Marzi laughed.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re doing that stupid smile again,” she said. She kissed him just to get rid of it.
Fritz walked Marzi outside the school. She didn’t question him until he helped her sit down behind the hedges opposite the road in front of the school.
“Why are we here?” she asked.
Fritz’s eyes began to spark, and he pulled up a healing spell. Before she could protest, he reset her arm. He turned to her knee, and she gasped as the swelling dissipated, and the joint mended.
“Hanja is going to be furious,” she said.
“Then you fight back,” Fritz replied.
Marzi laughed and stood up. “A whole lot of good it will do. She has the Life Bond to protect her.”
“Then I’ll fight her,” Fritz volunteered.
Marzi blushed. “She’s an excellent warrior.”
“I have a better reason to win,” Fritz said and pulled Marzi into another kiss.
They heard the bell ring from across the road and Marzi pulled Fritz by the hand.
“Come on. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”
“You go ahead,” Fritz told her. He didn’t let go. “I have to take care of some things.”
She slowly let his hand drop. He watched her until she had disappeared behind the doors, then he ran, full speed, to his secret hedge and traveled back to the mansion.
Fritz shouted for Boroda as soon as he returned home.
Boroda didn’t answer.
Fritz continued to yell. He traveled to the kitchen, the library, the den, but Boroda was nowhere.
He grabbed a hand mirror on a nearby table and concentrated on the glass. It wavered, the patina deepened, and a corner of Boroda’s face came into view.
Tucked under Boroda’s chin, in a full embrace, was the top of an ice skate. The jagged lettering “PA” was unmistakable.
Fritz turned and traveled to the pond shack where Franz had last worn that skate. The snow had melted. Now green buds popped out on the trees and bushes. The cottage was still in ruins, large chunks of wall were missing, and bits of furniture could be seen through the gaps.
“Boroda!” Fritz shouted and opened the shack door.
Boroda jerked his head around. His eyes were glazed, and he registered no surprise at Fritz’s appearance. Near him lay several empty liquor bottles.
“Boroda! You’re in danger. We’re both in danger,” Fritz said.
Boroda slung a bottle lazily, and it dropped to the floor and shattered. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I don’t know what is wrong with you right now, but you need to snap out of this.” Fritz slapped Boroda’s cheeks.
Boroda tried to shoo him away and grabbed an empty bottle. It began to fill with a clear liquid.
Fritz took the partially full bottle from Boroda’s hand and let it fall to the floor. “Borya is conspiring with Hanja to unseat you from The Order.”
Boroda stared at him and tried to point an accusing finger at Fritz, but the skate he held slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. He leaned back on the bench, mumbling.
“Please, Boroda,” Fritz begged. “I really need your help!”
Another voice, low and distressed, also called out. “Boroda! Boroda! Where are you? I’m under attack. I need your help.”
Fritz whirled around, but no one was there.
“Please, Boroda! They have my boy. There are wizards here.”
Fritz grabbed the hand mirror from the ground where it had fallen. He saw the floating head of General Andoyavich staring back at him, eyes wide with terror.
“What’s going on?” Fritz asked.
“Drosselmeyer?” the General asked. “Where is Boroda? Get him quickly.”
“He’s not available. Are you getting attacked by the Black Wizard?”
“No. It’s some other wizards and men from the Czar’s army. They just showed up here. They’re attacking my men. They’re burning my house. They’ve taken Alexei …” He paused. “They’ve taken Franz.”
Fritz’s eyes flashed silver green. “Where did they take him?”
The General glanced behind him.
Fritz could make out flames in the background, and the mirror began to cloud over with smoke.
“I was watching Ivanov for Boroda. The Czar must have found out. My cover is blown. Tell him to come immediately,” the General said.
He raised a sword over his head, and Fritz saw him block a blow, then plunge the weapon into the chest of a soldier.
The mirror went blank.
Fritz shook Boroda, yelling his name, but the wizard had passed out. He tugged at the sides of his hair and let out a long, angry growl.
Fritz stopped to think. If the General was watching Ivanov, then he must live close to the orphanage.
Fritz squatted on the floor and jumped. Smoke trailed him as he leapt from the fishing shack floor over the iron gates of Ivanov’s Home for Orphaned Boys.
He sprinted up the front steps and blasted the door off its hinges. The fetid smells of the rotting building hit him and memories came flooding back in lonely, terrifying waves.
He raced down the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor. He paused at the top and looked around.
“Hey! What d’you think you’re doing?” Dolph was still dressed in his undershorts and pointed at him with a partial bottle of vodka.
Fritz snarled, “Dolph.”
“Who’s that? I told you little pissants to leave me alone. Get back to work.”
Fritz shot out a blast of magic.
Dolph flew backward and landed on the floor with a loud grunt. He rolled over to his belly and cried out, “It’s you!”
“Yes, Dolph. It’s me. I need to find out where General Andoyavich lives. Where is he?”
“Listen, I’m sorry. I should’ve never hurt you.” He crawled forward on hands and knees.
“Tell me where the General lives or where Ivanov is right now,” Fritz responded, ignoring Dolph.
“I’m so sorry. I am so, so … ” As Dolph neared Fritz, he suddenly jumped forward into a tackle. “Got you!” he yelled.
Fritz fell to the ground, confused.
Dolph raised his fist and brought it down hard.
Fritz stopped the blow inches from his face with a pushing spell.
Dolph grunted with exertion, trying desperately to finish the swing.
Fritz waved his other hand, and Dolph was yanked off of him and into the wall opposite Fritz. Boroda’s special spell began to slowly squeeze the air from his lungs.
Dolph gasped. His legs dangled above the floor, and he clawed at his throat.
Fritz held him against the wall. “Where did Ivanov take Franz?”
“I don’t know where your brother is,” Dolph croaked.
“Wrong answer, Dolph,” Fritz growled. He rotated his hand, and Dolph’s foot twisted, and the bone popped.
Dolph screamed in pain. “I’m telling the truth. I don’t know!”
Fritz applied pressure to the other foot, now soaked with the drunken man’s urine.
Dolph roared as his other foot twisted and cracked.
“Ivanov knows,” Dolph cried out, saliva seeping from his mouth and nose. “He left two days ago for the Czar’s party.”
“Where is the party, Dolph?” Fritz snarled. “I don’t have time for this.”
Fritz twisted Dolph’s arm until the shoulder popped out of joint.
Dolph screamed again. Every move sent jolts of pain through his body.
“I don’t know. There’s a letter from the Czar on his desk. It will tell you!” Dolph sobbed.
Fritz let him drop to the floor, then raced up the stairs to the office. The memories made him woozy, but he shook them from his mind and rummaged through the papers on the desk.
He finally found a letter with the Czar’s wax seal stamped into the paper. After many sentences of impossibly scrolling calligraphy inviting the possessor of this l
etter to a party, it finally announced where it was to be held.
Alexander Palace.
Alexander Palace? He didn’t know where that was. As he stood up to leave, he heard the click of a gun being cocked.
Dolph was lying on the ground, his legs bent at odd angles, his gun pointed at Fritz. His mouth was twisted into a deranged smile. His yellow teeth bared in a self-conceited grin. “I win, you freak.”
Fritz knocked the gun from his hand with a flick of his wrist; it fired and the bullet hit the wall behind him.
Fritz felt his green eyes pop with familiar electricity. He lifted Dolph from the floor.
The large man struggled against his invisible bonds. “No! I didn’t mean it!” he wailed.
“All those years of beating weak, defenseless kids,” Fritz said, shaking his head. “The bones broken …”
Dolph’s arm snapped.
“The indignities suffered.”
The other arm bent at the forearm.
Fritz stepped close to Dolph.
“And now, the last thing you will ever feel is the utter hopelessness we all felt at your hand.”
Dolph was shaking with rage and pain, but his cries were stifled. His shirt gaped open in front and Fritz’s small, gold medallion peeked from behind the soiled material.
Fritz yanked the charm from the large man and leaned in closer so his face was next to Dolph’s.
He whispered, “This is for Nurse Galina.”
Dolph flew back. His body bent in half from the momentum. He hit the wall and every bone shattered from the force. Blood leaked out of his mouth, nose, and ears. His face was frozen in terror, an exact replica of the faces of so many boys from years past.
Fritz looked out the windows into the main work area below Ivanov’s office. The boys were folding laundry, ironing, and stitching seams. A few boys looked back and forth from the office to their work, curious about the gunfire but not wanting to incur the wrath of Dolph.
Fritz waved his hand, and the clothes vanished. The boys shrieked and looked around in surprise. Fritz closed his eyes, and the tables began filling with hot, steaming dishes of food. He traveled in the largest pieces of meat and the biggest loaves of bread he could think of. Charred vegetables, creamy potatoes, and several gigantic cakes appeared where the clothes once sat.
The boys stared in astonishment. Then, as if on cue, they rushed the table and began eating the food before it disappeared.
Fritz eyed his family heirloom briefly before pocketing the trinket. There was no time to waste on sentimentality. He traveled out to the black iron gates and, summoning the pent-up rage of a lifetime, twisted them open. One gate ripped free of its hinges and crumpled to the ground with a deafening clang.
Before the boys could run to the door to investigate the sound, he traveled back to the fishing shack.
“Boroda! Boroda, wake up!” He slapped Boroda’s face and called to him.
The wizard groaned.
“I need to know where Alexander Palace is.”
The wizard rolled his head and squinted. He held out his hand and tapped a finger on a glass fishbowl.
Fritz shook his head. “Boroda, you need to sober up. General Andoyavich needs your help. I need your help. Please, my brother is in danger.”
Boroda shook his head and tapped the bowl again, then turned his head and vomited.
Fritz looked at the bowl.
Boroda kept his finger on it even as he turned over and began to snore heavily.
Fritz shot up.
“The Celestine.”
He glanced down at Boroda. “Thank you.”
Fritz closed his eyes and when he opened them, he was floating in the clear, black sky filled with stars. In front of him, the Celestine pulsed with ivory light.
He touched the glassy sphere and, with a desperate quake in his voice, whispered, “Show me Alexander Palace.”
The inky blackness melted away as the stone walls and forest of Alexander Palace replaced it. He studied the structure, and his green eyes sparked with silver electricity.
“Hold on, Franz. I’m coming.”
Chapter 22
Though not as big as the Czar’s main residence in the capital, Alexander Palace was no less imposing with its sheer walls, solid oak gate, and posted sentries.
Fritz stood just inside the dense forest that circled the perimeter walls. He studied the armed guards walking in concentric circles, crafting a plan to get beyond them. The Celestine hadn’t shown him inside the courtyard. Even if it had, anyone who saw him suddenly appear in a flash of smoke would raise the alarm, so he would no longer have the element of surprise.
He swept over the woods for anything he could use to camouflage himself. After several minutes, nothing had presented itself as useful. He looked again at the guards, wondering if he could defeat them all without depleting his strength. Once inside, he had no idea what he would face.
Above him, a bird of prey screeched and swooped down. It emerged from the forest floor with a small creature in its talons and flew off to its nest.
Fritz thought momentarily about his failed exam with Ms. Wakimba. He’d worked hard on his project and then, when it was time to present, the grade was no longer important.
His world had changed so quickly, and things like grades and classes all seemed so trivial now.
Suddenly, it dawned on him how he was going to get past the guards.
He ran over his fact sheet on the barn owl in his mind. He knew its muscle structure, its bone density, and wing length. He knew how much it weighed and the shape of the lenses in its eyes.
He paced the forest floor and pictured the creature. As he paced, his body shrank and his arms extended. His clothing sagged from his shoulders and finally dropped from his truncated body.
He lifted off into the air, flapping his long wings and letting out a loud screech. He flew over the woods, amazed at the clarity of vision his new eyes gave him. Small creatures scurried to hide. He watched with precision as their tiny bodies scrambled across the ground.
The guards below paid him no attention.
He glided over the courtyard in search of a landing place where he could safely turn back into a human. He circled the palace and found a central rooftop hidden from view and landed there, flopping forward on the flat surface.
His feathers shortened and melted into skin. He stood up on his own legs and stretched his arms.
The early spring air felt chilly against his naked body, so he crouched below the ledge of the rooftop to escape the icy draft. He traveled his clothes in from the woods, yanking them on as he explored the terrain.
He found a half-rotted door covered in moss and kicked it open. The dust and smell of molding junk long-forgotten assaulted his nose. He coughed and turned away. He took a deep breath of fresh air, ran through the splintered frame, and wound his way through the attic until he found the upper hallways.
The distant sounds of laughter drew his attention to the floors below.
After descending a large staircase, he rounded a corner into a grand hall where groups of men stood laughing and drinking among tables laden with food. Servants bustled in and out with drinks.
Fritz saw boys intermingled with the men, bruises visible on some of their faces and arms. Every one of them stared at the floor with limp shoulders and listless expressions. Their eyes were dark, soulless pits. The joy and sparkle of youth was gone, ripped from them and replaced with this forsaken reality.
Guards with swords hanging at their sides and pistols strapped to their hips stood at intervals, surveying the degenerate behavior.
At the front of the room, overseeing the festivities from the center position of a long table, sat the Czar.
Behind him, just within earshot, stood Ivanov. His spidery fingers clasped together, his hungry eyes scanning the debauchery. He licked his lips as he watched his wards being dragged from group to group.
Fritz had always told Franz to be happy for the boys who got “adopted.�
�� He’d painted a picture of happy families and full tables. Now, he surveyed the final fate of the adopted boys.
How wrong he’d been.
They were fodder for these disgusting creatures. Sent to a secluded location to service every whim of their vile captors with absolutely no way to defend themselves.
The room full of nobles who let it happen—even encouraging the behavior—laughed raucously while the lives and souls of these boys were exploited for their pleasure.
Why did no one stand up to challenge this?
Were there no soldiers with a conscience who would use their swords to protect the innocent?
Fritz looked around at the participants. Everyone in the room was guilty, either by action or complicity. They abused or let the abuse continue when it was in their power to act.
Fritz stood at the door, unnoticed. As he scanned the room, tears stung his eyes.
The reality of this world hit him, and his knees almost buckled: The weak would suffer at the hands of the powerful, but the powerful would never be held accountable. It was the tragic state of their existence.
These boys didn’t have a brother to stick up for them.
They didn’t have a wizard to take up their cause and keep the wolves at bay.
They didn’t have a champion to break their chains and tell their captors, “No.”
That had to change.
“No more!” he whispered aloud.
He strode into the room, his green eyes flashing with a brilliant silver light. His hands charged with a blinding ball of magic.
All activity stopped, and the men—guards included—looked at him with confused expressions.
“Fritz!” the Czar called out expectantly.
“You have me confused with someone else,” Fritz growled. “Fritz is gone. I’m Drosselmeyer—and this party is over.”
A nearby guard leapt up, sword drawn, and Fritz shot a bolt of lightning through the man’s chest. The stunned guard looked down at the fist-sized hole and coughed. He dropped his sword and crumpled to the floor.
The other men in the room began to run.
The large doors at the back of the room slammed shut at the sweep of Fritz’s hand. He traveled in seeds, and snaked vines along the wall, interweaving them through the handles and hinges, locking everyone inside.
Drosselmeyer: Curse of the Rat King Page 22