Jack slid out from under the bench with the snaps and clicks of a working toy.
Nicholas wanted to step on it like a bug.
Before he could lift his foot, Cane pulled the sheet off something else. Beneath that was a big, white thing. Two arms and legs and a lump of a head, it looked like a snowy man-beast. It seemed to swell while it took a breath.
It stomped across the floor and caught the Jack-toy about midway to Nicholas. It ripped off the arms, then punched a hole through the fat belly before gnawing on the head like a cob of corn.
Cane jumped up and down, clapping.
Nicholas began to laugh.
He’d forgotten what that felt like.
It hurt in his left side. He quickly fell into a bout of laughing coughs.
Cane cheered while the snowy man-beast threw the bits and pieces of Jack-toy across the floor.
“Pick up this mess.” Claus entered with a scowl that buried his black eyes beneath furry shelves of brow.
Cane stopped clapping.
“Now.”
“He’s having fun,” Nicholas said.
“He’s wrecking my lab.”
“And you’re destroying my life.”
Claus wearily looked up at the six-foot-tall giant. The color had changed on Claus’s cheeks in the last several days. It was grayer, more wrinkles. And maybe he was thinner. He was still as round as a ball, but he just seemed smaller.
“We all make sacrifices,” Claus said.
“Some more than others.”
Claus ignored him.
Nicholas did his best to bend over and pick up the pieces, but it was difficult with such a round midsection. He ended up kneeling next to the mess and pushing the pieces into a pile. Cane came out, cheerless, and helped sweep them up. Nicholas cradled them against his chest.
Claus continued with something on the workbench. Cane went over to him and hugged his leg. Claus reached down and patted his head, like that would make it all right.
“You know what, go ahead and take the rest of them.”
Nicholas dropped the parts. He kicked them across the room.
“I can’t take being buried alive anymore. You want my memories? Go ahead and take the rest of them. What are you waiting for?”
Nicholas shoved over a tall stack of papers that fluttered like butterflies.
“Stop messing around and take them. Get it over with, you thief. Just take my memories, because you’re no better than him.”
He hit another stack, this one a pile of metal plates.
“YOU’RE NO DIFFERENT!”
Nicholas toppled three more piles like dominoes.
Claus stopped.
He watched him destroy the lab.
When he was finished, not an inch of floor space was visible. Nicholas resorted to stomping through the litter, crushing whatever would break under his foot until he was nicked and bruised.
He was panting and bleeding and he still wasn’t through, shouting as he went.
“YOU’RE NO DIFFERENT!”
Claus stood up.
He waited at the exit.
When Nicholas noticed, Claus nodded for him to follow.
It was one cramped tunnel after another. Nicholas was hunched over, the ceiling rubbing the back of his head, the walls pressed against his shoulders.
He had difficulty breathing.
Ice above him, around him, below him.
Ice everywhere.
Nicholas struggled to keep up. He fell to a knee, trying to catch his breath. Panic squeezed his chest. It was cold and heavy and he just wanted out.
“A bit farther.”
He took a step and swore he couldn’t go another. Took a step, and swore again. And again. It was so tight and so heavy… until they finally turned a corner.
It was a room.
A big, big room.
AN ARENA.
The seating looked like benches surrounding a circular stage. The roof was domed and impossibly high. The sounds of workmen buzzed now and then as excavation was still in progress near the apex. Icy slivers flitted down as it was shaved away.
Nicholas took a deep breath.
Space.
It was exactly what he needed.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Victory Hall.” There was nothing victorious about the way Claus said it.
The ceiling was translucent, allowing pale light to filter through deep lines carved in intricate patterns, like crystal spiderwebs. Lines of light crawled over Claus’s face.
He walked to center stage.
“What victory?” Nicholas asked.
Claus was about to crumble. “It’s to celebrate the end… of the rebels.”
He sounded so weak.
So defeated.
“The end?” Nicholas stepped onto the stage. “The rebels have my family… what about my wife and son?”
Claus was paler. His eyes gray in their deep pockets.
“What will happen to them?” Nicholas asked.
Claus wouldn’t tell him.
He didn’t need to.
“LIAR!”
The word bounced around the arena.
Nicholas couldn’t follow it.
“WHATEVER HE SAYS IS A LIE!”
There were four ramps that evenly divided the arena into quarters. At the top of one of them was a purple-clad figure shouting through his cupped hands.
“You’re a liar, Claus. What did Mother tell you about lying? It makes your tongue hairy, you know that. Every lie you tell kills a mermaid. And that whopper there just killed a whale.”
Jack slid down the ramp with his arms out. Nicholas thought he heard the Cold One humming wheeeee. He hit the bottom and leaned into a turn that took him around the outer portion of the stage. He skated on the edge of one foot, hands folded on his belly.
He corkscrewed toward Claus and went into a tight spin with his arms up.
Suddenly he stopped.
Curtsy.
“Now go shave your tongue, brother.”
Claus met his brother’s glare. Neither of them blinked or flinched. The floor – clear polished ice – crackled with blue lines emanating from Jack’s feet. He tilted his head. If it was a game, he was about to win.
“He’s my warmblood,” he added. “Go babysit Cane or eat a salad or something. You look like a starving vegan, all ashy and gray. Like a skinned whale. Gross.”
Claus looked at Nicholas.
We’re no different?
“You like my new pad?” Jack spun around with his arms out. “A room like this has never been done before. Those Egyptians did the pyramid thing, but that was stone. This is ice. That’s a whole ’nother creature.”
He wiped the frost off his blue scalp.
“Sooooo… do you like it?”
Nicholas didn’t answer.
“I don’t care if you do, but if you liked it… that would be coo-oool.”
“Wonderful,” Nicholas said through his teeth.
“I knew it!” Jack spun in another circle.
He circled Nicholas, around and around.
Humming a little song.
“Do you know what we’re celebrating?”
Nicholas stared.
“Why, of course you don’t.” Jack shot the side of his head with his finger and thumb. “Duh. You’ve had the wits sucked out of you. Where are my manners?”
A boulder of ice tumbled into the seats.
“HEY!” Jack cupped his hands. “DON’T SCREW THIS UP OR I’LL EAT YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN!”
He turned to Nicholas.
“I’m just kidding. I won’t eat you. Just the children.”
He laughed.
“Anyways. It’s fitting, a room this size. Big and spacious, something that will hold everyone when we finally put an end to the Fracture, once and for all. When all the elven come together like one big happy family and reclaim the planet. We live on top of the world, you know. We’re on the North Pole while you warmbloods suck the life o
ut of the planet. No offense.”
He did another lap.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” Jack stared.
“You’ve taken my life.”
“Um, a ‘thank you’ would be nice. For not killing you immediately, hello.”
Jack put his hand toward his ear, listening. When Nicholas didn’t respond, the floor crackled loudly. Nicholas could feel the cold enter his feet.
“You warmbloods, so self-centered. You think that the universe revolves around you, that the world owes you something while you get, get, get and me, me, me and take, take, take.”
Jack shook his finger.
“I’ve been watching your memories; I know what you’re about.”
“You mean the ones you took?”
“Yeah. THOSE.” The floor grew colder. “I saw how you grew up with a mother and a father that loved you, saw how everyone gave you what you wanted. I saw you go to bed at night all warm and happy, only to wake up grumpy because YOUR CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE WAS TOO BIG TO FIT IN THE GLASS OF MILK!”
Nicholas’s feet were numb.
“That’s the problem with warmbloods… they’re always unsatisfied. I mean, you fell in a trap, broke your face, your leg, your ribs… and I find you, bring you here and feed you, I keep you from dying and you’re like, uuuuhhh, I want my memories.”
Jack was quivering.
“And do I get a thank you? No, because you’re all about you. You just want, want, want. So how about it, fatboy?”
Jack cupped his ear. His face had turned darker than his lips.
The ice began to burn.
“Thank you.”
“Oh. You’re very welcome.”
Jack’s cheeks returned to pale blue.
“Here’s the deal.” He slowly slid across the floor. “We’re going to take the rest of your memories and guess what? No more pain, buddy. That’s right, you won’t remember what you did yesterday or the day before. All those warm and fuzzy memories, the sweet little ones like when your mommy tucked you in at night and when your son was born… all those will be–”
Snap.
“Gone.”
“Why?” Nicholas asked. “Why take my memories?”
“Because I want to, that’s why.”
Jack darkened as he coasted closer.
“We’ll clone you, of course. We’ll make like, oh, I don’t know, a dozen duplicates that look just like you and we’ll put some memories in these dummies so they know how to buckle their pants. Oh, I almost forgot. We’ll infect them with bacteria, something your people call a plague. And when we have your wife and son, we’ll do the same to them.”
Jack’s mouth formed a perfect O, like a secret just escaped.
“See, Claus was lying. We’re not going to kill your dumb family; we’re going to suck out their memories, too. We’re going to send all three of you skipping down the road WHILE YOU INFECT THE WORLD!”
He threw his hands up.
“YIPPEE!”
Panic seized Nicholas.
They were going to do this to Jessica and Jon. They would be responsible for wiping out humanity.
Jack was distracted, scratching the permafrost on his cheek, trying to remember something–
Nicholas lunged.
Hands out.
Aimed at the little monster’s neck, where somewhere in those thick folds of blubber he could clamp down and squeeze–
Stiffness shot through his feet, zapped his body with cold fire. Arms rigid, he fell like he was carved from wood.
Jack was standing over him. “Man, are you dumb.”
Nicholas felt nothing but the cold hand of fear.
He would lose everything.
Everything.
Guards loaded him onto a stretcher. Jack waved as he was carted off.
There was nothing Nicholas could do to stop it.
C L A U S
44.
“Don’t take your finger off,” Mr. Canoodle said, singsongy. “Unless you meeean it.”
Tinsel had her finger in the center of a red checker, like she was holding it down, and inspected the rest of the board, her tongue wedged between her lips.
Mr. Canoodle’s laugh sounded more like wheezing.
She lifted her finger. “King me,” she declared.
Mr. Canoodle happily stacked a red checker on the one she just slid onto the back row. He hunched over and studied his options. It would be a couple minutes before he moved. She had to put a time limit on him. He was worse than Mr. Greyapple playing chess.
That was a marathon.
The other patients grumbled he was hogging up Tinsel, but he just pretended like his hearing went out when they did.
Fortunately, she didn’t have Mr. Greyapple on that day’s activity schedule. But she did have Mrs. Minutelady for Gin Rummy, Ms. Dazzleburn for dominoes and, finally, Mr. Lullihill for Old Maid (Tinsel played a dozen games with Mr. Lullihill because he was so sweet).
You need to stop, the doctor told Tinsel. No one wants to leave Medical because of you.
Tinsel spent less time helping the doctor with daily tasks and more time with recreation. After two months, that’s all she did was play games. It lifted the patients’ spirits. The doctor brought in another assistant so that Tinsel could unofficially become the Recreational Director of Medical (she made that title up).
Mr. Canoodle reached out his hand – curled like a claw with only one protruding finger – and stabbed one of his black checkers, sliding it three squares to the right. Tinsel didn’t bother looking. He would slide it back. He never made a move without trying out – as he called it – three moves, minimum.
She glanced across the room.
The box was still in the corner. It looked so lonely.
She went back there, from time to time. Sometimes she read a story to the person inside. It had been so long since she’d seen his face (the window was still mostly frosted over) that she had difficulty recalling it with detail.
Sometimes she remembered when she introduced the reindeer to him that very first day, how the reindeer seemed unafraid of him. And then how he took Rudy’s reins and escaped the six-leggers and saved Jocah.
And now he was here, asleep.
“Tinsel.” Clap-clap. “It’s your turn, sweety.”
Mr. Canoodle had moved.
Tinsel picked up the Old Maid cards and put them away.
The reindeer were arriving. She wanted to be on the ice in plenty of time to feed them. She had been experimenting with a new formula – one that would boost their energy – and she was eager to see if they liked it. They were stubborn; even if it was good for them, they wouldn’t eat it if it didn’t taste good.
Like kids.
She’d put away the cards and the dominoes and the checkers. Mr. Greyapple had the chess pieces out, preparing for his next game. He would have to wait a couple days because the colony was relocating in the morning.
They were still on one-week cycles, even though it had been months since Jessica and Nog had left. It was hard on the reindeer, but the leaders were cautious.
Too cautious.
They couldn’t run the reindeer like that forever.
Tinsel stopped by the box.
She felt guilty for not reading a story.
“Tomorrow.” She patted the box. “I’ll read you a new story that one of the writers just finished. I think you’ll like it. It’s about warmbloods. Naughty and nice ones.”
Tinsel walked her fingers up to the window. She leaned over.
“See you tomorrow, Jon.”
She stood up. Stopped.
Leaned back over.
She put her face inches from the window. She rubbed the glass, but the frost was on the inside, but she could see it – barely – but she could see it.
“Doctor!”
She could see Jon’s eyes.
“DOCTOR!”
They were open.
C L A U S
45.
Jocah sat on center stage.
The room was filling. The seats up front were occupied with elven. There wasn’t much conversation, but Jocah felt the undercurrents of exhaustion and impatience. The energy was jagged. Perhaps the rest of the elven were not aware of the sensation, but it was affecting them.
It had been three months.
They were into the summer months when the polar ice cap receded and thinned. The sun was as high as it would reach into the sky. The air was clear and balmy, when the elven children would spend more time above ice than below, playing games and throwing snowballs. Their laughter could be heard deep into the ice, well into warrens. No adult elven could stop smiling when they heard it.
But no laughter today.
Not even smiles.
No one was allowed above the ice anymore. And the one-week relocation intervals were still in effect, despite things seeming normal. Jocah knew that nothing was normal. Perhaps it was not so obvious to her people.
But they didn’t feel the energy.
“If everyone could take their seats.” Garren, the assistant, lifted up his hands and walked the circular stage. “If everyone… everyone… if you could take your seats. Please, now.”
The hub had filled. As it did, the silence was broken with chunks of conversation that became louder. It fed the impatient flow of energy and made it bigger. Made it feel louder.
Jocah sat in the center of the stage, eyes closed. There were others on the stage with her, the committee that included leaders from various parts of the colony, including science, food and transportation. They watched Garren lap the stage without putting a dent in the chaos. He dropped his hands on his hips and whistled.
Nothing.
He reached into the bag on his hip and pulled out a long, gnarly walking stick. He jabbed at the stage.
Boom. Boom. BOOM!
The vibrations coursed under the seats and through the congregation.
Silence, at last.
“Now, if we can get the meeting started, I’d like to begin with the minutes from our last meeting.”
Garren pulled a handheld tablet from the inner pocket of his jacket and tapped it. He read the items from the last meeting. There were only three. He read the first one about communications with Nog and Jessica and how the committee voted against it, winning by a close margin. This set off a wave of murmurs that grew loud enough that Garren asked for quiet and didn’t get it. Arguments broke out and Garren slammed the end of the stick down.
Claus Trilogy (Boxed Set) Page 15