The Nutcracker Bleeds (17 page)

“There’s
my little princess,” a voice said fondly.

Clara
raised her large, loving eyes toward her master. He was not pretty by any
means–especially from a doll’s eyes–but she still had love for him.

The
Master was enormous, even for a rat–the largest she’d ever seen. The teeth
within his muzzle were from nightmares; his red gaze, like hellfire. Still, his
robe was grand.

“I
notice you have returned alone. Does that mean you were unsuccessful?”

As a
small girl, her first instinct was to always make excuses to shift the blame
elsewhere, but she knew that her master didn’t tolerate that. But today was
easy. She’d discussed it all with Edge beforehand.

“The
flesh woman was able to escape with the help of some soldiers. It appears she
is in the Lady’s favor. All the mice were eliminated–including Sllevk.”

The
Master’s gruesome face fell. This was terrible news that she was having to
report about the agent being killed. Still, it was far better than having to
explain about the nutcracker.

“Sllevk
will be sorely missed,” said the Master. All those around him felt that loss.
“But do not worry, Clara. I know it was out of your hands–”

“Of
course it was. She’s
weak
!”

A
familiar voice. Clara turned along with the rest of them, pretending to look
surprised to see the intruder in the mutilated, purple dress. Immediately, a
circle of spear–wielding mice crowded around Edge. He didn’t seem worried, so
Clara dashed off near the rim of the throne, feigning timidity in the shadows
there.

The
Master did not look pleased with such a bold interruption in his sanctuary.
What was worse, the toy had the nerve to enter with a large blade strapped to
its back.

“Remove
the weapons,” the Master instructed without hesitation.

He could
have ordered that the mice simply tear the doll to pieces, but he was actually
quite interested as to why the pretty thing had thought it could simply enter
into his domain as it pleased. Especially if it was one of the Lady’s.

The
mice circled in to take the razor, and the doll remained perfectly still–as
still as if it wasn’t living at all. Its pale face was hidden by the black
hair, and everything was quiet. Clara watched with interest from the side where
she’d moved from her master’s attention. She was careful to keep a baffled look
upon her face as she watched in anticipation to see how Edge would handle this.
He’d only told her it would be a grand show.

In a
quick instant as the first mouse reached out to grasp the blade, Edge flung out
his arms to both sides, opening wide.

“Take
what you want,” he said with a sneer. “I mean no harm.”

The
blade was removed from his back and the mice searched the rest of his body for
armaments.

“Then
you have come here to be harmed, misfit?”

The
growling voice of the Master raised Edge’s head and he looked up into the red
eyes of the Rat King. Veins were woven within those large eyes like silk
threads. Edge thought they were attractive.

“Not
at all,” the doll piped up in his very remarkable voice. “I have come here to
show you my submission.”

Edge
dropped immediately to a knee before the basin–throne, his face toward the
ground with his hair teasing the floor.

“I
pledge not only my own loyalty to you, but I offer you the service of my fellow
misfits. That is what you truly want, isn’t it? To have our cooperation?”

“And
why do you think I would want a group of toys with no identities, mein
Schönling?”

“Because
you’re greedy,” the doll said without a hitch.

Clara
caught her breath for fear of the Master’s anger over this, putting a hand to
her mouth, but her master said nothing as Edge continued, feeling free to pace
around in the small area the mice had allowed him.

“As
for me, I don’t want much. Sooner or later, you would come for us as well. Why
fight? I personally have a love for causing damage, and I have
many
grand ideas. What better time to offer myself than when there are still heads
to be removed?”

Everything
about the toy’s voice was alluring and sensual, and Clara thought that perhaps
the Master would buy their stories. That was, until he spoke.

“Speaking
of heads–let’s
do
start with yours,” the Master hissed.

How
could this pathetically undeveloped toy think it would be so easy to sway him?
Did he think he could waltz in prettily and wrap the
Rat King
around his
feminine finger?

“And
do not perceive to think, Clara, that I do not know that you led him here.” He
looked toward her disappointedly. “A father
knows
.”

The
child covered her mouth, wanting to run, but there was nowhere to go. Could he
forgive her insolence? Still, Edge seemed to find this all amusing. She
shouldn’t have trusted him! She knew this was a dreadful idea from the start!

Before
she could drop to her knees and grovel, the Master had tilted his head, and at the
base of his neck, the skin with the slick, black fur began to shift.

The
skin twisted and grew, roaring up like a wave. It swelled, shaping a long snout
until teeth burst through the skin. The Master winced. Blood began to drip. The
growth had eyes–red ones that opened and peered around the room. The second rat
head that emerged beside the Master’s was just as hideous as the first, wet
with blood and a clear gloss. Birth fluids. After a moment, the second head
breathed; then it began to pant.

Two
sets of red eyes peered down at Edge, full of loathing.

3

The
mice and toys all slinked away in fear for the transformation. Some of them hid
their faces and concealed their gasps. Even those that had seen it before were
affected by it. They all knew that their master had been weak for quite a while
now. He hardly had the power to perform such a feat as to duplicate his head.
That was how they knew that this situation was serious. He was quite angry.

They
took steps backward, all except Edge–the one the Master had been seeking to
intimidate. Edge was surprised to see this–that was certain in his wide, red
eyes–but his body remained stationary, and if anything, he almost wanted to
move
closer
. A large, stupid grin was plastered across his face. The
doll was not frightened; he was simply in complete awe.

The
Master was impressed. His intention had been to show this doll what he was
capable of and then rip the toy’s head from its shoulders. He would have had
Clara severely punished for her crimes. Not kill her. No; not his precious. But
this misfit toy was indeed as wicked as it claimed. It hadn’t flinched–not
once.

The
Master’s long, toothy grin rivaled Edge’s own.

“Tell
me your ideas, mein Schönling.”

Edge
nodded once and gasped shortly through his smile, nearly unable to get the
words out for his extreme pleasure of simply standing before such power. To
mutate one’s own body though being made of flesh–magnificent!

“I
know of your plans to capture the toymaker,” Edge managed finally, slowly
regaining his calm arrogance. “You want him to make things for you to further
your kingdom. I tell you, he’s quite fickle. Just look at me! Not even
finished! But I have completed
myself
!”

The
Rat King put a large claw to his chin in consideration. The other head
breathed, but was mostly irresponsive. It seemed to be struggling with life,
perhaps dying.

“You
are correct, in fact,” the Master said in consideration. “We have not yet
decided how to make the toymaker cooperate with us. His land belongs to you I
assume?”

“To
you now, master,” Edge purred, bowing once again.

The
Master was pleased. “We cannot bring the toymaker into this world. My agent has
been killed, and I am much too weak to create another.”

“Then,”
Edge started, unable to keep the great smile from his face. “Allow me to offer
a
different
option!”

 
4

The
woman and the nutcracker moved through the passages. From within the walls,
they’d passed back into the shafts. There seemed to be no pattern to their
turns, but perhaps Armand knew where he was going? Anne panted through her
exertion, and when she was starting to think that she couldn’t go on like this,
he allowed them to slow to a walk. He didn’t appear to be tired at all, but of
course he wasn’t. He was a nutcracker–made of wood with a mock life.

“Is
something still behind us?” she whispered.

Along
the way, she’d attempted to watch behind her, but she’d detected nothing.

“It’s
been gone a while now,” he told her, uninterested.

What?
It was gone and
he’d continued to rush her so? Even while she was still so very taxed from
earlier feats?

“What
was it then?” she growled heatedly. “Rodents?”

“Something
I picked up along the way,” he said simply. “A misfit. It followed me into the
attic.”

Could
he not simply give her a straight answer? Ever? Why did he insist on being so
vague? Was he trying to protect her by this? No; that couldn’t possibly be it.
He didn’t care about protecting her at all. All was for his own benefit.

Anne’s
mind drifted along, trying to remove those angry thoughts from her head to find
something else to settle on, and when she drifted, she found Clara.

Had
she done so terribly wrong to fear for her own life enough that she left the
girl all alone? Granted, it was much too late to reverse things now, but
perhaps she could have been braver? The girl had screamed. Should she not have
tried to find her? Was this not what she had done to Olivia? Simply given up?

Let’s
be realistic with our self, Anne
, her self told her.
The child was a
doll, and it was no more of a person than this nutcracker leading you. You’re
the only life here that has any value.

She
listened to herself, to those words. They sounded proper, but she wondered if
she really felt that way. Was this who she was? Was her heart so terribly cold?

“There
was a girl with me before,” she spoke up finally, unable to put it from her
mind so easily. “Did you see her?”

“It’s
best to forget about her,” Armand said.

Again
with the meaningless answers. Perhaps he could just see more than she
could–that her questions were only
worth
those indistinct answers he
gave.

She
kept quiet now, drifting behind him slightly, but not too far. She still needed
to be near him; she knew that. He was a magnet. He pulled her close with one
side before turning and pushing her away. With him, she felt insignificant, but
safe.

Anne
looked down to notice a sock lying to the side of the passage. An odd place for
a sock…but she didn’t think much of it. Armand didn’t seem to notice it at all.
They moved on a few steps. A spool of blue thread that was caked with dust was
propped upright nearby. They moved on. A thimble, a rubber ball, a
handkerchief, a paper fan, a fork…all until it escalated into a huge pile of
mess in the shafts that nearly touched the top. There was a path through the
center of it, but the way was quite narrow.

There
didn’t seem to be anything living amongst the junk, but something had to have
put it here. She moved closer to Armand, and they continued on through the
rubbish that was illuminated by the green glow of the cat’s eye.

“Pack
rats?” she wondered aloud, saying the first notion that came to mind.

The
nutcracker spoke, and she could almost hear a smile in his voice.

“Very
good.”

Walking
on, something in the mess caught her eye. It seemed to be set apart from the
piles, sitting on the ground in front as if she’d been meant to see it. It was
a golden pocket watch, open and ticking away steadily, and she recognized it.
The timepiece belonged to William.

William…what
a burden.

She
had long ago acknowledged her need for a man, though she sometimes hated
herself for that. She had not been born wealthy enough to stand on her own
feet, and her only other choice had been to marry up. In that way, she had been
forced to submit herself and her body, but it was not all intolerable. She
guessed that most women felt the same way, needing someone to help warm their
sheets now and again. William was not unattractive, but did she love him? No,
not at all. If his wife had suddenly died and he’d wanted to marry her next,
would she say yes? In half a heartbeat.

This
pocket watch had been lost one night. He’d nearly torn the house apart looking
for it. He feared he’d left it in her room, and that it would later serve as
evidence of their affair. When they’d not found it, she’d consoled him. He was
a commanding man, harsh at times. Armand was like that as well, always pulling
her around. Perhaps that was simply what she needed–what she was attracted to.