Drosselmeyer: Curse of the Rat King Read online

  DROSSELMEYER

  Curse of the Rat King

  Copyright © 2021 by Paul Thompson. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ISBN: 978-1-7372498-0-1

  211 E. Louisiana St. Suite B

  McKinney, TX 75069

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Design by Transcendent Publishing

  Editing by DragonflyWings.Ink

  Dedication

  For my best friend, Andrew.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  Backstory

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “There will always be weak people. There will always be powerful people. There will always be tyrants until someone stands up and says, ‘No.’”

  —Othar, First Wizard of The Order

  Fritz awoke with a start.

  He blinked and stretched, causing dollops of snow to fall over the edge of the roof and plummet three stories to the cobbled driveway below. The muffled plops echoed off the old, stone front of the orphanage.

  The afternoon patch of sun was now gone, replaced by the blue-gray hues of evening.

  Several floors below him, Dolph shouted his name, mingled with epithets and curses. His voice reverberated through each crumbling floor of the orphanage.

  As Fritz scrambled to his feet, a small, gold pendant hanging from a leather strap fell from under his shirt. He tucked it against his chest, closed the threadbare layers over it, and cinched his coat tighter.

  The residents of Ivanov’s Home for Orphaned Boys were not permitted to own jewelry. If anyone arrived with anything remotely valuable, it was immediately confiscated and either sold or added to Ivanov’s personal collection.

  Ten years ago, when Fritz first arrived at the orphanage, he had hidden the coin-sized piece of gold in his mouth, fearful that his only family heirloom would be taken from him.

  Nurse Galina had paid no attention to him then, choosing instead to coo over his infant brother, Franz. Her only words to him had been, “Not a talker, are we? Probably for the best.”

  Fritz couldn’t make out the threats Dolph was currently hurling at him in absentia, but he knew the habitually drunk foreman would try to make good on all of them.

  Headmaster Ivanov seemed uninterested in Dolph’s treatment of the boys. As long as his coffers remained full from the orphanage laundry business, he stayed in his office high above the main workroom. From time to time, though, he would exit his lair, pace the balcony, and choose an unsuspecting boy. After climbing the twisting iron stairs for a meeting in Ivanov’s office, the boy would return to his post a short time later with no explanation for his fresh bruises.

  Fritz squeezed through the small window that led from the roof into the attic and picked up the sack of soiled linens that he should have delivered to the wash station hours ago. He raced down the stairs, around the corner, and plopped the sack down by the giant wash cauldron.

  A gaunt-faced boy pushed the stewing clothes around a basin with a long stick in slow, repetitive circles. He jutted his chin toward the sound of the yelling.

  Fritz sighed heavily and rounded the doorway into the large central room where stations of boys folded, ironed, and sewed articles of clothing for the wealthy citizens of the Central Kingdom.

  “Here, sir,” Fritz said.

  Dolph squinted. The veins in his jaundiced eyes stood out against his leathered skin.

  “Where’ve you been?” he slurred. Fritz made out the profile of a flask in Dolph’s coat pocket. The large man teetered unsteadily.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Fritz mumbled. “There was a problem in the washroom.”

  “A problem in the washroom,” Dolph repeated, mocking him. The large foreman slapped Fritz with the back of his hand. The boy stumbled back, clutching the reddening patch on his face. “I don’t have use for boys who don’t work.”

  Dolph lumbered over to Fritz, his short, squat body more than double the size of the younger boy’s emaciated frame. He leaned in and whispered, his alcohol-soaked breath making Fritz recoil, “Can your brother do that memorizing thing? Ivanov only needs one of you to keep records. Maybe we should send Franz up to Ivanov’s to find out.” Fritz stiffened. He reflexively looked over to where his younger brother stood at the end of a table, folding clothes.

  Dolph followed his glance and then pulled Fritz in closer—his large, fleshy chest pushed up snug against Fritz’s shoulder. “You got privileges because you’re useful. Once you’re not useful, you got no privileges.” The large man stepped back and barked, “Franz! Get over here.”

  The ten-year-old looked up, frozen with terror.

  Fritz felt his heart pounding. His breathing quickened.

  Dolph screamed again, saliva flecking his lips. “Hey! I said get over here.”

  Franz inched toward him. He stopped just outside of the drunk man’s reach.

  “Your brother is slacking off on his duties,” Dolph shouted to Franz. The room went quiet; all eyes shifted to the unfolding scene. “That means that every boy in this room …” Dolph turned in a clumsy circle, “has to do extra to cover for him.”

  Franz fought back tears. Fritz continued to look at his brother, trying to comfort him from several feet away.

  “He disrespected you all,” Dolph bellowed. “He disrespected me. And you know how my Da used to deal with us boys when we disrespected him?”

  No one answered. He reared his fist back and swung. Fritz toppled sideways, cracking his head on a nearby table. He curled into a ball on the floor, clutching his wound. Warm blood oozed from the gash, covering his fingers in a slick, red film.

  “My Da taught us boys right!” Dolph yelled and kicked Fritz’s curled body. “We didn’t disrespect our elders.” He grabbed a nearby table for leverage and kicked again. Fritz cried out in pain as the boot connected with the lower half of his back.

  “And you think because you got some kind of smarts that you’re something special. Well, you’re not.” Dolph’s crazed eyes went wide.

  Fritz shielded his head and face with his arm.

  “You’re nothing!” Dolph yelled. He punctuated his speech with unsteady kicks. “And you … don’t get … to disrespect … ME.”

  He lifted his leg, preparing to stomp on the prostrate boy, when a raspy female voice stopped him. “That’s enough, Dolph.” All heads turned toward the commanding tone. Nurse Galina descended the back stairwell, her wrinkled eyes, cheeks, and lips set in a pursed scowl.


  Dolph inched closer to Fritz’s prone body like a dog protecting his bone. “He started it.”

  “And it looks like you finished it,” Nurse Galina barked back. She was nearly two feet shorter than the large man, but he backed up when she approached. “Are you satisfied with your victory over a sixteen-year-old boy?”

  The two stared intensely at each other, locked in a silent power struggle. Dolph glowered, made a vulgar gesture, then plowed through a huddled group of boys as he stormed out the door.

  Nurse Galina knelt by Fritz and patted his cheek until he came to. “Take him to the stacks, and let him rest ’til the end of shift,” she directed three tall boys. “The rest of you get back to work!” she yelled to the room and the boys complied, scooting tables back into place, righting fallen piles of laundry, and continuing with their tasks as if they had never been interrupted.

  The sharp staccato of her shoes punctuated the somber atmosphere as she ascended the stairs in the back and disappeared through the door that led to Ivanov’s office.

  Later that night, Fritz lay in bed trying not to move. His left eye, cheek, and lips were swollen. The bruising had settled into dark shades of purple and red. His head still pounded, and a high-pitched ring droned in his ears.

  “Are you feeling better?” Franz inched closer to him on their shared bed.

  “A little.” He lied.

  “A lot of boys got adopted today after shift,” Franz said. He forced a meager grin but his own green eyes clouded over as he struggled to hold back his emotion.

  “That’s exciting.” Fritz tried to encourage his brother. “We should be happy for them.”

  “Why didn’t we get adopted? Will we ever get to leave?” Franz asked, now disconsolate.

  “I don’t know,” said Fritz. “But it doesn’t matter because we’ll always have each other, and that’s more than most people have.”

  Franz sniffed and wiped his nose with his wrist. “When I get big, I’m going to break Dolph’s arm.”

  “You do that, Franz.” Fritz winced and scooted farther under the blanket.

  “Fritz, can you tell me a story?”

  “I’m not really in a storytelling mood.”

  “Just a short one? The one Mom used to tell you about the knight and the dragon?” A single tear streaked down Franz’s dirty face, and Fritz raised his hand to wipe it away. A jolt of pain shot through his arm.

  “Ok. A short story. But you have to close your eyes and keep them closed.”

  Franz obeyed. Fritz closed his own eyes as he replayed a scene from his childhood in his mind. He was in a nursery. Franz was lying nearby in a white bassinet, and he was sitting on his mother’s lap. Her dress was soft and warm from the sunlight beaming in through the window. The gauzy curtains swished gently in the breeze, and Fritz rubbed a curly strand of his own hair between his fingers as his mother read his favorite book. He could still see every line and color on the page, the shape of every letter still vivid in his memory. Even now, he imagined her soothing, tranquil voice reading to him as he told Franz the familiar story.

  A knight charged into a cave to battle a dragon living there. His shield melted in the dragon’s flame, but he kept on fighting. His sword snapped against the dragon’s hide, but he pushed on. He was too weak to wear his armor, so he shed it.

  The sight of the knight in his underclothing caused the dragon to laugh. He laughed so hard that tears started falling from his eyes. The knight began to laugh with him, and they soon became fast friends. Once a week, the knight visited the dragon for dinner, and they lived happily as friends for the rest of their lives.

  Franz yawned. “Is the cave warm?”

  “Yes,” said Fritz.

  “Does the knight get to eat until he’s full?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wish I was the knight.”

  Franz’s breathing steadied, and he drifted to sleep. Fritz closed his eyes and saw his mom lean over and kiss him on his forehead. And then he, too, fell asleep.

  Days later, Fritz sat folding a pile of sheets at one of the tables in the main hall. The swelling in his face had subsided, and the fuzzy shapes in his left eye were sharpening into clear images.

  From his balcony high above the workers, Ivanov watched the boys with darting eyes. He flicked his tongue over his wrinkled lips, his spindly fingers wrapped tightly around the rail.

  “Adrian, I would like to see you in my office.” The sound of Ivanov’s raspy voice made everyone freeze.

  Adrian fixed his stare at the shirt he was folding and began to tremble. Dolph slapped the back of his head. “Headmaster wants to see you.”

  Adrian stood up slowly and reluctantly made his way to the back stairs. Ivanov walked into his office, and Adrian followed silently. When he closed the office door behind him, the workroom, already quiet, hushed to an unsettling silence.

  A few moments later, they heard Adrian scream. There was a loud thump on the floor, and Adrian cried out again—this time, muffled. Fritz choked back the bile rising in his throat.

  “Hey,” Dolph yelled, cuffing a nearby worker. “Get back to work.” The boys complied, wary of catching the larger man’s ire.

  A few moments later, Adrian descended the stairs and returned to work, his face streaked with tears. His right eye was already darkening with a bruise. Fritz rose from his chair and limped over to the young boy.

  “Sit down!” Dolph yelled from across the room, but Fritz ignored him.

  He knelt down next to Adrian and put his hand around his shoulder. Adrian flinched at the touch but calmed after seeing Fritz. “Are you ok?” Fritz asked him.

  Tears rolled down Adrian’s cheeks—a silent answer to Fritz’s question.

  “I. Said. Sit. Down.” Dolph cast a warning glance then crossed the floor to Fritz.

  Adrian buried his face in his hands and began sobbing.

  Dolph grabbed the back of Fritz’s shirt and started to shake him. “I said …” Dolph began, but never finished.

  Fritz dropped out of his overcoat, leaving Dolph with an empty piece of clothing and a shocked expression on his face. Before the lumbering man could react, Fritz turned and kneed him between the legs. Dolph grunted and dropped to the floor.

  Fritz leaned over to Adrian. “I want you to go see Nurse Galina, ok? She will protect you.”

  Adrian moved from his seat, stepping over a pile of laundry.

  “Franz!” Fritz called out. Franz ran over to him, giving Dolph a wide berth. “Take Adrian up to Nurse Galina. Tell her he needs help.”

  Without question, Franz obeyed and hurried to Adrian’s side.

  “Watch out!” Adrian screamed.

  Fritz ducked instinctively, and Dolph’s fist narrowly missed his head. Franz turned to run, but Dolph grabbed him by the arm. Fritz struck Dolph’s face, but the blow barely stunned the large man.

  Dolph grabbed Fritz with his free hand, raised him up, and slammed him down on a table. Fritz wheezed as the breath was knocked out of him. He searched nearby for anything to defend himself with, grabbed a hot iron, and held it against Dolph’s head. The man recoiled, clutching his seared scalp, and swore.

  Ivanov, alerted by the shouts and screams, exited his office to witness the melee from above. His tongue darted over his lips, leaving a wet slick over the cracked skin.

  Dolph overturned a large table in front of Fritz and Franz, blocking their path. Fritz tugged his brother away from Dolph, but he was too slow, and the enraged drunk grabbed Franz’s arm and twisted it until the boy shrieked in pain.

  Fritz swung his fist at the large foreman to no avail. Dolph easily caught him by the wrist, twisting it until Fritz had to stand on his toes to keep the bones from snapping.

  Ivanov paced from one corner of his loft to the other, his thinning hair falling in wispy strands over his face. “Dolph, bring them both up here.”

  Dolph dragged the boys up the stairs with little difficulty.

  “Take Fritz to the box,” Ivanov said,
rubbing his hands together. His wanton gaze fell on Franz as he licked his lips. “Leave the young one with me.”

  “No!” Fritz screamed in protest and kicked as hard as he could. Dolph drove his fist into Fritz’s gut and yanked him out of the office. As the door closed, Fritz saw Ivanov run his spindly fingers over the collar of Franz’s shirt.

  Helpless, Fritz cried, “Please, don’t do this.”

  Dolph dragged him toward a small, upright cabinet at the end of the hallway. He opened the door and shoved Fritz into it. Fritz tried to jump out before the large man could shut him in, but Dolph punched him in the chest, and Fritz crumpled backward.

  Dolph recoiled with a yelp and looked at the red welt forming on his knuckles. “What are you hiding under there?” He ripped open Fritz’s shirt and fingered the gold pendant hanging from the boy’s neck. “What’s this?”

  Dolph ripped the medallion free and scrutinized the small, gold charm. Fritz reached for the heirloom, but Dolph closed the thick wooden doors on him and dropped the lock in place.

  The tiny prison, barely big enough to stand in, allowed no extra space for leveraging any kicks. Even if it had, Fritz wasn’t strong enough to do any damage to the old, hardened wood. Fritz ran his fingertips over the surface of the door, knocking and crying out at intervals.

  Dolph’s taunting whisper could be heard just outside the door. “You know what’s going on with your brother in there? Can’t be very pleasant. Too bad you’re locked in the box.”

  Fritz yelled in primal rage. As his anger grew, so did the volume of his scream. The sound soon turned into a rumble that shook the entire cabinet. His mind filled with a blazing white light. A small point of pressure began to build behind his eyelids. His fists began to burn as his feeble pounding on the side of the wooden cabinet deepened into quick, methodical thuds.

  Dolph rapped on the door with his fleshy fists. “Shut up. I can barely hear what’s going on in the office.” He snorted at his own taunt.

  Fritz stopped yelling. His vision blurred white and then snapped into crystalline focus. A force erupted from his body, pinning him hard to the back of the box.

  The locked door exploded outward, hurling Dolph backward from the blast. Thousands of splinters pelted the walls on all sides of the cabinet.