“Ten more days,” Alir said, staring at the sock.
By the sixth day of Christmas Alir had told virtually everyone she knew about the stocking trick, and various people had received gifts of sorcerous talismans, rare and precious ingredients for spells, books on a dozen subjects, candy, coins, toys, jewelry, clothing accessories, and various other small treasures. Tazar had all the materials for the tapestry spell, and Alir, after collecting her fee for telling everyone how to obtain mysterious gifts with nothing but a sock, had paid half of the total cost.
Santa had finished his painting, and Alir stared at it in fascination. The workshop in the picture was amazingly cluttered, but still very clean. Toys and tools and devices were everywhere, most of them very alien.
The painting was delivered to Tazar, who assured Alir, Darrend, and Santa that a tapestry-capable wizard had at last been found, and that she would be starting work on the spell immediately. Tazar was as fascinated by the picture as Alir had been, and Santa began identifying and explaining the various details to the wizard. After a few moments Alir decided the conversation was going to continue all day; she made her excuses and slipped away.
Santa had not come back by the time she went to bed, but she didn’t worry; after all, he could always come down the chimney. She had hung her stocking once again.
By the eleventh day of Christmas virtually the entire city of Ethshar of the Spices had heard about stocking magic, and the overlord had sent a magistrate to question Alir and Santa about it.
At first, neither of them understood just why the overlord was concerned; the magistrate wearily explained, “These gifts are putting a large amount of new coinage into circulation. That can affect prices. Meanwhile, certain merchants have complained that their business has suffered, because their customers have received goods from this godling without making any payment. As for all these sorcerous talismans, and potent herbs, and other magic, well, you know that magic is tricky stuff, no matter what form it takes. Having more of it in circulation is not helping the overlord sleep more easily.”
“Oh.”
“And there’s the matter of fairness — one person gets a stockingful of gold, another a stockingful of candy. The obvious injustice is troubling.”
“Everyone gets what they want and deserve,” Santa said.
“And how is that determined, sir?” the magistrate asked.
“I have a list,” Santa explained. “I know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice. I know when anyone writes to tell me what they want; I know what they tell family or friends.”
“Naughty or nice?” The magistrate glanced at Alir, who turned up an empty palm.
“He’s not from the World,” she said. “I know nothing about his standards or abilities.”
The magistrate frowned. “Is this stocking phenomenon going to continue indefinitely, then?”
“Oh, no!” Santa exclaimed, with a laugh. “No, no. Just one more day, and Christmas will be over for another year.”
“And a year from now, we hope to send him back where he came from,” Alir said.
“A year?”
“We’re having a Transporting Tapestry made.”
“I’ll ask the Wizards’ Guild to make that a priority.”
“Thank you.”
“But, sir...” Darrend began.
The magistrate turned to glare at him. “Yes, apprentice?”
“Is it really so terrible, that people are being given these little gifts? I’ve mostly seen happy children playing with the toys they found in their stockings, not the problems you describe. Do we really need to send him away?”
The magistrate considered for a moment, then said, “Yes.”
Santa laughed. “After Twelfth Night I’ll be going, then. I’ll come back when the tapestry is ready.”
“Wait, going?” Alir asked. “Going where?”
“North,” he said. “Where I always go after Christmas.”
“But... but...” Alir looked at Darrend and the magistrate.
“That will be satisfactory,” the magistrate said. “I will inform the overlord.”
The following morning Alir found a bottle of fine Dwomoritic wine in her stocking, and a note reading, “Thank you for your hospitality! — Santa Claus.”
Santa Claus himself was gone, though; his attic bed was empty, and there was no evidence he had ever been there.
At first, Alir kept expecting the fat man in the red coat to turn up again, or at least send word, but there was no sign of him. As the months passed, she gradually turned her attention to other concerns.
It was on the first day of Midwinter that Tazar came around to Alir’s shop and said, “The tapestry is almost ready; where’s your spirit?”
“I don’t know where he is,” she admitted. “I haven’t heard from him since last year.”
“Well, we’ve put a great deal of time and effort and magic into that tapestry, so I hope it hasn’t all gone to waste!”
“I’m sure it hasn’t.”
“If he turns up, tell him it’ll be ready in a sixnight.”
“Thank you, I will.”
That started her thinking — where had Santa gone? She had heard no reports of sightings anywhere in the World. Over the next day or two she asked a few gods, but none of them admitted knowing anything about any red-garbed spirit from another world. She considered using the spell that had brought him in the first place, but summoning him when he was already somewhere in the World did not seem like a good idea.
At last, though, when she realized that it was the fourth of Midwinter, she had an inspiration. She hung a stocking on the chimneypiece, and stuffed a note in it.
She did not go to bed that night; instead she fell asleep in a chair near the hearth.
She was awakened by the sound of laughter. “Santa!” she exclaimed, sitting up.
“It’s traditional to leave a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, and slip the note under the plate,” he said gently. He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll come around on the seventh, shall I?” Then he stepped quickly to the fireplace, and vanished up the chimney.
She stared at the spot where he had stood, and wondered, in her half-asleep state, how he did that. Then she stood up and took down her stocking.
Candy, a few unfamiliar coins, an orange — nothing of any real value, but still, she found herself smiling. She thought about eleven more days of little treasures — but then she decided not to be greedy.
Besides, in three days Santa Claus would be going home to his own world.
She wondered whether anyone else had thought to put up a stocking.
On the afternoon of the seventh of Midwinter it was snowing, and Alir was wondering whether that would keep Santa away, when there was a knock at the shop door, and Darrend opened it to let Santa in. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, and was laughing heartily. “Merry Christmas!” he called.
“Merry Christmas, Santa!” Alir replied.
They chatted for a few minutes; Santa wanted to know how business had been, how her three brothers were, and so on, and she wanted to know where he had been all year.
“Srigmor,” he said. “And Kerroa, and Aala, and both Sardirons.” Before she could ask for more details, though, he said, “Isn’t there somewhere we should be going?”
“Yes, of course!”
Twenty minutes later they were in Tazar’s shop, where he cautiously unveiled the tapestry.
“My goodness!” Santa exclaimed at the sight of it. “That’s very realistic, isn’t it?” He reached out.