Krampus: The Three Sisters (The Krampus Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

But he certainly wasn’t a Foundling. And he was far from resembling either Madame Welles or Hostrupp. The man in charge of the workshop was a peculiar mix of young and old. Slicked down past his ears, Laszlo’s hair was as white as Grandfather Clement’s, but his face was as young as Henry’s.

Laszlo’s ghostly eyes observed Maggie and Henry with apathy when they were hauled into the workshop, pinned between the Garrisons.

“New Foundlings. Alfred and Lizzie” Cabell barked, shoving Maggie and Henry forward. “Show them to their place.”

Without breaking his indifferent stare, Laszlo waved the Garrisons away with a pale, limp hand. Crowther and Cabell moved to a shadowy corner where they continued to watch Maggie closely. Other Garrisons were also stationed on the platform encircling the factory floor, monitoring the Foundlings that were tinkering and hammering away in the rows of tables below.

“Come,” Laszlo finally spoke with a vacant voice.

Laszlo led Maggie and Henry down to the floor. The Foundlings were spread throughout the workshop, barely filling up a quarter of the tables.

“Most Foundlings are still out delivering. Everyone has to work the Sleigh Pit on this night, you understand,” Laszlo droned. “Some Foundlings also tend to Myra Lane. But new ones are not granted such desired positions in Poppel. The Sleigh Pit and Myra Lane are for the older Foundlings. The ones who have been here longer and have proven themselves, you understand. The Garrisons certainly do not want new Foundlings toiling around the sleigh tunnels, climbing up ash pits around the city. The Garrisons do not believe new Foundlings are to be trusted. You understand.”

Laszlo stopped and spun around, his oversized gray coat twirled about his slender waist like a cape. The buttoned shirt and trousers beneath the coat were also various shades of gray. Laszlo didn’t wear a hat and his white hair glistened even in the faintly lit workshop.

“But I’m sure you two will have no trouble. Since you’re older, I am confident you will not do anything rash. Poppel offers great benefits,” Laszlo continued. “And you understand what could happen to you if you do not behave. The workshop may not seem ideal compared to getting assigned to the Sleigh Pit or Myra Lane, but it’s not like being sent to Furnace Brook.”

“Furnace Brook?” Henry spoke for the first time. “What is that?”

Laszlo ignored him and gestured to a table near the middle.

“Lloyd,” he called.

A lanky, curly-haired boy with a button nose glanced up through his round eyeglasses. He wore a brown jacket with a green vest. Spotting Laszlo and the two Foundlings, Lloyd got up from the table and stumbled over.

“Lloyd, this is Alfred and Lizzie. Please train these new Foundlings as best you can,” Laszlo instructed before swiftly returning to his station on the platform above.

Lloyd nervously eyed Maggie and Henry. “You both are old for Foundlings.”

“You don’t look much older than me,” Maggie replied.

“Yes, but I’ve been here a while,” Lloyd said, straightening his shoulders.

“How long?”

“Since I was eleven.” Lloyd looked up and counted softly to himself. “So nine Christmases, I suppose.”

“You’re twenty?” Henry said with surprise. The boy looked much younger than Henry.

Lloyd made a puzzled face. “Fourteen.”

Instead of explaining further, the Foundling sat back down at the table and motioned for Maggie and Henry to join.

“I’m working on soldiers,” Lloyd murmured, picking up a knife and the wood piece he had been holding earlier. Its sides had already been nicked. “I’m the best carver here. Even Laszlo thinks so. I’ve got the best hands and make the most-detailed faces.”

The knife between Lloyd’s fingers steadily sliced into the wood. As Maggie and Henry watched, wood shavings fell to the table as Lloyd’s hands worked on the block. After a few minutes a tiny, meticulous soldier appeared in Lloyd’s palm. He set it on the table, proudly.

Henry picked up the toy soldier and turned it around in his hands. “That’s quite impressive,” he admired. “The details are so precise.”

Maggie nodded in agreement. It actually looked like a little soldier.

“Do you paint him?” Maggie asked.

Lloyd shifted in his seat and frowned, scrunching his small nose. “My hands are no good when it comes to paint.” Lloyd took the solider back and slid it down the table toward a blond boy at the end. “Wendell paints. He’s probably one of the best.”

Maggie and Henry looked over at Wendell. It didn’t take long for them to recognize his burgundy coat.

“You!”

Maggie and Henry both leapt to their feet.

Wendell looked frightened and quickly peeked about to see if the Garrisons were watching. Maggie realized that the commotion could put them all in trouble, and she slowly lowered herself to the bench while tugging Henry’s arm, pulling him back down as well.

“You know Wendell?” Lloyd asked, alarmed at the sudden outburst.

“Um, a little,” Maggie mumbled.

“Somewhat acquainted, you could say,” Henry added.

Wendell’s eyes finally stopped darting around the room as he took the soldier in his hand and picked up a warped brush. Dipping the brush in the paint-filled bowls laid out before him, he gracefully applied color to the wooden toy. Wendell then slipped out of his seat and walked over with the newly painted soldier resting in his open palm. He gently set it down in front of Lloyd, but didn’t seem concerned when the fresh paint smeared on the table.

“You’re the one who broke into Chelsea Manor,” Maggie whispered.

Wendell shifted between feet.

“Do you know the trouble you’ve caused us?” Henry said.

Wendell’s back stiffened. Without saying a word, he turned around and picked up his paint supplies. A moment later, he was seated on the other end of the workshop, far from Maggie and Henry’s table.

“Why is he upset?” Maggie asked. “It’s his fault we’re down here.”

“Wendell didn’t make you follow him to Poppel,”

A boy in an orange jacket at the next table turned around. His black oily hair hung over his forehead, partially covering his glaring eyes.

“Because of you nuisances, Wendell won’t be allowed in the Sleigh Pit again. He’ll be kept here in the workshop day in and day out. And he was finally being considered for a position at Kleren. He knows colors better than anybody. Even more than Hostrupp, I reckon. But not anymore. All thanks to you two.”

“Excuse me, young man…” Henry started to say.

“Ward. My name’s Ward.”

“Wendell was trespassing,” Maggie explained. “How were we to know he would lead us here?”

“Well, you’re down here now,” Ward sneered. “Guess that’s unfortunate for you.”

He twisted back around and started flattening a metal scrap with a hammer.

“What’s he doing?” Maggie asked.

Lloyd glanced back at Ward.

“Oh, Ward doesn’t usually work down here. So when he does, he just plays around. Hitting this, twisting that.”

Maggie and Henry continued to watch Ward beating away on the table. The noise finally got Laszlo’s attention and the white-haired man swooped down from the platform to inspect.

“What is that you’re making so loudly, Ward?”

Ward proudly held up the dented metal square.

“It’s symbolic, Laszlo,” Ward explained. “It’s a reminder of the brutality we face if we’re not obedient to Castriot.”

Laszlo shook his head and walked away.

Ward stood up and tossed the metal on Maggie and Henry’s table. It rocked back and forth on top of the wooden soldier.

“Here you are, folks,” Ward said, patting Lloyd on the shoulder. “Now I’m off to Snop.” He pulled a cinnamon stick out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth.

“You chew cinnamon sticks?” Maggie asked, suddenly feeling a strange connection to the unfriendly boy.

“It keeps my mouth clean,” Ward said, flashing his teeth. “And I need that for all the sweets I eat.” He spun about and jogged out of the workshop.

“Ward works at Snop―Myra Lane’s candy shop,” Lloyd explained.

Lloyd lifted up the metal square and pulled the soldier out from underneath.

“Now the paint will have to be redone. But let me show you what I did here…”

Lloyd started to pick up his knife and another wooden block, but Henry stopped him.

“Don’t waste your time showing us this.” Henry placed his hand on top of Lloyd’s. “We aren’t Foundlings. And it won’t be long until our families start looking for us.”

Lloyd eyed Henry strangely and then looked back down at the block. He pretended to be examining the wood for imperfections.

“What is it, Lloyd?” Maggie could see there was something they weren’t being told, but Lloyd didn’t respond. “Do you think they won’t search for us?”

Lloyd’s eyes peeked up. “I’m sure they will. It just might take longer than you anticipate.”

“What do you mean?”

Lloyd jerked his head side to side, nervously checking on the Garrisons.

“Didn’t they tell you? Time moves slower here.”

Maggie shook her head while Henry asked, “What do you mean time moves slower?”

Lloyd leaned forward. “Time… moves… slower.”

Maggie and Henry looked at each other and then back at Lloyd.

“How long would you say you’ve been here?” Lloyd asked.

Henry shrugged. “I don’t know, two… maybe three hours.”

Lloyd nodded. “Then to your family you’ve only been gone about an hour.”

“How is that possible?” Henry snapped as though Lloyd was trying to play a trick on them.

Lloyd blinked. “You’ve wandered down into an underground village that has the ability to enter any building in the entire city through a system of sleighs and fireplaces. And you ask how that is possible?”

“That’s all very different than claiming one can slow time,” Henry defended. “What you’re talking about is… is… magical.”

“Well, I suppose it is a bit,” Lloyd said. “How much do you know about Nikolaos of Myra?”

“We heard about how he brought the three sisters to Belgium and founded Poppel,” Maggie recounted. “And then later died helping the Martyrs of Gorkum.”

Lloyd looked back down at the table and bit his lip, clearly wanting to say something.

“What?” Maggie pressed.

Lloyd’s eyes began to dance with excitement as he whispered, “As the story goes, while sailing across the sea, Nikolaos of Myra received a great gift for saving the three sisters.”

“Gift?” Henry scoffed. “A gift from whom?”

Lloyd shrugged. “No one knows who gave it to him. Perhaps the sea. Or the wind. Maybe a fish. But the gift was unlimited time.”

“If that were so, then how could he be dead?” Maggie asked.

Lloyd scrunched his small nose once again. “Who said he was dead?”

“Well, he died, didn’t he? With the Martyrs of Gorkum?”

“That’s the legend. But there is no evidence of an actual death. He did, however, leave his unlimited time to the three sisters and Poppel. But the eldest sister Grace fell in love with a young man.”

“Yes, Jan Loockerman. And Jan and Grace had Annette who brought Poppel to America,” Maggie supplied hastily.

“So you have heard much of the story,” Lloyd said. “Yes, the sisters eventually gave up their unlimited time so Grace could marry Jan and live a mortal life. But while it may not be unlimited down here in Poppel, there is more time allotted to the day.”

“Is that why the Garrisons chose to work here?” Henry asked.

Lloyd nodded. “You will find when the benefits of a job include an abundance of time for drinking and playing cards; it does not attract the best kind of characters.”

“But why did the Garrisons mention that Nikolaos of Myra could come back?”

“Because he can. At least it’s said that his spirit can return.”

“Like a ghost?” Maggie asked.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Lloyd said with a slight chuckle. “Nikolaos of Myra is very real.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie spotted a tiny ball floating low to the ground, veering around the tables toward Lloyd’s feet.

“Ghosts aren’t real, huh?” Maggie remarked.

Lloyd didn’t know what Maggie meant at first, but then he saw the ball gliding under the table. He dipped down and scooped it up. The ball stayed hidden in his clenched fist while he looked at the Garrisons. None of them seemed to be paying close attention. Most had been in the Krog earlier and were now too drunk and sleepy to care about the Foundlings.

“What is that?” Henry asked.

Seeing that no one was watching, Lloyd slowly opened his hand. In the middle of his palm sat a purple sphere speckled in some kind of white coating.

“Sugarplum,” Lloyd whispered.

Maggie immediately thought of Grandfather Clement’s poem:
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.

With one last look to make sure the coast was clear, Lloyd popped the sugarplum in his mouth. His forehead creased in concentration as he chewed the gummy candy. After the sugarplum had been completely devoured, Lloyd’s eyes lit up and he looked worried.

“Castriot now wants you both locked away until Christmas is over. Maybe even longer.”

“What? Why?” Maggie asked.

“The Sister Wheel has vanished. And he thinks your arrival has something to do with it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Henry said. “And how do you know?”

“Sugarplum.” Lloyd pointed to his now empty mouth.

“What?” Henry stared at Lloyd’s mouth in disbelief.

“No time to explain. Unless you want to be locked up indefinitely on the lowest level of Poppel, you need to get out of here.”

Maggie looked at the Garrisons on the surrounding platform. “But how? There is no way to escape without being seen.”

And just as Maggie finished speaking, it sounded like a hailstorm had hit the workshop as sacks full of marbles were tossed into the room. Hundreds of little balls bounced loudly down the steps, clunking over the hard ground.

As the noise filled the air, the alarmed Garrisons sprang into action. But as they stormed down the steps to the workshop floor, a shelf crammed with paint cans fell over onto the arriving men, drenching their black coats in bright reds, blues, greens, and yellows.