“Ooh, just a turtle, he says,” said a mocking voice from inside the shell. “Into the crow’s nest for a look, Mr. Porcupine.”
“Aye, aye, MT.”
Where the turtle’s head would normally appear a spy scope stuck out, moving left then right as it surveyed the surroundings. Harry and Edith carefully approached the shell, their weapons poised. The spy scope spotted Harry, and quickly retreated. Harry was bending down to glimpse inside when thin needles began extending between the shell’s plates, making both Liddells back up.
“Fire the quills!” said MT.
“Everyone down!” yelled Harry, but too late. The quills launched, one striking Harry in the neck, another in Edith’s rapier hand.
Arthur had fallen on his backside when Harry yelled, the Mock Turtle’s barrage barely missing him. He removed his cap and found three long needles embedded there, oozing a strange yellow goo.
Harry collapsed to the ground, his revolver sliding from his hand. Edith stood, albeit barely, the crinoline under her skirt seeming to hold most of her weight as she leaned heavily onto the table. “Arthur, help,” she wheezed. But Arthur didn’t move. It had finally sunk in that this wasn’t some weird costume drama. The idea terrified him. “Arthur, do something,” said Edith.
Arthur calmed his shaking knees and carefully stood.
The turtle’s limbs extended from the shell’s openings. The Mock Turtle skidded, trying to gain purchase on the polished wooden floor. “Put your useless flippers back inside, MT!” said a new voice as it sprung up onto hind legs. “This is a job for pig’s feet.”
“Fine, you walk, but I want to see!” A turtle’s head poked out the top, wearing a monocle. “Got two of them! But where’s the third?”
“Here!” cried Arthur as he rammed the giant shell with his shoulder. The Mock Turtle wobbled towards the mirror, and after another push, vanished inside.
“Thank you, sir,” said Edith weakly, plucking the quill out of her hand.
“Will you be all right, Miss?”
“Fine. Hopefully the effects will wear off soon. Please see to Harry.” As Arthur did so, the telegraph started clicking. Edith transcribed, though barely able to stand. “I have her. Stop. Had to kill the jubjub. Stop. Weapons at the ready. Stop. Pull back the rope. Stop.”
But the rope had vanished.
Arthur glanced nervously at Edith. She could barely lift her rapier. He saw Harry’s revolver on the floor, near the dodo’s cage. He went over, and picked it up. “Not too late to run,” said Mr. Do. “A caucus race would do.”
He ignored it, and went to stand in front of the mirror. Lorina appeared on the other side, hobbling toward him, her strange, rounded pistol in hand. It fired some sort of light beam at the pursuing guards. They burned easily, for their bodies were playing cards. The guards scattered, and Lorina’s path became clear, though her forward movement slowed.
With her other arm, she dragged someone half her height, wearing a golden crown atop a curly head. A girl, similar in age to Edith, and unconscious.
The gryphon swooped downwards them, his claws outstretched. Arthur stuck the revolver through the mirror, and fired. Instead of a bullet there shot a star, arcing skywards with a colourful tail streaming in its wake. The star did no damage, but burned bright enough to distract the gryphon from its prey.
Lorina stumbled forward, still firing her pistol behind her and to the side, as animals of every size, and in every type of Victorian fashion charged.
Fog swirled across the reflection as the light from the telescope dimmed. “Wonderland is passing out of zenith,” said Harry drowsily, as he struggled to lift himself. “Help them, Arthur.”
Arthur took a deep breath, and plunged into the mirror.
The world lurched sideways, as if the ground in Wonderland was perpendicular to the Earth’s. Arthur worried that if he ran too fast he’d fall toward the horizon. To keep his balance, he concentrated only on Lorina. Playing cards ran at him, human heads sewn onto flopping bodies. They sprayed him with red paint smelling of blood, but stinging like acid. He shot stars at them while helping Lorina up. Together they plunged back through the mirror, the girl held between them.
They stumbled onto the observatory floor. “Shut it down,” said Arthur, as he fought for breath.
The last image Arthur saw: ugly beasts flapping their leathery wings as they charged, their puckered faces full of fangs. Then Edith shoved the looking glass away from the telescope’s light, and all went dark.
“Help me get this off,” said Lorina, still on her back. Edith removed her breathing pack, and the armour, leaving Lorina in the remains of her undergarments. “Thank you, Arthur.” Lorina smiled.
Arthur waved obligingly, and then vomited up a variety of whole pastries. He’d eaten nothing of the sort today. He lay there, on his side, and stared in wonder at the figure still lying unconscious on the ground.
Lorina gently rolled the Queen over, revealing a girl dressed in blue, wearing long white stockings. The golden crown appeared far too heavy for her thin neck to support. “Alice, wake up.” Lorina shook her. “I had to subdue her to get her to come with me. I hope I haven’t done any permanent damage.”
Alice’s eyes flew open. “Cut the joint! I care not if it bows first, I am hungry. Remove the pudding though; it offends me greatly!”
Lorina stretched a hand to her, but Alice smacked it aside.
“Hand me not! Off with her head! Where is the Hatter and his friend the March Hare? Did they march away?”
“Try taking the crown off her,” said Edith quietly, her eyes wide.
Harry and Arthur held the struggling Alice down while the women removed the crown. Barbs hidden underneath pinned it to her head. It left her with little bleeding pinpricks around her brow.
The crown transformed from a lustrous, shining gold to dull and rusty. Alice sighed and collapsed into Lorina’s arms, both crying. Even tough Edith shed a tear before turning away.
Harry took the crown and stomped on it until it lay flat.
“Alice?” said Lorina when her sister’s crying stopped. Alice did not respond. She’d passed out.
“Blimey,” said Edith, as she wiped her sleeping sister’s tears away. “Ten years, and she hasn’t aged a day.” Edith stared at the mirror. “Do you think the war will end, now that Alice isn’t there to lead them?”
“Let’s hope so,” said Harry as he covered the mirror with the cloth. “We shouldn’t linger. Alice needs a doctor. We have no idea what such prolonged exposure has done to her.” Harry made his way toward the exit, holding Alice protectively in his arms.
Lorina buttoned her skirt over petticoat.
“So, Alice started this war?” said Arthur, trying to understand.
“No,” said Lorina bitterly. “They used her! Made her their Queen, but treated her as their pawn.”
“The Wonders need a human mind to organize their armies,” said Edith as she sheathed her rapier. “Alice was able to turn their madness into an ounce of sanity, just enough to stage an invasion. Hopefully the front line is confusion right now.”
“And with Lewis Carroll imprisoned in London Tower, they have no one to take her place.”
“Get a move on, you two!” said Harry. “She’s not as light as she looks.” The sisters prepared to depart.
“Hang on, what about me?” said Arthur. “I don’t belong here. I need to get home!”
“Sell the talking bird. That should pay for your passage,” said Edith. “Not only does he talk but he’s a Dodo. Rare, they are. Consider it your fee, for services rendered.”
“Though I’d recommend eating him for Christmas dinner,” said Lorina. She laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Go about your normal duties. I’m sure the temporal displacement will end, now that we’re done. Just don’t touch the mirror.”
They departed, leaving Arthur alone. Well, not entirely alone. A real Dodo, truly?
Arthur peered under the cloth, and came face to face with an angr
y beak sporting a white moustache. Not a normal Dodo then. “Do you know the way home?”
“Back the way you came. And they call me a Dodo.”
Arthur squeezed through the small door, and found his way back to his office, which was just where he’d left it. A jet engine roared in the distance, giving him comfort that all had returned to normal. Pity. “I miss the Liddells already.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, shut it, Mr. Do.”
MATHILDA
Nicole Iversen
Mathilda drove along the Scottish coastline, the sky filling with orange and red as she kept an eye in the rearview mirror. It had been days since they last saw the Tweedle brothers. Her eyes began to burn, and she made an aggravated noise, noticing the grey cat hairs stuck to the steering wheel.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Dinah. How many times have I told you not to brush your fur in the front seat?”
A hiss came from the back and Mathilda scowled. Her nose twitched. She tried to hold her breath – then sneezed, her head snapping forward, her eyes closing. The RV swerved, a high-pitched screech came from the back, but Mathilda managed to straighten out.
“Geez, Mathilda. Are you trying to kill us before we find your sister?”
Mathilda sighed. “You know I’m allergic.”
Dinah flopped into the passenger seat. Mathilda eyed the brush she held. Dinah rolled her yellow eyes and put it on the floor, then crossed her paws. “Don’t take your worries out on me. Alice isn’t in the human world. Why don’t we go back to Wonderland?”
Mathilda grasped the steering wheel tighter. “Alice wouldn’t go back. Not when she’s the hero of our story and the only one who can drive the villains back to Wonderland. I swear I’ll find her before the Queen of Hearts does.”
The villains had escaped the other fantasy realms and were causing unnatural disasters as they waged war in the human world. Orcs patrolled cities, the White Witch had frozen half the world, and sea creatures of every kind plagued the oceans. Luckily, none of the gods from the other realms had appeared.
Dinah scratched behind her feline ear. “Wouldn’t Alice have shown up if she knew she could help? All the other heroes are ready to stand up. The Pevensie children, the Hobbits, even all those damn princesses. Alice doesn’t care.”
Mathilda shook her head. “That’s how I know something is wrong. Alice doesn’t let other people figure out problems for her. The Hatter said the Treacle sisters could help.”
Dinah stroked her fuzzy tail. “You’re going to believe that nutter? You know there’s a reason they referred to him as the Mad Hatter, don’t you?”
Mathilda eyed her passenger. “Respect the dead.”
The Queen of Hearts had made good on one of her threats. The Hatter’s hat sat displayed as a trophy outside Buckingham Palace, alongside the countless other possessions from those the Queen had ordered executed. It broke Mathilda’s heart. Dinah clawed against the seat but, rather than reprimand her, Mathilda said nothing. Dinah was as worried about Alice as she was.
A roaring motorcycle obliterated the silence. She glanced in the rearview mirror and Dinah turned in her seat. Nothing appeared on the road.
“Maybe it was just a motorcycle?” Dinah suggested.
Mathilda glanced out the passenger window, and her heart leapt.
“No, it’s them.”
Dinah looked out, her claws carving deep lines in the leather seat. In the dimming light a black motorcycle drove over the ocean’s surface.
“Mathilda,” Dinah whined.
Mathilda slammed her foot down. The RV lurched forward. The motorcycle reached the highway, chasing after them. The highway zigged and zagged and Mathilda was glad there were no other cars. Dinah yowled as she thumped against the window. The motorcycle kept up, and every once in a while a thunk hit the RV.
“They’re throwing oysters,” Dinah said.
If there were enough oysters they might lose a few limbs. The back window smashed. Mathilda peered over her shoulder.
“Dinah! Can you get it?”
Dinah slid down to the floor on all fours, which she normally avoided. While Mathilda drove madly down the highway, Dinah crept toward the oyster. Mathilda remained quiet while Dinah hunted, unable to see what was happening. Dinah landed hard on the floor.
“Shit!”
“What happened?” asked Mathilda.
“Little bugger got away from me.”
Dinah hissed. Mathilda heard clacking and resisted the urge to turn around.
“There’s more oysters,” Dinah announced.
“You have to get them out of here.”
“I’m trying!”
Dinah yowled, hissed, and pounced against the little kitchen’s cupboards. The clacking grew louder. Mathilda tried to focus on the road, and refrained from stopping to help Dinah. She flinched as an oyster shell flew past her face and hit the window before falling empty on the dashboard.
“Are you eating them?”
“No,” Dinah answered in a muffled voice.
Mathilda made a face and gagged.
“What else do you expect me to do with them?” Dinah shouted.
Another empty oyster shell landed in the front seat. A roaring engine caught Mathilda’s attention and she looked out to see the motorcycle driving alongside them. The person in the sidecar waved at her, prompting the dark-skinned Walrus to hit him over the head. Mathilda rolled her eyes, and would have sped off, but the RV was already going as fast as possible.
“I say,” yelled the Walrus, “would you mind terribly pulling over?”
His passenger, the Carpenter, slurped down an oyster. “Yeah. We just wants to talk to ya.”
“Sorry,” Mathilda yelled. “On a bit of a deadline. Can’t stop. We’ll have to catch up another time.”
The Walrus glowered through his goggles. The motorcycle moved closer and rammed them. What did he hope to accomplish? Then Mathilda remembered the motorcycle could drive over water, jump canyons and land safely on the other side. She had discovered that in a disappointing turn of events a few weeks back. The walrus might succeed in running them off the road.
“The time has come,” yelled the Walrus, “to talk of many things: of decapitation and slaughtering, and causing devastation. Of blood and Queens, and whether you have wings to fly from the scene.”
“I liked the original better,” yelled Mathilda.
Oyster shells littered the dashboard and passenger seat. Dinah continued to fight the molluscs in back.
The motorcycle rammed the RV again. Mathilda turned the wheel and struck back. She would not concede defeat.
“The time has come—”
“For you to shut up!” Mathilda shouted.
The Walrus made an abrupt sound and flicked his whiskers from side to side. The Carpenter threw an oyster through the window, which Mathilda dodged. It landed on the seat next to her.
“Dinah,” Mathilda called. “I need your help.”
“I’m a little busy.”
Mathilda kept one eye on the road, and the other on the oyster. The top of the shell began to lift. Constricted by her seatbelt, Mathilda couldn’t reach it. The memory of being bitten made her cringe, and the large scar on her arm served as a reminder. The shell opened and a little face peered up at her. Before the oyster could pounce, Dinah emerged, scooped it up and slurped it down.
Dinah sat down heavily in the passenger seat, straightening her Rolling Stones T-shirt, and cleaned her fur with her paw.
“You haven’t gotten rid of them yet?” Dinah asked.
Mathilda growled. “Do you want to drive?”
“Uh, Mathilda.”
“If you think you can do better, then please take the wheel. I insist.”
Dinah screeched. “Look out!”
Mathilda looked back. A large brown puddle covered the highway. She stomped her foot down. The RV screeched and skidded but stopped short of the mud. The motorcycle whizzed by, plowing through the mess, and spun uncontrollably.
Mathilda and Dinah watched the Walrus and Carpenter cling to each other as the motorcycle skidded off the road and crashed into the ocean.
Mathilda turned the RV off. Dinah followed her toward the edge of the highway. Neither the Walrus nor the Carpenter was seen.
Dinah smiled, showing off her canines. “They’re gone.”
“For now,” answered Mathilda. She crouched down beside the puddle and poked her finger into the gooey mess. She felt it between her fingers before bringing it up to her nose and sniffed.
“It’s treacle.”
“Well, of course it is,” said a new voice.
Mathilda stood and watched the three Treacle sisters walk onto the road. The eldest was fourteen and the youngest eight. Tillie, the youngest, wore a purple tutu with a blue sweater, while her two older sisters wore ripped jeans and boyband T-shirts.
Mathilda smiled at the girls. “I have never in my life been happier to see anyone from Wonderland. What are you doing here?”
“Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum passed by in their flat cars yesterday,” said the oldest sister, Elsie Treacle.
“Fiat,” Mathilda corrected. “They’re called Fiats.”
“Alice told us to keep an eye out for you,” the middle sister Lacie informed them.
“You’ve seen her? She’s alive?”
Dinah burped, dropping oyster shells onto the road. “See, I told you.”
“Where is she?” asked Mathilda.
“She left three days ago,” answered Elsie. “She had been wounded and needed our assistance.”
Mathilda’s heart lurched. “Wounded?”
“The jabberwock found her,” Lacie replied, a grim expression on her face.
“But she was all right,” said Elsie. “Treacle did the job.”
Dinah scratched her ear. “How can molasses help?”
Elsie rolled her eyes. “The kind of treacle I’m talking about refers to a remedy for poison.”
Mathilda waved at the stray cat hairs floating in the air. “Where did Alice go?”
Something pulled at her sleeve and Mathilda looked down into the youngest Treacle sister’s face. Tillie, pigtails askew, face covered in treacle, held out her drawing, which Mathilda took.
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