CHAPTER NINE
THE NORTH POLE, CHRISTMAS COURT
When Avery arrived in the courtroom, it was packed full of an assortment of North Pole creatures: human, android, and animal.
The imposing hall, much like the sterile conference room in which she’d interviewed earlier that day, was devoid of whimsy.
Indeed, it was like any other courtroom back in the Big City: benches, a hinged bar sectioning off the courtroom gallery from the well, and a large wooden bench at the front for the judges.
Only each part of this courtroom was far grander to accommodate the massive mythical figures who composed the Court.
The formidable scale of it might have shaken even the boldest advocate, but to Avery, this familiar setting was a life raft in a turbulent sea of festive discombobulation.
Behind the bench sat the Christmas Court.
Even from the back of the courtroom, she recognized the judges immediately.
The nameplates on the expansive podium confirmed who–or what–sat on the panel: the Ghost of Christmas Present, the Abominable Snowman, Krampus, and Belsnickel, each of whom loomed at least ten feet tall; and the Yule Cat, who was the size of a small horse.
Fortunately, for her arguments, Avery knew that three of these creatures were notoriously concerned with badly behaved and shabbily dressed children.
She was recalibrating her opening statement accordingly when she spotted her client deep in conversation with Louis near the front of the gallery.
“I thought this was a simple application,” Avery insisted quietly, approaching them from the center aisle. “Why are there so many people, er, spectators?”
The Abominable Snowman banged an enormous gavel on the podium. Louis bit his lip and ducked away without a word, taking a seat in the front row of the gallery.
The bailiff, a dark-skinned man with a brown beard, wearing a white robe, head bathed in a soft, golden glow, stepped forth. “Hear ye, hear ye!” he cried. “I call to order the matter of the application to approve the sale of Christmas.”
The creatures in the gallery mumbled and chattered, finding their seats, and the gavel sounded again.
“Come in, Ms. Hoarfrost,” the Ghost of Christmas Present gregariously commanded, “and know this Court better!”
Avery swung open the wooden bar separating the gallery from the well of the court and walked through. Her client followed her in and sat at the table to her right.
“Yes, Your Honors. May it please the Christmas Court,” she said.
“This is a most unusual application, Ms. Hoarfrost,” the Abominable Snowman growled, before she could even begin.
“I think quite well of it,” Belsnickel remarked, leaning back in his seat and running his fingers along a wooden switch.
“Jawohl,” Krampus agreed in his native German. “A return to a more just era.”
A rumble of murmurs arose from the spectators.
The gigantic black cat hissed, eyes glowing, sending a fearsome hush through the courtroom gallery.
“The Yule Cat raises an appropriate point of order,” the Ghost of Christmas Present proclaimed, with a level of jocularity bordering on unseemly for such a formal proceeding, earning eyerolls and throat-clearing from his fellow judges.
The Yule Cat jumped from its chair and landed with a colossal thud onto the enormous podium beside the Ghost of Christmas Present, spinning around three times before settling, encircling itself with a black tail the size of an air duct. The other judges sat up straight.
“We must hear the application before making any decisions,” the Dickensian specter proclaimed. “Your statement, Ms. Hoarfrost, please.”
“Thank you, Your Honors,” Avery began, clasping her hands together behind her back and undertaking a slow, determined stroll around the well of the court that would have made Atticus Finch proud.
She approached the table where her client sat. For once, his eyes were on her instead of his tech. He looked almost nervous. She rapped her knuckles on the tabletop and gave him an encouraging nod.
Finally, she was on firm footing. For a moment, she forgot she was even in the North Pole. The courtroom was her domain. Avery quietly loosed a breath as she gratefully surrendered to her battle-tested legal instincts.
“Showtime,” she whispered.
“When I first heard about this application,” she said, addressing the entire courtroom, “I myself thought it was most unusual. And I’ve found throughout my legal career that when faced with an unusual situation, the best thing to do is return to first principles.
Having done so, I’m now prepared to demonstrate to this Court why the very foundations of Christmas actually require this sale. ”
She glanced at the bench. The Yule Cat twitched its tail.
“I’ll be as brief as I can,” Avery assured the panel, uninterested in testing the bounds of the massive feline’s patience any more than she already planned to.
“Generosity. Community. Belief. The fundamental Yuletide triumvirate–or trinity–if you prefer,” she said, with a respectful nod to the bailiff. He held up a hand and inclined his head.
“Let’s start with generosity,” she proffered.
“Now, this sale is organized around a restructuring of the entire Christmas model. It provides that, going forward, only certain children will qualify to receive gifts. It promises a return to a time when Santa only delivered presents to kids who behaved in conformance with a set of rules. Rules that guided proper dress and right behavior. Nice behavior. And what argument can there be against getting on the Nice List?”
She looked up to see Krampus and Belsnickel glance at each other and nod in agreement.
“I was assured,” she continued, “that selling Christmas and its operations to a private equity firm would lead to the more efficient delivery of presents, enhancing the end-user experience, which you might know as ‘children’s happiness,’” she said, quoting the words in the air.
“Well, nice children’s happiness,” she amended.
“Whichever multinational corporation is awarded the contract for managing Christmas delivery operations will ensure that, on Christmas morning, the children on the Nice List are practically drowning in pristine, perfectly-wrapped boxes full of the latest technology. A fundamentally generous act. An act that will incidentally drive up demand for that technology by people on the Naughty List, who don’t want to be left behind.
The resulting purchases will increase value for the tech company’s shareholders, which, of course, includes this private equity firm.
A fair and reasonable reward for their generosity.
As for the elves, they’ll be offered appropriate severance packages.
Indeed, there can be no doubt of the generous nature of this deal for everyone involved. ”
Her eyes flickered to the front row where Louis sat, eyes closed, with a hand over his mouth.
“Regarding community,” Avery continued, “as set forth in the sale application, the potential buyer also owns an interest in a number of social media platforms that will be collaborating on this exciting endeavor. With their help, following the restructuring, Christmas will be an entirely virtual affair. No more social obligations, no more uncomfortable, awkward cocktail hours, no more expensive parties or lengthy services. Just online gathering spaces where everyone on the Nice List is welcome. We can take all the inconvenience and imposition out of the holiday, leaving Christmas’s end users with access to a safe, unobtrusive community.
It’s clear that community, the second underpinning of Christmas, will continue to be served by this sale. ”
Avery glanced around, satisfied that her ability to captivate a courtroom translated to the North Pole.
All eyes were on her. Her eyes in turn found Tilly, Gregory, and Ander, huddled in the back row.
Gregory gave a quick dip of his beak. Avery tried not to smile and resumed her demonstration. Home stretch.
“Finally, concerning belief,” she advanced.
“In learning about the sale of Christmas, I was told, in no uncertain terms, by the Big Man himself, that there’s simply no more need for belief.
The old ways are dead. That there are no more belief-induced epiphanies.
No more revelations. No more—” she shook her head and shooed at the air dismissively, “Christmas miracles. Who am I—who are we—to doubt him?”
Avery continued her slow pacing in front of the judges. She snuck another glance at Louis, who was now staring a hole through his shoes.
“Belief in Santa, or in the idea that the holiday will manage to deliver us something extraordinary — well, who needs to believe, when you can see?” she offered.
“Belief is merely a backup plan for people who lack certainty. By selling Christmas to a private equity firm willing to harness the organizational efficiency of artificial intelligence, every child in the world will be certain that Christmas is coming. They will be able to check their status on the Nice List and follow the journey of their gifts, from production to delivery, getting regular updates on their devices throughout the holiday season. Everyone will be able to see Christmas being delivered in real time. By replacing mystery with certainty, we will make belief obsolete. The need for belief was a bug, and now we have a patch for it.”
Avery stopped in the center of the well and faced the bench.
“Your Honors.” She turned and faced the gallery.
“Citizens of the North Pole. I believe I’ve more than sufficiently demonstrated how this sale is firmly in line with the foundational principles of Christmas and will, indeed, usher in a bold new era for the holiday.
I have but one thing left to add in connection with this application. ”
She walked up to the wooden bar separating her from the gallery, standing directly in front of Louis. He looked up at her, eyes pleading.
“Bah, humbug,” she said.
Confused murmurs swept through the courtroom.
The gavel banged. “Order!” the bailiff cried.
“I’m sorry, Louis,” Avery said.
Louis stood, brows furrowed, eyes shining with emotion.
She took his hands. “I love you, but I can’t do this. I can’t represent that man.”
All remaining color drained from Louis’ face. He looked as though he might faint.
Avery dropped his hands, turned, and pointed at her client.
“Because that man is not Santa!” she proclaimed.
Louis grabbed his chest with one hand and braced himself on the wooden railing with the other. “Oh, thank Christmas,” he sobbed.
Every bell in the North Pole began to ring.