’m not sure than any elf does. That’s why we’re just going to dive into it, and see what happens. No real decisions can be made until we actually know what the truth is. Until then, anything and everything is just more speculation and assumption. Have you ever been to the Ministry of Memory?” My sudden change in topic caught him off guard.
“I’ve been in before, but they don’t like me hanging around. River and Wiring actually tried to get me to do the research for them first, but I couldn’t. That’s when I set out to find you.” It was weird how it almost hurt my feelings that I wasn’t their first choice. But I guess first place doesn’t matter in this type of situation. Last place is actually better.
“Well, tonight we’re just going on a familiarizing excursion. We won’t do any heavy research. I just want to introduce you to some friends and establish our alibi, and just show you around some of the place. Then we’ll figure out how to proceed from there. Does that sound acceptable to you?”
“Sounds great. But can I ask you a question?” His tone was tentative, as if he weren’t sure he really wanted to know the answer, but couldn’t bear not to.
“Ask away. Asking questions is going to become our livelihood, so you may as well start now.”
“Why did you want me along?” His question made me pause in my walk.
“I told you. An assistant is very helpful when doing a lot of research. You can carry books for me.” I kept a completely straight face, much to my credit.
He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t just want an assistant. You wanted me. I could tell. Why?”
I sighed. “I’m not sure. But I looked at you and I knew that you would be handy to have around. You’ve managed to make an impression on me, I suppose. I also see a lot of intelligence in you, but I don’t think you have direction, and I think that immersing you in the Ministry of Memory could be a very good experience for you.” I continued our walk.
He went on the defensive immediately. “What, I need a real apprenticeship? Or an occupation? Is that what it is? You think I’m just some poor, wandering elf who just needs the right job to fill his spare time?” He stopped walking this time.
I turned back to face him. “I think nothing of the sort. I think you are very perceptive for your age, but you don’t know what to do with all your talent and intelligence. I simply feel that all the information, choices, and opportunities described within the walls of the Ministry of Memory could show you paths that haven’t yet occurred to you, or even to me. Maybe not even to anyone. There’s a lot more to the world than what you’ve seen, and working with me at the Ministry is a great way to get glimpses of it. I have no motives or expectations other than to show you things you might not otherwise ever see.” At that, I continued on in my steps, leaving the decision of whether to follow up to him.
He soon walked up beside me, in comfortable silence. I said nothing to disturb the companionability. In this manner we exited the district of Highside and entered the well-tended neighborhoods of Old City.