Chapter 25 — A New Legend
The Tavern of Lost Causes is warm again.
That alone feels like a miracle worth writing down.
Snow whispers at the windows. Firelight climbs the walls and refuses to come down. Cinnamon lives in the same air as old ale and neither complains. Someone has polished the brass sign over the door so it sits straight for once. It reads very simply:
Welcome Back.
We take the same table we always pretend not to favor.
Same scars. Same stains. Same notch in the edge where a knife learned humility. Chuck hangs the red coat on the peg by the hearth and it behaves itself. No heat in the seams. No guilt in the cloth.
Just a coat… resting.
I climb onto my stool, ledger open, quill ready. Dax claims the chair by the fire, one bare foot on the hearth, the other already losing a fight with gravity. He snores with the confidence of an evolu who has once again postponed maturity.
The cigar rides safe in his waistband.
Polka-dotted boxers, of course. No boots. Never boots.
Chuck wraps both hands around a mug and lets the steam do the talking. “So,” he says, eyes on the flames, “is this the part where I draft a profound ending?”
“Readers adore closure,” I say, wetting the nib. “Also pithy last lines. Preferably quotable on tea towels.”
He smirks into his drink. “They also expect Santa to be jolly.”
“We cannot always honor expectation,” I say. “But we can honor truth.”
He studies the reflection of the fire in the surface of his tea. It is steady and whole. “Truth and I had a complicated marriage,” he says. “I ran from it. Then I tried to rewrite it.” He lifts the mug. “Now… it is simply a story.”
“That will do,” I say. I don’t write it yet. I let the sentence cool.
The coat by the hearth gathers a little light. Not magic. Comfort. If you sit very still, you can feel the room unclench.
The door opens and snow comes in with a handful of people attached. Families. Travelers. The sort who arrive with faces that look like maps and relax when the smell of bread draws its neat little circle around their shoulders. A girl slips out from the group and makes for the hearth, cheeks pink, hair crusted with honest winter.
She stops at our table. Looks from me to the coat to the man with the quiet eyes.
“Mister,” she says, voice careful in holy places. “Is Santa real?”
Around us the tavern pauses. Spoons hover. A chair creaks and then remembers its manners. Dax’s snore hiccups and turns into a fake cough.
My quill waits above the page, afraid to ruin anything.
Chuck sets the mug down. He leans forward, elbows on wood worn smooth by years of stories. His smile is warm without being clever.
“Turns out,” he says, “I know for a fact that he is, indeed, real, little one.”
The girl’s grin wakes the room. She pivots on the balls of her feet and runs back to her people, whispering the news to a mother who pretends not to worry.
Above the hearth, the red coat answers with a single breath of gold.
Once.
Dax opens one eye. “You think she’ll believe it?”
“She already does,” Chuck says. “That’s enough.”
I let my quill touch the paper.
Entry: the wizard who made Santa, broke the world…then fixed it by forgiving himself. Turns out forgiveness makes the best kind of magic.
I close the ledger and feel its warmth through the leather.
“You realize it will turn into myth again,” I say. “That is how useful truth survives.”
“Good,” Chuck says, leaning back until the chair considers and then accepts it. “Let it. We could use more legends that tell the truth.”
The fire pops. The windowpanes hum with wind that means no harm. Outside, bells test their voices and decide to keep singing for a while.
A tavern maid arrives with bread the size of her forearm and sets it down with the authority of a priest. Chuck tears a piece and hands it to me first.
That’s new.
Dax wakes enough to steal the crusts and declares himself a hero.
That is not new.
We eat and drink and let the room decide where to put us.
“Now we just need a hero to fix all the truly big problems,” he says. “In the meantime, we can fix a few wrongs, tell the truth., and get some sleep.” He looks at the door like it owes him. “Teach people to give without someone watching.”
“That last part ruins my business model,” I say.
“You’ll survive,” he smirks.
“Regrettably,” I say.
Dax leans back so far his chair decides to gamble and loses. He hits the floor, bounces once, and sits up with dignity. “Don’t put that in the book,” he says.
“I am writing it down with mercy,” I say. “Which is to say… very large letters.”
Laughter loosens the rafters. Stew bowls clink. A fiddle player finally wins the argument with his strings and coaxes something sweet into the room.
I catch Chuck listening with his eyes closed.
A man who misplaced peace and found it again does not brag.
When the music ends, he stands and takes the coat from the peg. He folds it once and lays it across the chair by the fire like a guest who intends to stay on good terms. He slips his palm over the pocket and the coal answers with a small faithful warmth.
“Time to walk home,” he says.
“You leavin’ that?” Dax asks, already pulling his chair upright.
“Yes,” Chuck says, and the answer fits. With a snap of his fingers, his dragon cane floats through the hearth and into his waiting hand. With the other hand, he makes a waving gesture and a wide rim, pointy gray hat appears. “I have an image to maintain.”
He flips the hat up onto his head.
We step outside together into a snowfall. Smoke climbs the straight air.
Behind us, the tavern settles into its new old shape. The sign over the door shines without demanding attention. Inside, in the warm the fire has decided to share, the red coat is placed on its peg, quiet and sure.
Someone will look up from their stew later and see it, and smile, and say nothing.
By then the little girl from earlier will be home, telling the story to a mother who does not argue, to a grandmother who nods, to a brother who pretends not to listen and listens anyway. Someday her children will ask, and she will say what she believes about Santa…and knows without needing proof.
Give a little more.
Forgive a little sooner.
Believe a little longer.
That is how magic lives when it has nothing left to prove.
Dax shoves his cigar behind his ear and declares himself off duty.
Chuck laughs without flinching.
We walk.
The snow goes on falling. The light goes on being kind.
And the legend does what good legends do…
It begins again.
EMPLOYMENT AGREEMENT FOR HISTORICAL RECORDING SERVICES
Between Morphiophelius Smith (the “Employer”) and Höbin Luckyfeller (the “Historian”)
Effective Date: The First Day of Yule, Year of Whatever Frostbite Fancies
RECITALS
WHEREAS, Morphiophelius Smith, also known in certain circles and warrants as “Chuck,” a duly self-proclaimed mägo (wizard of unpredictable temperament and reputable mischief), desires to engage the professional services of Höbin Luckyfeller, esteemed gnome historian, author, and chronicler of both sensible and improbable events (collectively, the “Historian”);
AND WHEREAS, the Employer seeks an accurate, complete, and occasionally humiliating record of his deeds, misdeeds, and related magical activities during one (1) Holiday Season (the “Term”);
AND WHEREAS, the Historian, being of sound mind, sturdy quill hand, and marginal self-preservation instinct, agrees to accept such engagement under the terms and conditions set forth herein;
NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the mutual covenants, promises, and hazards contained herein, the parties agree as follows:
ARTICLE I — DEFINITIONS
1.1 “Insight Juice” shall refer to a single (1) vial of enchanted liquid, brewed by the Employer, which upon consumption shall grant the Historian empathic and telepathic resonance with the Employer’s emotions, intentions, and elevated stress levels while within a proximity of fifty (50) feet.
1.2 “Events” shall mean all activities, incidents, and occurrences involving the Employer during the Term, whether mundane, miraculous, or catastrophically inconvenient.
1.3 “Holiday Season” shall mean the continuous span beginning upon the first official snowfall and concluding upon the ceremonial extinguishing of the last post-solstice fruitcake, unless otherwise extended by magical necessity.
ARTICLE II — TERMS OF EMPLOYMENT
2.1 The Employer hereby engages the Historian for the duration of one (1) Holiday Season, and the Historian hereby accepts said engagement under the following conditions:
(a) Consumption of Insight Juice. The Historian shall, prior to commencing duties, ingest the aforementioned vial of Insight Juice, accepting all associated side effects including, but not limited to, heightened empathy, spontaneous emotional monologues, and mild facial twitching.
(b) Accuracy of Record. The Historian shall faithfully record all Events, omitting no detail, embellishing no account, and refraining from the willful fudging, dramatization, or omission of any fact, dialogue, or embarrassing wardrobe malfunction.
(c) Diligence. The Historian shall be the first awake and the last asleep each day during the Term, maintaining continuous observation and accurate notation of all Events of relevance, significance, or comedic potential.
(d) Access to Journals. The Historian shall be granted unrestricted access to all personal journals, grimoires, doodles, or magical diaries belonging to the Employer that pertain to the Events in question.
(e) Proximity and Presence. The Historian shall accompany the Employer wherever he may go, whether through snowstorm, temporal rift, infernal banquet, or spontaneous dimension-hop, regardless of physical danger, moral hazard, or lack of plumbing.
ARTICLE III — COMPENSATION AND BENEFITS
3.1 In exchange for faithful and reckless service rendered, the Employer shall provide the Historian with the following:
(a) Expenses. All living, travel, lodging, and medical (pre- and post-mortem) expenses incurred during the Term.
(b) Supplies. An unlimited supply of parchment, paper, ink, and pens, with rune-protected journals to ensure legibility, permanence, and flame resistance (within reason).
(c) Compensation. A daily stipend of one hundred (100) gold coins, payable for each day of completed work, defined as “notes taken, arranged, and expanded upon in chronological order,” provided said notes are not illegible or entirely composed of expletives.
(d) Funeral Provisions. In the unfortunate event of the Historian’s demise, the Employer shall bear all funeral and interdimensional repatriation expenses, including, but not limited to:
Disintegration, combustion, implosion, or partial vaporization;
Falling, crushing, freezing, melting, drowning, or devouring (sentient or otherwise);
Transmutation into flora, fauna, or emotional baggage;
Curse, hex, or poetic irony.
(e) Royalties and Residuals. Should the recorded Events be adapted for stage, screen, or otherworldly broadcast (including but not limited to “motion pictures in Hollywood”), the Historian shall receive co-publishing rights and a three and one-half percent (3.5%) share of all merchandising, franchise, and souvenir profits derived therefrom.
(f) Acknowledgment. Upon successful completion of duties, and subject to the Employer’s personal satisfaction, the Historian shall receive one (1) genuine, heartfelt pat on the back, delivered without sarcasm, hesitation, or protective gloves.
ARTICLE IV — WARRANTIES AND COVENANTS
4.1 The Historian warrants that he possesses the physical stamina, moral fortitude, and questionable judgment necessary to perform the obligations herein.
4.2 The Employer warrants that he will not intentionally lead the Historian into danger without first warning him with the customary phrase, “Duck.”
4.3 Both parties agree to hold each other harmless for emotional distress arising from the effects of the Insight Juice, particularly in cases of unintentional telepathic overshare, mental feedback loops, or mutual crying.
ARTICLE V — CONFIDENTIALITY AND PUBLICATION RIGHTS
5.1 The Historian shall maintain strict confidentiality of all personal revelations, magical formulas, or embarrassing dreams disclosed by the Employer during the Term, except insofar as such information is relevant to the faithful recording of the Events.
5.2 The Historian retains the right to publish his account upon completion of duties, provided such publication honors the factual accuracy stipulated in Article II(b) and does not exceed the bounds of good taste, narrative pacing, or common decency (as loosely defined).
ARTICLE VI — TERM AND TERMINATION
6.1 This Agreement shall commence upon the Historian’s first sip of the Insight Juice and shall conclude automatically at the cessation of the Holiday Season, unless extended by mutual consent or court-mandated sequel.
6.2 Early termination may occur only upon (a) the mutual death of both parties; (b) the irreversible destruction of all recording materials; or (c) the Historian’s transformation into an inanimate object incapable of transcription.
ARTICLE VII — MISCELLANEOUS
7.1 This Agreement constitutes the entire understanding between the parties and supersedes all prior oral or written negotiations, drunken promises, or telepathic agreements.
7.2 Any amendment must be made in writing, signed by both parties, and notarized by a third-party cleric of unimpeachable reputation (or at least decent penmanship).
7.3 This Agreement shall be governed by the Laws of Narrative Continuity and the Common Sense Statutes of Elämä.
7.4 In the event of dispute, arbitration shall be conducted by a neutral party of elvish descent with a minimum of two hundred (200) years of patience.
SIGNATURES
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, the parties hereto have executed this Agreement as of the date first written above:
Morphiophelius “Chuck” Smith
(Employer / mägo of Questionable Sanity)
____________________________________
Höbin Luckyfeller
(Historian / Gnome of Mild Regret)
____________________________________
Witnessed by:
____________________________________
Dax
(Totally Unqualified Observer)
APPENDIX A — CLARIFICATION OF POTION CONTENTS
Subnote: Should the Historian detect a hair in the Insight Juice, said hair is confirmed to originate from the Employer’s beard. It poses no hazard, imparts minor wisdom, and is included unintentionally. Sorry about that.
— Chuck
…AND WHAT’S CHRISTMAS WITHOUT A PRESENT?
I just…wanted to give you something extra.
Maybe something for the younger kids, or if you’re a kid at heart, it’s the right thing for you.
Coloring pages.
From me to you.
All you have to do is download the PDF and print them off.
…as many times as you want.
Share them around.
Love you tons,
Merry Christmas
Jaime
I liked it and certainly might be worth binge reading, again. I'm a little like ole Butterbur, from Lord of the Rings, "where given enough time, I can see through walls," so at times I wasn't exactly sure what was going on (or why it was going on, maybe). But, you maintained the emotional voice and that kept it together for me. Thanks for the story!
Hope you had a good Christmas & wish you the best in the new year.
What a wonderful Christmas story! Merry Christmas to you and yours!