The Sovereign District of Noël

by Luc Reid

Marisa knew a high-profile case when she saw one. This one was going to take her career into orbit, and that was worth even a certain amount of public hatred.

An ancient elf showed her in silently, and a moment later Santa entered, trailed by a suave-looking elf with a briefcase.

“Please, sit down,” said the suave elf. “Can I get you a cocoa? Schnitzel, get the lady a cocoa.” The ancient elf bowed and left.

“Let’s make this very, very simple,” said the suave elf. “You’re alleging violations of trademarks, patents, and copyrights in the toys we make and deliver to children around the world. And you’re absolutely right that we violate those laws. When we make a knockoff of a Nintendo Wii or burn a few thousand copies of the latest Harry Potter movie, we’re imitating the original product right down to the shrink wrap. The thing you’re missing is that we here in the Sovereign District of Noël have no obligation whatsoever to honor the laws that you mundanes spend your time fussing over.”

“Damn right,” said Santa.

Marisa had expected this tactic. “By conducting activities within U.S. borders–”

The suave elf laughed. “Oh, please. We don’t recognize your borders. We don’t recognize your nation, your government, your corporations, or the legitimacy of your laws. Your governments are completely powerless to stop Santa or constrain the movement of the Sleigh, and you know it. I think it’s time you gave up this farce and went home.”

Marisa had expected this, too. “You’re forcing my hand,” she said. “I didn’t want to have to resort to this.” She slid a stack of glossy 8×10 photos out of her attaché case and tossed them onto the table. They featured Santa in a variety of situations not usually associated with jolly old saints.

“Santa’s personal life is his own business,” the elf said, unperturbed.

“God, was I drunk that weekend,” said Santa.

“Santa’s a public figure,” said Marisa. “If Angelina Jolie and Tom Cruise have to pay the price for that, why shouldn’t he?”

The elf smiled. “Because Santa is magic.”

Abruptly, Marisa found herself sitting in her own office back in Newark. Ignoring the impossibility of this and her own disorientation, she ran to the safe and opened it. The photo CD and the spare prints of the Santa pictures were gone.

In their place was a lump of coal.