“You’re helping those men in the woods, aren’t you?” Ofelia whispered.
Mercedes withdrew her hands.
“Have you told anyone?”
Ofelia saw that Mercedes didn’t dare look at her.
“No, I haven’t. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
She leaned her head against Mercedes’s shoulder and closed her eyes. She wanted to hide in her arms, from the world, from the blood, from the Wolf, from the Faun. There was no Underground Kingdom she could escape to. It was all lies. There was only one world and it was so dark.
Mercedes was not used to holding a child, although she was still young enough to have one. When she finally wrapped her arms around the girl, the softness stirring in her heart frightened her. It was dangerous to be soft in this world.
“And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you!” she whispered back, cradling Ofelia in her arms, although part of her was still warning her of the tenderness she gave in to. She herself had once wished for a daughter, but the war had made her forget. It had made her forget many things.
“Do you know a lullaby?” Ofelia murmured.
Did she? Yes. . . .
“Only one. But I don’t remember the words.”
“I don’t care. I still want to hear it.” Ofelia looked up at her pleadingly.
So Mercedes closed her eyes and while she was gently rocking another woman’s child in her arms, she began to hum the lullaby her mother had once sung to her and her brother. The wordless tune filled both her and the girl with the sweetness of love, like the first song ever sung on earth to the first child born. It sang of love and of the pain it brings. And of the strength, even in the profoundest darkness.
Mercedes hummed the lullaby both for the girl and for herself.
It put their fear to sleep.
But the peace wouldn’t last.
17
Brother and Sister
Mercedes stayed with Ofelia until the girl fell asleep—finally, despite her worries about her mother, despite the fear that filled the old mill like the dust of black flour.
The house was silent when Mercedes stole down the stairs. Everyone was asleep, except for the guards outside. They were watching the forest and didn’t see her kneel on the kitchen floor to wipe away the sand covering the tiles until she could lift one up. The bundle of letters she’d hidden underneath was still there, and so was the can filled with things she’d put aside for the men hiding in the forest. She was putting everything into her satchel when footsteps on the stairs made her freeze.
“It’s only me, Mercedes,” Dr. Ferreira whispered.
He came down the stairs slowly as if he were reluctant to finally do what he and Mercedes had planned to do for days.
“Are you ready?” Please say yes, Mercedes pleaded with her eyes. I can’t do this alone.
Ferreira nodded.
Mercedes led the way. She walked through the brook to hide their tracks. Moonlight seeped through the trees and turned the water into melted silver.
“This is sheer madness,” Ferreira muttered as the cold water filled his shoes. “If he finds out what we’re doing, he’ll kill us all.” Of course, they both knew who he was talking about. “But I guess you thought about that?”
Had she thought of anything else?
Mercedes listened into the night. “Are you so afraid of him?”
Ferreira couldn’t help but smile. She was so beautiful. Her courage was a royal cloak around her shoulders.
“No. It’s not fear,” he replied truthfully. “At least not for my—” He fell silent the moment Mercedes pressed her finger warningly against her lips.
Something was moving in the forest.
Mercedes gave a sigh of relief when a young man emerged from behind a tree as silently as the shadows the waxing moon painted onto the mossy ground. A dark cap covered his black hair and his clothes gave away that he’d clearly been in the woods for a while. Mercedes didn’t take her eyes off him as he strode toward them through the ferns. Her brother was only a few years younger than she, but when they were children those years had made all the difference.
“Pedro!” She tenderly touched his beloved face when he stopped in front of her. Mercedes always forgot how tall he was.
Her brother gave her a long embrace. Once upon a time he had needed her protection only from the firm hand of their mother or his own recklessness, but these days it was far more dangerous to be a caring older sister. Sometimes Pedro wished that his older sister were less courageous and that she would take more care of herself. He’d even told her not to help them anymore, but Mercedes didn’t care what others told her to do or not to do. His sister made her own rules. Mercedes always had, even as a child. He loved her very much.
The Watchmaker
A long, long time ago, when most men measured their days by the sun, there ruled a king in Madrid who was obsessed with time and timepieces. He ordered hourglasses, clocks, watches, and sundials from famous clockmakers all over the world, paying for the delicate instruments by selling his subjects to other kings as soldiers or cheap field laborers. The halls of his palace were filled with the sound of sand running through huge hourglasses and even the sundials in his vast gardens counted the hours with the shadows they cast. He had clocks imitating his favorite birds and others announcing each full hour with the appearance of miniature knights and dragons. Even in the most remote corners of the world people called his royal palace in Madrid El Palacio del Tiempo, the Palace of Time.
The king’s beautiful wife, Olvido, had borne him a son and a daughter, but they weren’t allowed to play and laugh like other children. Their days were measured and ruled by the clocks the king had given them, ordering them, with their silver and gold dials, when to rise and eat and play and sleep.
One day the king’s favorite fool dared to joke that his master was only obsessed with timepieces because he was afraid of death and hoped that by measuring time he could keep it away.
The king was not a man who forgave easily. The next day his soldiers chained the fool to the cogwheels of his largest clock and the king watched without a hint of compassion as the wheels broke every bone in his former favorite’s body. As hard as they tried, the servants couldn’t wash all the blood from the cogwheels and the clock was henceforth called the Red Clock, people whispering that its ticking repeated the dead fool’s name.
The years went by. The prince and princess grew up and the king’s collection of clocks was envied all over the world. Then one day—it was approaching the tenth anniversary of the fool’s execution—a gift arrived at the palace from an unknown sender. In a box made of glass lay a beautiful pocket watch. Its silver coat case was open, showing the king’s initials engraved inside the lid and two lean silver dials moving from minute to minute, their ticking as subtle as the footsteps of a dragonfly.
When the king took the watch from the box, he found a carefully folded and sealed piece of paper underneath. He turned pale as he read the message, which was written in a firm and beautiful hand:
Your Majesty,
When this watch stops, you will die. It knows the exact hour, minute, and second, for I have locked your Death inside. Don’t try to break it. The end of your life will only arrive faster.