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Malachi Claus
or
Fish Can Swim, Angels Can't
An impromptu sequel(ish) to The Un-Wise Men, also by me
As far as I, the great Malachi, can recall, this whole affair started on the eve of the twenty-fourth. But that meant nothing. This started in Heaven, where December could be April and the twenty-fourth could be the twelfth. So I don't really know when all this started. However, I do know that I was involved, naturally.
Myself, and that prat, Gabriel. Yes, yes, I know I'm all powerful but...there's only so much omnipotence can do, and that's just not enough to beat that git into the ground. But I digress. Needless to say, we were both involved.
“My Lackey,” He said, leaning back in his executive leather chair. He had actually filed enough paperwork to make room on his desk for his feet, which he placed one on top of the other. He had worked. That alone was enough to arouse my suspicions. I wasn't afraid though. Malachi is never afraid. “It's that time of year again, on Earth, and I need someone for a certain job I have in mind.”
“Taking lives at Christmas,” I mused, tilting my head to one side. I was standing in front of his desk, only because there was no available space to lounge aloofly. At least my stance was cool. I smiled coldly, “I have new-found respect for you,”
“Oh please, it's nothing like that,” Gabriel waved a light, dismissive hand, backing it up with a earnest shaking of his head. He was going to get a bad name in Heaven, and that was a very hard thing to do. Although, somehow Malachi had managed it. “Even the Angels of Death need a holiday. Besides, there are enough poor souls doing our job for us at this time of year.”
“Thank you, Gabriel.” I nodded, now catching his drift. It was only natural that efforts such as mine should be rewarded. In fact, it was about time I took a break. And I knew exactly where I wanted to spend it. “I'll gladly accept this vacation for Earth. If you need me, you can find me on Earth...somewhere.”
“Hold up!” Gabriel called sharply. I had been in the process of turning for the door. It wasn't that I had to pack or anything. My bayonet was at my side, and angels don't need spare clothes. I just preferred being without the blond Archangel's presence. He grinned, in that foolishly smart way he does when he thinks he's beaten me. I hate that smirk. “I didn't say I was giving you a vacation; I said you didn't have to kill anyone.”
“Then what do you want me to do?” I asked, curiosity overriding the compelling desire to turn and run very far away. At the time, it seemed strange to me that he should ask me to do anything other than killing. Granted, though I am brilliant, I haven't done much else for a very long time.
“Malachi,” Gabriel smiled, swinging his legs off his desk and leaning forward intensely. Touched by that enthusiasm, I automatically took a step back. “I want you to be Santa Claus.”
“What?!”
“Oh I don't know, it highlights the blood-lust in his eyes,” Michael, the Leader of Heaven's Armies, remarked, scratching his chin thoughtfully. It was the four of us in a room that looked like it hadn't been used properly, as the dust testified, for year. It was rather bare, save for the large floor to ceiling mirror at one end. Gabriel had brought the attire that I found myself in the middle of wearing.
“I'm going to kill you all,” I muttered, above my breath, clinging grim death to the top of my baggy red trousers. I was in no mood to indulge in the hip-hop scene and neither was I likely to suddenly gain ten stone. And until I got a belt, I was going to continuing gripping my breeches. I didn't want those people to see my athletic legs. Someone had once remarked they were chicken-legs. Sadly, that person is now dead.
“You've said that so many times, it's lost its edge,” Callisto shrugged indifferently as Gabriel handed me a belt. It was thick polished leather and- Hallelujah! Black! It was such a familiar colour to me, I loved it. Clutching my jovially red trousers with one hand, I struggled, unbelievable as it is, to thread the belt around my waist. There weren't any notches in the trousers so I had to make do by tying it around the matching red jacket, with a white trim. In addition to the trousers, both the belt and jacket were several sizes too big for me. I'd never considered myself underweight...and I still didn't. The previous owner was fat, that was it. “There, that's it.”
“Very fetching,” Gabriel whistled, standing to one side so I could see the mirror, and myself therein. My reflection smiled; it didn't matter what I was wearing because I always looked good. I looked like a young, in-shape, handsome version of Saint Nicholas. Come to think of it, why wasn't he wearing this festive get-up?
Though, at that moment, as I stared at myself in the mirror, I wasn't going to complain. Though, on it's own, the costume was ridiculous, wearing it entitled me to something I wanted dearly. For this year, I had to be Santa Claus, to deliver presents to children all over the world. While this would mean a great deal of unselfish altruism on my part, it meant that I would be able to go to Earth.
It wasn't a particularly great world. Heaven topped it in every department, including the number of annoying jerks, but that was where my heart was. I never realised how much I loved life, almost as much as myself, until I lost it. But to go back to Earth, to have a corporeal body. It my grand desire, and a Christmas present from Gabriel.
“You forgot the hat,” Callisto piped with glee as she rose up behind me and jammed the matching red hat, with a white lining around the brim and a small white fur ball on the point, on my head, rather roughly. She'd pay. I'll stick her on top of a Christmas tree and see how she liked that. Before I could retaliate, she flitted back to where Michael and Gabriel were standing. I whipped around sharply but the sight that met me stopped me instantly. All three of them were leaning over, staring at the watch of Gabriel's wrist. They were nodding their heads in unison to a certain rhythm.
“Three...two...one.” Gabriel counted off patiently. At the last beat, they snapped their heads up in perfect synchronicity. All three of them stared at me. I stared back at them, for once, at a loss. I didn't like how smiles were slowly, but surely, spreading on their angelic faces. It unnerved me. If their amusement somehow stemmed from me, I had to know. I turned around.
I am, by nature, a proud creature. Now, this will as come as no surprise to anyone. But my pride varies depending on what part of my person is am being proud of. My feet, for example, while outstanding by being part of myself, are nothing incredibly special. My eyes, on the other hand, can stop a man dead in his tracks with a single glare. It is that kind of pride that I put in my hair.
That is why I was doubly mortified to see my glorious raven mane, in its two magnificent bangs, turn white before my eyes. I had heard of people turning white with shock, but I was shocked at turning white. It was a possibility for Deaths, if for some reason, they should reap themselves, for their hair to turn white. I remember two Deaths of note with such a history but it shouldn't happen to me- not when I've already died!
I, the great Malachi, couldn't find the words for it. It was a travesty. I simply stuttered wordlessly, grasping the end of my fine locks as they changed from coal to snow. I was close to tears, though I couldn't let it show, not in front of those puny angels. I swallowed my fear in anger and, composing myself, whirled on them. I think the effect was lessened as they could see me in the mirror...
“My hair! What happened to my hair?!” I exclaimed furiously, spittle flying from my maw. My tirade didn't have quite the effect that I wanted it to have. In fact, the Archangels found it hard to contain their giggles. Callisto shook her disbelievingly, smiling all the way. In Heaven, my outbursts didn't seem to work half as well as they used to on Earth.
“Don't you know, Malachi? Santa Claus has white hair.” She informed me matter of factly. Curse her. Though, the image of a fat man in a red suit seemed fitting with white hair. But this meant I got to go to Earth. It was a costly compromise but worth it. It would wash sooner or later. And if not, I could dye it. No one would say a word. “If you go into children's bedrooms handing out presents with black hair, why, people may think you're some kind of paedophile.”
“It would make a change from my usual psychopathic streak,” I grinned, with deviant delight. This was my, rather successful in my opinion, attempt at humour. It was what distinguished the great from the unforgettable; the delicious one-liners.
The others, however, did not see the wit within. Their expressions ranged from reproachful condemnation, displayed by Michael- he thought he had some sort of control over me because we had the same sense of style- to abject fear, on Gabriel, via stern disgust by Callisto. Who was she to criticise me? It was her who brought up the idea. Though he didn't take his eyes off me, Gabriel passed his hand across the air in front of him and clicked his fingers. A filled, but not bursting sack, appeared on the floor at his feet. It sighed as it drooped forward slightly.
“Just...go already,” Gabriel dismissed me, shivering with revulsion. I smiled inwardly; though he, and everyone else pretended that I was no threat, the truth could not be ignored. I was stronger, smarter and swifter, in a word, greater than them. Much like the volcano that the mere mortals that thrived on its slopes. One day, I'd blow my top, lose my mind, go off the rails, and all that jazz. That was that fear. I doubted it was ever very far from their minds and it was moments like this that brought that fear closer. I liked moments like this.
“Whatever you say, Gay,” my smiled continued as I stepped forward. It didn't spread to the others. Heh, wasn't this the season for joy and goodwill? It was hard to tell judging by their expressions. I picked the sack up and swung it over my shoulder. The room began to dim as I made my exit. Before I vanished into the darkness, I smirked, to them all. They would know who was in charge. “Merry Christmas.”
But it would be wrong to think that he was alone in this matter. While he liked to think of himself as some sort of grand individual, in reality, he was far from it. Though, it is true, he was quite grand, he was hardly individual. There was a veritable cornucopia of mentally unhinged people. Of course, most of them had something to do or were otherwise engaged at Christmas. Most.
Malachi stepped out into the real world at some time past eleven on December the twenty-fourth. He touched down on assorted gravel chips on the top of inner city- of which city, he couldn't tell, building. It wasn't a skyscraper but there was still a good view. Well, there would have been if it had been light. He tilted his head up and, breathing the crisp night air into his lungs, ran a hand through his freshly whitened hair.
It was good to be back.
The romantic image didn't last though. It was shattered by a bullet that shot in between his arm and his head. Malachi froze, eyes wide, his hand still amongst his hair. He didn't like guns. It was hard to love the method of your own demise. As an angel, but more importantly, as Father Christmas, he doubted he could die in this world but that changed little. Overcoming his fear, Malachi snapped his head sharply in the direction of where the bullet had come from.
Before he had to command his almost-assassin to show himself, his attacker did so voluntarily, stepping out of the shadow of the stairwell. He was tall and athletic, genuinely handsome. He was dressed in standard covert gear, including the gun. On top of that, he wore a black sweater, understandable in Winter, and, less understandable, sunglasses. His hair, brown, not white, had been cut into an attractive shape.
“Aldous Asquith,” he smirked arrogantly as he removed the sunglasses. Malachi frowned though his expression lightened. The man from the shadows came closer, completely at ease, despite only having been a few centimetres before blowing someone's head off. All in a day's work really. “Professional Assassin.”
“And a bit of a git,” Malachi added shrewdly, grinning. Give anyone a gun these days and they thought they were Clint Eastwood. There was just no inherent style to it. Now a blade, that was a real man's choice of weapon, be it sword, bayonet or even a scythe. That took practice to use, skill, talent. It took more than some drunken idiot to wield. And that was why he was better than Asquith, any day.
“Takes one to know one, Malachi.” Aldous retorted, shrugging lightly, as he holstered his weapon. It was Christmas; he really shouldn't have to use it. For one, it would dampen the seasonal spirit, not least of all for whoever he shot. And two, he wouldn't be able to get any more ammunition until the new year.
“What are you doing here, Asquith?” Malachi inquired flatly, swiftly changing the topic of conversation. If the two got into a slagging match, it could last until people started taking down their Christmas decorations. But he had a job to do.
“Well, I could feed you some cock-and-bull story about the Archangel Gabriel visiting me in a dream and telling me to come here and meet you...” Aldous rolled his eyes and scratched his chin pensively. Malachi raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “But you wouldn't believe me. So I'm just out for a walk.”
“Some might think it's strange to take a walk on the top of a building,” Malachi mused, a wry smile toying upon his lips. With a story like that, the angel one was just as credible. Now just what was Gabriel up to? “But as long as you don't ask about the red suit, or the hair, or the wings, I'll keep quiet.”
“Deal.” Aldous snapped sharply in response, before the angel could even consider taking it back. Unless it was to demonstrate his immeasurable intelligence or cunning, he wasn't too keen to explain himself. Most people would be spending this time with their families but he was alone on a roof with the Angel of Death. Each to his own really.
“But, since you're here, you might as well help me out,” Malachi grinned, a plan forming in his mind. Of course, his usual strategy of playing the lone wolf was flawless. He needed nor cared not for friendship; those things weren't important to him. But the more he delegated to other's tonight, the less he had to do himself, and the less he had to do himself, the more he could enjoy the earthly experience. It would only a one time thing though. Shirking work was the philosophy of someone he knew and hated in equal measures. He dropped the sack onto the cement between them. “Here, you can carry this.”
“It's heavy. How many houses were you planning on visiting..or have already robbed,” Aldous inquired, as he heaved the bag onto his shoulder, flexing his knees under the weight. Secretly giving about presents was incredibly noble and stealing from people on Christmas was unspeakably low. Malachi was a complex guy, or at least, that's what he told people. Frankly, since he was retired, he didn't really care what Malachi was up to. He looked over his shoulder at the contents of the bag. “If you're giving out presents, can I keep what's left over?”
“I'm sure the boss won't mind,” Malachi looked away for moment, smiling with his tongue in cheek. What could there be for Gabriel to worry about? Where was the harm in handing a relic of Heaven to a mere mortal? And if it was a problem, he was confident he could take Aldous. “Let's get started.”
“How many houses are we going to?” Aldous asked, shifting the bag's weight on his shoulder. His body was toned to perfection, it was no secret, but it had taken effort. He didn't want to ruin all that by carrying a weight cack-handedly.
“Oh, not many,” Malachi shrugged half-heartedly. Numbers were relative anyway. In most circles, 100 was a high score. However, to him, it was more...reasonable, but could do better. The number of houses was a similar scenario. “Just...all of them. In the world.”
“Well,” Aldous nodded, his free hand on his hip, trying to take it all in. He knew Malachi was something different, a different world, a different story. Tonight would be a window into that world. That, and he was Santa Claus. Yes, that made sense. “We'd better get started then,”
“The front door?” He asked blankly, appraising the house from a professional point of view. Unless it was unlocked with a big welcome sign in neon letters, no one, in the breaking and entering business, used the front door anymore. Back door, yes, windows, sure, even through the wall. But the front door? It was tantamount to suicide. “We're going in through the front door?”
“Of course,” Malachi snorted, adjusting his hat. It was a stupid hat. There was no denying that. But since he had to wear it, he might as well make the most of it. He leapt over the gate and walked up the small drive. There was a modest people carrier sitting on the crazy paving. Against his better judgement, Aldous pushed the gate open silently and followed him. At the door, Malachi turned around, a sharp and superior smile upon his countenance. “Forget everything you know because on this night, we rewrite the traditions. This is the year when two charming psychopaths made Christmas.”
He returned to face the door and, pausing momentarily, he grasped the handle and turned. With ease, the door swung inwards, admitting them entrance into the peaceful hall beyond. There were no barking dogs, there were no alarmingly loud alarm systems, there were no enraged pyjama-clad, baseball wielding home-owners. Just silence.
“It was unlocked?” Aldous frowned. He hadn't been expecting that. Thought he hadn't come prepared, he was sure some kid, somewhere in the world had wished for a complete lockpick set. That, or they could break a window. Options, as long as they had options, they were alright.
“What did I just say?” Malachi glared at him sourly, one foot already over the threshold. This venture would only work with the full cooperation of both Santa Claus and his little helper. Really, was an unlocked door so much more difficult to believe than flying reindeer?
He continued into the house with a sullen Aldous. After shutting the door- save energy!- they headed upstairs. They didn't need anyone telling them where the children slept. It was strange. Like some weird pulse, the room behind the door with a name plate in small caps called out to them. It was just one more entry in the growing catalogue of abnormal phenomena that Aldous was keeping in his head. Malachi kept no such list.
“Nathan,” Aldous read quietly, examining the wooden plaque glued to the door in the half-light at the top of the stairs. They had more than a billion children to visit and he was concerned with names. Well, sometimes the smallest of details were the most important. For example, what sort of toy would a Nathan want? They were to find out soon.
Malachi pushed the door open with his usual finesse and the pair crept inside. Even in the darkness, one only needed a glance to know that this was a child's room. The walls were a marvellously bright colour, yellow, with a strip of cartoon characters circling the room near the ceiling. Various assortments of bric-à-brac had been left lying on the floor, a ball, a car park's worth of toy cars and some plastic soldiers. Malachi and Aldous had to tread carefully otherwise they risked getting ambushed, or worse, run over.
“What do you get for the person who already has everything?” Aldous tutted to himself, setting the sack down, as he stood next to the nearside of the massive double-bed that conquered the room. Comparatively, the child within could barely be discerned amongst the folds of the duvet.
“I don't know but it looks like whoever's been here first has tried pretty damn hard,” Malachi countered absently, opposite him, holding the plastic sack at the foot of the bed open with one finger as he peered inside. It made his already-paranoid mind go into overload as he weighed the chances of Gabriel sending more than one Father Christmas out from Heaven. It would ease the strain on him and Aldous but what if, instead of working with them, the other gift-givers were working in competition with them? Was there a prize at stake for the most successful Santa? Or was it punishment for the worst? If that was the case, he had to win, because he was the best, and the best always won. Or maybe their parents had left it there.
“What should I give them?” Aldous asked, reaching into the bag. The presents were already boxed and wrapped, with rather festive bows tied on them, so there was no way of knowing what they were giving out. For all they knew, they could be giving out top-of-the-range electric razors with shaving cream to a six-year-old girl. Still, the gender boundaries were a lot more lax these days, what with a woman leading the Secret Intelligence Service and all. Who was to say that that would be an inappropriate gift? Even if it was, she could always give her Barbie dolls crew cuts.
“I'd like a Roboraptor,” the child in the bed between them answered immediately, without even opening their eyes. Malachi and Aldous blinked in unison and snapped their attention to the child. They were supposed to be asleep. But then again, what child in their right mind slept on Christmas Eve? “Green if you have it. And a Cyberman Head with voice distortion technology.”
“How long have you been awake?” Aldous asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. This was the type of small detail was indeed very important. Were elves allowed to draw their semi-automatic handguns on children? Personally, he had no qualms with it but it probably wouldn't go down very well with Malachi's “boss.”
“Three hours. To be honest, I didn't think you'd come down the chimney. Dad had to call out British Gas the other week to get a dead crow out of it. You're not sooty either.” the child sat up straight, looking from Malachi to Aldous, and then back to Malachi, scrutinising them both intensely. “I thought you'd be fatter,” and to Aldous, she commented, “You're too tall to be an elf.”
“I'm not an elf!” Aldous protested sharply. If he, of all people, was being mistaken for a small merry creature from the North Pole, something was seriously wrong. It was enough to bring him out of retirement.
“How old are you?” Malachi asked. Screw the usual drill, of “Have you been naughty or nice?” and the rest of the Christmas crackers. He would ask the questions that he wanted answers to. This year, he owned Christmas.
“Seven years old,” the child replied. Neither he nor Aldous could be sure whether they were dealing with a boy or a girl. Their hair was ambiguously long and dirty blond but their voice gave away nothing. “Now where are my presents?”
“In the bag. What did you want again?” Malachi stated, shaking his head in what in a few minutes would turn to exasperation. To be on Earth, to be on Earth, that was why he was here. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. Though if all the children of the world were going to be like this, it might not be worth it after all.
“I've already told you. A green Roboraptor and a Cyberman head,” the child breathed, evidently tiring of these twenty questions. In fact, they didn't really care for the chit-chat as long as they got their presents, emphasis on the plural. Years ago, children were lucky if they only got one present. Tch, how primitive and barbaric. They suddenly perked up as they thought of something else, “Oh, and a Nintendo Wii if you have one.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Malachi held an open-palmed hand to stop the oncoming flood of requests. It made him realised how truly wonderful it was to have died without leaving an heir. Not only did he not leave a single mother to raise the fruit of his loins, not that it bothered him much, but also he didn't have to go through this twice a year. “What about peace on earth and joy to all men?” It was a long shot but it was worth it.
“Look, I don't care about any of that. Just give me the presents!” the child in the bed snapped. Yeah, it was the season to act nice but there was only so much you could at whatever time this was in the morning.
There was silence.
“I thought I was self-centred,” Malachi remarked quietly, sombrely. Although, there really was no one else worth centring his life on.
“I was just the same at his...her...their age,” Aldous shook his head, suddenly feeling the urge to suddenly evaluate himself. Come Christmas Day, he was going to break into a dozen charity shops and leave them various cash gifts.
“Strange,” Malachi laughed in that amused way that struck fear into his acquaintances, “You didn't ask for the greatest gift.” He slowly walked towards the head of the bed, to the tune of a slick scratching sound as he drew his bayonet from its scabbard beneath his jacket. Gabriel couldn't stop him wearing it though he did suggest not to wear outside his costume.
“What is it?” the child asked in altruistic curiosity, ignoring the rather large and deadly blade that had appeared from under Santa's robes. “A mountain bike?”
“A bike, ho ho, no, my dear child,” Malachi chuckled magnanimously, an righteous expression illuminating his features. He climbed onto the bed and knelt on one knee next to the child. Carefully, he placed the blade of his bayonet against the child's slim neck. He clasped his free hand over their mouth. It wouldn't do for any screaming- the child was terrified by now- at this time of the night. As he spoke, his large black wings unfolded themselves, spreading themselves to the ends of the room. Aldous inclined his head; he hadn't seen seen that before. Malachi continued in a whisper, as if he were imparting a closely kept secret. “Tis Life, my dear. Each and every day, you receive it for nothing. And yet, among all the wrapping paper and goose, it is the most precious gift of all for it is the most fragile as well. Alas, I was to learn this too late- don't make the same mistake that I did, Ebeneezer. Take your life, cherish it, hold it close, and remember it can disappear in an instant, never to be had again. And that is the gift I leave you with tonight- you may keep your life. Do you understand?” The child nodded quietly, eyes wide with fear. Malachi smiled, a little wistfully, “Good. Then it is time for sleep now. Merry Christmas.”
At that moment, the child lowered their eyelids and fell asleep, due to in no small part to a little angelic might on Malachi's part. A little untamed, unmatched, power of Heaven went a long way. Satisfied, Malachi retracted his wings, sheathed his sword and stepped down off the bed. He grinned triumphantly in the knowledge that that was a job well done.
“It's going to be a long night,” Aldous laughed to himself quietly, as he considered breaking into two dozen charity shops. He bent down and removed a present, singular, from his sack. After all that, the child deserved something. Unfortunately, he didn't see any with air-holes so she wouldn't be getting a psychiatrist for Christmas.
“Then this is a strange world indeed,” Aldous shook his head in light-hearted disbelief. Malachi as Father Christmas. Yes, it was fine for a one-time thing. But every year? It would be something like that that would start World War III, and he was rather adamant that that start after he was long dead.
“What did you leave that girl by the way?” Malachi turned to his elf and partner in crime. Being in the counter-espionage business, he should have known better to try and get away with something so obvious. But he and Aldous were of a different breed, in which knowing the best for someone was relative to themselves.
“Well, you know how he wanted a Wii?” Aldous inquired, almost sheepishly. This did nothing to detract from his own Christmas. He was still going to visit those charity shops. This was just a little good work on the side. But he could have sworn that kid was a boy.
“Yes?” Malachi answered warily.
“I gave her a PSP.” Aldous replied flatly, a smirk on his face.
“Ooh, mean.”
As they walked, Malachi wondered exactly what a Wii could be but didn't bother Aldous about it.
“Yes.”
“Who has a vast expanse of open countryside in their hall?” Aldous asked, blinking. They had done it. In one night. All the children of the world. When he had asked Malachi about how they'd found the time to do it all, he said something about Heaven's time on Earth, but he didn't quite grasp it. Heaven, angels, not his forte really. Yet, in this last house, they had opened the door, and here they were. Where here was wasn't easily defined.
“I have a feeling this counts as overtime,” Malachi narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He had a fair idea who was behind this. He could smell sheep. Wales? But it was much more Mediterranean than that small country should be. He had a sudden image of tea-towels. No, it couldn't be!
“There's a town over there. We can ask for information,” Aldous pointed out helpfully, already starting for the hamlet at the foot of the hill they were on. He held up the near-empty sack, “And perhaps hand out this last present.”
Malachi nodded and followed the Assassin down the slope. He took a long, deep breath. Air, real air, fresh air. It was glorious. Perhaps he shouldn't be as maniacal with Gabriel, if that meant he could return here more often. Especially here in particular. The air was much clearer than normal, and Malachi couldn't detect any pollutants in it.
The houses were traditionally made, from mud and clay bricks, with grass and straw for flat roofs. There appeared to be some sort of commotion on the patio of the nearest house to them as they approached the town. Well, patio, it wasn't much more than a shed. An animal shed at that; how rural. It could still be Wales.
“Oh, great, more visitors,” a youngish man in a beard and robe lamented as he saw the two strangely dressed men approach the stable. It was rather basic, even for the animals. The bearded man had been sitting on a box of feed while a younger woman tended to something- someone- in a feeding trough nearby. She was wearing gold earrings and was looking rather frazzled.
“What do you mean- more visitors?” Aldous asked, picking up the Aramaic, and the plot along with it. It was as if they'd stumbled into a Nativity Play come to life. He looked to his side, expecting to see scores of enthusiastic parents. Nope, just Malachi.
“Oh, it's terrible,” a post-natally depressed Joseph narrated, sitting back down and putting a hand to his creased brow. He didn't care who these two were; they weren't moving again. “Firstly, we got to track all the way down here for this census and that's not easy with my wife-to-be already expecting, and then, when we finally get a room, this flippin' great caravan of wise men show up and the innkeeper gives them our room.”
“But they did give us some nice gifts in thanks, Joe,” his fiancée added, looking up from the feeding trough. Whoever was in there, and they had to be small, had a complete monopoly on her attention.
“Aye, true,” Joseph murmured reasonably. Some gold earrings, some special incense and some special perfumey ointment thingy. However, some baby clothes would have been thoughtful, or perhaps some talcum powder. Really, they called themselves wise men and everything.
“Look, this may sound...strange,” Aldous struggled to ask, grappling for the right words. He doubted he would ever be in this situation, or indeed, in this time, again. He removed the last box from the sack and held it out to them, “Is anyone missing a Christmas present?”
Mary and Joseph looked to each other, utterly confused. What was he talking about? Joe returned to the stranger. “Sorry, mate. It's all Greek to me.”
“Actually, that's for me,” a voice claimed from behind Aldous and Malachi. The latter's eyes widened as he recognised the voice. What was he doing here? A dripping wet, bared arm reached past Aldous and took the present. Mary and Joseph were awestruck; they hadn't seen that man for a good nine months now. Malachi and Aldous swivelled around suddenly.
“Gabriel!” Malachi hissed. He had changed a lot since he had last seen him. Instead of that goofy ponytail, his blond hair fell in angelic tresses behind his ears. His clothes had changed to. Far removed from the lackadaisical clerical shirt and trousers, he wore a simple white robe and leather sandals. Something strange had happened. It looked like he had been drowned and set on fire, though it was hard to say in what order. Parts of him were burnt black, thoroughly singed, yet there was a small rivulet running from where Gabriel had walked from.
“Merry Christmas,” he beamed, in that light-hearted, work-shy smile inherent in him. He turned his attention to the present. He undid the bow and unwrapped the paper, being as reckless as he could. He lifted the lid off the naked box within and smiled, obviously delighted. He took hold of the present and dropped the box. It fell to the floor to reveal a large, fluffy and white towel. Perfect for drying things off. He asked, as many people do, with fake curiosity, “How ever did you know?”
“Peh, it was nothing. I know everything,” Malachi shrugged, recovering from the shock of seeing “that prat” two thousand years in the past. He flicked the white bobble of his hat back over his head and grinned superiorly, “After all, I'm Malachi Claus!”
-Quinn and his Quill
