"I had bought some grain for the city from a ship's captain. His cargo was meant for a powerful lord farther down the coast, but he sold the grain to me out of pity, which moved the heart of God. A miracle was given to him so that his grain was replaced for his goodness and he did not suffer punishment by his master for coming home shorthanded.
"The people cried in joy over the grain, but among the cries of joy I heard the cries of the sad parents for their missing children. And another sound came to my ears as well - the voices of the missing boys themselves, praying for their lives, for their families.
"So I followed the sound of those prayers and they led me to the home of a butcher - a fat, evil butcher named Ruprecht," the saint added, glaring at his shadow, "who had tricked the boys into his home, then killed them and chopped them to bits. He put the bits into his salting barrel and meant to sell them to the hungry people of the town as salt pork. The arrival of the grain had delayed the butcher's plans and so I found the murdered boys and raised them from the dead and sent them home to their families. Ruprecht became my assistant to atone for his sins. He keeps my list and he punishes the wicked children so that they won't grow up to be like him. I prefer to call him Peter, now, so he won't be reminded so much of his evil past, but perhaps that has been a mistake," the saint added, glaring at the dark man.
"So you see that I have the power to bring children back to life - but only once and only on Christmas. When you were three, Matthias, your family was killed in a house fire on Christmas Eve. I couldn't save your parents, for I don't have that power, but I brought you back. You'd always been a good little boy. "
"And you brought me back for what?" Matthias roared. "So I could be an orphan and hated for it? Blamed for surviving while my parents died? Bounced from home to home? Starved and poor all the time? That was your gift to me - your only gift, I might add! In all those years you never brought me a present!"
The reindeer shied and shuffled in the snow and snorted in fear as the werewolf howled his fury.
Saint Nicholas spread his arms, calming the deer, then looked to Matthias, frowning. "You didn't get them? I brought them every year. They were such little things but I thought you knew - I couldn't let them be too obvious - but they were there. The way your shoes always fit better than anyone's. The red coat when you were five with the fire engine in the pocket - "
"I never got a fire engine! There never was a red coat!" The reindeer jumped with nerves and the sleigh rattled as Matthias bayed and raged. "The shoes pinched and leaked. The nuns beat my knuckles until they bled and we all went to bed hungry every night but Christmas Eve - and that was only because people brought us their unwanted food. You raised me from the dead just to leave me in hell - what sort of saint are you?"
Hagios Nikolaos glanced at Black Peter. "And what do you know about this?"
The punisher of wicked children only shook his head and said nothing. But there was a glint in his red eyes. . . .
"We shall speak of this again, Black Peter. Mark my words. " Then Sunnercla turned from him and put his arms around the furious werewolf, trying to gentle the savage beast by muttering soft words. Matthias ripped and tore at the man in red, biting and gouging and howling with anger and despair, but every injury he inflicted healed again almost as fast as he gave it.
At last the werewolf put his head down, exhausted, on the snow. Santa Claus sat down beside him.
"I'm so sorry, Matthias. So sorry," he said. "I can only save a child once. After that, you have to save yourself. You were a good child and I never understood why you went bad. Then you ceased to be a child at all and I didn't know what had become of you for such a long time. I have many duties besides Christmas - patron of many things - and I suppose I didn't look hard enough for you. But you weren't a sailor or a baker or a prisoner and I didn't think you'd keep a shop or move to Greece. None of my other spheres of influence seemed very likely to benefit you, either - and that was my fault for not looking harder. Then, tonight, here you were and I had another chance. I have tried to help you. Now, Matthias. Now I do truly need your help. "
"I don't want to help you. I think my Christmas Cheer has worn off," Matt muttered.
"But don't you like running through the night sky?"
Actually he did, very much, but he only shrugged, not trusting the old red-coated fake.
"Do you really want to strand the sleigh and the reindeer here? To disappoint all the other children I have to visit tonight? Would that be fair?"
Matt grumbled. He didn't care - well, he didn't. But maybe a little more running through the sky . . .
"I don't know," he muttered. "You weren't very fair to me. What do I get out of it?"
He could tell Rider didn't like that, but he figured he had the fellow by the short fur now. The sunrise was inevitable and the terminator crept toward them inexorably. If the Bishop of Myrna wanted to get home before it caught them, he'd have to make a deal.
Saint Nick heaved one more sigh and got to his feet. "All right. . . . You've got me over a barrel, Matthias. What's your condition?"
The werewolf sat up and shook his fur back down, grooming a little just for the delay. Then he said, "I want the recipe for Christmas Cheer. "
"Christmas Cheer? But that only works once a year!"
"That's all right. I can be
content with running through the skies once a year. It's not bad. "
"Is that all?"
"Yup. Well . . . and directions out of the North Pole because that place is crazy. "
Santa stroked his beard and said, "All right. It's a deal. So long as you get us back to Christmas House before dawn. "
"And the recipe had better work!"
"I guarantee it will - on my word as Father Christmas. But only on Christmas Eve, remember. "