The Girl Who Saved Christmas. Matt Haig

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СКАЧАТЬ about the Toy Workshop. You need to forget about Christmas. You need to get out of Elfhelm. You need to run for the hills.’

      ‘What are you talking about, Truth Pixie?’

      And it was then that he heard it. A kind of grumbling sound.

      ‘I knew I should have had a bigger breakfast,’ he said, patting his stomach.

      ‘That wasn’t coming from you. It was coming from down there.’ The Truth Pixie pointed to the ground.

      Father Christmas stared down at the fresh snow, as blank as a white page.

      ‘It’s happening even sooner than I thought,’ she squealed, and began running. She looked back over her shoulder. ‘Find a safe place! And hide! And I suppose you should tell the elves to hide too . . . And you better cancel Christmas before they do . . .’

      ‘They? Who are they?’ But the Truth Pixie had gone. Father Christmas chuckled, looking at the pixie’s tiny footprints in the snow heading back to the wooded hills. It was Christmas. The Truth Pixie had obviously been up all night drinking cinnamon syrup and was probably a bit confused.

      Even so, he heard the rumbling noise again.

      ‘Oh, stomach, do be . . .’

      But the noise was much louder and lower and suddenly not that stomachy. It was a very strange sound. He was sure it was nothing to worry about. But even so, he went back inside and quickly shut the door so he could hear nothing but the sounds of the Toy Workshop.

Mr Creeper

      eventeen days after Amelia had sent her letter to Father Christmas, Amelia Wishart was where she very often was – inside a chimney.

      It was dark inside chimneys. That was the first thing she had had to get used to. The darkness. Another thing was the size. Chimneys were always a bit too small, even if you were still a child. But the worst thing about being a chimney sweep was the soot. The black dust got everywhere once you started sweeping. In your hair, on your clothes, on your skin, in your eyes and mouth. It made you cough a horrid unstoppable cough, and made your eyes water. It was a horrible job but it was a job she needed. A job that could help her earn enough money for food and to get medicine for her mother.

      And anyway, the thing about sweeping chimneys was that it made you enjoy daylight more. In fact, it made you enjoy being anywhere that wasn’t a chimney. It made you hope. Being in the sooty darkness made you dream of all the exotic and light places in the world.

      It was certainly no place to be on the morning of Christmas Eve. Stuck there, knees and elbows rammed against the chimney walls, choking on the clouds of soot as she brushed.

      Then she heard something.

      A tiny little crying sound.

      Not a human sound. But something else.

      A miaow.

      ‘Oh no,’ she said, knowing exactly who it was.

      She pressed her heels against the chimney wall and felt around with her free hand in the dark until she reached something soft and warm and furry, lying on a sloping shelf inside the crooked chimney.

      ‘Captain Soot! What have I told you? Never climb in chimneys! They are not for cats!’

      Her cat began to purr as Amelia picked him up and carried him down towards the light of the living room. Captain Soot was black all over except for the white tip on the end of his tail. But today even that was as black as, well, soot.

      The cat wriggled out of Amelia’s arms, did a twisting jump through the air, and started to walk across the room. Across the cream-coloured rug. The expensive cream-coloured rug. Amelia stared at the sooty paw prints in horror.

      ‘Oh no. Captain Soot! Come back! What are you doing?!’

      Amelia went to get her cat but then of course she was getting the rug dirty too.

      ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Oh no, oh no, oh no . . .’

      She quickly got a wet cloth from the kitchen, where a kitchen maid was peeling carrots.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Amelia said. ‘I’ve just made a bit of a mess.’

      The maid tutted and scowled, like a cross cat herself. ‘Mr Creeper won’t be happy when he gets back from the workhouse!’ Amelia went back to the living room and tried to clear up the soot, but all she did was make the black marks look even bigger.

      ‘We have to do this before Mr Creeper comes back,’ she told the cat. ‘Of all the houses to choose to do this in, Captain!’

      The cat said sorry with its eyes.

      ‘It’s all right, you weren’t to know, but I bet Mr Creeper has got a temper.’

      And as she kept scrubbing she realised there was something strange about this living room. It was Christmas Eve, and yet there wasn’t one single decoration. Not one Christmas card. No holly and ivy. No smell of mince pies. Now, in a rich house like this one, this was quite unusual.

      Then Amelia heard a noise from the hallway. She turned as the living-room door opened, and there stood Mr Creeper.

      Amelia stared up at the man. He was a long man. He had a long body. And a long, narrow face. And a long, crooked nose. And a long black cane that, with his dark coat and dark top hat, made him look like a crow who had decided – one dreary Tuesday while eating a worm – to become a human.

      Mr Creeper was staring at Amelia, the cat and the sooty footprints all over the floor.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Amelia said. ‘It’s just my cat had followed me and he sneaked up the chimney.’

      ‘Do you know how much that rug cost?’

      ‘No, sir. But I’m cleaning it. Look, it’s coming off.’

      Captain Soot hissed up at Mr Creeper. His hair stood on end. Captain Soot liked most people but he really didn’t like this long man.

      ‘Vile creature.’

      ‘He’s just trying to wish you Happy Christmas,’ Amelia said, trying to smile.

      ‘Christmas,’ said Mr Creeper, and his mouth twisted as if the word had a horrid taste. ‘Christmas is only happy if you are a fool. Or a child. And you are obviously both.’

      Amelia knew who Mr Creeper was. He was the man who ran Creeper’s Workhouse, one of the largest workhouses in all of London. She also knew what a workhouse was. A workhouse was a horrible place. A workhouse was a place no one wanted to be but sometimes ended up if they became СКАЧАТЬ