Meredith Rusu - The Nutcracker and the Four Realms: The Secret of the Realms: An Extended Novelization

F OR G ABE , M ATTHEW ,
AND L UKE

MR

F OR MY WIFE , K RISTI

TF

Copyright 2018 Disney Enterprises, Inc.

All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.

ISBN 978-1-368-02779-3

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P ine cones. Cinnamon. Roasted chestnuts and crackling firewood. The scents mingled in the air, rising high and swirling with wisps of chimney smoke and snow flurries. For a moment, they wafted just below the gathering snow clouds, seeming to form their own billowy puff of Christmastime spirit. Then, with a thwoop, the scents, smoke, and snow all scattered against the mighty beat of an owls wings.

The owl swooped down from the clouds toward the city below. If it noticed the scents drifting up from the cobblestoned streets, it didnt show it. Rather, the owl flew along its path resolute and strong, dipping lower and flying so swiftly that its shadow seemed to skate across the snow-iced rooftops. Smoke puffed out from chimney stacks upon the rows and rows of buildings. The frozen river Thames danced with children ice-skating in the distance. And as the sun sank below the horizon, lamplighters used long poles to kindle streetlamps so storefronts and trinket peddlers were cast aglow in soft, warm light.

Candles flickered in windows. Shop owners adjusted ribbons on door wreaths. Men and women bundled their cloaks more tightly as they bustled this way and that, carrying presents and herding rosy-cheeked children toward home. Then, faintly in the distance, a church bell chimed, signaling the start of the most magical evening of all.

Christmas Eve, London.

Now, the owl wasnt much concerned with the hustle and bustle. It had eyes for only one thing: an evening snack.

There! It spotted its targeta tiny mouse scurrying along an attic window ledge. Father Christmas might be arriving that evening expecting cookies, but the owl thought a furry treat was just the thing.

The owl flew closer. Its shadow fell across the mouse. The owl swooped.

It missed!

In the nick of time, the mouse darted through a hole in the brick masonry beside the window and disappeared. The owl hooted in dismay. It landed on the window ledge and waited. It blinked. But the mouse didnt reemerge. After a long while, the owl hooted again and glided away, keeping its eyes peeled for another tasty morsel.

Inside the brick wall, the mouse scurried along a narrow tunnel just wide enough for a mouse to fit through. It was in search of its own tasty morsel. And in the dusty attics and shadowed cellars of London, while happy families were making merry and paying little attention to the nooks and crannies about them, there was always something worth scavenging just before dark.

The tunnel widened and a dim light shone at the end. The mouse burst out into a large attic room.

Squeak! There! Sitting in the center of the room was a scrumptious-looking biscuit. Why a freshly baked treat would be resting in its own little cleared space on the grimy floor of a cluttered attic, or how it had gotten there, werent thoughts that crossed the mouses mind. All it knew was that there was a delicious dinner a few feet away, and it wasnt going to let it slip through its paws.

As the mouse inched up to the biscuit, it never noticed the curious eyes watching it from the shadows. Eyes that were far keener and far craftier than the owls.

You really want to catch that mouse, Fritz? Clara Stahlbaum whispered to her little brother. With her tangled hair and mussed dress, she was all but invisible in the corner. But her clever brown eyes shone.

Yes! Fritz insisted eagerly.

Clara smiled. Catching the mouse theyd heard scurrying about the attic at night was the only thing little Fritz had talked aboutsince three oclock that afternoon.

She struck a match, illuminating both their faces. Then this is how you do it, she said confidently. With science, mechanics, and a little bit of luck.

She carefully lit a tea light candle. Playing with fire anywhere in the houseespecially the atticwas strictly forbidden. But this wasnt playing. This was science, and she knew what she was doing.

Clara gingerly moved the candle under a miniature hot-air balloonthe first component of her brilliant contraption. Spread around the attic was a series of levers, pulleys, and ramps activated by balloons, balls, and toys, all positioned with precise calculation. And at the end of her invention was a basket, ready to drop over the unsuspecting mouse as soon as it nibbled the biscuit.

It was perfect. All her invention needed was the right touch to get it going.

First, weve got energy, she whispered to Fritz. The heat from the candle makes the balloon rise.

Fritz watched in wonder as the balloon rose and bumped into a ball waiting at the top of a wooden ramp.

We get momentum from the ball, Clara explained.

Tap. The ball knocked into a toy monkey.

Which hits the monkey, who pivots onto the bellows.

Which blows the longboat. Fritz could barely contain his excitement as a fireplace bellows began to puff out air, pushing along a toy boat on wheels.

Giving us Newtons third law of physics, Clara finished. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. And with a little bit of luck

Thwack! The longboat knocked into the basket, toppling it right over the mouse, biscuit and all!

Mousetrap! Fritz clapped his hands.

Clara beamed with pride as she and Fritz walked over to examine the tiny mouse captured beneath the basket. Her invention had been a stellar success, if she did say so herself.

Fantastic, she whispered. I cant wait to show

Clara stopped speaking abruptly. Luckily, Fritz was so preoccupied with his furry new captive that he didnt notice. Didnt notice the pale ghost of sadness that crossed Claras face, nor the hint of the word that hadnt yet crossed her lips.

Mother, Clara finished to herself softly.

It had been just a few short months since the childrens mother, Marie, had passed away. The pain of loss was bitterly fresh, especially for fourteen-year-old Clara. She had been incredibly close to her mother. Maries absence was still new enough that, at times, Clara would forget herself and call out for her from another room, or would anticipate showing her a new invention like the one shed made now, only to realize she could not.

Of all the Stahlbaum childrenLouise, the eldest; Clara, the middle child; and Fritz, their energetic younger brotherClara had been the one to truly follow in their mothers footsteps. Marie had been an accomplished inventor, a tinkerer, as their family lovingly called it. And while Louise had inherited their mothers grace and poise, and Fritz her love of laughter, Clara alone had inherited her knack for inventing. Wheels and cogs, pistons and pulleys, levels and counterweights and gearsit all made sense to Clara. Like tiny pieces of the world that she could hold and manipulate and build to do great things. But her mother had been the real genius. She was able to make even the tiniest, most intricate contraptions come to life. Over the years, she had taught Clara everything she knew. Patiently. Lovingly. Piece by piece, gear by gear.