The Nutcracker Bleeds (25 page)

Be
our brothers.

Join
us.

Let
us revel in this misery together.

Lakke
and Rivere awoke. All they knew was rage.

4

Armand
took the length of the armoire’s top shelf at twice the stride of his first
visit. The birdcage was before him and the Shaman was inside. But of course he
was. He was much too large to fit through the door to get out.

Standing
atop the mass of the Shaman’s bulky, putrid body, a naked rag doll was feeding
him some sort of orange sauce in the candlelight. Armand didn’t care if he was
intruding. He’d done a favor, after all. He belonged here.

The
Shaman eventually caught sight of him, looking quite surprised. If his hard
skin had been capable, the false oracle might have blushed for Armand seeing
him licking the sauce from the doll’s fingers.

“You’re
back,” the Shaman blurted, then cleared his throat.

“Not
expecting me to return so swiftly?” Armand questioned, standing boldly before
the cage. “Or not expecting me to return at all?”

“I
had full confidence in you,” the mock–oracle assured him.

The
rag doll slid down the bulk and made herself scarce for their conversation. Her
cloth body was covered in orange stains.

“Now,”
the Shaman began, wiggling his small fingers and then putting them to the sides
of his head. “Let me see what the spirits will say about your situation.”

“I
don’t have time for this. Tell me.”

The
Chinese doll laughed, smiling a sly, horseshoe–shaped smile that was his
official make.

“Forgive
me. It was only an attempt at humor.”

Armand
was not amused. Finally, the Shaman said what he’d really come there for.

“He
is weak–your enemy.”

The words
locked the nutcracker’s full attention.

“I
know of the curse. I did not begin knowing, but when I found out, it allowed me
to exploit my power over the others even more. I was further surprised by the
great story behind it, like something out of a rather twisted book. It goes
something like this:

“As
you know, the one who is called the Rat King has not always been in this house.
It has been years–centuries–of roaming the earth with his select few, looking
for a suitable place to build his empire. When he finally came here a year ago,
he decided that it was perfect. Numerous children and a toy maker in the house.
Rooms
full of toys. The house itself was also appropriate. Finally, his
dreams would come true.

“For
the first while, he busied himself with gathering mice from within and without.
He made them obedient to him, taught them to speak English, and informed them
of his plans. Two months ago, he performed what is called the Ritual of
Awakening. He’d had plans for it for years–mapped it out ages before its
performance. It brought all toys with eyes and ears, arms and legs, with
functioning bodies and moving parts to life. But the toll of the ritual was so
immense that it took nearly all of his strength. Had he known you were so close
behind him, he certainly would not have put himself in such a position.

“His
followers were very concerned. The only way to regain his power was to perform
another ritual. This–the one that has been keeping him alive all these long
years. “It was planned for this night, because after two months of rest he was
able once again to bless his scout with the magical infection needed to do its
master’s bidding.

“When
this
Rat King
begins to feel weak, he needs a human. Since he cannot
very well take a large one, he found a way to reduce their size. From what you
know of him in the past, you would only assume, of course, that his preferred
tastes are to women and girls. The very pretty ones–the ones that look like
dolls. He adds his own pleasure to the ritual’s performance I’m sure, but its
simplest form is still quite unpleasant.

“He
must devour her–
alive
.”

Armand
took everything in, memorizing every word. He’d promised to tell Anne what he
found out, but how would she handle hearing these things? He needed to keep her
panic low. The nutcracker banished his own thoughts as the Shaman continued.

“This
time, there was a mistake. The agent waited in the toy chest, ready for the
moment the chosen woman would stick her hand inside. And I believe, in fact,
that the one he chose was the woman you say you cannot part with.”

Armand
was surprised to hear this. Anne was the one who this ritual was meant for?
He’d been certain that it was Olivia the king had wanted. In the past,
Augustus
had always set his attentions toward younger girls, but that was a terrible
thought. He tossed it away.

“The
younger female was marked on accident, and how ironic it was that she was to
become the leader of the toys! Leading them to rebel against him even more! But
I digress. The agent tried to correct his mistake when the opportunity to mark
the correct female arose, but it then left the King with a much bigger problem.
He was quite unhappy, from what I hear, but decided that either female would
suit him.

“Of
course, he will have to eventually dispose of them both.”

“How
long does the rat have before this ritual must be performed? Before he simply
dies?”

“That
is unknown,” the Shaman said, giving his head a shake. “But no one has seen him
about. My informants say that he has not even left his throne in quite some
time. He must be rather weak indeed.”

“Without
a human, is there any possible way he might become strong again?”

“There
is a rumor that he might be gaining even more strength on his own. I have heard
word that he recently grew a second head.”

“Only
a
second
?” Armand inquired, crossing his strong arms. “That
is
weak.”

The
Shaman smiled a bit. “That is what I hear. But it is odd to me. You sound
disappointed to hear this news. I would think, with as much hatred as you have
for him, you would be pleased.”

“It’s
discouraging to learn that this ritual is what he wants the humans for. In this
case, I could never let that happen to them. They don’t deserve it.”

“Why
disappointed?” the Shaman asked. Armand looked up to the pale face of the Shaman,
and the enormous doll gave a grin and a shrug. “For my own curiosity.”

“It’s
a pity,” Armand said, “because I want him to become strong again.”

The
Shaman thought this over. “Yes, yes. That is curious indeed… But those will be
your own choices to make. You have one woman to do with as you please, and I
also hear that he has placed a new general in charge of his work now–a doll
instead of a rodent–if it helps.”

“What
are they planning to do?”

“That
is another matter entirely and was not part of our arrangement,” the Shaman
refused. “I have told you what you wanted to know–that he is weak, and of how
he might become strong again. Also, that he is still unaware of your presence
in this house. We are done. Unless, of course–”

“We’re
done,” Armand interrupted swiftly. “It’s time to say goodbye, Shaman, though I
do appreciate your help.”

The
large doll opened his mouth to accept that graciously, but when he saw the
nutcracker draw the sword of red glass from his back, the Shaman’s small eyes
grew wide in certain fear. Armand approached, and the toy who called himself
the Shaman was much too large to move out of the way.

“We
had a deal!” he cried, shaking the birdcage when he tried to move.

“Yes,”
Armand acknowledged, “and I see you’ve stayed true to it so far. But I simply
can’t take the chance that you might go back on it and reveal my presence in
the house.”

With
speed like a falling guillotine, the nutcracker moved in for his execution. He
slipped into the birdcage easily. A few of the Shaman’s subordinates rushed
from behind the cage, but there was no time for them to save their leader. The
glass blade found a place in the cloth girth of the Shaman, and it made a very
easy cut.

Rotten
food spilled onto the floor, ground by the porcelain teeth of the Shaman, but
undigested. Once the cloth was opened, the smell rolled out with it, and it was
so strong that it nearly made Armand sick and dizzy. After the avalanche had
poured out, he knew there must have been at least a gallon of old food–anything
that could possibly decay, scraps from the kitchen and rubbish bins.

The
nutcracker chopped off the Shaman’s head as the doll mourned for its spilt
belly. Armand then crushed the head beneath his foot, breaking it to fragile
bits. The subordinates had tried to escape, but he overwhelmed them as well.
There was nothing left atop the armoire shelf but a pile of sour mess.

Maggots
squirmed at Armand’s feet as he waded from the heap, and if it had not been for
the moth he’d devoured earlier, he might have been forced to eat the disgusting
things.

There
were several reasons why he’d not allowed Anne come with him on this subsequent
visit, and this reason was the second. He’d not wanted her to see or smell
this.

He
was sensitive after all.

He
headed back now, hoping he’d not misjudged by his decision to leave Anne with
the dark–haired soldier. He didn’t think he had. That soldier was as loyal as a
dog.

5

Footsteps
in the passage brought Brooke and Anne both to attention. They assumed it was Armand,
but just to be cautious, Brooke was prepared to withdraw his blades. Anne
stayed behind him.

The
curtain raised, and the nutcracker stepped through. The woman came forward to
meet him.

She
couldn’t tell the nature of what he’d heard from the expression on his face,
but he had something to tell her. That, she knew.

“Well?”
she asked anxiously.

On
his way back, Armand had tried to decide what to tell her. How would she handle
the bluntness of the truth? When he’d first met her, she’d seemed so resolute
in what she was trying to accomplish, dealing with all this the best way she
knew how. He’d shown her the reality of the night, and because she had finally
accepted that the curse was real, she was looking at everything from a
different angle.

“Do
you want the sweet version?” he asked her. “Or the real one?”

“I’m
not a child,” Anne replied, crossing her arms indignantly. “No sheep’s
clothes.”

“Very
well then,” he said.
Ungrateful woman.
“I didn’t find out anything that
would help you return to your own world. All I have is an assumption, and that
assumption is that once the
Mausekönig
is dead, his magic will fall from
this house. Still, I can’t know that for certain. Not yet.”

He
watched her face fall a bit, and somehow that made him feel better.

“But
I now know that you’re the one they wanted to begin with. Not Olivia.”

“Me?”

She
indicated herself by touching a hand to her chest. Her eyes showed displeasure
and confusion.

“I
was surprised to hear it as well. You are the one he chose in the beginning, but
they are after both of you now. He needs a human to perform a ritual in order
to make himself strong again. Either one of you will do.”

“Ritual?”

She’d
hardly gotten the word out before he replied.

“He
is to eat one of you alive.”

That
was it, straight and relentless. The woman’s face paled a shade. It bothered
her to hear, as he knew it would, but he didn’t stop.

“I’m
sure that if he caught you, there would be many more undesirable things to
happen first. I’m certain he could think of a few other tortures for a human
girl.”

Anne
lost all her color.

“He
has an obsession with dolls,” Armand went on. “Always has. But dolls cannot
bring much satisfaction when you’re made of meat and bone.”

He
watched her face, and he’d indeed scared her as adequately as he thought he
could–save for sounding out every gruesome detail for her. She put a hand to
her face, not only disturbed by what he’d said, but knowing that he’d said it
all just to be cruel. Why was he so malicious? He wondered. More importantly,
why did he feel guilty about it?

He
pulled Anne’s hand away from her face to gain her attention, lowering it to her
side. To his surprise, she continued to hold his fingers within her own.

“I’m
not going to let any of that happen to you,” he said, sounding as serious and
sincere as he could. “I know that I keep you in the dark about these matters,
but this is one promise I intend to keep.”

Anne
took a deep breath and gazed up at him. Her fingers clenched his hand tighter.

“I
believe that,” she said. He knew she meant it. “Thank you.”

A
short, shuffling sound gripped Armand’s attention, and his eyes traced behind
Anne to see Brooke, leaning against the wall and trying not to pay much
attention to them. Their conversation had likely seemed private, but Armand had
not meant for it to be. If that soldier wanted to continue on with them, he
needed to know the situation as well.