by Lani Lenore
Everyone is insane here, she thought. How in the world do I even find someone to explain things to me? I have so many questions, and yet none of them may lead me to answers. I might have to stay like this for…
She didn’t want to think about it. There were other things as well, but she didn’t want to think about them either.
Snapping back to the reality around her, Anne found that she had wandered aimlessly into a corner of the room. Here, the shadows overlapped each other as if they were blankets. For some reason, she felt safe here, set apart in her own little section of the world where none of the other toys were wandering. If she’d wanted, she could just stay here. She could look out and watch the craziness of this world pass her by. At this moment, that all sounded very nice.
She continued back to the wall, resting her face against the cool, pale wallpaper. There was a line of warm, flickering light that fell there, and she realized that she was beneath a table. The light was orange and warm.
Pleasant. I could sleep.
Anne leaned back against the wall, starting to slide down it to find the floor when her eyes caught a dark shadow behind her. The outline of a figure. The whole way from the palace, she hadn’t realized that she was being followed.
She stared through the darkness to the line where the light began again. It didn’t take her long to recognize the toy.
The outline of the ridges lining his arms and torso were not hard to miss, and the mantle of long hair was not easy to ignore. He was Olivia’s newest addition: the nutcracker doll.
In one of Anne’s various passing thoughts, she had guessed herself to be about six inches tall, and if that were so, this nutcracker was nearly eight. He wasn’t as large as many of the other toys and dolls in the society, but for his scale, he was a giant of a carved soldier.
He walked toward her, arm outstretched, and in the amount of flickering light cast from the lamp above, she saw something gleam in his hand. A metal rod? No; she recognized it. It was a needle.
The size that she was, a simple sewing needle could pierce through her entire body. In fact, if he’d wanted, he could pin her up like a displayed butterfly, for there were several more needles strapped to one of his legs. But now, she was spent and very annoyed with all this hostility toward her.
“What is it?” Anne sighed out as if she didn’t care.
He didn’t reply, continuing to advance slowly. His footfalls were heavy and deliberate.
“Do you want this?” she asked, offering out the cat’s eye. “Because apparently, it’s useless. Go ahead and take it. I don’t care.”
She dropped it onto the floorboards carelessly. It bumped loudly and rolled away. The nutcracker did not go after it, and she hadn’t truly expected him to.
Anne examined him, and aside from moving steps closer to her, he seemed not to have moved at all. His face still held the same expression–though she didn’t know what she expected since it was carved from wood. He still held the needle toward her threateningly, and it did not waver.
“You just want to kill me?” she inquired. “A murderer amongst toys? Defending the Lady’s honor, perhaps?”
She looked at his unchanging face and threw up her hands in desperation for everything that had happened to her thus far.
“Do you even understand me?” she asked, exasperated. Shortly, she hoped that he didn’t–that he hadn’t heard the careless things she’d said that she didn’t really mean. Because she did still care what happened to herself. She cared very much.
He continued to stare her down in silence–until finally he took a step back and slipped the needle into the band on his leg with the others.
“You insult my intelligence,” he said, his wooden lips moving just as hers would, and for a moment she only stared back.
She was actually shocked to hear him speak, but more surprised by the voice that came forth. The sound was pleasant–a young man’s voice, but the tone was a bit flat with boredom. It was deep, strong, and there was a mild accent restraining it as it formed her language. Russian? German, perhaps? She wasn’t educated quite enough to tell. All that mattered now was that he could speak English–and that he’d put the glinting needle away.
“I apologize for offending you,” she found herself saying. She crossed her arms as if protecting herself. “But honestly, what do you want?”
“Did I hear correctly that you have been into the lair of the rodents?”
“Yes,” she nodded. His speech was so proper, his words carefully spoken.
“Do you remember the way?”
“Yes…” A bit more reluctantly this time. She wondered where exactly this was going, but he didn’t hesitate to inform her of exactly where.
“I need you to show me.”
At that, Anne only stared. She had just gotten back from that terrible, stinking place! She didn’t want to go back ever, let alone immediately. She wanted to rest. She needed to think. Anne wanted to curl up around her marble and sleep.
“Isn’t there someone else?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Anyone else? In fact, I know the perfect fellow. All you have to do is get him out of prison…but do be sure to put him back when you’re done.”
The soldier shook his head slightly, but barely enough that she noticed.
“I’m sorry, but it seems we have a misunderstanding.”
This caught her completely off guard.
“You see, I figured you for the sort to respond more suitably to my needs if I used intimidation. I didn’t account for you just giving up.”
His words seemed nearly conversational, but his tone remained flat all the while, his wooden face giving nothing in the form of emotion. Anne stared at him a moment, trying to comprehend, but before she could speak, he went on.
“But what if I had been polite? Would you not have only politely declined?”
“I…”
He was completely unreadable, but he’d seen through her decently enough. Intimidation? Fear? So far, she’d stood up to both and spit in their faces. Even if that was truth, she was no fool. She wasn’t trying to be brave. Avoiding trouble was her only goal.
“I see your point,” she admitted.
“Then let’s try this once more.”
He moved toward her, his shadow covering her in darkness. She would have shrunk away, but he had her in a corner and there was nowhere else to go. She knew that, accepted it.
When he stood directly before her, looming, he took hold of her arms just below the shoulders. With hardly any effort at all, he lifted her off the floor.
There was no strain as he held her there, her feet dangling freely. She didn’t struggle, much too amazed. She was in the warm lantern light; he remained in the dark. Her face was close to his, and she could see all the fine details that she’d neglected before when she’d been so much larger than him. Who could have managed to carve such a delicate face?
Anne stared into the nutcracker’s hollow eyes, and what she saw was an absence of everything. Of life; of memories; of anything with meaning. Even though he was looking at her–and she could feel his eyes on her–she also saw an absence of herself. She gasped in sheer amazement.
“I need you to show me,” he repeated, quieter, but more menacingly than before.
The woman blinked and gulped, hoping it wasn’t audible. To his polite request, she didn’t dare say no.
Chapter Eight: Crayon Kama Sutra
1
It was swift déjà vu. Without much choice of her own, Anne was back in the warm ventilation shafts and leading yet another speaking toy down toward that deep, dark place she’d just emerged from. In fact, she was certain that she was still wearing the stench of the rodents’ lair on her skin. Even so, she moved on with the silent nutcracker following behind.
She’d carried the cat’s eye marble with her. He’d insisted. Since she’d not yet decided if she could play him, she’d not disobeyed. The path was just as dark and featureless as before, and without much to look at, Anne’s mind was wanderi
ng.
Would it be the best choice to try and escape from her new captor? In a different way, he was equally as terrifying as the jester had been. If this one had any secret plans, she wasn’t sure she could get away from him. She found a bit of comfort in seeing that his whole body–clothing included–was made of wood. There was no cloth to hide any surprises from her. Anne shuddered at the memory, but also felt relief for this new situation.
Anne also wondered about the general state of affairs–of this society and their war. This soldier that had enlisted her aid was fairly new to these parts, as was she. But even so, if the jester puppet had so readily taken her into enemy territory, why had one of the nutcracker’s associates not been able to show him the way? Then again, the jester had confessed to wandering about through the house. Maybe he was not supposed to?
Or perhaps this nutcracker had decided not to follow with the Lady Sovereign and was thus exiled? She had suspicions about him though, but even if she wanted to ask, she couldn’t quite summon the question. She just glanced over her shoulder at him every few moments. He was still there, but never had enough nerve to speak to him.
Eventually, he noticed–or perhaps he’d known all along.
“Is there something you want?” he inquired, telling her with his tone that he already didn’t care.
Put on the spot, Anne finally found the courage.
“Is your name ‘Armand’?”
They didn’t stop their journey for her to ask her question, and she walked uncomfortably for a few moments with his silence behind her. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, she heard his voice.
“That’s right.”
She remembered Olivia’s words: I’m not leaving until Armand comes back! Judging by that and the overly concerned way the girl had treated him when he’d been hurt–even when so many other toys had been broken–Anne had managed to guess this. Now at least she’d proved it to be correct. She’d found a link. He was on the Lady’s side, and not only that; he was her favorite.
Young girls and their new toys, she thought with a slight shake of her head. There’s nothing like the smell of fresh paint.
“I guessed so,” the woman said, passing around a bend that would take them closer to the teacup lift.
He said nothing in response. It finally occurred to her that it might be good–or at least polite–to introduce herself.
“My name is Anne, by that way.”
More silence from the nutcracker, and somehow, this offended her. Perhaps it was the build–up of everything she had endured so far–the utter rudeness that had been shoveled upon her. She clutched the marble tighter in her arms.
“Yes, well nice to meet you, Anne. Lovely name, that,” she mocked, but not quite managing to copy his accent.
“Oh, well how good of you to say so…” she then answered for herself.
“I’ve heard it’s not healthy to talk with yourself,” he interrupted from somewhere behind her.
She was quick with her heated response.
“And talking with toys is any better?”
Again he was silent, and it was likely a good thing. In that quiet, she realized she was being ridiculous. But surely he must agree with her? Even though he was toy himself, he had to know he couldn’t possibly be alive.
Anne shook her head. She knew she was losing her mind.
They reached the lift, the porcelain teacup hanging shiny and still, and even though she’d watched the jester operate it twice, she had to examine it before she remembered. By that time, the nutcracker had figured it out for himself.
He brushed past her to set to work. As he did, he spoke–a response to her banter earlier, and just a bit late.
“I already knew who you were.”
The words had no feeling, but they sent chills throughout her. On top of that, he’d worded it so strangely. She rubbed at the sleeve of her scratchy dress. Well of course he knew who she was. If he’d had any association with Olivia, he must have. He’d only been in this house for a few hours and he likely knew more about what was going on here than she did.
The memory of when she’d held him broken in her hands resurfaced. She’d spent all those moments searching for blood while he was stiffly and silently in pain, watching–peering out at her from those hollow sockets. That thought made her cringe, but also made her feel especially guilty.
Don’t give in to this, she coached herself. He’s a toy.
Still, she couldn’t help but glance down toward his leg which had formerly been disconnected. It had been patched with putty so perfectly by Euan that it was hard to tell that it had been broken. It had been repainted the same dark color as the rest of his suit. This was impressive to her; even though it had been snapped completely off, it didn’t appear to be hindering his movement.
“Does it hurt?” she asked suddenly.
He glanced back at her from the lift–said nothing.
“Your leg.”
Anne motioned toward it with her head, and the nutcracker glanced at it as if he hadn’t known it had been broken, or even that he had a leg there at all.
“I’ll live,” he said, giving his attention back to what he was doing.
Sure, yes. You’ll live, she thought to herself. Only, you’re supposed to be an inanimate object.
He motioned her into the lift with a tilt of his head, and she moved forward without question. She was very ready to be done with this. Anne stepped over the brim of one of the dingy teacups and he followed, letting them down together as if he’d been operating the machine his entire life. At the bottom, they started off again. Now was the more difficult part in getting to their destination.
An idea came to her. Perhaps she didn’t remember the way after all? In her heart, she knew that was a lie, but if she led him on in the wrong direction a few times, maybe he would want to give up? No, she didn’t think he would. Even further, she guessed he would know if she was doing it on purpose.
Sudden thoughts of the stench and the bugs arose in Anne’s mind, and she stopped her pace, turning to face the nutcracker behind her. He was close, but easily caught himself before bumping into her.
“Are you sure you want to go there?” she asked with uncertainty.
Perhaps she could try one more time to get him to change his mind. She was good at persuasion, and all she would have to do in this case would be to tell the truth of the horrors below.
The nutcracker looked down at her from his expressionless face.
“I know that it must be your duty or something…but it’s really a dreadful place.” Then she threw in for good measure: “There are termites.”
Though there wasn’t much in his eyes, she was certain she saw some sort of change in his face.
“Oh yes?”
Anne nodded. “Hundreds.”
She heard a short ‘hm’ of consideration escape him, and she was sure she was getting somewhere. The bugs had been stirred, and if he was smart, he would allow them to turn back.
The nutcracker named Armand–who she couldn’t quite think of by any name–raised his hand toward her face. She might have tried to dodge, only she didn’t feel threatened. Fingers touched near the side of her head, she felt her hair pull slightly, and then he withdrew.
Between his fingers was an insect wing.
It had been hanging there the entire time and she’d not even noticed. Bad memories. Before she could begin to imagine the termites crawling over her again, she watched the wooden nutcracker move the transparent wing to his lips. He opened his mouth.
There was a light crunch as he ate it.
Anne stared, completely appalled and disgusted at the sight. Apparently the action was meant to let her know that he didn’t care about the enemy lair’s little insect problem. She watched him chew and swallow as if he thought he could digest the food. A small remnant remained on his bottom lip. She stared, and when she realized her mouth was hanging open, she snapped it shut.
Feeling the small piece on his lip, he co
llected it with a finger, and while Anne was busy being too shocked to move, he slowly pushed his hand forward and stuck the tiny portion to her nose.
The woman started cross–eyed at it there, stunned to discover that it was damp with saliva. Impossible! But after a moment she registered that there was a bug wing on her nose. She brushed it off in a movement like a spasm. Her grey eyes found his face. She thought she saw the tiniest of smiles emerge at the corner of his mouth. The way she looked on, she was sure he must have seen her apprehension.
In fact, he liked that look on her very much.
The nutcracker said nothing, but a hand motion bade her onward. Once again, she was too aghast to defy him.
Olivia said she was waiting for him, Anne thought as she turned and moved on toward the first turn. Her prince? Oh good; they’re perfect for each other. Both are repulsive.
Her entire body wanted to withdraw from all this and huddle in a corner where no one would see her, or to climb into a box and beg to wake up from this nightmare. But a piece of her mind disagreed. It knew that if she didn’t keep herself around these toys she would never come to figure out anything. It was a loss on both ends.
There was only one decision to make, and it was a swift one. She would be tolerant.
Continuing along the way, a sound reached her ears. There was a vent ahead, and though there wasn’t much light coming through, there was at least a bit. The sound was coming from there; she was sure of it. As she listened harder, she realized that the quiet disturbance was like crying.
Anne hurried forward, though being sure to remain hushed. The soldier behind her did not pick up his pace in the slightest, though he no doubt must have heard the sound as well.
At the vent, Anne edged around and looked through one of the holes that she was becoming so accustomed to peering through. It took her a moment to focus, but when she finally understood what she was seeing, she gasped sharply and jerked back from the opening–but she was unable to look away.
The grate led to the hallway, and in the still of the night, a group of toys had taken over the space. The sorrowful sounds she heard were coming from the mouth of a ballerina doll on the floor–though the only way she knew it was a ballerina was for the crumpled gossamer tutu on the ground nearby. The doll’s porcelain body was stripped and she was helplessly being tortured by four other toys.
