Sergeant Poppy’s even smaller second-in-command went pale. “See-see tee-veeee,” he piped, mournfully. A single tear rolled down his tiny cheek.

Tensions were running high among the team. Hong Kong was always a tricky one: it was brightly lit, densely populated, and vertical, all factors that hindered the stealthy piloting of an enormous flying sledge. Worst of all, the houses did not have chimneys.

“Pah,” rumbled Claus. “Obviously, we can’t go in through the entrance. I mean, it goes without saying we can’t go through the entrance. What else have you got?”

The troupe peered down from their perch atop Hysan Place. The droves in Causeway Bay were showing no signs of dispersing.

“Have we considered …” Poppy paused, “the drains?”

“Crawl up through the sewers?!” Claus exclaimed. “What sort of Christmas deity would do that? I resent the mere suggestion. I might be a public servant, but I still have a good name among some circles. The Finns, for example.”

“The Finns think you’re a goat,” a diminutive lieutenant piped up.

“Hmmph! OK, yeah, that’s true,” Claus conceded, sighing. In Finland they called him “Joulupukki”, the Christmas goat.

“What about the windows, sir?” Sergeant Poppy offered. “You won’t rethink an entry through the windows?”

“Oh please, that’s far too pedestrian,” Claus said. “Any old villain can get in through a window. What’s special about a window?”

“Fair enough,” Poppy said. She had resigned herself to the fact that it was going to be a long night. They had another million households to get to in this city alone. Claus’s ability to manipulate the space-time continuum did help a bit, but it was still exhausting work.

Pushing their boss’s enormous, velvet-clad bulk through an air conditioning intake was a struggle at the best of times – what was he now, 150kg? – and it got tougher as the night wore on. They’d already had their fill of mince pies and, for some reason, lai wong bao, and polished off more than their fair share of brandy.

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Claus hadn’t seemed this fed up since they had found out Elon Musk had somehow got hold of their plans for an all-electric flying sleigh. Not that Team Santa hadn’t always been carbon-neutral.

“Look on the bright side, sir,” Poppy said, cheerily. “It’s not like last year, when Donner and Blitzen got themselves stuck in an MTR ventilation shaft.”

This was true. Claus had to personally grease the reindeer with goose fat to get them out. You want to annoy a reindeer? Rub it with goose fat. He was almost able to laugh about it now.

“Also, the sleigh isn’t as heavy this year,” Poppy offered.

“Is that a good thing, Sergeant?” inquired Claus. “If the sleigh gets any lighter, we’ll be out of a job! Surplus to requirements! Look what online shopping has already done to our operation.”

This was no laughing matter: each year, the team was carrying fewer and fewer gifts. Thirty years ago they would set out from the Arctic Circle with no fewer than 450 million tonnes of goodies for the children of the world. This year it had been more like 250 million.

“Children still want things, sir,” said Poppy. “But maybe … they’re getting less materialistic?”

“I’m not sure why you’d think that,” Claus said. “Look at all the iPads we’re carrying, for starters.”

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Poppy shook her head. “They still want their goodies, but they’re more aware than ever of what’s going on in the world. Perhaps they believe if the world was a happier place, they’d feel happier. Gadgets and games consoles won’t fix that.”

Claus nodded ruefully.

“Look at this,” Poppy held up a handful of letters and printed emails. “‘Please Santa, stop people using fossil fuels – signed Jessie, age 7’; ‘Dear Mr Christmas, this year please can we have peace on Earth and goodwill to all men and women? – from Patrick, 8 years old’.”

“You know, toys and gadgets are considerably easier to deliver than those,” grumbled Claus.

Poppy continued. “Dear Mr Claus, CEO of Christmas Holdings PLC. We the children, as your shareholders, wish to know more about what you’re doing to reduce plastic usage at your facilities.”

“Ah,” Claus said, triumphantly, “I’ve already replied to that one. All of our operations are 100 per cent sustainable, and we’ve eliminated all single-use plastic in the elf canteen.”

“Of course, sir,” said Poppy. “Children have always asked you to deliver what they’re afraid the adults will not.” She paused for emphasis. “You’re not a delivery man, sir. You’re a symbol of goodwill; of peace; of rewarding kindness. And when times are tough, that’s when people need to believe in you the most.”

Claus gazed at Poppy. “How much am I paying you, sergeant?” he asked.

“Oh, I … I don’t remember, sir.”

“Well it’s not enough.” Claus motioned to Rudolph. “You – get your nose to the front of the team. These presents aren’t going to deliver themselves.”

“Yes!” said Poppy. “That’s the spirit, sir!”

“Yo, ho, ho,” Claus boomed. And with a frenzied clopping of reindeer hooves, the sleigh began to rise.

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