Blood, Milk & Chocolate - Part 1 (The Grimm Diaries Book 3) (18 page)

34

Fable's
Dreamworld

Something
was wrong.

Why had
the Queen of Sorrow asked the huntsmen to step ahead, closer to the throne? Did
she know Fable was among them?

Fable
lowered her head immediately to escape the Queen's piercing eyes. She wouldn't
have seen her face anyway, as it was smeared with black mud and hidden behind
the cloak. It was Fable who was scared to look into the Queen's eyes.

While
walking toward the Queen's throne, Fable felt something roll under her feet, as
if a few tiny boulders had been thrown onto the floor. Then she noticed Jack
had probably walked on the same tiny boulders. Except Jack crushed them so
hard, they almost made a popping sound.

"What
is this?" Fable whispered to Jack, about to panic.

"Please
proceed!" the Queen demanded.

"It's
peas under our feet," Jack said. "Why are there peas on the
floor?"

"It's
a trick," Marmalade said. "I just don't know what it is."

None of
them could argue with that. Since when were there peas on the Queen's floor? It
had to be a trick, but what kind of trick?

"I
think I know," Jack said.

"What
is it?" Fable said.

"Give
me a second," Jack said, crushing a few peas as they slowly approached the
throne. "I need to make sure."

"We
don't have a second." Marmalade didn't look like much of a leader now.

"I
know, I know," Jack said. "Crush the peas as hard as you can when you
walk."

"Why?"
Fable asked.

"Just
do it." Jack gritted his teeth, his voice almost heard by other huntsmen
at the far sides.

Since
everyone trusted Jack, they did as they were told, crushing the peas under
their feet. Fable enjoyed it, actually.

Glimpsing
the Queen's gaze far ahead, Fable saw she was a bit perplexed now. It was as if
she'd lost something she was sure she would find.

"Where
are they, Mary?" She was angry.

"I—"
Mary stuttered. Fable never thought she'd see her stutter, ever. "I'm sure
they're here. We need to…" She began whispering to the Queen of Sorrow
again.

The Queen
listened to Mary then turned back to the Lost Seven. She ordered them to a halt
until she finished her conversation. Then she began discussing something with
her again.

Jack used
this slight gap to explain to everyone what was happening. "It's an old
trick," he whispered. "Huntsmen are only males. Females, especially
your age, walk more lightly than men. You wouldn't crush the peas and make a
popping sound. You're not used to that kind of heavy treading. If she'd
discovered the girls among us, she'd know they were intruders. Girls."

"That's…"
Fable didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Jack."

"I
find this kind of thinking unfair to women," Marmalade hissed. "Who said
women walk as lightly as feathers?"

"We're
not here to discuss this," Ladle said. "Let's figure out if the Queen
has another trick for us."

Suddenly,
Cerené gasped. It hadn't been a loud gasp. Somehow, she'd sucked it in.

But what
had made her gasp?

Fable
turned her head and was about to gasp like her.

An open
wardrobe of the finest and most beautiful dresses and most glinting shoes had
been brought into the chamber. There was no reason for it, none whatsoever.

"Stay
put, girls." Jack sounded fed up. It was like,
Why the hell am I
walking among so many girls in a world that only allows men to become huntsmen?
"It's another trick. Just don't gasp or look."

Immediately,
Fable lowered her head, away from the sight of the most beautiful dresses she
had ever seen. She thought most of the Lost Seven, especially the girls, had
been raised in poor families. At least, that was what fairy tale books she had
read in the real world had hinted. They were supposed to never have seen such
clothes and fine fabrics.

And, of
course, none of them had seen such shoes. Especially Cerené, Cinderella, whose
life had all kinds of shoes in it, starting with the glass shoe she wore to
balance her feet, and a story about a prince who loved her back in Italy. A
story Fable had heard only parts of from Shew after her return from the last
Dreamory.

All of
them, except Jack and the Beast, lowered their heads. Fable wasn't sure about
the Beast. He was at the far end, and Fable feared she'd be exposed if she
tilted her head to look at him.

Jack began
telling them what was going on. And Fable's intuition was right. The Queen had
sought to tempt the girls with the glittering dresses and shoes. No huntsman
would lift his head toward them or gasp when seeing such beautiful fabrics.

Fable
almost squeaked with excitement. With all the danger surrounding her, this part
of the dream seemed to have been cut right from the pages of fairy tales. Lame,
nonsensical, and girly in such silly ways. It was such a paradoxical feeling,
being both afraid and happy.

Again, the
Queen seemed angered.

The Queen
of Sorrow stood in front of her glass throne with two obeying black panthers at
her feet. She gazed at the huntsmen, as if trying to pierce through their
cloaks. With her chin up, she closed her eyes and sighed. Fable was worried the
Queen would spit dragon fire any moment. It wasn't just a sigh. It was
unexplainable, as if the Queen controlled the weather in Sorrow and was about
send a cyclone of frogs and crickets upon them all.

Fable
tightened her hands on the friends on her sides, Jack and Cerené, waiting for
the Queen to open her eyes.

The Queen
did. There was no storm. But this time, the Queen stepped away from her throne,
nearing them. Fable had a bad feeling about it. She couldn't say why. But maybe
she had lived this memory before, and deep in her mind she knew of the terrible
thing coming her way.

The Queen
asked Sirenia to hand her a bowl. Sirenia did, and the Queen held it by the
tips of her hands. She stared at the huntsmen.
A daring
stare.
Then she threw a fistful of something on the floor.

It took
everyone some time to realize what it was. All but Fable, whose memories began
to return, with all the fears of the
past.

The Queen
had thrown a fistful of breadcrumbs on the floor.

Fable
gasped. Loudly.

"What's
wrong with you?" Jack whispered, squeezing her hand. "Hold yourself
together. They're just breadcrumbs."

Fable just
couldn't. She was almost suffocating, the memory passing like a looming blur
before her eyes. It had to do with where she had been before she entered this
dream. It had to do with what had happened to her in the forest.

Cerené
tightened her hand on Fable. She seemed to be the only one who knew, but Fable
couldn't see her facial expressions behind the darkness of the cloaks.

"Hold
on, Fable." Cerené's voice was more than sympathetic. It was as if she
understood Fable's pain. The pain Fable herself couldn't grasp.

"What's
going on with me?" Fable asked Cerené, about to puke, and unable to look away
from the breadcrumbs scattered on the floor. It was as if she were an addict to
some forbidden bread.

"Don't
you remember?" Cerené gritted her teeth. "It's the Art."

"What
art?" Fable asked, her legs wobbly. She knew the Queen of Sorrow was
watching everything from afar, waiting for the right moment to expose them.
Fable hated to be the one to expose them, but she couldn't resist the
breadcrumbs. How was that possible?

"The
Black Art," Cerené hissed, trying to hold straight among the huntsmen. "You
told me you learned it in…"

The Queen
threw more breadcrumbs on the floor.

"I
learned Black Arts?" Fable held her stomach, a step away from exposing
everyone else. She threw a look at the Queen. Carmilla Karnstein was smiling,
smirking, and waiting for her final touch to expose them. "What does this
have to do with the breadcrumbs?"

"You
can't resist the Queen's enchanted breadcrumbs," Cerené said. "Don't
you remember? Don't you remember the darkness you have been through the last
three months?"

But
whatever Fable wanted to understand, or save, was beyond her. She sank to her
knees, and then hurtled on all fours like an animal toward the breadcrumbs,
collecting them from the floor. She definitely was addicted to them, and didn't
know why or how.

"Don't
mess this up," Marmalade hissed at her.

But it was
too late.

Gasps
filled the chamber. The Queen must have smiled vigorously at the sight of Fable
giving in to her trick. Fable's cloak fell back and showed her pigtails, as she
sniffed, collecting the breadcrumbs in the hem of her tattered dress from the
castle's floor.

"Interesting,"
the Queen of Sorrow said. She sounded delighted. "A girl with pigtails
doesn't strike me as a rebel."

"She
is one of them," Bloody Mary growled, her hands reaching out of the
mirror, wanting to hurt Fable.

"One
of who?" the Queen demanded.

"The
Lost Seven," Mary said. "They're here to kidnap Snow White so—"

"So
you can't eat her heart." Jack pulled his cloak back and stepped up,
raising his sword. "Can we skip the introductions and start killing each
other?"

35

The Queen's
Diary

I didn't
know who Captain Hook was then. But the man whom everyone feared, the man who
walked among whales, trudged onto our ship's deck, a huge bottle of ale in one
hand. He could barely walk straight, his watery boots thumping on the floor,
slightly swaying among the sailors and misfits of the
Pequod
.

Captain
Hook was drunk.

His huge
figure still swayed like a lost ship in the ocean. His bushy beard swayed
along, too. It was made of strings of red, of black, and a much lesser part was
white, all tangled together with a straight single pigtail hanging like an
animal's tail from his chin. He didn't look absurdly fashionable like the devil.
He looked disgusting. His whole complexion was dim. Focusing, I realized his
beard covered bad skin underneath. It was rough and bumpy, like the surface of
a crusted pie.

Still, he
scared everyone next to me.

But I wasn't
that sure if it was fear he exuded. In my mind, I was only studying the man who
might be an obstacle for me to reach the Tower of Tales. I needed to find a way
to survive him.

Hook's
eyelashes were full of mascara, probably to take the attention away from his
bad skin. His eyes were bulgy, beady, and grey, an almost colorless kind of
grey. He wore a toque for a hat, a lot of silvery accessories on his hands. The
rest of his cloths
screamed
"pirate." Who
would want to sell their souls to a pirate?

Hook
stopped before Captain Ahab's open door, and peeked in for a long time, enough
to realize the ship's captain was gone. Hook gulped on his ale, fluid trickling
down his beard as if watering it, dripping from the end of his pigtailed beard.
"So Long John Silver fled again." Hook smirked at us. "What a
pity." He brushed his eyebrow with gruff hands full of rings. "He
must still be looking for that whale." Hook shook his head, almost pitying
Captain Ahab. He turned and faced his men, who dressed and smelled like him—of
crocodiles? At least, that was what I thought. "Don't look down,
goddammit," Hook snarled, annoyed by the utter obedience oozing out of
their eyes. "Can't you read my face?" None of them dared to look
back. His face was definitely unreadable. "You're supposed to laugh with
me." He gulped one more time, lifted his head up at the sky, and laughed
like a roaring lion. I couldn't decide whether it was an evil laugh or dark
one. His sailors nudged each other and complied, faking laughs with him.

Soon, when
he stopped, they stopped too.

"Not
good enough!" Hook wasn't satisfied with their laughs. "Each fool of
you
grab
his bottle of ale." He pointed. "Gulp
some until your mouth is full. Feel it burning in your throat, and then laugh
at the moon in the sky with me."

Sailors
and misfits watched Hook and his men drink and then laugh at the moon again.
This time I was sure they looked like amateur evil men, trying their best to
scare someone. How was this "
Him
"?

"And
you?" Hook looked down at us. "I know you don't have enough ale with
you, but you should laugh at the moon with me." He waved his hand.

It was a
challenging request for the crew of the
Pequod
. Most of the men wished
for the Moongirl's help. Laughing at her was like burning all ships of hope and
sailing to hell.

But the
sailors and misfits complied. We all laughed at the moon. Hook roared louder.
It took him a while before he lowered his head, looking darker than before,
dark enough to make me realize he wasn't just a joker but the most powerful man
at sea.

Everyone
stopped laughing immediately, all except the puffing boy. He must have been
smoking again, or too excited to sell his soul to Hook.

"What
are you laughing at?" Hook growled, trudging toward him. The sailors
parted.

The boy
sweated, cemented in his place. Hook stopped right before him, saying,
"
You know who I am?"

The boy
nodded speechlessly.

"No
you don't." Hook squinted. "You think I'm just a giant man sailing
the seas, a man you can sell your soul to?"

The boy
nodded.

"Fool."
Hook gulped from his bottle. He turned around to face us. Then he smashed his
bottle on a man's head, bringing him to his death. Hook pulled up his sleeves,
showing a hook instead of a hand. Everyone gasped. He walked among the sailors
and misfits and pointed at one of them, then said, "You!" The man
approached obediently, maybe wishing to sell his soul. "You're dead."
Hook laughed, and then sank his hook into the man's belly. He turned around,
pulling his bloody hook back, and calling another man. "You!" Another
man approached reluctantly. "You live." Hook laughed again, like a
spoiled child.

He
continued walking, choosing whom to kill and whom to keep alive, killing half
of everyone on the ship. I'd never seen so much blood and killing. I was about
to vomit but held still, gripping my precious sack. Was I supposed to
live
or
die
in Hook's book?

Hook
stopped before me, blocking the moonlight and enveloping me with his dark. I
raised my head in an uncomfortable position to stare at him.

He stared
back for a long time.
Again, as if he knew me.
"Going
for the Tower of Tales?" He laughed.

I couldn't
bring myself to either answer or ask how he knew. He didn't seem to be asking.
He was looking at my sack, which seemed to expose where I was heading.

"Are
you in love?" he uttered, his grey eyes slightly glimmering.

I nodded.

"True
Love?" he asked.

I nodded
again, almost wanting to tell the whole world I was in love.
Proud
of it, hanging on to hope.

"No,
you're not," he said in a flat tone. "You know how I know?"

I said
nothing, only continued staring at him. Who was he, really?

"Because
your lover isn't here for you," Hook said, looking really happy about it.

His words
cut through me. Whoever
Hook
really was, and whatever
purpose all the crazy incidents around me served, he was right. Angel had
weakened and ran away, leaving me alone to my… Wait! I finally realized who
Hook was. Why everyone feared him.

He nodded
with a grin. "Yes, that's me." He was proud. "That's why I chose
who to kill and who to let live on the ship. In fact, I choose which ships to
sink and which ones to pass in the Seven Seas. The Seven Seas belong to me."

"You're
Fate?" I sighed. It was a rhetorical question. "But why—"

"—
would
people sell their souls to me?" He rubbed his
chest, looking more sober than before.

I nodded.

"You
must understand that Fate doesn't buy any soul he comes by." Referring to
himself
in the third person alerted me. Hook, or Fate, was
like a demon child, ready to burn everything for his childish pleasures and
impulses. This was why I couldn't sense his evil at first. It explained why
Captain Ahab fled (I still wondered where to). He couldn't confront him.
How
do you confront a demon child who kills for fun and games?

"I
only buy souls that I enjoy." He licked his lips. "Which reminds me."
He raised his brows, pulled out a gun, and shot the puffing boy, hurtling him
over the ship's rails—food for the mermaids waiting to eat him at sea. "You
see, I love misery," he began preaching, raising his voice and walking
among the crew again. "I love pain," he roared happily, and
theatrically, like a king in Shakespearean play. "I love sorrow!"

The word
sorrow
echoed in the sea. It had begun to mean too much—Hook's addiction to
sorrow, Angel's last name.

"That's
why no ordinary soul satisfies me," Fate said dramatically. His childish
laughter had disappeared. He had an itch and needed to scratch it: buying
sorrowful souls. "You know what sorrow is made from?" He turned and
faced me
again,
his bad skin reddening with passion
for pain.

I said
nothing, still clinging to my sack, contemplating jumping out of the ship. But
where would I escape from Fate in a sea he claimed he controlled? Was there a
tide that'd protect me?
A fish that'd guide me?
A good mermaid that'd help me?
I really wished for the
Moongirl to be real now, as I realized these were not only the Seven Seas we
were sailing across—they were the Seven Seas of Sorrow.

"You
can only create so much sorrow"—he enthusiastically waved his long
hands sideways—"from only one thing." He stepped closer,
blocking all light again, shading me with Fate's misery. "From joy."
He smiled like a child. "The more the joy, the better the sorrow." He
reached for my hands with welcoming eyes. I pulled away. "And you, young
lady, have so much joy in you, so much hope and strength." Then he finally
said what was on his mind: "I want it. You can fuel my addiction."

His smile
didn't fool me. I was surprised his addiction to sorrow had made him so
friendly he would have almost gotten to his knees and begged me…

Wait! What
was Fate asking me?

"You
want me to sell my soul to you?" I said, almost euphoric about his
weakness, and my temporary power. How did I have such power? What was it,
exactly?

This time,
Fate nodded, saying nothing and getting down on one knee, as if proposing.

"Why
would I do that?" I let out a feeble laugh, looking up at him—he was
still taller than me while kneeling—as if I were looking down at him.

"You
want to find the Tower of Tales. No man or woman I came across in the Seven
Seas would dare to take such journey. None of them would defy the world, their
family for love," he explained, and I assumed Fate knew all about me, too.
"No one believed in True Love as much as you. No one would leave behind a
lush and luxurious life, being the 'girl who brought apples to the world,' and
leave on a swaying ship in the sea for love." He hesitated but then said, "No
one would be trusted with such a sack"—he pointed at it, and I
gripped it harder—"unless they see so much power in you, young lady.
So much joy." He closed his eyes, as if imagining how much he would
enjoy
weaving my life into threads of sorrow if I agreed to sell my soul to him.

I sighed
and looked up at the moon, really wishing the myth was real, that there was a
girl up there that would help me from the dark Fate of the Seven Seas. But I
knew there wasn't. I'd begun learning that the world outside the comfort of my
castle was much darker than I had imagined, and that everything came with a
price.

This time,
Fate wanted me to trade my happiness for sorrow. A price I was about to pay to
reach the Tower of Tales.

"You
think Captain Ahab, I mean Long John Silver, isn't looking for the Tower of
Tales?" Hook said. "Why do you think he is obsessed with whales?"

Was I
finally going to know?

"One
of the whales has the key to the Tower of Tales inside it," Fate
explained. "And he will never find it. You will never find it."

"Why
do you say so?" I asked.

"You
will be so close to it." He narrowed a fat forefinger and a thumb. "So
close, but will never find it."

"Why
do you say so?" I insisted.

"Because
whoever told you about the Tower of Tales didn't tell you about the price you
have to pay," he said. "The only way to find it is in this endless
sea is"—he stretched his hands wider—"through me."
He smiled widely, showing a set of silver teeth upfront.

Was he the
silver-toothed man from before, playing games on
me and
Captain Ahab
? I didn't ask.

"So
my soul is the price for the Tower of Tales?" I wanted to be clear about
it. My heart beat in my throat.
What are you going to do, Carmilla?

He nodded,
happier than ever, stretching out his hand. According to the tales I know now,
this very much felt like Beauty and the Beast. Was Hook actually Fate
and
the Beast?

"What
does selling my soul to you mean?" I needed to know the details.

"It's
a simple ritual." He shook his shoulders, trying to make it sound easy.
When I didn't buy into it, his face dimmed and he told me the truth. "After
we perform the ritual, I will leave you be. You can roam the world, live your
life,
do
whatever you want. But you will always, no
matter how hard you try, be submerged in sorrow, misery, and pain. Horrible
things beyond your grasp will happen to you. You will always struggle in the
most unusual ways." He rubbed his chin to consider something. "Some
people simply call this life," he said. "Well, I managed to steal
some souls for my benefit. I don't need to buy poor and weak souls, because it's
easy to send them to their misery." He was proud of himself again. "But
my real kick"—he sighed—"is people like you. I will get
you to where you want to go, with the person you want to be with, and the life
you choose to have. And in exchange, I will always watch your misery, day by
day, fueling my addiction."