Ivy: Daughter of Alice

by J. A. Armitage

  Ivy

  Daughter of Alice in Wonderland

  J A Armitage

  Zara Quentin

  Contents

  Queen of Clockwork

  1. 12 August

  2. 13 August

  3. 14 August

  4. 15 August

  5. 16 August

  6. 17 August

  7. 18 August

  Heiress of Delusion

  1. 19th August

  2. 20th August

  3. 21st August

  4. 22nd August

  5. 23rd August

  6. 24th August

  7. 25th August

  Throne of Cards

  1. 26th August

  2. 27th August

  3. 28th August

  4. 29th August

  5. 30th August

  6. 31st August

  7. 1st September

  Goddess of Hearts

  1. 2nd September

  2. 3rd September

  3. 4th September

  4. 5th September

  5. 6th September

  6. 7th September

  7. 8th September

  A note from the author

  After the Happily Ever After…

  Join us

  The Kingdom of Fairytales Team

  About J.A. Armitage

  About Zara Quentin

  Copyright © 2021 by J A Armitage

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited By Rose Lipscomb

  Cover by Enchanted Quill Press

  Proof Reader: Tina Merritt

  Created with Vellum

  Queen of Clockwork

  1

  12 August

  The pocket watch lay heavy in my hand as I brushed my fingertips over its polished metal. The watch cover was closed, so I couldn’t see the clock face, but that didn’t matter. The regular ticking reverberated through me. Standing in the middle of the shop, I felt it.

  High wooden ceilings and tall plate-glass windows displayed the finished, half-finished, and just-started inventions that stocked the Emporium of Mechanical Gadgetry and Invention. The Emporium boasted clean benches and neatly arranged gadgets. Everything shone. It impressed glancing customers with the owners’ mechanical prowess. Only I knew what worked and what didn’t.

  Inside the pocket watch, tiny gears, springs, wheels, and mechanisms worked together to make the hands move in time. It worked perfectly.

  “Are you sure the lass is up to this?” Mr. Pillar blew a ring of smoke from the cigar he held between two fingers. I wrinkled my nose as the pungent smell wafted through the small shop. “She’s not even looking at it.”

  I glanced at my oldest friend, Chesh, Mr. Chet Cheshire, the son of the elder Mr. Cheshire, who owned the Emporium. He grinned and patted Mr. Pillar on the shoulder.

  Mr. Pillar had the look of someone softening around the edges with age. He had coiffed his gray hair into fashionable curls around his face, and he wore a three-piece suit of green pin-stripes, carried a cane, and wore a single eyeglass, which made one of his gray eyes appear twice the size of the other. Both his haughty air, his outlandishly fashionable style, and the embroidered family crest on the lapel of his suit marked him as a member of an old family of the Forge.

  “If Miss. Rowntree can’t fix your watch, nobody can,” Chesh assured Mr. Pillar.

  I flipped open the lid to look at Mr. Pillar’s ancient pocket watch—a family heirloom, apparently—noticing the beautiful face inlaid with rubies. The scarlet jewels were a sign that the late Queen of Hearts favored Mr. Pillar’s ancestor.

  People rarely displayed their allegiances so readily to strangers.

  “It is a beautiful watch, sir,” I murmured. “You said it needed fixing?”

  Mr. Pillar snorted, raising himself up to his toes, then rolling back on his heels as he huffed another lungful of cigar smoke. “Look at it!”

  I frowned. “It appears to be keeping time.”

  Mr. Pillar jabbed his cigar at me, narrowly missing burning my hand. “Exactly—not one second off.” He turned to Chesh. “You might be right about her.”

  Chesh beamed at me. “I’m always right, sir.”

  Mr. Pillar chuckled. “Now that we understand each other, Miss Rowntree, send word to me when it’s fixed. Mind you, don’t delay—I’m eager to have it back where it belongs.” Mr. Pillar patted the empty pocket of his waistcoat where he usually kept his pocket watch.

  “You mentioned that earlier.” I closed my eyes briefly as I rubbed at my forehead, considering the puzzle. As Mr. Pillar turned to exit the shop, I forced myself to ask the obvious question: “If your watch is keeping time, what needs fixing?”

  Mr. Pillar’s eyes bulged. He glanced behind his shoulder, then stepped closer to both of us. “I’ve told you,” he whispered, jabbing his cigar so that the ash floated in the air. “It’s an antique watch. It hasn’t worked for 18 years. Not since…” His eyes widened so suddenly that his eyeglass popped out and dropped to the floor. Mr. Pillar looked over his shoulder again at the empty shop, the whites of his eyes showing. “Not since the Queen… fell.” His voice was so low that the last words were barely audible.

  I stared at him. “Died, you mean.”

  Mr. Pillar gasped. Like many of the older residents of the Forge, he was afraid to talk about the late Queen. I caught myself before I rolled my eyes, and glanced at Chesh, expecting him to share my bemusement. My friend was still smiling, but a crease between his eyes showed he was as puzzled as I was. I glanced at the pocket watch that lay heavy in my hand.

  “Are you saying…?” I started.

  Mr. Pillar interrupted. “Suddenly—this morning—that watch started working again. With no warning at all!”

  I brushed my thumb over the clock face, the problem suddenly taking a different shape. A bell tinkled as Mr. Pillar wrenched open the door.

  “Make it stop, Miss. Rowntree. That’s all I ask.” Mr. Pillar’s eyes darted from me to Chesh, then back again. He tipped his top hat, turned his back, and hurried away.

  “Quite mad.” Chesh said, grinning as he hooked his thumbs into the pocket of his gray waistcoat. Never underdressed, he wore a black frock coat over gray trousers, and a necktie around his high-collar shirt, while his top hat rested on the counter. He’d combed his mane of curly blonde hair to the side, and his green eyes twinkled. “I can’t imagine you’ll have trouble with that request.”

  “I’m not breaking a perfectly good watch.”

  Chesh chuckled. “Just let it wind down.”

  I turned my back and reached for the small clutch bag that I’d set down on the bench.

  “Let me,” Chesh said, darting out to reach around me for my bag, in a manner that had him lean over my right shoulder.

  I started at the gesture as it brought to mind a memory of a dream.

  Dark eyes stared into mine, two pools of fathomless darkness. A mouth opened, and white, gleaming fangs sank into the soft flesh at the base of my neck.

  I spun around, dropping the pocket watch as my hands clutched at my throat. For a moment, I was there, in the grips of a vampire, his teeth sunk deep into my skin.

  “Ivy?” Chesh stepped back, his head cocked to the side. “Are you all right?”

  I blinked several times before the strange, pale face was replaced by Chesh’s familiar one.

  “You startled me.”

  “Sorry.” Chesh bent down to pick up Mr. Pillar’s watch. “You might break it if you treat it l
ike this.”

  I examined the watch again, hoping it wasn’t damaged. Satisfied, I slipped it into my clutch.

  Chesh straightened his frock coat, settled his top hat on his head, then crooked his elbow at me. “That’s enough seriousness. I have a desperate need for a new waistcoat. Perhaps shoes, as well. I shall insist upon your company, and your opinion on the subject.”

  I placed one hand at his elbow, using the other to smooth my waistcoat and skirts, as I let Chesh open the door for me and lead me out of his shop.

  I ran my finger along the inner seam of a vest, examining the stitching. A fine piece of tailoring, as I expected from one of the finest tailors in the Forge.

  “I trust nothing is amiss?”

  I smiled at the impeccably dressed tailor, Mr. Gerrod, knowing he recognized me as an aesthetic inspector—one of many employed by the President to examine public places, including businesses, to enforce the rigorous aesthetic standards required by law.

  “Not at all, sir,” I replied. “I’m not working today. I’m admiring your wares.”

  Mr. Gerrod dipped his head in recognition of my compliment. “In that case, may I suggest this deep indigo would complement your unusual eyes? I could make you a dress worthy of your beauty.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” I answered about to refuse his offer. Pearl, my non-identical twin, always made sure my wardrobe was bursting with clothes, but I took another look at the rich color of the fabric and hesitated.

  “That color suits you,” Chesh came to stand behind me. “I must insist you take Mr. Gerrod up on his generous offer.”

  Mr. Gerrod bowed. “We have your measurements on file, Miss. Rowntree,” he said and hurried away before I changed my mind. I turned an exasperated look at Chesh.

  “I can’t have you wearing the same dress two times in a week,” he said, shrugging. “Pearl would have a fit.”

  “I could hardly wear the same dress twice in a month.”

  “If you did, it would be splashed all over the front page of The Forge Hart. Imagine the gossip!”

  I threw my head back and laughed. Mr. Gerrod raised an eyebrow as he glanced over at us.

  “Shush, you’re causing a commotion,” Chesh scolded. “Now, tell me—does this coat become me?”

  Chesh was trying on a new outfit—a frock coat in a deep green, over a yellow-gold vest, and fitted black trousers. He stood in front of me, seeking affirmation. Hovering in the background, the tailor’s young assistant stared appreciatively at him. A tall man, Chesh cut a fine figure in a suit, and his cheerful, bubbly persona added to his handsome charm. He turned heads wherever he went. Pearl had, more than once, asked me whether I fancied Chesh. I had answered my twin sister firmly in the negative. He was my closest friend, that was all.

  “You know it does,” I answered Chesh. “The green brings out your eyes.”

  Chesh straightened his shoulders as he turned to catch his reflection once more in the mirror.

  “Very handsome,” the assistant blushed deeply as she offered her opinion.

  “I shall take it,” Chesh smirked at her, as she helped him remove the coat.

  While Chesh returned to the changing rooms, I meandered among the displays once more, trailing my fingers lightly over the soft, textured fabrics.

  The memory of my dream nagged at me, and I dwelt on the dark eyes that had looked straight into my soul. I wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling suddenly exposed. I dreamed often—silly dreams that flitted from my mind as soon as I awoke—but this one was different.

  The perfect curve of the vampire’s lips, as red as fresh blood, parted, revealing his sharp fangs. He leaned forward and dipped his mouth to the base of my neck.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my breath becoming short. I scolded myself as I took several deep breaths.

  A hand touched my elbow. My eyes flew open to see Chesh staring down at me.

  “Ivy?” he whispered, his eyes darting over to the counter where the assistant was carefully wrapping his new clothes. “Are you ill?”

  I pushed the images from my dream away. “Nothing a little air won’t fix. Are we visiting the cobbler?”

  Chesh grinned, flashing straight teeth. “I can’t wear shabby, old shoes with a new outfit.”

  I snorted, making a point of staring at his black shoes, polished to a shine.

  The shop bell tinkled as we stepped out onto the neat cobblestones. Sixth Avenue was lined with shops of all kinds. One of the main streets of The Forge, it was framed by tall buildings that sprung up from each side to tower over the pedestrians, blocking all but the midday sun and casting almost perpetual shadows.

  Despite the shade, the late summer heat was oppressive. I flicked out my fan with my spare hand as a trickle of perspiration dampened the collar of my shirt.

  “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Chesh?” I asked.

  Half of his mouth quirked up. “You’ve never needed permission before,” Chesh replied.

  “Have you ever met a vampire?”

  Chesh laughed out loud. “Of all the things you might ask me—a vampire?” He paused for a moment to consider. “Perhaps once… in a bar.” He pulled at the collar of his shirt, and I noticed a flush in his cheeks, which I put down to humid heat.

  “I haven’t,” I murmured, those dark eyes coming once more to mind.

  “I should hope not.” He raised an eyebrow. “The city would be alight with gossip if you were to keep company with vampires. Anyway, they keep to their own.” Chesh stopped in front of Broderick’s Boots. “Here we are!”

  He insisted on a new pair of boots for me to match my new indigo dress. Mr. Broderick took the measurements, then I settled down in a chair in the shop's front, gazing out of the window, while Chesh tried on a pair of shoes he’d ordered a week before.

  The new soles clicked on the floorboards as he paced. His voice wafted through the store and, though I couldn’t hear his exact words, I imagined him discussing the fit and the spots where the shoes rubbed his toes. I’d shopped with Chesh often enough to know how he fussed about shoes. I’d be dragged back to the cobbler at least once more before Chesh agreed to take delivery of his order.

  I let my gaze wander over the street outside. The buildings were stone and timber, with brightly painted shutters and doors. Once all red, according to the late Queen’s taste, now they boasted bright yellows, pinks, greens, blues, and purples. In the late afternoon, the residents of Melfall, capital of The Forge, were settling in at the teahouses and cafes that spilled out onto the footpaths.

  I let my eyes wander, smiling at the sight of a woman in a frilly, pink jacket and skirt, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and walking a flamingo on a leash. In the middle of the avenue, a man in a bright yellow suit rode a black-and-white striped zebra. Behind him, a man stepped up to a nearby doorway. He was tall, his features obscured by his hat, but something about him snagged my attention—even more than the man on the zebra or the woman with the flamingo. I sat straighter, peering at him. He seemed familiar—the pallor of his skin and the darkness of his hair reminded me of the vampire that haunted my dreams.

  It can’t be him, I told myself. It’s too early for a vampire.

  I glanced up. The late afternoon sun had dropped below the line of the buildings, casting the street into complete shade. Would a vampire risk the fading daylight? I didn’t know.

  My heart hammered, and I raised a hand to my neck to trail my fingers over my skin.

  Then, the man turned, exposing his profile: a hooknose and a long forehead.

  Seeing imaginary vampires? I sighed, shaking my head at my foolishness. What is wrong with me today?

  I glanced at the teahouse across the road and decided to insist that Chesh accompany me for refreshment. After all, I’d waited for him in shops for the entire afternoon. I fiddled with the lace on my clutch, then pulled out Mr. Pillar’s watch, and turned my mind to its puzzle to pass the time.

  I closed my eyes, concentrating on the watch. I imagined
the mainspring, the gear wheels, the escarpment mechanism, and the balance wheel—their minute components working together to power the hands on the face of the watch. Without even opening the cover, I felt each of the tiny components moving to make it tick. I knew there were fifteen small jewels inside, carefully placed to minimize the wear and tear of the moving parts. It was a quality watch.

  It worked perfectly.

  I let my chin fall to my chest. I couldn’t break this beautiful antique watch. Surely, someone in Mr. Pillar’s household—a servant, perhaps?—had wound the watch when they should not have. When the mainspring lost its compression, the parts would go still again. When that happened, I decided, I would return the watch to Mr. Pillar without charge.

  I slipped the watch back into my clutch and opened my eyes.

  A large playing card stood on the other side of the cobbler’s window. A rectangular body with metallic arms and legs and blinking red lights peering out of a metal orb for a head. On its chest was a single red heart.

  My mouth fell open.

  A Heart. A legend of the old stories—a soldier of the late Queen’s ruthless army.

  I clamped a hand over my mouth as I sucked in a breath and stood so abruptly that I knocked over the chair.

  “Ivy?” Chesh called out from the back of the store.

  The lights in the Heart’s eyes blinked, then its whole body turned, and it marched along the street.

  I yanked open the shop door and burst out onto the street.