The Nutcracker Bleeds (11 page)

The
outline of the ridges lining his arms and torso were not hard to miss, and the
mantle of long hair was not easy to ignore. He was Olivia’s newest addition:
the nutcracker doll.

In
one of Anne’s various passing thoughts, she had guessed herself to be about six
inches tall, and if that were so, this nutcracker was nearly eight. He wasn’t
as large as many of the other toys and dolls in the society, but for his scale,
he was a giant of a carved soldier.

He
walked toward her, arm outstretched, and in the amount of flickering light cast
from the lamp above, she saw something gleam in his hand. A metal rod? No; she
recognized it. It was a needle.

The
size that she was, a simple sewing needle could pierce through her entire body.
In fact, if he’d wanted, he could pin her up like a displayed butterfly, for
there were several more needles strapped to one of his legs. But now, she was
spent and very annoyed with all this hostility toward her.

“What
is it?” Anne sighed out as if she didn’t care.

He didn’t
reply, continuing to advance slowly. His footfalls were heavy and deliberate.

“Do
you want this?” she asked, offering out the cat’s eye. “Because apparently,
it’s useless. Go ahead and take it. I don’t care.”

She
dropped it onto the floorboards carelessly. It bumped loudly and rolled away.
The nutcracker did not go after it, and she hadn’t truly expected him to.

Anne
examined him, and aside from moving steps closer to her, he seemed not to have
moved at all. His face still held the same expression–though she didn’t know
what she expected since it was carved from wood. He still held the needle
toward her threateningly, and it did not waver.

“You
just want to kill me?” she inquired. “A murderer amongst toys? Defending the
Lady’s honor, perhaps?”

She
looked at his unchanging face and threw up her hands in desperation for
everything that had happened to her thus far.

“Do
you even understand me?” she asked, exasperated. Shortly, she hoped that he
didn’t–that he hadn’t heard the careless things she’d said that she didn’t
really mean. Because she did still care what happened to herself. She cared
very much.

He
continued to stare her down in silence–until finally he took a step back and
slipped the needle into the band on his leg with the others.

“You
insult my intelligence,” he said, his wooden lips moving just as hers would,
and for a moment she only stared back.

She
was actually shocked to hear him speak, but more surprised by the voice that
came forth. The sound was pleasant–a young man’s voice, but the tone was a bit
flat with boredom. It was deep,
strong,
and there was a mild accent
restraining it as it formed her language. Russian? German, perhaps? She wasn’t
educated quite enough to tell. All that mattered now was that he could speak
English–and that he’d put the glinting needle away.

“I
apologize for offending you,” she found herself saying. She crossed her arms as
if protecting herself. “But honestly, what do you want?”

“Did
I hear correctly that you have been into the lair of the rodents?”

“Yes,”
she nodded. His speech was so proper, his words carefully spoken.

“Do
you remember the way?”

“Yes…”
A bit more reluctantly this time. She wondered where exactly this was going,
but he didn’t hesitate to inform her of exactly
where
.

“I
need you to show me.”

At that,
Anne only stared. She had just gotten back from that terrible, stinking place!
She didn’t want to go back
ever
, let alone immediately
.
She
wanted to rest. She needed to think. Anne wanted to curl up around her marble
and sleep.

“Isn’t
there someone else?” she asked before she could stop herself. “
Anyone
else? In fact, I know the perfect fellow. All you have to do is get him out of
prison…but
do
be sure to put him back when you’re done.”

The
soldier shook his head slightly, but barely enough that she noticed.

“I’m
sorry, but it seems we have a misunderstanding.”

This
caught her completely off guard.

“You
see, I figured you for the sort to respond more suitably to my needs if I used
intimidation. I didn’t account for you just giving up.”

His
words seemed nearly conversational, but his tone remained flat all the while,
his wooden face giving nothing in the form of emotion. Anne stared at him a
moment, trying to comprehend, but before she could speak, he went on.

“But
what if I had been polite? Would you not have only
politely
declined?”

“I…”

He
was completely unreadable, but he’d seen through her decently enough.
Intimidation? Fear? So far, she’d stood up to both and spit in their faces.
Even if that was truth, she was no fool. She wasn’t trying to be brave.
Avoiding trouble was her only goal.

“I
see your point,” she admitted.

“Then
let’s try this once more.”

He
moved toward her, his shadow covering her in darkness. She would have shrunk away,
but he had her in a corner and there was nowhere else to go. She knew that,
accepted
it.

When
he stood directly before her, looming, he took hold of her arms just below the
shoulders. With hardly any effort at all, he lifted her off the floor.

There
was no strain as he held her there, her feet dangling freely. She didn’t
struggle, much too amazed. She was in the warm lantern light; he remained in
the dark. Her face was close to his, and she could see all the fine details
that she’d neglected before when she’d been so much larger than him. Who could
have managed to carve such a delicate face?

Anne
stared into the nutcracker’s hollow eyes, and what she saw was an absence of
everything. Of life; of memories; of anything with meaning. Even though he was looking
at her–and she could
feel
his eyes on her–she also saw an absence of
herself
.
She gasped in sheer amazement.

“I
need you to show me,” he repeated, quieter, but more menacingly than before.

The
woman blinked and gulped, hoping it wasn’t audible. To his
polite
request, she didn’t dare say no.

1

It
was swift déjà vu. Without much choice of her own, Anne was back in the warm
ventilation shafts and leading yet another speaking toy down toward that deep,
dark place she’d just emerged from. In fact, she was certain that she was still
wearing the stench of the rodents’ lair on her skin. Even so, she moved on with
the silent nutcracker following behind.

She’d
carried the cat’s eye marble with her. He’d insisted. Since she’d not yet
decided if she could play him, she’d not disobeyed. The path was just as dark
and featureless as before, and without much to look at, Anne’s mind was
wandering.

Would
it be the best choice to try and escape from her new captor? In a different way,
he was equally as terrifying as the jester had been. If this one had any secret
plans, she wasn’t sure she could get away from him. She found a bit of comfort
in seeing that his whole body–clothing included–was made of wood. There was no
cloth to hide any surprises from her. Anne shuddered at the memory, but also
felt relief for this new situation.

Anne
also wondered about the general state of affairs–of this society and their
war
.
This soldier that had enlisted her aid was fairly new to these parts, as was
she. But even so, if the jester puppet had so readily taken her into enemy
territory, why had one of the nutcracker’s associates not been able to show him
the way? Then again, the jester had confessed to wandering about through the
house. Maybe he was not supposed to?

Or
perhaps this nutcracker had decided not to follow with the Lady Sovereign and
was thus exiled? She had suspicions about him though, but even if she wanted to
ask, she couldn’t quite summon the question. She just glanced over her shoulder
at him every few moments. He was still there, but never had enough nerve to
speak to him.

Eventually,
he noticed–or perhaps he’d known all along.

“Is
there something you want?” he inquired, telling her with his tone that he
already didn’t care.

Put
on the spot, Anne finally found the courage.

“Is
your name ‘
Armand
’?”

They
didn’t stop their journey for her to ask her question, and she walked
uncomfortably for a few moments with his silence behind her. Just when she
thought he wasn’t going to answer, she heard his voice.

“That’s
right.”

She
remembered Olivia’s words:
I’m not leaving until Armand comes back!
Judging by that and the overly concerned way the girl had treated him when he’d
been hurt–even when so many other toys had been broken–Anne had managed to
guess this. Now at least she’d proved it to be correct. She’d found a link. He
was on the Lady’s side, and not only that; he was her
favorite
.

Young
girls and their new toys
, she thought with a slight shake of her head.
There’s
nothing like the smell of fresh paint.

“I
guessed so,” the woman said, passing around a bend that would take them closer
to the teacup lift.

He
said nothing in response. It finally occurred to her that it might be good–or
at least polite–to introduce herself.

“My
name is Anne, by that way.”

More
silence from the nutcracker, and somehow, this offended her. Perhaps it was the
build–up of everything she had endured so far–the utter rudeness that had been
shoveled upon her. She clutched the marble tighter in her arms.

“Yes,
well nice to meet you,
Anne
. Lovely name, that,” she mocked, but not
quite managing to copy his accent.

“Oh,
well how good of you to say so…” she then answered for herself.

“I’ve
heard it’s not healthy to talk with yourself,” he interrupted from somewhere
behind her.

She
was quick with her heated response.

“And
talking with
toys
is any better?”

Again
he was silent, and it was likely a good thing. In that quiet, she realized she
was being ridiculous. But surely he must agree with her? Even though he was toy
himself, he had to know he couldn’t possibly be alive.

Anne
shook her head. She knew she was losing her mind.

They
reached the lift, the porcelain teacup hanging shiny and still, and even though
she’d watched the jester operate it twice, she had to examine it before she
remembered. By that time, the nutcracker had figured it out for himself.

He
brushed past her to set to work. As he did, he spoke–a response to her banter
earlier, and just a bit late.

“I
already knew who you were.”

The
words had no feeling, but they sent chills throughout her. On top of that, he’d
worded it so strangely. She rubbed at the sleeve of her scratchy dress. Well
of
course
he knew who she was. If he’d had any association with Olivia, he
must have. He’d only been in this house for a few hours and he likely knew more
about what was going on here than she did.

The
memory of when she’d held him broken in her hands resurfaced. She’d spent all
those moments searching for blood while he was stiffly and silently in pain,
watching
–peering
out at her from those hollow sockets. That thought made her cringe, but also
made her feel especially guilty.

Don’t
give in to this,
she coached herself.
He’s a toy.

Still,
she couldn’t help but glance down toward his leg which had formerly been
disconnected. It had been patched with putty so perfectly by Euan that it was
hard to tell that it had been broken. It had been repainted the same dark color
as the rest of his suit. This was impressive to her; even though it had been
snapped completely off, it didn’t appear to be hindering his movement.

“Does
it hurt?” she asked suddenly.

He
glanced back at her from the lift–said nothing.

“Your
leg.”

Anne
motioned toward it with her head, and the nutcracker glanced at it as if he
hadn’t known it had been broken, or even that he had a leg there at all.

“I’ll
live,” he said, giving his attention back to what he was doing.

Sure,
yes. You’ll live
,
she thought to herself.
Only, you’re supposed to be an inanimate object.

He
motioned her into the lift with a tilt of his head, and she moved forward
without question. She was very ready to be done with this. Anne stepped over
the brim of one of the dingy teacups and he followed, letting them down together
as if he’d been operating the machine his entire life. At the bottom, they
started off again. Now was the more difficult part in getting to their
destination.

An
idea came to her. Perhaps she didn’t remember the way after all? In her heart,
she knew that was a lie, but if she led him on in the wrong direction a few
times, maybe he would want to give up? No, she didn’t think he would. Even
further, she guessed he would know if she was doing it on purpose.

Sudden
thoughts of the stench and the bugs arose in Anne’s mind, and she stopped her
pace, turning to face the nutcracker behind her. He was close, but easily
caught himself before bumping into her.

“Are
you sure you want to go there?” she asked with uncertainty.

Perhaps
she could try one more time to get him to change his mind. She was good at
persuasion, and all she would have to do in this case would be to tell the
truth of the horrors below.

The
nutcracker looked down at her from his expressionless face.

“I
know that it must be your duty or something…but it’s really a dreadful place.”
Then she threw in for good measure: “There are termites.”

Though
there wasn’t much in his eyes, she was certain she saw some sort of change in
his face.

“Oh
yes?”

Anne
nodded. “Hundreds.”

She
heard a short ‘hm’ of consideration escape him, and she was sure she was
getting somewhere. The bugs had been stirred, and if he was smart, he would
allow them to turn back.

The
nutcracker named Armand–who she couldn’t quite think of by
any
name–raised his hand toward her face. She might have tried to dodge, only she
didn’t feel threatened. Fingers touched near the side of her head, she felt her
hair pull slightly, and then he withdrew.

Between
his fingers was an insect wing.

It
had been hanging there the entire time and she’d not even noticed. Bad
memories. Before she could begin to imagine the termites crawling over her
again, she watched the wooden nutcracker move the transparent wing to his lips.
He opened his mouth.

There
was a light crunch as he ate it.

Anne
stared, completely appalled and disgusted at the sight. Apparently the action
was meant to let her know that he didn’t care about the enemy lair’s little
insect problem. She watched him chew and swallow as if he thought he could
digest the food. A small remnant remained on his bottom lip. She stared, and
when she realized her mouth was hanging open, she snapped it shut.

Feeling
the small piece on his lip, he collected it with a finger, and while Anne was
busy being too shocked to move, he slowly pushed his hand forward and stuck the
tiny portion to her nose.

The
woman started cross–eyed at it there, stunned to discover that it was damp with
saliva.
Impossible!
But after a moment she registered that there was a
bug
wing on her nose
. She brushed it off in a movement like a spasm. Her grey
eyes found his face. She thought she saw the tiniest of smiles emerge at the
corner of his mouth. The way she looked on, she was sure he must have seen her
apprehension.

In
fact, he liked that look on her very much.

The
nutcracker said nothing, but a hand motion bade her onward. Once again, she was
too aghast to defy him.

Olivia
said she was waiting for him
, Anne thought as she turned and moved on
toward the first turn.
Her prince? Oh good; they’re perfect for each other.
Both are repulsive.

Her
entire body wanted to withdraw from all this and huddle in a corner where no
one would see her, or to climb into a box and beg to wake up from this
nightmare. But a piece of her mind disagreed. It knew that if she didn’t keep
herself around these toys she would never come to figure out anything. It was a
loss on both ends.

There
was only one decision to make, and it was a swift one. She would be tolerant.

Continuing
along the way, a sound reached her ears. There was a vent ahead, and though
there wasn’t much light coming through, there was at least a bit. The sound was
coming from there; she was sure of it. As she listened harder, she realized
that the quiet disturbance was like
crying
.

Anne
hurried forward, though being sure to remain hushed. The soldier behind her did
not pick up his pace in the slightest, though he no doubt must have heard the
sound as well.

At
the vent, Anne edged around and looked through one of the holes that she was
becoming so accustomed to peering through. It took her a moment to focus, but
when she finally understood what she was seeing, she gasped sharply and jerked
back from the opening–but she was unable to look away.

The
grate led to the hallway, and in the still of the night, a group of toys had
taken over the space. The sorrowful sounds she heard were coming from the mouth
of a ballerina doll on the floor–though the only way she knew it was a
ballerina was for the crumpled gossamer tutu on the ground nearby. The doll’s
porcelain body was stripped and she was helplessly being tortured by four other
toys.

A
marionette with a large top hat, a doll in a green dress with blonde curls, a
toy soldier with only one arm, and a small stuffed rabbit all participated in
the insane ritual. The rabbit wielded a black crayon; the doll, a red one. With
them, they drew small pictures and scribbles all over the bare, pure white of
the ballerina’s body. Anne could see that a thick black line had been drawn
across her eyes. The marionette held her tied and splayed with his strings
while the soldier with one arm poked her inner legs with a pin that never
penetrated her hard skin.

It
was horror. The ballerina cried quietly, but there was no tears coming from her
eyes. The other toys grinned and giggled. Anne backed away from the vent and
from the sight–and when she bumped into the nutcracker behind her, she yelped
shortly.

She
jerked toward him and he tilted his face from the vent where he’d also been
observing the ghastly situation. There was a difference between them though: he
didn’t appear shaken at all.

“Aren’t
you going to stop this?” she asked, wondering how he could just stand there.
She understood that she couldn’t do much, but he was much larger than all of
them. Surely
he
could.

The
nutcracker did not even glance back toward the scene in consideration. Instead,
he simply walked on past the light of the grate.