High Spires House
Christmas Eve Day, 4:40 a.m.
As a member of the Holy Order of Saint Aldwin, Sir Seamus Morvan had trained very hard to hone a wide range of skills. He could drive a motorcycle, an automobile, a cargo truck, a tank and a mag-speeder, and he even had some idea how to fly a plane in a pinch....but his brothers in the Order always teased him about his stealth. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how good he was, he had never been as good at any of the rest of them at keeping quiet: where Malcolm had deadly patience and Roland an attunement with nature that had only multiplied since the summer, Seamus was comparatively impulsive and heavy-footed.
In spite of that, he was the first and most insistent volunteer for this important mission that required, above all else, stealth and secrecy.
Maybe it was his heavy feet, or the much heavier maroon sack hefted over his left shoulder, or the noises an old house like High Spires produced, but when Seamus entered the orphanage he was announced with a pair of sharp creaks. He hissed an oath down at his own boots and proceeded towards the sweet woody smell of the Christmas tree.
The space beneath the shining, decorated branches was still rather sparse, but not for much longer. He took a knee, checked the doorways with a cautious squint, and began laying out presents in various shapes and sizes, all of them wrapped in festive paper with conspicuously beautiful bows — Sir Malcolm had insisted that he arrange the bows himself, strangely enough. There were joyous little messages of Yule and Christmas, and each gift was marked for a different girl or boy at High Spires (plus their most frequent visitors), all of them from Saint Nicholas.
Or Santa Claus. Or Kris Kringle, or Father Christmas. There were almost as many names for the Jolly Old Elf as there were children to share the gifts, and Seamus had to chuckle to himself at the little touch.
Sampson blinked golden eyes open. He was sure he had heard something. When he slowly sat up in bed to look around, no one else was moving. In fact, Liam was snoring lightly. Maybe that was what he heard. But it had never woken him before.
Leaning forward, trying to be ever so still, he tried to hear whatever it was that woke him again. A clock tick-tocked from down the hall. The drowsy cocoon feeling of the house was just not complete though. Sampson didn't know what it was exactly, and he sure wasn't going to wake anybody up if it was nothing but his imagination.
Pushing back the covers, he crept to the end of his top bunk and stepped onto the ladder. Benji rolled over with a grunt and flop of his arm bringing Sampson to a complete stop, his feet getting colder by the moment now out from the warmth of sheets and heavy blankets. When assured no one else was had woken still, he went the rest of the way and shoved his feet into the old slippers. Old but foot warming slippers they were. The housecoat, made for him by Mrs. June in the Fall, snatched from where it hung on the bedpost, and he tip toed from the room.
In the hall, he stopped and strained to listen again. He did not need to turn on lights. His eyesight was much better than most of the kid's, even in the dark. Still, the house did not give up more than its normal sigh and groan as the furnace kicked in again, wheezing out the warm air to push up through registers and radiators.
Then he heard....a chuckle" Maybe it was the furnace. It could cough and whisper sometimes, but just to be sure, Sampson slunk down the steps, craning his white blond head out from the bottom step landing around the corner and investigate the bottom floor. If someone was taking their Christmas tree, he was going to scream. He worked hard on that present for Mrs. June and Mr. Ephram.
Seamus heard Sampson descending, and at first he was very still. Then he crept carefully over to the hallway, unfortunately announcing himself with a quick, sharp creak, and spotted the boy. The mission was in danger! He hissed to him for quiet and waved him over, urgently, still bearing the very heavy red bag of presents....and it looked very much like Saint Nick's.
Sampson's mouth hung open. That was Santa's pack. He knew it, because that's what it looked like in the picture book Mrs. June read to them at night. However, it sure wasn't the Saint Nick holding it that the book showed.
Hurrying over, slippered feet making a shushing sound across the rug and wood floor. His look said it all. All the questions he wanted to ask, in the wrinkle of one side of his nose the furrow of his brow, and the narrowing of golden eyes. Just what do you think you're doin'" said that look.
Seamus padded back over to the base of the tree where many of the presents had already been arranged and took a knee, patting the floor nearby for Sampson to join him.
"Can you help me set out these presents?" the knight asked the boy with an earnest look. "I'll explain everything I can....as much as my oaths allow for." He took out a present to set down himself, and offered another over to Sampson: "There's heavy secrets at work here."
Following, tip toe all the way, Sampson sat at the tree and smiled up at it. It wasn't all that big or fancy, but it was their tree. The ornaments were mostly hand made from the children living there. Only a few were crafted by artisans, special heirlooms of Mrs. June's. Those sparkled when the candles were lit on the tree.
Heavy secrets sounded scary and fun all at once. There were oaths like in the stories, bonds of trust not to be broken. He had stepped into a secret society! Wait until the others heard about this! If he was allowed to tell. That thought came to him. As he helped with the presents, he looked at the man, eager for the secrets like sneaking cookies from the cookie jar. "What kind of secrets?"
Seamus looked around again, a conspiratory check, and leaned over towards Sampson as he set another present down. "Now, Saint Nicholas is a pretty remarkable man. Shooting up and down chimneys with toys, flying across the sky with reindeer, and magick even deeper than knowing the sins and virtues of every girl and boy, never mind their toys....Even still....sometimes the old elf needs a helping hand."
He stopped working and took a knee again, and smiled over at Sampson. "He has knights who do just that."
"Knights?" Sampson gasped. It was a moment of thrill before skepticism trickled its way into his thoughts. "Really' The books never mention knights." A quizzical jut to his jaw.
This did not keep him from still helping, because so far, stuff is coming out of the bag and not going in it. That at least seemed right. "Have you met him' Does he really have magicks" Did he tell you if I was good enough this year" You sure there's a Saint Nick?"
Maybe it was all just a story, and really knights did it all in secret. Sampson could not decide which he liked better. Knights delivering presents, that was ever so exciting, too!
"That's why they call it the Secret Order of Saint Nicholas," Seamus replied. "They can't be putting all of our business, nor Father Christmas', in books where just anyone can see. We've got our mysteries, and so does he. Now the old man does most of the work himself, sure....but the Order still helps, as much as we can. I'm still in the Holy Order of Saint Aldwin, and always will be....but Saint Nick has my allegiance too."
After they laid out what seemed to be the last of the presents, Seamus dropped to a knee again and crossed his arms over his thigh and looked very curiously at Seamus. "You know....Old Saint Nick did seem pretty interested in you. He reminded me, 'Sampson's a warrior's name, Seamus. The lad can do us all some good, and help me bring a little cheer.' ...But it's heavy work, you see, working for the Secret Order. Doesn't have a thing to do with people knowing the good you do, just with doing good. Making sure there's always a Christmas tree where it's needed, and always presents under every tree."
It would not be obvious here and now, but Seamus harbored the hope that the boy would remember his words years down the road when he grew older and became a man; and whatever else those intervening years offered, that the giving spirit of the 'Secret Order of Saint Nick' would live on. "I need you to deliver something for Saint Nick and me, but I need you to swear your allegiance and your secrecy first." A smile grew on the young man's face. "Will you do that, Sampson?"
The awe of being remembered specifically by Saint Nick set off fireworks of delight inside the little boy. As the knight who had allegiance to Saint Nick knelt there, Sampson's eyes golden eyes widened and the smile bloomed like a low burning lamp turned up to give a warm glow.
"Oh, I can," the whisper barely just that still, and he hushes a little more. A quiet voice however did not interpret into a quieting of eager happiness. "I can help Saint Nick. I can keep it secret. Oh, I promise. What does he want me to deliver?" He had crept closer to the knight, nearly crawling up on him. Sampson wanted to prove his worthiness by keeping quiet — it was hard! He was a Saint Nick helper! Oh, what a yuletide this was. He was so glad he didn't live on the streets anymore. And he had a purpose. Forever and ever he'd be part of this Secret Order of Saint Nicholas. No matter where he went or if he ever got adopted, he belonged to something good.
Deep down Seamus was brimming with joy: This was what he had become a knight for; this was why he fought, and sacrificed, and served. Sampson was one of many children who would have a better future, and maybe now try to do the same for the generation that followed him. He climbed to his feet and drew his sword carefully, clamping his scarf over it and muting the metallic hiss.
"Knighthood is about duty, but to be a knight is more than a job: it is who you are and what you do every moment for the rest of your life." There was some familiarity to his words, some of them recalled from the knight-errant who had instructed him and the other first batch of candidates for the Holy Order of Saint Aldwin, the sacred organization's founders; others came from the initiation rites and ceremonies he remembered so vividly, the sight of then Lord-Protector DeMuer's sword descending to his shoulder, the murmur of priests attending to prayers and blessings....
"As a knight, you will be the master of many arts, but a servant of the common man; you will be humble when your victories are great, and wise in defeat. And no matter the cost....always protect the innocent, for they have so much to teach the world."
His sword descended slowly, and the flat touched the boy's shoulders; as he sheathed it, his eyes narrowed in a proud little smile. "Rise, Sir Sampson, Knight in the Secret Order of Saint Nicholas. You have gifts to deliver..." A stack of letters was produced from thin air, some tricky sleight of hand on Seamus' part, and he offered them over to the fledgling knight in front of him.
The top one was clearly marked for Mrs. June and Mr. Ephram, but otherwise completely unmarked; the others went to other orphanages, healing houses and charitable places around RhyDin. "Your role and mine in these gifts must be our little secret, though they'll know from our seal that our Order was involved," and a small wink there. "Can you deliver them?"
Probably most knights looked a little more solemn, fully aware of the difficult road they had chosen and the balance in their lives they would be required to maintain. What this young knightling thought of was how great it was to belong to a secret society. He listened to the words, he bobbed his head, he could do that. He was convinced he could do good and protect the innocent, besides he wanted to do that. People had done it for him, like those that lived in High Spires House and Lirssa. He wondered a moment if Lirssa was a secret knight, too, but asking was impossible if she wasn't, he'd give it away. But instead of solemn, there was a big excited smile.
The tree with all its presents gave such a backdrop to the occasion, Sampson almost thought maybe he was dreaming until that sword touched his shoulder. He was a knight! Sir Sampson. He stood and taking the letters, he smiled. "Yes, sir. You can count on me." In fact, he could deliver one of them right away, knowing just where to place it so Mrs. June would find it: the kitchen table. "This is gonna be great!" he whispered, clutching the letters close getting to his feet and hopping a bit like a fledgling bird.
"The deliveries should wait until daybreak, so you can be sure to find a good excuse to be about town." Seamus laid a hand on Sampson's head affectionately and grinned. "Maybe 'Christmas stuff' — not a lie, and it doesn't tell them a thing."
Something creaked upstairs, maybe something so slight as a child stirring in their sleep, but it was enough to remind Seamus he was on a secret mission and ought not to be caught in the act. He wound the scarf loosely about his scabbard again and sheathed his sword with barely a noise at all, then crept towards the door.
"Merry Christmas, Sir Sampson." And he slipped out into the cold winter morning, vanishing into a gust of snow.
As a member of the Holy Order of Saint Aldwin, Sir Seamus Morvan had trained very hard to hone a wide range of skills. He could drive a motorcycle, an automobile, a cargo truck, a tank and a mag-speeder, and he even had some idea how to fly a plane in a pinch....but his brothers in the Order always teased him about his stealth. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how good he was, he had never been as good at any of the rest of them at keeping quiet: where Malcolm had deadly patience and Roland an attunement with nature that had only multiplied since the summer, Seamus was comparatively impulsive and heavy-footed.
In spite of that, he was the first and most insistent volunteer for this important mission that required, above all else, stealth and secrecy.
Maybe it was his heavy feet, or the much heavier maroon sack hefted over his left shoulder, or the noises an old house like High Spires produced, but when Seamus entered the orphanage he was announced with a pair of sharp creaks. He hissed an oath down at his own boots and proceeded towards the sweet woody smell of the Christmas tree.
The space beneath the shining, decorated branches was still rather sparse, but not for much longer. He took a knee, checked the doorways with a cautious squint, and began laying out presents in various shapes and sizes, all of them wrapped in festive paper with conspicuously beautiful bows — Sir Malcolm had insisted that he arrange the bows himself, strangely enough. There were joyous little messages of Yule and Christmas, and each gift was marked for a different girl or boy at High Spires (plus their most frequent visitors), all of them from Saint Nicholas.
Or Santa Claus. Or Kris Kringle, or Father Christmas. There were almost as many names for the Jolly Old Elf as there were children to share the gifts, and Seamus had to chuckle to himself at the little touch.
Sampson blinked golden eyes open. He was sure he had heard something. When he slowly sat up in bed to look around, no one else was moving. In fact, Liam was snoring lightly. Maybe that was what he heard. But it had never woken him before.
Leaning forward, trying to be ever so still, he tried to hear whatever it was that woke him again. A clock tick-tocked from down the hall. The drowsy cocoon feeling of the house was just not complete though. Sampson didn't know what it was exactly, and he sure wasn't going to wake anybody up if it was nothing but his imagination.
Pushing back the covers, he crept to the end of his top bunk and stepped onto the ladder. Benji rolled over with a grunt and flop of his arm bringing Sampson to a complete stop, his feet getting colder by the moment now out from the warmth of sheets and heavy blankets. When assured no one else was had woken still, he went the rest of the way and shoved his feet into the old slippers. Old but foot warming slippers they were. The housecoat, made for him by Mrs. June in the Fall, snatched from where it hung on the bedpost, and he tip toed from the room.
In the hall, he stopped and strained to listen again. He did not need to turn on lights. His eyesight was much better than most of the kid's, even in the dark. Still, the house did not give up more than its normal sigh and groan as the furnace kicked in again, wheezing out the warm air to push up through registers and radiators.
Then he heard....a chuckle" Maybe it was the furnace. It could cough and whisper sometimes, but just to be sure, Sampson slunk down the steps, craning his white blond head out from the bottom step landing around the corner and investigate the bottom floor. If someone was taking their Christmas tree, he was going to scream. He worked hard on that present for Mrs. June and Mr. Ephram.
Seamus heard Sampson descending, and at first he was very still. Then he crept carefully over to the hallway, unfortunately announcing himself with a quick, sharp creak, and spotted the boy. The mission was in danger! He hissed to him for quiet and waved him over, urgently, still bearing the very heavy red bag of presents....and it looked very much like Saint Nick's.
Sampson's mouth hung open. That was Santa's pack. He knew it, because that's what it looked like in the picture book Mrs. June read to them at night. However, it sure wasn't the Saint Nick holding it that the book showed.
Hurrying over, slippered feet making a shushing sound across the rug and wood floor. His look said it all. All the questions he wanted to ask, in the wrinkle of one side of his nose the furrow of his brow, and the narrowing of golden eyes. Just what do you think you're doin'" said that look.
Seamus padded back over to the base of the tree where many of the presents had already been arranged and took a knee, patting the floor nearby for Sampson to join him.
"Can you help me set out these presents?" the knight asked the boy with an earnest look. "I'll explain everything I can....as much as my oaths allow for." He took out a present to set down himself, and offered another over to Sampson: "There's heavy secrets at work here."
Following, tip toe all the way, Sampson sat at the tree and smiled up at it. It wasn't all that big or fancy, but it was their tree. The ornaments were mostly hand made from the children living there. Only a few were crafted by artisans, special heirlooms of Mrs. June's. Those sparkled when the candles were lit on the tree.
Heavy secrets sounded scary and fun all at once. There were oaths like in the stories, bonds of trust not to be broken. He had stepped into a secret society! Wait until the others heard about this! If he was allowed to tell. That thought came to him. As he helped with the presents, he looked at the man, eager for the secrets like sneaking cookies from the cookie jar. "What kind of secrets?"
Seamus looked around again, a conspiratory check, and leaned over towards Sampson as he set another present down. "Now, Saint Nicholas is a pretty remarkable man. Shooting up and down chimneys with toys, flying across the sky with reindeer, and magick even deeper than knowing the sins and virtues of every girl and boy, never mind their toys....Even still....sometimes the old elf needs a helping hand."
He stopped working and took a knee again, and smiled over at Sampson. "He has knights who do just that."
"Knights?" Sampson gasped. It was a moment of thrill before skepticism trickled its way into his thoughts. "Really' The books never mention knights." A quizzical jut to his jaw.
This did not keep him from still helping, because so far, stuff is coming out of the bag and not going in it. That at least seemed right. "Have you met him' Does he really have magicks" Did he tell you if I was good enough this year" You sure there's a Saint Nick?"
Maybe it was all just a story, and really knights did it all in secret. Sampson could not decide which he liked better. Knights delivering presents, that was ever so exciting, too!
"That's why they call it the Secret Order of Saint Nicholas," Seamus replied. "They can't be putting all of our business, nor Father Christmas', in books where just anyone can see. We've got our mysteries, and so does he. Now the old man does most of the work himself, sure....but the Order still helps, as much as we can. I'm still in the Holy Order of Saint Aldwin, and always will be....but Saint Nick has my allegiance too."
After they laid out what seemed to be the last of the presents, Seamus dropped to a knee again and crossed his arms over his thigh and looked very curiously at Seamus. "You know....Old Saint Nick did seem pretty interested in you. He reminded me, 'Sampson's a warrior's name, Seamus. The lad can do us all some good, and help me bring a little cheer.' ...But it's heavy work, you see, working for the Secret Order. Doesn't have a thing to do with people knowing the good you do, just with doing good. Making sure there's always a Christmas tree where it's needed, and always presents under every tree."
It would not be obvious here and now, but Seamus harbored the hope that the boy would remember his words years down the road when he grew older and became a man; and whatever else those intervening years offered, that the giving spirit of the 'Secret Order of Saint Nick' would live on. "I need you to deliver something for Saint Nick and me, but I need you to swear your allegiance and your secrecy first." A smile grew on the young man's face. "Will you do that, Sampson?"
The awe of being remembered specifically by Saint Nick set off fireworks of delight inside the little boy. As the knight who had allegiance to Saint Nick knelt there, Sampson's eyes golden eyes widened and the smile bloomed like a low burning lamp turned up to give a warm glow.
"Oh, I can," the whisper barely just that still, and he hushes a little more. A quiet voice however did not interpret into a quieting of eager happiness. "I can help Saint Nick. I can keep it secret. Oh, I promise. What does he want me to deliver?" He had crept closer to the knight, nearly crawling up on him. Sampson wanted to prove his worthiness by keeping quiet — it was hard! He was a Saint Nick helper! Oh, what a yuletide this was. He was so glad he didn't live on the streets anymore. And he had a purpose. Forever and ever he'd be part of this Secret Order of Saint Nicholas. No matter where he went or if he ever got adopted, he belonged to something good.
Deep down Seamus was brimming with joy: This was what he had become a knight for; this was why he fought, and sacrificed, and served. Sampson was one of many children who would have a better future, and maybe now try to do the same for the generation that followed him. He climbed to his feet and drew his sword carefully, clamping his scarf over it and muting the metallic hiss.
"Knighthood is about duty, but to be a knight is more than a job: it is who you are and what you do every moment for the rest of your life." There was some familiarity to his words, some of them recalled from the knight-errant who had instructed him and the other first batch of candidates for the Holy Order of Saint Aldwin, the sacred organization's founders; others came from the initiation rites and ceremonies he remembered so vividly, the sight of then Lord-Protector DeMuer's sword descending to his shoulder, the murmur of priests attending to prayers and blessings....
"As a knight, you will be the master of many arts, but a servant of the common man; you will be humble when your victories are great, and wise in defeat. And no matter the cost....always protect the innocent, for they have so much to teach the world."
His sword descended slowly, and the flat touched the boy's shoulders; as he sheathed it, his eyes narrowed in a proud little smile. "Rise, Sir Sampson, Knight in the Secret Order of Saint Nicholas. You have gifts to deliver..." A stack of letters was produced from thin air, some tricky sleight of hand on Seamus' part, and he offered them over to the fledgling knight in front of him.
The top one was clearly marked for Mrs. June and Mr. Ephram, but otherwise completely unmarked; the others went to other orphanages, healing houses and charitable places around RhyDin. "Your role and mine in these gifts must be our little secret, though they'll know from our seal that our Order was involved," and a small wink there. "Can you deliver them?"
Probably most knights looked a little more solemn, fully aware of the difficult road they had chosen and the balance in their lives they would be required to maintain. What this young knightling thought of was how great it was to belong to a secret society. He listened to the words, he bobbed his head, he could do that. He was convinced he could do good and protect the innocent, besides he wanted to do that. People had done it for him, like those that lived in High Spires House and Lirssa. He wondered a moment if Lirssa was a secret knight, too, but asking was impossible if she wasn't, he'd give it away. But instead of solemn, there was a big excited smile.
The tree with all its presents gave such a backdrop to the occasion, Sampson almost thought maybe he was dreaming until that sword touched his shoulder. He was a knight! Sir Sampson. He stood and taking the letters, he smiled. "Yes, sir. You can count on me." In fact, he could deliver one of them right away, knowing just where to place it so Mrs. June would find it: the kitchen table. "This is gonna be great!" he whispered, clutching the letters close getting to his feet and hopping a bit like a fledgling bird.
"The deliveries should wait until daybreak, so you can be sure to find a good excuse to be about town." Seamus laid a hand on Sampson's head affectionately and grinned. "Maybe 'Christmas stuff' — not a lie, and it doesn't tell them a thing."
Something creaked upstairs, maybe something so slight as a child stirring in their sleep, but it was enough to remind Seamus he was on a secret mission and ought not to be caught in the act. He wound the scarf loosely about his scabbard again and sheathed his sword with barely a noise at all, then crept towards the door.
"Merry Christmas, Sir Sampson." And he slipped out into the cold winter morning, vanishing into a gust of snow.