“I’d still quite like a receipt, though,” he said as the door closed on him. “You can even sign it ‘Your Friend,’ ” he shouted through the keyhole.

Eventually, they heard his footsteps move away, but by then they were already changing into their outfits. They fitted almost perfectly, although Dozy’s was a little more snug in certain places than he might have liked.

“I think something’s being crushed down there,” he said. “I’ll do myself an injury.”

“You’ll do someone else an injury if that button pops on your trousers,” said Angry. “You could take an eye out with it.”

“I must have put on a pound or two since—”

Dozy stopped talking and began thinking.³³ “Hang on a minute, how did they know our sizes? I mean, these suits are very nicely cut. Very good quality, these suits. Not like the usual ones we’re given.”

It was a good question. How did the suits fit so well?

“Nipsomash?” suggested Mumbles.

“Yeah, maybe Mr. Singing-Chimney has a good eye for fashion,” agreed Jolly.

“If he does, then it’s the only good thing about him,” said Angry. “I wouldn’t trust him an inch, and this is me speaking. I don’t even trust me, but I trust me more than I’d trust him.”³⁴

“It’s the mustache,” said Jolly. “You have to look out for blokes with mustaches. A bad lot, your mustache-growers.”³⁵

“I wonder how they’ll dress Father Christmas?” said Dan. “If you’ve got those threads, his suit must be fit for a king.”

“By the way, where is Father Christmas?” said Jolly. “We should meet him before all this starts. We don’t want any misunderstandings later.”

By “misunderstandings,” Jolly meant that he didn’t want Father Christmas complaining when the dwarfs sneaked off for a nap, or took the occasional sip of Spiggit’s Old Peculiar to keep their spirits up, or gave the odd annoying kid a slap on the ear.

“We should go and find him,” said Angry. “Introduce ourselves. Let him know we’re on his side, as long as he’s on ours.”

“Hang on,” said Dan. “Mr. Snippy-Chinstrap told us to wait here. He seemed very keen that we didn’t go wandering off.”

“Well, Mr. Saggy-ChapStick isn’t around, is he?” said Angry. “And it’s important that we say hello to Father Christmas: we’re his elves. Without us he’s nothing, and without him we’re just small men with no excuse for going round a toy shop where there’s lots of stuff that someone could steal if we don’t get to it first.”

And so, with Dan in tow, the dwarfs set off to find Father Christmas and set him straight on the difference between “stealing” and “borrowing with no real intention of giving back.”

• • •

The stone house that served as Santa’s Grotto sat silent and dark on the top floor of Wreckit & Sons. The trees of the forest seemed to stretch out their branches like arms toward the house. Ivy decorated their trunks, and frost sparkled on the bark. From a distance, it looked almost real. Up close, it became apparent that it was real. The trees had rooted themselves in the floor, breaking through the boards and anchoring themselves on the metal supports. A peculiar-smelling sap oozed from the bark, forming sticky yellow clumps that glowed with an inner light. The ivy was growing at a remarkable rate, twisting and coiling as it wound around the trunks of the trees, and extending itself across the floor to form a carpet of green.