“Not very Christmas-y, is it?” said Wormwood.

“No,” said Nurd. “I suspect that if you found one of these in your Christmas stocking, you’d write a strongly worded letter to Santa Claus.”

There were noises from outside. The pyramid of elves, seemingly aware that the elf in the bedroom was now a captive, was trying to rearrange itself. One of the two elves who now formed the tip of the pyramid was trying to climb onto the windowsill with the aid of its colleague. The pyramid wobbled uncertainly.

“Wormwood,” said Nurd, “could you get the football from under your bunk, please?”

Wormwood did as he was asked. He handed the football to Nurd, who exchanged it for the elf. Nurd leaned out of the window.

“Oh, elves!” he called.

The elves looked up. Nurd raised his arms, and threw the football with as much force as he could muster.

The pyramid disintegrated, scattering elves and bits of elves over the front garden of the house.

“What about this one?” asked Wormwood, holding up the captive elf.

“Unless you’re planning to adopt it, I’d suggest you get rid of it.”

“I can’t throw it out the window! It doesn’t seem right.”

Wormwood had let the elf get a little too close to his face. It snapped at him, and missed the end of his nose by a finger’s width.

“Oh, all right, then,” said Wormwood. “Bye, elf.”

Out of the window it went. They watched it land in a thorn-bush. It managed to free itself with the help of some of its friends, and shook its little elf fist at Nurd and Wormwood. It then went into a huddle with the other elves. Nurd and Wormwood could hear them giggling. As they watched, more elves were trying the windows and the doors on the ground floor of the house. One of the brighter ones found a stone and threw it at the living room window, but the elf couldn’t send it high enough to hit the glass. Still, it had the right idea. Soon the elves would find a way inside, and then Nurd and Wormwood would be trapped.

“We have to get out before they get in,” said Nurd.

“But what do they want?” asked Wormwood.

“You know,” said Nurd, “I think they want us.”

XXIII

In Which the Cracks in the Relationship Between Samuel and Lucy Become Greater

ALL WAS STILL AND silent on the ground floor of Wreckit & Sons. The darkness had cleared to reveal the store. It was as if they had passed through a tunnel in order to enter. Samuel, Lucy, and the two policemen could now see out of the windows perfectly well, and so could take in the unusual sight of the people of Biddlecombe fleeing from elves, abominable snowmen, and various fairy-tale villains that seemed more smoke than substance, but they could hear nothing. When they tried to leave through the door they met only resistance from the air, and ripples like waves on water ran through it from floor to ceiling. Of Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley there was no sign.