Frostbitten Fairy Tales

by Melanie Karsak

  Grabbing the teapot sitting on the stove, I headed to the back to fill it with water and to see what was the matter. Was my music box malfunctioning?

  When I arrived in the workshop, a strange chill washed over me.

  I stared at the workbench. The long bench, which stretched from one end of the room to the other, had been cleared of all the clutter that usually heaped it. Instead of a muddled mess, the workbench was lined with pretty boxes filled with beautiful dolls, bears, babies, and other toys. All the supplies that had laid haphazardly on the table had been neatly stowed in boxes, bins, and baskets on the shelf. Laura’s pile of orders was done. The boxes, lined with paper, sat neatly arranged. Everything was finished.

  The piano chimed once more.

  My eyes went to the end of the workbench where I usually worked. There, I spotted my gnomes. The clockwork gnome, the little conductor of my troupe, was positioned beside the piano girl, his hand resting near the level that operated the music box. The other little gnomes stood nearby, lined up as if they were surveying the pretty packages sitting on the table.

  “Oh my goodness, did you forget to lock the door? Lizzie!” I heard Laura say followed by the ring of the bell over the front door.

  “I most certainly did lock the door,” Lizzie protested.

  “It’s me. Laura, Lizzie, it was me. I’m here,” I called then turned to go back to the front of the shop. I paused a moment, casting a glance at the gnomes once more.

  My imagination was running away with me, but I could have sworn I saw a strange glimmer in the gnomes’ eyes, a kind of cheerful smile.

  “Oh, Scarlette. You gave us a fright,” Lizzie said.

  “I’m so sorry. I got here early, so I let myself in. I started the fire. I was about to put on some tea.”

  Laura nodded then smiled. “Yes, yes. We best get the tea on. Oh, my old bones are so weary, and it will be a long day.”

  “Yes…but…” I said, looking back at the workbench.

  When Laura and Lizzie rounded the corner, they both came to a complete stop.

  “However did you do it?” I asked them. “You must have worked all night.”

  The sisters looked at one another and then at me. Laughing gleefully, they embraced me at the same time, squeezing me tight.

  “Dear Scarlette,” Lizzie said.

  “Oh, Scarlette. You’re such a blessing. Look at all this!” Laura exclaimed.

  “What time did you get here? Oh, my, look at these packages,” Lizzie said going over to the workbench. “And you tidied the shelves too.”

  “Me? No, I just—“ I began in protest.

  “You’re just an angel. A Christmas angel. My dear Scarlette, thank you,” Laura said then patted me on the cheek. “Now, let me see,” she said, picking up the order sheet. “Wilkens, Rahms, Trelawney, Corson,” and on she went, reading off each order as she moved around the room checking the boxes. “All done. Scarlette! You must have come in the middle of the night. Sweet, wonderful girl.”

  Stunned, I didn’t know what to say.

  The sisters thought I had done the work. I hadn’t.

  But if they hadn’t done the work, who had?

  The toy piano chimed once more.

  I glanced at the end of the table.

  The little conductor was sitting on the bench next to the piano girl.

  “How cute,” Laura said, motioning to the gnome. “Is he accompanying?”

  “I…yes.”

  I stared at the gnome.

  Magic.

  That’s what Master Boatswain had said.

  Magic.

  But magic wasn’t real. Magic didn’t exist. It didn’t make sense.

  “Oh, how merry,” Lizzie exclaimed. “Laura, run to the baker’s shop and buy us some scones and gingerbread. Let’s celebrate. Poor, dear Scarlette must be so tired after working so. Let’s feed her properly.”

  “Yes, you’re right. You’re right,” Laura agreed and moving quickly, she grabbed her coat and headed out of the store.

  “What a gift you’ve given us, my dear,” Lizzie said, shaking her head as she looked over the workshop. “What a gift.” She moved off then to fill the teapot with water.

  My hands shaking, my knees feeling weak, I went to the back of the workshop and looked at the little gnomes. I couldn’t help but notice the thread in the tailor gnome’s pouch was a different color, the tinker’s tools had been rearranged, and there was a smear of paint on the artist gnome’s face that hadn’t been there before.

  Not possible.

  I lifted the clockwork gnome and looked into his beady eyes.

  “Have you done this?” I whispered.

  The gnome stared blankly back at me. But there was a comical glimmer in his glass eyes that hadn’t been there before.

  I sat holding the gnome in my hand. Master Boatswain invented so many miraculous things. Some of his creations defied imagination. Did the master tinker know something I didn’t? I looked at the other gnomes, eyeing the musicians whose faces looked far more jovial than they once had. Their smiles were wider. What, exactly, did Master Boatswain really know?

  Lizzie hummed merrily as she made tea. It wasn’t long thereafter that Laura returned with the bakery items. The ladies took a seat near me, Lizzie pouring us all tea while Laura unpacked the scones and gingerbread. The workshop filled with the sweet scents of bread, sugar, flour, and spice.

  “To Scarlette,” Lizzie said, lifting her teacup in a toast.

  “To Scarlette,” Laura agreed.

  I shook my head. “Would you ladies believe me if I told you it wasn’t me? I don’t deserve the credit at all. I didn’t lift a hand.”

  The sisters laughed.

  “Then who did?” Laura asked.

  “The gnomes,” I answered.

  They laughed once more.

  “The gnomes? Really, Scarlette. I think you’ve spent far too much time at Strawberry Hill,” Laura said.

  “I swear, it wasn’t me,” I protested.

  Chuckling, the sisters gestured for me to lift my teacup.

  I sighed. “Very well. Well then, let’s cheer to jobs well done—no matter whose hands do the work.”

  “We can agree with that,” the sisters said, and we clinked our cups together.

  I turned my cup toward the gnomes, toasting them.

  At that single moment, the clockwork gnome moved his hand as if waving away the compliment.

  I lowered my cup.

  “Did you see that?” I asked, gesturing to the gnome. “It moved.”

  “Earl Walpole has her imagination stirring. Of course it moved, Scarlette. You tinkered it to move,” Lizzie said with a laugh.

  “No…but…no, you see, I didn’t wind him this morning.”

  “Such devices always have an extra chime in them,” Lizzie said.

  “So they do. They chime at the weirdest hours. It’s like a…burp,” Laura said then laughed, her sister howling along with her.

  I chuckled, shook my head, then took a slice of the gingerbread.

  “Well, it’s very rude of you to burp,” I told the gnome with a wink.

  The sisters laughed.

  I looked at Laura and Lizzie. Were they teasing me? Had they done the work and were just making a prank? I shook my head. No. They hadn’t done the work. And neither had I.

  Magic.

  Was it possible?

  Chapter 8: Come Buy

  I spent the next hour lingering over pastries and listening to Laura’s and Lizzie’s stories. Feeling confident that their workload was well in hand, I thought it best to head back home before my father arrived. I helped the sisters clear up our breakfast then stopped by the gnomes once more.

  “So, Master Boatswain is a wizard, eh? He talked me into enchanting you. Hagstones for hearts. Now, don’t be coy with me. Show me something,” I whispered to the gnomes.

  They didn’t move, but I felt their laughter hiding behind their eyes.

  Either that or I was going mad.r />
  “Almost time to open the shop,” Lizzie said.

  I nodded. “I’ll go back to Strawberry Hill. Now, is there anything else you need? Can I do anything for you?” I asked.

  The sisters shook their heads. “No, my dear, oh no. You’ve already done so much.”

  “You know, it really wasn’t me,” I said once again, making both sisters chuckle.

  “Yes, Scarlette, so you’ve told us,” Laura said then helped me on with my cape. “It was the gnomes.”

  “Yes, the gnomes,” Lizzie added with a laugh.

  “Just be sure to wind the clockwork gnome tonight.”

  “Wind him up tonight?” Laura asked, and this time, she eyed me closely.

  I nodded. “Can’t have his spirit running down. I know you don’t believe me, but promise me that you’ll wind him.”

  “All right,” Laura consented.

  I kissed the sisters on their cheeks. “Happy Christmas Eve.”

  “And to you, Scarlette. Christmas greetings to Earl Walpole,” Lizzie said.

  “And to young Master Boatswain,” Laura added with a wink.

  Giggling, I headed back outside. I pulled up my hood then breathed in the crisp winter air. There was a merry feeling all around. A sleigh drove past, the horse’s tail and main trimmed with jingle bells. In the church at the village square, the choir practiced The First Noel. A street vendor was selling honey-roasted almonds. Two children rushed from his stand, clutching parchment paper filled with the roasted confections. I caught the toasty scent of the almonds on the wind. There was another stall near the nut vendor selling mulled wine. It was far too early to drink, but I picked up the hint of the spices used to herb the wine on the wind. I spotted other small stands selling Christmas cookies, hot cakes, and other sweets. Twickenham’s center square was a bustling Christmas market. Everyone was out. Part of me hated to miss the festivities, but the other part of me was dying to return to Strawberry Hill. I had questions, lots of them, for Master Boatswain, Senior.

  I turned and headed down the road. As I walked, I considered the gnomes. My mind was at war. There was no such thing as magic. But if there was no such thing as magic, how had all that work been achieved? Who had done it? Certainly, the sisters had not. And neither had I. And who had moved the gnomes? The little conductor seemed to motion to me but wouldn’t offer any proof of life. But still. He had a heart. I knew it. I had placed the heart within him.

  “Miss Rossetti?” a voice called, startling me from my thoughts.

  I looked up to find Annabeth walking toward me.

  “Missus Buckingham! How are you?”

  “I’m wonderful. Oh, Miss Rossetti, I’ve just come from Strawberry Hill. They’ve given me a position. I start on Boxing Day. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “That’s such great news. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks to you, Miss Rossetti. Thank you so, so much.”

  I smiled happily. “It was nothing.”

  “I need to go home and tell the children. What happy news.”

  “Give them all a hug for me.”

  “I will, and thank you again,” she said, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze.

  We parted then. I looked ahead of me. The woods were not far away.

  “Annabeth,” I called back to her. “Are the merchants still camped in the woods?”

  “Merchants? No. I didn’t see anyone.”

  “Oh. All right. Happy Christmas Eve.”

  “And to you, miss,” she called then went on her way.

  I smiled, my heart brimming with joy at Annabeth’s news. I hurried along the path. I was midway through the woods when I slowed. Despite Annabeth’s words, there, deep in the forest, were the merchants. Smoke rose from their fire, and I could hear odd instruments playing, the notes strange and discordant.

  “Come buy, Miss Rossetti,” a voice called from behind me.

  I froze.

  My skin chilled to goosebumps.

  “Leave me alone,” I said, looking over my shoulder. But when I did so, no one was there.

  Frowning, I turned back only to find the little man who had sold me the hagstones standing in front of me.

  “You don’t want to buy?”

  “No. Now, move aside.”

  “But Miss Rossetti, didn’t you like the stones? Didn’t they work the way you wanted? Merry little chaps. We espied them through the window. All night long, they worked and worked, singing and working gleefully. Such sweet little creatures. They worked the whole night through until their little leader wound down to sleep.”

  I stared at the man. “W-what?”

  “I told you, we sell the things a person wants, the things a person needs.”

  “Enough. Move aside,” I said then moved to step around him.

  Effortlessly, he blocked me. “Won’t you buy again?”

  “Leave me in peace or next time, I’ll be back with the constable and a pistol.”

  “But we thought you might like to buy this,” he said, his gloved hand outstretched.

  His fingers were so long, too long, the hand looking deformed. There, in his palm, lay a windup key.

  But not any windup key.

  It was the key to my gnome. I recognized the engraving on the handle.

  “Where did you get that?” I whispered.

  “Oh, you see, we watched and watched. Funny little men. And when they slept, we took the key. Sadly, he will not be able to wake—or wake his friends—without it,” the merchant said, closing his hand around the windup.

  “You stole it,” I said, my voice full of venom.

  “Yes,” he answered with a dark hiss. “Yes, we did. And now you will buy it back.”

  “No, you will give it back. Now,” I said, sticking out my hand. I moved closer to the man.

  The wind blew, making the man’s hood flutter. In that single moment, I caught a glimpse of his face: yellow eyes, greenish, molted skin, and odd veins that were close to the surface. His face was…inhuman.

  “No, Miss Rossetti. Now, you will buy,” he said, his voice dark.

  My heart thumped hard in my chest.

  “You will buy. Or we will watch, and watch, and watch you until you cannot help but buy. We will make you buy.”

  “What do you want?” I asked, my voice a soft whisper.

  “A book.”

  “A book?”

  He nodded. “My master wants a book from the library,” he said, pointing one of his long fingers toward Strawberry Hill. “You will bring us the book. Tonight. Then we will give you your key and be on our way.”

  “What kind of book?”

  “You don’t need to know what kind of book,” he spat, glaring at me, his eyes flashing.

  He dipped into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed paper. He handed it to me.

  I steeled my nerve and took the slip. On it was written words I couldn’t read in a language I didn’t recognize.

  “You will find this book and bring it to my master tonight. And if you do not, we will make you buy. Perhaps Miss Annabeth will pass through the forest again. We watched her close, you know. We saw her, but she didn’t see us. We see many who pass. Young Boatswain. Mistress Quickly. We see them, but they do not see us. We will make you buy, Miss Rossetti. Do you understand?”

  I did. The merchant—the creature—had lured me into a trap. I knew deep in my heart I shouldn’t have taken those stones. But I had. I had, and now I had to comply, or they would find someone to hurt.

  The little man laughed again, a terrible hissing sound. “By midnight,” he said then turned and walked away. He passed a tall timber. I expected him to reappear on the other side, but he was gone. And along with him, the tents vanished from sight. Only a puff of smoke twisting upward through the leafless trees remained.

  I remembered Mistress Quickly’s words. They seemed to be gone.

  Seemed was right.

  Because even though I couldn’t see them, I could feel their yellow eyes on me. Watching and waiting.<
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  Chapter 9: It Doesn’t Look Like Anything to Me

  I rushed back to Strawberry Hill.

  This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t possibly be real.

  But it was.

  It was all real.

  As I moved quickly through the snow, I considered everything I’d seen. The tents. The merchants. The hagstones. The gnomes.

  But there was more.

  The merchants weren’t human. They looked like monsters…like goblins.

  That wasn’t possible.

  Opening the latch on the front door slowly, I hoped to slip into the house unseen. I would go to the library, find the book, and undo all this mess. Immediately.

  “Scarlette?” a voice called.

  I turned to find Archie standing there, a footman helping him on with his coat.

  “I was just about to come looking for you.”

  “Oh. I just ran into town for a moment. I…” I paused. What should I do? Should I tell him? I looked down at the slip of paper in my hand then up at Archie who was smiling at me, his green eyes shimmering. But the more he studied me, the happy expression faded from his face.

  His brow furrowed. “Is everything all right?”

  I shook my head. Pulling off my coat, I crossed the room and took Archie by the arm. “I need your help,” I said in a low whisper.

  “You look upset. What is it? Can I help?” he replied.

  I nodded. “Come with me.” Leading Archie in the direction of the library, I handed him the paper. “Can you read that?” I asked.

  He studied the paper. “What language is this?”

  “That is an excellent question.”

  “What is it?”

  “Apparently, it’s the title of a book.”

  “A book?”

  I nodded. “One I need to find at once.”

  Slipping down the narrow hallway, Archie and I arrived at the library.

  “Scarlette, what’s going on?” Archie asked.

  “It’s hard—no, impossible—to explain. I just need that book. You check foreign languages,” I said, pointing to a shelf. “I’ll check folklore.”

  “Scarlette,” Archie said, giving me a pleading look.