The Elf Coup - Book Three of The Magi Charter

The Elf Coup

Jordan David

Copyright 2019 Jordan David,

All rights reserved.

Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com

http://www.eBookIt.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0926-9

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

The Magi Charter

by Jordan David



The Elf Brief

The Elf Archive

The Elf Coup

The Elf Accord

The Elf Legacy

The Elf Resistance

The Elf Directive

The Elf Sojourn

- Contents -

Chapter 1

Summer Storms

Chapter 2

The Summons

Chapter 3

Lending Assistance

Chapter 4

The Alpine Expedition

Chapter 5

The Diplomat and the Scholar

Chapter 6

Confrontations

Chapter 7

Chef Cider

Chapter 8

Learning Curves

Chapter 9

North Star

Chapter 10

Destinies: Part 1

Chapter 11

Los Angeles Land

Chapter 12

Coming Home

Chapter 13

Soap & Mud

Chapter 14

The Elf Czar

Chapter 15

Lessons Taught, Secrets Learned

Chapter 16

To Go Beyond

Chapter 17

Destinies: Part 2

Chapter 18

The Intervention

Chapter 19

Recollections and Expectations

- Glossary -



Chapter 1

*

Summer Storms

The sun was hot. Not a cloud in the sky to shade the two youths that made their way down the stifling asphalt road. It was late afternoon, and they had been walking for over two hours without seeing a single vehicle since leaving the small town of Amber Stone. On either side of the two-lane road were endless sunflower fields. Silos and barns in the distance were the only sign of civilization here. Rare was the tree; shrubs and bushes were scrawny things. This part of southwest Kansas had not seen a decent rainfall in weeks.

We should have opened the portal closer, complained the lass of twelve. She was short and more heavy set then her companion. The heat took a particular toll on her as evidenced by the streams of sweat running down her face.

The lad grunted and twisted around to frown at her. "For what? We had to start in the town." He was a tall and slender lad of fourteen, who the heat was no more a bother for than the hike. It was all part of the job. Regardless, both were more accustomed to cooler climates.

There was no sense in complaining. The lass knew this. They’d spent the entire morning in the town gathering the information that sent them down this lonely road. Fields of sunflowers, huge golden flowers as far as the eye could see were the primary crop in this part of the state. Idly, the lass thought about taking one of those sunflower heads, the size of a dinner plate, back as a souvenir when it came time to depart.

At last a mailbox was coming into view. A large wooden box thing shaped like a house on a metal pole. It was nice to be able to see something other than fields and road and sky. The driveway the mailbox sat beside led up to a plain white and green farmhouse. Just like the mailbox, the house had seen better days as evidenced by the faded paint and general worn out appearance. On the mailbox were large letters; the name of the family who owned the farm. Neither could read the local language here. However, the townsfolk had been very clear on which house they sought. The two stopped a moment taking water bottles from their backpacks. It was a welcomed break. Now their real work was about to begin…

This should be the Gust residence. They started up the driveway keeping a sharp eye on the house for any signs of life. A large covered porch took up most of the front. A tall shade tree, one of the few in the region, was the dominant feature of the yard. The farmhouse was surrounded by fields. Large open areas of brown dying crops, not so much from the drought, but more like neglect. It appeared the farm had not been properly run in years. Weeds and wild plants grew rampant. The sunflowers that grew along the lush fields near the road hid well the true state of a farm that’s prime had long passed.

As they neared the house, a dog emerged from its doghouse to bark at them. A large white shaggy animal, its collar chained to the shelter beneath the shade tree. A woman came to the screen door to see what had upset the dog. Seeing the children drawing near the porch she came out.

Otto hush! She scolded the dog. An elderly woman, she smiled at the two children and invited them to come up on the porch out of the sun. The dog stopped barking but continued to growl at the intruders.

Grateful for the shade, the pair went up the steps. From up here a storm was visible gathering on the horizon. Dark clouds unleashing lightning bolts were a stark contrast to the sunny skies overhead. Amber Stone would get its rain soon enough. They took seats on the porch, wicker furniture that must be as old as the woman as evidenced from all the creaking and moaning as they sat.

I don’t recognize you kids; not lost, are you? The woman asked them.

No, no, the boy answered. We’re working on a project for school. I’m Herman, this is my sister, Almira.

Almira shot him a look. This was not the first time they’d used such a ruse… it was part of the job, using disguises and false identities. But where did he come up with those names? She never gave him the okay to pick her name. Aliases were her specialty, not his.

Oh, I see… you go to Fleming Middle School then?

That’s right, Almira spoke up. Not that she had the faintest idea what the local schools were named in these parts.

The dog continued to growl and whimper at the two young visitors. Otto, you be quiet! These young-ins are all right. Sorry about that. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Usually, he loves strangers… Well, I’m Emma Gust, was there something I can help with on your project?

Actually yes, Herman replied, taking out a notepad from his pack. We…

Hold that thought… Herman? I need to go check on my mother. Be right back!

The woman hopped up and went back into the house. The lad and lass exchanged looks. Emma was by no means a young woman; her mother must be old indeed… A rolling peal of thunder was heard in the distance. The storm clouds were getting darker. Minutes passed with only the disapproving growls of Otto to break the silence. At least the porch was cooler than the road.

Finally, Emma reappeared carrying a tray of drinks. Pink lemonade? She offered the thirsty pair who accepted gladly. The glasses were cold and stuffed with ice. A perfect drink for a hot summer’s day. Now then, what’s this project?

Mmm… We are doing research on some local missing persons, Herman answered choosing his words carefully. Emma’s face went from enthusiastic to concerned as soon as she heard the subject. Do you have a sister… that’s missing?

Emma frowned staring down into her glass. Her mood had suddenly become as dark as the distant storm. The two children waited, hoping she would tell them something useful. It was… people still remember do they?

Yes… said Almira quickly, hoping to get Emma talking. Amber Stone is a small town… we don’t forget when one of our own goes missing.

Emma snorted. That’s not true. Folks were ready to give up searching almost immediately. It was all I could do to keep Glenda’s disappearance from fading. But they did forget. I haven’t heard anyone ask about my sister in… fifteen years…

I’m sorry, Herman muttered. Are you… do you remember what happened, why she left?

Why do you kids want to know about all this? What kind of project is this?

It’s about local missing people. Glenda was the first on our list… we just want to know what you remember. Almira explained patiently.

Emma took a long drink of pink lemonade as she considered the two young visitors. Otto was having trouble dividing his attention between the two on the porch and the gathering storm. The old woman set her glass down on the table and folded her hands while letting out a long sigh.

Glenda did not just pick up and leave. That’s probably what you heard. But it’s not true! She was tricked! I’m certain of it. Talked about getting some fancy job up north, Glenda did. Talked about it for months she did. When we asked her about details, she was never able to give any. Our father wanted to see this mysterious person Glenda claimed she met with regularly to discuss the job. But Glenda could never produce him.

Emma produced a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. After hushing Otto yet again, she continued. "It was not like Glenda. She had always talked about leaving home, seeing the world… but what girl doesn’t? Glenda was no girl mind; she was a woman grown near on forty when she disappeared. It was she who kept the farm going. She had a real knack for going over the books and keeping the business on track.

I say she was tricked! Whoever she was meeting with kidnapped her. If there had been a real job, she would have wrote us, called us, something! My sister would not have abandoned her family. Our folks were getting on in years when she disappeared. They couldn’t keep up with the farm, and I had no idea about running it, that was Glenda’s specialty. Besides, I had to take care of the folks, didn’t I? Well… the police didn’t try very hard… said not much they could do about a grown woman running off. But I know she didn’t, someone stole her away from us…

Emma blew her nose and apologized for getting upset. It had been so long since anyone had even asked about Glenda. The whole town had forgotten about the case, in truth the town was forgetting about the Gust homestead more and more every year. The farm was in danger of being lost for good.

Since Glenda… the farm has gone downhill. Our father, Henry died ten years back. Mother is not doing well these days. I just hope she’ll hold out to see Glenda come home. I know my sister is still alive. She’s out there somewhere! But if she does come home…

Emma broke down into more tears. Herman and Almira looked at each other. This was the crucial bit of information they had come for. Please, Emma… tell us… what if Glenda came home, what would happen?

Hmm? I’m sorry dears… Glenda? Why I’d run down that driveway and carry her back into the house in my own arms, I would! She’d be welcomed back of course! What did you think? I won’t give up on my sister. Though when she comes back, she’ll be in for a shock. Father’s passing, and the state of things here. I can’t keep the farm going much longer. We’re down to our last farmhand Zeek; he looks after things best he can. Another year… well, it’s no secret that crazy Marvel company is after folks to sell their land. Want to do some experimental farming… it’s all nonsense. I might not have much choice. If there’s a way to turn the farm around, Glenda could do it… but time’s running out. She’s got to come home to us soon!

A frail woman’s voice was calling for Emma from somewhere inside the house. The two children prepared to leave. Thank you for the lemonade and the information Emma, it will be most useful, said Herman.

Will it? Emma said lost in thought while collecting the glasses. Oh, it’s nice to know Glenda has not been forgotten. You kids better be quick and get home now, there’s going to be a storm tonight!

Don’t suppose you have any idea where Glenda disappeared to do you? Almira asked.

Emma paused with the screen door opened. Humph! Over the rainbow for all I know. Long as she finds her way home, I don’t care where she’s been! The woman snorted. She bid them goodbye and closed the door behind her.

Herman and Almira proceed back down the driveway to the road. Otto’s barking resumed the moment Emma was out of sight and followed them until they were back on the road. The two quickened their pace back to town. If they hurried, they would just miss the brunt of the storm, the cool wind at their backs made for a nice change. They discussed the success of their mission… indeed Glenda’s homecoming would be welcomed by more than just Emma to be sure. Thunder clapped in the distance, and the two laughed…

* * * * *

Arctic winds blew from out of the north, buffeting the sleigh and reindeer team mercilessly. The six reindeer were no strangers to harsh weather and had no trouble plowing through the increasingly dismal weather. It was late afternoon, and the sky was densely overcast with gray clouds. The sun a pale white ball looking more like the moon this day.

They had been traveling through the frozen wilderness landscape for hours. The two elves knew coming back would be especially slow going, taking more than twice the amount of time to return to the North Pole. Even longer if the weather continued to worsen as it was most likely to do. The wind whipped at them from all sides, particles of snow and ice sticking to everything and caking the sleigh and its occupants.

Hearth pulled the reindeer up to a stop. He threw off the blanket and jumped down to knock off the piles of snow from around the sleigh runners, then scrape out the snow from the cargo bed and lastly any ice from the front of the sleigh where the reigns were. The older lad took a good look at the reindeer’s legs and mouths too. No one wanted a frozen reindeer tripping up the team. In this weather, they could not afford to lose even one, especially once they picked up the cargo.

Hearth climbed back up into the driver seat. He wrapped the thick blankets around his legs and signaled for the team to start up again. This was not the first such stop he had made, nor would it be the last. Jingles Bell did not ask how the reindeer and sleigh looked. The younger lad stayed snuggled up on his side of the sleigh. If it had been a particularly bad ice buildup, Hearth would have called for him to help. It was simply faster if just one elf got out to do the chore.

Visibility was terrible. A whiteout in every direction. The sleigh glided over the snow smoothly enough. In this region, there was no chance of running into anything. Endless snow plains were all there was here. Not that anything was visible beyond a few dozen paces from the sleigh in this mess. Both elves were bundled up thoroughly. Thick fur-lined hats, goggles, and scarves protected their faces from the onslaught of snow and ice.

This far North a compass was useless. The cargo sleigh was equipped with basic electronics; a beacon to guide them back to the complex, and a radio in case of a real emergency. Their destination, however, had no such technologic signals to home in on. Good old-fashioned elf experience was the only way to find it. That is why Hearth drove, and Jingles sat hunkered down thinking only of staying warm and dry.

Hearth had been doing this run for nearly seventy years. Both elves were of the husbandry department. Hearth was not much of a conversationalist, even in the best of weather. Jingles had volunteered for this run and been permanently assigned as Hearth’s new partner at the beginning of the year. They had been on a dozen runs so far together. Hearth said that was very unusual. In a normal year, the cargo only had to be picked up a few times. The last ten years had seen a gradual increase in the frequency of trips and the amount of cargo picked up. In fact, they were driving the largest cargo sleigh the brown hats had available.

Jingles wondered if that is why Hearth’s former partner had resigned and left the North Pole last year. They had done this cargo run for over sixty years together. This was a desolate place to be frequenting; anyone would find it stressful. Hearth never wanted to talk about it. The young elf was finding it hard to imagine having to repeat this journey for so many decades to come. Perhaps he had made the wrong decision…

Jingles was still considered a young elf, having been at the North Pole just twenty years. He was thrilled to be able to work with the reindeer. At first. Then after the first few years, the novelty started to wear thin. Working with the reindeer was not the glamorous thrill that some elves thought it to be. For starters, you never got to fly them. At least he had yet to be able to do that. Mostly it consisted of feeding reindeer, moving reindeer from corral to stall, grooming and brushing reindeer, mucking out stalls, shoveling hay, moving supplies, cleaning out barns, etc. It was nonstop work. And that was all good and fine, except the whole point of working with reindeer was… well… flying the reindeer.

The wind whipped around the team, trying it’s best to push the sleigh off course. As if nature herself did not want the elves to complete their task. But Hearth was not to be fooled. The senior elf was a lad of twelve, a hard lad that had a seasoned manner about him. Jingles felt Hearth was less than happy with having such a young elf for a new partner. Doubtless, Hearth would prefer to do the route by himself. However, not even Hearth could load the cargo alone. And so, Jingles sat huddled under his blankets brooding.

As the clouds thickened overhead, the only light came from the red and green glow lanterns on either side of the sleigh. Jingles wanted to ask Hearth how he knew they were on the right path. Of course, they were on the right path, Hearth never got lost. The young elf had leapt at the chance to go on the run because it was a change to his normal duties. Besides, a long arctic journey would surely involve flying reindeer. Alas, he had been mistaken on that too…

For reasons he was still not entirely sure about, the cargo run was always a ground-based affair. Even Hearth and his old partner had never flown the reindeer. Hearth said it had to do with being too easy to miss the rendezvous location and the cargo being too heavy to fly back with. Jingles begrudgingly had to agree on the latter point; the first not so much. The elf had volunteered to drive, he really wanted to do more, to learn more, but Hearth was an elf of habit and not keen on changes.

Another hour passed. Or maybe two. Jingles refused to check his watch as it might prove a disappointment. The sooner they got there and loaded the cargo, the sooner they could get back to the complex and a warm meal by a cozy fire. He dozed in and out of sleep, only to be awoken by the wind gusts against the sleigh, or Hearth stopping to knock off the snow and ice buildup.

Jingles, get up. Hearth said giving the young elf a quick shake.

Jingles tried to rub his eyes, then remembered he was still wearing goggles and where he was. The sleigh had come to a stop, and the winds had finally taken a break. Gray and purple skies swirled overhead. It was still mostly dark, the sun a glowing ball covered by clouds. A thick fog covered the area, leaving only about thirty feet of visibility here.

Hearth went along the team checking the reindeer and harnesses for ice. Jingles got down and looked around for the cargo. It should be right here. He checked around the other side of the sleigh. Nothing. Hearth might have stopped in the wrong spot, perhaps the cargo was just a few feet away shrouded by the fog.

Where is it?

Not here. Hearth answered shortly.

That was strange. Jingles wanted to walk some ways from the sleigh to check, but if Hearth said it was not here, it was not here. He had never heard of the cargo not being at the location. Maybe they were early. Jingles did not know who delivered the cargo, it was simply here and waiting for them each time. With the weather today it was possible the cargo had been delayed…

Are you sure we’re in the right spot? He asked the senior elf knowing the answer, but all the same, hoping to get a few words of wisdom from the other lad.

Hearth didn’t reply. He stretched his arm out and pointed over beyond the sleigh. Jingles could not see with the fog. It must be the Bowl. The young elf stepped cautiously towards the edge. The Bowl was a large hollow in the land shaped like a round bowl. It was at least a hundred paces across. Jingles stood on the edge and peered down to the center. The fog was too thick to see across to the other side, but oddly enough the inner part of the Bowl was clear.

He’d never had a chance to check it out. Always when they arrived, the cargo was waiting for them. Hearth wasted no time in loading up and taking off again. He did not like to hang around here. Jingles squinted, seeing a light near the center of the Bowl. The elf looked around back at the sleigh. Shapes of the reindeer and Hearth were just barely discernable.

The light was there. A pulsing whitish glow. This was the first interesting thing he’d ever seen on this route. Unable to resist, Jingles stepped off the edge and scooted down the embankment. The snow was packed hard, allowing for a smooth slide down the ten-foot slope. Coming to a stop on all fours, the elf looked about for the light. Fog began to roll down the slopes filling the Bowl. The pulsing light was still there.

His own breath was fogging up the air around his head worse than the fog, lifting the goggles back the sudden cold stung his skin. It was easier to see though. Half crawling, half crouching, Jingles made his way toward the light. The closer he came to the center of the Bowl the denser the fog became. As he reached the light, a wind began to pick up.

The light was pulsing from beneath a layer of snow. What was it? Kneeling he ignored the wind and fog… brushing the powder snow from the surface of the white light. The light was protected by a clear sheet of ice. It was warm and pulsed steadily like a heartbeat. Intrigued, Jingles watched it for a few moments… when he looked up, he saw the Bowl was filled with dense fog. He could no longer see the sky or even the edges of the Bowl. The wind was swirling and blowing from all directions, snow and ice partials pelting him. Which way was the sleigh?

Jingles sat there peering about as the light pulsed. He was becoming keenly aware that he was being watched. Then the feeling turned to one of not being alone. Someone else was in the Bowl. The elf felt it… Perhaps Hearth had come down the slope after him? He’d be in trouble now; the cargo might have arrived. What if Hearth left without him? The thought nearly panicked the young elf.

Crawling forward he planned to make a straight shot for the nearest wall slope. Jingles stopped. Before him was someone… someone crawling on all fours like he was. The fog and darkness only allowed for the outline of the figure to be made out. A figure the same size as himself. Hearth?

Jingles inched forward. The figure came forward mimicking the lad’s movements exactly. The elf called out for Hearth. No answer. He reached out a hand… the figure did the same… too far apart to touch. Jingles crawled forward some more. Now with just a couple feet separating them, he squinted trying to see more… the figure was all white, no features or details, but the same shape and size as himself.

His face just inches from the head of the other, Jingles saw only snow… pure white snow. He studied the figure intently. As he did so… the snow changed. A bump formed in the center of the head… growing outward… two hollows formed above the triangular mound, and below it, a slit appeared. It was a face… his face!

Jingles gasped astonished. The snow face did the same. Jingles closed his mouth and smiled… the snow figure smiled back. Jingles tilted his head to the side; the figure did the same. For a few moments, they played a sort of game making faces. At first, Jingles made the faces… then the figure made a face and Jingles copied.

Jingles! Be you hurt? Get up here! Hearth called out from above. His voice echoed around the Bowl.

The young elf looked up startled. He’d forgotten about the cargo! He looked back at the snow figure. The face disappeared and the figure instantly dissolved into the wind. Instantly the gales stopped, and the fog vanished. Jingles was left alone in the Bowl, only the white pulsing light remained. He scrambled over to the slope… it was much easier going up, the snow fell away at his boots making a kind of stairs to reach the top edge.

Did you see…? Jingles exclaimed running to the rear of the sleigh.

Hearth was not in a good mood. Fool elf! Do not go down there again! Now let’s get these crates loaded and get out of here.

Jingles then saw all the crates stacked up nearby. Big and small, all were made of ice. Within each was a pulsing white glowing orb. Some crates contained several spheres, others had only a single large one. Glowbulbs. The cargo was always the same. He wondered if the pulsing glow of the orbs connected with that of the light in the center of the Bowl.

The ice crates being different sizes made for a kind of puzzle when loading them onto the cargo space of the sleigh. Luckily, Hearth’s many years of experience with this ensured they got it right the first time. They started with the large crates. Jingles and Hearth struggling to heft them off the ground and carry them the short distance. If these crates got much bigger, they’d have to start bringing more elves.

At last, all the glowbulb crates were loaded. Hearth unrolled some tarps and began tossing them over the load. Jingles helped to tie down the straps on his side of the sleigh. After that, Hearth made one last inspection of the reindeer. Jingles cautiously went back to the edge of the Bowl. He could not see where his boots had made the gouges in the slope of the wall. He could not see any tracks or marks down there at all. Faintly, through the thin fog, he could make out the pulse of the mysterious white light in the center.

The two elves got back into the sleigh. They made sure to tuck the blankets in around themselves good and tight. Snow was starting to fall, the wind picking up again. The sky was still dark and overcast. The reindeer bayed and pawed at the ground ready to get going; they had been standing still for far too long for their liking.

Did you see who brought the glowbulbs? Jingles asked Hearth.

Hearth grunted and clicked for the reindeer to move. It was slow going, the team struggled with the much heavier sleigh.

Was it…? I saw… What did he see? Jingles had heard tales the other brown hats told about living snow people. But that was just an old elf legend. Jingles knew the older elf must have seen something. What did you see? Was it… a Snow Being?

Hearth did not reply. He encouraged the reindeer to pick up speed. The snowfall intensified, and the winds grew. With this weather and large cargo, it was going to be a long ride back to the North Pole. Hearth refused to answer no matter what Jingles said. Yes, it was going to be a very long ride back…

* * * * *

The American southwest was famous the world over for its unique landscape. Spires of red rock, flat top mountains, and other amazing rock formations carved from eons of wind and water erosion. Although a desert, the sands were many shades of red and yellow. The stones and layers of sediment, a plethora of colors that changed as the sunlight played across the arid landscape. Indeed, this place was not called the Painted Desert for nothing.

Mistletoe Green stood upon the edge atop one such formation. A towering mesa hundreds of feet tall. Being a circular flat rock, it afforded an excellent view of the surrounding land in all directions. The sun was low on the horizon and the sky transitioning from blue to yellow as he walked the perimeter of the mesa’s rim waiting for the others to arrive. Towards the south, dark clouds were building into a storm, the occasional streak of lightning flashed, but the thunderclap was too far away to be heard. A storm would come… eventually.

This mesa had been one of his own discoveries. A bonus yielded from a long-ago pet project. He liked to come here to think, to pace the perimeter and draw inspiration from the exotic desert and its monuments of stone. It was hard to get away from the North Pole most days; nonetheless he tried to steal away as often as possible, especially during times of stress. And a certain elf was doing all he could to ensure Mistletoe spent quite a bit of time atop the mesa.

It was here that he had his latest epiphany. One he was eager to put into motion. Provided he could get the others to consent. Calling for a Directory meeting was rare, as rare as it was risky; indeed, it would only be the second time they had convened in this place. Communication between members was nearly impossible as no one was entirely sure who the other members of the council were. Each knew one or two others, but only Mistletoe knew all the Directory to an elf. He was the head of the Directory, its creation one of his many contrivances over the years.

Although Mistletoe had loyal supporters in all the departments, it had become necessary to have a more structured and formal group of the most influential elves all working together on a common goal. His goal. Today’s meeting would lay out clearly the goal they were working towards. For some members of the Directory, things were moving entirely too slow, while others felt the opposite. Mistletoe himself did not like having his plans rushed. But a certain… elf… had forced him to take drastic action. Soon the final steps would be taken, and the North Pole would never be the same. It would be for the better… Mistletoe knew this.

A shimmering in the air near the center of the mesa top caught his eye. It was hard to see from more than a few feet away, but if one had seen a portal form as often as the former FCD head, one would have no trouble spotting that distinctive misty ripple in midair. An elf lad of twelve emerged and stepped away from the portal. He was wearing a standard elfin uniform customary to the Factory elves. No hat though. Only a red mask, its features expressionless, concealed the lad’s face.

They did not speak. The lad nodded at Mistletoe in acknowledgment. Mistletoe chose to wear his purple hat, but he did not wear a mask. It was no longer necessary. All the members of the Directory knew who he was and that he was in charge, especially here. The masks were his idea as well. Even though some of the members were acquainted, the identities of others were suspect thanks to the masks; no one could know for sure. Of course, the design of the mask was at the members’ discretion; if they were silly enough to wear things that made guessing their identity easy, that was on them.

Twenty minutes later the portal opened again. A short, stocky lad of fourteen popped out. He wore a green mask and took a stand next to the red elf, with a curt nod to Mistletoe. This lad spoke for the warehouse. Back in the FCD portal room, Bitter and Sweet were the only elves there to ensure the anonymity of the Directory. At the conclusion of the meeting, they would all depart in the same manner. The next to arrive was a lass wearing a light green mask. She took a position and stood with her hands behind her back as was her habit.

These three were the only department heads Mistletoe had. Representatives from four other departments would arrive soon, but these were the only heads on the Directory. So far. That might change in the near future; department heads could be replaced. And would be if they did not cooperate with certain changes Mistletoe was orchestrating.

Later, a small lad of seven appeared wearing a pink mask. This was the first mole to arrive. His name was not known to the Directory, and it was critical his identity be known only to Mistletoe. Here he was addressed as Mr. Pink. An Elf Service lad of many years, his loyalties laid firmly with the FCD of old and above all, with Mistletoe. No doubt, Mr. Pink aspired to be head of Elf Services. And one day soon, Mistletoe intended to deliver on that promise… provided Mr. Pink held up his end of the deal.

The next elf out of the portal was a very small lad of five. He darted away to the farthest edge, careful not to come too close to the others. This was Mr. White. Representing the Mail department. Unlike Mr. Pink, this elf was really an FCD elf. Thanks to Santa Nicolas’ policy of elves being able to train and work part-time in other departments it had allowed Mistletoe to install his agents in every department at the North Pole. Mr. White had been instrumental in adding confusion and delay to the usually well-oiled machine of mail processing.

An orange masked lass of ten came out after. She spoke softly with Mr. Pink before taking up her own post. This was Ms. Orange, the other mole. A long-time elf of the List department her sympathies were much more closely aligned with the purples. Mistletoe thought she might make a good department head in the future.

The sky had become florescent pink now. It was odd. One half of the hemisphere was brilliant pink, the other dark and getting darker as nightfall and storm combined in strength. Lastly to arrive was a tall lad of fifteen. He was the newest member of the council. It had been particularly difficult to either recruit a mole or install an agent with the Administration elves. Until Mr. Gold volunteered his services. The only one whose identity Mistletoe was not entirely sure of; Mr. Gold had a reputation for being extremely well connected both in and out of the complex. Attempting to indoctrinate such a high-profile elf, admin or otherwise, would have gone against Mistletoe’s own rules of recruitment. Discretion in all things was the foundation by which Mr. Gold cultivated his influence. Perhaps it was that refined discretion and competence that Mistletoe found off-putting, qualities he envisioned that no other elf shared. Whatever his instincts suggested, Mistletoe could rely on certain insurances, for Mr. Gold came with provisos. Firstly, he was recommended by another elf who Mistletoe trusted and after an interview or two, Mistletoe’s only fear regarding Mr. Gold, was that he might try to dominate the Directory; his dedication thus far had been