The Nutcracker Bleeds (PUBLISHED 2017)

Chapter Five - Sing a Song of Six Pence

                                                            The Nutcracker Bleeds

                                                                   Chapter Five:

                                                         Sing a Song of Six Pence

                                                                             1

                In the still of the freezing night, the soldier moved through a passage between the walls of the house.  Painted boots pressed through dust that had settled in the space like snow.  Cobwebs decorated the braces that ran upward through the wall until all that was visible transcended into darkness.  He watched from deep, slit sockets, through eyes that could not be seen.  He had no joints except at his shoulders, but he moved with the fluidity of a human.  But he was not human.  

                He was a nutcracker, made of decorated wood.  Still, he searched.

                Though his face was not flesh, he could feel the long white hair brushing against it as he walked.  Adroit fingers stirred, anticipating an attack that he wasn’t sure was coming.  The metal ridges beneath his arms were simply begging for a skull to crack.

                “You knew I’d track you down eventually,” he whispered lowly in his native tongue that few in this house would have understood. “It’s been a long time.  Can you taste the black bile?  Do you fear death?”

                He stopped his calm pace to listen to all the sounds around him, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was the only living thing within the confines of these walls.

                “I haven’t found my way around yet, but I will find you.  I don’t know why you hide.  Are you man, or mouse?”

                The Lady Sovereign’s soldier didn’t even smirk at his own joke, but the humor was not lost to him.  He picked up his foot to move forward once again, memorizing everything that he saw.  There was still plenty of time on this night to track down his adversary, and he was already certain that it would be fruitful.

                Tonight, there would be blood.

                                                                              2

                Beyond the book fort, back in the free air of the room that stunk mildly of mothballs and dust, eyes of red soldiers followed Anne as she passed.  They looked on as if batting one eyelash would give her the time she needed to destroy their entire society.  She moved along, casting them scattered looks of annoyance.  Her strange and terrifying new companion waved to them as if on parade.

                The jester puppet that had volunteered to lead her had not given her a moment’s peace since leaving.  He went on and on, forming words with his horrible voice – “You may call me Jester, or Joker – or Quentin.  Whichever you prefer.” – that Anne paid no attention to, recognizing them as the babbling of an idiot.  She only knew when he touched her; when he gripped her arm or squeezed her shoulders.  Then, she wanted to do anything she could to free herself.