The other locked doors in my room were revealed to lead to the Krampus’ bedroom next door – which mirrored the layout of my own room, and a shared office space which was piled high with papers.

  After the initial tour and a few awkward moments of staring at each other, the Krampus announced he had work to do, and sat at the desk, scratching away in a ledger with a raven feather quill.

  I stared at him in disbelief, unsure of what I’d expected in the first place – but it definitely wasn’t this. His focus was on the papers in front of him, although I thought I felt it stray to me whenever I wasn’t looking directly at him.

  Unwilling to return to my room just yet, where I knew time would stretch out unbearably until the day finally came to a close, I perused the bookshelves in the office. Pulling a tome titled Crime and Punishment off the shelf, I flicked it open and sat on a large wing-backed armchair, peeking at the Krampus through my lashes rather than at the pages in the book.

  His writing paused, and his chin tilted up, his eyes catching mine. Immediately, he returned his attention to his desk, slashing a large line through whatever he had been looking at.

  I tried a couple of times to engage him in conversation, but he gruffly informed me that he needed to get his work finished by end of day, so I returned to my book.

  Rather than the dry, Russian classic novel, Crime and Punishment detailed the rules around Christmas crimes – lack of generosity and the scale of expenditure expected depending on relationship. Co-workers and employees were expected to give a gift measuring the equivalent of a half-day’s salary, while employers were expected to give employees either the equivalent of a full day’s work or a pizza party - which worked out cheaper per head but still fulfilled the generosity meter. I grimaced, remembering the mandatory secret Santa exchanges I’d had to participate in at my old accounting firm. And while pizza wasn’t the worst addition to patch into Newtopia, it turned my stomach that this was the reason for its introduction.

  Flicking further through the book I found mathematical equations which converted average mission yields to their hourly equivalent, to hold warriors and adventurers to an economic standard. I’d been wondering how that would work, since most of the Newtopian economy was held up by mission rewards and loot that spawned in periodically. The actual reality of owning a business and earning a salary or wage was a fairly new concept to this young world.

  “Will you eat with me?”

  I looked up in surprise at the Krampus, who was standing next to me holding a tray. I sat up straight, pulling my feet off the coffee table.

  “Sure. Uh, what’s the time?”

  “Dusk,” the Krampus informed me, placing the tray on the table. It held a tray of familiar shortbread cookies and two hot chocolates.

  “Is this all you guys eat?” I asked, picking a cookie off the tray. I knew I was being hypocritical, considering my cinnamon roll addiction, but even I liked some kind of variety in my regular diet.

  “Of course,” the Krampus said, between shoving handfuls of shortbread into his mouth, mashing them with his teeth as crumbs fell and tangled in his furry beard. “What else would you like to eat? I could send some goblin hunters out to procure reindeer for a stew, if you would prefer it.”

  I blanched. “No thanks. Cookies are fine.”

  He took a long draft of his hot chocolate, the whipped cream making a similar mess on his chin. I tried not to stare.

  “You are becoming used to me,” the Krampus said finally, wiping the mess off his face onto a hairy forearm, although the act only matted the fur in both places.

  “I suppose I’m getting to know you a little better,” I said hesitantly. I didn’t want to get roped into making any promises to him, considering he expected to bond with me at the end of the gift-giving ceremony, but having an open line of communication would be helpful if I could figure out a way to disrupt Christmas without resorting to a battle of strength. “Could you tell me more about your role here? About how Christmas works?”

  “My part in Christmas is complete,” the Krampus grunted. “I have punished the ungiving and I will supervise the debt repayment of non-conformists. I will oversee production needs are met until next year’s Krampus Night.”

  “So… you don’t get to participate in the parade?”

  The Krampus’ expression darkened.

  “The parade is in honour of those who have exceeded expectations. The most giving.”

  He seemed to have a deep bitterness swelling beneath the surface, and I wondered what it would reveal if provoked.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “And do your contributions ever get acknowledged? It seems like without Krampus Night and the threat of all this, a lot of people wouldn’t bother participating. Without you the whole thing wouldn’t work at all – does that ever get recognized?”

  The Krampus examined me, his intelligent eyes lighting up with intelligence although I still couldn’t interpret the expression on his twisted face.

  “It does not,” he said simply. “Although it is promising you see the value on what occurs at the workshop. It is my hope you will remain long after your debt is paid.”

  “And how long will it take to repay my debt?” I asked, although I already had a feeling that the answer would be too long.

  “One year,” he said, holding up a single gnarled finger. “If it is your wish, you may return the day before next Krampus Night. It is my wish you will remain here.”

  “You don’t even really know me,” I argued. “You might find me annoying.”

  He shook his head but said nothing.

  “And will I get to meet Santa?” I asked.

  It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as every muscle in his over-sized body tensed.

  “No,” he snarled.

  “He doesn’t come here?”

  “You will not see him,” he snapped, standing abruptly. “I do not wish to speak of him. It is time to return to your room.”

  A wave of fear rolled through me, the effect of his Intimidation ability prickling over my skin. I clutched my book to my chest, and retreated to my room, trying not to think of the Krampus’ angry eyes or clenched fists.

  It would only take one snap of his temper to snap my neck, and then it would be all over.

  I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim light unable to sleep for hours, running through everything I’d discovered.

  Questions swam in my mind as I tried fruitlessly to come up with a plan, until sleep finally claimed me.

  I woke again to the curtains drawn and light streaming in my window, a plate of cookies and a hot chocolate on my bedside table.

  I rose and dressed myself, this time ready for the goblin who appeared to escort me to my next ceremonial gift.

  I plied him with questions on the way, attempting to get any information out of him that was too dangerous to ask of the Krampus.

  “Does Santa ever come here?” I asked.

  “He comes after the parade is complete,” the goblin sneered. “To perform the annual review.”

  “And what happens at the review?”

  “The lottery is drawn.”

  “Lottery? For what?”

  “To see who the next overseers in the workshop will be. The existing overseers will be reallocated, and a new team will have their opportunity to exact their revenge.”

  I shivered. “Could you like… choose not to whip each other? It kind of seems like if you broke the cycle there’d be no need for revenge.”

  The goblin glowered at me. “Any who would not take the opportunity to exact revenge against those who have wronged them would be the worst kind of fools. They would not break the chain of vengeance but secure their position as the lowest of all cowards.”

  “But doesn’t it seem like you’re being pitted against each other, rather than the system you all serve? Couldn’t you, I don’t know… team together and fight for better working conditions or something? Looks to me like you’re fighting the wrong enemy.”

  The goblin pulled to a halt, staring at me as though I’d suggested they stop making toys and start clobbering babies – although on the scale of goblin virtues, that might not be the most disgusting option to his sensibilities.

  “Look, forget I said anything,” I said, the goblin’s horrified expression causing shivers to run down my spine. Part of me hoped that if they overthrew the Krampus, I wouldn’t be pushed into marrying him, but I doubted life as a slave under goblin rule would be any better.

  The goblin said nothing further, although he once again plodded along next to me, his silence unnerving me more than the conversation itself had.

  Still, I now knew Santa would appear at some stage, even if the Krampus for some reason wanted to keep me from meeting him. I’d have to fight for my freedom and find a way to get the doors to my room unlocked. If I could move around at will, I could find a way to get out and find Santa. For what purpose, I didn’t know yet, but a key clue to accomplishing missions in this world was that if people were trying to keep you from accessing something, that was usually the thing you needed to get access to.

  I emerged into the courtyard with the tree, the goblin lagging behind at the door as I approached the Krampus. This time, he was standing next to a bird cage. The partridge was still hanging from its noose in the tree, although due to the rules of Newtopian object-physics it was in exactly the same condition as it was yesterday. Unless it had been coded to decompose, it would likely stay exactly the same for eternity. I averted my eyes from the gently swinging carcass.

  “Emma,” he greeted me with a wary nod. “I present you with your second gift.”

  “Uh, what are they?” I asked, eyebrows raising at the two turtle shells on the floor of the bird cage.

  “Turtle doves,” the Krampus said, rattling the cage.

  “They probably won’t come out if they’re frightened,” I said, reaching out to try and stop him banging on the bars, but he shook me off and held his face up close to the wall of the cage.

  “GET UP!” he roared, his fearsome voice causing the entire courtyard to tremble.

  Obediently, doves poked their heads out of the neck-holes in the turtle shells and started nervously cooing, pacing backwards and forth along the floor of the cage.

  “Don’t kill us! Don’t kill us!”

  My Animal Speak ability enabled me to understand the gentle calls of the birds, although it gave me little joy.

  With a smug expression, the Krampus turned and gestured to the cage, clearly pleased his gift was performing.

  “Uh… thank you.”

  He nodded in satisfaction.

  “Can I see the workshops again today?” I asked, secretly hoping to catch a conversation with Jackal and Bastion.

  The Krampus saw right through me, surveying me with sharp eyes and cutting his hand through the air in a negative swipe.

  “No. You know your previous consorts are safe, and that must be enough for you. Further communication with them will get in the way of our developing relationship. You will not see them again.”

  “What, not ever?” I asked, anger brewing in me. “You can’t just… control me. You’ve got no right to tell me I cannot talk to whoever I want to talk to!”

  “You forget, Emma; you are here to serve your debt. I have exactly that right.”

  I glared at him. “Well, you can’t make me like you.”

  He stared at me for a long minute. “We shall see.”