Drosselmeyer: Curse of the Rat King

by Paul Thompson

  “It is really important that these stay a secret. Ok?”

  “Ok.” Edward cocked his head.

  “Do you mind if I borrow these?”

  “No, I guess. What do you want them for?”

  “I want to see if the stories about this are true,” Fritz said.

  “Can I help?” Edward’s eyes bulged behind his new glasses, and he leaned forward on his hands.

  Fritz considered the offer for a moment. “Yes.”

  Edward bounced up and down, sending his pillows tumbling to the ground.

  “I need to know how he died,” Fritz said. “Everything—where it happened. When it happened. The circumstances surrounding it—everything. Can you find that out for me without raising suspicion?”

  Edward’s face lit up. “My brother is coming here sometime soon. Maybe I can ask him.”

  “Can you ask him without letting him know it’s me that’s interested?”

  “Probably, but, I’m not sure why …”

  “Good.” Fritz stood up. “I have to go now. See you on Monday?”

  “Sure,” said Edward.

  “Thanks, buddy,” Fritz said as he gave Edward a chuck on the chin.

  Annie saw him to the door. Once the door shut behind him, Fritz ran to the nearby shrub and traveled home.

  The first period bell sounded right as Fritz plopped into his seat.

  “Need to talk,” Fritz signed to Marzi as he leaned over to open his bag. He twisted in his seat, pretending to stretch so he could sign the same thing to Andor, but Andor was absent.

  “Please save the stretching for last period, Mr. Drosselmeyer,” Ms. Wakimba barked. “And for the record, I see you communicating with Miss Pan.” She glared at him over her spectacles.

  Fritz spun around and opened his book.

  Ms. Wakimba harrumphed and began to teach.

  At lunch, Gelé and Vivienne put a delicately wrapped box on the table.

  “Where’s Andor?” Gelé asked.

  “We have a gift for him.” Vivienne giggled and pointed to the box.

  “I don’t know,” Fritz said. “He wasn’t in first period. He may have come in late.”

  “He wasn’t in third period either,” Faruk said.

  Marzi sat down with her lunch and opened it in silence.

  “Have you seen Andor?” Vivienne asked.

  Marzi shook her head.

  A girl at a nearby table stood up and pointed. “Look!” she said.

  All heads turned.

  Andor stood in the doorway. He was wearing a sweeping gown of orange and pink silk and a large-brimmed hat with tassels. His face was covered in white powder, his eyelids sparkled with dark blue makeup, and his lips were painted red.

  The apprentices stood slowly, gaping.

  The lunchroom erupted in laughter.

  “What … is … happening?” Faruk asked.

  Fritz rushed over to Andor, but Andor sashayed past him to the center of the room. He lifted the hoops of his voluminous gown to reveal frilly undergarments.

  The lunch monitor was shrieking for everyone to be quiet, but her cries were drowned out by the students.

  Andor began to dance wildly.

  The excited students screamed and cheered.

  Marzi and Fritz signed for him to stop, but he continued to whirl around in a frenzied dance.

  Andor finally waved his gloved hand in a delicate fashion and sidled out of the room. A deluge of students swept out into the hallway to watch him go. He moved in giant stag leaps down the hall and disappeared around the corner.

  Fritz and Marzi bolted after him, followed closely by Faruk, Gelé, and Vivienne.

  When they rounded the corner, Andor lay face down on the floor, his hoops splayed over his head, bright red bloomers gleaming next to the white under-fabric of the dress.

  “Andor!” Marzi cried and began to untie the back of the dress.

  “That was humiliating,” Nicholaus said, and the group spun around at the sound of his voice.

  Nicholaus, followed closely by his bandaged entourage, walked by the apprentices without uttering a word. He stopped next to Andor, looked down, smirked, then left.

  “Jerk,” Vivienne muttered.

  “Andor!” Marzi called and turned him over.

  He opened his eyes, sat up, and signed, “What?”

  “Why are you wearing a dress?” Marzi signed back.

  Andor looked down, then up, face full of confusion.

  “I don’t know,” he responded.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Faruk asked, and Marzi translated.

  “School. Put bag in locker. Went to gym,” Andor motioned.

  He stood up, and the top of the dress fell, leaving his chest bare. He covered his pectorals with one arm in mock embarrassment and signed to Marzi. “You tease. Shame.”

  Marzi translated, and the group laughed.

  “That dress doesn’t look half bad on you,” said Gelé.

  Andor struck a pose.

  Faruk and Fritz grabbed Andor by the arm and pulled him away from the girls.

  “Come on, you giant ginger,” Faruk joked.

  “You are one hot mama!” Vivienne catcalled while Fritz translated her message, shaking his head the whole time.

  Andor’s locker was open. His school uniform was missing, but his gym clothes were still there.

  “Put on these until we can find your uniform,” Fritz signed.

  Andor stripped out of the dress and laid each piece neatly on the bench. He pulled on his gym clothes, and the trio began searching the locker room for Andor’s school uniform.

  They searched the cubbies, showers, and storage rooms but came up empty. They crossed the hall into the girls’ locker room and checked all the same spaces.

  When they opened the washroom, they saw Andor’s clothes lying in a heap, and bottles of makeup, face powder, and women’s clothing strewn across the floor.

  “Well, this is where it happened,” Faruk said.

  Fritz studied the scene. “Yes, but how?”

  “I don’t know,” Faruk replied. “Normally I’d say someone used a mind control spell on him but, well …” He waved his hand in the air.

  “We’re at school,” Fritz filled in.

  “We’re at school,” Faruk punctuated.

  Fritz thought for a moment. “What happens if someone uses magic on school property?”

  “One, you can’t,” Faruk reminded him. “And two, you get roasted by The Order for even trying. And by roasted, I mean removed. And by removed, I mean killed.”

  Fritz shook his head in disbelief. “You’re absolutely sure no one could tamper with the spells here?”

  “Positive.” Faruk dumped a tray of white face powder in the trash. “I guess you could try,” he said, “but the magic they used was really old. It doesn’t look like the magic we use now.”

  Fritz sighed and let it go. “Ok. Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Appreciate what?” Faruk asked.

  “Answering my questions,” Fritz said. “Boroda never answers any of my questions.”

  “No?” Faruk said and stopped sweeping the mess. “What’s he like? He’s the most secretive wizard in The Order, and that’s saying a lot when you remember that we have Hanja.”

  Fritz laughed loudly. “He’s mean!” he said, wiping his eyes.

  “No!” Faruk challenged. “I don’t see that in him.”

  Fritz nodded his head in big, slow bobs. He lowered his voice and looked around. “He has broken so many of my bones during our training sessions, I’m beginning to get used to the feeling.”

  Faruk raised his eyebrows. “Does he heal you afterward?”

  “Yes,” Fritz said. “Or he stands over me while I do it. Always nitpicking. ‘You haven’t cleared the muscle. Did you connect the inner ring first?’” He mimicked Boroda’s deadpan directions.

  Faruk burst out laughing. “That sounds just like him.”

  “What’s Borya like
?” Fritz asked. “Does he do stuff like that?”

  Faruk sobered up slightly and chewed the corner of his lip. “Boroda heals your bones. Take it from me, he’s one of the nice ones.”

  He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his collarbone. An irregular knob stuck up from under his olive skin.

  Fritz winced. “Did Borya do that?”

  “I was eight when it happened,” Faruk said. “I was late to training and then couldn’t get the hang of a certain spell. He broke my collarbone with his staff.”

  “I had no idea wizards were this … cruel,” Fritz murmured.

  “None of us did.” Faruk straightened his clothing. “We never talk about it.”

  Fritz sat down on a bench. “That’s what Marzi says. I don’t understand it. We’re all supposed to be a team. I think we should all be able to trust each other and talk about, you know, stuff.”

  Faruk grinned. “You and Marzi, huh?”

  Fritz blushed. “No. It’s not like that.”

  “Why not?” Faruk prodded. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Very,” Fritz agreed.

  “I couldn’t get three sentences out of her, and I hear you guys have been spending every afternoon together.” Faruk sat next to Fritz and nudged him playfully. “You guys are talking, right? Or is there more than just ‘talking’ going on?”

  Fritz’s blush turned crimson. “No! We’re talking … like, actually talking.”

  “Still, that’s impressive,” Faruk complimented. “From what I hear, Hanja values privacy and deals very harshly with any breach. If Marzi is chancing Hanja’s wrath to spend time with you, she must really like you.”

  They were interrupted by a yelp behind them.

  A freshman girl, gym bag in hand, stood in the doorway.

  “Sorry!” Fritz and Faruk apologized profusely and dragged Andor through the crowd of girls.

  “Andor, are you ok?” Vivienne asked when the boys were safely outside the girls’ locker room. “What happened to you?”

  Andor looked back at the throng of half-dressed women he’d just passed and responded to Vivienne with a big smile and a thumbs-up.

  Vivienne and Gelé both followed his gaze.

  Gelé rolled her eyes, and Vivienne slapped his arm in mock retribution.

  “Boys.” She shook her head, giggled, then walked with him to his next class.

  Chapter 14

  Even with his ability to remember spells, Fritz found himself struggling for the right defensive counterspell when sparring with Boroda. His attacks were blocked with relative ease while his own protective spells—and energy—were drained in minutes. Boroda, in rare form, praised him for his variety of counterattacks. “It’s impressive, but if you run out of energy, it won’t matter.”

  Fritz grimaced as his broken wrist reset. “I thought that’s why we train—to get stronger.” His tone was pointed and barbed.

  “Yes, but you vary your attacks and defenses so often, you aren’t matching the power of the block with the strength of the blow. You’re wasting energy,” Boroda explained. “A little girl with a dagger can kill a wizard if he’s unprepared.”

  Fritz clenched his teeth.

  Boroda had stopped telling him to control his temper. He just shook his head as Fritz lashed out in anger, then waited patiently as Fritz healed a broken bone, bloody gash, or pulled muscle.

  Fritz’s wrist snapped back into place, and the warmth of healing washed over him.

  Boroda held out his hand to Fritz to help him up off the floor. “I think training is over for today.”

  Fritz looked at him surprised. “Why? We still have over an hour.”

  “I think I’ve been pushing you too hard lately,” Boroda confessed.

  “I don’t mind it. Training makes me better.”

  “Ok. Then your choice of training to fill out the hour. What do you want to learn about?”

  Fritz thought for a moment before he said, “Celestines.”

  Boroda raised an eyebrow. “Any reason?”

  “No reason in particular.” Fritz lied. “I’ve heard about them, and I’m curious is all.”

  Boroda studied him for a moment. “I don’t believe you. Tell me the truth. Why do you want to learn about Celestines?”

  “Will you tell me the truth back?” Fritz asked.

  “I will.”

  “Promise?” Fritz held up the wizard’s promise sign.

  Boroda returned the sign.

  “How did you know to come to the orphanage?” Fritz asked. “I know Borya has a Celestine, and that’s how he knew when I snapped. I know he told you, but you have to know a place to travel there, right?”

  Boroda smirked.

  “Faruk told me that the Celestine has different alarms for when a wizard snaps or tries to do magic at school,” Fritz said.

  “I can tell you how,” Boroda said after a small hesitation. “I can even show you, but I will need your solemn word that not one bit of what I show you will ever be spoken to anyone.”

  “I promise.”

  Boroda opened his arm and swirled it around Fritz. In an instant, they were floating in an inky blackness. There was neither wind, cold, nor warmth. It was still. Completely still. Lights floated around in coruscating strands, highlighting the deepening wrinkles in Boroda’s hardened face.

  A pinpoint of light, brighter than the rest, started to grow in circumference, and Fritz realized it was headed toward them, or they were headed toward it. Direction had no bearing in this deep space.

  Boroda held out his hands, pulling the object in his direction.

  It was clear, like water, yet solid, like glass. Inside, a light pulsed but without a source. Boroda floated to the other side of the glowing orb so that it hung between them.

  “Is this the Celestine?”

  “This is a Celestine.” Boroda punctuated the article.

  “Borya’s Celestine is an older, more inferior magic than this, and as far as Borya knows, his is the only Celestine in existence.”

  Fritz smiled. “Really? Awesome.” He felt a swelling in his chest—a familial pride that Boroda had, in some way, outsmarted Borya. Fritz looked at Boroda, wondering if his own father had been as smart and powerful as he. There was no way to know, so he shook the thought from his head.

  Boroda stared into the orb. “Borya refuses to let any other wizard near his Celestine. Researching this one was very difficult and required personal … sacrifice.”

  “Didn’t he show his Celestine to you when I snapped?” Fritz asked.

  “No,” Boroda replied. “Borya didn’t know you existed until I told him I had chosen an apprentice.”

  “Wait.” Fritz waved his hands. “If you didn’t learn about my snap from Borya, what did you tell the others about how you found me?”

  “I told them I discovered you from gossiping townsfolk.” He spoke softly, and his voice shook. “It’s not the first time I’ve told them that.”

  Fritz felt his heart beat faster.

  “It’s true that most wizards get their apprentices through the recommendation of the Chief Wizard, but there is no rule prohibiting you from choosing your own if you discover someone.”

  Boroda waved his hand over the Celestine, and small puffs of clouds like tiny explosions appeared under the surface.

  “From descriptions I found in ancient texts, Borya’s Celestine looks like this.” Boroda pointed to each puff. “This puff would alert me that someone snapped in the Polaris province of the Northern Kingdom. I would have to travel there and ask around until I found a child with magic.”

  Fritz whistled. “That would take forever.”

  “Correct,” Boroda said. “Which is one of the reasons I spent several years making this.”

  “How does yours work?” Fritz asked.

  Boroda closed his eyes, and the orb flashed. “I’ll show you what I saw the night you snapped.”

  The light in the Celestine faded, and then Fritz saw the orphanage. He was in the
hallway outside the box. Dolph was pounding on the door.

  The box exploded and the stocky man flew back, out of sight. Fritz staggered out of the box, and the Celestine followed his path into the room. Ivanov came into view and then shot back into the bookshelf and crumpled out of view.

  The Celestine went dark, then pulsed with light again.

  “My Celestine can show me any place in the world I wish to go. I can travel there even if I’ve never physically been before.”

  “Does this one alert you every time someone snaps?” Fritz asked.

  “No,” Boroda replied. “That is not its purpose.”

  “Why did you make it?”

  “I had my reasons,” Boroda said.

  “Can I make one?”

  “Globe magic is a lifetime pursuit. I gave up many years of my life making this,” Boroda said with an exhausted breath.

  “What is globe magic?” Fritz briefly took his eyes off the Celestine.

  “Globe magic is creating a world within the confines of a globe. Infinite space, yet contained. Only the ones outside the globe can see the limits.”

  “And why did you make one?”

  Boroda studied Fritz with a look of reticence. “I used to work for a different Czar.”

  Fritz frowned. “None of the other Kingdoms have Czars. Just Kings, Queens, Emperors …”

  “I’ve always been with the Central Kingdom, but it was previously ruled by a different Czar. Czar Pieter—Czar Nicholaus’ brother.”

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Fritz admitted.

  “No one your age has. It is forbidden to speak of him,” Boroda said. “He was a very good man who ruled his people justly. He died … The circumstances were very suspicious, to say the least.”

  “Was he killed?” Fritz prodded.

  “No one knows.” Boroda shrugged. “It was my job to protect him, and I failed. When Czar Nicholaus began ruling, the nobles who had served under his brother began dying as well. Many were made to look like accidents, but it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that they were murdered.”

  “Did you ever find out who killed them?” Fritz pictured the Black Wizard standing near Borya. His arms prickled.

  “No,” Boroda answered. “It is one of the reasons I spent so much time creating this.”