The Nutcracker Bleeds (37 page)

1

Edge
was patient. It was one of his better qualities, in fact, to know that if he
wanted something, he would sometimes have to wait for it to come to him. In
this fashion, he waited for the nutcracker.

He
stood aside, propped on his blade, peering out over the room that was soon to
become his own territory, but either way, that was beyond the claiming of the nutcracker.
Once Edge had the body, he would finish conquering the house in the name of the
Rat King, and then he would take it all for himself.

Like
a snake with his eggs
,
he mused.

How
terribly wicked was he for these things? He didn’t care. He’d chopped off the
head of the worm who’d created him, and did everything else he needed to do to
get himself this far. Already, he was beginning to feel at ease for all that
was coming together. At the same time, however, he could hardly stand still for
the anticipation that tingled throughout him.

The
trap had been laid and set. It would snap very soon.

Down
below, noises alerted him. His red gaze passed across the length of the floor
to the room’s open vent. A disturbing smile emerged on his face. His eyes went wild.
For whom did he see coming through that opening, slicing through rodents as he
went, but the very one he had waited for.

“T’is
the end of days,” Edge hissed, and moved from his spot to meet his enemy.

2

Armand
hardly looked at what he was slashing at when he crossed into the invaded
territory of the Lady. He’d fought his way through the infested vents with the
blade he’d inherited from Brooke, which was now covered in blood and lumps of
gut. His own sword was the same. He’d used both.

He knew
the exact location of the prison, which was actually an old hatbox with little
holes cut in it to suggest barred windows. It was pushed beneath the darkness
of a dresser, and as far as Armand could see from where he stood, it had gone
unnoticed by the rodents.

He
moved forward, hardly seeing those that moved out of his way as he passed–until
he heard a voice that sounded oddly familiar. In fact, it was a voice that
could never be forgotten.

“What’s
the hurry?” asked the sly tones of a temptress, then giving way to an
aggressive snarl. “Not going to stop and chat with an old friend?”

Armand
turned out of pure curiosity, looking back to see the very misfit he’d
expected. They’d met before, only once, but such an abomination was not easily
forgettable.

The
doll stared at him, grinning maliciously and holding the large razor in its
hand. Armand was already turning back around before he spoke.

“I
don’t have time for you,” he said simply, going along his way.

Black
and purple lightning shot past to cut him off, and in an instant, the
razorblade crashed into the floor in front of Armand with the misfit standing
there with it. Beneath the angry thrust of the blade, a piece of the wooden
floor burst into splinters.

“You
will
fight me!” screeched the dark doll, much like a child in a tantrum.

Without
giving Armand time to deny this order once again, Edge swung the razor toward
the nutcracker. Armand moved out of the way, dodging every rage–filled attempt.
The black–haired doll moved toward him, unrelenting and untiring, but Armand
moved himself swiftly out of the way each time.

Edge
didn’t like the way this was going, his anger growing more and more after each
attack missed. He’d expected the nutcracker to be a difficult and worthy
opponent, but to dodge every attack? Didn’t even the evil deserve a break now
and again? Besides, how much fun was it to not even have his blade deflected?

“I
said to fight me!” Edge commanded, manipulating his blade. “Is that all that’s
in you? Perhaps I was wrong in thinking that you were what I needed in order to
be whole!”

The
nutcracker said nothing in response to these taunts, moving and evading until
finally the blade swung true to its attempt. It moved straight in toward
Armand’s chest. The nutcracker raised his right arm–

And
the blade wedged itself into the wood, stopping as it hit the embedded metal on
the other side. Armand winced at the pain from his wounded arm, and Edge only
smiled with mad glee.

Until
he saw the blood.

The
red liquid oozed out from the nutcracker’s arm, running down the edge of the
razor. At this sight, Edge withdrew a bit with his weapon, staggering back. It
was not as if he’d never seen blood before–he had, after all, beheaded Euan and
cut through a few rodents in his time–but never had he seen a toy bleed. He did
not understand this at all. His red eyes lifted in confusion.

“What…are
you?”

Armand
did not answer, but at the sight of this doll’s hesitation, he saw the
opportunity to end this swiftly. Brooke’s arm summoned its blade forward,
anxious to be helpful, and Armand forced it toward the opposing toy. This time,
it was Edge’s turn to block.

3

Edge
parried every hit, but was moved backward across the floor, unable to get a
firm hold on this battle. All he could do was block, and all the nutcracker could
do was slash down to meet the awaiting blade. It was impressive, and there were
eyes watching, but none dared to interfere.

The
smaller, dark–haired doll stepped into a shadow, noticing immediately and
knowing he was within the outline of the large dresser that stood by the room’s
door. This nutcracker was relentless! Edge might have enjoyed the fight more if
he didn’t feel as though he was losing more control with every meeting of the
blades. And that odd thing on the nutcracker’s arm…what was it? It looked
almost like a third arm, though Edge could not focus on it enough to tell. He
only saw it coming for him in flashes.

The
nutcracker reached through with his blade arm, but this time, Edge did not
block. He moved to the side, and the attack caught nothing but air. Edge moved
swiftly, knowing this might be his only chance. He swung the razor toward
Armand, but the nutcracker had accounted for such an attempt, ducking beyond
it. Edge’s blade lodged itself deeply into the leg of the tall dresser with force
that would have taken off the nutcracker’s head. The doll had no time to
retrieve it before the smaller blade was rushing at him. It was all he could do
to forget about his weapon and move.

This
new situation was quite unfortunate. Edge was without anything but his swift
movements, and the nutcracker had several weapons with which to end him. Before
the doll began to deliberate it much, his problem solved itself.

From
the shelf above the door, some of the bladed marionettes had seen Edge’s
plight, and recognizing who their master truly was–for they had come from the
toy maker’s realm–they lent their strings down to Edge, wrapping him at his
limbs and pulling him into the air. The cords were not rescuing him, however;
they were aiding him. Edge was happy once again, shooting up into the air with
ease, only to smash back down with his foot against Armand’s face.

Armand
was rocked by the blow. Edge came back again, moving through the air as if
there was no law of gravity. Armand caught another foot to his face as the
puppet–aided doll moved in and flipped back in an aerial somersault.

Anne…
I have to get to her
,
Armand reminded himself, but some enemies just had to be taken care of. This
misfit was unrelenting. It would trouble him again if he did not end this. The
doll thought it was brilliant, no doubt. Armand would prove that false.

Edge
came in again, flying down toward his enemy, but this time, things did not go
as he’d hoped. The nutcracker reached out and gripped the oncoming foot firmly,
and giving it an accurate twist, the glass foot and ankle collapsed in shards.

Edge
roared in pain, hanging by the strings as he gripped the cloth boot that had
collected the broken pieces. Armand quickly cut the cords that held him. Armand
turned, so overtaken by his rage, moving back toward the leg of the dresser
that the razorblade had been buried into. The leg was damaged and unsteady. The
nutcracker stretched out his arm, and with as much force as he had, smashed his
fist through the weakened wood, breaking the leg off completely.

The
heavy dresser groaned, and with its leg missing, it would no longer support
itself. It began to fall over. Once again, Edge was covered in shadow, and he
looked up to see that wooden tower crashing down toward him.

Was
this the end? The end of his glorious and sinister existence? But he was not
finished! No! There was so much left to be done! Using his last amount of
strength, Edge pulled his weight off the floor, and though he only had one
foot, he ran. The darkness widened over him. He wasn’t going to make it!

Screams
rang out from toys that had made their homes within the drawers, but whether
they all broke when the dresser hit the floor, Armand did not know. He braced
himself, and the collision shook the entire room like a private earthquake.

4

When
the dust had settled, Armand moved toward the end of the dresser to see if his
intended fate had actually befallen the deranged misfit doll. Nearby, unbroken dolls
climbed out of the dresser’s dislodged drawers, but he ignored them. When he
passed around the corner of the dresser to the furthest length of it, he saw
something he’d not quite expected to see.

There
was the misfit he’d been fighting, laying there unmoving–with naught but a
broken foot. Somehow, it had managed to clear the danger zone, but Armand was
not regretful to inform the misfit doll that it was not out of trouble yet.

He
pulled the glass sword from his back, moving forward to have this finished, but
as swiftly as he advanced, he stopped.

A
small doll with curly locks had rushed onto the scene, throwing herself down
over the black–haired abomination. When she saw Armand, she hissed at him–
hissed
;
like a rat. It was what she had done when he had first seen here tonight in the
attic.

She
is not that little girl…

But
even though he knew this, she was so familiar! All her looks were still so
accurate! His heart began to ache like it hadn’t in a very long time.

When
the child saw that the nutcracker was not retreating, she opened her mouth.

“Leave
him alone!” she screamed.

Her
voice was a very different voice from his dear Clara’s. This doll spoke English
with an English tongue. The sound of that voice made him snap back to the
moment and remember where he was–what he’d aimed to do by coming here.

Though
the girl was just a doll–
that had once been a human
–Armand could not
bear to damage his darling’s likeness. He turned away from her and the damaged
misfit beneath her, going along his way.

He
was headed to the prison to get his guide, and then it would be off swiftly to
save Anne. No more interruptions.

5

Within
the quiet dark of the prison, the jester puppet had watched everything that had
happened, but watching was all he had done, for there was no sense in drawing
attention to himself. Sure, let those others be killed. If there was one thing
he had already learned from being shut away from the Lady and her good graces,
it was that he needed to be more careful and sly in the things he chose to do.

Life
was all about self–preservation.

He
saw the many things that the rodents did to the dolls. He saw them ripped
apart, chased, tied up and tortured. All the jester did was sit back and
snicker to himself, thinking of how smart and clever he was for not being
found–for being bad enough to be put into prison so as not to be torn to pieces
of wood and cloth.

Standing
there in the darkness now, he watched the destruction and he thought of Anne.

Ahhh,
lovely, beautiful, Anne. Ohhh, wretched harlot.

It
was her fault that he was here. But he’d not forgotten about her. Oh no. When
he got out, he would show her just how much he had not forgotten. Perhaps she
would even be pleased to see him and now he had reformed. Wouldn’t
that
be something? Sure, he didn’t look as debonair as he had before, but that was
Anne’s own fault, now wasn’t it? She’d been the one to smash the marble into
his face. One of the Lady’s doctors had spread clear glue over the now concave
portion of his face, but he would never be quite the same again.

His
private thoughts were shattered when an enormous sound and jolt shook the area,
including the box he was sealed within. If he’d had a bladder, it surely would
have emptied all over him. He jumped and let out a shrill cry, and then waited
in the quiet for the ground to settle before rising to investigate.

His
strange eyes peered through the slit openings in the box, and he looked across
the room to see that a chest of drawers had fallen over beside the door. There were
likely many injured in the incident. The jester didn’t care what had caused it.
He was in a world all his own now, very separate from those other toys.
Happily, he danced around a bit, leaping and twirling and wishing he had Anne
there to dance with him.