The Nutcracker Bleeds (33 page)

Olivia
moved to take a few steps closer to the gift, but Clara was quick to stop her.

“Keep
your distance, majesty!” she hastened. “There is more.”

The Lady,
too overcome with delight, did as the child doll asked. Soldiers moved to the
base of the structure, taking up strings. With the cords in hand, they marched
out twenty paces diagonally and stopped. Clara held up a tiny hand–the moment
she’d waited for!–and after counting to three silently, she dropped her hand
down. The soldiers gave firm tugs to their strings, and Clara’s eyes locked
upon the face of the Lady–her enemy.

The
walls of the tower broke apart, falling toward the floor. The rancid smell hit
harder after that, raping the air. The tower fell apart, just missing the spot
where Clara had perfectly placed herself. A terrible scream rang out and the
horror on the face of the Lady was evident.

Clara
found a decidedly malevolent smile, but Olivia could not hold in her scream or
her tears. The walls of the tower had fallen, and within was a sight she’d
never dreamed to see. How could they? How could these toys do this? Her hands
slapped across her mouth.

But
she could not take her eyes away.

4

“Uncle…”
Olivia moaned helplessly. “No…”

On
the board that had been wheeled in, rested the reeking, pale–skinned head of
the toymaker–Olivia’s uncle, Euan.

The
neck had been horribly and unevenly severed, but it set atop the board well
enough. Blood had splattered up onto the wrinkled, oily face. The white hair
was matted and stringy, soaked with sweat. One blue eye peered out from within
that head, staring straight on at Olivia. The girl paled as she watched a fly
crawl across it. The other eye was covered with a dark eye patch, just as it
had always been when Olivia had seen it.

As
the girl looked on, holding back the urge to vomit, a pretty black–haired doll
in purple rose up where it had been knelt before the head, taking a large,
bloody razor from its back. Grinning viciously, it pointed the blade toward
Olivia, the doll’s red eyes peering into her own.

“
You
,”
the doll’s strange voice said simply, and then Olivia’s stomach wouldn’t hold
any longer. She vomited down the front of her dress, but she’d hardly finished
heaving before her soldiers were ushering her back toward the palace while
others moved in to hold ground.

Olivia
didn’t get to see the next surprise for her desperate fleeing, but the
gift–giving was still not over.

On
the face of the head, the eye patch lifted, and from the hollow socket that had
been cleaned of all obstructions, mice poured out from within. The rodents were
slick with blood and puss, but it was nothing to them. They slid from the
socket, one after the next, and proceeded to scratch and gnaw at any toy they
could get their paws on.

The
crowd of gathered toys had been so large that the docile kingdom had turned to
complete chaos in an instant. The toys trampled one another in an attempt to
flee. The soldiers could hardly get through, and dozens of mice were running
rampant.

Some
of the rodents scurried straight for the vent in the room, battling down the
guards enough to open the grate, where another throng of awaiting mice flooded
in. The toys battled, but their lack of preparation for such an attack made
them easily overwhelmed in this first wave.

5

Edge
stepped down from the base of his masterpiece, knowing that his real feat would
come soon. The toys thought
this
was war. The rodents knew it was just a
play. Still, these toys would be broken down, the Lady would be retained for
the Master, and eventually the nutcracker would come.

The
black–haired doll sauntered through the confusion, unopposed. He listened to
the screams of the scrambling dolls, heard the violent screeches of the mice.
He smelled sawdust, turpentine, and blood. Edge closed his sinister red eyes
and lifted his arms to let this perfect atmosphere gather around him.

The
sound of footsteps rushing at him forced him to grip the razor, but when his
eyes opened, he saw that it was only Clara.

“Did
you hear me?” the child inquired, wanting praise for her performance.

Edge
released the blade without removing it from his back and gripped Clara’s small
hand, spinning her around in a short pirouette.

“Every
word,” he promised. The sound had carried nicely into that dark box.

“I
did a good job!” she proclaimed.

“A
very good job,” Edge agreed. “If only the guest of honor had stayed around a
bit longer… But oh well. I expected to have some fun. Wouldn’t want it to end too
soon.”

Clara
looked into the direction that the Lady had run off to, seeing that she had
gone inside her fort and a large group of soldiers had moved out to the front
of it. The mice’s orders had been not to disturb the ruler yet. They were
biding their time.

“How
much longer until we get the sacrifice for the Master?” Clara wanted to know.
She was so much like a child–impatient.

“This
will continue for as long as it takes,” Edge said, staring at the book palace.

The child
considered a moment, hopping back as blood shot from a mouse’s nose and barely
missed her shoe.

“You
mean, until
he
shows up?” she asked, giving her attention back to Edge.

The
nutcracker demon.
The child wasn’t sure what she thought about Edge actually acquiring that body,
but she knew it was what he wanted over all else. As long as there was
something in it for her, who was she to stand in his way?

“That’s
correct,” he confirmed.

“What
if he doesn’t come?”

Edge
gave Clara a look to end all looks–slanted eyes and a thick scowl–and she
quickly changed her song.

“I
mean, of course he will come eventually, and he will bring Anne with him!”

“That’s
better,” Edge said, renewing his smile, but who was he kidding. His plan was
finally in motion, and nothing could ruin his pleasure.

“
There
!”

Both
dolls lifted their heads to see a trio of wooden soldiers moving toward them.
Clara drew herself in, knowing that it was her that they were rushing for
because she had been the betrayer. She clenched her eyes tight as they came
closer–

And
then the sound of splintering wood made her open her eyes. The three wooden
soldiers fell apart in a diagonal slant; the first at the head, the second
across the chest, and the third at the waist. Their parts hit the floor.
Without glue, they were useless.

Edge
didn’t bother slinging the blade back onto his back. He simply looked over his
handiwork, releasing a villainous laugh as he looked back down at Clara.

As
long as it takes.

The
girl nodded. She smiled an evil smile, using him as her design.

1

Brooke
lifted his eyes to see Anne and the nutcracker emerge back into the shaft from
the inner dimness of the washroom. She retrieved the marble, giving it a
scratch, and he could see from the light of it that she looked much better. She
was wholly cleaner and more attractive, but the look on her face was one thing
that hadn’t been fixed. The woman led the way out, her pace quicker than the
one who followed behind her.

She
was escaping from that room–from Armand. Brooke wondered if they knew he saw
these things. He knew they didn’t see it themselves.

“Do
you feel better?” he asked when Anne approached him.

She
looked up as if she’d just remembered he was there at all, or that they’d even
left him to wait. He saw something bearing on her mind, but he didn’t speak of
it.

“I
do
feel better,” she said, and her tone made him almost believe she meant it. “How
do you feel?”

“Leg’s
holding,” he said. That was all.

Brooke
tilted his head a bit to look at Armand, who only glanced at him briefly before
picking up his pace to trudge past.

“Is
it alright with you if we move on now?” the nutcracker asked, though not
expecting, or
wanting
, an answer.

Armand
moved into the dark, aiming to turn toward the left. He didn’t hold it too
important that the way to Olivia’s room was unknown to him from here.

“Not
that way.” Brooke’s sudden outburst brought all the attention his way, but he
didn’t falter much. He stared ahead at the nutcracker. “Go right.”

Armand
walked off from both of them and went on alone as if that one direction was all
he needed. Something wasn’t right with him either, Brooke saw. The dark–haired
soldier guessed he’d have to set the nutcracker straight on his course shortly.

Brooke
pushed himself from the wall, moving to follow, but a grip on his arm stopped
him. He turned back to see Anne, who stood there holding something in his
direction. It was a small square of damp cloth.

“For
you,” she said. “To clean up.”

The
soldier stared at it a moment. He’d forgotten that he was likely just as dirty
as the nutcracker had been. Dirt, blood, mouse urine, and whatever else he’d
picked up along the way. But this gesture; so simple, and yet so profound. The
way she treated him…it was like he was
something.
Why?

Carefully,
he took the cloth from her and touched it to his face. It felt cool by now, but
it was refreshing. The grime slid easily down his glass cheek.

“Thank
you.”

Anne
walked past him without saying anything else, and Brooke moved on behind. He
was confused as to why she would show care for him, even though she knew the
truth about his existence. He was even more confused as to why he allowed it to
touch him so.

2

Within
the palace of books, the Lady Sovereign’s guards had barricaded every crack.
Olivia sat on her throne, surrounded by many other toys–which was something
that had always given her comfort–
listening.

It
had grown much quieter in the kingdom beyond this stronghold. The sounds of
battle had diminished and she had received word that the invading rodents and
toys had stopped their attacks. The Lady’s toys had set up safe havens in
different places in the room, and mice had set up their own camps in different
spots along the floor. Olivia had ordered that her soldiers concentrate on
being defensive, but the mice and puppets were doing nothing.

They’re
waiting.
But for what?

Olivia
ran her eyes across the ceiling, looking across all the places where the books
were stacked together and examining the supports that held them. What was going
on out there? She gripped Theodore the Bear’s stuffed paw a bit tighter,
telling herself that this was nothing to worry about.

She
had no reason to be afraid, because soon, Armand would be back. He was going to
save his Lady.

3

Enveloped
in the dark of the Underneath–which was the place the toys buried their dead
beyond the bed skirt–Edge sat, busily working on a wad of strings that he had
so intricately tied together. Those cords were attached to a puppet hostage
from within the Lady’s kingdom–a pretty thing that had simply not managed to
get out of his path fast enough.

She
was a pretty, tortured–looking thing, decorated like a Swedish girl, but Edge
had seen that her inset glass eyes had been removed. He’d liked that about her
instantly. He’d claimed her for himself.

Edge
had tied her up sufficiently with her own strings, tangling them together
because she
felt
through those threads greater than a cat through its
whiskers. He knew the twisted strings caused her pain. There was such great
beauty in pain.

Now,
she lay belly–down in the dust of the corpse–yard, and Edge sat in the crook of
her back, legs crossed one over the other. He untangled her strings slowly and
carefully as if it was a gesture of love, when actually he knew it only brought
agony, much like how retrieving a knife from the place it had been stuck was
just as terrible as the entry. The puppet doll had mourned loudly at first, but
had now lost most of her zeal, crying softly while the dirt collected on her
face.

“Cry
louder,” he instructed. “The lack of sorrow is ruining my concentration.”

Tilting
his head to the side, he focused on the wide eyes of a doll head that was the
size of a croquet ball. It had been bothering him for a while, sitting there,
bodiless as it was, staring at him so accusingly. He didn’t like the expression
on its face or the terrible look of motherly disappointment in its eyes.

“What
are you looking at?” he asked the lifeless head. “Don’t you know that’s rude?”

Swiftly,
he took the razor from where it was resting on the floor, and with a firm
motion, smashed the blade into the skull of the head. The porcelain cracked and
shattered, crumbling into shards on the floor. The accusing eyes fell out and
rolled free. The head was no more. A spider crawled out from within. Edge felt
better.

“You
know it’s not polite to stare, don’t you, dear?” he asked the eyeless doll
beneath him. “I’d say you learned that lesson.”

Edge
laughed. The doll only sobbed.

“Edge?”

The black–haired
doll raised his head to the sound, and a short distance away, he saw Clara. One
of her small hands rubbed at her eye, wiping away drowsiness. Edge was
surprised to see her there in the dark of this dead place, but why should he
be? She’d been with the rodents for years. There was no way to know the sort of
things she had seen.

The
child was not fazed by standing amongst the death of her own kind. It was as if
she didn’t notice at all.

“I
can’t sleep,” she whined.

He
looked at her, her sudden appearance taking his attention from the sound of the
doll’s crying. For a moment, he considered what to do. He didn’t need this
child relying on him so strongly, but at the same time it made him feel
important.

And
she was just one more thing to take away from the Master.

Edge
smiled as softly and sincerely as he could smile, holding out his hand toward
the little poppet.

Clara
moved toward him then, taking his hand and completely ignoring the doll that
Edge had made his chair.

“How
about a story?” he asked in a voice as seductive as death. “Would you like
that?”

The
girl nodded eagerly, hoping up into Edge’s lap and burying her head beneath his
chin. His body was cold and hard like hers, but for the time, she didn’t pay
much attention.

“Once
upon a time,” the dark–haired doll began, stroking her curls with slender
fingers. “There was a dirty, dirty rat. Not only was he dirty and filthy, but
he was greedy beyond all measure. He wanted to possess everything for himself,
and nothing less than everything was good enough. But what the rat craved most,
were eggs.”

“Eggs?”
Clara asked, looking up at him confusedly.

“Yes,”
Edge confirmed. “Eggs. So, it came to pass that the rat was well on his way to
getting all the eggs he desired, until one day, he met a snake. The snake
promised the rat that he could help him get all the eggs so much faster than
the rat had ever dreamed! The snake was very clever, and the rat made a great
mistake. He trusted the serpent. Time passed, and everything seemed fine, only
it wasn’t.”

“But
the rat didn’t know it wasn’t fine,” the girl chimed in.

“That’s
right. Then the day finally came when the rat had all the eggs, and it was only
because of the snake that he had managed this. The rat wasn’t going to thank the
snake or share any of the eggs, because the rat thought he was better than him.
So, the snake ate him, and took all the eggs for himself.”

Clara
looked up into Edge’s red eyes, and the doll leered down at her.

“The
end.”

“That
was a scary story,” she accused, not quite seeing the reality behind Edge’s
words.

“Even
more terrifying,” he said with a sinister grin, “for
the rat
.”

4

Within
the depth of his mind, the King of Mice heard the words that Edge spoke to
Clara within that dark place. The rat did not move from his throne as he
considered–having dismissed his second head for the time. Around him, dolls
minded his claws. He was weak, yes, but not quite as weak as they all thought.
Another thing he had managed to hide from most was that he was getting
stronger
.
The suckling rats were helping greatly, but it would take so many of them to
match a human. It was best to stick to the old ways.

Concerning
Edge, however, something new was in order. The doll was powerful in his own
right. He was clever–the Rat King had to admit–but why did he think that he
could outsmart him? A toy that was only alive by his word thought that it could
defeat him? What a ridiculous notion!

Still,
Edge had potential. A simple lesson might get him back in line. For now, the
rat would allow him to continue on, thinking that he was pulling the strings.
The doll’s plans were good ones, and it would greatly benefit the rat to let
them go on.

But
he had created them all! Not one of them could best him.

Not
even Armand.

Poor,
pathetic, Armand. The nutcracker with a heart. How riotous! The Rat King had
heard every conversation that had passed between Clara and Edge since Edge had
come to him, and he knew very well of the nutcracker’s presence in this house.

In
the beginning, this knowledge had displeased him greatly–both the secret of it
and the fact. The nutcracker was loose inside the tangles of this place, but
there would be no running this time. He’d come too far.

And
to think that the only thing you fear is something you brought upon yourself.

That
was the thought of a lesser being. It made him feel weaker. The rat magician
shook it away quickly.

Though
the King was aware of Armand’s presence–and also knew he was trailing along
with the human woman–he did not know what that nutcracker was plotting. Had he
known of the soldier, Brooke, the Rat King could have listened with that toy’s
ears or looked on with his eyes in order to observe their purpose. It was not
so much a mind reading that the rat was able to do, but simply a projection of
his cognizance into the ears and eyes of the toys he had linked himself to by
bringing them to life. If Edge had simply kept his big mouth shut, the Master
would never have known of his betrayal.

As
much as he was able to know by this method, he had never been able to get into
Armand’s mind. The nutcracker was different from the rest of the toys, and
completely separate from the rat since the transformation. He had never known
Armand well, even through all the years he’d been chased by him. He simply knew
of the nutcracker’s extreme hatred toward him, and of his desire to cut out his
heart. Possibly even to eat it for all his trouble. That thought made the rat
snicker.

But
to think of this now was useless. Eventually, the nutcracker would find him,
and he would worry about those things when the time arose.

He
had bought himself time by adopting Edge.

The
Rat King knew of Edge’s desire for Armand’s body–which the vicious doll could
never actually attain, but there was no reason to tell him that. Augustus would
let them battle without interference, and one or the other of them would be
destroyed. He would dispose of the remaining on his own.

Then
again, he already knew which would be victor, and by that time, he would have
his full strength back. The Rat King grinned a sharp, toothy grin.

“Little
did the snake know, that it was not ‘the end’, for the rat had known of his
vile intentions all along. Snakes do have the tendency to swallow everything
whole, and the rat needed only to chew his way out and reclaim the eggs for
himself.”