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Mischievous reindeer Twinklestar has bolted – leaving his Christmas caravan to fall from the sky! Luckily the extraordinary passengers – Niklas, a real-life Santa Claus, two angels and assorted elves – crash-land in a friendly neighbourhood where two children called Ben and Charlotte come to their rescue.

But they’re still in terrible danger. On their trail are Gerold Goblynch and his motor-sledge-riding bad Santas, a treacherous bunch from Yule Land, who will stop at nothing to steal Christmas!  

Includes gorgeous, characterful illustrations from Blue Peter Book Award-winner Paul Howard.

From the bestselling author of The Thief Lord, Inkspell and Dragon Rider, this is a heart-warming adventure celebrating the magic of Christmas in a funny and original way.

On the tenth night of December, a terrible storm was approaching from the north. A thousand lightning bolts skewered the stars, and thunder rolled across the pitch-black sky with a sound like a derailed freight train.

Niklas Goodfellow, a Santa Claus by trade, didn’t notice any of this. He lay fast asleep inside his caravan, snoring peacefully, while Twinklestar, his reindeer, pulled him through the clouds high above the sleeping world. Lightning licked the ramshackle caravan like a snake’s tongue, but Niklas dreamed of almonds and marzipan, as Santas usually do.

Twinklestar galloped faster and faster through the black clouds. Still he could not outrun the storm. The rumbling darkness swallowed the stars, and lightning crackled between his hooves.

Terrified, Twinklestar reared up, broke his reins and bolted down towards the earth. Niklas Goodfellow’s reindeerless caravan swayed from side to side like a boat on a churning sea. Then it toppled forwards into the swirling clouds. Niklas tumbled out of his bed, hitting his head on the leg of a chair, and rolled helter-skelter under the table.

‘Whoa there!’ he shouted. ‘What’s going on?’

But by then he and his caravan were already plummeting down towards the ground.

Niklas’s ears roared, and his head reeled as if it was going to explode. The wheels of the caravan brushed against some treetops, bumped against a chimney, tore off a few TV aerials, and then landed with a crash in the gutter of a narrow street. A flock of carrion crows rose from the branches of a bare lime tree, cawing angrily. A fat grey tomcat nearly fell off a roof. And the people kept awake by the storm thought: what a thunder-clap! As though the moon had dropped from the sky.

Niklas Goodfellow’s caravan rolled a little further, then it leaned to one side with a groan and stopped. Niklas took his hands from his ears and listened.

No more roaring and raging, no crashing – only the rumble of thunder. He crawled from beneath the table.

‘Matilda? Emmanuel? Are you all right?’ he called, while he felt for his torch in the dark. But, of course, it was no longer where it had been before. Nothing was in its place any more.