I have no self control. I was *going* to work on homework (hence the not-updating note), but then I thought, "nah, I can quick write out like one page of chapter 21 to start on it. JUST one though." And then I wrote the entire chapter. So...here you go. haha
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Most of the staff at the Drosselmeyer residence was sleeping by the time Eric and Tommy made it back to the house. But since they nor Clara had yet returned from the theatre, the house's butler, Walther, had stayed awake, waiting for them. Walther had been employed by the Drosselmeyers for over twenty years now, and was beloved by all who lived there. With a calm wisdom and a liking for telling stories by the children's bedsides, he was a soothing contrast to the sternness of Clara and Tommy's Grandfather. Nothing seemed to surprise him, nor did he ever seem at a loss of what to do whenever troubles arose.
Yet when Tommy, his face pale from rattled nerves, and Eric, his clothes soaked in mud and river water, came hurrying up the house's front steps, an uncertain apprehension seized Walther. He opened the door to the house and ushered the two inside.
"What in heaven's name happened to you both? And where is Frau Clara?" he asked anxiously. He glanced sharply at Eric, awaiting an explanation.
Eric grimaced. "We were…attacked."
Terror shot through Walther. "Where is Frau Clara?" he repeated.
"They took her!" cried Tommy. "Men on horses, calling her and Eric absurd things, came and took her!" He whirled on Eric. "Who are they? What do they want?" He glanced at Walther and pointed accusingly at Eric. "They know Eric!" He turned back to Eric. "Why do they know you?" He stared up at Eric with pleading eyes, as though begging for Eric to deny it. That he didn't know these men, that Tommy's brother-in-law was not mixed up in something terrible and dangerous – something that Clara shouldn't have been dragged into.
Walther watched Eric closely. "Herr Hoffmann? Did those men know you?"
Eric felt his heart sinking. He had not given much thought to the negative repercussions of deceiving Clara's family so deeply before. When coming up with the elaborate lie about him being from Boston, he had done so solely to be accepted by Clara's grandfather. It did not help his guilt now that the decision had been made for rather selfish reasons – so that he could marry Clara. Yes, Clara had known about it and helped him come up with the intricate backstory, but it was still his life he had lied to the Drosselmeyers about. He had even given them a false surname – taken from his royal enchanter, of all people – to make himself blend into Clara's world better.
And it had worked. Clara's grandfather had – reluctantly – accepted him. Tommy had come to like him immensely, and even Walther had become rather affectionate with him.
He supposed he knew he was going to have to tell them the truth someday. Or perhaps he had been hoping to keep up the deception indefinitely.
Regardless, he had not wanted it to come out like this.
Eric matched Walther's gaze. "Yes," he answered, his voice quiet with shame. "I know them."
He did not think anything else could have made him feel worse. But the bleak disappointment seeping into Walther's eyes felt like an extra punch to Eric's gut.
"It's not what you think," Eric said quickly. "This is not because I am involved in anything illegal or dishonest. It's nothing like that." He felt rather childish defending himself so vehemently, but he could not bear seeing Walther look at him in such a manner.
"That would not have been my presumption, Herr Hoffmann," said Walther, his voice gentle. "I know you are not that kind of man. But who else could you possibly know here? You are a long way from home."
"They're not from here," said Eric. "They…honestly, I'm not sure how they got here."
"Why take Clara?" demanded Tommy, his patience waning. "What does she have to do with any of this?"
"She has nothing to do with it," Eric said. "They aren't here for her. They want me."
"But why?" pressed Tommy.
"Let's just say that they don't like my politics." Eric moved past Walther and Tommy, heading for the staircase that led to Clara's old bedroom, where he and Clara were staying.
"Where are you going?" Tommy rushed after him.
"I need something to find Clara," said Eric, not bothering to glance back at them as he ascended the stairs.
"Apparently he has a special umbrella," Tommy said sarcastically to Walther. He shook his head and bounded up the stairs after Eric, Walther following closely behind. "I think he probably hit his head when he fell into the river, which is why he's acting so strange. He hasn't even gone to the police yet."
"You haven't spoken with the police?" asked Walther in alarm. He and Tommy hurried through the open doorway of Clara's bedroom. Eric was kneeling on the floor in front of his traveling trunk. The lid was open, and Eric was rummaging through his clothes, searching for something.
Eric did not reply. He bent further over the trunk, his brow creasing as he dug. His right arm hung limply at his side, and Walther frowned, only now noticing how Eric favored it in the brighter light of Clara's room.
"Ah!" Eric straightened, pulling out a long black umbrella.
Walther and Tommy knelt beside Eric.
"Well?" asked Tommy, crossing his arms. "What's so important about this umbrella?"
Eric shook his head. "It's not an umbrella."
Tommy threw an exasperated look at Walther. "Told you he hit his head."
Eric smiled ruefully. "My head is fine." He glanced at his arm. "My arm though…" Eric placed the umbrella on the floor. Reaching out, he grasped it with his right hand. His face paled at the nauseating pain surging up his arm at the action, but he kept his hold. Then he spoke, his voice strained as he struggled to ignore the burning in his shoulder.
"Mend the wound and ease the pain
Make it ebb, make it wane."
A strange glow emanated from the tip of the umbrella. It rippled down the object, trailing over Eric's hand before disappearing into the end of the handle. Eric's arm trembled as the magic passed over it, and he bit back a groan as it worked through his inflamed muscles. Then the umbrella stilled, and Eric released it, falling back on his heels in his crouched position.
"That's better," he muttered, massaging his healed arm with his left hand. There was still a faint aching in his shoulder, but it was barely noticeable now. Satisfied at the improvement, Eric glanced up at Tommy and Walther.
Both were staring at Eric with wide eyes. Tommy's mouth drooped open, and he looked at the umbrella in disbelief.
"What…" Tommy sputtered. "What is that thing?"
Eric gave a weak smile. "A family heirloom." He picked the umbrella up, balancing it with both hands. "And also what is going to help us find Clara."
Walther knelt there, stunned, for a long moment. Then he gave himself a shake and nodded briskly. "Very well. If you think this is the best way to find Frau Clara, so be it." He gave Eric a stern look. "But I expect a complete explanation once this is all over."
Eric sighed. "I know." He straightened, setting his jaw in determination as he adjusted the umbrella in his hands. He tightened his grip, willing the magic to work as he spoke.
"Mark the path, don't let it stray
Lead me to her, show me the way."
The umbrella trembled once again. Then a stream of rose-colored magic flowed from the umbrella's tip. It glided across Clara's room to the open door and disappeared into the hallway, continuing to be anchored to the umbrella by one end of magic as the other stretched outwards.
Hope coursed through Eric, and he let out a relieved breath. "It worked."
Tommy blinked in confusion. "What did?"
Oh. Right. Eric glanced at Tommy. He had forgotten about that detail. "This object was made specifically for my family," said Eric. "Only those in my bloodline can use it properly. Which means only I can see the magic of this particular spell."
"Magic?" Tommy squinted at the umbrella. "Where?"
Eric waved at the glowing string that was invisible to everyone but him. "There. It'll lead me to Clara."
Tommy gave Eric a doubtful look. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"
"Did you not just see what it did to my arm?"
Tommy let out a humph. "I suppose. But how do you know it's bringing you to Clara?"
"Everyone has a certain aura to them," explained Eric. He looked back at the rose-colored magic that was so very distinctly Clara. "This is Clara's, without a doubt. I can feel it."
"But you didn't even say her name," pointed out Tommy. "How does it know to find her?"
"Because I focused on her specifically when saying the incantation."
"But how do you know for sure?"
"You ask a lot of questions," said Eric in amusement. He stood and helped Walther up.
"That he does," agreed Walther.
Tommy scowled at the two men.
Eric smiled, then turned to Walther. "She can't be far. I shouldn't have too much trouble now. You and Tommy must stay here and –"
"You are not leaving me behind," snapped Tommy. He pushed himself to his feet, glaring at Eric. "She is my sister. I'm coming with you."
"You're twelve, Tommy. I am not bringing you along," said Eric sternly.
"What does it matter how old I am? I can help you. You can't face all those men by yourself."
"I'll manage," Eric said, raising the umbrella slightly.
"No. You won't," said Tommy. "If you're busy with those men, how are you going to get to Clara at the same time? You can't do everything by yourself. You need someone with you."
"I will not be responsible for putting you in danger."
"You won't be responsible. This is my decision."
Eric shook his head. "No. Imagine what your Grandfather would say if he knew I allowed you to come along?"
"Imagine what he'll say if he comes back and Clara is still missing."
Eric glared at Tommy. Tommy raised his chin triumphantly, in a manner that vaguely reminded Eric of Clara.
"Leave me behind, and I'll follow you," said Tommy. "Either way, I'm going. So you may as well take me along now so you can keep an eye on me."
Eric looked at Walther desperately. Walther sighed, shaking his head. "Tommy, I cannot allow you to put yourself in harm's way," said Walther.
Tommy opened his mouth furiously.
"But," continued Walther. He turned his attention to Eric. "I am not comfortable with you going after Frau Clara alone, either." He sighed, frustrated. "If only I was younger, then I would accompany you myself."
"We don't have time to debate this," said Eric in agitation. He frowned, then sighed and pointed harshly at Tommy. "Fine. You can come. But you will do exactly as I say. You follow every order I give you, without question. Do I make myself clear?"
Tommy nodded.
"Good," snapped Eric. "Now go change out of your formal clothes." He glanced down at his own ruined clothes, which still wetly clung to his body. "I'll meet you in the entryway in five minutes. If you aren't downstairs by then, I'm leaving without you."
Tommy nodded again, fervently. A twinge of nervousness had crept into his expression at Eric's tone, as though he was fully realizing the extent of the danger he was volunteering himself for. But determination overcame the fear, and he hurried from the room.
Eric sighed and glanced at Walther. Walther grimaced, trepidation clear on his face.
"I won't let any harm come to him," said Eric softly.
Walther gave a solemn nod. "I do not doubt your conviction in that sentiment. I only worry for how well you are able to protect both him and Frau Clara." He hesitated. "Perhaps we should call the police."
Eric shook his head. "No. They would only hinder things, and most likely be harmed themselves." He tightened his grip on the umbrella, guilt washing over his expression. "This is all because of me, Walther. Clara should never have been taken by them."
Sympathy flickered over Walther's face, and he rested his hand on Eric's arm. "Guilt will not help you now. Focus on finding her, and leave the blame for a later time."
Eric nodded solemnly.
Walther gave Eric a firm pat. "Good. Now hurry up and change out of those clothes, before you catch your death."
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They took her to a school not far from the Drosselmeyer's neighborhood. Clara had immediately recognized it when they had entered its grounds, as it was the same school she had attended as a young girl. It was incredibly strange to find herself back in such a familiar setting, considering that she there now as the hostage of Parthenian men who had kidnapped her.
And possibly murdered her husband.
She closed her eyes against the thought, forcing back tears. No. Eric was not dead. Just because she had not heard him resurface did not mean he wasn't alive. He could swim, and he would be smart enough to avoid surfacing in view of their attackers.
But he would have to be conscious to do so.
Stop it, she berated herself. But even then, she could not fully push away the mental image of Eric striking his head against a rock or bridge pillar, condemning him to the mercy of the river.
She yanked against the men gripping her arms, gritting her teeth as she was brought to the school's orchestra classroom. She was led to the front of the room and forced into a chair facing the conductor's podium. With no armrests on the chair, her arms were wrenched behind the chair's back and tied.
"Gently, boys," said Vogt, watching closely as his men secured Clara. "She is your queen, after all." He leaned against the railing of the podium casually, emitting an arrogance Clara found highly annoying.
The rope was knotted a final time, and then the men stepped back. Vogt waved at them impatiently. "Why don't you wait for Bairre and Deaglán to come back? They should be here soon, with – if they aren't complete idiots – a very much alive king."
The men nodded, leaving Vogt alone with Clara.
In Vogt's hands was a knife, which he turned over thoughtfully as he studied Clara. "I do apologize for the bonds, Your Majesty. They were not meant for you."
She frowned. "No, they were meant for my husband." The statement was spoken calmly, though rage threaded in the words.
"They were."
"What do you want from us?" demanded Clara. "Gold? Land?" She twisted her hands vainly against the ropes. "I suppose you feel entitled to such riches, regardless of your treason? Was my husband's pardon from the executioner's block not enough?"
"A pardon does little to fill the pockets of a destitute man," said Vogt. He pointed his knife at Clara. "When your husband exiled us, he thought it was an act of mercy. But what does a man who had once been on the king's council, in possession of power and riches, do when all of that is taken away? Am I to wander Parthenia like a beggar, reduced to the dullness of the peasants I once towered above? Simply because fate decided to give that idiotic prince a second chance?" He scoffed. "I have wallowed in humiliation and poverty for too long now."
"When you chose to pledge your allegiance to the Mouse King, you submitted yourself to the consequences that come from treasonous acts," said Clara darkly.
"I was ever loyal to the king before his death," snapped Vogt. "He was a good man. A good king. He chose to give his power to Mauscher. By doing so, he had admitted that his son was an ill fit for the throne." He scowled. "I am loyal to Parthenia. I saw that Mauscher could handle affairs far better than the prince ever could, so I aligned myself with the ruler I knew the kingdom needed. How is such an act treason?"
"But Eric was still the heir, regardless of who was temporarily siting on the throne. As a council member, you had a responsibility to both Mauscher and Eric following his father's death."
"Did I?" Vogt smiled mockingly. "You have a very naive perception of what shapes loyalty. Yes, I was loyal to Mauscher partly because I had a stronger faith in his abilities. But –" He shrugged. "I cannot deny that he also promised to make our allegiance very worth our while."
"So it really is all about the money then," Clara said in disgust.
"Of course not. What an incredibly dull sentiment. Retribution has always been a part of this as well – for the shame your husband set upon us by forcing us from Parthenia." His expression took on a sinister edge. "And justice can be dealt in such wonderfully diverse ways." He ran his thumb over the tip of his knife. "Once the ransom was paid, we were going to give you whatever was left of the king. So there really is no cause for worry; we were fully planning on returning him."
"Just not alive," snarled Clara.
"Well that depends on him," Vogt said casually. "After all, pain tolerance varies widely from person to person."
"Rather barbaric for someone who was once a lord and royal councilman." Clara raised her chin, hoping to look like the regal queen she was supposed to be. But hearing Vogt's intentions for Eric had shaken her nerves severely, and she wondered how obvious her fear really was.
Vogt shrugged.
There was a knock at the classroom door, and it opened to reveal two men Clara recognized from the attack on the bridge.
Vogt turned, looking annoyed by the interruption. Upon seeing the men, anticipation lit up his face. "I was wondering when you two would get here." He frowned. "Where is the king? He's alive, is he not?"
The taller of the two men, whom Clara noticed was clutching a bleeding arm, shuffled nervously. "He's alive," he confirmed, the answer hesitant.
Clara let out a shaky gasp of relief. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she couldn't help the upwards curve of her trembling lips. He's alive. The phrase echoed in her mind, blanketing her fears with desperately needed hope.
Vogt cast a glance at Clara, then focused back on the men. "Then where is he?"
The wounded man pressed his lips together. "He…he got away."
Clara struggled to hold back a happy sob. He was alright. He was free.
Anger flashed in Vogt's eyes briefly. He fell quiet as he pondered the news. "No matter," he finally said. "He'll find his way here regardless."
"How do you know?" asked the shorter man.
Vogt waved his knife at Clara. "He'll come for her. It should not take long, as I'm assuming he brought the scepter." He raised his eyebrows at Clara. "Did he not?"
Clara remained silent.
Vogt smirked. "Of course he did." He turned back to the men. "He'll be here. Watch for him." Vogt's gaze fell upon the man's bleeding arm, and he barked out a laugh. "Seems he got the better of you before escaping, did he?"
The man scowled.
Amused, Vogt waved at the men. "Leave us."
Then men obediently left, and Vogt twisted back around to face Clara once again.
Though relieved at hearing of Eric's escape, Clara could not help the fear plaguing her as she held Vogt's gaze. His plans for Eric seared her thoughts, making her feel sick at the mere possibility of Vogt succeeding in them.
Vogt's gaze traveled over her thoughtfully. "Maybe we should ransom just you to Eric," he mused. "It certainly would be the easier plan, and I'm sure your king will pay plenty for you." He tapped his knife against his chin. "Though that doesn't have quite the same satisfaction." He gave a firm nod, as though deciding. "We shall wait for your husband to come. Once we have him, we shall contact whomever you've left in charge of Parthenia's affairs during your absence. They will pay a more than agreeable sum for you. And their king's body."
A cold dread seized Clara. She opened her mouth, but she had no idea what she was planning to say. A defiant retort? A plea for mercy? She shook her head, blinking back tears.
Vogt pushed himself away from the podium and strode forward. He stopped in front of Clara and tilted his head, taking in her disheveled appearance. Reaching out with the knife, he flicked a loose strand of her hair over her shoulder with the blade. Clara flinched, then turned her head away from him, tightening her jaw.
He chuckled. "I must admit, you weren't what I was expecting. I always thought he would wed some witless girl as useless as he."
Clara gritted her teeth, refusing to respond.
Vogt pulled the knife away and slipped it back into the sheath on his belt. "But you need not worry; I will not harm you." He turned away from Clara and walked to the door. "Do not fret, Your Majesty – you shall see your husband soon enough."
He locked the door behind him, leaving Clara alone in the empty room.