A Grimm Warning (The Land of Stories, #3) by Chris Colfer
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To J. K. Rowling, C. S. Lewis, Roald Dahl, Eva Ibbotson, L. Frank Baum, James M. Barrie, Lewis Carroll, and all the other extraordinary authors who taught the world to believe in magic. When I think of all the time I spent inspecting wardrobes, spotting second stars to the right, and waiting for my Hogwarts acceptance letter—it’s no wonder I didn’t get good grades.
Also, to all the teachers and librarians who have expressed their support for this series and incorporated it into their classrooms. It means more to me than words can describe.
“YOU HAVE ENEMIES? GOOD. THAT MEANS YOU’VE STOOD UP FOR SOMETHING, SOMETIME IN YOUR LIFE.”
—WINSTON CHURCHILL
PROLOGUE
GUESTS OF THE GRANDE ARMéE
1811, Black Forest, Confederation of the Rhine
It was no mystery why this part of the countryside had been christened the Black Forest. The abnormally dark leaves and tree bark were nearly impossible to see in the night. Even though a bright moon peeked out from the clouds like a shy child, no one could be certain what was lurking in the thick woods.
A chill lingered in the air like a veil spread across the trees. It was a remote and mature forest; roots sank as deep into the ground as branches reached high into the sky. Had it not been for a modest path winding through the terrain the forest would have seemed completely untouched and unseen by human eyes.
A dark carriage pulled by four strong horses shot through the forest like a cannonball. A pair of swinging lanterns illuminated the path ahead and made the carriage resemble an enormous creature with glowing eyes. Two French soldiers of Napoleon’s Grande Armée rode beside the carriage. Black cloaks covered the soldiers’ colorful uniforms so they could travel in secrecy—the world was never to know what their agenda was tonight.
Soon the carriage arrived at the edge of the Rhine River, dangerously close to the border of the ever-growing French Empire. A large camp was being set up, with dozens of pointed beige tents pitched every moment by hundreds of French soldiers.
The two soldiers following the carriage dismounted their horses and opened the carriage doors. They yanked two men out from inside. The men’s hands were tied behind their backs and they had black sacks over their heads. They grunted and yelled muffled messages—both men had been gagged as well.
The soldiers pushed the men to the center of camp and into the largest tent. Even with their faces covered, the bound men could tell it was very bright inside the tent and they felt a soft rug beneath their feet. The soldiers forced the men into two wooden chairs farther inside.
“J’ai amené les frères,” they heard one of the soldiers say behind them.
“Merci, Capitaine,” another voice said in front of them. “Le général sera bient?t là.”
The sacks were pulled off the men’s faces and the cloths around their mouths were removed. Once their eyes adjusted to the light they could see a tall and muscular man standing behind a large wooden desk. His posture was authoritative and his scowl was anything but friendly.
“Hello, Brothers Grimm,” the tall man said with a thick accent. “I am Colonel Philippe Baton. Thank you for joining us this evening.”
Wilhelm and Jacob Grimm stared up at the colonel. They were cut up and bruised, and their clothing was disheveled—clearly it had been a struggle getting them here.
“Did we have a choice?” Jacob asked, spitting a mouthful of blood on the rug.
“I trust you’re already acquainted with Capitaine De Lange and Lieutenant Rembert,” Colonel Baton said, referring to the soldiers who had brought them.
“Acquainted is not the word I would use,” Wilhelm said.
“We tried to be polite, Colonel, but they would not cooperate,” Capitaine De Lange informed his colonel.
“We had to be aggressive with our invitation,” Lieutenant Rembert explained.
The brothers looked around the tent—it was impeccably decorated for having been so recently assembled. A grandfather clock ticked the night away in the far corner, shiny twin candelabras burned on either side of the tent’s back entrance, and a large map of Europe was spread across the wooden desk with miniature French flags pinning the conquered territories.
“What do you want with us?” Jacob demanded, struggling against the ropes tying his hands.
“Surely if you wanted us dead you would have killed us by now,” Wilhelm said, struggling against his own restraints.
Their discourteousness made the colonel scowl even harder. “General Marquis has requested your presence tonight not to harm you, but to ask for your assistance,” Colonel Baton said. “But if I were you, I would change my tone so he does not change his mind.”
The Brothers Grimm looked at each other nervously. General Jacques du Marquis was one of the most feared generals in the French Empire’s Grande Armée. Just hearing his name sent shivers down their spines—but what on earth did he want with them?