The Nutcracker Bleeds (14 page)

He
was not interested in them, only needing them to remain orderly for his cause.
For this same reason, he returned to visit the girl. She was quite taken with
him, and if he stayed away too long she would surely get heartsick. The result
would be greater chaos than was already offending his eyes.

He
needed this war to continue. He would play her game.

When
he stepped into the great hall of the palace that was as decadent as toys could
make it, the Lady Sovereign had to collect every ounce of her royal demeanor to
keep from running to him. She did, however, stand up before the throne quickly.
He could nearly
hear
her heart speeding faster.

The
nutcracker stooped to one knee out of respect. She had cared for him enough to
have the toymaker fix his leg, and for that, he supposed he should be grateful.
For
that, he’d cleaned away the blood and rodent flesh that had stained
him. She didn’t need to see.

The
girl was a pretty thing, though quite young and even less matured in her mind.
She was a child still and couldn’t offer him much. Neither did he have much to
offer her. Any toy would give up their dignity just to have the Lady look at them
so lovingly. They would disrupt their very lives just to hold her close and
feel her
true
life that they would never know anything of. But he was
not like them. Hair of the lightest blonde, eyes like water, a degree of
innocence
he’d
certainly never have again… It was sweet.

And
he could hardly bear to look at her.

“Armand,”
she addressed him with a smile. “You came back.”

He
could tell by her voice that she was very engrossed in this role she played. He
didn’t so much like his character, but he would go on with this show just the
same.

“I
knew you’d be worried if I didn’t,” he said, but still couldn’t manage to force
a smile on his nicely–carved lips.

The
Lady touched his shoulder and he rose, towering over her. She didn’t seem to
mind.

When
he’d first met her, she’d been wrapped in a blue and white dress with a large
bow restraining her hair. Now she was in a red gown that dragged the floor in
all directions about an inch in span. There was an enormous red hat on her head
with a feather in it, and he wondered if it was a strain to hold up with her
delicate neck. The Lady seemed not to be having much trouble.

“Did
you find out anything?” she inquired, her hands clasping gently before her.

Of
course she would ask this of him, but did she truly care or understand why? No.
He expected her to say certain things, and that was the first. He would answer
and then she would say that he must be so very tired from his trek. Wouldn’t he
like to stay here and rest? He could imagine her words now.

‘
We
can go off together, and you can tell me of all the things that you’ve seen.
And do hold me and tell me you love me while you’re talking to me about
fantastic things, Armand. And after that, kiss me. Then gather me into your
arms and make me fully yours.’

The
nutcracker could nearly read all of that in her eyes. She was stuck somewhere
between being a child and a woman, but he knew this was what she wanted. These
things were her only desires. Before he rejected her, he would answer the first
question.

“I
haven’t much to report,” he said, not surprised that his voice was just as
emotionless when addressing her as it was with anyone else. “The passages
around the area are clear, and I still haven’t located an entrance to the
rodent’s lair.”

“I
am just glad that you are safe,” she admitted, and thus proved that she hadn’t
been paying much attention. She’d been preparing her line. Finding the enemy
grounds meant very little to her.

Perhaps
she expected him to respond to her, but he did not. After a moment of silence,
during which the other toys in the room pretended not to look on at them, she
spoke again.

“After
such a journey, you must need rest.”

She
undoubtedly didn’t expect him to say no, but he could allow himself no other answer.
Perhaps he was tempted. Perhaps a voice in the back of his mind told him that
she could give him peace. But the rest of him was much too smart to fall for
that lie.

“I
am sorry, my Lady,” he told her. “But I must decline.”

The
girl looked at him oddly, but he went on to explain before letting her
interrupt.

“The
war is only now escalating. You need eyes and ears everywhere, and so few are
as skilled as I. Forgive me, but there is no time for rest. I should go again,”
he told her, bowing once more and adding for good measure: “If it pleases your
majesty.”

Once
more, he could nearly read her mind. She was disappointed at his words, but she
was the ruler. The girl understood that she needed to be responsible. There was
a sickness in her stomach, nervous for him going off without her. But then she
remembered that he would be back. She remembered that she’d
wanted
him
to go to war. He was only trying to protect her and be worthy of her. She would
tell him–

“You
should go then,” she bade. “You’re very right that this is no time for
celebration.”

He
rose up once again and gave a brief nod in appreciation for her understanding.
Then he turned without another word and strode away.

If
he’d had any of that conscience he’d claimed not to have, he might have wondered
if he was doing a horrific thing by denying this girl true love. Was there any
other reason for a toy to live than to be loved? What, after all, was there
more to life?

Revenge
, he would have
answered himself.
Only justice will bring peace.

He
did not wonder. The nutcracker’s mind was blank as he walked out of the book
palace, ignoring all those who looked at him with admiring and loathing eyes.
He was
not
like them.

1

The
grate was closed, and it was much too heavy for Anne to move. This was the
place Armand had let her out of the warm dark of the shafts, and by those
passages was the only way she knew how to get back into the Lady’s–
Olivia’s
–room.

Behind
her, the child doll watched quietly.

The
former nanny actually had no idea how she would help this child doll become
un
–lost,
but the hallway was clear of whatever had been after her beforehand, and at
least she had room to think.

“I’m
very sorry for all this, miss,” she heard the girl say quietly. “I do hope it
isn’t too much trouble…”

Anne
turned to look down on the pretty doll that stood as tall as her waist. She was
designed to be around the age of eight, Anne would guess. Even though the
girl’s eyes were made of glass that presented strikingly blue irises, the woman
could see the fear and concern in them.

Anne
didn’t much like children anymore–not after Olivia–but she still had her
instincts and her conscience. She was appalled by the way she’d been treated by
the other toys from the start, nearly
spit on
by them! It would not do
for her to treat one of them that way for no discernable reason.

“Oh
no, it’s quite alright,” Anne said with a pleasant smile. “I know what it feels
like. I’m a bit lost myself and I’m sure it will make us both feel better if we
stick together.”

There.
She’d said it. When the girl smiled up at her graciously, Anne almost thought
she’d meant it.

She
gave her attention to the dim hallway then, looking around for somewhere to go.
She didn’t know what was lurking there–and that was a troubling thought–but
Anne knew she couldn’t remain in the same spot either.

Her
eyes came to rest on the stairs that led to the third floor–stairs that she’d
conquered many times in her stay in this house. They did in fact lead to the
domain where they wished to find sanctuary, but the only issue was whether or
not they could actually get into Olivia’s room that way. The toys weren’t
especially keen on using doors.

“Aren’t
we supposed to go up?” the girl’s voice piped up. Anne found the doll looking
straight up at her.

“Yes,
I suppose we’d better try,” Anne relented, starting for the stairway with the
girl right behind. “By the way, how
did
you get lost down here?”

There
was a pause after her question, as if the doll hadn’t heard her, but when Anne
looked down and met the girl’s shining eyes, she answered.

“I
was a little too curious,” she admitted with a nervous giggle. “I knew I wasn’t
supposed to, but I was following a group of soldiers. I wanted to see them
march off. I’d gone too far before I realized it.”

Anne
nodded in understanding. She could see how that would happen to a child. Maybe
she had once been that way when she was young, but she’d since learned her
lesson. Anne didn’t go sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Not until
she’d found this strange world, that was.

The
stairs were steep and looming before them, a tower of impossibility. For a
moment, Anne only stared. The girl beside her hunkered close, clenched her arm.

“Do
you think we can get up there?”

To
that, Anne wasn’t sure what to say. It would be difficult, but what other
choice was there other than lingering around and getting attacked?

She
felt a cold grip on her hand as the girl’s hard skin grasped it.

“We
might as well try then, Anne, hm?”

The
woman’s uncertain grey eyes drifted down to the pure–skinned doll. The child
smiled back at her warmly. What was that in her eyes? Was that
trust
? If
Anne were any more spoiled or tactless, she might have groaned
aloud
instead of inwardly. She hadn’t asked for this responsibility. As it was, she
could hardly take care of herself!

But
there was something else as well. Slowly, her brow furrowed as she realized it.
In the swiftness of it all, Anne had not even asked the girl’s name. Further
on, she also noticed that she’d not told the girl
hers
.

“What’s
the matter?” the girl asked in her pretty English voice.

“Pardon
me, but I’m so forgetful,” Anne said. “What was your name again?”

The
girl looked at her strangely a moment, then smiled a perfect doll–smile.

“It’s
Clara
,” she announced cheerily.

2

There
was a hole in the wall, hidden by the darkness beneath an unpainted armoire.
The nutcracker would guess that it hadn’t been frequented in a while, for the
opening wore an undisturbed spider web that was caked with old dust. Nearby,
the spider that had once made this place its home was on its back, legs curled
in the air. He looked down at the arachnid briefly. It was just a hard shell
now with no meat or juices inside. Long dead. It could do nothing for him. The
soldier moved past it and spun the web around a needle to pull it aside.

He
stepped into the room beyond and halted. Suspended in the air with thread that
was as complicated as the spider web he’d just broken through, a toy soldier
was displayed, unmoving. Blood stained his wooden body.

The
nutcracker’s invisible eyes moved up the torso toward the head, noting the
stench, until he saw its source. Where the toy soldier’s head should have been,
a rat’s head had been mounted, and it was so aged that it had begun to decay.
The eyes were mush, running down the furry flesh that remained on the skull.
Flies danced around it, humming their song. The rat’s mouth was open, and in it
was a doll’s arm. It seemed to reach out to him for help, the fingers twisted
in pain and horror. On the wall nearby were a few words written in what
appeared to be blood. In the dimness, he couldn’t read them. But he could
guess.

Be
ye warned
.
That was what it meant. Neither rodents nor toys from the outside were welcome
here. This was claimed territory.

The
room was much thicker with ebony than the others he’d seen. A warmth inside
battled the cold that had long been sitting in the space. This room was not
connected to the shafts–perhaps being an old armoire space that had been made
into a bedroom. However, the bed was the smallest thing in it, taking up a
single corner of the room.

There
were shelves lining the length of the walls. Some were set with dolls, but
mostly just
pieces
of dolls. There was doll clothing that had been made,
dripping out of chests against the far wall. There was a workbench that held
all sorts of clutter, but on the nutcracker’s previous visit to the room–in the
hands of the man who had brought him to this house–it seemed that the mess was
actually a very precise setup.

This
was the toymaker’s room. Armand had been inside once, though he’d been broken
and under close watch–no opportunity to look around. Even so, he knew just
where he wanted to be on this stopover.

Once
he reached the stool that sat before the workbench, it was only a matter of
moving to the rung, the seat, and then to the tabletop. It was an easy feat for
him.

His
boots touched the wooden surface, and he peered out over the dunes of material.
There were jars of glues and paints. There was a block of putty. Strings,
glass, spare limbs, a bag of stuffing. There were sketches of dolls. They
looked like Olivia. They looked like
someone else
. He moved away from
them.

With
so much to work with, he was pleased. The nutcracker set to work.

Several
shards of glass a few inches long rested to the side. Earlier, Armand had
observed that the toymaker was currently engrossed in the project of
constructing a large dollhouse with windows of stained glass. The soldier
looked over them and then collected a jagged, red piece about four inches long.
It was still thick, and he decided it would suit him. He moved on.

He
attached the glass to a peg, embedding it and securing it with string and
putty. It was firm. He decided it would hold. He then took up a long, skinny
screw and fixed a hold near the head so he could hold the pointed end upright.
Leather straps were used to secure the screw–rapier to his hip and the
broadsword of glass to his back. The nutcracker worked a while in silence. But
he was not alone inside there.

Eyes
were crawling over him.

As fortune
would have it–or perhaps providence in the grand scheme–he finished his
business before he heard the first voice.

“Are
you blind?”

The
reverberation of the voice was odd, and when the nutcracker rose with his glass
sword in hand and looked toward the edge of the table, the toy looking back him
was just as strange–looking as it sounded.

The
toy was designed to look like a doll with long black hair falling past its thin
waist. The face was delicate and fair, made from a porcelain mold, but there
was no color on it. The eyes blinked, and there were red circles with black
slits drawn as eyes, lined in black–perhaps done by the toy itself. The body
was draped in an odd costume of deep purple with golden trim. A dress had been
mutilated to make the costume, ripped off at the midpoint to reveal the toy’s
white stomach. Sleeves puffed mildly at the shoulders and then ran tightly down
the porcelain arms. The naked waist gave way to a skirt that ended just above
the ankles, revealing a pair of black boots. It was obvious that the toy had
dressed itself and had not been graced by the maker.

And
it was absolutely impossible to tell its destined gender. A very pretty male
prince. An impossibly handsome female doll. This was an unfinished toy, stuck
between having a name and being a misfit. Truly, a misfit was
exactly
what it was.

“I
notice you have no eyes,” the toy said in a voice that sounded like a female’s
poor attempt at a male tone. “But glass and buttons also see just as well. Even
so, you’re here. Apparently, you didn’t see our little
warning
.”

“I
saw it perfectly well,” the nutcracker replied swiftly. “Fine showmanship.”

“I
do my part.”

The
two eyed each other, but Armand could detect movement coming from all sides of
him. There were many more of them–unfinished and unperfected, fatherless toys.
Most of them were unpainted; some completely without features. Some were
dressed in altered clothing; some were not dressed at all. Like him, they were
all carrying instruments of pain. The nutcracker didn’t look directly at them.
His eyes remained locked on their apparent leader.

“Since
you were aware of what you were walking into, you accept the consequences of
your intrusion?” the doll asked, sounding simultaneously like a man’s horrific
impression of a feminine pitch.

The
nutcracker caught a gleam of a broad, shaving–blade that was strapped to the
leader’s back. That toy grinned at him. A doll that was much larger than the
nutcracker emerged onto the table beside the porcelain leader. To the leader’s
other side, a toy mouse in a suit with a key in its back rose up holding a
metal hook. This misfit group was certainly a violent bunch. Armand knew that
the ones creeping up behind him were the same. Still, he was not moved.

“You
misunderstand,” Armand said, but not as an apology. “I don’t want to stand here
and chat with you. I got what I came for, so I’ll be going.”

“That’s
just the thing,” the leader hissed, moving forward a single step. “We can’t let
you leave here without at least chopping off a few of your limbs. Not after
you’ve so blatantly defied us by coming into our territory. You understand.”

“Strong
words for an incomplete toy with no name.”

The
toy’s face twisted in a scowl of fury. That was a soft spot, was it? Of course,
he’d known it would be. That mistake of a doll looked back at him, gritting its
teeth until Armand was sure they would crack. Then, the toy relented, shaking
its head and sighing.

“A
waste,” it said. Then, to the others as it casually walked away: “Rip him
apart.”

The
incomplete toys were coherent, and they performed loyally for their leader. The
pale epitome of confusion had just left the circle when the others began to
close in on the nutcracker.

“Outsiders
are not welcome here,” one murmured, and he tilted his head to see a lumbering
stuffed bunny that had not been sewn together down the front. It was carrying a
pointed letter–opener.

“I
think I want the arms,” another voice said from behind him.

“I
placed claim on them
first
,” growled one of the others.

The circle
closed in, and the nutcracker stood his ground. He would let this happen.

“My,
my. You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” came a whisper. He felt a hand in his
hair. This was quite near enough.

“That’s
right,” Armand replied dryly.

A
smile reached his lips for the first time since he’d been inside this house–for
the first time in a long while. Could it be that he was actually beginning to
enjoy himself? Like in older days? That need to exploit his confidence was
returning? But of course it was true; there was a sword in his hand.