by Frank Beddor
Alyss knew this to be a constant theme with Homburg Molly. Half civilian, half Milliner, the girl was particularly sensitive to matters of race and class.
“I don’t know, Molly. Judging by the look on Lady Diamond’s face, I’d say you overestimated things a bit.” Alyss called out to the ranking lady as the walrus-butler passed by with a tray of wondercrumpets: “Have a wondercrumpet, Lady Diamond?”
“Ah. A wondercrumpet. Yes,” said the lady, taking one but holding it far from her mouth with no apparent intention of bringing it closer. “You do know how to throw a party, Queen Alyss.”
“You think so? I wouldn’t have supposed you enjoyed brushing against so many Wonderlanders of lesser rank.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” the Lady of Diamonds huffed.
Alyss didn’t trust the suit families, but there had been no proof of their conspiring with Redd, either before or after her overthrow of Queen Genevieve. Nor had there been any proof of their engaging in outlawed activities that could have secured a conviction in Wondertropolis’ courts. As much as Alyss would have liked the suit families gone, there was politics to consider. Redd had kept them around after her coup for similar reasons: their relationships with business leaders, government officials, and the arbiters who decided the guilt or innocence of the ill-fated brought before them in the name of jurisprudence. Only Jack of Diamonds had been prosecuted, Bibwit’s and the walrus-butler’s evidence against him too overwhelming to ignore; found guilty of treason and racketeering, he’d been punished accordingly.
But why poison my brain with thoughts of Jack of Diamonds?
Why, indeed, when Dodge Anders had caught her eye from across the courtyard? It was the first time she was seeing him in his uniform as head of the palace guard. She’d almost forgotten how handsome he could be when dressed in formal attire.
As if it were possible to forget.
She had always thought his was a rough-hewn handsomeness, the four parallel scars on his cheek adding to his looks rather than diminishing them. She’d been thrilled when he requested his father’s former post, and interpreted it as meaning that he would abide by a guardsman’s code instead of avenging Sir Justice’s death. She only hoped that he didn’t become too much like the Dodge of her youth, who had shown an almost religious devotion to propriety, a guardsman’s place in relation to the queen, because now that there was no threat of her having to marry Jack of Diamonds…
She glanced away, afraid she would reveal too much of herself in her eyes.
“Molly, there are enough guards and chessmen here to protect a flock of queens. I want you to go off and enjoy yourself.”
“But I am enjoying myself.”
It was Molly’s job to shadow her everywhere, Alyss knew. But it could be so bothersome. How was she supposed to have any time alone with Dodge, who was that moment making his way toward her though she pretended not to notice?
“Molly, I order you to enjoy yourself somewhere else.”
“Fine,” the girl pouted, and stomped off.
Alyss kept her eyes to the ground. She tried to think of something clever to say to Dodge, but her mind filled with the sort of things she might murmur to any old stranger—how are you, lovely weather we’re enjoying, at least we have our health. She felt him standing next to her. Her quickened pulse loud in her ears, she looked up and—
It was only Bibwit, with official pardons to sign.
“Must I, Bibwit, even during the party?”
She watched Dodge veer off to confer with one of his guardsmen; he would never interrupt her when engaged in the nation’s business.
“I’m sorry you find it inconvenient, Alyss. But these are Wonderlanders who have been punished by Redd’s regime for committing no crimes.”
He was chastising her, in his gentle way. Why should those who have innocently suffered be made to suffer another moment? Wonderlanders imprisoned during Redd’s reign were being interviewed, their cases reviewed to determine if they were legitimate criminals or merely people who had fallen afoul of Redd’s temper. For the latter, proper legal channels had to be employed, pardons issued and signed.
“It seems that being a queen involves nothing but paperwork,” Alyss sighed, scratching her name first on one pardon, then another.
“Mastering the combat aspects of a warrior queen is the easy part,” said Bibwit. “The administrative responsibilities of ruling from day to day, of contending with the bureaucratic procedures that keep Wonderland society functioning—these are more subtle to master and therefore more difficult.”
The walrus-butler waddled up as Alyss was signing the last of the pardons. “Queen Alyss, King Arch of Boarderland is here.”
Bibwit’s ears stood erect in surprise.
“He must have come to wish me well,” Alyss said, not quite believing it herself. “Please show him into the garden, walrus.”
“Yes, but…yes, I tried, Queen Alyss. But he says he prefers to visit with you in a more masculine environment.”
“And where would that be?”
“In the briefing room.”
She saw the king in her imagination’s eye, in the company of his intel ministers and bodyguards, a disdainful expression on his face. She flicked a look toward Dodge. He shrugged in good-natured understanding: He would have to wait.
“I’ll attend you, Alyss,” Bibwit said.
Wonderland’s queen shook her head. “No. It’s more important that you end the suffering of the falsely imprisoned as soon as possible. Deliver the pardons to the arbiters, as you’d intended. And please arrange for me to inspect the conditions at the mines. The reports I’ve heard are disturbing.”
The tutor appeared uncertain.
“Don’t worry, Bibwit. Arch can do nothing to me.”
On her way out of the gardens, Alyss passed the Lord and Lady of Diamonds, who were talking with Homburg Molly. The lady suddenly raised her voice as if to make sure Alyss heard what she was saying:
“Jack was forever bending rules to suit his own interest, though we never thought he’d go so far as to conspire with Redd. Of course we had to disown him, our only son and heir, after his treasonous behavior.”
But as inexperienced a sovereign as she was, even Alyss knew: In the garden of state, treason was a weed; just when you thought you’d rooted it out for good, it returned more virulent than before.
CHAPTER 2
THE GUARDS were nearly as unforgiving as the mountain the prisoners labored against every day, their hands cut and swollen from smashing at rock with dull handspikes and blunt pickaxes. They had forgotten what it was like for their muscles not to ache; the day-long monotony of hammering reverberated in their bones even after they slogged back to their dormitories to lie on their bunks and wait for sleep, hoping to dream of open fields and bright light, anything but their lives at the Crystal Mines with its windowless housing bunkers and mining tunnels lit sparingly by fire crystals.
They came from all levels of Wonderland society: once-pampered sons of business leaders and ranking families whom Redd had caught exhibiting goodwill to the less fortunate; law-abiding shopkeepers and restaurateurs who had refused to make monthly donations to Her Imperial Viciousness’ accounts; homeless youths Redd had deemed useless, as they had shown no tendency to violence. But among them: one actually deserving of punishment whose backside was, despite his having lost weight since his arrival, still more rotund than the rest of him.
Jack of Diamonds’ time at the mines hadn’t been as woeful as it might have been, since he was adept at pocketing small fragments of crystal, which he used to bribe guards for an extra bowl of infla-rice or for less strenuous work assignments. Yet physical labor was physical labor and, as Jack often told anyone who would listen, the stuff was beneath him. As for the infla-rice, it was supposed to expand in his stomach and make him feel full, but even two bowls’ worth left him hungry, and its blandness caused him to mourn all the more the loss of the savories and feasts he had once enjoyed as a free,
high-ranking denizen.
Sitting on the edge of his bunk, grubby and wigless, he bragged to his dorm mates, as he did every night, of his former life.
“I had countless footmen and servants. I wore clothes made of only the most exclusive materials, such as gwynook skin and caterpillar whiskers. And as to wigs, oh ho, I could praise them for an entire lunar cycle and still not relate a tenth of their beauty. I had the finest wigs the queendom has ever known!”
This occasioned much confused murmuring among his listeners. Jack of Diamonds had plenty of hair. Why would he wear wigs?
“If I had looked down from my privileged seat atop Wonderland society,” Jack went on, “I wouldn’t have seen any of you, that’s how little you would have been. You criminals cannot possibly understand how difficult this is for me, having to share a room with you.” Then, as he did every night, he suddenly cried, “There’s been a mistake! I’m Jack of Diamonds and I don’t belong here!”
Tonight, however, hardly had he uttered these words when—
eeeeeEEEEEEEBOOOOOSSSHHHK!
He was knocked to the floor. Chunks of stone flew every which way. The air became heavy with dust.
A glowing orb generator had blasted a craggy hole in the wall.
Jack scurried underneath his bunk, squeezing as far back as he could to keep from sight. Peeking out, he saw guards exchanging fire with a shadowy enemy, the razor-cards of their AD52s (automatic dealers capable of shooting a deck’s worth with a single pull of the trigger) zipping past, searing through the night sky.
A figure stepped through the blasted hole into the dorm. “Jack of Diamonds?”
Jack hustled out from under his bunk and approached the figure with open arms, as if welcoming a guest to his drawing room. “What took you so long, my good man?”
“We have to be quick,” the figure said.
Jack bowed to his dorm mates, who lay in various degrees of dishevelment and shock from the blast. “Gentlemen, I bid you farewell. My parents’ emissary has arrived to take me home!”
And with that, Jack of Diamonds escaped the Crystal Mines.
CHAPTER 3
THE BRIEFING room hadn’t yet been used in its official capacity: thrice-daily meetings during which Bibwit, Dodge, General Doppelgänger, and Alyss’ other advisers would apprise the queen of pressing Wonderland business, be it financial, political, or militaristic.
“What’s this I hear about you refusing to come to my party?” Alyss teased, forcing a professional smile onto her face as she glided into the room—hexagonal in shape, with holographic viewing screens lining the walls and, at its center, a thick, heavy conference table carved from a single slab of soapstone.
King Arch was not one for teasing. He turned from his intel ministers, with whom he’d been conferring in a lowered voice. “Queen Alyss,” he said, “I make no secret of my prejudices. I don’t believe the turmoil Wonderland has recently endured would have happened were it a kingdom instead of a queendom. But I have come to pay what respects I can to you, for between you and your aunt Redd, I much prefer having you as a neighbor.”
“Thank you, I think,” said Alyss. “Shall we sit?”
The holo-screens were displaying real-time scenes from Wondertropolis’ major thoroughfares and intersections. Arch lowered himself into a chair before the screen showing the newly-named Genevieve Square. The intel ministers removed themselves to a corner of the room and remained standing while two fellows with faces as inscrutable as masks took up positions on either side of their king.
“I feel safe when I travel with them,” Arch said, noticing Alyss’ interest in his bodyguards. “Their names are Ripkins and Blister, and their combat skills, I think, would rival those of even the famed Hatter Madigan, though I’ve been informed that he has taken a sabbatical.”
Alyss nodded. “He needed some time to attend to personal matters. But he’s available to us if we need him.”
The truth was, neither she nor anyone else knew where Hatter had gone or when he’d return. On several occasions, she had stood next to the Heart Crystal to maximize her remote viewing ability, searching for him with her imagination’s eye. The Everlasting Forest, the Chessboard Desert, the Valley of Mushrooms, Outerwilderbeastia, even the Volcanic Plains: No matter where she looked, she failed to locate him. He seemed to have vanished from Wonderland altogether.
From out in the passage came a skiffling sound; Homburg Molly ran into the room and took up position at Alyss’ right flank.
“King Arch,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my bodyguard, Homburg Molly.”
Homburg Molly bowed, but at the sight of her—what with her coat a trifle too large and the heavy backpack that she wore awkwardly—the king laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Molly scowled.
Alyss placed a calming hand on the girl’s arm as King Arch struggled to control his laughter. The walrus-butler toddled into the room with a pitcher of flugelberry wine, two goblets, and a platter of tarty tarts. After the wine had been poured and the walrus dismissed, Arch cleared his throat and reluctantly begged the queen’s pardon—her bodyguard’s too, of course. He did his best to look serious, but his amused glance kept returning to Molly.
“So, where’s the Heart Crystal?” he asked. “I was hoping to have a hologram made of me basking in its glow.”
“I wouldn’t have thought the crystal was of interest to you,” Alyss answered. “Possession of it means little to those not gifted in imagination.”
Arch waved a hand, dismissive. “Just like a woman not to listen. I didn’t say I wanted to possess it, Your Highness. Personally, I find whatever it is you do with your oh-so-powerful imagination to be overrated. Consider me a tourist who has come to see Wondertropolis’ main attractions. I’m sure you’ll grant that the Heart Crystal, as the source of creative inspiration for the cosmos, is among those?”
“We no longer keep it in the open.”
“But I thought Redd had been disposed of. What is the harm in keeping it somewhere for the public to enjoy?”
Disposed of. We can only hope.
Alyss and her advisers had discussed sending a small force into the Heart Crystal in pursuit of Redd and The Cat, which Dodge had volunteered to command. But the risks involved and the unlikelihood of the mission meeting with success had argued against it. No living thing had ever passed through the crystal and there was no guarantee that a physical body survived. Alyss had come up with an alternate plan.
“Bibwit,” she had said, “you’ve claimed that because Redd passed through the Heart Crystal, my aunt in the form we knew her might no longer exist?”
“I have claimed that,” Bibwit had admitted, “and a great many other things too.”
“And whatever passes into the crystal goes out into the universe to inspire imaginations in other worlds—most specifically, Earth, the world that has the most direct link to ours?”
“Sounds familiar.”
So she had suggested that Hatters Rohin and Tock, two of the most gifted among the new Millinery class, travel to Earth through the Pool of Tears, to keep watch for signs of Redd, The Cat, or the influence of either.
“Hunh,” Arch said when he heard Redd’s death had not been assured. He reached for a tarty tart and tossed it to one of his bodyguards.
The guard made a show of flexing his fingertips: Glinting sawteeth pushed out of the skin in the exact whorling patterns of his fingerprints. Without a wince of emotion, with hands moving as fast as the spinning blades of Hatter Madigan’s top hat, he reduced the tarty tart to a pile of crumbs, then nodded to Arch: The food was safe to eat. The sawteeth sunk back into the skin of his fingers, and Arch helped himself to a tarty tart and finished it off in one and a half manly bites.
“I see that Mr. Ripkins deserves his name,” Alyss said, for as she used her imagination to fuse the tarty tart crumbs back together, she noted that they weren’t crumbs at all, but shreds. He had ripped the treat apart.
The king pretended not to noti
ce the tart settling on the platter, again in one piece and ready to be properly consumed. “My guards are prodigies when it comes to more traditional modes of combat,” he said, looking at Homburg Molly. “Blades, orbs, crystal shooters, what have you. But why should I limit them to traditional modes when they can do so much more?”
He snapped his fingers. One of his intel ministers stepped forward and pushed up his sleeve. Blister lowered an index finger toward the minister’s forearm.
“Ah, ah,” Arch said, and waggled a pinkie. “We don’t want him permanently scarred, do we?”
Blister pressed the tip of his pinkie against the minister’s exposed skin. The minister clenched and began to sweat. His entire forearm blistered.
“It’s best to have it drained as soon as possible,” Arch explained, “otherwise complications arise.”
As the blistered fellow was taken into the fold of the other ministers, Molly reached for her hat, which was vibrating in anticipation of action. She would show Ripkins, Blister, and their smug king who the prodigy was.
“Molly!” Alyss warned.
It required all the discipline the girl had to restrain herself. Did the queen doubt that her bodyguard’s abilities would impress these men?
“It’s been brought to my attention, Arch,” Alyss said, troubled by the groans coming from the intel ministers’ huddle, “that you’re developing a weapon capable of destroying not only all of Wonderland but Boarderland as well.”
“How do you know that?”
Alyss shrugged. “My people hear things.”
“Bibwit Harte hears things, you mean,” said Arch, impressed. “But so what if I’m building such a weapon? Surely you believe in scientific progress?”
“I see no ‘progress’ in creating a weapon capable of producing massive devastation.”
“Don’t you? I’m sure a man would.”
Alyss sighed. On the viewing screen behind him, Genevieve Square was the picture of activity. Merchants who’d chosen to keep their shops open instead of attending the gala stood outside their groceries, gemstone ateliers, bakeries, and clothing stores, greeting passersby. Not long ago, as Redd Square, the area would have been nearly deserted, a slum of abandoned apartment buildings and boarded-up storefronts that even her card soldiers had been reluctant to patrol.