Santa and the Four

 Santa and the Four

Santa banked his sleigh around the dome of the California state capitol building, slalomed between the palms and cypress lining 10th Street, and came in for a landing just on the other side of North Street between unimaginative office buildings. In broad daylight about two weeks before Christmas, his arrival ordinarily would have drawn considerable attention. Being slightly out of phase with reality, though, he and his team of reindeer were no more noticeable than the seasonal decorations along the street.

"Darn War on Christmas," he grumbled. This place used to be cheerful.

He hopped out of the sleigh and double-checked the address Ginger had given him. It was the correct place - an unmarked gray slab office building. Hardly what he'd expected.

"I don't think this'll take long," he told Rudolph. The reindeer nodded.

The office building's front door opened into a drab lobby - chipped linoleum flooring, industrial green painted walls, and a pair of elevators. One of the elevators was out of service, so Santa waited on the other after pressing the button. For a four-story building, the wait was interminable.

Inside the lift, he punched the button for the fifth floor, one that only existed in this out-of-phase reality. The elevator shuddered but soon delivered him to another lobby. Here, dozens of office drones hurried about their business. Each was dressed in drab but professional attire that screamed government underling.

"Santa?" From behind a receptionist's desk, a middle-aged woman rose and gestured him forward. Santa assumed everyone on this floor was a functional manifestation, much like his elves, and thus why he could be seen.

"Yes," he said, hitching up his pants by the belt and stepping forward. "I'm here to see-"

"Taxes is expecting you," the woman said politely but firmly. "Down that hall, last door on the left."

"Uh, right. Thank you, miss." Before he'd finished, she was already sitting back down, ignoring him.

Santa went down the hallway, finding the entire experience unsettling. Definitely not what he'd expected. Taxes' office was easy enough to find, standing out from all the other doors only by the tarnished bronze nameplate beside the door that read: Taxes. He lifted his hand to knock.

"Come in," said a no-nonsense female voice from behind the door.

He opened the door on a small office. A mahogany desk, massive and worn around the edges with age, dominated the room. All other furnishings - guest chairs, filing cabinet, desk lamp, coat rack - appeared to be thrift store finds from the 1950's.

Behind the desk, typing away furiously on a computer, was a petite, severe old woman in a simple maroon business dress. Her hair was shoulder-length and dyed brown. She was much like him, though, in that there was an indelible power to her. This was definitely Taxes.

"Please, take a seat," she said without warmth or even looking up.

Santa eyed the guest chairs, simple wood affairs, and settled his bulk gently into the sturdier looking of the pair. After a few more awkward moments, Taxes finally stopped typing and looked him in the eye. Her intelligence was obvious, as was her soulless, single-minded nature. Santa found himself wanting to be anywhere but here.

"Thank you for seeing me," he said, trying to buoy the mood. "I like your office. Friendly staff. Didn't realize you were based out of California."

Taxes' lips tightened in something resembling a smile.

"Thank you," she said. "I relocated here some years ago. Perfect laboratory for my work."

Santa nodded. "Ah, I see."

"I'm a fan of yours, you know," she said. "Christmas generates a tidy little bit of sales tax, not to mention the knock-on income, shipping, telecom, and other associated taxes."

An embarrassed chuckle escaped Santa's lips. "Good to hear, I suppose. We all do kinda work together, don't we?"

Taxes shrugged. "Some better than others."

"Right. And speaking of others..."

"You're here to see Death."

Santa blushed awkwardly. "Yeah. Not that it wasn't nice to meet you and all."

Taxes rose and waved it aside. "I figured it would be polite to make your acquaintance, this being your first time here and all."

Uncertainly, Santa rose as well and fell in behind her as she left the office and strode down the hall at a brisk pace. "Yes. I've always thought us aspects of reality should get together once in a while. You're, of course, always welcome to stop by the North Pole. The missus loves to entertain guests."

"I'll consider it," Taxes said in a voice that suggested she had no such intention.

Taxes turned down another hall and then opened an unmarked door. She gestured for Santa to enter and she followed. The room beyond defied the bounds of Taxes' office reality, a space of inky void that seemed to extend forever. Row upon row of machines, each an amalgam of wood, metal, vacuum tubes, and ticker tape, extended beyond sight in every direction. There was a distinct hum and chatter to the machinery, creating a sense of activity in the otherwise desolate space.

"This is where I track taxes - paid, owed, estimated."

"Impressive," Santa said, going with that over "horrifying."

Taxes pointed in a seemingly random direction. "Death is over there. He likes to watch the machines run. Little change-up from watching the sands of people's lives pass through his hour glasses. You can see yourself out when you're done."

Santa said, "Thanks. It was a pleasure..."

Taxes was already gone and the door closed.

"...meeting you."

He sighed and wandered off through the machines. After what might have been a minute or an hour - time, like when he delivered gifts, worked differently here - he finally came across the black-cloaked figure that could only be Death. Death, motionless, had his back turned to Santa and appeared to be watching one of the machines.

Santa cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Death?"

He'd never met Death in person, but the aspect's reputation was well-known to all. Death's hood shifted ever so slightly, perhaps in acknowledgment. Taxes had nothing on Death when it came to making a person feel uncomfortable.

"I was, uh, hoping we could talk about a little situation I have."

Death's hood shifted a little further in a gesture Santa now took to mean he was listening.

"See, I've got this young girl who's been really well-behaved this year. The only thing she asked me for Christmas was to spend it with her mother, who's currently out in the field serving with the Mexican Army and scheduled to return home two days after Christmas. Ordinarily, I'd call that good enough, but I understand the mother is going to die in action on the 26th. There are only so many strings I can pull in a situation like this and I was wondering if you could, you know, maybe reschedule the mother's untimely passing to something slightly more...timely?"

Death turned fully to face Santa. Inside the black hood was the absence of anything, a bottomless void. Santa could feel a gaze, though, one that penetrated to the core of his being.

Not a word was spoken, but Santa knew. "You can't change that, can you?"

The hood shifted a fraction of an inch.

"You wish you could help, but you can't. I get it. We all have our rules."

Death shrugged infinitesimally.

Santa frowned. The outcome wasn't unexpected, but he'd still felt compelled to try. This was one of those gift requests that really stuck with him. He knew it'd gnaw at him through the season.

"Okay, well, thanks for your consideration, at least," Santa said. "And, uh, enjoy watching these, uh, machines."

Death nodded and turned back.

Santa gave a short wave to Death's backside. "Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too!"

#

Deep in the Christmas homestretch, Santa had a lot on his plate. Still, the dilemma of what to do with the girl's request nagged at him to the point of distraction. It seemed the best he could probably manage would be to arrange a video call. Better than nothing, but hardly satisfying under the dark circumstances that lay in wait for the wonderful young child.

"Knock knock."

Santa looked up to find Ginger, his right-hand elf, poking her head in through the open door to his crowded office. She looked more in the Christmas spirit than he felt.

"Come in. What's up?"

She deftly navigated her way through sacks of mail from kids around the world and took a seat across from his desk.

"Just checking up on you," she said innocently.

Santa frowned and stared at her from above his wire-rimmed glasses. "Uh huh. You think I need checking up on?"

She shrugged. "That depends. Did you miss this morning's training session for a good reason?"

His frown deepened. Had he ever missed a morning training on the sleigh with his team? Not that he could recall.

"Sugar cookies! The team must be in a fit wondering what happened."

Ginger gave him that look - knowing, disappointed, motherly. "The crew is trying to calm them down. But, yeah, you might want to put in an appearance."

Santa stood, his back cracking as his bowl full of jelly redistributed itself over his belt. "Good idea. I'll get right to it, then."

The elf pinned him in place with a skeptical raised eyebrow. "You're still dwelling on the girl, aren't you?"

Like she didn't already know the answer. "Comes with the job."

Ginger hopped off her chair, reached into her smock's front pocket, and withdrew a cream-colored envelope. "Here. This just arrived. Maybe it'll help."

Santa took the envelope, on which his name was hand-written in elegant script. He was about to ask where it came from, but he figured he'd know soon enough. Ginger didn't wait for any further response, leaving his office so he could read it in private.

Inside he found a single-sided black card. Embossed on the front in silver lettering was: "You are cordially invited to the Four's Winter Solstice party. December twenty-first, Glad ne Rijeci."

It was unsigned, but Santa instinctively knew this was from Death. Curious. Had the aspect changed his mind? Or was it simply a polite gesture? Something told him it would be in his best interest to carve out a little time, despite it being the busiest time of the year, to put in an appearance.

 

#

Santa decided to be economical and combined the Solstice party with his reindeer team's daily training session. He didn't know where this Glad na Rijeci was, but his team could instinctively find any destination in existence. This place tested even their abilities, far removed from the North Pole or Earth standard.

The reindeer were clearly unsettled as they flew his sleigh lower, rapidly approaching a white castle that stood alone in a vast, barren plain. The ground below was dust interspersed with dried crops, clearly once a productive farmland. A dry riverbed wound through the area, passing alongside the castle.

"Peculiar place to hold a party," he muttered to himself.

He circled the castle grounds, finding no evidence of inhabitance, and finally directed his team to land in the courtyard beside what appeared to be a dilapidated old stable. Figuring he might as well take advantage of the facilities, he opened the stable doors and was surprised to find it occupied. Three horses - one each of red, black, and white - paused in their chomping of hay to mark the intrusion. In the far back corner of the stable was what appeared to be a massive chariot, mostly obscured under a dusty tarp.

"Hope you don't mind if my crew join you," he said to the horses. Their eyes flashed with understanding. When they didn't object, he unhitched his reindeer and directed them into the unused stalls. "Back in a bit."

The castle's front door opened of its own accord as Santa approached. He was prepared for warm holiday greetings but found no one. The inside of the castle was in stark contrast with the exterior - clean, inviting, and opulent in every immaculate detail. Floors were fine marble, masterful paintings adorned polished wood-paneled walls, and chandeliers festooned with thousands of candles lined the grand entry and the halls extending off in each direction.

"Hello?" Santa said, his jolly voice echoing through the place.

Soft footsteps from one of the halls caught his attention and moments later a man almost as rotund as himself popped into the room. He appeared middle-aged and had an easy smile under his puffy cheeks. His manner of dress was peculiar - light-blue robes that might have been stylish during the height of the Roman Empire and matching slippers.

"My goodness. Santa!" The man was nothing if not pleased to see him. "This is a delight! Come in, come in!"

Santa crossed the room and took the man's proffered hand. "Thank you, though I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. You are?"

If the man was insulted, he didn't show it. "Famine, at your service," he said. "I guess our paths don't cross all that often. And forgive me, but I wasn't expecting you either. Don't get me wrong. You're most welcome and I'm sure everyone will be thrilled that you're here."

"I got an invitation," Santa said as they walked down another opulent hall. He pondered the implications of being in the presence of another aspect, especially one having close associations with Death. "Though it was a bit vague."

"Ah. Death invited you, then?"

"That was my assumption, yes."

"Maybe that means he'll actually show this year. He's missed the last few."

Famine led Santa into a richly appointed parlor, replete with couches and chairs, a table laden with an incredible selection of food and wine, and massive windows overlooking the desolate landscape beyond. It was quiet for a party, with only two of the other chairs occupied.

"Friends," Famine said, "We have a wonderful surprise guest! Santa Claus."

One of the other guests, a young woman in fashionable jeans and over-sized blue sweater, almost squealed in excitement at the introduction. She set aside her drink, sprang up, and hurried across the room to take Santa's hand.

"Oh my goodness, it's such an honor to meet you," she said.

"Pestilence," Famine said by way of introduction. "Don't worry, her enthusiasm is the most infectious part of her."

Pestilence gave Famine a playful swat on the arm. "Like I'd do that to a guest."

"Wouldn't be the first time," the other guest said in a deep baritone, slowly rising to his feet.

"Santa, meet War," Famine said, completing the introductions.

War towered over the others and had come dressed for the occasion in a bronze chest plate over mail coat and leather greaves. A sword was buckled at his belt and Santa assumed the shield propped in the corner belonged to him as well. The imposing aspect's dark eyes narrowed as he approached, and it was unclear if he was smiling or scowling behind the black beard.

"Santa," War said with a curt nod and bone-crunching handshake.

"Nice to meet you," Santa said.

"Sorry about that whole War on Christmas thing," War said. "Just business."

Famine rolled his eyes. "Distasteful business if you ask me. Smacks of desperation."

Santa wasn't sure if he was being put on or if War really was behind the active diminishing of his holiday. It wasn't in his nature to take offense at much, though, so he took War's apology at face value.

"Well, I must say, it's a pleasure to meet you all," Santa said. "I wasn't sure what to expect when I received that invitation."

Famine, seeing the others' expressions, said, "Death invited him."

War snorted. "Does he think sending a surrogate is any less disrespectful?"

"Maybe he'll be coming, then?" Pestilence said. "I do so miss him."

"Pretty sure Hell hasn't frozen over yet," War said, shifting over to the buffet to snag a crab leg.

"Do you know Death, then?" Pestilence said to Santa.

Santa shrugged. "Only just met him formally a few days ago."

"Still hanging out with Taxes, I'd imagine?" Famine said. "I even tried inviting her in hopes it'd get Death to come, but she declined."

War sputtered, losing half his mouthful of food. "You what?"

Famine smiled innocently. "Just being polite."

Pestilence touched Santa's arm. "War's a little touchy on the subject of Taxes. Thinks the old witch is trying to make a move to take his spot in the Four."

War glowered. "I am not."

Famine chuckled in a tone that implied otherwise. "Definitely sensitive."

Santa felt sorry for their picking on War, but figured he was hardly in a position to intervene in was felt like a family squabble.

"War's been waning for decades," Pestilence said. "Fewer people face the daily threat of warfare now than at any time in human history. Well, per capita, anyway."

"So, he's been trying new angles," Famine said. "Like the War on Christmas. And the War on Drugs, War on Poverty, War on Terror, War on Noise..."

"I've still got a few aces up my sleeve," War said from the buffet where he had his back turned to them. "Taxes will be sitting on an ash-heap of tax returns when I'm done."

"Of course she will, darling," Famine said while shaking his head "no" to Santa. "Unless she just does an end-run around us all. Which seems increasingly likely."

Santa tried to shift the subject while relating to the other guests. "So, the Four Horsemen. I didn't realize you were really a thing. Is there any apocalypse on the horizon I should be worried about? Would really put a damper on Christmas and all."

"You already missed it," War said, turning back on them with a dark glare. "Five years ago."

Santa blinked. "I did? I mean, yeah, I guess I did. Er..."

"It was a total dud," Famine said.

"We kinda called it off," Pestilence said, sounding a little sheepish before glancing War's direction.

Santa nodded, clearly sensing some tension. He couldn't let such a revelation drop, though. "So, uh, what happened?"

"We couldn't find parking." If War hadn't said it in his deep voice laced with utter contempt and irritation, Santa would have thought he was being put on.

"Ah," Santa said. "Well, I know how that can be. Awful nuisance. Don't get me started on how architecture has changed over the last hundred years. All these roofs with awkward angles and dormer windows out to Wazoo. Trying to land a team of reindeer on one of those is no joke."

The three Horsemen seemed content to let the matter drop and soon Famine was nudging Santa to try all the forty-some delicacies he'd brought in for the spread. Pestilence peppered him with questions about Christmas and what it was like delivering some many presents year after year. War slumped back in his seat, stared out the window, and drank.

Peculiar as the company was, Santa enjoyed the party. It wasn't often that he got to meet or chat with new people, let alone those who could relate to some of his non-human characteristics. All were a wealth of knowledge and pleasant - even War, after getting a few more drinks in him.

"Well," Santa said after what felt like a suitable amount of time, "I suppose I should be going. Busy time of year for me and all. Shame Death couldn't make an appearance."

"Why did he invite you?" War said, almost accusatory.

Santa shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not entirely certain. Maybe just trying to be nice after I tracked him down at Taxes' place?"

Famine, licking his fingers from the last plate of food he'd just finished, gave him a curious look. "Just what were you meeting Death for, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, it's okay," Santa said. "I'd been hoping he could perhaps delay a certain person's death by a few days. Just trying to make a little girl's Christmas wish come true."

"Death's powers don't work like that," Pestilence said, apologetic. "He couldn't have helped you even if he'd wanted."

Famine nodded. "What's the girl's story? What was her wish?"

Santa filled them in on the girl and her mother who would die in action. The Horsemen listened intently.

"Lots of fighting in Mexico," War said grimly. "Like Death, though, there are limits to what I can do within my domain. Sorry."

Santa sighed. "Well, we all do what we can. What we're destined to do."

"Truth," Famine said.

Santa thanked Famine for his hospitality and all of them for their company. The three Horsemen saw him out, waving goodbye. Santa genuinely had enjoyed his time, even if it had ended on a bittersweet note.

He found his team waiting in the stable. The twelve sets of eyes, horse and reindeer alike, stared at him like he'd intruded upon some private conversation. He tried not to let it bother him, but he knew just how impressionable his reindeer could be.

As he was about to start hooking the team up to his sleigh, an idea came to him. He reached behind the seat and grabbed a large sack, then hurried back to the castle and knocked. The Horsemen answered in short order.

"Realized it wouldn't be proper of me to come to a party this close to Christmas empty-handed," he said, unslinging his bag from his shoulder.

"Oh, that's really not necessary," Pestilence said. Her eagerness, however, was impossible to hide. Famine, likewise, looked excited. Even War stood there with an air of solemn interest.

"For you, my dear," Santa said, offering Pestilence a large rectangular package in red and green paper.

Pestilence took it with thanks and ripped the paper off, revealing a set of ancient clay tablets. She ran her fingers over the topmost reverently, reading the imprinted text. "Oh my goodness. You shouldn't!"

"What is it?" Famine asked, looking over her shoulder.

"The Saikikku by the Babylonian scholar Esagil-kin-apli," she said. "Perhaps the oldest written treatise on disease in human history."

She looked up at Santa. "Thank you so much. This is incredible!"

"You're most welcome," he said, pleased with her reaction.

Santa then dug into his bag and withdrew a small box wrapped in blue paper with little snowmen on it. This he handed to Famine, who quickly tore off the wrapping and opened the box within. He held out for all to see a tiny, black polished idol roughly in the shape of a woman. Famine looked stunned.

"Is this...?" He looked to Santa who nodded.

"Crafted from rhyolite magma from the Kaharoa Volcano."

War looked uncertain, prompting Famine to explain. "That's the big one in 1315 that triggered the Great Famine worldwide. Lasted for years, brought on disease and-"

"War. Yes, now I remember. Those were good times."

Pestilence gave Famine a hug. "The best."

"Thank you, Santa," Famine said.

Santa nodded, then reached into his bag one last time. He produced a long, flat box that couldn't have fit in the bag under the usual laws of time and space. At nearly six feet in length, it even got War's attention as Santa handed it over. War, unlike the others, was delicate in his removal of the gold and white snowflake motif paper.

It was a wood case with iron buckles and hinges. This he opened, revealing a massive sword with a long, broad blade and a leather-wrapped grip suited for two-hands. It looked well-used and functional and was certainly not a decorative piece.

War's mouth dropped. "William Wallace's sword."

Santa shrugged modestly. "The real one. That one in the museum, well..."

"I know," War said with a nod as he gently withdrew the blade and took measure of its weight and balance. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You just did. All of you." Santa cinched up his bag. "And with that, I really must be going. Merry Christmas, all!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too," the Horsemen said in unison.

#

Christmas delivery was a smooth operation. Santa found his mood improved considerably by the Solstice party. Once his spirits lifted, so too did those of his entire operation. The elves were sharp in loading the sleigh and the reindeer performed so well he decided he would forego the usual after-action review. It was only as he was coming in for the final landing at the North Pole that something popped to the fore of his mind.

The girl! The one with the mother who was soon to die. He'd somehow forgotten all about her. He hadn't delivered an alternate gift. Forgetting something like that was, or should have been, completely impossible given his nature.

In a panic, Santa hopped out of his sleigh before it came to a complete halt. He raced across the stable, startled elves jumping out of his way, until he found Ginger. The head elf was kicking snow off her boots, having just arrived to greet his return.

"Ginger! I... messed up. I think. I forgot a gift for that girl, Annamaria Cano."

The elf smiled up at him, which only annoyed him even more.

"No gift, Ginger! This is a disaster!"

"Relax, boss," she said. "You didn't forget anything."

He couldn't relax, but her demeanor cut through the growing sense of panic. "What do you mean? I'm certain I didn't visit her."

Ginger reached into her smock and withdrew an envelope much like the one in which the party invitation had arrived a week ago. She handed it over. "Santa" was handwritten on it.

"Maybe you should read that in your office," Ginger said in a pointed tone. Santa knew her well enough to take the unsolicited advice.

Not slowing to get out of his boots or coat, Santa hurried to his office. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single square of paper divided into four square quarters - red, black, white, and pale. Across it were the words, "Thank you and you're welcome."

The Horsemen. He knew what the thanks pertained to, but the "you're welcome?" Santa dropped into the chair behind his desk and reached for his snow globe. This he shook, picturing Annamaria Cano.

Amid the swirling flakes inside the globe, an image of the young girl manifested. She was in a red dress and her eyes were puffy from tears. She was lying in a hospital bed, curled up beside her mother. There was an IV and several other devices hooked up to the ill mother, but on her face was a loving smile.

Santa smiled and wiped away a tear. He didn't know how, exactly, but the girl had gotten her wish.

The focus in the snow globe shifted to the hallway outside the hospital room. The girl's father stood there, clearly devastated, with a doctor and an officer in a military uniform.

"Our unit was called away from a routine patrol," the officer said in respectful tones. "We'd gotten word of a tiny village whose crops had failed over the summer. They were malnourished, desperately in need of food and medicine. We volunteered to deliver them. God, how happy they were to see us arrive right before Christmas."

"I've requested a team go visit the village," the doctor said. "We don't know what illness your wife picked up there. Maybe we'll be able to figure it out in time. Unfortunately, I just don't know if..."

Santa set the globe down and the image faded. He knew they wouldn't figure it out in time. Death couldn't change the woman's fate. It seemed, though, some other interested parties had been able to subtly tweak the circumstances. Is that why Death had sent him the party invitation? Santa had to believe it so.

He sniffled and smiled, then tapped the card from the Horsemen.

"Merry Christmas."