Despite the cacophony of a myriad of ticking clocks, Drosselmeier, the well-sought-after clock-and-toy-maker, heard the unmistakable tinkling of his front bell, telling him someone had just entered his shop. He quickly flipped his eye patch down; it wouldn't do for anyone to know a perfectly healthy eye lie beneath it. Wiping his greased fingers on a towel, he left his task on the workbench and stepped into the shop proper.

"Herr Drosselmeier!" came a hearty greeting from the equally hearty man standing just inside his door. The newcomer courteously tapped the tips of each if his boots on the welcome mat, knocking off the snow, then stepped up to the counter.

"Herr Stahlbaum," Drosselmeier returned with a smile and a bow of his head.

Stahlbaum's smile faded a little when he saw how tired his old friend looked. "How is Erich doing? Any progress in his recovery?" he asked tentatively. "I haven't heard from Christoph in weeks."

Christoph Drosselmeier was the clock-maker's nephew, and a merchant. A business partner and an old friend of Stahlbaum's, he lived in a city three hours away by coach. Stahlbaum knew the elder Drosselmeier made weekly trips to Christoph's estate, to visit his great-nephew, Erich: the boy had fallen from a tree six months prior.

"Unchanged, I'm afraid," Drosselmeier answered. "His eyes are open, he eats, they can even get him to walk about when he's led by the hand, but ... otherwise, he's still catatonic. It's as if his body were a house where the lights are on, but no one is actually home  ... Ah, but he's been like this so long now, I don't think his parents hold much hope that he will ever recover," he sighed. "What about you and yours, Stahlbaum? I hope my goddaughter is well?"

Stahlbaum nodded. "She is, she is, although she's a bit distressed. It's why I've come to see you, in fact, though I know how busy you are."

"Oh?"

Stahlbaum removed a wrapped bundle from his cloak and handed it to the elder man. "Fritz was playing with it the other day, when Marie wasn't looking," he explained, while the tinker unwrapped the item. "The little fool put a cannonball in it. Don't know what he expected to happen, other than for it to get broken," he muttered. In the bundle was a stranger-than-usual nutcracker, its handle splintered. "I'm not sure whether Marie is more upset over the fact that she can't crack walnuts with it anymore—you know how fond she is of them—or the simple fact that it's busted. I offered to just buy her a new nutcracker, but she seems terribly fond of this one. Can you fix it?"

Drosselmeier raised the bow over his patchless eye.

Stahlbaum put his hands up in a surrendering gesture.

"All right, all right! Not 'Can you fix it,' but 'Will you fix it'? I know this is your busiest time of year, and you have plenty of tasks far more worthy of your skills...."

Drosselmeier gave him a wry smile. "Worry not, my dear friend, Marie will have her dear nutcracker back, hale and whole. But she will have to wait till Midwinter's Eve, when I come for that party of yours."

Stahlbaum grinned. "Fair enough, fair enough!" He drew out his purse. "And how much do I owe you?" For anyone wishing for Drosselmeier's skilled hands to be put to a task they desired of him had to be prepared to pay a pretty penny up front.

Well, usually they did.

Drosselmeier waved a hand at his friend. "Put that away! She's my goddaughter, isn't she? And it will take very little effort on my part to fix this. Consider it a part of my present to her."

"Well, then! I reckon I'd better leave you to your work!" Stahlbaum smiled warmly and offered his hand, which the elder gentleman shook firmly. "Goodness, Drosselmeier, old fellow, your hands are like ice! Maybe you should be a little less frugal with the coal in the workshop!"

The old man laughed. "You know what they say, Stahlbaum: 'Cold hands, warm heart!'"

With a laugh and a wave, the sommewhat-younger man stepped back out into the cold. Drosselmeier stepped back into his work area, his attention focused on his new 'patient'.

"Well, my old friend," he asked it. "How are you and Marie getting along?" For while Stahlbaum believed the doll to be just an old family heirloom of his wife's, the toy-maker was actually well-acquainted with it. "You've no idea how happy I am that Stahlbaum brought you to me today; now I know just what to make for the party this year!" And the old man immediately set all his other work aside, to begin work on a new piece under the nutcracker's watchful eye.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Good show, old man, good show! You've outdone yourself this year!" Stahlbaum patted Drosselmeier heartily on the shoulder, nearly knocking the slender, frail-looking man over. Many of the guests congratulated him as well, but the only reaction the old gentleman seemed to care about was that of the sixteen-year-old who was examining the workings of his latest clockwork marvel with intense concentration.

"Do you like it, Marie?" he asked her, when the partygoers had finally tired of the magnificent toy.

Wordlessly, she nodded, as she watched a swan circling in the moat. Her gaze caressed her new castle with unmistaken affection, delighting in the attention to detail. When she peeked in the windows, she could see the dolls that made up its household staff scurrying about in their daily tasks. Though far smaller than the real thing, it was a large enough structure that her own dolls could fit through the castle entry—if the doorway weren't already taken up by the king and queen, who stepped out now and again to gaze upon their kingdom.

"I wish I could go in!" Marie said finally, with a wistful look in her eye.

"But you can, Marie!" Drosselmeier told her conspiratorially. "I promise you, one night, after you've closed your eyes, you will be able to enter the castle."

She granted godfather a tolerant smile. "Oh, certainly I shall—and then I'll forget the whole experience once I open my eyes again!" she added ruefully.

"Perhaps. But I think that will be up to you. For now ..." He looked about, his gaze finally resting on Fritz who had quickly lost interest in a castle he couldn't actually play with. The boy was now occupied with his own toys in a far-off corner; Drosselmeie gave a nod of satisfaction, and Marie realised that the man wanted to make sure her little brother was not privy to what he was about to say. A thrill of excitement coursed through her. " ... I have another gift for you!" the old man whispered.

"But Uncle! This ..." she waved a hand at the clockwork castle, "Th-this is already so much!"

"Oh, this next present was no extra trouble for the likes of me!" he clucked back at her, as he led her by the hand to the ornate tree. Underneath it, a rather innocuously wrapped box sat waiting for her. She knelt beside it, Drosselmeier settling himself down on the floor next to her, watching.

Shyly, she undid the wrapping, casting a nervous glance now and again at Fritz, fearing he might cause a scene if he noticed her opening another present. Her fears were quickly forgotten when she laid her eyes on the box's contents, though.

"Oh!" she quickly grabbed her mended nutcracker up in her arms, hugging it tight. "You fixed him! Thank-you, Uncle!"

"And that's not all, my dear. Look in the box again."

Puzzled, she obeyed. Resting in the tissue was another doll—a pretty porcelain thing that looked not much unlike herself, with pale skin, golden hair, and bright blue eyes. Its dress, white silk festooned with sparkling glass beads and silver thread, was fit for a princess. Marie also noted that the limbs were jointed with metalwork similar to that of Drosselmeier's usual automatons, which allowed for far more mobility than most toys. Even the dainty fingers were jointed!

"Oh!" Marie breathed, for a long moment as at a loss for words as she had been regarding the clockwork castle. She might have reached an age where she was, according to her mother and society in general, too old to actually play with toys, but she didn't think she would ever lose her fondness for them, or stop collecting them. "She's the most beautiful doll I've ever seen! But ... why, Uncle?"

"They're a pair, your nutcracker and dear Clara here. Would you like to hear their story?"

"Their story?" Marie laughed. "Uncle, fine as he is, my nutcracker is an heirloom, not one of your wondrous toys! He's probably older than you!"

Drosselmeier smiled, and there was a glint in his eye that seemed to emphasise her words, making him seem much younger than he was supposed to be. "Don't be so sure of that, my dear. Now would you like to hear the story or not?"

She nodded, causing her ringlets to bounce. "Forgive me, Uncle! I pray you, please continue!"

He rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. "Well, if you insist. Let's see now.... There once was an elf who was a restless sort, and spent his endless days traveling the world. He was no ordinary elf, either; he was a necromancer, a kind of mage which is able to bring the dead back to life. He used his skill to earn his daily bread, healing the sick and wounded, or restoring the dead to life if he was too late to heal them."

Marie smiled gleefully, and quickly looked about for her mother. Marie had heard marvelously magical tales from Drosselmeier before, and knew from past experience that her mother would not approve of this one. Ladies did not listen to tales of devil's work, and raising the dead surely fell into that realm of activity!

"But while such a feat was oft believed to be the providence of God alone," Drosselmeier went on, "and therefore something of a miracle when performed by lesser beings, the elf was not satisfied with his wondrous gift. He longed to do more, to bring life to that which had had none before, to animate the inanimate, like the Elemental beings of legend—the dryads, sylphs, undines, and salamanders—might do. He knew souls could possess objects, and move them with spirit energy, but that was not the same thing—those objects could not live and breathe and die. They had a soul, but no lifeforce.

"He studied anatomy and biology, religion and metaphysics, but quickly discovered that even the most esoteric knowledge was not enough to accomplish what he wished. So he studied with the greatest clockmakers and tinkers, toy-makers and puppeteers. And this was still not enough, to make bits of wood and metal that could move about on their own; he became obsessed with the idea of giving true life to the automaton. And through the centuries, in his quest, he became a master clock-and-toy-maker himself, even if he never actually achieved his ultimate goal."

Marie smiled with fond exasperation at the revelation that the elf shared an occupation with her Godfather, but retained just enough politeness to refrain from remarking on it.

"One day in his travels," the old man continued, "he came upon a barony that was in need of a clockmaker. Being able to raise the dead was no longer a skill he cared to advertise: rather than being grateful, men tended to call him a demon and drive him away. In fact, most everywhere he went those days, mankind seemed to be crusading against magical folk, driving them into hiding. But this barony, Berghütte, which was in a remote area of the Alps, seemed mostly untouched by that war, and still played host to other magical beings, so he decided to settle there for as long as he could.  Not wishing to play his hosts false and risk later exposure under less ... friendly conditions, he did not hide his elven countenance—although he did introduce himself with a German name, Klarstein, in an effort to fit in better. Indeed, they welcomed him with open arms, and by the time the war against magic reached Berghütte in earnest, he had been the trusted advisor to four generations of their rulers.

"That fourth Baron, Machtgier Reichlich, and his wife, Gretal, appointed Klarstein godfather to their baby daughter. Gretal had even named that child Clara, in honor of the elf, who had also been Gretal's own godfather. Klarstein doted on Clara, as he had all his godchildren, as if she were his own. He called her 'Pirlipat", which, in his native tongue, meant 'mouth filled with pearls'. And Clara did indeed seem to have pearls for teeth, gracing her with a smile that Klarstein never tired of. She was also gifted with hair like spun gold, skin as soft and white as the purest silk, and eyes the colour of the noonday sky. She was a child out of a faerytale; indeed, she was even fey, on her mother's side.

"Yet for all her beauty, and all the attention that it brought her, she was neither arrogant nor spoiled. She had a heart that more than matched her outside, always looking to help others, and sharing her family's bounty—traits that she also received in abundance from her mother. She never gave much credence to appearances either, but seemed to have an uncanny ability to see the heart of any being she came in contact with.

"So it came as no surprise to Klarstein when, one day, in the garden of Baron Reichlich's estate, Clara befriended a brownie squirrel."

"Brownie squirrel?" Marie asked.

"Brownies are a sort of animal-people. They have fur and tails and faces that resemble their animal kin, but their tiny bodies are human-like—most of the time. They can make themselves appear to be true animals, though, if they wish. When they are their brownie selves, they wear clothes woven of faerie silk, which can change shape as they do."

Marie raised a skeptical brow. "'Uncle, you sound as if you believe they are real creatures. I thought this was supposed to be a faerytale?"

Drosselmeier smirked at her. "Well, I suppose that's for you to decide for yourself when the tale is done. That is, if you ever let me finish it."

At once she looked contrite, and he resumed.

"Pirlipat wasn't the slightest bit alarmed when the brownie squirrel called hello to her from his perch in a tree in the Baron's garden. She—" Drosselmeier apparently saw Marie start to open her mouth to say something; he answered her question before she could ask it. "No, she couldn't talk to animals, nor can Brownies speak any human tongue—their mouths aren't shaped right for it—but they can speak mind-to-mind, with their thoughts. So when he said hello, Pirlipat invited the brownie lad, whom she soon learned was called Nussknacker and was Prince of the Squirrels, to come share the nuts she had gathered. They were fast friends after that. But Pirlipat knew that her father, having married into the Barony and hailing originally from a distant hamlet, was not overly fond of magical beings; wisely, she kept her new friendship a secret.

"One day, when Pirlipat was only just sixteen, Reichlich invited a large number of prominent guests to stay at their home for the Midwinter feast, in hopes that he might find a suitable marriage prospect for her. Gretal, kind and generous woman that she was, helped in the kitchens with the preparations in the days before it, as had always been her family's custom. She was actually quite good at making sausages—the best in the whole of Germany, some would have said." Drosselmeier got a wistful look in his eye, but quickly shook it away.

"While Gretal was preparing the sausage," he went on, "another brownie, Mouserinks, Queen of the Mice of Berghütte, made a grand entrance into the kitchen, and asked for some of the sausage. Gretal, of course, had to refuse—the sausage was for her husband's arriving guests, and he would be angry if there wasn't enough for all of them. But Gretal was willing to let them help themselves to the larder, as again was the custom of her family. After all, it could only bring them good to keep the Queen of Mice happy, so that she in turn might keep her small but numerous people under control.

"But Gretal did not know that Reichlich, upon finding a gathering of mice feasting in the kitchen one evening, had recently forbidden the servants to continue leaving offerings to the mice, and had instead demanded that traps be laid in the larder. He certainly didn't want his esteemed guests to find his home overrun by vermin! Gretal was also unaware that the people of Berghütte, who had once been so welcoming of the mice, had, under the Baron's orders, taken similar measures, laying traps not only in their own larders, but also in the fields. Seven of Mouserinks' sons had died in one trap or another.

"**So my people are not worthy to eat as well as your human guests do, Lady Baroness?** the Mouse Queen asked, mind to mind. **Is that why your Lord Baron saw fit to kill my children? Why he now makes it impossible for my subjects to find food in a land that was theirs long before your people came? If you want a war, then so be it. Henceforth, we will take what we want, by whatever means necessary!**

"And with that, her subjects rushed forward, making short work of the sausages, then racing away as quickly as they'd come. Before leaving herself, Mouserinks paused and turned back to Gretal, who was staring at the empty table in numb disbelief. **Because you had always been so kind to us before, and I am certain your husband is alone in being the source of my woes, I will give you one last warning. Look well to your daughter, Baroness, lest you lose her as I lost seven of my own children!** And with that, the Mouse Queen departed, leaving Greta to face her husband's wrath over the sausages.

"Reichlich was indeed angry. He told his wife it was her fault for having encouraged the mice to come to them for food in the first place. And demure creature that she was, she bent easily to his whims, accepting his law against feeding the brownies, as well as most of the other faer folk, without protest. She was far too worried for Clara's safety to object anyway.

"Gretal idi, however, hire a trio of waercats to act as 'handmaidens' for Clara. Always present, one keeping a watchful eye as the other two slept in shifts, the guard-cats kept the mice from getting anywhere near Clara, who was now kept confined to her suite until the menace could be taken care of. Klarstein, in the meantime, was ordered to devise new and better ways to catch the mice.

"Klarstein was not happy about his work, but he too was worried for his Pirlipat's well-being to deny his lord. He also feared angering Reichlich and subsequently being cast from Berghütte, never to see Pirlipat or Gretal again. He might have used his magic to control or imprison or even kill Reichlich, but he had seen too much of the battles between men and magic, and was not eager to start an uprising in Berghütte that could end in the deaths of those he loved as much as if they were his own kin. 

"Now Clara, being the clever girl she was, noticed that her feline nursemaids seemed to get drowsy if she stroked their fine fur while they sat watch in her lap. So one afternoon, when the heaviest sleeper of the three waercats was on guard-duty, she insisted to it that she was quite cold, and had it take on its human guise to stoke the fire until it was almost unbearably warm. Clara then offered it a bowl of warm milk, which, after returning to its four-legged form, it happily accepted. Once the waercat was finally resettled in her lap, she stroked it and hummed to it until it was lulled to sleep. When she was quite satisfied the cat wasn't going to reawaken anytime soon, she slipped out from under it, grabbed a wrap from her wardrobe, and opened the door to her balcony.

"She called out to her dear friend, Nussknacker, not knowing that he was actually out gathering food from his stores on the other side of the garden wall, and could not hear her. But someone did hear her: Mouserinks, who had been waiting patiently for days for such an opportunity. She'd left the meat of a cracked walnut on the sill. Clara, thinking that it was a gift from her brownie friend, happily munched on the treat. At the same moment, the Mouse Queen stole up alongside the poor girl and bit her on the toe. Clara kicked out in pain, and Mouserinks flew up over the balcony wall, landing in the garden below.

"Clara had a sinking suspicion that she had made a grave error that day, but feeling ashamed of having tricked the very people who had been trying to protect her from the mice, she said nothing to anyone about the encounter. After cleaning her foot with water from the basin on her dressing table and wrapping her toe in a handkerchief, she crawled back into bed, and, in the heat of the room, soon fell as deeply asleep as her nursemaids.

"She was awoken by screams later that evening, when another of the cats had arisen to take her shift, and immediately reverted to human form when it had caught sight of Clara. Annoyed at having been disturbed, Clara tried to scold the cat-maiden, but found her tongue thick in her mouth, and her jaw stiff and sore. She tried to sit up, but every joint in her body seemed arthritic, and she was too weak to even lift her arm for more than a moment. Still, a moment was all it took for her to see what had set the other woman to screaming.

"Clara was now hideously deformed. Her arm and fingers—and the rest of her, though she could not see it—were swollen to four times their normal size. She managed to turn her head and look into her dressing mirror, only to discover things were far worse than she'd even imagined. Her golden locks were now white and brittle, her eyes wide as saucers, and her once cute-as-a-button-nose now better resembled a small tomato. Her mouth was set in a wide rictus, which nearly split her face in two. She screamed at the sight of herself.

"Drawn by the screaming, Klarstein threw open the doors to her suite and raced through the rooms, hunting for her. He couldn't help but let out a yelp of his own when he found such a frightening creature in his dear Pirlipat's bed. He came very close to casting a spell at it before reason reined him in, and he considered that it might actually be Pirlipat resting there. He confirmed this by a quick word with the nursemaid, who was in tears as her fellows berated her for allowing such a thing to happen on her watch. Ignoring the wailing cat-maiden, Klarstein attempted to use his Earth magic to determine what was wrong with the girl and reverse it, but he found that the magic involved was much stronger than his own. Though she found it difficult to speak, Pirlipat managed to tell him who was truly responsible for her predicament.

"Reichlich, when he learned what had happened, was understandably furious. Though she was none too pleased with the waercats herself, Gretal just barely managed to stay their executions, instead compromising with banishment. Klarstein, meanwhile, managed to save his own hide over his failure to catch the Mouse Queen by reminding his lord that Clara still needed a cure, something the elf couldn't provide very easily if he were dead. Reichlich agreed to give Klarstein until Midwinter's Eve, just a week away, to restore Clara to her former health and beauty.

"Klarstein soon sat by the fountain in the garden, under his beloved Pirlipat's balcony, mentally studying every scrap of healing and herblore he could think of, when he caught something scurrying out of the corner of his eye. He turned to find Mouserinks sitting beside him, just out of reach. Small creature that she was, the fall from Clara's balcony hadn't harmed her in the slightest.

"**I know your breed, elf. The people of your clan are masters of life and death, are they not?** she asked.

"'After a fashion, yes,' Klarstein replied. 'But I do not seem to be as much of a master as that I can reverse what ails my young friend. How did you do it, Mouserinks? And if you're such a powerful mage, how is it that you weren't able to save your own people?'

"**Oh, a mage I may be, but I'm not so powerful as that,** she replied. **There was a tree dryad here in Berghütte once, a powerful demigod who created the brownie clans of this region with his Earth magic. Some of the squirrels saved the nuts of his tree when he decided to journey to the Otherworld; those walnuts still bear his power. With one of them, I was able to weave the shape-changing spell that afflicts the girl now. And since a dryad's magic is far, far stronger than yours, that is why you cannot reverse it with your own paltry power. I wove it most carefully, too, with knots that can only be undone under special circumstances, so even if you took her to another dryad, they might not un-puzzle the charm. But I have thought on it, and decided I am willing to tell you the way to reverse the spell after all—if you will first do something for me.**

"'Name it!' Klarstein told her, desperate.

"A number of Mouserinks servants scurried up behind her, struggling with a large bundle of cloth. When they opened the bundle, they revealed six mouse heads and one very-very-large-but-still-whole mouse body.

"**This is all we could recover of my late sons,** Mouserinks told Klarstein, her eyes glinting with a mad light. **I have met multi-headed dragons, and see no reason that there can't be multi-headed mice. If your can join those six heads to the shoulders of my seventh son, and bring the lot back to life, then I will tell you the secret to saving Clara.**

"Klarstein eyed the remains. It would be difficult, but it was by no means impossible. He agreed, and Mouserinks left him to his work. Before the sunset of the next day, Mouserinks had her sons returned to her—after a fashion. She was well-pleased.

"**Fine work, Master Clockmaker,** she said. **And now I shall tell you what I saw in my dreams—for while I am no great mage, I am a more-than-fair Seer! That was how I knew what to do to curse yon Clara, and have my sons returned to me.**  Her voice grew distant, as she spoke her prophecy. **I see a young male, who has never worn boots, cracking open another nut of the dryad with his own teeth, and feeding it to Clara from his own lips. But take care, for the future is never set in stone! If this tale to end happily, he must first be promised Clara's hand in marriage for his success! And after he has fed Clara the nut, he must then take seven steps backwards—while blindfolded! If he should stumble before the last step is taken, he will take Clara's fate for his own—and more!** And with her last words, she suddenly bolted away, her monstrous, seven-headed son just behind her.

"**Well, she certainly left a bit the story out, didn't she?** came a familiar voice. Nussknacker dropped out of a tree to land beside Klarstein. **She neglected to mention that she stole that walnut from us! But if you need one to save Pirlipat, I will ask my people to let me give our last.**

"'I thank you, my friend,' Klarstein replied, 'but I fear that may not be enough, if we can't solve the riddle she left us with. The dryad's nut would hold the power to restore her, but only if it is given under the terms of the spell. We need to figure out who the young man she foresaw is.'

"**But if she foresaw it, doesn't that mean the events will come about no matter what?** Nussknacker asked.

"'Perhaps,' Klarstein replied, though he wasn't at all sure he trusted the Mouse Queen's wor—"

"Mouse Queen?" Marie's mother, Margaret, interrupted the old man's tale. "Are you telling Marie a bedtime story, Herr Drosselmeier? At her age?"

"Something like that," he replied wryly, "but I suppose the hour is late. Time for us all to retire."

"Oh, no, Uncle!" Marie pleaded, a little surprised to find, as she looked about, that the party had ended. Even Fritz was sound asleep among his toys. "You must finish!"

"Heh, listen to this one," Drosselmeier commented to Margaret. "So demanding!"

"Well, she is descended, albeit distantly, from a line of Barons," Margaret replied, patting Marie's hair affectionately. "It's in her blood to be bossy—as it is in mine! And I say it's time for bed!"

"Oh, Mama!" Marie pouted.

Drosselmeier shook his head, smiling. "You can wait till tomorrow evening to hear the rest, I think, Marie."

She perked up at that. "You're going to be here for Midwinter's day?"

He nodded.

She let out a happy little squeal. She gave her uncle, her mother, and her father each a peck on the cheek before running up the stairs, her father following with the sleeping Fritz on his shoulder.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Try as she might, Marie could not fall asleep. This, of course, was one of the many reasons why her mother was always warning her off of Uncle Drosselmeier's stories: the fanciful thoughts he planted into her mind made her brain "feverish" and kept her from much-needed sleep, which in turn made her "hyper and strange" the next day. No, Margaret preferred to see Marie keep her feet firmly planted in the real and practical—basically anything guaranteed to bore her and put her to sleep.

But her mother's words could not change Marie's nature: she was a dreamer, and the night was her day. Thoughts of the mundane world her mother wished for her, a life of running a household and rearing children, threatened the girl like a storm-cloud waiting to wash all the colour out of her life. If she had not been born a girl, perhaps she would have apprenticed herself to her godfather, and spent the rest of her days bringing a bit of, she felt, much-needed whimsy into others' lives. Or perhaps, even as a woman, she might become a writer, like Jane Austen! Anything to allow her imagination to thrive! If only she could convince her mother that she knew the difference between fantasy and fiction—unlike dear old Uncle Drosselmeier!

Her father, at least, was too involved in his business workings to chastise Marie much for daydreaming. He also indulged her fondness for dolls, and brought her novelties from France, Italy, even China once, when he returned from business trips. But her father wasn't usually around to act as a buffer between her and her mother. And as she did in fact love her mother, she tried not to upset the woman, which is why playing with her dolls had become a clandestine, nightly activity, when the rest of the house was fast asleep.

Finally, when the grandfather clock in the sitting room struck a quarter to twelve, Marie decided it was safe to indulge in her hobby. She lit a lamp, put on her dressing gown, and padded lightly down the stairs.

The sitting room was home to the china cabinet where her best dolls and Fritz's toy soldiers were on display. She felt a stab of guilt; her mother must have tidied up after Fritz before retiring herself. And when Marie was close enough, she could see her nutcracker back in his old spot.

The clockwork castle was also in the room, stored there until her parents could decide a better place to display it. She spent a few more minutes marveling at it, but as it was currently inactive, and it would be too loud to wind up, she quickly lost interest, returning her attention to the cabinet. Gingerly, she opened the cabinet door, wincing as the hinge squeaked. She paused, holding her breath as she strained to hear if anyone was moving about on the second floor. When she was satisfied she hadn't disturbed anyone, she lifted the nutcracker off the shelf, and then her new Clara-doll, as an afterthought. She left the cabinet door open.

Setting the dolls down on the mantel, she started a small fire, then lit some of the candles on the smallish tree they kept in the sitting room. At last, after gathering the nutcracker and her newest doll back up in her arms, she settled on the floor to examine Drosselmeier's handwork.

First she took another long look at the Clara-doll. Did she really look like this? she wondered. Then she shook her head. Of course she didn't—she didn't exist. Honestly, Marie! She set the doll aside, and surveyed the repairs to her nutcracker.

It was as if he had never been broken. The shade of his new "ponytail" lever was a perfect match for the rest of his brown hair. Her brother had once said the nutcracker was an ugly, creepy little thing, but she'd always felt there was a certain sweetness to it. It seemed ... earnest, somehow. Determined.

Damn, she wanted a walnut.

But nutcrackers were nothing if not noisy, so she abandoned the thought, instead getting up and returning her treasures to the cabinet. She was about to close the cabinet door when the clock struck midnight, making her jump. She stifled a giggle, then glanced at the clock, as if to deny that it had startled her.  

What she saw when she laid her eyes on the thing only startled her even more.

There was her godfather, reflected in the clock's glass door. She glanced behind herself in confusion, but he wasn't there. She looked back at the glass, and somewhere in the unfrozen part of her mind she noticed that her own reflection was inexplicably absent. That bit of brain also noticed that what stood behind Drosselmeier wasn't her home, but the mess that comprised his shop, which she was always chiding him over.

"U-Uncle? ..." she finally managed in a rasping whisper, after several unsuccessful attempts to speak.

He looked alarmed, his mouth moving as if to tell her something that could not be shared through the glass that separated them. He gestured urgently, pointing.

She followed the aim of his finger to the clockwork castle. And very nearly screamed, except that her vocal cords didn't seem to want to cooperate.

Balancing atop the highest turret was what looked to be a giant, malformed mouse—the size of a housecat, she reckoned—with glowing red eyes. Well, no matter its size, it was still only a mouse, and, at halfway across the room, a harmless distance away; after the initial shock, it seemed silly to be so frightened. She was no fainting maiden! She thought mice were cute, in general, had even secretly kept one as a pet for a few months when she was five—surely they weren't so horrible as people said?

She changed her mind when the apparition opened its other six sets of eyes.

This is not happening. This is not happening, this is NOT—

She spun at the sound of tinkling glass behind her. There was a hole in the glass—directly in front of where the nutcracker no longer stood. A shiver went down her spine as she heard the distinct patter of something small running past her, towards the tree—she feared it was another deformed mouse. And then she saw him: her nutcracker, climbing the Christmas tree in an effort to reach the tabletop. The mouse-thing saw him too, and hissed. The nutcracker snagged a small metal sword ornament and waved it in challenge.

Oh. I'm dreaming. Okay, then. And she sat down cross-legged to watch the spectacle, no longer the least bit worried or scared.

As she watched, the mouse leapt into the tree and scurried over to the nutcracker. It grabbed another little sword ornament off a branch and began swinging at the doll. The nutcracker lost its balance and tumbled to the floor. The mouse leapt at him, but despite his clumsy construction, the nutcracker rolled away and got to his feet in time to parry a strike from the mouse.

I hope we get to the part where I get to go into the castle soon! For she had never been terribly interested in battles, the way Fritz was. Then she got an idea—if she knew she was dreaming, maybe she could just bypass this part of it ....

She tiptoed over to the castle, giving the fighting pair a wide berth. Now how do I do this?... She tried thinking of herself shrinking—nothing happened. She thought of climbing onto the tabletop, but it started to tilt when she put her weight on it, so she quickly gave that up. She tried opening the door and sticking her face in, thinking that might trigger some shrinkage on her part, but all she did was cut her nose on the sword of the king, who was standing with the queen just behind it. Baffled that she had felt the cut, and yet it did not wake her up, she nevertheless turned her attention back to the battle.

The mouse had given up on the sword—the Nutcracker was made of wood, after all—and had instead filched one of the lit candles from the tree. He was now chasing the nutcracker around the room with it.

She willed the mouse to fall over dead—it didn't even stumble. She scowled and tried again—still nothing.

A hundred tiny taps drew her attention back to the cabinet, where she found Fritz's toy soldiers beating their tiny fists against its doors. Grinning in almost-devilish delight, she hurried over and opened the cabinet. The tin cavalry rushed forward first, and then the foot-soldiers leapt to the floor. She clapped and cheered them on as they converged on the Mouse King. The first cannon shot hit his tail and pinned it for a moment against a box; when the ball fell to the floor, she saw the prehensile appendage now had a kink in it.

The mouse let out an angry squeak; Marie grew alarmed at the thunderous sound that suddenly came from the walls. Within seconds, the room was flooded in a black tide of vermin, who swept the soldiers back from their rescue attempt. Holding his candle aloft, the king converged on his nutcracker quarry, who was now being harried by a number of the king's subjects.

Furious at the turn of events, Marie pulled a slipper off one of her feet and threw it at the monstrous vermin. The soft material couldn't harm it, of course, but it did catch the creature's attention; while it was distracted, the nutcracker broke free of his other assailants and ran the king through the gut with his sword. The seven heads of the mouse let out identical shrieks of pain. With its massive tail, it knocked the nutcracker aside and ran off into a dark corner. Outraged at the injury to their king, a small host of the mouse subjects abandoned their individual battles to swarm the poor girl. In trying to back away, Marie's foot slipped on another cannonball, causing her to pitch backwards into the clock; her head cracked the glass soundly, before she fell, unconscious, to the floor.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Her parents, apparently having been roused by Marie's initial screams, reached the ground floor just in time to see Drosselmeier burst in through the front door. Without stopping to greet them or explain his presence, he ran straight into the drawing room, crying Marie's name. He didn't move her at first, laying a hand against the back of her neck. When Herr and Frau Stahlbaum caught up, it was to find Drosselmeier kneeling over Marie, who was lying on her side, blood pooling under her head. Margaret cried out in horror, but, stout-hearted and practical woman that she was, did not faint. Instead, she rushed out the door to get the doctor. Marie's father rushed to his fallen child's side, intending to lift her and carry her to her bed, but Drosselmeier denied him, explaining that she had a severe head injury, and that he needed to keep applying pressure to keep her from bleeding to death.

What Drosselmeier didn't tell Stahlbaum was that Marie would most certainly die if he didn't use magic to heal her—which was precisely what he was doing. It bothered him that he would have to leave the cut—how could he explain it healing in mere moments?—but at least he could heal the injury to her skull and its precious contents, and get her body to replace the lost blood faster.

He allowed himself a small smile: wasn't this what faery-godfathers were for?