Toymaker, page 18
“He will journey to the top of the world, the first human to venture into our home. And we will accept him as one of our own.” There were audible gasps, clutching of sleeves. “He will be the first of his kind to discover us. This will be the beginning. Many like him will follow. We cannot stop what will come.”
The elf in the red coat leaned over. Jocah raised her hand to stop whatever he was saying. Nog and Merry stood up to restore order, as gossip, good and bad, was already spreading.
“We have seen humanity grow,” the Toymaker said. “I have seen what they will accomplish. There will be great feats. Soon they will communicate with devices that reach around the world. They will launch stars into space to watch Earth. They will fly in vehicles, soar through clouds. Build homes that pierce the sky.”
While some elven gasped, many more burst into laughter. Avery imagined hearing such predictions at a time when humanity travelled by horse and wagon, plowed fields with oxen and built homes with logs. An airplane was impossible.
“Humanity will create their own magic.” He slid around the perimeter. “Their technology will forge dreams into artificial realities. Without the wisdom to govern and protect such a gift, they will be capable of beginnings. And endings.”
Bubbles streamed from his hands, each containing miniature scenes—people and castles, reindeer and snowmen. It delighted the youth, too young to understand the weight of the Toymaker’s words.
“These endings will not be the endings of dreams. But of something much more.”
The bubbles burst in unison, showering the young ones reaching for them with glittering fairies fading into ashes.
“They won’t realize their dreams will become much more than dreams.”
“Become what?” The elf in the red coat spoke, his voice amplified.
The Toymaker stopped. He shook his head, as if he didn’t know. Avery suspected he didn’t want to share with the colony. “I am the keeper of the gift. One day, it will be taken from me.”
There was a collective gasp. Even the youth felt the gravity of his pronouncement. They stood and shuffled, called out and shouted. Who would do this? Why?
Jocah raised her hand. “What do you propose, Toymaker?”
He looked at the marble, the silky white magic hovering in his hands. “I must hide the gift.”
“Okay, all right.” The elf in the red coat stood up, his voice booming. Guttural laughter erupted from his belly with remarkable effect, spreading palpable joy. Ho-ho-ho. It soothed their concern, stirred the celebratory mood. “The council will take this into consideration. In the meantime, we celebrate this time of year as we have for centuries. Brothers and sisters, to the ice!”
He raised his hand. The crowd cheered, hesitant at first. Ho-ho-ho! They comforted each other, forgot about what would come someday, sliding into the aisles, gifts in hands. Nog and Merry joined them. A song spontaneously rose, harmonizing. Avery felt it in her chest, the goodness it possessed. The pure joy of the moment.
The elf in the red coat nodded at Jocah, then turned to the Toymaker. “This was not the time or place,” he said grimly.
The room shimmered and disappeared. The ceiling was engulfed by swirling bands of green and red mist. The backdrop of a night sky dusted with stars. A lunar spotlight turned the snowy landscape bluish white. Something crossed the face of the full moon, pedaling four legs.
The Toymaker watched it recede.
On the ice, far away, elven were picking up remnants of a celebration. Giants were among them, massive snowy things with thick arms and legs: abominable snowmen swept up bits of wrapping paper. The elven appeared to fall through the snow, disappearing into the ice. They helped each other, arm in arm, swaying as they sang. The song faded as they fell, one by one.
The Toymaker walked in the opposite direction. Avery followed until he stopped and turned, one last glance. Then the snow caved in below them.
Avery tumbled into darkness. An icy slide slung her with greater momentum, spun her on her back like a disc, arms and legs flung wide. She came to a stop, staring at a low-hung ceiling, bluish and smooth.
It was a cluttered room. Shelves and boxes, crates and bags. Parts and pieces, shiny and dull. Plastic legs and fuzzy smiles. Blinking lights and things she’d never seen. The Toymaker was next to her. His coat hung at the end of a workbench. A single gray braid, as thick as mooring rope, lay across his back and touched the floor. He smelled like cinnamon. A green floppy hat on his head, the little bell ringing as he looked down at her.
She held still, feeling like this time he would see her, that this wasn’t a virtual environment and, somehow, she wasn’t in her bedroom anymore. He reached under the bench, tossing a blanket aside, and heaved out a box from hiding. Clearing space, little items tinkling onto the floor, he put the box on the bench.
She scrambled onto hands and knees, the ceiling far too low for her to stand, and watched him hold the marble between finger and thumb. He put it to his eye like a looking glass. His head was heavy as he reached into the box.
One at a time, he placed toys on the bench.
A little doll with a red coat and a white beard. He sat it down, legs out, and poked the doll’s stuffed belly. The arms were open for a hug. Next was another doll, this one about half the size of the first one, made of some sort of hard yet moldable plastic. It looked like an elf, but bald. Not a single hair on head or chin. And, more strikingly, he was blue. Third was a Christmas ornament. It was a heavy orb with strange patterns etched around it. It was bigger than the marble. He set it next to the blue elf.
The Toymaker consulted the marble.
Fourth was something from a science fiction movie: a slender android with flexible arms, its skin dull gray and featureless. Only the bump of a nose hinted at a face. He bent the arms as if it beckoned to help.
Fifth was a tiny box from a jeweler, but made of fire-red cardboard. He positioned it next to the android and stood back, then pressed it like a doorbell. A blue flame ignited from the top. Avery expected the box to catch fire. There was no wick, no candle wax. Perhaps it contained oil, but the flame seemed to hover above it.
Next was a plastic toy that required both hands to lift. Its antlers spread like daggered shields. The eyes were angry. The Toymaker bent the reindeer’s head slightly as if it were protecting the others. Lastly, a stuffed panda with emerald eyes that captured the flickering flame.
The Toymaker stood back, stubby fingers buried in his beard. He nudged the toys this way and that, looking for a specific pattern. Like a child setting up a tea party, the guests had to be just right. He stared into the marble once more and, after one final adjustment, placed a skinny holder in front of them. Delicately, he placed the marble where a candle would go.
He slid away.
It looked like something a child would do with their toys after Christmas. They were a strange lot, none of them looking like they had anything to do with the other. The first one he put down, the red coat and white beard, was unmistakable. It was the first Avery had seen of the jolly fat man. Santa hadn’t been mentioned in any of the clues.
A man will come to us one day.
Santa hadn’t arrived at the North Pole yet. No one had travelled to the top of the world yet, which meant this took place long before 1800.
“This isn’t real,” she muttered.
The Toymaker, standing at another bench, didn’t hear her speak. He had a rolling pin with an assortment of containers, spices and such, humming as he cut a shape from dough, his mood elevated. He said a few things, as one would talk to oneself. Then he sprinkled what looked like cinnamon and flowed like pixie dust.
As strange as everything was, this was, for some reason, the strangest. The cookie peeled itself off the bench and stood up. It had a white icing bow tie and a white icing smile. It blinked round eyes. The Toymaker stood back.
“Off ye go.”
The cookie sprang up like a wild animal, shooting around the room, tumbling through piles of ribbon and tearing through sheets of wrapping paper. And then voooom up an icy ramp. It was gone.
The Toymaker appeared pleased. He paused, looked around and, for a moment, looked directly at Avery. A chill took hold of her, as if she’d been caught. She thought maybe he winked, then straightened his green floppy hat. The little bell rang. He took careful steps, slowly inching his way up the slope, the soles of his disproportionate feet grabbing the ice.
Avery followed, grabbing at the walls, slipping her way to the surface. The Toymaker was waiting at the top. The sky was streaked with color. The abominable snowmen were gone. Far away, one elven remained on the ice, her coat as white as snow. She watched the Toymaker begin walking in the opposite direction.
At some point, he took the green hat off, carried it by his side. And just before the clue ended, she saw it slip from his hand. And bury in the snow.
17
They came wearing puffy coats and winter caps with earflaps. Boots and snow pants, the kind that made plastic noise when they walked. Some with snowsuits that zipped up the front. Fat gloves, long scarves, backpacks with bottles inside pockets, and ski poles dangling from hooks. They greeted each other with hugs and handshakes, drank coffee from mugs and talked about the beautiful morning. They studied maps, which they all seemed to have. None of them, though, not that Avery could see, were short and fat.
Avery opened her bedroom door. Bradley’s door was open. His bed made without a wrinkle. The pajamas folded and stacked. There were more people downstairs, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of conversation. She went back to her room and paced around the rug. The little black eyes watched her from the corners. Time was speeding like a sleigh down the side of a mountain. She checked her bracelet, pinched her arm.
“Jenks,” she said.
He appeared, just like that. A boy with a hole in his sock. Standing like a butler awaiting instructions. He was a multidirectional projection beaming from the corners of the room. She waved her hand through him, just to confirm she wasn’t dreaming about the other day. She pinched herself again.
“He doesn’t want the Toymaker,” she said. “BT wants the gift.”
Jenks didn’t nod. She didn’t expect him to. He just listened to her explain what she’d seen in the clues. The way the silky magic had seeped from Toymaker’s hands. She looked out the window. The sun was still hours from breaching the mountains. There, among the growing crowd, a short, bearded man waddled through the powder snow, wearing a turtleneck sweater.
“Hugo was born in the cabin,” she said. “I saw what the Toymaker did: he passed the gift to him just before he was born.” Jenks listened patiently. “But you already knew that.”
“BT wants to use the gift,” he said.
“For what?”
He thought for a moment. She wondered if he was thinking or just calculating. “BT wants what everyone wants,” he said. “To wake up.”
Wake up? She didn’t expect that answer. “You mean, like, cross the veil?”
That’s what Bradley was saying before he turned nice. Something about finding the Toymaker before BT broke the veil.
“The veil,” she said, “Bradley said it was like a membrane. And if it gets damaged, like if something crosses over, then it just… it’ll pop.”
He didn’t answer. Either he didn’t know, or there was something he wasn’t telling her. And, given how things had already gone, it was the latter.
“What happened to Bradley?” she said. “He’s different.”
“Would you recognize your brother if he was lost?”
“Can you just answer a question?” Her frustration bubbled over. She paced the room. She couldn’t see Mom or Dad, but there were so many people trampling the snow with big hats and oversized glasses.
“I saw the last clue.” She picked up the hiwires. “The Toymaker was in this ice cave, but it was more like a workshop. Then he left for good. But before that, he, uh.” She struggled to remember, like a fading dream. “He lined up these toys, little figurines from a box. He was planning something. The gingerbread cookie… it ran away. It’s all connected, isn’t it? The Toymaker, Nana, the toys. Am I right?”
“It has been a long time in the making.”
“Because it wasn’t enough for the Toymaker to hide the gift. He saw something in that marble. He couldn’t tell the elven what he was going to do. Not even Santa.”
She felt the floor bending, like reality tilting. She just said Santa like it really happened. Santa had found the Toymaker at the cabin when Hugo was born. He came for Toymaker, but the Toymaker had already hidden the gift.
If Avery believed there really was a gift, if she believed elven lived on the North Pole, then she had to believe Santa Claus did, too. She had to believe in flying reindeer.
“And the plan,” she said, “it all leads up to now. This Christmas. What’s going to happen?”
“I do not know.” He answered that time. Which meant he knew everything she’d said so far.
“So what are you supposed to do? I mean, Nana or Hugo made you, right? You said you’re part of the plan. What are you supposed to do, exactly?”
“There have been many parts to play and places to be before this day. Centuries in the making. The Toymaker put all the pieces on the table. We had to make it happen.”
“Make what happen?”
“This day.”
“Where is he, then? Where is the Toymaker?”
“The Toymaker is here.”
“I saw Santa take him from the cabin. He took him to the North Pole. But his hat was missing. I-I-I saw him drop it in the snow when he left the North Pole. Hugo is still here, that means I’m right. Santa doesn’t know Hugo is the Toymaker.” She shook her head, hearing the things she was saying. She was all in. Santa, reindeer, everything. And now she was asking a computer to, like, call the North Pole on a secret Santa phone to report the missing Toymaker. Dear Santa, Hugo is the Toymaker. Come get him so he’s safe.
Someone shouted instructions from the stage. It was Aunt Mag under all that winter gear. Mom and Dad must be in the crowd. Avery clutched her hiwires. If any of this was real, then there was a way to let them know. Bradley came here early because he believed the Toymaker was in the area. So he knew. That meant other people in the Hunt might know, too. But do they know what is going to happen?
She knew where the answers were.
“Can you watch the stairs?” she said. “I’m going to the library. I need to see the Hunt.”
“You can—”
“It’s my only chance! We’ll be hiking and camping, and something’s going to happen out there.”
“You can see the Hunt right here.” He reached for her hands, as if he could hold them. “You are the book.”
“The book is in the library, Jenks.”
“The entrance to that world is right here, Avery.” He tapped his head.
The hiwires are special, she thought. He’d taken her to the library the first time, and she’d followed Bradley there the second time. She thought it was the book, the one titled The Hunt, that was the entrance. But it was the hiwires that took her to the Hunt.
“Quickly,” he said. “There is not much time.”
She didn’t know where her phone was to check the time. The hike was starting soon. She locked the door. The hiwires fell on the rug. She rushed to open them.
“How do I do it?” she said.
“Just imagine,” he said. “Feel where it is.”
She didn’t know what that meant, but she closed her eyes. The snow and trees, the way the sky felt, the crisp air on her nose. The magic that tasted wintergreen and sparkly when she inhaled. Her cheeks tightened. Her legs tingled. The wind passed through her hair. When she slid the hiwires on, she entered the white space.
Massive tree trunks appeared. A blanket of snow covered the undergrowth, branches and twigs poking out. Pinecones dangled like frosted ornaments. She raised her arm, her fingers already stiffening. The snowflake on her wrist was red.
“Just like that.” Jenks was next to her, snow halfway up his shins.
“It feels different.”
She didn’t think it was possible, to feel realer than it had before. But she felt everything down to her bones. The wind and cold, the smell of the trees. Everything was alive, even the air she breathed. It’s real in there, Av, Bradley had said. So real that this, right now, feels like a dream.
“The veil is thinning,” he said.
The snow around her feet was crawling. Green things poked through the surface. She stooped down, tried to brush the snow away, but it wouldn’t move. It wasn’t ants marching below the surface. It was plastic army men.
There was a long line of them. They hauled each other over logs, locked arms to pull those who fell too deep, forming a chain of little plastic toys with little plastic weapons. Branches snapped behind her. A teddy bear was caught in a tangle of wiry vines. Thorns snagged the matted fur as it slowly tried to pull away, pushing with the blunt end of a muddy arm to escape, only to dig itself deeper. Stuffing puffed from a torn seam.
Avery tried to help, but, like everything in this world, she couldn’t free the little bear. Like Jenks, she could only watch. There were other toys. They migrated from deep in the woods. A small plastic doll without clothing, face scuffed and smudged with bright colors from thick markers. A big-wheeled truck missing a back tire. A blue octopus with fabric legs and big round eyes and a joyless smile.
They helped each other through the woodsy maze, pushing rubber vehicles out of holes, tossing gremlins over obstacles. The blue octopus held the vines while a plastic baby doll shoved the teddy bear out of the barbed vine.
“Where are they going?” she said.
Jenks wasn’t next to her. There were no tracks in the snow. When she lifted her foot, it didn’t leave a hole. She thought, for a moment, he’d vanished. Then she saw him up ahead where the toys were, walking alongside the undulating snow where the plastic army men were tunneling. She worked around the dense trees, searched for openings till the forest opened up.
