Cinnamon Crisis by KM Rockwood

Everything in the great cookie-components warehouse was ready for Christmas cookie baking season on Monday.

At the top of Mrs. Claus’s schedule was cinnamon stars.

Gunnar, in his first year in the coveted position of cookie-component-coordinator, smiled. He had handled the job, and even found a new supplier for spices, saving a substantial amount for North Pole Enterprises, Ltd.

The budget committee would be pleased. They might recognize his accomplishment at the post-Christmas awards ceremony. His mother would be proud.

He fixed a mug of mulled cider and sat down to check the Food for News—Baking Subdivision website.

A headline screamed about contaminated applesauce.

Dreadful. Apparently small children had been consuming packets with detectable amounts of lead, a known danger.

The lead was contained in seasoning in some applesauce packets.

Cinnamon-flavored applesauce packets.

Gunnar’s throat closed and his ears trembled.

Cinnamon supplied by Associated Spice Suppliers.

Back in the warehouse were five 25 kg. sacks of powdered cinnamon. From Associated Spice Suppliers.

Gunnar's first panicky thought was to shut off the computer and ignore the news.

But only for an instant.

The elven code demanded that elves take responsibility for any problem they noticed. No matter how difficult. Or embarrassing.

Gunnar needed to report to Detrick, the elf-in-charge. Detrick was second in authority only to Santa himself. But what did Detrick always say? “Don’t bring me problems. Bring me solutions.”

What was the solution here?

Replace the questionable cinnamon. As quickly as possible.

It would be the end of any savings.

That couldn’t be helped. They needed uncontaminated cinnamon.

He picked up his satellite phone and pulled up the antenna. He called their old supplier, asking about purchasing five 25 kg. sacks of cinnamon for immediate delivery by rail to Moosonee, the freight depot in northern Ontario where they picked up their supplies.

“Five 25 kg. sacks of cinnamon?” the voice on the other end echoed. “Got it in stock. But delivery to Moosonee? Won't go out until after Christmas.”

“After Christmas?” Gunnar’s ears quivered. His voice rose in a panicked trill. “Any alternatives?”

“You could bring a truck down to the warehouse in Baltimore and pick it up yourself.”

No truck, but how about a flying sleigh? The freight sleigh, pulled by sturdy reindeer.

That’s how they got their supplies from Moosonee.

“Put the order in,” he said. “I’ll call back about pickup.”

He sought out Astrid, the reindeer-herder-in-training.

“I need a favor.”

Astrid smiled. “Sure. If I can help.”

Gunnar felt the knot in his chest loosen. Elves could always depend upon one another for help. “I need five big sacks of cinnamon picked up.”

“No problem. When does the train get in?”

“That’s the problem. I need it picked up from a warehouse in Baltimore.”

“Baltimore?”

“Yeah. That’s where the spice warehouse is.”

Astrid’s ears lay back and her face wrinkled. “Have you any idea how far away Baltimore is?”

Gunnar didn't.

“Freight would take a week. At least.”

The knot in his chest hardened. “A week?”

“Yes. I’d need special permission to go that far. Straight from the elf-in-charge. Detrick. Or Santa himself.”

Despairing tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. “What can I do?”

“You could go to Baltimore yourself.”

“How?”

Astrid sighed. “I could drop you at the train depot in Moosonee to catch the Polar Bear Express to Cochrane. I don’t really know after that. Maybe there’s a bus.”

“But a week!”

“That’s freight. The Polar Bear Express is a passenger train. Much faster and more direct.”

“How would I get back here from Moosonee?”

“Call me on your satellite phone as soon as you’ve got the cinnamon. I’ll plan when to pick you up.”

“How would I get five 25 kg. sacks of cinnamon all that distance?”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “The same way we carry all our supplies. Nico the leatherworker can lend you a backpack made just like Santa’s bags. Five sacks of cinnamon should compress into it.”

“Okay.”

“Dealing with humans is very different.”

“How?”

Astrid frowned. “You’ll need to pay for everything. Humans aren’t helpful the way elves are. Some of them aren’t nice. They can even be dangerous.”

Putting those scary thoughts out of his mind, Gunnar said, “I’ll go see Nico. When should we leave?”

“The Polar Bear Express leaves Moosonee at five o’clock. We’ll have to get you there before dinner.”

Gunnar’s stomach growled.

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In his office, Gunnar grabbed his satellite phone and credit card. He stuffed a handful of granola bars into his pocket.

Tate, a warehouse assistant, was sweeping the office. When he saw Gunnar’s pale face and twitching ears, his own ears lay back in alarm. “Everything okay, boss?”

“Minor problem, Tate. Nothing that can’t be fixed. I’ll be away for a few days.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Yes. Those five sacks of cinnamon we just got. Make sure nobody uses them. They might be contaminated.”

“Contaminated? Should I put a ‘Do-Not-Use’ sign on them?”

“I’d rather we didn’t make a big deal about it.”

Tate’s ears perked up. “Somebody might just take some if you’re not here to ask.”

Gunnar sighed. “Okay. Signs it is. Can you get them off the shelf and put them somewhere out of sight? They’ll have to be returned.”

“Can we get a replacement in time?” Tate asked.

“No. I’m going to pick it up.”

“How will you do that?”

“The less you know the better,” Gunnar said.

“What if someone asks where you are?”

“That I didn’t tell you where I was going. It’s not a lie. I’m not telling you.”

The elven code seriously frowned on telling lies.

Nico was straightening his shop when Gunnar entered.

“I need some help,” he said.

“Sure.” Nico’s ears perked up. “What d’ya need?”

“I need a backpack to carry five 25 kg. sacks of cinnamon,” Gunnar said.

“No problem. But Astrid can just put that in her freight sleigh.”

“This is an emergency.”

Nico’s ears flicked. “Emergency? You talk to Detrick?”

“I’m trying to fix it myself.”

Raising his eyebrows wisely, Nico said, “You goofed up, huh?”

Gunnar nodded.

“And you want to tell Detrick you’ve solved it before he finds out about it. Am I right?”

Gunnar nodded again.

“If it gets fixed, maybe he doesn’t have to know. Am I right?”

Another nod.

Nico grinned. “I got just what you need.” He went into his back room.

Returning with a leather backpack, Nico handed it to him.

Gunnar took it. It was surprisingly light. “How does this work?”

“See the flap?” Nico flipped it up. “You just put whatever you need to carry in the opening. Sometimes you have to shove a little. Then you buckle down the flap. Just like Santa’s toy bag.”

“Even for five sacks of cinnamon?”

“Sure. Santa takes one bag for all the children in the world. A few hundred pounds of cinnamon should not be a problem.”

“Thank you.” Gunnar stood up to go.

“Wait.”

Gunnar’s already tight gut clenched tighter. “What?”

“You going down among humans?”

“Yes.”

“Go see Anders. The tailor. You can’t go looking like that.”

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The door to Anders’ workshop was locked. Gunnar knocked.

“Be right there!”

Gunnar heard scrambling.

The door opened a crack. “Oh. It’s you.” Anders’ ears relaxed. He pushed the door wider.

The work surfaces of the shop had been swept clear. A few scraps of yellow flannel lay on the floor.

“Who did you think it was?” Gunnar asked.

Anders shrugged. “Detrick, maybe?”

“So what if it was Detrick?”

“Well…” Anders glanced around. “One of the doll dressers messed up. Too many outfits for big stand-up dolls. Not enough nighties for baby dolls. I can whip up the nighties in no time. I’m helping out. Detrick need never find out.”

“Could you help me?” Gunnar asked.

“What do you need?”

“I have to pick some supplies up from a warehouse. Too late to get it shipped in. I need to look human.”

Ander’s ears stood up in alarm. “Is the warehouse run by humans?”

Gunnar nodded.

Anders frowned. “You wanna tell me about it?”

“No. The less you know, the less you can tell anybody.”

“Like Detrick?”

Gunnar’s ears twitched. “Like Detrick.”

“Okay.” Anders got up and went to a big cupboard. “I got what you need. But you’re not gonna be happy.”

“Why not?”

“Well, we dress in tunics and leggings. Our elfin shoes skim right over the snow. Our pointed hats tuck right above our ears.”

“Yes.”

“None of that works if you want to blend in with humans. Humans need warm coats. Heavy boots. Hats that cover their ears. Not comfortable.”

Anders laid some clothes on the worktable. “Otherwise you’d never pass as human.”

“Aren’t I too short to pass as human anyhow?” Gunnar asked.

“Humans come in all sizes. You’re short for a human, true. Some people will think you’re a child.”

Gunnar put on the clothes Anders laid out. The flannel shirt wasn’t bad. The stiff overalls made it hard to bend his legs. The boots were heavy and cramped his feet.

The coat was huge. It hung down to his knees and the sleeves covered his hands.

“Hmmm.” Anders examined him. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll whip up a coat that fits.”

Gunnar began to sweat. He unbuttoned the coat. “Thank you, but I need to leave now.” He stuffed green mittens and a scarf in a pocket and perched the watch cap on his head.

“Like this.” Nico tucked Gunnar’s ears close to his head and yanked the watch cap down. “You got to keep your ears covered. If people see them, they will know you’re not human.”

Gunnar wiggled his ears, trying to get them comfortable. It wasn’t working.

“Eventually, your ears will get numb,” Anders said. “So will your feet. Then it won’t be so bad.”

Back at the reindeer barn, Gunnar opened the flap of the backpack and started to put the satellite phone in.

A sudden whoosh of air sucked the phone from his hand. He peered into the backpack. It was gone!

He felt his ears twitch in alarm, but the itchy watch cap kept them plastered to the side of his head.

He felt inside the backpack. A little pebble lay in the bottom. He grasped it with two fingers and started to pull it out.

This time, the whoosh came from inside, knocking the pebble out of his hand.

Lying on the ground, it swelled back into a phone.

So that was how the bags worked.

He put the phone back in, this time anticipating the rush of air. After fastening the flap, he fumbled the backpack over the sleeves of the oversized coat.

Astrid had hitched a young reindeer to a small training sleigh. When she saw how Gunnar was dressed, she tried to stifle a giggle, but ended up laughing out loud.

“Climb in and hold on.” She choked on another laugh. “A good chance to give this guy a trial run at warp speed.”

The sleigh took off.

They dashed through the darkness, slowing finally to land in a field next to a railway station.

He pried his fingers from the edge of the seat and got down stiffly.

“Don’t forget to let me know when you’re ready to start back,” she said between giggles.

The sleigh was gone in an instant.

Gunnar had to fight an urge to call her right back and say he’d changed his mind about going.

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The train sat on the track humming. It was huge. As Gunnar gawked, the whistle shrieked.

Halfway down the platform, a conductor consulted his watch. “All aboard!”

Gunnar hurried to where the conductor stood.

The stairs into the coach were enormously steep. The bottom one was as high as Gunnar’s waist. He tried to lift his feet, but the heavy boots hardly moved.

The conductor placed a moveable step in front of the doorway, grabbed Gunnar by the elbow, and propelled him upward. Stumbling, Gunnar fell into a seat.

He straightened himself out and pulled off the heavy coat. He was hot. And hungry.

Another passenger entered the almost-empty car and to Gunnar’s surprise sat down in the seat facing him.

It was a woman, holding a baby. She wasn’t dressed for the cold weather, and she had a panicked look on her face. “Please. Pretend I’m with you.”

Mystified, Gunnar nodded.

The woman clutched the baby close to her chest. She was shivering.

Gunnar took his bulky coat and draped it over her.

She pulled it close around herself and the baby. “Don’t tell him I’m here,” she whispered, ducking her head under the coat.

“You there.” A scowling man stood in the aisle. “Shorty.”

“Me?” Gunnar asked.

“Who else?” The man nodded at the huddled form. “That your mother?”

“My mother?”

“You seen a lady with a baby?”

“A lady with a baby?”

“Yeah. What are you, some kind of moron?”

Gunnar almost said, “Moron?” but managed to stop himself.

“You let me know if you see her.” He stomped away into the following coach.

The woman peeked out from under the coat. “Thanks.”

“Who was that?”

“My husband. He told me he’d kill me before he let me leave with the baby.”

Was this what Astrid meant about dangerous humans? “What are you going to do?”

“My brother’s going to pick me up at Island Falls. It’s a flag stop. The train pauses just long enough for me to get off.”

The train’s airbrakes hissed. With two long whistle shrieks, the train lurched forward.

“You must be cold,” the woman said, starting to shrug off the coat.

“I’m fine. Leave it on in case he comes back.”

When the conductor came to collect tickets or fare, Gunnar gave him the credit card.

The woman had no ticket, nor did she have any money.

What would Santa have wanted him to do? Gunnar had her fare put on the credit card.

He’d have a lot of explaining to do when he got back to the North Pole.

The train thundered through the long night.

Gunnar couldn’t get comfortable. He was hot. His stomach growled. His ears itched and his feet ached.

The conductor came to wake the woman. “Ten minutes to Island Falls. We’ll only stop long enough for you to disembark.”

She sat up and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair. “Thanks for everything, mister,” she said as she handed the coat back to Gunnar. “I hope you didn’t get too cold.”

Cradling the sleeping baby, she made her way to the end of the coach.

Gunnar hoped her brother was there to pick her up. Her clothes weren’t adequate for the cold. He considered giving her the coat, but he’d need it to pass as human.

The train’s whistle wailed and the brakes hissed.

Out the window Gunnar could see headlights. As the train eased to a stop, the door of a pickup cab opened and a man got out. As the woman ran to meet him, the train lurched forward again.

Shortly, they pulled into the station at Cochrane, the end of the line, at ten o’clock.

The bus to Toronto didn’t leave until the next morning.

Gunnar huddled in a corner of the waiting room, munched a granola bar, and slept fitfully.

The bus departed in the darkness. When the weak sun arose for the brief winter day, Gunnar plastered himself to the window and watched the countryside slide by. The trip took over thirteen hours, so it was long dark by the time they pulled into Toronto.

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Next leg of the journey was a bus to New York. It was almost as long.

The trip was taking a long time.

This waiting room was much busier than the one in Cochrane. A man in uniform, toting a duffel bag, sat dozing in a seat.

Several workers, dressed in insulated coveralls with hard hats over their knit hats, sat on a bench. Gunnar couldn’t tell whether there were men or women under the bulky clothing. Probably some of each.

Four women, surrounded by a gaggle of children, from a baby carried in a sling to pre-teens, stood in one corner.

Gunnar went up to the ticket window. He had to get on his tiptoes—no easy feat in the stiff boots—to see the cashier.

He pushed the credit card across the counter. “One ticket to New York, please.”

The man took the credit card, punched some things in on a keyboard, and said, “Passport, please.”

Passport? Did elves have passports? Gunnar didn’t.

As he stood there tongue-tied, one of the women approached and shoved something under the grate. “There’s a mistake here. The twins are only eleven. But you charged us full fare for them.”

The man gestured at Gunnar. “I was helping this young man here.”

“That’s okay,” Gunnar said. “Take care of that problem first.”

Minutes passed, but eventually the woman was satisfied with the replacement tickets.

“Thanks for your patience,” the man said to Gunnar, looking around on his counter. “Did I already give you your passport back?”

Elves aren’t supposed to lie.

“Yes,” he said anyhow.

The man passed the ticket over to him. “Boarding at gate three.”

The group of women and children were headed for the same gate.

Like all elves, Gunnar liked children. But to have so many on a long bus ride?

There was no help for it. He climbed on the bus after the last child.

Two of the women sat in the front of the bus, and the others halfway back. The children spilled into the seats between.

Gunnar eased down the aisle until he was behind them and slipped into the first empty seat.

The bus set off in the darkness.

An infant cried, but was quickly hushed. Several children squabbled. “If you can’t get along, Bethany, go find another seat,” a woman said.

A little girl of about six stomped down the aisle clutching a blanket and a book.

To Gunnar’s surprise, she climbed up in the seat next to him. She covered herself with the blanket and closed her eyes.

They both dozed as the bus hurtled onward.

“Border crossing.” A loud voice boomed in the darkness of the bus’s interior. “Have your passports ready for inspection.”

The bus was at a standstill, its engine idling roughly.

Passports again. Gunnar still didn’t have a passport.

Two big uniformed men stood on the bus steps and peered down the darkened aisle.

The interior lights flicked on.

The men clumped up the steps and stopped in the aisle.

The woman sitting directly in front of Gunnar stood up. “I have everything here,” she said. “Most of the children are sleeping. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t wake them up.”

One man stepped up and took a stack of papers. “What do you have?”

“Birth certificates and notarized permission letters for all the children. Passports for the adults.”

“All US citizens?”

“Yes.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen children? All yours?”

“No. My sisters and I are returning from a funeral for my grandmother. They’re cousins.”

“You took seventeen children to a funeral? By bus?”

“It was important to the family that all the descendants be present at the services.”

As he took the documents and started to shuffle through them, the other man headed down the aisle, surveying the passengers.

Gunnar pulled the collar of his shirt up and tugged the watch cap down.

The girl had her big book closed on her lap.

“Show me your book?” he whispered.

She nodded and flipped it open.

Hunching back in his seat so that his feet stuck out in front uncomfortably, Gunnar lifted the book so his face was not quite so visible from the aisle. He hoped.

“Tell me what the book’s about.”

“Santa Claus.” She pointed at a picture. “And his reindeer. They can fly.”

The uniformed man paused right next to them.

Gunnar reached over and turned a page in the book.

“Elves!” the girl said.

They didn’t look like any elves Gunnar knew, but he wasn’t about to say anything.

The man moved farther along.

A few minutes later he came back down the aisle.

Gunnar turned to another page.

“How do you suppose Santa gets all those toys in his sack?” the girl asked.

The man was right next to them.

Gunnar licked his lips. “Magic,” he said.

The man glanced toward him, but he kept going.

“Seventeen kids,” he said to the man who still held the paperwork. “Everything look okay?”

“Yep. Now let’s go check the baggage.”

They handed back the paperwork and left.

In the sudden silence, a woman said, “How could he count the baby? I was feeding her, and she was completely covered by a blanket.”

Another one shrugged and said, “Who cares? As long as we’re through customs.”

Gunnar didn’t relax until he heard doors slam shut and the bus rumble back to life.

New York next.

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The Port Authority Bus Terminal in New York was total chaos.

Or so it seemed to Gunnar. People rushed every which way.

He purchased his ticket to Baltimore, figured out which gate he needed, and plunked down to eat one of his last granola bars.

He was trying to ration them out. His stomach already seemed to gnaw at his backbone.

A girl burst out of the swirling crowd and dashed toward him.

“Brian!” she called. “I’m so glad to see you. Did Dad drop you off? Is he parking the car?”

Gunnar was so astonished he couldn’t say anything.

The girl sat down beside him.

A man dressed in a tailored leather coat with a fur collar and matching hat stopped and glared at them.

Gunnar cleared his throat. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else...”

She leaned close and whispered, “Please don’t say anything.” Then she raised her voice. “I acted like such a little spoiled brat. I owe everyone apologies. Mom especially.”

Blinking in confusion, Gunnar watched as the man adjusted his hat, frowned, and walked away.

The girl slumped against him. “Thank you! I’m sure that man was waiting to pick up desperate, runaway girls when they got off the bus.”

“Are you a desperate runaway girl?”

“Runaway, yes. But not desperate anymore. That bus ride was long enough to bring me to my senses. If I call my dad, he’ll get me.”

“Do you have a phone?” Gunnar asked.

“No. I was afraid they could track me with it. Do they still have pay phones?” She looked around.

With a sigh, Gunnar reached into the backpack and felt for the largest pebble. He lifted it.

Whoosh. The satellite phone took shape.

She turned back to face him. “What was that?”

“My phone.” Gunnar pulled up the antenna. “Call your dad.”

He had no idea how much a call would cost. Another problem to face when he got back to the North Pole.

She took the phone.

Gunnar turned away until she finished.

“He’s coming on the next bus,” she said.

“You okay?” Gunnar asked.

“Yeah. I’m gonna hide in the ladies’ room.” She stood up to go. “Thank you.”

Gunnar took the phone. “Are most human males like that?"

Her eyebrows raised in puzzlement. “Human males? Like what?”

“Female humans seem to be afraid of male ones. At least sometimes.”

But the girl was backing away, a nervous frown on her face. “Thanks again …”

Maybe female humans were just easily frightened.

“Last call. Bus to Baltimore leaving from…”

His bus! Gunnar leapt to his feet and dashed toward the gate.

When he reached the platform, the bus door was closing.

He stood helplessly, staring up at the driver.

Who rolled his eyes and shook his head, but reopened the door.

Gunnar scrambled on.

This segment of the trip was much shorter than the others. He was in Baltimore in a few hours.

So close. Now to get to the spice warehouse.

Gathering his courage, he approached a police officer. “Can you tell me how to get to Tradepoint.” He knew his voice was shrill. “You want the one-sixty-three bus. Stops right outside.”

Gunnar thanked her and went to wait.

The city bus was different from the smooth-riding long-distance ones. He sat in a hard plastic seat, watching out the window.

The bus bounced along city streets, stopping frequently. They went from busy downtown through tidy residential areas to a run-down neighborhood. The streets were lined with a mix of housing and small businesses.

An organic scent of low tide filtered into the bus as it trundled along a narrow road with trees on one side and railroad tracks on the other.

Then they turned a corner and burst into an area of huge modern warehouses with glass-fronted offices.

He saw the spice company’s sign as they passed, and rang for the next stop.

A tall black picket fence surrounded the warehouse. He walked along it, looking for a way in.

A lone car occupied one space in a sprawling parking lot in front of the building. Huge gates blocked off driveways on either side of the building.

They were locked.

Gunnar stood uncertainly.

A man stepped around a corner of the building. Gunnar waved to him.

The man came over. “Yeah?”

“I came to pick up a shipment,” Gunnar said.

“A shipment? Where’s your truck?”

“A small shipment. I came to see if it’s ready.”

The man snorted. “On a Sunday afternoon?”

Gunnar had lost track of the days. He felt dizzy.

“Look,” the man said. “I’m just the watchman. Come back in the morning. Talk to the dispatcher.”

Gunnar nodded. It made him even dizzier. He turned to go.

“And bring your truck,” the watchman called.

Gunnar didn’t have a truck. All he had was a backpack. And now he needed to find someplace to stay overnight.

He trudged away, not paying attention to the direction. Soon he was in a maze of worn streets with a few closed businesses.

He’d wandered away from the bus route. He was lost in more ways than one.

The damp air felt stiflingly hot. The coat hung on his shoulders. His feet ached. His ears itched. Breathing was difficult.

Gunnar staggered down a dark alleyway between two crumbling buildings and sank down on a curb, the backpack slung over one shoulder.

He was 316 years old. Much too old for an elf to be crying. He knew that.

He cried anyhow.

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“What do we have here?”

Gunnar froze.

“Let’s see what’s in the pack,” a second voice said.

Gunnar pulled the backpack onto his lap.

A black leather boot landed on his thigh. The backpack was ripped out of his hands.

One of the men laughed. “Not much in here.”

A wolf growled—a harsh, dangerous sound.

A wolf in Baltimore?

Without lifting his head, Gunnar glanced toward the sound.

A huge dog. Black. Holding its head low, saliva dripping from sharp teeth. Eyes flashing red.

Next to yet another man.

“Get him,” that man said.

Gunnar ducked his head. He wished he could tell his mother he loved her and was sorry.

The man holding the backpack screamed.

Gunnar looked up. The dog’s massive jaws were closed on the man’s arm.

He dropped the backpack and a wicked-looking knife. The knife clanged as it hit the pavement.

“Call it off!” the man shouted.

A voice said, “Let go, Lucy.”

The dog opened its jaws. The man tripped over the backpack he’d dropped, but regained his footing and ran down the alley.

Gunnar didn’t move.

“You okay?” the newcomer asked.

Stiffly, Gunnar nodded.

The big dog glowered after the retreating figures.

The man bent down and picked up the backpack and the knife. “My name’s Jerry.”

What had somebody called him? “Shorty.”

Jerry held out a hand to haul Gunnar to his feet. “I can see why.”

“This here’s Lucy,” Jerry said.

Gunnar stood uncertainly. “Hello, Lucy. And Jerry. Thank you.”

“Those guys been causing trouble lately. But they leave us alone.”

Eying Lucy, Gunnar said, “I can see why.”

Jerry laughed. He held up the backpack. “They sliced the strap. Too bad. Looks like a useful backpack.”

That’s an understatement, Gunnar thought. “Yes. But it can be fixed.”

“I dunno about that.” Jerry examined the cut. He handed it to Gunnar. Then he picked up the knife and handed that over, too. “You’ve earned this. Keep it handy.”

“Thanks.” Gunnar took the backpack and slipped the knife into the bib pocket on his overalls. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“You hungry?” Jerry rubbed his scruffy beard.

Gunnar's stomach rumbled. “Yes.”

“Come on.”

Jerry set off down the alley. Gunnar and Lucy followed.

They stopped at a storefront. The sound of a hymn being played on a slightly-out-of-tune piano spilled out the door.

“The Rescue Mission serves a good Sunday dinner. Usually stew and biscuits. And pie. You got to go to the services first, though.”

Gunnar’s stomach growled again. “Are you going?”

“Prob’ly not. They don’t let dogs in.”

Gunnar hesitated.

“You go ahead,” Jerry urged.

A lady in a flowered dress stood just inside the doorway, a stack of papers in her hand. “Here for services?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gunnar said.

“Can you read?”

Odd question, but Gunnar replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

She peeled a sheet off her stack. “Here’s your prayer to read. Take off your hat and go sit down.”

Gunnar paused reaching for the paper. “Uh…I can’t take off my hat.” His poor cramped ears would spring up. Everyone would stare.

“Nonsense,” she said. “No hats during service.”

“Sorry. No disrespect. But I can’t take my hat off…”

“Then you can’t come to the service. Or to dinner. Beef stew. Pumpkin pie for dessert.”

His mouth watered, but he backed away.

Jerry and Lucy were still standing by the curb.

Sadly, Gunnar turned to join them.

“You don’t wanna take your hat off?” Jerry asked as he turned away.

“No.”

“Not even for a good meal?”

“No.”

“Lice? Health department has a treatment. Not until tomorrow, though.”

Gunnar shivered. Lice? “That’s not it.”

“Okay.” Jerry shrugged.

“It’s my ears.”

“What, they’re oozing or something”

“No. They’re just shaped…differently.”

“You got them fetal-alcohol ears?” Jerry asked.

“What?”

“Little curly ears. If your mom drank too much when she was expecting, sometimes the baby has curly little ears. Maybe that’s why you’re so short, too.”

Gunnar’s mother would be mortified at the suggestion. He swallowed hard. “No. Just different.”

Jerry shrugged again and they set off.

At the back of a bakery, they stopped at the dumpster.

“They close early on Sunday. ‘Cause they open really early. They throw away their leftovers.” Jerry rummaged around and pulled out a few bags.

Lucy tore one bag open and gobbled the contents.

Gunnar peeked inside another one. Breakfast sandwiches. Egg and cheese. Slightly burned. They smelled delicious. He ate one. It was delicious.

Carrying more bags, they wound through alleys until they reached a fenced-off area surrounding the ramp up to a tall bridge.

Jerry slipped through an opening hidden by scrappy bushes.

A rickety dirty-white structure leaned against a huge support. It was almost invisible against the concrete structure.

Moving a worn panel of foam packing material, Jerry slid inside. Gunnar and Lucy followed.

Blankets and an old rug covered the floor. Jerry pulled a scuffed, label-less bottle from a corner. “Want some? Not bad wine.”

Gunnar declined. Jerry finished the bottle and pulled out another one. “Sure you don’t want any?”

“You going to drink all that?” Gunnar asked.

Jerry smiled. “Makes life bearable.”

Somehow hanging around waiting for time to pass dragged more than sitting on a bus.

Overheated, Gunnar took off his coat.

“Aren’t you cold?” Jerry asked.

“No.”

“That’s a great coat.” Jerry tugged at the sleeve of his jacket. “This one ain’t gonna make it when it gets really cold.”

Night fell. Jerry snored. Lucy’s feet twitched in her sleep. Gunnar dozed.

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Fingers of dawn finally crept around the door panel.

Gunnar snuck out. No point waking them up.

Which way back to the warehouse? He realized he could see the huge cranes that unloaded cargo containers off the ships. They were working.

The warehouse area, so quiet yesterday, was humming.

The gates that had been locked at the spice warehouse were open. A truck pulled in and stopped. A man with a clipboard walked up to the cab and shouted something to the driver.

Gunnar walked past the far side of the truck. He came to some metal steps and climbed them.

Frantic activity filled the staging area. Forklifts carrying loaded pallets trundled by. Truck drivers checked paperwork.

He saw a small shack with a sign that said, “Dispatcher.”

The watchman had told him to contact the dispatcher.

Gunnar stood on his tiptoes and peered in the window. A woman sat tapping away at her computer.

“I’m here to pick up a load,” he said.

The woman looked down at him. “Company?”

“North Pole Enterprises.”

She looked at the computer. “Five twenty-five kilo sacks of powdered cinnamon?”

“Yes.”

“Order’s not finalized.”

“What?”

“No delivery date or record of payment.”

“I’m picking it up.” Gunnar slipped the credit card through the window.

“Okay.” She took the card. “I got to find somebody to fetch it. Pull into forty-two. On the other side.” She shoved some paperwork at him.

Gunnar found loading bay forty-two in a back corner and sat down to wait.

A forklift halted. “Where’s your truck?”

“Isn’t here yet.”

“How’m I supposed to load this?”

“Just leave it. We’ll load it.”

“If you’re sure…” He dropped the pallet and took off.

Gunnar glanced around. No one was watching.

He opened the backpack and shoved it near to the topmost sack.

Whoosh. Into the backpack.

When all the sacks were loaded, he picked up the backpack by the broken strap and left the same way he came in.

Time to let Astrid know he was starting back.

First, however, he’d go switch his coat for Jerry’s flimsy jacket.

Back at the bridge, Jerry argued for a bit, but when Gunnar insisted, snuggled into the warm coat. It fit perfectly.

Jerry’s jacket had a stale, funky odor.

Gunnar pulled out the satellite phone and extended the antenna.

Several messages. He winced. More problems? He’d deal with them later. He called Astrid.

“Gunnar?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been trying to call you.”

Gunnar flinched. We? “The phone was turned off.”

“You get the cinnamon?” she asked.

“Yep.”

“Okay. Leave the phone on. I need your coordinates.”

“What?”

“I have orders to go pick you up.”

Gunnar’s stomach lurched. “Who decided that?”

“Santa.”

“He knows?”

“Sure. You’re gone for days. Just before Christmas. Everybody noticed.”

“Everybody?” Detrick? His mother?

“Yep. Hang on.”

In a little while, a flash showed in the sky. It circled around, slowed and settled next to him.

Astrid. In a large cargo sleigh pulled by a team of sturdy reindeer.

Lucy barked.

Gunnar glanced back at the shelter to see Jerry, wrapped in the warm coat, gawking. “Maybe time to lay off the booze,” he muttered.

Her ears perked forward, Astrid urged, “Get in.”

Gunnar climbed up.

Jerry waved. “’Bye, Shorty. Thanks for the coat.”

“’Bye Jerry,” Gunnar called back.

Astrid shook the reins and the sleigh climbed into the sky.

She sniffed. “You need a bath.”

The sleigh steadied.

Gunnar tossed the backpack over his shoulder.

And the hat. His scalp itched and his ears unfolded painfully.

He bent down to unlace the boots.

The knife, still in his bib pocket, jabbed him. He extracted it and flung it over his shoulder.

A brown cloud of dust swirled around them. Gunnar inhaled sharply.

Cinnamon.

Had the knife sliced open a cinnamon sack?

Astrid sneezed. Gunnar sneezed. Then the reindeer sneezed.

The sleigh jerked.

They swooped down and landed in the square of Santa’s Village.

Elves surrounded the square.

Santa and Mrs. Claus stood in front of the town hall.

Detrick stood next to them, clipboard in his hand. His ears lay back tight against his head.

And Gunnar’s mother. The tips of her trembling ears wilted forward halfway down her cheeks.

Detrick sniffed the air. “Is that the cinnamon? That Gunnar went to pick up?”

“It’s the old cinnamon,” Astrid said. “Tate loaded it into the sleigh to take back to the train. One sack ripped open.”

She held the backpack up. “Tate? Take this cinnamon.”

Tate hurried forward.

Gunnar sat in the sleigh, wishing he could disappear into the leather upholstery on the seat.

Santa shook his head. “Quite an adventure, young elf. Do you have anything to say?”

Gunnar’s sore ears drooped. “No, sir.”

Her face stiff, Gunnar’s mother crept up beside him. She was holding back tears. “Come on, son. A warm bath. A good supper. And a rest.”

He climbed clumsily out of the sleigh, his stocking feet sinking into the snow.

Detrick drew himself up. “We have some issues to discuss.”

Gunnar froze.

“Later,” Santa said. “We have a Christmas to prepare for.”

Detrick’s ears stood sharp and stiff. “Have you learned anything, Gunnar?”

Gunnar looked down at his wet feet.

“I hope we all did.” Santa’s eyes twinkled. “We don’t need to solve problems alone. We need to help one another. And…” Here he looked at Detrick. “We need to make sure we are approachable and supportive of one another.”

Detrick’s ears folded back. He nodded, and the arm holding the clipboard dropped down next to his side.

Mrs. Claus smiled. “Go with your mother, Gunnar. Tomorrow morning we will need our cookie-components-coordinator well-rested and ready to tackle cinnamon stars.”

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