Chapter 21: A Response Part 1

Mr. Waddlebug had found a comfy chair in the corner of the room near the fireplace and was dozing, the honking sound of his snoring what one might expect from an old man with a bulbous nose, as Corey sat idly at the desk, absently twirling the feather of a quill in his fingers, waiting on a response from Ms. Fizzlestitch and pondering his own existence.
It wasn't a pleasant experience.
He tended to push away the ideas that often popped into his head--why did he work so hard? What was he trying to prove? What did it matter if one new recruit didn't show up? All of those questions often dwelling just below the surface until one finds himself in a quiet room, all alone save a snoring elf in the corner, and then it is difficult to push the contemplations aside.
But Corey was very talented when it came to the ability to dodge the deeper questions, and he refused now to entertain any of the truly important thoughts that dare rise to the surface of his consciousness, choosing instead to choke the life out of them and push them back down beneath the shoal.?
Instead, he began to consider his plan for retaining Ms. Fizzlestitch once she made her way north. He was fairly certain that this scheme would be successful; after all, the Snow Queen was extremely powerful--and she owed him a favor, a huge favor. While there was the slight moral question in the back of his mind (still floating around near the shallows of the abyss) as to whether or not what he was about to do was in good form, he was also very talented at subduing questions of this sort of turpitude. Any pondering of the ethics behind his calculations was pushed aside as he began to sequence the events into a specific order, one that would make the most sense and be the most beneficial to the only person who really mattered in all of this--himself.
And then, there was a clattering at the mail shoot. A nice, clean white envelope landed quietly on the desk. At first, he thought it must be from some child as the last correspondence Ms. Fizzlestitch had sent was such a mess, but this was most certainly from her--or her caretaker--as his name was written in nice, neat print in bold black letters on the back of the envelope. Something else was different; this time his name was spelled correctly. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands before studying the seal, a nice red wax with the initials "RVF" in overly ornate calligraphy. "Rudolph Valentine Fizzlestitch," he remembered aloud as he broke the seal. The noise of the envelope coming to life awoke his companion, and Mr. Waddlebug was soon standing at his side as Corey slid a nimble finger into the envelope and extracted a crisp sheet of stationery (with the same initials at the top) which had been folded in half before being tucked away inside the matching sleeve.
"Is it from her?" Waddlebug asked impatiently, rubbing his sleepy eyes with a stumpy fist.
Corey did not answer, only looked at him sharply, as if to say, "Of course it is, you buffoon," before he unfolded the letter and began to read.
Dear Mr. Cane,
I am happy to accompany you to the North Pole for the sole purpose of retrieving my friend, the mouse, Pozzletot. Upon doing so, I should like to return to my home as quickly as possible.?If you are in agreement with these conditions, please fetch me from my residents as quickly as possible.
Yours truly,
Ms. Serendipity Fizzlestitch
Immediately, Corey noticed that none of the words were misspelled, the handwriting was quite neat, and the signature stood out from the rest. Clearly, she had not written the letter herself. But she had signed it. And that was enough. She had consented to come with him to the North Pole. A mischievous laugh began to grow in the back of his throat, and though he tried his best to fight it off--after all, now was no time for carrying on like a child--he couldn't help but let a chuckle or two escape.?He could hardly believe something as simple as confiscating a dormouse had been the key to bringing the most reluctant toymaker he had ever encountered on such a long--and permanent--journey.
"Whatever is so amusing?" Mr. Waddlebug asked, his bushy eyebrows knit together in confusion.
"She's consented!" Corey exclaimed, unable to keep the foolish grin off of his face. "Can you believe it? My ridiculous plan has actually worked!"
Mr. Waddlebug was obviously confused. "But if you knew it was ridiculous, why did you do it?"
Corey didn't bother with an answer. Instead, he drew a quill out of the jar where they were positioned on the desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and dipping his utensil into the ink pot wrote quickly but neatly:
Dear Ms. Fizzlestitch,
I have received your correspondence and shall be by to retrieve you as quickly as my schedule allows. I shall see you within two hours' time. Please dress warmly.
Sincerely,
Cornelius Cane
As the ink he was using was infused with magic, there was no need to wait for it to dry, and Corey took the letter and folded it swiftly in half, preparing to slide it into an envelope as he heard the confused voice of his valet at his elbow ask, "Why ever will it take you so long? You could be there in a few minutes."
Corey paused momentarily, leaning sharply against the table and rolling his eyes, before continuing to stuff and address the envelope--using gold colored ink once again to write Ms. Fizzlestitch's name--as he replied, "I don't want her to think I am desperate." As he held the envelope over toward the mail shoot, he continued, "Besides, I have a stop to make first. Go down to the stable and ready my sleigh."
"Yes, sir," Mr. Waddlebug replied, a slight tone of exasperation in his voice. "Do you want to take the new one? I hear he's quite fast."
Again, Corey's face wrinkled in astonishment. "What? No, I'm in no hurry. Besides, that one is just a baby. He doesn't even have a name yet."
"He's old enough" Mr. Waddlebug threw out in his own defense.
"Just use Dunder and Blixem--like last time--and all of the times before that, please," Corey replied sharply.
"All right," Mr. Waddlebug responded as he turned to walk away. "But you know what St. Nicholas said, that you should get your own team if you're going to be flying back and forth so often."
"Just do it," Corey cried in exasperation.?Once the letter, and the argumentative elf, were gone, he looked around the room to make sure he had everything he'd come with. Pulling on his coat, gloves, and a thick scarf, he followed his caretaker out the door at such a distance as to avoid having to speak to him again, his eyes glued on the floor, mumbling, "Get my own reindeer. This is my job. St. Nicholas doesn't care, and if he does then he needs to provide me with" Just then he froze in his tracks at the appearance of familiar black boots in his line of sight.