Drosselmeyer: Curse of the Rat King Read online

  “Here. With Boroda.”

  “Then where will I be?” Franz clutched his skates close to his chest.

  “Boroda knows a family who wants to adopt you. Just like when some of the boys leave the orphanage to be with new families. Franz, you’re going to get a new family.” Fritz tried to sound happy, but his voice caught.

  “But you won’t be coming with me?” Franz asked.

  Fritz shook his head.

  Franz sniffed and stepped back. “But you said we would always have each other.”

  Fritz hugged him tightly. “I will still be your brother. Nothing can change that. But this is a chance for you to have a mom and dad—and our mom and dad would have wanted that. They’ll love you and take care of you. Can you do this? For me?”

  Franz stared at Fritz, his green eyes glistening with tears. He nodded and wiped his nose on his scarf. “Promise you will come and see me?”

  Fritz glanced down at his feet. “Whenever I can.”

  They walked back to the house in silence but once seated by the large fire in the kitchen, they began to imagine what life would be like living with rich parents. Fritz made up stories about furniture made of cake and fountains of hot chocolate that Franz’s new family probably owned. Franz laughed and pantomimed jumping in and swimming in such a pool.

  Boroda returned in a hiss of mist, interrupting their levity, and strode over to the fire. “The General and his wife are very eager to meet their new son.”

  Franz held on to Fritz in a tight hug.

  Fritz pulled away and looked him in the eyes. “Goodbye, Franz. I love you.”

  Franz lifted his chin bravely and stepped back from Fritz. “I love you, too.”

  Franz took Boroda’s outstretched hand and in a flash of smoke, they were gone.

  Chapter 3

  While Fritz waited for Boroda to return, he wandered around the house poking his head into each of the many rooms, opening closets and drawers, and running his fingers over the clothes and trinkets he found there. From thick fur coats twice the size of Fritz to delicate silk gowns speckled with semiprecious jewels, each room held treasures more glorious and exquisite than he had ever seen.

  Every room also had multiple clocks, either on the walls or standing tall in a corner. Some were ornate, some plain, but each one clicked in perfect unison. Even the greenhouse had clocks with vines and flowers carved out of exotic wood. When the hour struck, several clocks chimed and little figurines popped out to mark the time.

  Fritz discovered the kitchen and helped himself to a board laden with cheese, cured meats, and sandwiches. A wooden clock with crooked hands and poorly painted numbers hung above the counter. Every other clock spun with exactitude, but this one ticked asymmetrically.

  With bread in hand, Fritz climbed on the counter to get a better look at the crude gouges carved into the wood. They looked as though they were made from a carving knife. Although he had never learned to read, he recognized the gashes as letters, something he’d seen on tags labeling sacks of laundry at the orphanage.

  He traced the letters with his hands and committed them to memory. Fritz hopped down and cut a piece of meat from the charcuterie and retraced the shapes from the clock into the bread crumbs on the board.

  His ability to memorize shapes, colors, and details had made him an invaluable asset at the orphanage. Even though he couldn’t read words on tags, he could remember the shapes of the letters and which clothes belonged with which name.

  On long winter nights, the boys in his bunk room enjoyed his unique ability of describing, in vivid detail, pictures he had seen and stories his mom had told him years ago.

  He had stuffed another bread and cheese sandwich in his mouth when Boroda’s voice made him gasp. He coughed until the food dislodged from his windpipe.

  “Fritz, time for your first lesson.” Boroda motioned to a chair at the kitchen table.

  Fritz swallowed. “Yes, sir. Um, did Franz seem ok?”

  Boroda ignored the question and folded his hands loosely on the table. “There are several types of magic to learn about: magic of the will, spells, enchantments, and potions.”

  Boroda dug in his pocket and handed him a small charm. Simple, twisting strands of silver hung on a thin, silver chain.

  “Before I forget, this is your apprentice charm.”

  Fritz took it.

  “I will teach you to store spells later, but for now …” He stood up. “Let’s learn to travel.”

  “To where?” Fritz asked.

  Again, Boroda ignored him and continued his lesson, glancing at Fritz intermittently. “Traveling is a magic of the will. To travel, you need only picture where you want to go and then will your body to be there.”

  “Can I go anywhere?” Fritz asked.

  “If you’ve been there before, yes.”

  Fritz frowned. “I’ve only been to the orphanage, and I’d rather not go back.”

  “Then go to your room.”

  Fritz shrugged, closed his eyes, and pictured the room. Nothing happened.

  “Do I have to say something?” he asked, opening his eyes.

  “No. You have to will yourself to be there,” Boroda said. “What you do is often preceded by what you want, so, if you WANT to go to your room, then you WILL go to your room.”

  Fritz closed his eyes again.

  He tried to envision his room but could only picture Franz opening up the curtains. His breath quickened, and a lump rose in his throat.

  “Open your eyes,” Boroda commanded. He was holding a small box in his hand. “Your brother gave me something to give to you—to remember him by.”

  The box vanished as Fritz reached for it.

  “It’s on your bed now,” Boroda told him, holding out his empty palms.

  Fritz felt a pang of loneliness and turned to race up the stairs but, instead, ran headlong into his bedpost. He fell back on the floor, clutching his eye as smoke drifted away from him and faded into nothing. Ignoring the excitement of his magical accomplishment, he scrambled to the bed and tore open the box.

  It was empty.

  “Congratulations. You traveled.” Boroda stepped from his own plume of mist.

  Fritz held out the box. “There’s nothing in here.”

  “No,” Boroda said. “But you traveled to it because you wanted it. What did it feel like?”

  Fritz scowled. “It felt like a tug. My whole body sort of lurched.”

  Rubbing a bump over his eye, he said, “I also hit my head on the bedpost.”

  “Because you were running when you traveled,” said Boroda. “If you’re running when you travel, you’ll be running when you arrive. That’s important to remember—especially if you’re traveling anywhere near a cliff.”

  Fritz looked confused.

  “Magic of the will does not expend much energy,” Boroda explained. “You could travel or use telepathy all day and be fine. It does, however, require knowledge. Take shape-shifting, for instance.”

  Excited, Fritz interrupted. “I can shape-shift?”

  “Yes,” Boroda said. “But it requires a lot of knowledge or else you end up as a fox with unusable leg joints or a fish that doesn’t have the correct lungs to breathe underwater.”

  “Oh … ok.” Fritz hesitated.

  “You must first know how tendons and sockets work before you can shape-shift into something that uses them.”

  Boroda reached out toward a chair and pulled his hand back. The chair slid across the floor and stopped behind Fritz. “Kinesis is also a magic of the will, but it’s a power you need to be smart about.”

  He made another motion. A chair materialized a few feet behind him and slid to his position. He sat. “Moving things requires lifting their weight. Lifting will drain your energy quickly if you try to muscle your way through the lift—sort of like what you did with Ivanov. When you destroyed your prison box, threw Dolph across the room, and rag-tossed Ivanov, your magic required the same energy as if you’d done all of that phy
sically. That’s why you passed out and nearly died from the energy drain.”

  Fritz sickened at the memory. “What’s the point of moving something by magic if it takes the same energy to do it naturally?”

  Boroda cocked his head. “Mostly for convenience.” He pulled out a thick, silver medallion. “But, if you find yourself in a situation where you need to move heavier objects, we can store energy in these.”

  Fritz held up his minuscule charm.

  “Yes, even in that,” Boroda told him. “You’d be surprised at how much can fit in an apprentice charm.”

  Fritz turned it over in his hands.

  “It is a very pure silver—much different from the sort that women use for jewelry. It acts as a sort of purse you can put …”

  The clocks chimed in unison, and Boroda stared at the wall in disbelief. He clapped his hands and rose up from his chair.

  “I’m afraid that is all for your training today. We have to get your clothing before the shops close,” he said.

  “At a real shop?” Fritz brightened.

  “As opposed to?” Boroda questioned him.

  Fritz wiggled his fingers. “Why wouldn’t you just …”

  “I can’t create something out of nothing,” Boroda answered. “Wizards have to buy stuff just like everybody else.”

  He swirled his cloak around them both. They vanished, then instantly reappeared in a darkly lit stone courtyard. Boroda walked out of the enclosure and down a small alley.

  Fritz followed, small tendrils of mist trailing behind.

  “Where are we?” Fritz puffed, trying to match Boroda’s stride.

  “Anadorn Market.” Boroda walked to the end of the lane and turned up another street with a set of steep, uneven stairs. “There are shops here that are used to dealing with our kind.” He motioned to a clothing shop, and Fritz walked up the cracked steps to the aged, oak door.

  They entered the clothier’s shop, and a short man with an unusually long salt-and-pepper mustache greeted them. “Welcome to Worthington’s. How may I assist you?” he asked in a slow, nasal tone.

  Boroda addressed the short tailor. “I’d like five outfits, general-purpose; one dress, with hat and cape; and five uniforms, two winter and three summer.”

  The man nodded and waddled over to Fritz. “The uniforms will be for St. Michael’s, yes?”

  “Yes,” Boroda replied. “And top priority on the dress outfit.”

  The tiny man nodded again and motioned for Fritz to hold his arms out by his sides, then directly above his head. Fritz mimicked his movements, expecting him to pull out a tape like the boys who sewed garments at the orphanage.

  The short man squatted, and Fritz followed suit. For the next several minutes, they stood in various poses, moving their arms and legs in all directions. Finally, the short man twiddled his mustache and announced he was finished.

  Boroda handed him some coins. “Deliver them to the market on Anadorn Square.”

  “Is he not going to take my measurements?” Fritz asked as they hurried down the alley.

  “He did,” Boroda replied curtly.

  “But he didn’t have a tape. How is he going to get accurate measurements without a tape?”

  Boroda didn’t respond.

  “And what is St. Michael’s?” Fritz was breathing hard, caught between a walk and a jog.

  “It’s the school you will be attending at the start of this next term.”

  “School?” Fritz said. “I’ve never been to school. I don’t even know how to read.”

  Boroda stopped and turned toward Fritz with a slow, grinding turn on his heels. “You never learned how to read?”

  Fritz shook his head. “They didn’t think it was important at the orphanage. None of us learned how to read.”

  Boroda rubbed his eyebrows and groaned. “This certainly complicates things.”

  “I’m a fast learner,” Fritz assured him.

  “We’ll worry about that later,” Boroda sighed. “For now, let’s concentrate on getting ready for the Life Bond ceremony tomorrow.”

  He stopped outside a shoe shop. “In here.”

  A large sign decorated in colorful swirls and scrolling letters read: Pemberton’s Shoe Shop.

  The door chimed, and a shopgirl poked her head out from behind a stack of boxes on the counter. “Can I help you?”

  Her eyes widened in recognition. She jumped up and bowed to Boroda. “Pardon me. I didn’t know it was you. Are your shoes in need of repair?”

  “No,” Boroda said and motioned to Fritz. “He needs shoes. Dress, general-purpose, and school.”

  The girl bowed and faced Fritz. “I’m Sadie.”

  “I’m …” Fritz began but was cut off by a sharp cough from Boroda. “Happy to make your acquaintance.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Let’s get you some shoes.”

  Sadie measured his feet and rambled aimlessly from one topic to another while fitting him. Fritz enjoyed hearing her speak. He hadn’t met many girls and the high, tinkling laughter in her voice made him smile.

  When she was satisfied with the fit and styles, Sadie packaged up the pairs of shoes and smiled broadly at Boroda and Fritz. “That should do it!”

  Boroda paid her.

  “Anadorn Market?” Sadie asked.

  Boroda nodded, put his hat back on, and exited the shop without a word.

  Fritz smiled and waved timidly at Sadie. She returned the gesture with a bright grin and brisk shake of her hand.

  Boroda stopped for an early supper in a nearby pub. The air smelled heavily of cooked meats and beer, and the strains of an ill-tuned instrument wafted from a far corner.

  Behind the bar, an enormously large woman with darkened stubble on her chin stopped wiping the counter when they entered. Her bulbous nose covered much of her face, and her lips, painted bright red, were half hidden by it. She motioned to a table in the back.

  Boroda sat down at the dimly lit table.

  Fritz collapsed in the seat opposite him. “I am worn out.”

  “Yes,” Boroda said. “We will need to work on your fitness. All in due time, though.”

  The large woman approached with two beers and two bowls of stew, then turned and left.

  Fritz devoured the food and guzzled the beer. Boroda took a few bites, then slid the bowl away. Fritz eyed the stew.

  “Tomorrow, when we meet with The Order to perform the Life Bond ceremony, I need you to follow a few instructions.”

  Fritz nodded slowly, keeping his eye on the neglected bowl of stew. Noticing the distraction, Boroda sighed and shoved his uneaten bowl to Fritz. The boy snatched it and began to eat the second bowl in wolfish bites.

  “I need you to follow a few instructions,” he reiterated. “Do not talk unless you are asked a question …” Boroda paused. “And even then, I will let you know if you can answer. In the world of magic, knowledge is the most powerful tool you have. The wizards of The Order and their apprentices will try to get as much information from you as they can. Your job is to give them as little as possible.”

  “Don’t you trust each other?” Fritz scraped the bottom of the second bowl and looked at the bar, wondering if he could get another.

  “Yes and no,” Boroda answered. “The Order is unified in the purpose of keeping the Five Kingdoms from entering war.

  “We are, however, less unified about how The Order should be run. Like any other institution, there can be … power struggles.”

  Fritz noticed Boroda was particularly careful choosing his words.

  He continued, “Secondly, do not trust the other apprentices. You may tell them your name and only that.”

  “My real name or my fake name that I don’t have yet?” Fritz reminded him.

  Boroda drank the last of his beer and set the mug down. “Your fake name. I will assign you one. Later, though.”

  Boroda stood, left a coin on the table, and they both walked down the labyrinth of alleyways back to the courtyard where they had arrived in
a puff of smoke.

  “See you at the house,” Boroda said and disappeared.

  Fritz was about to follow Boroda when someone spoke.

  “Hello.”

  Fritz jumped.

  A small boy sat atop the crumbling fountain wall, dipping his feet in the icy water. He was covered in a thick layer of soot, and his bright blue eyes sparkled like two small sapphires set on black velvet.

  “Are you a wizard?” he asked with wonderment.

  Fritz stood, stunned, unsure of what to do. “Who are you?” he finally demanded.

  “I’m Toby,” the boy said and held out his hand.

  Fritz shook it warily. “Nice to meet you, Toby.”

  “Are you a wizard, like your friend?” he asked again with a smile.

  Fritz didn’t know how to dodge the question. “No. Not yet. But I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”

  “That’s ok,” Toby said as he swung his feet around, sliding them into a pair of shoes barely attached to their soles. “I won’t tell anybody. Where did the other man go?”

  Fritz furrowed his brow. “I honestly don’t know.”

  Toby stood to his feet gingerly and grimaced.

  “Why are you putting your feet in the water, anyway? It’s freezing,” Fritz said. He held out his arm so Toby could use it to balance while he slid his other foot into the shoe.

  “I deliver coal for Mr. Nickleson, but my shoes aren’t very comfortable. After I finish all my deliveries, I like to soak them here for a little while. It’s more comfortable in summer.”

  “It may be time to buy some new shoes.”

  “I don’t have enough money yet.” Toby brightened. “If you need anyone to deliver anything, you can find me at Mr. Nickleson’s. I’m really cheap.”

  Feeling awkward, Fritz stiffened. “Ok. Sure. I’ll do that.”

  Toby shook Fritz’s hand again, then he raced out of the fountain plaza, singing a bouncy folk tune.

  Fritz closed his eyes and stepped forward. He felt a tug and when he opened his eyes, he was looking in the mirror perched atop his dresser. The fog thinned out around him and melted away.

  Boroda knocked on the door, causing Fritz to jump a second time, then entered the room unbidden. He crossed to the closet, opened it, and waved his hand. An outfit appeared. It looked similar to Boroda’s except the vest was gold instead of crimson.