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Name's Tumnus. Mr Tumnus. I'm a shamus. A PI. A dick. When this Daughter of Eve came into my office, past the Lamppost, I knew she was trouble, I just didn't know how much.
"My brother, Edmund. He is missing, you see," she said. She had the face of a Wardrobe rat.
"What's it to me?" I told her. I could tell a Turkish Delight fiend when I saw one and she had all the classic signs.
"What's it to me?" I told her. I could tell a Turkish Delight fiend when I saw one and she had all the classic signs.
"I think the White Witch has him," she said.
"If he's with the Witch I can't help you, Toots," I said. The Witch was the capo di tuti capi of all of Narnia. She had the lid on Turkish Delight sewn tighter than you could say "Christmas".
"If he's with the Witch I can't help you, Toots," I said. The Witch was the capo di tuti capi of all of Narnia. She had the lid on Turkish Delight sewn tighter than you could say "Christmas".
Christmas. I'd forgotten what it was like. Every day was winter but it was never Christmas in Narnia, not since Aslan went to sleep with the fishes and Old Father Time had an unfortunate encounter with an ice pick to the heart.
I stared at the Lamppost. It shone brightly against the snow. I had the shakes again. I needed Turkish Delight, needed it bad. But I didn't want to get turned into stone like the others. Still, what choice did I have?
I got my umbrella. One should always carry an umbrella in this line of work.
"You will do it?" the Daughter of Eve said.
"Aslan's dead," I told her. "I'm the only one left. I'll find your brother, even if I have to go to Cair Caravel."
"You will do it?" the Daughter of Eve said.
"Aslan's dead," I told her. "I'm the only one left. I'll find your brother, even if I have to go to Cair Caravel."
(my lunch has finally arrived so that's it for the moment, sorry!)
later
...
"Stop where you are, Hoofs," a familiar voice said.
I froze. It was hard to freeze, seeing as it was always winter.
I felt weapons trained on me.
Beavers, I thought, disgusted. I had stumbled into beaver territory.
I fucking hated talking beavers.
...
"Stop where you are, Hoofs," a familiar voice said.
I froze. It was hard to freeze, seeing as it was always winter.
I felt weapons trained on me.
Beavers, I thought, disgusted. I had stumbled into beaver territory.
I fucking hated talking beavers.
"We know you're working with the Witch," Mr Beaver said.
"Things change," I told him. Mrs Beaver sharpened her knife on a stone and looked at me like she was thinking of dinner.
"Give me one reason I should trust you," Mr Beaver said.
"Things change," I told him. Mrs Beaver sharpened her knife on a stone and looked at me like she was thinking of dinner.
"Give me one reason I should trust you," Mr Beaver said.
"I'll give you two," I said, and I pulled out my gun.
An umbrella will take you only so far in this world, I thought sadly as I looked down on the two corpses. I knew from hard experience that you should never trust a talking beavers.
The beaver gang was armed and, from what I could make out, were heading in the direction of the Stone Table. Blood sacrifice was the sort of thing that used to go on in Narnia all time time until the Queen got there. You ever see a lion rip a corpse in half?
It ain't pretty.
Under the White Witch we had order, stability, Turkish Delight.
(I completely forgot this, but I did actually sell a Narnia story to Nature Magazine of all places once. It's free here: https://www.nature.com/articles/532276a)
I looked at the prints in the snow. Two Sons of Adam and a Daughter of Eve, mingled in amidst the beaver prints. They were loose somewhere on the ice, and heading to the Table.
Their pathetic Resistance movement couldn't be allowed to succeed. But I noticed with disquiet the signs of melting snow.
The Lion, I thought. The Lion is back in the game.
The Lion, I thought. The Lion is back in the game.
The Aslans have ruled Narnia with an iron paw for generations. They kept the talking animals in place and they were tight with the Christmas gang and old Papa Time. But if the Lion was going to come back from the dead, I thought, he would need a fucking miracle.
I followed the tracks in the snow.
What choice did I have?
later
. . .
"You look cold, friendo," he said.
I looked at that big lump of beard.
"What's it to you, Fatso?" I said.
He chuckled without mirth. He had a big belly and a big beard and he wore the red of blood.
"That's Father Christmas to you, shithoofs," he said.
. . .
"You look cold, friendo," he said.
I looked at that big lump of beard.
"What's it to you, Fatso?" I said.
He chuckled without mirth. He had a big belly and a big beard and he wore the red of blood.
"That's Father Christmas to you, shithoofs," he said.
"I thought the Witch done you in," I told him, and he chuckled again.
"There are ways," he said. "You don't want to know what they are. Deep magic shit, from before the Dawn of Time."
"There are ways," he said. "You don't want to know what they are. Deep magic shit, from before the Dawn of Time."
I was going to shoot him but I was out of balls. I was out of patience. I was out of Turkish Delight.
I hopped in place from hoof to hoof.
I hopped in place from hoof to hoof.
"You're jonesing bad, Friendo," Father Christmas said.
He looked at me and picked his teeth with a knife. "I can make it all go away, you know. You want Christmas to come early this year? I can hook you up. And all you have to do is drop the case."
He looked at me and picked his teeth with a knife. "I can make it all go away, you know. You want Christmas to come early this year? I can hook you up. And all you have to do is drop the case."
I told him where he could shove Christmas.
He worked me some after that. Worked me hard.
Then he left me to die in the snow.
He worked me some after that. Worked me hard.
Then he left me to die in the snow.
I crawled in the ice. I couldn't take them all on. Father Christmas. Old Father Time. The Lion. Those God damned kids. I realised then you can't make winter last forever.
When I got to the Stone Table I realised I was too late.
The Lion was there. So was the Witch. This Son of Adam, called Peter. Papa Christmas. Old Man Times.
The heads of the Five Families.
The heads of the Five Families.
They split Narnia between them like cutting slices out of a Christmas pie.
The Pevensie Gang got Cair Paravel. Their capo styled himself High King Peter the Magnificent now. He was a dick.
Aslan got the Lands Beyond The Sea. It's what he was after anyway. The Witch kept her castle and all the statues she'd made.
As for me? I went back to my cottage by the Lamppost. What else was I going to do? Sometimes I sit here by the fire and wonder if things could have turned out differently.
Then I pick up my old copy of Nymphs and their Ways (the one with the woodcut illustrations) and forget.
the end
