Festival of San Nikklau

Oliver learns his family does not celebrate with the others

Outside the snow-drenched window, black clouds weighed heavy and sent a bitter chill blowing through the streets and reaching through the corners of the glass.. But here, in the college mess, though the older boys had left, warmth and sweetness abounded.

I weighed the coins I kept in my pocket in my palm as I finished my meal, the last remnant of my tenth- fall celebration. Thinking about the hungry kids in the cold street gnawed at my stomach, and I filled my plate again and another until the food quenched the fire. I had just enough–enough to buy a kebab, or a sweet roll–it wasn't much, but to the kid who stole it, it would be a treasure.

The maid from my house, Dianin, stepped past me carrying a bowl. I smiled in surprise–usually the servants were not allowed to eat from the college mess.

"This is for your brother Mollard," she said, "Though I can get you something if you like."

I laughed. "Is he so encumbered with all that heavy armor that he cannot make it to the dining hall?"

Dianin stifled a laugh and coughed, frowning. She looked every direction before smiling a bit. "Don't tell your brother I said you might be right."

***

Knowing that I could not explain away having my food stolen in the mess, I stepped into the world.

The snow drenched the roofs and rolled about the street, avoiding my boots before smoothing in my steps for a fresh swept look until I left the street where my family stayed.

In the market, for both the urchin and the merchant, the snow was packed into a treacherous carpet that was as dirty as it was hard.

I pushed my way into the cookhouse.

Men and women sat there, eating from their spines.

The gruff old man smiled. "Did you lose your spine again? I think I have an extra." He skewered seven bits and offered them to me.

"I only have enough for six." I laid my coins on the table.

"Ah, well, growing boys need their meat."

"I think I get plenty."

"You got that right, Oliver." He put another one on the spine and closed my fingers around the serving spine.

The people all smiled at me, in the way my family never did.

***

The snow kept falling, weighing down on my shoulders.

I nodded and fished out my scroll, to study the sixteen younger runes. Their syntax always eluded me, but the meaning snuck up on me, the way that my robbers would hope to do.

Just then a boy–barely six summers at the look– jumped from behind a wall, wielding a patchy giant feather at my face.

The crossguard flopped in place and the hairs of the blade were snagged.

This chipped and discarded toy sword, still would fetch more than his clothes. Rough black wool where the snags were not clean through—warm enough, I noted.

I stifled a chuckle and threw up my hands. "Please don't hurt me. Y–you can have it."

The boy roared and pounced on it. He peeked at me. "Did ya pull out what you're leavin' for San Nikklau?"

I scratched my head. "Who?"

A voice called a name, and the boy ran for it.

"Share with your brother there you black hearted bandit!"

I returned to the library, and discovered an entire holiday my family had kept from me. An old wizard had once had a great snowy factory where he made toys for children. These days his workers had long since gone and he had to steal toys for the needy children. Once a year he gathered up toys that were no longer loved and took them to those who would need them.

But really it had been that in the years between the making of toys had been reduced everywhere, so sharing and reusing were the real skill.

Whether this magician god really existed, people gathered their least favorite toys and hid their favorite, refurbishing and putting them on display to be stolen. Parents would give favors, usually coins with which the wealthy boys could buy something they liked more.

Slowly I realized why my family had no interest in this: San Nikklau's festival encouraged fellowship between the giver and the getter. The boys would find whoever had chosen their old treasures. Community is a stain they fear they can never wash off. Poverty is the price these people pay for the loving excesses of their forebears.

As I pulled at their ruthless logic, the thread held–and I counted myself lucky that I had never felt welcome in my own home.

***

I picked my favorite toys for the festival, and put them in a sack. All in perfect condition–as the one true thorga among the more rugged humans, I knew how to care for fragile things.

I had never noticed this ledge where the toys would be placed. Every house of note had one, but ours would be singularly empty.

I placed them on and recited the incantation of invisibility.

The energy burned and sparked at me, unable to reach the ledge.

I would not even be allowed to participate in secret.

I gathered up my toys and put the bag over my shoulder, trudging into the mess for a snack.

Instead I slumped at the table.

Dianin stopped. "Oll, you're having a hard day. Can I get you something?"

I wiped the tears from my lashes. "No. I just wanted to do something nice, but they warded the ledge."

"Oh, we don't participate in the festival." She looked both ways before sitting beside me, and put her hand on my back. "It's not so bad."

"Y-you could sneak it onto the ledge for me."

She immediately stood up. "I told you we don't do that. You can't be asking that." She stepped back.

"It would be just a step out, not a huge trouble."

She huffed and turned to the door. "I have work to do."

I didn't know what she was afraid of, as distant as they are, my family was never actively cruel.

***

For the seventeenth time I commanded the ratspider to carry the toy onto the shelf, and for the sixteenth time they simply knocked it aside.

The first time it hadn't even touched the toy.

Jatham stepped up behind me, their melodic voice full of charm, "Now Oliver one usually doesn't bring one's pets into the library."

"This is an experiment."

"Pure research?"

I shook my head, and thumped the book on San Niklau.

Jatham nodded and sat beside me, their hand on my shoulder. "I take it you haven't penetrated the wards on the ledge?"

I looked at them in surprise.

"Child, I could see that from a distance. Do you not see the warding aura?"

I shook my head.

Jatham took out a book, and opened it. He reached into the page and pulled out a pair of glasses.

i slipped them on, suddenly seeing the auras of the spells I had been casting. "This is amazing."

"We shall have to get you fitted for a pair. Please return them to the book when you are done."

I nodded. "Thank you, master Jatham."

"Do not let me discourage you, child, though I am certain you'll not find an arachnid helper to deposit toys for your mission."

"Why is that, Master Jatham?"

"Oh, a couple reasons–not the least of which you're not well suited to woodsy magic."

"These are city dwelling ratspiders."

"Nevermind. There are other more pressing reasons."

***

The candle dripped down into the form, dwindled down to nothing.

The sands had run out and sleep pulled at me.

I snuffed the candle and gathered my toys.

I took them to my room, set them up on the ledge of my window.

Dianin saw me, and smiled sadly.

I placed them, one by one, knowing nobody would come. My parents would not steal a toy for the children. Neither would their servants, nor the guards, nor any of the children of the city.

No matter how much I might wish it.

I pulled my blanket over me and watched sadly.

***

The sound of hooves marching on the roof woke me.

A figure in red walked away from my door.

In place of my prized toys, I saw only a mysterious bell with a clasp for hanging it at my belt.