The Nutcracker Bleeds (43 page)

“It’s
wonderful,” Clara said, but Augustus could tell that the girl only meant it
half–heartedly.

She
stared down at the toy at her feet, not bothering to pick it up or cradle it as
he’d expected she might.

“Is
there something wrong with it?” he asked, concerned.

“It’s
almost like she dies when she’s done, isn’t it…”

Augustus
looked down at the doll, fearing that perhaps that was in fact, a true flaw,
but after only a short moment he changed his mind. No; there was something else
wrong with Clara. He could see the distracted look in her eyes.

“What
is the matter? Is there something troubling you?”

“I’m
just a bit worried,” the girl admitted quietly, “about those missing girls. I
just started thinking about them again when I saw this doll.”

Augustus
smiled, taking great care to keep himself from hugging the child.

“Now,
now, I’m sure they’ll be found,” he assured her. “Your brother’s involved. You’ll
have to trust him to make it right.”

He’d
not meant his own words of course, and said them only in hopes that Clara would
begin to lose faith in her brother for not having found those girls already.
Then again, it did not matter much if she lost that faith or not. All would
transpire soon.

“Do
you have it with you?” he asked her quietly, knowing she would understand what
he meant.

Clara
gave a short nod, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a small, green
marble. She rubbed it between her fingers and a light stirred inside.

“Remember
that it will keep you safe,” he said. “Nothing bad will happen as long as it is
there to light the darkness.”

He
smiled at her, and the girl smiled back. She felt a bit better now, curtsying
to thank him for the doll that she then gathered into her arms.

3

From
his place near his father’s throne, Armand could not hear what Clara and the
suspicious man had said, but he frowned upon it still. The man was too close;
much too close to her. Armand certainly didn’t know then that this toymaker who
stood before him would be the one to ruin him–that very night, in fact.

And
when he would recount the events to a woman named Anne many years later, he
would be too shamed by it to tell her the full truth.

4

Clara…

Within
her bed, the small princess stirred, rising up in the cold of the night to peer
through the darkness of her bedroom. She took a moment to rub the grogginess
from her eyes, scanning the room over her thick blankets in the realm of
darkness and shadow that held so many terrors for a child like her. One never
knew when there was a pair of large jaws just inches from the face, ready to
snap in an instant.

Had
someone called her name? She was certain that she’d heard something. Or had she
simply been dreaming? The girl didn’t dare call out, for how was she to know
that the shadows would not be alerted and swallow her whole?

Clara…

The
princess gasped slightly and sunk down further into the blankets. She’d
certainly heard the voice this time, though she would admit it was not a
terrifying sound. The tone was warm and welcoming, as if it wanted to give her
a hug. She rose up out of the blankets a bit more.

Sitting
there, she began to feel Winter’s cold fingers touching her skin. She turned
her head, seeing that the window was open. Pale moonlight flowed inside,
reflecting off the snow and dispelling the darkness somewhat. Her blue eyes
widened, for when they rested on the window, she saw a magnificent creature
sitting there. She tilted her head, forgetting about the cold and lowering the
blankets to get a better look.

On
the sill, looking at her with utmost interest, was a large owl. Its feathers
were pure white and its eyes were a clear blue like water. It cooed gently at
her, matching the way she tilted her head as if it could comprehend her child
nature.

For
a moment, Clara was surprised, but then she was pulling herself from the bed,
stepping down onto the floor and heading cautiously to the window, to the grand
bird that awaited her there. She smiled with fascination, moving closer and
stretching out her small hand to touch its awaiting feathers. They were soft
and downy. Her fingers slid through them easily and the bird allowed her
affection.

“Well
now, where did you come from?” she asked the owl quietly, and following the
moment of silence after her question, the owl spread its silent wings and flew
away from the window–as if she followed, it would show her.

It
flew out over the quiet, snowy landscape, and Clara moved closer to the opening
to watch it leave. Looking down outside the window, she saw something else
rather curious.

There
was a glowing white ladder starting at her window and running all the way to
the ground. She touched the side of it, finding that it was firm, and she was
amazed. It looked as if it was made of stardust! Clara giggled at the
astounding sight, suddenly feeling adventurous. Her eyes trailed down the
ladder and into the snowy drifts below. There in that snow, looking up at her
steadily, stood a majestic, white stag.

The
perfect creature nodded its head to her three times, and the girl understood
that it was trying to communicate, just as the owl had been doing. It had
something to show her. It wanted her to follow.

Clara
knew that the temperatures outside were harsh, but she had become oblivious to
that. She stepped into a pair of slippers and put on her great fur coat.
Without questioning further, the entranced child climbed down the ladder.

5

It
had been a long night. The wind had been harsh against his face, and even with furs,
nature’s breath bit to the bone. Armand was glad to be back once again in the
warmth of his home this night, once again to wallow in his shame for another
search and patrol which had rendered nothing.

How
hard was this mystery? Why could he not solve it? Surely he was not, like so
many others, beginning to believe that those girls had simply vanished into
thin air. Not even in his younger days–when he’d been open to nearly anything
the world could throw at him–would he have ever believed such a thing. He could
not start now.

Certainly,
it was true that magic existed in the world. Perhaps such mystical illusions
were the devil’s work. Perhaps not. He’d heard of doctors as well as criminals
trying their hand at magic. Himself? No; he’d never seen the need. He had
plenty of brawn and brain to suffice.

But
apparently, not enough to solve this mystery.

He
trudged up the stairs, ignoring the few servants that had stayed up late to
receive him. Armand just wanted sleep.

There
was a fire lit in the hearth within his spacious bedchamber, thick with
tapestries and rugs. It was warm here; just what he needed. Sleep would be good
for his weary mind.

6

Clara
had followed the charming white stag through the frozen woods. When she’d
fallen behind, it had stopped to wait for her, and step by step it led her away
from the castle. She hardly noticed, laughing gleefully as she bounded after
the graceful creature.

She
was a snowflake; the stag was a gust of wind. The girl followed the majestic
beast until it disappeared.

Clara
stopped, uncertain of what to do. She realized where she was then–stuck in the
middle of the dark, freezing woods with no real idea of how to get back to her
bed. A wolf howled in the distance. The child shivered, trying to think of a
way she would get out of this.

It
was a tendril of smoke and the smell of burning wood that finally gripped her
attention. The promise of something familiar in this wilderness led her to see
the house nestled within in the trees. Her feet picked up, and she hurried
through the snow to get to it.

The
drifts were growing deeper and deeper, but she managed to get through and reach
the stoop. Her small fist rapped against the door, hoping that inside did not
rest some angry old man or some hungry ogre. She hoped for a kind old lady or a
familiar face. After only a short time, a light began to emerge from a widening
crack in the door. Someone had responded! The princess awaited the face that
would appear, and when it finally came before her, she gasped in surprise.

“H–Herr
Fuchs?”

The
man looked down with his own surprise to see that the young princess had come
wandering to his door. Of course, Clara had never suspected that it was he who
had led her here in the first place with his glowing illusions.

“Princess!”
he exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing out in this bitter cold! Come inside
swiftly!”

The
girl went inside without hesitation, and the sly magician glanced about in the
silent woods to assure that no one had seen.

7

Within
his warm room in the castle, Armand awoke with a feeling of dread in his
stomach. What was the cause of it? He couldn’t manage to close his eyes again,
stirred from within. Something in his mind nagged him.

It
was pure instinct that dragged him out of bed, leading him to lift the candle
from the table and leave his room. His aim unknown to him, he found himself
moving toward Clara’s chamber down the hallway on this second floor of the
castle. Was he worried about her for some reason? He didn’t know, but he knew he
had to see her.

Armand
pushed open the wooden door and stepped into the quiet dark.

He
moved toward the bed to make sure she was tucked in sufficiently–just to make
sure she was still there. In a tired daze, his hand reached toward the blankets
to touch her shoulder lightly. He reached further…and his hand pressed flat
against the mattress.

Was
he dreaming? Both hands searched, but felt nothing except fur and linen and
down. Taken by sudden panic, he could hardly think.

“Clara?”
he asked, digging further into the blankets.

The
candle didn’t give much, but by its use, Armand could finally see that the bed
was indeed empty. Years later, he would feel a similar feeling when a woman
that he loved was taken away from him, but at this moment, everything was new.

Armand
flew around the room, searching every corner and shadow, disrupting every space
the child might have been. It was only after he’d ripped through everything
that his skin registered the chill that had passed across it, and it was only
then that he noticed that the window was open.

The
foggy pane was opened slightly, for the wind had blown it back inward but not
quite closing it. Was this familiar? Had he seen something like this before?
Armand tromped to it quickly, pushing it open fully to lean out. The first
thing he saw was the ladder.

It
shimmered like the snow itself, pure white, running from the sill all the way
to the ground. For a moment, the prince knew that he was dreaming. He had to be
dreaming, for how could any of this be real?

He
reached out to grip the first rung, but the entirety of the ladder vanished
beneath this hand as if it had never been–a desperate illusion so that he might
make some sense of the girl’s disappearance. That was what he thought until he
examined further.

His
blue eyes showed him the disturbed snow on the ground below the window, leading
into the woods, and then he knew that none of it was a dream.

Clara!

Armand
tore from the room, suddenly not caring if all this was a dream or not. He wasn’t
sure what spirit had possessed him, but he did not even remember pulling on his
shoes or coat and rushing back down the stairs to the door. He didn’t hear the
servants, finally retiring for bed, ask him where he was going. In fact, he
hadn’t even thought to take a weapon.

He
found the footprints in the drifts that were already beginning to fill up with
the new snow that was falling down. Armand began to run.

He
forced his body through the woods, the trees passing in blurs. The prince
followed the footprints as well as he could in the dark, for he’d left the
candle burning in the girl’s room. He followed the trail until he’d nearly lost
it beneath the new snow, but then in the distance he saw a dark structure.

It
was a house, set off in the tress by itself. There was light inside, and smoke
was rising from a chimney.

Armand
had hardly ever pumped his legs so fast, rushing straight to the front door.
The house was neither fancy nor large. Without hesitation, Armand began to
pound on the door, not noticing how cold he was becoming or how his long hair
was tangled by the wind. He stood there, hammering against the wood with an
unrelenting fist, but even though he caused the disturbance for several
moments, no one answered.

He
took his attention away then, knowing that no one would respond. But there was
someone here. That someone had Clara.