by Frank Beddor
“Are you Lewis Carroll?” Redd asked him.
“I-I-I am Charles D-D-Dodgson.”
Redd’s eye twitched—a precursor to violence, as The Cat well knew. He pawed Dodgson in the back of the head. “Explain,” he ordered.
The Don of Mathematics at Christ Church college rubbed his head and spoke in a pout. “I am Ch-Charles D-Dodgson, also known as L-L-L-Lewis C-Carroll, author of the volume y-you hold…in your hand.”
“So you can’t tell the truth even when it comes to your own name?” Redd said. “How perfect.” Circling him, studying him as if to be certain the timid creature before her could really be responsible for immortalizing her niece on Earth, she asked, “Do you know who I am?”
“A somewhat blurry woman w-wearing a desp-p-picable costume?”
Taking this as a compliment, Redd trounced about like a dame at her ball. “Yes, it’s horrendous, isn’t it?” Several roses snaked out from the thicket of the dress and directed their mouthy blooms at Dodgson. “I am Redd Heart. Did my niece ever mention me?”
“I have never met your n-niece.”
Redd laughed. “Mr. Dodgson, I think we have established that you are a gifted liar, both in person and…” she thumped Alice in Wonderland, “…in print. Your talent is the reason I brought you here. Your talent and your ill-advised decision to write a book about Alyss Heart, which, doubly unfortunate for you, became popular in this bland world. But do not lie to me, you inconsequential man. You have met my niece and I will not allow myself to be eclipsed by her in Wonderland, on Earth, or anywhere else. You are going to write a book about me, Mr. Dodgson. You will immortalize me, just as you have immortalized Alyss. And my book had better sell more copies than that drivel you scribbled about her.”
“B-B-B-But I know nothing about you.”
“You will start by writing down anything my niece told you about her dear old aunt Redd. As for the rest…make it up.” Redd then turned to her lieutenants, who were lined up against a wall, waiting for when she might find them useful. “Mr. Van de Skülle, take my biographer here to the Greek Court, where he is to live until his manuscript meets with my approval. You’ll find the necessary writing instruments waiting for you,” she said to Dodgson. “You might notice that once you enter the court, thick bars will form on the doors and windows. But don’t worry yourself. They’re only there to prevent you from escaping.”
Shortly after Van de Skülle shoved Reverend Dodgson from the room—
“I’ve found one, Your Imperial Viciousness,” Vollrath said, breathlessly entering the court. “It’s not far from here, on Cockspur Street.”
Redd turned to her lieutenants. “Sacrenoir, you’re in charge until we return. As for recruits, I expect you to enlist only the worst of the worst—which, for my purposes, are the best. Alistaire, Siren, come with us.”
Out on Cockspur Street, pedestrians scattered like nervous rats as Redd marched at the head of Vollrath, The Cat, Alistaire Poole, and Siren Hecht.
“There!” Vollrath said, pointing to a puddle where no puddle should have been—in the window display of a stationer’s shop.
Without slowing or hesitation, Redd shattered the window, stepped into the stationer’s display and dropped into the puddle.
Sfoosh!
She was sucked down and out of sight. Vollrath, The Cat, Alistaire, and Siren quickly followed. If the eardrum-popping descent through the multidimensional waters had any effect on Redd, she showed no sign of it. Her face was firm, expressionless, and she kept her eyes wide open as she torpedoed deeper and deeper…
Then came the brief suspension in the lightless depths, and the portal’s reverse gravity began to take effect, drawing Redd and her underlings up with increasing speed until—
Sploosh! Fablash! Splashaaa!
They exploded out of the Pool of Tears into the open air. Instantly, razor-cards were slicing down around them, muzzlefuls of crystal shot whizzing past their heads. Before Redd splashed back into the water, she was spinning, her arms held out to either side, orb generators spraying out from the tips of her fingers.
Waboooshkkktsh! Ba-ba-booozzzztshchkshkchtt!
The last of the enemy’s crystal shot whistled past. The card soldiers patrolling the Pool of Tears were no more.
“They’ll know we’re coming,” Vollrath said, bobbing in the water.
“No, they won’t.” Redd had, by the power of her imagination, routed to the void every warning the soldiers had tried to send to General Doppelgänger on their crystal communicators.
On dry land, The Cat hissed at the pool and shook the detestable wet from his fur. Redd, being in the same dimension as the Heart Crystal, felt stronger than she had in a long time. She gestured violently, and the not-so-distant white noise Alistaire and Siren had been hearing ceased.
“The Whispering Woods,” The Cat said.
“There’ll be no whispering about me,” Redd declared. “Alyss is not to know of my return until I pass through my Looking Glass Maze, by which time Sacrenoir better have amassed the Earth army I’ll need to battle her forces, or he’ll wind up as a midnight snack for his skeletons.”
“But they’ll know we’ve come,” Vollrath said again.
Redd looked at him as if she might rip the tongue from his head.
“The caterpillars,” the scholar clarified. “Being able to see into the past and the future, they’ll know we’ve come and why.”
The Cat brushed at his whiskers. “Back when Her Imperial Viciousness was last in power,” he remembered, “she ordered us to destroy those outdated worms, but every time we tried, they saw us coming and slithered off to wherever outdated worms go when they want to be safe.”
“I hate truth,” Redd spat, “but The Cat is speaking it. Why should the caterpillars sit still and let me approach them after what I’ve done?” she asked Vollrath.
“You don’t believe in their prophecies?” the scholar asked, surprised. How could a Heart, one whose family had for generations most gained or lost by the prophecies, not believe in them?
“I see no use for the caterpillars or their fortune-tellings,” Redd said. “Whether I believe in them or not is irrelevant when I’m in possession of the Heart Crystal.”
“Not if the prophecy has to do with your having the Heart Crystal,” Vollrath humbly submitted.
“Shut up, tutor. But console yourself with this: I do believe that, if anyone can tell me where to find the Garden of Uncompleted Mazes, it’s the caterpillars. Now answer the question I put to you: How do we ensure they’ll let me approach?”
Vollrath searched his albino brain for an answer, his ears rubbing together like the worrying hands of an earthling. The six caterpillars of Wonderland: servants of the Heart Crystal, the power source for all creation. For the most part, they kept aloof from government intrigues or political rivalries, involving themselves only if they thought the Heart Crystal was in danger of being destroyed. They didn’t much care who possessed the crystal, so long as it was left to disseminate imagination, the creative urge and the spirit of invention, to Earth and other worlds.
“When you were last in power,” Vollrath asked, “you didn’t in any way try to disrupt the Heart Crystal’s energy flow, did you?”
“Of course not, fool! It would be no good to me if its power were compromised.”
“Well then,” Vollrath said happily, and loud enough for the clairvoyant caterpillars to take note. “So long as you promise not to destroy or harm the crystal or in any way disrupt its flow after you resume power, I’m sure the caterpillars will meet with you. Do you promise this?”
“I promise,” Redd steamed.
“Good.” But in case this wasn’t enough to secure the caterpillars’ presence, and knowing that there was one thing the oracles couldn’t resist, Vollrath added, “When we go to meet them, we shall arrive bearing tarty tarts!”
The Cat, hearing the snap of a twig behind them, twirled around ready to pounce.
“In Redd I trust! The R
edd way is the right way!”
Having dropped flat to the ground the moment Redd burst from the pool, Jack of Diamonds had survived her bombardment as card soldiers fell dead to the left and right of him. As soon as he’d recognized who was swimming to shore, he’d hurried down to meet them.
“Wherever Redd leads, I follow!” He now saluted, stepping from the nearby scrub and approaching her imperial viciousness.
“Except when it involves leaping into the Heart Crystal,” Redd snarled.
“We shouldn’t leave any witnesses,” The Cat said.
“No, we shouldn’t,” Redd agreed, and with that, The Cat swatted Jack to the ground with a paw.
“Let me have him,” Alistaire Poole smirked, taking scalpel and bone saw from his instruments case.
“No, me.” Siren Hecht opened her mouth to let loose the weapon of her voice.
“Wait!” Jack cried. “Your Imperial Viciousness, please! Do you want to kill the one man in Wonderland who can most help you?”
Redd signaled for The Cat, Alistaire, and Siren to wait a moment. “What, in that fatty head of yours, makes you think I need anybody’s help?” she asked.
Jack clambered to his feet. “Your Imperial Viciousness, I couldn’t help overhearing you when you came onshore. I don’t pretend to understand your talk of gardens and uncompleted mazes, but I did hear you say that your army on Earth isn’t large enough to battle Queen Alyss’—I mean, your traitorous niece’s. But I can fill your ranks to bursting with the tribes of Boarderland, the most fearsome troops this world has to offer…besides Milliners. And Glass Eyes. And maybe certain chessmen and—”
“Get on with it,” Redd demanded.
“Well, if the twenty-one tribes of Boarderland were to cooperate and together attack Arch, his forces wouldn’t be able to defeat them. But they’ll never do this so long as Arch is king because he keeps them constantly at odds, feeding them the assorted lies he calls privileged intelligence and cultivating hate among them.”
“And for that, I respect him.”
“Yes, but I’ll convince the tribes to come together under your command and rise up against Arch. I’ll say that you’ve promised to leave Boarderland to them all equally—which you can do or not, as you choose—if they will fight the forces of Wonderland as your army. You could be queen of Wonderland and Boarderland.”
Redd remained silent, thoughtful.
Jack glanced uncertainly at Alistaire’s glinting bone saw. “And, uh, I heard you mention that you’re off to visit the caterpillars,” he said, “but if you wish, I can get you into Boarderland without Alyss or her forces discovering you…a certain guard who can be bribed. I know where Arch’s royal convoy is presently camped and it’s a short journey from there to the Valley of Mushrooms.”
“I have powers enough to enter Boarderland without resorting to bribes,” Redd sniffed.
“Of course you do. I just meant…” Growing more desperate, Jack fell to whining. “Mistress Heart! In a scheme to wrest power from Alyss, my parents were betrayed by King Arch and sentenced to the Crystal Mines. I’m broke, friendless, and without any wigs whatsoever! I have only one reason to remain in this world, a single guiding principle by which to steer my life, and that is to bring utter ruin down on Arch’s head, just as he has brought to my family!”
“Why didn’t you say so? For that motive alone, I’ll let you live to try your plan.”
The Cat, never fond of Jack of Diamonds, rolled his eyes.
“But I do doubt your ability to convince the tribes to fight under me,” Redd observed.
“And I live only to prove your doubts unfounded, Your Imperial Viciousness.”
“Let’s hope you do.” Turning to the others with what was supposed to be expansiveness, Redd said, “You see, I’m not above helping an unfortunate soul find new purpose in life…so long as it benefits me.”
The next day, Jack of Diamonds led Redd and her entourage out from the shadows of Boarderland’s Glyph Cliffs. Arch’s royal encampment was visible in the middle distance.
“I’ll leave you to introduce yourself to the king,” Jack said, bowing to Redd. “It’s best if he doesn’t see me.”
“You have exactly seven cycles of the Thurmite moon to carry out your plan,” Redd informed him. “If you cherish consciousness, do not fail.”
“The next time we meet, the tribes of Boarderland will be at your disposal,” Jack promised, bowing several more times and hurrying off.
Redd watched him trot back toward the Glyph Cliffs, then turned and, with Vollrath, The Cat, Alistaire, and Siren in step behind her—
“Come,” she said, starting for Arch’s camp. “It’s time to visit one I called a friend, back when I had use of friends.”
CHAPTER 33
THE TWIN Wonderland suns had risen full above the horizon, the Wondertropolis skyline gilded, backlit, with their morning rays. In the palace courtyard, the sunflowers planted around the war memorial were yawning and shaking off the dew. Dodge—wide-awake despite having been up the entire night—was standing at his father’s grave.
“In everything, father, I aspire to do as I believe you would have done. I know that my behavior reflects on you and, despite my failings, I hope I’ve made you proud.”
The Hereafter Plant growing from the mulch of Sir Justice’s grave—its blossom the perfect likeness of the beloved guardsman—bobbed on its stem.
“But this idea that I’m supposed to maintain my proper place in relation to my queen…” Dodge went on, “I love Alyss, father. Why should her title demand her to favor the affections of ranking sons when they’ve done nothing but win the lottery of birth? I won’t ignore my heart just because it’s not considered proper for a guardsman to love his queen. I hope you understand.”
For the first time this morning, Dodge looked directly at the Hereafter Plant’s complicated blossom—the overlaid petals that formed the familiar cheekbones, the pistil-eyelashes. Even the buds of the eyes were accurate; Sir Justice’s irises had been precisely that shade of turquoise blue.
“I miss you, dad.”
It sounded so weak, so inadequate. Words given the impossible task of conveying a family’s tragedy. I miss you.
He wiped his eyes. The sunflowers were sniffling in sympathy and one of them lifted its voice in song, the melody somehow evoking the melancholy beauty of loss, of surviving in the face of seemingly unbearable loss.
“Give me the wisdom and courage to face the future, whatever may be coming,” Dodge prayed.
The kitchens and servants halls were buzzing with news of Hatter’s defection, but Alyss, alone in the palace’s sovereign suite, had stopped spying on him. She’d learned little from her numerous remote viewings of the Milliner, in which, inevitably, she’d see him attending some leisure event with Boarderland’s king, apparently unconcerned for Molly’s safety.
Which means either that Molly’s safe or that he’s doing what he must to ensure she becomes so. I will not give up on him, not when he has so often risked his life for my mother’s as well as my own.
Her mother. Alyss stared into the looking glass hanging above the hand-chiseled water basin.
You said you’d always be with me. On the other side of the glass.
“I must be staring into the wrong mirrors,” Alyss said aloud. In one of the parlors, she lowered herself into a floating chair. Dodge’s packet in her lap, she took out the first of his letters.
Alyss,
You would have been fourteen today if you’d lived. Happy birthday. I’m not so mad about what’s happened to us right now, I don’t know why. Bibwit would probably say it’s because it’s impossible to be angry all the time, but he’s wrong. Tomorrow or even sooner all of my rage and hurt will return. Total. All-consuming. I believe in my rage and hurt. I need them if I’m to survive long enough to kill The Cat. After that, I don’t care what happens. Especially now that you and father are gone.
The letters were not dated; it was impossible to tell in what o
rder they were written. Alyss chose another at random.
Best friend,
I can’t live according to the principles of White Imagination or even by the guardsman’s code my father and I used to value. Try to understand. It isn’t that I don’t believe in them, but I can’t allow room for belief. The Cat must, and will, die. Wonderland isn’t a city that cares about honor codes anyway. If I lived by some code, my actions would become predictable. The enemy would take advantage of this and I’d be killed. An honorable death doesn’t exist. Death is death. But it’s funny that survival and revenge require the same thing: no honor codes, no supposed higher principles to aspire to, no mercy. Would you still recognize me, Alyss? I avoid looking glasses, not wanting to see my own reflection.
Another letter was stained with what might have been tea or something worse.
Alyss,
There are those who still think me young, but I feel as old as Bibwit after everything I’ve been through. Early this morning, a platoon of Alyssians was ambushed while carrying supplies to HQ. I was with them. I thought I was used to the sight of blood, but when it belongs to your friends…I lost more than a few today. What kind of life is this, that I live only to take the lives of others? I don’t want to believe I could have changed so much. I want to believe that somewhere beneath all this anger there is still the Dodge Anders you used to tease for his love of guardsmen and Milliners, and who felt absolutely giddy to have your attentions—you, heiress to a queendom and keeper of my heart.
Tears were trickling down her cheeks. Alyss folded the letters and returned them to their packet. Queens aren’t supposed to cry as often as I do, especially warrior queens, but how can I—