Veronica was making herself busy around the bakery. On the surface, it looked like a whirlwind of candy-colored elves and hot treats. As Veronica surveyed her surroundings, she realized that this surface view was correct. She, herself, was rushing around the bakery: carrying around cookie trays larger than any of the elves, stamping out gingerbread dough and decorating sugar cookie cut-outs.
She was in the process of bringing one of these cookie sheets to the rolling oven. The tray she was holding was so large that she couldn't see much that went on below her chest. Between her haste and everyone else's, she stumbled over something. Luckily the cookies were safe, she concluded as she looked them over. Then, she turned to find out what she tripped over.
A few feet away skittered a little penguin, holding its own cookie sheet and honking indignantly at Veronica. She rolled her eyes. A handful of penguins—all resembling the average feral ones, save for their colorful scarves and anthropoid intelligence—milled about the bakery, each one a genuine transfer from the South Pole. They spoke in little honks that only the other elves could understand. Veronica didn't bother.
She had never missed her bong more.
Veronica sighed as she shoved her final cookie tray onto the oven's conveyor, placing her hands on her hips as she attempted to pop the bones in her spine. She followed the flowing crowd of elves from one side of the kitchen to the other, ready to get some other evil concoction of flour and egg beneath her nails. Instead, however, the elves merely gathered themselves in a ragged, casual line.
Veronica didn't question it. If she had been at any other job, this would be around the time she'd pull out her phone. So, she supposed, she had to be content to stare at nothing while the elves figured out what they were doing. She picked at her costume and glanced around the place.
The bakery had a great, spacious kitchen. It had teal walls with wainscoting and a patterned tile floor. Its decorations were only strung high up in corners, where elf nor heat could reach them. But calling the garland and lights the room's only Christmas spirit would be a lie—from the oven mitts to the potholders to the knife handles, everything had the hallmark red-and-green snowflake vomit as anything else in the workshop.
A kitchen was a great place for mischief. Veronica knew this well. However, with so many eyes around, she couldn't see herself pulling off any of the various plans that came to her mind. Leaving a dish towel in the oven? Spilling her eggs and melted butter? Stabbing a candy cane right into that stupid penguin's stupid scarf? It was fruitless—and she had made a fair number of fruitcakes.
Finally, all of the chittering elves silenced themselves and turned to face the bakery door. Veronica followed skeptically. She pricked her ears in an attempt to figure out whatever they were expecting. Heavy footsteps approached, with clicking heels and a rumbling chuckle.
The door swept open, kicking up a cloud of flour. For a moment, all Veronica could see of the approaching figure was his enormous outline and the burning coals where his eyes should be. As the white cloud settled around him, Veronica knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
He approached heavily and slowly, and Veronica felt nothing but fear looking at him. He was a massive figure with a head that nearly scraped the ceiling, and though he had the red-and-white sock tied around his head and burning-coal eyes, his actual face was transparent save for the wisps of white hair behind him.
The rest of his body was equally translucent, with only the spirit-like white of his beard remaining opaque. His stomach resembled a bowl full of red jelly, but it remained static, even as he moved. Even though Veronica could hear the stomp of his boots clearly, they, too, were translucent; mostly an outline except for their toe. Upon his back she could just barely make out the outline of a great burlap sack.
Santy stomped down the line of elves until he reached the one at its head—a blue elf with freckles. Veronica thought she was the supervisor, but really, she didn't care. Santy patted the super's head with a wispy red fur mitten. His voice was warm as he spoke, but the booming sound had an echo to it as if he were some kind of deity.
"I trust all is going well in your bakery?"
"Yes!" exclaimed the super, "Our transfers are settling in well, and at this rate, we are on track to beat the record we set last Christmas!"
Santy stood back up straight, and his arms disappeared into his ghostly form. "Good, good," he chuckled heartily. "In that case, I will let you get back to work. I know how many treats need baking!"
And as quickly as he came, he was gone. Veronica stared after him, the closing door kicking up another cloud of flour. The prickling nervousness in her limbs hadn't even begun to fade. Despite that, she didn't even have a moment's rest—a mere heartbeat after the bakery door closed, the whirlwind of elves and penguins kicked up around her. The bakery became a warfield of flour and sprinkles, cookie dough thrown out of bowls while mixing, and everything a blur.
Veronica got back to her station, trying not to stumble over the flurry of elves. She sighed as she picked up one of her cookie cutters, gripping it tightly and slamming it down into the dough with all her might. This sucked— Veronica was going to bite Simon the next time she saw him.
And she didn't even have a way to screw this place up, she thought to herself as she grabbed her cookie tray and started for the oven. Just as she had a little while ago, in her haste and everyone else's, she stumbled over someone. She clutched her cookie tray tight and nearly slammed it into the head of whoever had gotten beneath her feet. When she looked down, she saw none other than the same little penguin who had tripped her the first time. It still had the audacity to turn back and honk at her as if it was her fault.
Finally, Veronica felt all her anger bubble over. She dropped her ginormous cookie tray. It landed on the ground with a metallic clatter, but none of the other elves noticed in the clamor. Veronica wiggled her fingers as she considered her options. Her primary objective: get revenge on that penguin.
The penguin had already scoffed and turned away from her, making its way to the oven with no regard for Veronica. Veronica leapt for it, pulling it off of the ground by the back of its collar. It wasn't game— but it would do. The cookie tray slipped out of the penguin's flippers, and it honked with dread as it went higher and higher in the air.
"You want to mess with me, huh?" she taunted the bird. She glanced around the room to assess her options. The oven would be far too vulgar—and not chaotic enough. Ahead of her, on the kitchen counters that seemed to stretch forever, every-other elf moved from its station to rush to the oven in a half-organized crowd. That was perfect.
Veronica held her other hand under the penguin's hind-end as she stomped over to where the counters began. Then she staggered her stance, licked her upper lip, and looked over her glasses to focus in on the bag of flour at the other side of the counters. Finally, she threw her arms back. She released her grip on the penguin's bottom and threw it by its scarf like a bowling ball.
Much like her inspiration, the penguin flew down the counters on its chest, faster and faster as the vegetable oil slicked the tables. It struck through everything—cookie trays flew off tables, eggs and boxes knocked over either side, flour and butter and oil all flowed down and pooled on the floor. The penguin honked and honked, but was unable to stop itself.
The elves burst out into a different kind of frenzy. They were stumbling over eachother in an attempt to avoid the flying metal trays and frozen sticks of butter and egg-shells. In their haste, they slid on the puddles of oil, tripped over piles of flour, and slipped on unbaked cookies as if they were banana peels.
Veronica couldn't stop herself from laughing. The line of elves waiting for the oven all knocked over themselves like dominos. Some dropped their trays entirely, but far more simply slammed the sheets of aluminum into eachother's heads. Veronica laughed harder. The final elf in the line stumbled against the side of the oven. It did not burn itself, not from the hot outsides nor the flaming insides. However, as it fell, the jingle bell of its hat lodged between two of the grates inside the oven's conveyor. The pathetic little piece of cloth made its way inside the oven to cook.
In the chaos of everything and everybody flying, falling, slipping and sliding, it was more than easy for Veronica to escape unnoticed. She continued chuckling to herself as she made her way through the halls of the workshop.
Underdog caught scent of Santa's bakery long before he caught sight of it. He had expected it to smell sweeter—some mix of sugar and caramel and chocolate, surely—but instead he only picked up the rancid smell of burning. Polly seemed to have caught it, too, nearly retching as she did.
It didn't seem as if Mrs. Claus had. The two dogs glanced at each other, then up to their host, anxiously. Eventually she stopped in front of a white door. A frosted window was set in the door's upper half, and Underdog could barely make out a blur of blue, green and white—but it was nothing compared to the stench that wafted from beneath it.
Mrs. Claus reached for the doorknob. When she placed her mitten atop it, the doorknob sizzled and a coat of frost drifted over it. Underdog glanced up at Mrs. Claus, but she remained silent. Then she flung the door open, and the chaos was revealed.
The dogs first noticed the fire—it roared out of the oven like a beast. The elves moved like a rainbow-colored rat king, all stumbling over eachother and few trying to do the same task. Many were attempting to quell the fire. However, it struck out as each one approached. Some tried to press the oven's off-button, but as if the flames weren't bad enough, the oven's metallic walls were red-hot.
The other elves seemed to work on tasks far less dire. Some attempted to mop up the slippery stuff on the floor, others tried to pick up the broken eggshells, and a few simply continued to cut cookies until the oven was free again. On the floor knelt a little penguin with a bruised beak, trying vainly to salvage a pile of dough from the tile.
Underdog leapt into action before Mrs. Claus could tell him to. Observing the oven, he saw that it was plugged into an outlet in the ceiling. He pushed off the ground and flew for the chord, unplugging it swiftly before turning to face the beast. It crackled and roared at the hero, lashing out at him with a whistle.
Underdog tried not to cringe back as the flames singed his whiskers. Instead, when the fire died back down, the hero sucked in a deep breath of cold arctic air. He held it in for a moment to steady its power, then blew out a chilly tempest at the flames. It crackled under the wind, fighting to stay lit. Unfortunately, the wind stayed strong, and did not cease until the fire had been reduced to embers.
The crowd of elves and penguins cheered as Underdog landed, but the praise did not embarrass him. He peered inside the oven to find the source of the blaze. Sure enough, he saw something black and smoldering—but he couldn't make out what.
A tall elf sauntered up to him, holding an oven mitt shaped like a gingerbread woman. She tapped the hero's shoulder and handed it to him. Underdog accepted and reached into the oven. He could just barely reach it—he grabbed and turned the wire conveyor, rolling it until the smolder came to the front. Underdog tugged at it, its point stuck between the wires. After a lot of wiggling, the cause was revealed: it was a long nightcap with a ball at the end, so charred and burnt that it was pitch black.
Underdog and the elf turned toward the crowd in an attempt to find the one that was hatless. Mrs. Claus was quicker, cutting through the sea of workers like a yacht. She lifted an elf by its scruff with a stern look on her face.
"I-it wasn't me!" pleaded the elf, its face a glowing blue. "I got pushed!"
"Is that right?" Mrs. Claus asked, clearly not believing it. She set the elf down and moved to glance over the bakers. "Well, you all be more careful from now on. You were lucky we have such a helpful soul as our guest—" Underdog did flush at that "—and we cannot be having these accidents so close to Christmas. Now, where has my head baker hidden?"
The elf beside Underdog jumped, and she moved to rush through the crowd. The other elves parted around her as she stepped nimbly around them. "Yes, madam?" she asked.
Mrs. Claus gave her a pat on her head before speaking. "Merry-Bright, I fear the worst has happened. Our reindeer have gotten a bite of this year's Christmas cookies, and have decided themselves sick. Do you think you can whip up enough of a remedy for them before tomorrow night?"
Merry-Bright laughed until a flush crossed her freckled face."Of course, Mrs. Claus!"
"Thank you," said their boss with a smile as she floated back toward the door. Underdog moved to follow her, hesitating for just a moment to wave at the bug-eyed elves and penguins that were staring at him. Then he blasted off with a cloud of stardust, and sent the small creatures stumbling into eachother.
He landed in the cozy-looking hallway beside Polly as Mrs. Claus shut the door.
"Now that that is settled," she muttered, "We might find the criminals you seek."
"I have a feeling they must be near," Underdog added, "No loyal elf would cause damage so severe."
"And only a day before Christmas!" Polly piped up. "If all this continues, Simon may very well destroy it. It's too bad those villains didn't hang around."
Underdog raised a hand to his mouth to think. He hummed, "They never do. Where else may be a target?"
"You have not observed the workshop floor yet," said Mrs. Claus as she drifted past the dogs. "If you'll excuse me, I must make sure nothing else is going wrong today."
Underdog blinked up at her. Polly spoke, "You mean you aren't going to help us?"
Mrs. Claus winked over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eye. "I trust no one more to catch a criminal than a professional."
Underdog flushed, but Polly padded after her, nearly pleading. "But what if they've done something we can't fix? We'll need you then!"
Mrs. Claus paused for just long enough to face Polly. "You still have Rocket's bell, yes?"
Polly nodded and reached down to grab it. Mrs. Claus tutted her and continued.
"She will sort anything out as well as I can. And if not, she can find me herself. Now, if you please..."
Polly shrunk back to Underdog's side, leaning back to watch the great elf disappear around the corner. Underdog scratched the back of his neck while Polly rubbed her arm.
"...so," he eventually muttered, "The workshop floor?"
Polly scoffed, but her pale face split into a large smile. "If we can find it."