Encircled

by Laurie Lucking

  Dear MS,

  Must meet about D. Urgent. Tonight. 9:30. Garden corner.

  Yours faithfully,

  MR

  She huffed and tucked the note away again. At least she knew who MS was. But what, or who, was D? And who was MR? The boy who’d delivered the message the previous day hadn’t revealed who sent him. She didn’t regret skipping the rendezvous, but curiosity still teased her.

  “Will you ever stop drawing that thing?”

  Marie startled as her younger brother, Fritz, stepped to her side, a handful of pecans in his palm. “It hasn’t changed since the first sketchbook you filled of it.”

  She pursed her lips. When it came to the doll, her family was singularly undiscerning. “My sketching the nutcracker won’t damage its usefulness. You’re welcome to borrow it—if you give me a couple of the shelled pecans.”

  Instead of taking the nutcracker, Fritz smirked, a glint in his eyes Marie didn’t care for. “Of course, it is rather amusing,” Fritz said, “to see the jealousy drawn so well in the doll’s eyes when you sketch after Lord Blaine calls on you. Or the revulsion after old Madam Ninbotum visits to discuss her bunions and the local gossip.” With a woeful countenance, he placed a hand on his chest. “Or the dramatic sadness and tender yearning after you and Godfather Drosselmeier carry on about The Nephew and how you wish he’d return from his travels so you could swoon over him in person. Or the—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Fritz.” Marie sniffed and brushed her pencil across the sketchpad again. “I’m merely indulging a friend when I ask Godfather about his nephew.” Her cheeks heated at the crinkling of newspaper. Had her father raised his paper to cover a smile?

  Wait. Madam Ninbotum. No, that was MN, not MR.

  Her fourteen-year-old imp of a brother picked up the nutcracker doll and held it near his face. “Sir Nutcracker With The Eloquent Eyes, won’t you tell me what my dear sister is thinking today?” He turned the doll this way and that, squinting as if examining the doll’s eyes. “Ah, I see it there, in the pupils. She’s giddy with anticipation about Godfather’s visit tomorrow night, for the Christmas gifts—and The Nephew tales.”

  “Don’t be such a little beast.” Marie made a grab for the doll, but Fritz drew back, laughing.

  “That’s enough, son,” Mr. Stahlbaum said from behind the newspaper.

  Fritz stifled his laughter but took his time cracking the pecans. He put four perfect halves on Marie’s desk, then held out the doll. When she reached for it, he drew back and worked the doll’s jaw like a puppet’s. “Say ‘please.’” The nutcracker’s jaw opened and closed at each word.

  “Give it here.” She snatched at the doll. Fritz moved slower this time, and their hands collided. The doll slipped from Fritz’s grip. Despite his and Marie’s scrambling efforts to catch it, it knocked into the leg of Marie’s drawing table. The nutcracker landed on the rug with a muted thud, its jaw hanging loose.

  Marie exclaimed. Fritz blanched, quickly retrieving the doll and handing it off to her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought you had a hold on it. I’m sorry. Truly.”

  Fritz hovering at her shoulder, Marie gently touched the nutcracker’s broken jaw. It was only a doll; why was her heart wringing itself into knots? “Just be quiet, Fritz. I know you didn’t mean to, but just…leave me be.”

  Mr. Stahlbaum lowered the paper, his face stern as he fixed his gaze on his son. “You know you’ll have to explain to your godfather what happened to his gift to us?”

  Fritz swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Can it be fixed, Marie?”

  She examined the doll and considered the ones Godfather had worked on in the past. “Yes, I think so.”

  Mr. Stahlbaum turned his very effective gaze back on his son. “You are fortunate.”

  “Yes, sir.” At his father’s continued raised eyebrow, Fritz backed away from the drawing table, picked up a book, and found a chair in the far corner of the room.

  Marie, unable to bear the doll’s drooping jaw, tied her white handkerchief around the nutcracker’s overly large head, supporting its chin. She cringed as she set it back on its worn place on her desk. It looked like a corpse now. But she had faith Godfather Drosselmeier could fix it. He could do anything.

  Forcing aside her silly concern for the toy, Marie went back to work on the sketch, substituting the nutcracker’s all-too-familiar red coat with gold shoulder braids and white breeches for a scholar’s robe, and contemplating what fabric she would use if she were to create such a doll. She and Drosselmeier had designed and made half the dolls in the family’s collection.

  Drosselmeier. D. Was the cryptic message about him? Why would anyone contact her about him? They’d heard from him that morning, and he was fine.

  Marie sighed and shook her head. The letter was likely a joke perpetrated by her siblings. Why else ask for a meeting at night but on an open street corner?

  “Is the nutcracker modeling a wounded soldier now, dear?” her mother asked a few minutes later as she entered with a tray of cookies and candies. “At least it would be a change,” she muttered.

  “Too big of a nut,” Mr. Stahlbaum said. He shot Fritz a look as he reached for a sugar plum, his favorite hard candy.

  “That’s a pity, but Drosselmeier will fix it.” Mrs. Stahlbaum held the tray out of her husband’s reach. “Any exciting news?”

  “The princess is getting married,” he answered without pause. Marie’s father knew his evening duty.

  “I thought she was ‘getting married’ some time ago.” Mrs. Stahlbaum allowed her husband to claim his reward, then passed the tray around. Marie chose a teacake cookie.

  “She was supposed,” her father said in a secret-sharing whisper to seven-year-old Isabel, who’d followed Mrs. Stahlbaum in and was now snuggling up to her father, “to marry whoever broke the curse the Mouse King put on her for refusing to marry him.” He paused and tapped his chin. “Or was it because he’s an evil faerie king and that’s what evil faerie kings do?” Isabel giggled.

  “What nonsense.” Mrs. Stahlbaum gave him a stern look. “You know as well as I do that the reason she didn’t make public appearances for a time was that she was traveling incognito, not hiding from a curse.”

  “Well—” The bang of the front door being sucked back into place by the wind halted Mr. Stahlbaum’s argument. He exchanged a quizzical glance with his wife and Marie. “Are we expecting Lord Blaine or Caroline?”

  “No.”

  A moment later, a servant announced a darkly dressed man, mid-forties, whose skin stretched over his long, lean face as severely as his body stretched toward the ceiling.

  “Magician Mouserinks.” Mr. Stahlbaum rose and greeted the guest. Marie bit back a sigh—MM. “This is unexpected. Do come in.” His voice was all politeness, and nothing more.

  “Forgive me for calling on you unexpectedly.” Mouserinks bowed, but then held out a long, thin hand toward Mrs. Stahlbaum, who was guiding Isabel and Fritz from the room. Marie gathered her supplies to follow them. “Don’t send the children away on my account, I have nothing to say they shouldn’t hear.” He stepped toward Marie. “Especially not, if I presume correctly, this young lady is the beloved goddaughter and heir to Drosselmeier—should something happen to his nephew? He speaks of her often.”

  “I am,” Marie said curtly, not liking to be reminded of her status as potential heir. Not when it conjured thoughts of life without Drosselmeier and his mysterious nephew.

  “This is my eldest daughter, Marie,” Mr. Stahlbaum said. “And this Fritz and this Isabel.”

  The magician nodded to the younger children but took Marie’s hand as she curtsied. His hand was cold. Not that that would normally bother Marie, for many made the same complaint against her hands, but his was a leathery cold that made her wonder if he was ever warm, or if he even wanted to be.

  She discreetly wiped her fingers on her dress as she resumed her seat. She’d always heard Mo
userinks was a rival of her godfather’s for influence in the court. The magician versus the inventor. There was no competition concerning first impressions as far she was concerned. Marie blushed. Godfather Drosselmeier wouldn’t approve of her making judgments based on her personal bias in favor of him.

  “I know it’s the night before your annual Christmas Eve party,” Mouserinks said as he sat. “I won’t detain you long since you might have preparations to make.”

  “All the work that can be done is done, I assure you,” Mrs. Stahlbaum said, lifting her chin. “You needn’t be concerned about interrupting us.”

  “Forgive my error, Mrs. Stahlbaum.” Mouserinks put his hands on his knees and let out a breath. “Now, for the purpose of my visit. I do ask ahead of time that you don’t take offense—I mention this as a friend.”

  “Whatever it is, you have my word we won’t toss you out into the snow.” Mr. Stahlbaum smiled.

  “Good. For I’m concerned about Drosselmeier.”

  “What?” Marie’s heart lurched.

  “He’s due here tomorrow,” Mrs. Stahlbaum said. “Has something happened to him?”

  Mouserinks waved his hands to settle the family. “It’s not a physical malady that brings me here. He’s…how shall I say this?…he’s been acting oddly.” Again, he raised his hands to silence the Stahlbaums. “Not around you, perhaps, but around his colleagues.”

  “How do you define oddly?” Fritz asked just before his mother shushed him.

  “Since when?” Marie had little doubt now who D and MR were. MouseRinks. Really, the man couldn’t even use proper initials.

  “Ever since his nephew left the kingdom to go adventuring and never returned. I believe they may have quarreled, and that guilt is consuming Drosselmeier more and more as the absence lengthens. It’s been several years now. And to answer Master Fritz’s question regarding exactly how his godfather has been acting, well, he’s been using magic.”

  Marie sucked in a breath. Mr. Stahlbaum’s clenched fist suddenly loosened, but then clenched again.

  “Why would that worry you, Magician Mouserinks?” Mr. Stahlbaum asked.

  Mouserinks smiled mildly. “Drosselmeier has always claimed, and I think genuinely believes, that to be powerful in magic one must make evil pacts with unscrupulous faerie. I disagree, but if a man like Drosselmeier acts against his principles, I feel it cause for concern. He won’t listen to me when I talk to him and is often morose and melancholy. As a last recourse, I thought to try you—the family he cares for above all others.”

  “What would you have us do?” Mr. Stahlbaum asked with a stern glance at his family to ensure their silence. Marie uncrossed her arms and folded her hands in her lap. Her father was right. There was no sense arguing with the magician.

  “Convince him to go after his nephew and reconcile.”

  “And leave you to succeed him as chief among the king’s councilors,” Mr. Stahlbaum said. It was Drosselmeier’s influence that kept the magicians out of power and the kingdom safe from the faerie always seeking to gain a hold on the mortal realms through them. Faerie like the Mouse King the magician had bound himself to, taking on Mouse as part of his name in a sign of their agreement.

  “You flatter me. Wouldn’t that happen anyway if his nephew didn’t return and his spirit broke?”

  Mr. Stahlbaum shifted in his chair. “I suppose so.”

  Magician Mouserinks nodded and glanced about the room, his gaze skimming over Marie, then jumping back, landing on her model. She almost thought the magician startled, but then he smiled a slow smile that made her want to clutch the beloved doll to her chest and hide it under her shawl.

  “Tell me, Miss Stahlbaum,” he said, “about your doll. Did you design him or did your godfather? I hear you’re exceptionally talented in doll-making.” He smiled, and Marie had to give him credit for this one. She was almost flattered.

  “Godfather brought him to us—a gift he received in his travels, I believe. Neither of us can claim credit.”

  “From the faerie realms, perhaps?”

  Marie’s eyebrows rose. “It’s rather too prosaic for the faerie realms, I should think.”

  This time Mouserink’s smile was condescending. “As you say.” He rose and turned to her father. “You’ll consider what I’ve said?”

  “Rest assured I will speak with him,” Mr. Stahlbaum answered, rising.

  Magician Mouserinks wished them a goodnight and left.

  Marie fancied he paused just outside the door and laid a hand on the hall table. Her fingers, where he’d taken her hand earlier, suddenly chilled.

  Chapter 3

  MARIE WOKE ON Christmas Eve morning troubled by a lingering nightmare of an over-large mouse with seven heads—a golden crown on each—skittering around the house raising an army of vermin by bewitching the house mice to follow him. Marie had never felt sorry for a mouse until she dreamed of her house mice bullied by the seven-headed monster, some invader from one of the faerie kingdoms, she had no doubt. She shuddered at the memory.

  The day passed swiftly with the final preparations for the Christmas Eve party. The guests arrived, exclaiming as they did every year over the brilliantly decorated ballroom, the array of sweets, and the enormous, stunningly decorated Christmas tree. After the initial awe of the scene passed, the attention of the children in attendance was quickly divided between scheming how to steal more sweets than they were allowed and guesses as to what gift the great Drosselmeier would bring.

  But Marie’s first gift of the night wasn’t from Drosselmeier, but from Lord Blaine. Her second from her friend Caroline. As the three of them sat clustered in a corner of the ballroom, Lord Blaine and Caroline’s easy conversation kept threatening to exclude her. As conscientious friends, they’d recall her and seek to draw her in, but the pair would soon be lost in their own conversation again. Marie gave a half smile as she leaned back in her chair, a sort of happiness-edged melancholy settling over her. She rejoiced her friends’ relationship had blossomed, but where did that leave her? With the impossible dream of Ernst Drosselmeier returning and getting as hopelessly lost in conversation with her as Blaine did with Caroline.

  Marie made an excuse to her friends about wanting to speak with her mother, and then stood up. She was at the door when a hand touched her elbow. She turned to see Blaine staring down at her, his expression worried, a note in his hands.

  “Magician Mouserinks asked me to give this to you.”

  Marie pursed her lips as she took the note, her name neatly addressed in small letters on the front. It was the same writing as the other message.

  “It’s something about your godfather, he said. Is Drosselmeier…well?”

  Marie’s eyes flashed. “He’s perfectly well. You may see for yourself when he arrives in a few minutes.” Blaine raised an eyebrow at her, and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Blaine. Magician Mouserinks was here last night spouting nonsense about Godfather using magic, as if he’d made a pact with a faerie. He’d never do that.”

  “I don’t think he would, but I don’t like Mouserinks sending you letters or spreading tales about Drosselmeier.”

  Marie held up the note and twirled it. “I shan’t pay any heed to his message. No worries there.”

  Blaine laughed and squeezed her hand. “Smart girl.”

  She winked at him. “I’m glad you realize it. Now, get back to Caroline. I really must speak with my mother and the other guests.”

  After sending her friend away, Marie looked around for a place to dispose of the letter. Not seeing one, she tucked it up her sleeve. Then, she spoke with her mother, mingled with the guests, and played games with the children, wondering with them when the great toymaker would come.

  Finally, it seemed, Drosselmeier arrived. A box taller than Fritz and almost as tall as Mr. Stahlbaum, and draped in a white sheet, was carted in behind the inventor. After securing everyone’s attention with a rousing tale of danger and adventure pertaining to the gaining of such a marvelous
gift as he had made…ahem…bargained for from a faerie queen, Drosselmeier pulled off the sheet. A castle was revealed, intricate and beautifully crafted with turrets and a drawbridge that worked, and containing clockwork dancers—princesses, soldiers, and exotic animals—that danced and leapt.

  Knowing the castle was her family’s to keep, Marie left it to the visitors to admire and joined her father and godfather in Mr. Stahlbaum’s study.

  “I can’t bring my nephew back, John,” Drosselmeier said as she knocked on the open door. “Heaven knows I would if I could, but it’s not in my power. There’s no anger between us. It’s a complicated issue that keeps him away. He would return if he could. Believe me.” He noticed Marie and nodded an encouragement for her to enter. He rose to meet her. “Marie, dear.” He kissed her forehead, and taking her hand, led her to sit beside him. “Your father tells me you suffered some unpleasantness last night.”

  Marie smiled up at him. He was as tall and straight as an old soldier, with one bright blue eye, one black eye patch that had once frightened her but which was now dearly familiar, and thick white hair tied back neatly at his neck. She rather fancied he was an older version of his nephew, except for the eye patch. “It’s nothing you can’t fix, dear Godfather.”

  He smiled back, but worry tainted his expression. “I’ll do what I can. Won’t you fetch the nutcracker?”

  “I do believe you,” Mr. Stahlbaum continued as Marie hurried to retrieve the doll. “But I thought you should know Mouserinks was here.”

  “And, yes,” he continued after Drosselmeier said something too low to hear, “I made sure he didn’t leave anything.”

  When Marie returned with the nutcracker and held it out to Drosselmeier, the old man hesitated to touch it. “Put it on the desk, if you would. I’ll grab my tools.” He sidestepped Marie and retrieved a worn leather bag from beside his usual chair.

  “Why don’t you worry about that later?” Mr. Stahlbaum said. “You know Anna will be furious if we miss any more of her party than we already have.”