The Woodcutter (14 page)

The Woodcutter’s eyes hardened, “Let us go.”

The Gentleman laughed, “But you see, you are now in my Kingdom, a Kingdom recently appointed to me as the only blue blood in the area.”

The Woodcutter gripped Jack close, his hand itching to unleash the Platinum Ax.

But there was only one Ax from the River God left, one Ax to use against the hellhound.

The Woodcutter stilled his anger.

The Gentleman was amused, “You fascinate me so, Woodcutter. You cost me a great deal in our last visit and continue to cost me a great deal. That little stunt with the dust fields, although nice enough to annex this farm, has set me back. And so, I’m afraid that I must insist on you remaining my guest for quite a bit longer.”

“We have played this game before,” the Woodcutter said coldly.

“Tsk, tsk, Woodcutter. You have so little imagination. I’m afraid you haven’t played this particular game.”

The Gentleman walked up to Jack. The Woodcutter stepped between the Gentleman and the child.

“Now, little boy, I bet you would like a treat,” said the Gentleman

Jack peeked around the Woodcutter’s coat, his voice full of tears, “I just want my mother.”

The Gentleman leered, “And you shall have your mother.”

The Gentleman removed a silver snuffbox from his coat pocket. With a wink, he opened it slowly.

The Woodcutter forced the boy behind him.

But he heard a female’s laugh to the right. And to the left. And behind. The Woodcutter spun. They were surrounded by the revelers, each holding a silver box to their lips. The Woodcutter’s hand unstrapped the Platinum Ax.

The revelers blew and the shimmering white powder settled in Jack’s eyes.

The Gentleman clapped his hand and the ballroom was night.

The revelers laughed drunkenly and paired up, dancing away.

The Woodcutter held tight to Jack, but the world seemed to stop as an elegant woman dressed in scarlet stepped forward. On her cheek was the beauty patch shaped as a flower.

Jack pulled away and ran to the woman shouting, “Mother!”

She scooped him up into her arms and gave the Woodcutter a sly smile as she held the boy close to her heaving breast.

The Woodcutter stepped forward, but when Jack saw him, he screamed, “Mother! Run!”

The woman turned her back and Jack blubbered, “Mother, I thought that wolf was going to eat you...”

He said “that wolf” as he stared in fear at the Woodcutter.

The Gentleman ran his finger along the rim of his goblet in delight as he stepped closer to the Woodcutter, “So you see, you are free to go. But I’m afraid…oh what was his name?”

The lady in scarlet caught the question and asked the small boy, “Show me what a bright boy you are. Spell your name for mummy.”

Jack giggled, “I don’t know how.”

“Well, you say your name, and I shall spell it for you.”

“Jack, silly mother…”

“J-A-C-K,” she said, tweaking his nose.

The Gentleman turned back to the Woodcutter, “As I was saying, Jack doesn’t seem to want to leave.”

“Jack, come here!” the Woodcutter commanded.

Jack’s face grew pale and his eyes were as wide as silver dollars as he clung to the woman’s skirts, “Mother, the wolf! I can hear its cry!”

The Woodcutter reached his senses down to the earth and started to weave the spell to break the illusion.

The magic cut off mid-stream. It snapped back at the Woodcutter like a stroke from a wooden switch.

The Gentleman wagged his finger, “Now, now, Woodcutter. I don’t allow that here. All magic must stay in the house.”

The Woodcutter clenched his jaw.

“Like I said, you are free to go, but I’m afraid Jack seems to want to stay…”

The woman had taken Jack by the hand and was leading him away, “Now dear, you must be hungry. Let’s go get you a snack.”

“Little boys are such imaginative creatures,” smiled the Gentleman.

“What do you want?” demanded the Woodcutter.

“To keep you out of my way,” the Gentleman snarled.

Jack was surrounded by a group of giggling ladies. The woman in red mimed a dish and passed it to the child. Jack took it with such excitement and ate the air, declaring it the best food he had ever tasted. The ladies laughed in delight.

The Woodcutter bowed his head. He would stay until the child was safe. He would wait for Jack.

The Woodcutter sat in the darkened window, his pipe creating wreaths of smoke around his head. Jack slept upon the billowing gown of a nameless female. His sweaty hair was plastered to his forehead and he tossed fitfully. Dark circles were already beneath his eyes and shadows clung to the child’s face. There was too much dust in the House for a young, red-blooded boy.

The Woodcutter knew a way to get them both out, but there was a risk and he did not want to risk Jack. Not Jack. Not the child he had accidentally called “son.”

He knew he had been brought to the Vanishing House for a reason. Fate was not so cruel to twice allow such a chance encounter. The House held the answers to the mysteries he had been charged to solve.

Even so, the Gentleman would pay for holding them prisoner.

The red-dressed woman with the beauty patch sat down beside him, “You rudely ended our conversation last time we spoke.”

There was enchantment around her. Not dizzy with the dust, he could sense it now. The Woodcutter said nothing, but continued to puff on his pipe.

She pouted, running a long red nail beneath his lapel, “Even little Jack wasn’t able to give me your name. Nothing besides ‘Woodcutter.’”

The enchantment tried to weave around his head like a lover’s caress.

She whispered in his ear, “But perhaps we could help one another.”

The Woodcutter continued to look straight ahead.

“Don’t fret. I am not asking for your name – just a trade. A little information and you shall receive that which you hold so dear. I am looking for a stepdaughter of mine. She has skin as white as snow and hair as black as ebony. I’m sure you remember her. My Huntsman died while trying to protect her there in your Woods. But we couldn’t find any trace of my little one and I am so worried.”

She brought her face dangerously close. The Woodcutter could smell the cloves upon her breath.

“You tell me where to find my stepdaughter and I shall bring you Jack.”

The Woodcutter exhaled a plume of smoke. It struck at the enchantment like a snake, choking it as a constrictor does its prey.

She got up, coughing. And then, she laughed. She leaned into him, amused, “Remember my offer.”

He stared up into the ring of clean smoke as she walked away.

She was searching for her stepdaughter.

His eyes drifted to her lazily across the crowd and fixed upon the back of her neck. The woman in red shifted her weight as she laughed.

He knew who she was.

The woman in red was the second wife of the King of the Sixth Kingdom, married shortly after the first wife had died in childbirth. This woman in scarlet with the flower-shaped beauty mark was Snow White’s stepmother. She was the Queen.

Chapter 39

The Woodcutter rose and stretched. He felt the Queen’s eyes upon him as he walked to the doorway. He did not like to leave Jack, but with the Queen in the House, he was almost sure this was the place Snow White and the Peddler had spoken of, this was the place where the pixies were being destroyed. He had made a promise to the Mother Dryad. He did not know how to both help Jack and free the pixies, but life had taught him to place one foot before the other and the answer would come when it was time.

The moment he exited the ballroom and went into the hallway, the light returned to normal. Morning was breaking.

The Gentleman followed him out and lounged against the doorframe. “Going so soon?” he asked.

The Woodcutter walked around the foyer, examining the art upon the wall. It had not been there before. The House had shifted since he had met it in the Woods. The hallway had been eaten by a swooping staircase. He had hoped to trace the path of the Peddler and Snow White to the hidden workroom they had spoken of, but now only two doorways were on the main floor. One led to the ballroom. The other exited the House.

The Gentleman gave the Woodcutter a sly smile, “So you know, you will probably not find us again if you step out the front door for a breath of fresh air. This House has a habit of moving.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” answered the Woodcutter.

The Gentleman winked and returned to the ballroom.

The Woodcutter waited until the door closed and then he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The first room was a large bedroom with a window that looked out upon a battlefield at twilight.

The next bedroom looked out upon a busy city at false dawn.

The third was held at midnight with the full moon shining in. There was something about the moon that chilled him.

He had no more luck as he traveled from room to room – drawing rooms, game rooms, libraries, and bedrooms, but none of the rooms housed the captured fae.

He did not believe it would have been that easy, but he had hoped that just perhaps…

The Woodcutter sighed and sat down in the never-ending hall of marble and gilt frames.

He wiped his hands upon his jerkin, leaving trails of sparkling white dust.

Chapter 40

He watched the Twelve Ladies step into the hallway, delicate dancing shoes upon their delicate feet. The Ladies’ eyes were ringed with circles and their faces deeply lined from lack of sleep. Even so, they laughed, delighted to be at the party.

He followed them from the day-lit hallway into the ballroom kept in eternal night.

The Gentleman waved his fingers at the Woodcutter from the piano, making sure the Woodcutter knew his presence had been noted.

Over the laughter and the clinking glasses, Jack’s voice drifted sleepily, “Mother, I am so tired. Can we go home now?”

The Woodcutter found them at once in the crowd and watched them like a lion in the tall grass.

Jack leaned wearily against the Queen, his skin ashen.

The Queen looked at Jack, her earlier delight at the boy now turned to distain, “Don’t you see that mother is speaking with her friends right now? Don’t be rude.”

“But, Mother…”

“I said don’t be rude.”

“But I’m so---”

She cut him off as the back of her hand struck him across the face, “SILENCE!”

And the Woodcutter was there. He ripped Jack away from the Queen, pushing her aside. The ballroom stopped.

The Woodcutter stood, a mighty oak, his hands protectively shielding Jack.

Jack’s eyes cleared for a moment and he looked at the Woodcutter, looked and remembered. And then the spell descended once more. Jack ran to the Queen, screaming, “Run, Mother, run!”

Hatred flashed across the Queen’s face as Jack gibbered at her side. She was dangerous, violent.

But she was nothing compared to the Woodcutter.

The Queen spat, “You are lucky you are who you are…”

The Woodcutter calmly unstrapped the Platinum Ax, River God be damned.

Two footmen scurried to the Queen’s side.

She shrugged them off angrily, but her veneer of perfection cracked just a moment, revealing fear as the Woodcutter raised the Ax with two hands.

And then she laughed, falsely spirited, but her eyes never left the Woodcutter as she spoke to the crowd, “It’s alright. We were just playing a game.”

The Queen snapped her fingers.

The room returned exactly to the way it was before she had shaken Jack, the music at the same earlier note, the dancers at the same earlier place.

“Mother, I’m so tired. Can we go home now?” Jack’s voice drifted sleepily.

The Queen glowered at the Woodcutter before crouching before Jack, “My little one, don’t you see? You are home.”

Jack looked around in amazement, “I thought…”

“Now, darling, it doesn’t matter what you thought. I’m sure you are tired. Why don’t you crawl into bed?”

Jack gave her a hug and ran across the dance floor to a heavily cushioned window seat. He crawled up against the glass.

She snapped her fingers again, and allowed the boy to sleep.

The Woodcutter strapped the Platinum Ax back at his side.

The Queen walked over to him and whispered in his ear, her long red nails upon his chest, “Do that again and I don’t care who you are. I will rip your still beating heart out with my own hand and eat it later that day upon wheat toast.”

As she walked away, a Dancing Lady in Orange swayed and fell drunkenly upon his back. “She’ll do it too, you know,” she slurred.