flying to the stars? That’s impossible.’
‘It isn’t, actually,’ muttered Father Christmas. ‘It isn’t impossible. It’s just not the right thing to do. And that’s a very big difference.’
‘Listen,’ said Mary. ‘I know how difficult it is, fitting in. I’ve been taking drimwickery classes for months and I’m getting nowhere, but I’m going to keep trying. There must be some subjects you enjoy?’
I thought. Captain Soot rubbed his head against my leg, as if to comfort me.
‘Yes, there is one. Writing. I like writing. I like it a lot. When I write, I feel free.’
‘Well, there you go. That’s good,’ said Father Christmas. ‘And what about sleigh riding. You like sleigh riding, surely? You are brilliant at sleigh riding.’
And then I told them what I had been too ashamed to tell them. ‘They don’t let me do that.’
‘What?’ asked Mary and Father Christmas both at once.
‘Because this is my first year at the school. And because I am a human. They said I had to wait six months until I could start flying sleighs. Nearly a year now has passed. But it’s okay. They might be right. Maybe Father Vodol was right, at your wedding. Maybe I don’t belong here.’
‘What a load of old butterscotch!’ said Mary, whose cheeks were even redder than usual. ‘You belong here as much as I do. Or as much as anyone, in fact. The likes of us, Amelia, were always made to feel like we were a burden. Send us off to the workhouse! Out of sight! But you are a good person, Amelia, and goodness belongs anywhere in this world. You remember that!’
‘Mary’s right,’ agreed Father Christmas. ‘And Father Vodol is a hateful elf who should be ignored. You have just as much right to fly a sleigh as any elf child has. Don’t worry! I’ll have a word with the school. And with Kip at the School of Sleighcraft. I’ll put an end to this silliness. But only on one condition . . .’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘That you try not to say the word impossible in this house again.’
I laughed. Mary laughed. Even Captain Soot seemed to laugh. ‘All right. It’s a deal.’
The Sleigh Ride
Father Christmas must have said something.
Because the following Monday afternoon – a week before Christmas – I was finally allowed to take part in the sleigh-riding lesson. And I was, I have to tell you, very, very excited. I hardly slept all weekend. And when I woke up that Monday morning Father Christmas recommended I bounce on the trampoline for ‘at least half an hour’ to keep my excitement under control. This was, you see, my one chance of fitting in. It was the one elfish thing I knew I could do.
The teacher, Kip, was a good friend of Father Christmas. When Kip was five years old, Father Christmas had saved his life. Once, when I asked Father Christmas how he saved his life, he shook his head and said, ‘Some things are best forgotten.’ Kip didn’t like talking at all, unless it was about sleighs, so that was all I knew.
So there we were, in the School of Sleighcraft on the Main Path. All the red-and-white learner sleighs were lined up. They were small, far smaller than Father Christmas’s sleigh, and only needed one reindeer to pull them.
‘Shortcrust, take Prancer,’ said Kip, pointing at the closest sleigh.
Shortcrust yelped, ‘Yay!’
‘Twinkle, you have Dasher.’
‘Yes, Mr Kip,’ said Twinkle.
‘Snowflake, you’re on Comet.’
This went on until all the elves were given a sleigh to ride.
I waved at Kip. He pretended not to see. ‘Can’t I ride a sleigh?’ I said.
Kip’s eyes narrowed. Underneath his heavy fringe he looked at me with suspicion. ‘Humans shouldn’t fly sleighs.’
I got the feeling that Kip didn’t like humans very much.
‘Father Christmas is a human.’
Kip shook his head. ‘Father Christmas is not an ordinary human. Father Christmas is a human who has been drimwicked.’
I remembered how people used to think I was too young to sweep chimneys, when Ma was ill and I used to go to her customers’ houses. I proved them wrong, and I would prove Kip wrong. I stayed strong.
‘I can fly a sleigh,’ I said. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
I watched as Twinkle and Dasher trotted into place on the runway, shortly followed by Shortcrust and Prancer and all the other elves.
I had that horribly familiar feeling of being left out. Tears welled in my eyes.
‘Okay, okay,’ said Kip. ‘I suppose we’d better find a sleigh then.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks, Mr Kip.’
‘Just do everything I say. Okay?’
‘Yes, yes, I promise.’ I stared around the yard. All the sleighs and reindeer were already taken. Then I spotted, in the corner of the yard, a small, empty, shiny white sleigh attached to Blitzen, Father Christmas’s reindeer. It was the sleigh I had seen months ago, the day we had visited Bonbon’s sweet shop. The gleaming, beautiful, expensive one.
‘There,’ I said, pointing to it. ‘That one.’
‘But that’s a Blizzard 360,’ said Kip, looking very worried indeed.
‘So?’
‘That’s my newest sleigh. It’s worth a thousand chocolate coins.’
He looked around, desperately trying to find another sleigh to put me in, but they all had elves sitting inside, ready for take-off.
Kip looked up at me and rolled his eyes. ‘Okay then. You can fly the Blizzard 360. But you must be very careful. Very, very careful. Very, very, very, very, very careful. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. Very, very, very, very, very careful. Five verys. Got it.’
So he took me over and I climbed into the sleigh. The seat felt comfortable and luxurious.
Kip pointed to the dashboard. The tips of his elf fingers stuck out of his fingerless gloves. The dashboard was like a smaller version of the one in Father Christmas’s sleigh.
‘There’s your altitude gauge and that’s the Barometer of Hope – which needs to stay with the arrow pointing there – and you need to check that the hope converter sign keeps glowing green the whole time. The compass is right there in the centre. The dial for the propulsion unit needs to be between eighty and a hundred, ideally, but turn it up to one hundred and fifty for take-off, and slow down to sixty when you are ready to land. And the reins are the best in existence, so you only need to be gentle with them when steering. Light tugs for left or right. Pull low to descend. Three tugs for a sharp turn. Understand?’
I nodded. ‘Understood.’ I stared at the Barometer of Hope. It worked by picking up on all the hope particles in the air. And there was a lot of hope in the air, these days, since Elfhelm had made peace with the trolls.
Kip grumbled something under his breath and left me to it. He went to the front of the yard, beside the runway, and started shouting instructions to everyone.
‘Right, everyone, in a minute, when I say your name, you will tug the reins five times and the reindeer will start to gallop as fast as it can along the runway.’
The