The Nutcracker Bleeds (30 page)

The
puppet raised the blade once more, laughing its wicked, whispering laugh.
Brooke had half a leg. How was he to get out of this mess? And was there even a
way? Perhaps this was how he was meant to go–though he’d become convinced that
he’d lose his being in an entirely different manner.

But
Anne… She would be taken by this puppet if he failed. He couldn’t let himself
die. No; he wasn’t beaten yet!

Having
to prop himself up with one hand, he used the other to wield a blade, shooting
it forward to run the puppet through its cloth stomach. There would have been
sure pain, but this blow hardly stopped the marionette. It cut down with the
scissor blade, but at the very last moment that would mean whether or not
Brooke would keep his head, he used his blade to throw the puppet off the
mantelpiece.

It
plunged downward, but if it fell into the fire, Brooke didn’t know. He didn’t
care to look either. He rolled his leg over to inspect it.
Splintered badly.

As
soon as the puppet had fallen, Anne rushed toward the downed soldier, leaning
beside him to also inspect his injured leg. Oddly, it was the exact same leg
that Armand had gotten broken off earlier that night.

“What
can we do about this?” she inquired, but he was already a step ahead of her.

From
within his coat, he withdrew a small pouch. “This should do.”

His
voice spoke of pain, but his face didn’t show it much. Could he possibly have
felt the same degree of hurt as she might have if it was her leg that was
broken in half? She shuddered at that thought.

“What’s
that?” she wondered aloud.

The
pouch was filled with a sticky, goop substance, and Brooke smeared it on the
broken place of his leg. Then, he set the bottom half back in place, matching
the lines of the break.

“Wood
glue,” Brooke told her. “The toymaker’s own concoction. Very powerful.”

13

It
had taken a few moments for Armand to decide how he wanted to reach the top of
the mantle, but with the mice scattered and the cat chasing them off into the
dark corners, he had plenty of time to think. He’d eventually wound up tying
together a series of puppet strings from a fallen marionette and using one of
the needles to hold into the wood so that he could climb up.

When
he got there, all he saw was Brooke.

He
looked around for Anne, feeling a small degree of panic until Brooke looked up and
met his gaze impassively. Saying nothing, he used his head to motion down to
the other side of him. Stepping forward just slightly, Armand saw her.

She
was drawn up beside Brooke with her knees pulled to her chest, leaning against
his shoulder restfully. She’d gotten comfortable with him, had she? How
quickly
she had gone from hating this world.

Armand
didn’t look at her as he passed by, but Anne raised her head at his sight. In
fact, she would have run straight into his arms if she’d actually thought he’d
receive her. But she got nothing–not even an uninterested glance. She rested
her head back against Brooke. Perhaps it was true then. Armand had come all
this way for Olivia. He really
did
belong to her.

Nearby,
the blood–covered nutcracker sat down.

“How
long until the glue dries?” he asked, noticing the break in Brooke’s leg.

“Just
a bit before it’s dry enough to walk on,” he said. “Quite a while before it’s
at its strongest again.”

The
three of them sat quietly in the room that had now become silent all around
them. All the rodents had made themselves scarce, and the cat was having a fine
time with the meals she’d made–and the ones that had been made
for
her.

Anne
sighed, once again calm enough to feel the completely disgusting nature of her
skin. Her hair was oily and uncomfortable by now. Her face was dirty, smeared
with dirt and grease and blood. She smelled terrible, she was sure, but had
been in far too many dreadful instances to be embarrassed by it. Besides that,
her guardians either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She was feeling more
miserable by the moment. If there had been bugs small enough to crawl around in
her hair, she was sure they would have been.

“I
need a bath,” she said quietly.

Both
her companions heard her, but neither commented. They only sat.

14

“What
happened to the original plan?”

Within
the darkness of the rodent’s lair, Clara’s voice came at Edge’s ears like the
constant buzzing of a fly. It was a mild annoyance that he somehow couldn’t seem
to swat away no matter what he did. Could she not trust him? But what was he
thinking? He didn’t blame her for her questions. He knew he was a liar.

“I
thought we were going to attack the Lady’s kingdom. Not the wrapped toys in the
hall.”

“The
first plan is still in motion,” he purred and growled both at once. “But there
is still more to be done.”

Clara
stomped her little foot.
So deliciously demanding.

“You
promised all this would happen
soon
!”

Edge
knelt down to the child, anxious to make her understand so that he could get on
with his business. As much as her inquiries bothered him at times, ridding
himself of her was out of the question. Of all the allies he could have chosen,
he’d picked one that was damn near to being the Master’s daughter. But there
were no worries. Edge would just do what he had to by her.

“There’s
a magic word in this game, poppet,” he told her, smiling and looking into her
big, pretty eyes. “Do you know what that word is?”

Clara’s
look of displeasure faded to confusion. Slowly, she shook her head.

“It’s
a very special word with a very cunning meaning. Sometimes the idea behind it
has to be used along with the main plan in order to assure the results you
want.”

The
child still did not understand, and was likely even more confused by now. Edge
couldn’t help but grin wider at this.

“That
marvelously enchanting word,” he told her, “is ‘
diversion
’.”

1

Once
Brooke’s leg had been tested against breakage, the nutcracker, the soldier, and
the woman made their way down from the mantle. They moved across the floor to
collect the marble where Anne had left it inside the flowerpot. Then they moved
on.

They
traversed into the shafts this time, even though the mice had retreated into
that same darkness. Armand walked along with his sword unsheathed in case they
met with adversity. Anne and Brooke trailed behind at a safe distance.

They
needed to head back to the Lady Sovereign’s kingdom to report the fate of her
soldiers to her–the very same that they’d neglected to cut down from the tree.
She could send someone else to handle that menial task.

Armand
knew that if there had been any rodents in the passages, the mice would have
smelled the blood on them from a good distance away. It didn’t bother him much
to be covered in the fluid, but Anne had expressed her discomfort. All he was
concerned about was that his own wounds–those inflicted by mice and the one to
the head he’d received from Brooke’s kin, along with a few he’d sustained from
the puppets–were no longer bleeding, and had, in fact, healed. Oh yes, he was
very different from those other toys. His body repaired itself–and rather
quickly. It was a blessing.

It’s
a curse.

These
thoughts caused Armand to falter along his course. He hadn’t been certain how
to get back to Olivia’s room from the shafts, which was why they had taken the
stairs down. They couldn’t have tackled that obstacle again at this time. He
didn’t think any of them could handle it.

He
stopped his pace, looking forward into a place where the tunnel split three
ways. If the toys had been smarter, they might have made signs. Then again,
they couldn’t have the rodents finding their way straight to them, could they?

As
he stood and contemplated, trying to perceive the way, Brooke stepped past him
and took the turn to the right.

“I
know a shortcut,” he said without looking back.

Shortcut,
hm? Armand wasn’t entirely trusting, but he didn’t suppose he had much choice.
Anne was already following along behind Brooke, and Armand had no better ideas.
He followed.

Brooke
led them along for a while, every moment with Armand expecting to see a lift
that would take them up. Steps passed behind them, and still they moved on.
When the soldier finally did stop them, it was not before a lift.

It
was in front of a vent.

Brooke
leaned back against the wall of the shaft as if he would be waiting there,
standing there and refusing to look at either of them. After several moments of
his silence, Anne moved forward cautiously to inspect the vent. Armand inspected
the soldier.

“Where
are we, exactly?” he demanded with a firm tone.

Brooke
was not afraid to look directly into the nothingness of the nutcracker’s eyes.

“She
said she wanted a bath,” he replied simply.

Armand
had remembered, but he’d thought it might be good for her to bear it for a
while. Perhaps it would keep her focused and obedient.

“A
washroom should be through that vent,” Brooke said, looking down the shaft the
way they had come. “You should take her in. I’ll wait.”

Armand
was briefly enraged by this. This soldier thought he was in charge now? But he
also saw Brooke’s point. Anne would feel much better if she was clean. He
didn’t actually
want
her to suffer.

Perhaps
though, this soldier needed a lesson. Armand took a step closer, looking into
Brooke’s face and making it impossible for him to avert his gaze.

“You’re
going to force me to destroy you,” he warned, his voice dire and thick with
consequence.

There
was no hint of fear on Brooke’s face as he looked boldly back at the
nutcracker.

“There
are possibly others seeking that same thing, and if that’s true, they have
first claim on my death.” The words surprised Armand, though he wasn’t sure
why. He didn’t speak as Brooke continued.

“If
they fail, or do not come, you’re more than welcome to have my head.”

Of
all the years Armand had seen–passed all the things he understood–he’d never
seen anything like this soldier. Brooke was so full of torment, tragedy, and
pain. Perhaps as much as Armand himself, but Brooke’s turmoil did not exist
because he had been wronged. Yet, Brooke refused to acknowledge any of his own
feelings as if they didn’t exist. So did he feel, or did he
not
feel
because he wouldn’t admit there was anything to be felt?

Armand
knew he should not have been considering such questions. He said nothing as he
stepped past Brooke and toward the vent where Anne waited, peering out. When he
laid his hands upon the grate and began to pry it open, she had to ask her
question.

“Why
did he lead us here? I thought we were going back to Olivia’s room.”

“We’re
going to get you that bath first,” he said flatly, stripping the screws and
getting the vent open enough for them to slip through.

Anne
seemed pleased with this idea, surprised. The woman said nothing else as Armand
led her forward into the dim washroom.

2

Another
grand luxury that made the Ellington house so unique–aside from the ventilation
shafts that warmed the whole house by a gas–powered heating system–was that the
house had indoor plumbing. It was an impressive comfort, and while many
high–end homes had running water, not many had all their facilities within the
house as well.

Anne
had been into rooms such as this many times, bathing in the smooth, white
bathtub to relax, but on this visit, that basin was much too large. This time,
the sink would do.

Armand
got them up to the countertop without much trouble. He lit a candle that sat
near the sink. He even plugged the drain for her and started the water, testing
it to make sure it was warm. It took a few moments to cycle through, but
finally it began to steam.

A
small pool of water in the sink was plenty enough for her, and once Armand had
finished, he moved away to sit, cleaning his weapons that had been neglected
since the battle with the rodents. Neither he nor Anne spoke throughout that
time.

Once
Anne had draped a rather large washcloth over the metal spout, she slid down
the rounded porcelain and into the water, dress and all.

The
warmth was amazing, and for a moment she simply laid there, letting it comfort
her. She was in her own private pool, and nothing else was real beyond that.
She didn’t relax long, however, for she was very anxious to get clean. The
dress came off, floating along in the water to soak out all the terrible
elements. Anne went to work on herself.

She
fought the tangles out of her hair, washing it with a small piece of soap that
she’d chipped off the bar. She scrubbed her face, her arms; anything she could
reach. It was a desperate scrubbing, and when she was finally done, she stood
beneath the small shower of water that had been left to run into the sink.

By
that flow from the spout, Anne was flushed clear of the soap and grime, and for
just a moment, she was purged of everything. The dimness of the room and the
flickering candlelight were comfortable. Together, they made everything else
vanish.

She
closed her eyes, letting the water fall against her face and trickle down her
body. For the moment, none of the awful things that had happened on this night
had truly come about. She was not lost in a world of insane toys and diseased
rodents. She was standing naked in a perfect world of white and water and
nothing else existed. Everything was safe.

But
Armand was still there.

In
her mind, he stood behind her. His touch found her, roving gently across the
curves of her body and pulling her in. He moved her hair across one shoulder,
brushing her skin and sending a tingling sensation throughout her. His hands
caressed her stomach, and she knew those hands were wooden, but that was what
enthralled her most. His fingers slid to the curve of her back. Slowly, he was
pressing her forward, bending her down toward the water where she saw her own
reflection coming up to meet her. She saw that her expression was of blissful
anticipation…

She
snapped to. None of that was happening, and of course it never would. There was
certainly more than one reason why it
couldn’t
, but there was only one
that she truly cared about.

Its
name was Olivia.

Anne
turned back slowly, wondering if perhaps Armand was watching her from over the
rim of the sink. When her grey eyes rested on him, she saw that he was not. He
was facing the other way entirely, engrossed in cleaning his weapons of mouse
blood. If he had glanced at all, he had turned away long ago.

Though
he was possibly just doing the decent thing, it disappointed her that he didn’t
want to look. Was he not even curious? Or perhaps his thoughts were simply
elsewhere.

He
kept her confused. One moment, she thought he hated her, and the next she had
started to wonder if there was something softer behind his cold demeanor. In
another instance, she thought he loved Olivia, and yet in the next, she
wondered if he desired her own flesh.

But
perhaps none of it mattered at all. She should not have even been thinking
thoughts like that. Anne wanted to laugh at herself. There were other things to
be concerned with now. Real problems, such as getting Olivia and herself to
safety. Once they were back to their proper size, she would have to decide how
to deal with keeping the girl quiet about all this.

And
then there was the issue of whatever else was going on in this house.
The
suspicious conversations in William’s office.
Hopefully, she would come
across some of that as well on her way out of this frightful world.

Anne
ran fingers through her hair until it was decently tangle–free, then she pulled
the washcloth from the spout. She patted herself dry and wrung out her hair
fully. She then wrapped the towel around herself and secured it.

The
woman retrieved her dress from the water, wringing it out before slinging it up
over the spout. It wasn’t perfectly spotless, but soaking in the soapy water
had done it some good. She pulled the drain free and felt the suction pulling
at the cloth she wore, dragging the bottom of it down toward oblivion. It
didn’t get far. She looked around for a way out, only realizing then that there
was no way she could have gotten out on her own.

Anne
looked once again toward Armand, seeing only the back of his head and his
shoulders from where she stood. She would have to call for him. She didn’t want
to.

“I
need help getting out of here,” she said, self–consciously holding the cloth
around herself, though she didn’t know why. She had never been ashamed of her
body, but perhaps this world of depraved toys had humbled her.

He
rose up at her request, moving toward the sink’s edge and twisting the water
off before reaching down to her. Taking her beneath her arms, he lifted her straight
into the air with hardly any effort. The fringe of the cloth dripped, and he
placed her down beside him.

She
gripped his arms, looking up to his great height. Her bruised throat hurt a bit
with the effort, but she barely noticed. He was looking back down at her, and
she suddenly remembered him looking at her like this before.

It
had been a short moment in Pirlipat’s kingdom where they’d stood, looking at
each other without words. The puppets had interrupted it. The moment on the
stairs had been similar. He had moved away from that himself.

Unlike
the first time she had looked into his eyes, this time she didn’t see an empty
abyss. Instead, she saw the truth.

He
was so strong, focused; completely fearless! He was more of a man than she’d
even seen before. Every time she’d fallen down, he’d been there, ready to help
her back up. It was impossible in any real world to meet someone like
this–someone who wasn’t just cowering beneath their skin no matter how much
boldness they fronted. Only in fantasy–only with
dolls
–could such an
extraordinary character exist. He was the hero who braved all to protect his
princess.

He
was harsh to her, but again and again she saw that he didn’t truly mean it. He
was simply too proud to admit his wrongs. She forgave him of those things.

Anne
understood then that she’d gone completely mad. This was no dream, no matter
how much she’d hoped, and whether or not this was reality or simply in her
broken mind, it was happening. Yet, somehow, she didn’t care. She was no different
from Olivia, a girl who heard the voices of toys and craved life in a dream
world above all else–a girl she had loathed.

At
that moment, Anne realized she had fallen for a toy.

She
looked up at Armand with more affection than she was aware of, and he looked
back at her with an unknown emotion that she couldn’t see in his eyes. There
were no eyes, after all.