Lost and Gone Forever (27 page)

H
ammersmith looked back and saw that the bed was on fire, the ceiling above it a roiling inferno. Advance scouts of flame, like ant columns, stretched outward across the floor, edging ever nearer his left foot. His back and his feet were uncomfortably warm, beginning to itch with heat. Hatty still hung below the window, dangling from the knotted linen rope.

“Hurry,” he said. He could barely make out her shape against the dark floor of the alley below.

“Mr Hammersmith, there’s someone down there.” Her voice was hoarse and quiet, and he had to lean farther out to hear her. “I think it’s him. I can hear him. Someone else, too.”

Hammersmith strained to hear. There was muffled conversation below, the clanking of metal on brick, the scuffle of shoe leather on stone. More than one person, and possibly a fight. He pulled his head back in and examined his options. There were none. The door was completely obscured by fire and smoke, and he knew that the hallway outside the room would be impassable. His eyes burned and
he was having difficulty breathing. He leaned out the window again, enjoying the feel of the cool breeze on his face.

“Hatty, you’re going to have to go all the way down. I’ll be right behind you.”

“They’re below me. Mr Oberon will catch me.”

“When you’re close to the ground, push off from the wall and jump as far as you can. Get as far away as you can, Hatty, and run. You’ll only have to worry for two minutes, I swear it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He couldn’t hear her response. The flames were licking his ear. His trouser leg was suddenly on fire, and Hammersmith dropped his iron pipe. It hit the floor with a low thud, and at the same moment he heard a gunshot from the alley outside. He leapt out the window, clung to the frame above him, and stood silhouetted against the room, using one hand to beat at his smoldering leg. He knew he was an easy target now if Jack was indeed waiting below them with a gun. The fire crackled at his good ear and he shook his head, trying to get the muffled ringing sound to fade long enough that he might hear whatever it was Hatty was trying to say to him. At least she was still there below him. She hadn’t been shot. But she was vulnerable, a sitting duck for whomever was shooting, and her arms had to be close to giving out. He doubted she had the strength anymore to climb down. At any moment, she would lose her grip and drop.

“Stay,” Hammersmith said. “Just hang on there.”

He eased himself down, hoping the makeshift rope would hold them both and that it wouldn’t burn before he reached the alley floor. He grabbed the inside of the frame, ignoring the searing pain in his fingers, rested his weight on the ledge, let go with one hand, reached down, and grabbed the rope. Then he let go with the other
hand and dropped down so that he was directly above Hatty. Carefully, he maneuvered over her, pushing her with his body so that she was up against the outside wall of the building.

“Don’t let go,” he said. She nodded, her eyes closed, and he could feel her breath on his cheek. Her hair smelled of smoke and strawberries, and he noticed how long and slender her throat was, how gracefully her head tilted.

He crawled slowly down, hand over hand, alert to where his hands were in relationship to her torso, her waist, her legs. Finally he was past her and the flames were far enough above him that he no longer felt the heat from them. He reached the end of the rope and let go.

•   •   •

“D
OCTOR
!”

Kingsley turned and saw Sir Edward running toward him. “Commissioner, be careful. I don’t know what kind of weapons these people may have.”

Sir Edward drew up alongside Kingsley and stopped, panting lightly. “Everything’s come home to roost, hasn’t it, Bernard?”

“I’m afraid it has,” Kingsley said. “But this isn’t the time to fret over it. Walter’s somewhere ahead of us there, along with someone who’s gone chasing after him. This is no place for a doctor or an old soldier.”

“Did you see Walter?”

“I did. He seemed fine to me. At least physically. But I made a mistake. I let him—”

There was a deafening explosion as the domed skylight above Plumm’s burst open, raining glass down on the street. The cobblestones under them bucked and shuddered, and the two men fell back
just as a chunk of the department store’s brick-and-mortar wall plowed into the ground where they had been standing.

“My God,” Kingsley said. “Are you all right?”

Sir Edward staggered to the curb and sat down. “The world seems to be spinning,” he said. “I just need to—”

“You’re bleeding. Let me—”

“No, I think I’m all right. Get going. Get to Walter before this whole place comes down round our ears. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

•   •   •

M
R
P
ARKER WAS FLUNG
backward against the opposite wall of the alley as a tall, thin man dropped out of the air above him and knocked both Walter Day and Mrs Parker to the ground. Mr Parker looked up and saw that there was another person, a girl, hanging in the air above him. People were falling out of the building. Mr Parker realized he somehow still had the gun in his hand and he raised it, intending to hit his target this time.

Mrs Parker groaned and raised her head. “Darling,” she said, “did you shoot at me?”

“I missed,” Mr Parker said. “I was aiming—”

“You never miss. I believe you were trying to—”

“I’m with the police! Please put down your weapon.” An older gentleman ran toward them, carrying a black medical bag. “Good Lord! There’s a girl up there,” he said.

The building beside them exploded a second time in a shower of glass and metal and brickwork. Something heavy smashed into Mr Parker’s neck and he fell backward again, but concentrated on keeping the gun in his hand. The policeman was unconscious on the
ground, but Mrs Parker was still moving, trying to extricate herself from the tangle of bodies and bricks. Mr Parker shook his head and leaned against the alley wall. He couldn’t breathe, and everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

He was surprised to see that the young woman was still dangling out of the window. The window itself was gone, but the rope had held fast, and so had the girl. The doctor dropped his bag and positioned himself under the woman.

“Let go, dear,” the doctor said. “I’ll catch you.”

Mr Parker raised his gun. He felt panicky, as if he might vomit, and the world seemed to swim in and out of focus. He fired a second time, not sure where the gun was pointed. The doctor staggered forward, but stayed on his feet, his arms out, ready to catch the girl. Mr Parker fired again, then turned at the sound of something moving toward him. A big man with dark wavy hair erupted from the shadows, and Mr Parker felt his abdomen burning. As the man took his gun from him, he looked down and saw a large sliver of broken glass protruding from his stomach. The man yanked and a gusher of blood followed the glass out of Mr Parker’s body.

•   •   •

H
ATTY COULDN’T FEEL
her arms anymore, but her shoulders quivered with the strain of hanging on to the knotted linens. She heard the man beneath her urging her to let go, but she wasn’t sure she could. Her hands were made of stone. She couldn’t see or hear Mr Hammersmith below and she wondered if he’d been hurt or even killed.

The two explosions had knocked her about, banged her into the wall and disoriented her. Blood trickled into her eyes from a scalp
wound delivered by a flying brick. But somehow she hadn’t been knocked off the makeshift rope.

At last she steeled herself and focused on her numb fingers. She forced them to open one at a time and felt lancing pain shoot up her arms as her petrified knuckles unlocked. She immediately plummeted into the arms of the waiting man.

He staggered forward under her weight and they hit the wall hard. He fell to his knees and gently set her down before toppling sideways on the alley floor. She sat up and looked at him, recognizing him at last. He was the doctor from Guildhall who had helped so many injured Plumm’s customers.

“Dr Kingsley? Are you all right?”

He rolled over onto his back and smiled up at her. “Give me a moment, will you?”

“Sir, you’ve been shot. I’ll get a doctor. I mean another doctor.”

“Too late, I think. You . . . you hurt?”

“I don’t know. My hands hurt, but I’m all in one piece, thanks to you.”

“You look a bit like my daughter.”

“What should I do? I can’t tell where the blood’s coming from.”

“Just talk to me for a minute, would you? It’s quite cold down here.”

“Help will be coming soon,” she said. “Very soon, I’m sure.”

Hatty looked round and saw the unconscious body of Mr Hammersmith. There were other people, but she didn’t call out to them for help. They were shouting at one another, ignoring Hatty and Dr Kingsley. One of them (she was certain it was Mr Oberon) stabbed another, and the injured man screamed. Hatty screamed, too, and fought the urge to run. Dr Kingsley needed her help.

She still had Mr Hammersmith’s jacket sleeve hanging loosely
around her throat and she pulled it off over her head. She probed Dr Kingsley’s chest with her aching fingers, and he winced.

“Fiona . . .” He coughed and a bubble of blood burst from his open lips, freckling Hatty’s face and arms.

“My name is Hatty, sir. If I can find where the blood’s coming from, perhaps I can make it stop.”

“Be good to each other,” Kingsley said. “Nevil’s a fine boy, but he needs you.”

“You mean Mr Hammersmith?” Dr Kingsley’s breathing had become shallow, and with each breath he made a gurgling sound that alarmed Hatty.

“What time is it? I’m late,” he said.

“No, sir. No, sir,” Hatty said. “Stay awake.” She found a hole in his waistcoat and pressed the soot-covered jacket sleeve into it, hoping that would staunch the flow of blood.

Dr Kingsley smiled at her. His lips were a ghastly red, rimmed with blood. “That’s it,” he said. “You’re doing a fine job. Proud of . . . Tell Fiona.”

He closed his eyes.

•   •   •

“N
O
!” M
RS
P
ARKER PULLED
herself up and grabbed the sword from the alley floor.

“Tut tut,” the man Jack said. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“You killed him,” Mrs Parker said.

“He’s not dead yet. Look at him. He won’t last much longer, but who knows? I have a similar wound and I’ve managed to do a great deal despite it. Was he your lover?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this must be heartbreaking for you.” He pointed Mr
Parker’s gun at her and pulled the trigger. There was an audible click, but nothing happened. “Oh,” Jack said. “Well, that puts me in a rather difficult situation.”

Mrs Parker stepped forward, the sword raised high. “Are you really him?”

“Him? Do you mean God? Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Kill him,” Mr Parker said. His voice was a liquid whisper. “Help me. We can still get away.”

“Yes, one of us requires your assistance,” Jack said. “I suppose you have a choice. Him or me. I’m really in no position to blame you either way.”

The sword slashed down and Mr Parker’s eyes grew wide. A thin red line appeared on his throat, then opened, and blood cascaded over his collar. He slumped, lifeless, to the alley floor.

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” Jack said. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’m not at my best, and we should move quickly if we’re to get away.” He held out his hand, and Mrs Parker hesitated. At last, she lowered the sword and took Jack’s hand.

“Lovely,” Jack said. “But we can’t go that way, my sweet. There will be more people coming.”

“Then . . .”

“We’ll go back in. Through this door is a storeroom.”

“But the store is on fire. It’s falling down.”

“What is life without risk?”

He put his arm around her, and she helped him walk to the door. He produced a key and, as Hatty Pitt worked to keep Dr Kingsley alive, the two monsters entered the inferno and were
gone.

A
t last they came upon a clearing in the wood, and there, sitting on a footstool in the center of the clearing, was Peter. The Kindly Nutcracker’s head shouted, “Halt!” and the Rocking Horse skidded to a stop. Anna jumped out of the carriage and ran to Peter and lifted him high in the air. Peter’s little body made of rag and dowels was limp, and one of his legs had broken at the joint so that it swung awkwardly about in the air.

“Why doesn’t he say anything?” asked Mary Annette.

“I don’t know,” said Anna. “He is very limp. I hope he is not taken ill.”

“I know why,” said the Babushka. She rolled out of the carriage and hopped over to Anna. She shivered and quivered and split in half. Then she shivered again and quivered again and split in half once more, and the angriest Babushka jumped out into the clearing.

“I do not like breaking open,” said the angriest Babushka. But then she did break in half, and an even smaller Babushka was revealed. This one wore tiny painted-on spectacles, and her hair was drawn up into a flat glossy bun at the top of her head.

This new Babushka said, “Peter cannot talk to you, Anna, because he
was never truly a part of our wood. When we were chopped down to become toys and furnishings and matches, we wanted to come back to see you again. But Peter was not made from the same wood we were. He was already a little doll of rag and wood when you used to play here. And so he remains a doll, but without the spark of life that we have.”

“But what made you come alive?” Anna asked. “If it isn’t this place that has the magic, then what has done it?”

“You did it, Anna,” said the Babushka.

“You missed the wood,” said the Kindly Nutcracker’s head. “And you wanted us to come home to you.”

“You were sad and wanted to play in the wood one more time,” said Mary Annette.

“And so we came to see you,” said the Kindly Nutcracker’s head.

“If I could bring you all to life, then surely I can bring Peter to life as well,” said Anna.

“Perhaps you do not want him to be alive,” the Babushka said.

“Nonsense,” said Anna. She wagged her finger at her doll as if she were scolding a bad little boy. “Peter, I command you to wake up and do a dance for me.”

“But he cannot,” said Mary Annette. “His leg is broken, don’t you see?”

“The Kindly Nutcracker is broken, but he is still able to talk and to steer the carriage,” said Anna. “And, Mary, your strings have all been cut, but you are able to walk and talk just like anything.”

“Anna, soon you will be
an adult and you will not wish to play with
dolls anymore,” said wise little Babushka. “What will happen to
Peter then?”

“Why, I will give him to my own children to play with,” Anna declared.

“Perhaps,” said the Kindly Nutcracker’s head. “Perhaps you should fix Peter’s leg and enjoy him as he was meant to be enjoyed, until such time when you no longer wish to play with him. That would be kinder than
making him a living thing that will be sad when you are no longer interested in him.”

Anna lowered her arms and let Peter sit in the dirt while she looked at her new friends. “What will happen to all of you when I am too old to frolic in the wood anymore?” she asked.

“But we all have new homes already,” Mary Annette said. “My puppeteer will miss me if I am not there in the morning. He is creating a new story for me to act out.”

“I was going to be on the mantel of
a family’s fireplace at the holiday so that I could
break open tough nuts for them to eat.” The Kindly
Nutcracker’s fuzzy white beard bristled in the breeze. “Perhaps they
will fix me.”

“I am on display at a fabulous department
store,” all of the Babushka’s heads said at once. “Soon,
a child will convince his mother to purchase me and
I will provide amusement for that child. That will be a fine life for me.”

The Rocking Horse rocked back and forth in the grass as if nodding in agreement, and Anna wondered if it already belonged to a child or if it was waiting for someone to come along and discover it.

“But if you are all meant to be somewhere else, then why are you here?” she asked.

“We are here to say our good-byes and to have one last great adventure,” said the Kindly Nutcracker’s head. “By morning we will be gone again, and it will be as though we were never here.”

“Oh, oh, but I will miss you so,” said Anna.

“And we will miss you,” the smallest and wisest part of the Babushka said. “But everything must change, and we must go to our new homes and have many more adventures of a different sort. And you must do the same.”

Anna looked down at Peter, who hung from her hand the way he always had. In the dim light of distant fires, he looked somehow different. But she knew that it wasn’t him at all. He had remained the same, while the world all round her had changed.

“When will you go?” she asked.

“We will be gone when you wake in the morning,” said the wise Babushka. “This place will be as it was when you went to bed last, nothing but stumps and brown grass and the sad little creek that now runs through a field.”

“And I will never see you again?” Anna asked.

“No, but you will remember us,” the Kindly Nutcracker’s head said. “And we will still have the rest of this night to be together.”

“Then there is time for glue,” Anna said. “We must go to my house at the edge of the wood, where my father keeps glue in a drawer in his workshop. He also keeps nails there, as well as the sort of nail that winds round itself.”

“You are talking about wood screws,” the Rocking Horse said.

“Why, Rocking Horse!” Anna exclaimed. “I did not know that you could talk!”

“Neither did I,” said the Rocking Horse. And those were the last words he ever spoke.

“It would be kind of you to glue me back together,” said the Kindly Nutcracker’s head. “I am glad you were able to find all the parts of me that were broken apart by that rascal Jack.”

“Is it possible for you to mend my strings?” asked Mary Annette.

“I am sure we can,” Anna said. “Now we must hurry before dawn breaks and you all must leave. I will make you all whole again so you will look proper for your new homes.”

Anna clambered back up in the carriage after helping the Babushkas in first and putting all her parts back together into a single egg shape. The Kindly Nutcracker’s head yelled, “Haw!” and the Rocking Horse plunged forward.

When they had arrived at Anna’s home, she ran to her father’s shed, where he kept glue in a drawer and nails in a box, and she put the Kindly
Nutcracker all back together, except for one small piece that she could not find. But the hole where that piece belonged was on the bottom of his feet, which were all fashioned from the same chunk of wood that had been painted blue and did not separate. She did not think anyone would notice the missing piece if the nutcracker stayed in his place on the mantel and did his job, which was to crack open nuts. Then she nailed Mary Annette’s strings back into place on her cross.

And she glued Jack’s box shut to keep him from springing out and surprising people. While her friends watched, she put Jack’s box at the bottom of her toy chest so that the other toys could all keep an eye on him and keep him out of trouble.

When she woke in the morning, she ran to the window. The sky was a light blue color smudged with grey, and silhouetted against it were queue after endless queue of stumps where there had once been trees. Her friends were gone, except of course for Peter, and except for Jack, too, because he had been given to her as a gift.

Many years later, when she had children of her own and they had children, too, Anna asked for her old toy chest to be brought down from the attic, and she took Peter out and gave him to her littlest granddaughter so that she might have a new playmate and so that Peter would have a new friend, too.

Her eyes were not good anymore, and so she did not notice that Jack and his box were missing from the chest.

—R
UPERT
W
INTHROP
,
FROM
The Wandering Wood
(1893)