by Lani Lenore
“No more screaming,” he commanded, holding the gruesome needle where she could see. “No matter what happens, you have to keep control.”
“I’m sorry!” she cried, shoving his hand away and dropping the marble. She was appalled that the admission of guilt had shot from her mouth, but even more upset that she was beaten down enough to mean those words.
Though his face was always so bland, she thought she might have seen something there that acknowledged he’d gone too far. Even so, he offered no apology.
He leaned over to pick up the cat’s eye, offering the dimming green glass back to her without words. Brushing a strand of golden hair from her eyes, she took it back hesitantly.
“It will stay lit if you hold it but if you let it go, the light will fade. When you want the light back just rub it vigorously like I showed you. But only with your flesh, not nails,” he warned. “It should be of some use to you.”
Anne stared down at the glowing orb for a moment before looking back at him.
“This is all really happening, isn’t it?” she concluded finally, letting go of all her foolish hopes that this was a dream.
He looked back at her a moment as if he couldn’t believe she was just now admitting it.
“Glad you decided to join me,’ he said as a reply, wiping the needle clean with his wooden hand.
“So I suppose that since it’s closed off here, you don’t need my help anymore,” she said, not bothering to keep the hope out of her voice.
The nutcracker lingered in front of her as if he would say something meaningful, but then he moved past her and headed down the tunnel without waiting for her.
“You’re right,” he agreed.
She didn’t watch him go, only standing there with the cat’s eye as she considered. Was she already becoming much tougher? She didn’t feel like crying. He’d treated her like a rag doll–like some sort of instrument–but she wanted to be near him. She needed to. He was strong, and though he said he had no further use for her, he’d destroy any obstacles in their path on the way back. Thoughts of survival were ruling her mind.
Out of desperation for having nothing but a marble and a nutcracker, Anne followed him.
2
Movement through the dark shafts was swift–always swift. Fleshy claws didn’t slip, and these feet took warriors and messengers just where they wanted to go. They also took them back to where they belonged. On this night, as with every night, there was much going on within the Ellington house.
The scraggly young mouse with a missing ear skittered to a stop in his master’s quarters where the throne sat, his bloody nose twitching nervously. Everything around him was in darkness, save for a few tall candles that reached twice as high as he did, dripping cascades of wax, but the mouse didn’t mind. There was more comfort in the dark.
He’d gone out to do his appointed job the day before when he’d so cleverly hidden in the toy chest, waiting anxiously for the human female to stick her hand inside–only he’d made a mistake. The one that had stuck her hand into the box was not the one he had been supposed to infect. He’d instead marked the child before he’d realized the mistake, and it could not be reversed. After that, things had gone from bad to worse.
The issue of the child was thought over and finally she was deemed to be a worthy sacrifice. Her admittance into their world was acceptable to the master. It was not counted as a mistake, and the rodent felt relief. However, when the girl had finally lowered down to them, the toys had claimed her abruptly. They’d made her their ruler, and all would lay down their lives in order to keep their enemies from getting to her.
Then, there had been the next concern.
Tonight in the kitchen, this twitchy mouse named Sllevk had tried to correct his mistake by biting the other female. He’d bitten her deep at the ankle so that the infection would spread more quickly than the girl’s, but then they’d run into trouble in the form of the housecat that in turn, had destroyed many of their number. He, himself, was lucky to escape with his tail.
He’d gone to collect the pretty young woman, but another problem had emerged. She was nowhere to be found. They’d located the pile of her clothes on the second floor of the house, but she’d not been within them. This was indeed a terrible night. The mice were now stuck with two flesh girls running free in this world, and either one was set to please the master, but one was impossible to get to and the other’s whereabouts were unknown.
Moreover, things were intensifying between the two sides. The girl sovereign had acknowledged this as war with prior knowledge of what the rodents were up to. Units of soldiers were mobilizing and spies were patrolling the house. The toys were standing up to their enemies much harder than they had before.
Everything was a mess. Sllevk knew it was his fault.
He stood before the master’s throne, refusing to look up at his lord, wringing his dirty, pink hands. Around the room–a dank, stinking room that might have smelled like roses to Sllevk–other lowly mice moved about along their own business, but still he felt all of their eyes on him.
“You’ve messed up royally, Sllevk.”
The sound of his name made the mouse cringe, but it was his master’s voice that gave life to his fear.
Sllevk had been with the master for years, and he’d never made mistakes like this before.
“I’m s–s–sorry my liege,” the mouse sputtered with an impediment common to all the mice. Only their master did not have that hindrance. Though, Sllevk had noticed something odd about the lord’s voice. He didn’t quite sound like all the English–speaking humans in the house, which he’d observed from the shadows for the whole of his life.
The mouse was displeased with himself, but much more terrified that his master was unhappy with his performance. He’d once been such a simple creature like all the rest, stealing crumbs and making nests in the walls. Their master had been different.
When he’d come to them–Sllevk himself being part of a group the master had gathered before they’d ever come into the Ellington house–the master had made them so much more than they’d ever dreamed. The mice had always been intelligent, but he’d taught them to speak. He’d taught them to function as a society–while giving leeway for instincts that could not be abolished. He’d taught them about power and gave them a true thirst for death and blood.
The toys came alive not long after they’d all gotten comfortable in this human palace. Sllevk had not believed his eyes, but it was true. The rodents were to create a grand kingdom of toys and vermin for their master to rule–only they hadn’t been able to conquer the toys so easily. With their new life, the playthings had whispered their fears to their own master, the child Olivia. She’d encouraged them to fight back, and they had. Now she had come to them like Sllevk’s own master had come to him and his brethren.
It was all his fault.
“I have served you for many years–s–s, performing this–s–s s–same ta–s–k.”
“And I do trust you to make it right,” the master said, his voice an elegant curl that still sent chills down the rodent’s spine.
The mouse fell to his face. He’d been chosen because he was small–among the smallest–and could easily slip into places he would not be seen. Surely his master would keep this under consideration before dealing harshly with him.
As Sllevk worked through these things, the master came down from his throne. Sllevk averted his eyes. His lord approached openly, stroked the fur of the mouse’s head, and his clawed hand encompassed the smaller creature’s skull fully.
“There is still plenty of time, Sllevk,” the master said. “There is no way for them to reverse what has happened. So all that there is left to do is wait. We will bring the toys into subjection. If not, we will crush them. Either way, the girls will be mine.”
The master was being much more patient that the mouse had expected, but his fear still did not subside–not for an instant.
“I need you to be my eyes and ears now. Do find
out the weakness of the Lady’s fortress, and do find the missing girl, hm?”
Sllevk was absolutely elated by his master’s lenience. He would not fail again.
“S–S–llevk s–s–shall make you proud.”
“Go,” the master bade, and the small mouse tore off, quickly moving into the distance until he vanished completely.
3
The scout gone, the master returned to his throne, which was an old sink basin that had been tilted on its side, lined with a silk handkerchief that was full of ragged holes. A pair of dirty, worn dolls awaited him there, their bodies smudged with dirt and drool, their dresses stained with some other yellowy substance. The lord hardly looked at them. They were old to him, but they served their purposes. But that was what the flesh girls were for–to satisfy his hunger for something fresh.
“I feel weak,” he uttered, and with no hesitation, a doll beside him, which had much of her hair torn out, rose up and headed off behind the sink.
It was several moments before she returned, holding something wrapped in a white bundle. She knelt and offered it up to her lord.
He took it gingerly in his claws, lifting it close and unwrapping it. The writhing pink thing was nearly transparent, twisted through and through with green and blue veins. The creature barely had eyes yet, but it was plump and smooth. The master recognized it as one of his own, but that did not cause him to become sentimental. They were nearly all his own.
“Auf Nimmerwiedersehen,” he sent, unfeelingly.
A string of saliva dripped from his mouth as he opened his jaws and swallowed the squirming thing whole.
4
Home free? Anne wondered. But what now?
She and the nutcracker who’d allowed her to follow him were nearly to the lift that would take them back to the sanctity of the Lady’s kingdom, but Anne wasn’t so sure that was where she wanted to be. Where did she need to go to figure this out? Perhaps to Euan’s room? The man had always been odd. Perhaps if he had known about the toys, he had something to do with this? Could he have brought the curse into this house?
She even stopped to wonder if Armand was actually carrying the curse with him. Her eyes drifted toward him, watching him walk on ahead, his hair disturbed by the air. The way he’d spoken, he’d been alive before coming into this house. He was some possessed and accursed toy? He disrupted the toys wherever he went and made them come alive? It sounded like a good theory, but she suddenly realized that it couldn’t have been correct.
The nutcracker had also mentioned that these toys had been alive for a while, and how could that be so if he hadn’t been in the house? Or maybe, just maybe, he was lying about it all. But why, and what about the rodents? Had the walled–up entrance to their lair also been magic?
She walked on, passing a vent, and Anne was greatly lost in her own thoughts. She almost missed the low voices beyond the grate. Then large shadows moved past. Legs. And the hallway beyond had her attention. She shielded the light of the cat’s eye behind her back.
“Get your rest,” she heard a voice whisper. “Tomorrow is a big day.”
The men that had been in William’s study–this must have been them! But why had it taken them so long to get back to the hallway? That didn’t matter much to her now. What mattered was who they were.
She craned her neck to see, but the shadows of the hallway concealed their identities from her. She pushed against the bronze vent. Solid…but then she remembered that she had a tool with her that could get her past this obstacle.
“Armand,” she called lowly into the shaft.
The nutcracker had moved on ahead of her after she’d stopped, not bothering to wait. She then wondered why she’d called to him in the first place. He’d likely just ignore her.
But to her surprise–and delight–he actually turned around.
“Could you get me out of here?” she inquired. It wasn’t only a request; it was a question of possibility. Is it possible for you to get me out of here?
It took him moment to consider, but then–to her surprise once more–he walked back toward her. She moved out of his way as he stepped up to the vent, looking at it before he pushed his hands between the wall and the grate.
It started slowly as his arms moved apart, and for a moment nothing seemed to be happening.
Then she heard the screws begin to break. The spiraling grooves of the holds were stripping, and a thin band of light emerged, beginning to reveal the open hallway. He pried it further, pressing his foot against the vent. Anne was anxious to get out, but she was very impressed with the display.
Eventually he motioned her forward. The space he’d made was a tight fit, but she guessed she could squeeze through it.
She moved close and slid past him with a little effort, able to force her flesh body through when it wouldn’t have been enough for a toy of wood or porcelain. Almost through it, she paused, looking up at him. The nutcracker looked down at her impassively, this whole time saying nothing. Anne gave him a short nod.
“Thank you,” she said.
She wasn’t only grateful for the opening of this vent, but for the things he’d told her. For the way he’d woken her up to this reality. But maybe she’d learned all she could from him–or all he would give. She would go on alone.
He remained silent, and Anne moved through the opening. When she was out, she didn’t look back, and she heard the vent close behind her. Anne picked up her step and headed after the men in the hallway.
Goodbye, nutcracker named Armand, she thought. May we not meet again.
Somehow though, as she digested it, that thought sat strangely with her. It gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach, which led her to correct herself, adding to it a comfortable uncertainty.
Maybe we will…
Chapter Ten: Shadowboxer
1
In the quiet of the night just before Christmas, there was much going on within the Ellington house, though no onlooker would have seen it.
Outside, snow was falling, putting a fresh blanket on the ground for the new day coming. The stockings were hung by the chimney, warmed by the fire beneath. Those flames, by way of the shafts, heated the tiny toes upstairs. The most precious boys and girls were tucked snuggly into their soft beds, dreaming of a recital where sugar–plum fairies danced ballet.
Beneath the large tree in the hall, a man placed his gifts. He was neither chubby nor rosy cheeked, but slim and pale with age. A blind eye was covered by a patch, and he knelt with the aid of a carefully–carved wooden cane. Still, he placed the gifts with love, for he understood the true spirit of Christmas.
From hidden places, tiny eyes watched him with vicious intent.
For t’was the night before Christmas, and all through that house, many things were stirring–especially the mice.
2
Is your name Armand?
Those words echoed through his mind. He was not thinking of the woman who had said this to him, but only of the words themselves. Similar words had been offered to him by the Lady Sovereign, asking what she should call him. It had taken him a moment to recall, but he’d finally remembered the sound of it from somewhere in his past.
Armand.
He hardly thought of himself by any name anymore–at least nothing comprehendible to the English tongue. He avoided placing a title on himself when he could, but he supposed one must be called something. How long had it been since someone had said that name?
Armand.
He didn’t dare speak it himself now. But somehow, hearing it being said by someone else nearly made him feel again. Just nearly.
He stopped in the dark shaft when a sound reached his alert ears. Something was moving around in the blanketing shadows ahead of him. Being so close to the Lady’s territory, he imagined it was only a soldier on patrol or some scout moving about, but he wanted to be prepared.
He moved his fingers beneath the wooden sleeve that resembled a white cuff. They pressed down toward the needles that were strapped t
o his leg, brushed against them…
And he realized one was missing.
He quietly counted them over again. Yes; one was indeed gone.
“Anne…” he breathed, remembering her name to his own surprise. She must have taken it. But the missing spike was of no consequence. He had others. He needed more weapons though, for he knew these weren’t enough to take him to the end.
He’d wanted the woman to show him the way, but only so he’d know where it was and what he’d be dealing with later. There was no way he could have simply stormed inside and faced his enemy like he was. It would be quite foolish indeed.
Not without one proper weapon at least.
He picked up his boot to move forward, selecting a needle. He didn’t think about Anne further. He did not wonder if she was alright.
3
Anne held the needle tightly in one hand–clenching it so harshly that her knuckles were white from the retreating blood. It had been easy enough to steal from the nutcracker, and even if he’d noticed, she didn’t think he would have cared. It was just one needle–though she wondered if she’d wind up hurting herself more than defending herself. For now, she picked up her pace down the hallway. The larger shadows she’d come to follow were moving on much swifter than she was.
The two men turned the corner.
No!
She ran now, holding the needle downward so that she wouldn’t fall on it. Her feet made sound that was less than the thumping of a rubber ball. Anne truly felt as if she was gaining ground, and in just a moment she would see exactly who those mysterious voices and their questionable conversation had belonged to.
