Malice in Wonderland Bundle 3

by Lotus Rose

Froud giggles and says, “Very well, but I must admit, I can barely contain myself. This black rose within me helps me more fully realize the beauty, the art of those songs.”

  “He’s gone mad, a complete nutter,” the Cat says, hovering next to Froud.

  Froud merely says, “Cat, you may watch the clock as well, if you think you’re capable. Malice, keep watching...” He sways the watch. “Humpty, you as well.”

  Malice snarls and doesn’t even look at the watch. Instead she glares at Froud. “Why are you doing this?”

  “To calm you. You seem a bit worked up.”

  “No!” Malice shouts to Froud. “I meant...this!” She waves her hand at the Knight. “Why are you lying to the Knight? Turning him against us? Accosting and kissing me? Why?”

  “The intoxication of the black rose,” Humpty says.

  The Cat says, “Perhaps he’s caught the madness from his patients.”

  “Yes, gone completely mental, he has,” Hatter says.

  Froud’s grin widens creepily, he looks a bit demented. “No, not completely. Not yet.”

  “What do you mean?” Malice says.

  “You want to know why I’m doing this? Hmmm?” Froud says while tilting his head to the side, teasing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “YES,” MALICE SAYS. “Did you do this all just to get a taste of the black rose? Became a criminal just to get a bit walloped?”

  Froud merely stares at her with that grin upon his face, looking creepy, swinging his watch, which Malice ignores.

  “He’ll soon be in the dungeon, no doubt,” Humpty says.

  Hatter says to Froud, “Of course you understand that I no longer want you treating me, considering your unprofessional behavior.”

  “He shan’t be treating anyone anymore,” Malice says. “He’s ruined his career. And for what?”

  “I told you,” the Cat says. “He’s completely lost it. The doctor becomes the patient.”

  “Aye,” Humpty says while sneering at Froud. “He’s a bloomin’ whackjob, gone completely mad.”

  But Froud merely smiles back, as if he’s holding a secret. “No, little girl,” he says, “I haven’t gone completely mad, not yet. That’s the second part of my plan.”

  “Come again?” Humpty says, taken aback.

  Froud says, “And it’s only partially true that I shall become a patient, for when I reach the next stage, I shan’t be in need of treatment...” He directs his gaze to indicate the ottoman.

  Hatter says, “You would never tell me what was in that blasted container. Shall we finally find out?”

  “You shall indeed.” Froud gestures with his chin to the Knight. “Come here, my fine phobic fellow, and guard this cache of weapons. We wouldn’t want those three getting their vicious little-girl hands on them, would we?”

  “Definitely not,” the Knight says as he walks toward Froud.

  Now Froud stands by the ottoman, whilst the Knight is in front of the stockade of weapons.

  Froud places his watch back inside his pocket. “Now, my good little child queen, you wanted to know why I’m doing this.”

  “To feel the effects of the black rose?” Humpty says.

  “Partially, my sadly sane little girl. You see, I don’t mind at all that I won’t be able to treat the insane any longer. For you see, I no longer feel they should be treated at all. And the fact of the matter is that... I wish to become one of you.” He’s looking at Hatter.

  Hatter says, “It’s jolly good fun, being mad is. I always wondered why you were so adamant about curing me—I rather resented it actually.”

  The Knight calls out, “Well then why did you keep attending his sessions?”

  Hatter looks down. “I enjoyed the attention.”

  Malice says, “I’m sorry, I just really have to ask.” To the Knight she says, “You know this is the Mad Hatter, right?”

  “’Tis,” the Knight says with a nod.

  Malice continues, “The one always wearing a top hat, known for being mad.”

  “Aye,” says the Knight.

  “So when you look at him, what sort of person do you see?”

  “When I look at her, I see a little girl, of course.”

  “In a top hat?”

  “Of course. She wouldn’t be much of a hatter without one, now would she?” And he rolls his eyes.

  Hatter is looking down at himself and patting his body in dismay.

  Malice points at the Cheshire Cat to the side. “And that’s the Cheshire Cat, correct?”

  “Unfortunately,” the Knight says.

  “So when you look at her or him, which do you see? A floating full-sized girl head, or a miniature-sized little girl?”

  The Knight chuckles. “Neither! I see a floating cat head, you silly billy!”

  “Of course,” Malice says. “How ridiculous of me to suggest otherwise. Now you...” She points at Froud. “Carry on.” She can tell by his expression that he’s trying to remember where he left off. “You were saying you wish to become a mental patient...”

  “No, my little girl queen. Not a patient. Something greater. For, I won’t have a ‘condition’ that needs to be treated, I shall have a glorious gift to be envied!” He lifts his index finger to accentuate his point.

  “Because of what’s in the ottoman?” the Cat says.

  “Indeed,” answers Froud.

  Hatter says, “Oh won’t it be marvelous fun to try and guess what’s in there? Why, the one who guesses the closest could win a prize of some sort.”

  “Hatter!” Malice shouts. “This is not some game.”

  Hatter’s shoulders slump. “My apologies, My Queen.”

  “A severed head,” the Cat says. “That’s what I venture to guess is in there. How close do I have to get, exactly, and who’s the judge of it? And also, I should like to know what the prize shall be.”

  “There is no prize!” Malice shouts. “No, I take that back, the prize shall be you being slapped silly if there is actually a severed head in there! Now that’s enough guesses. I’m sure this traitorous prat shall reveal the box’s contents shortly.” She looks at Froud. “So go on then, finish your speech.”

  Froud clears his throat. “Well, I started my career holding quite conventional attitudes. I believed that the mad needed to be ‘fixed’—to be made rational, sane...normal.”

  “I tend to be mad, normally,” Hatter says.

  “Yes, indeed my good chap, errr...” Froud’s eyes shift side to side. “I mean my chappy, er chapped, little girl who’s not a chap. And when I first started treating you, I pitied you.”

  Hatter frowns and says, “’Tis a pity.”

  Froud says, “But, as time went on, I came to see what intriguing places your thoughts went to, feasting upon ideas a sane person could never attain.”

  “Do go on,” Hatter says. “I like your assessment.”

  “Yes, my fine fellow...err...” Froud’s eyes shift side to side.

  “‘Felon’ I’m sure you meant to say,” the Cat mocks. “Or perhaps you meant ‘feline’ like me.”

  “No, I meant ‘fallow’. Now, Hatter, I am a highly intelligent scholar, and I do so love books. But the ones I studied to become a psychiatrist all followed the conventional view, the wrong view, I’m afraid. But actually interacting with you began to change my views upon the matter, my good ma—” His eyes shift side to side. “...maiden, little maiden.”

  “Next you’ll be calling me a mermaid,” Hatter remarks.

  Froud chuckles. “I may very well be doing such things quite soon. So, after interacting with you, I began seeking out different sorts of books. These were books that spoke of the connection between genius and madness! That spoke of poets and artists caught up in the throes of that glorious state known as divine madness! And so, once these books opened my eyes, Hatter, things changed so that when I looked at you, I no longer pitied you. No, I came to envy you!”

  “It seems I’m in an enviable position,” Hatter says.

>   Froud says, “I want to be possessed of the divine madness! But it’s not easily attained by someone who doesn’t naturally possess it. Through books I learned about the effects of the black rose. But I never imagined I’d have the opportunity to partake of it. But then you, Malice, brought it within my reach, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say: within my kiss.”

  “You fiend!” Malice shouts. “So now you feel this ‘divine madness’ as you call it?”

  “Not yet. The madness of the black rose is not powerful enough on its own, especially since I got a diluted dose. But in combination with what is inside that ottoman, I believe it shall be enough.”

  “Brilliant!” Hatter exclaims and he claps enthusiastically.

  Humpty scowls at him, says, “I don’t think you should be encouraging him.”

  “No, you’re right, little lass,” Froud says, speaking to Hatter. “Madness is brilliant! Just as you are, my madgirl.”

  “I’m brilliant?”

  Malice says to Froud, “Now don’t you go encouraging him. He’ll get a big head.”

  “Oh, my dear!” Hatter says as he lifts his hands up and feels the top of his hat. “Will my hats still fit?”

  “I think you should be more concerned,” the Cat says, “that your head shall explode.”

  Hatter lets forth a squealy sort of whimper.

  “Oh pay him no heed,” Malice says. “Your head’s not going to explode.”

  Froud says, “But I do think you’re brilliant.” And despite the nasty look Malice shoots him, he continues, “Brilliantly mad. I can’t explain to you what torture it was to pretend to try to cure you, when all along, I knew that your mental state was a thing of majesty! Of beauty! A glorious thing that the common, unsophisticated boor would never be able to understand, let alone appreciate!”

  “You don’t say!” Hatter says, while straightening his posture regally.

  “Are you quite done buttering him up?” Malice shouts. She strongly desires to stomp her foot, but refrains from doing so, and manages to maintain her tact.

  “I’d fancy something buttered up, right now,” the Cat says—his tongue flicks out in yearning.

  “Hush, Cat,” Malice says.

  Froud continues speaking to Hatter: “I spent years applying useless treatments to you while the whole time, I admired your insanity. It was a privilege to be close to it, and I even siphoned off some of my own, hoping that one day the right opportunity would present itself.”

  “What do you mean, you ‘siphoned off some of your own’?” Malice asks.

  “I stored some of Hatter’s madness away, but alas, even though Hatter is quite spectacularly mad, he has not attained that kind of madness that would be considered the divine sort...no offense.”

  Hatter crosses his arms, but gives a nod of acceptance.

  “So what’s in the ottoman box, then?” Humpty asks.

  Froud doesn’t even acknowledge him, as he says, “However, I believe, that now...” He bends down and grabs the top of the ottoman with his hand that’s not holding a sword. “...I shall be able to shift my mind into divine madness, forever!” He opens the lid of the ottoman and brings out a top hat. “Using this!”

  “Hey!” Hatter says. “That’s my bloodletting hat!”

  “Bloodletting hat?” the Cat echoes excitedly.

  “Yes, but not in the literal sense,” Froud says.

  “Figurative!” Hatter proclaims excitedly, eager to show off his knowledge.

  “Yes, my friend,” Froud says. “I—”

  “We are no longer friends,” Hatter says. “You offended my Malice’s honor.”

  “Very well. In any case, many months ago, I told Hatter to construct a magical hat that would be used to lessen his madness in a way similar to bloodletting. During the so-called therapy, I would help him to think mad thoughts while he wore this, and a portion of his madness would be ‘bled’ away, lessening the amount still within his mind.”

  “Those were the times I felt frighteningly close to sane,” Hatter says, and shudders.

  “I apologize profusely for that.”

  Hatter shrugs. “At least I always grow back more madness rather quickly.”

  “Indeed,” Froud says. “I envy you.”

  “Thank you,” Hatter says, with a little bow.

  “I must admit to deceiving you as to the true purpose of the hat. I had no intention of treating you. In fact, I now feel quite the opposite—I want to encourage you to attain even greater heights of madness. I know you have experienced the Black Rose Kiss, but have you ever directly ingested any of the petals?” He shakes his head. “Never mind that, since, as you say, we’re no longer friends. Here’s the fact of the matter: after you created your magic hat and entrusted it to my care, I brought it to a local witch I know to have even more magic placed upon it. The end result is that the hat has been storing up a portion of your madness, like a kind of insanity battery, waiting for the appropriate moment for it to be unleashed. And that moment is at hand! When I place this hat upon my head and recite the special word to invoke the spell, all your stored madness shall flow into my mind like a reverse bloodletting.”

  “Bloodlettings can be reversed?” Humpty says.

  “That would be an intriguing sight to see,” the Cat says.

  Froud glances at them without replying and continues, “I hope that the Hatter’s concentrated madness, combined with the black rose’s, will be enough to raise me to the level of divine madness! Hopefully, permanently.” He places the hat on his head.

  “You fiend!” Malice shouts. “You could kill yourself or irreversibly alter your mental state, and not in a good way.”

  Froud rolls his eyes. “Is that so? Matters of the mind are my expertise. Have you come up with something I don’t know?”

  “Your head could explode,” the Cat offers.

  “It might,” Froud concedes.

  Hatter lifts his index finger in the air, says, “You might grow an elephant’s trunk—”

  “Not bloody likely,” Froud says.

  Hatter says, “You didn’t let me finish. You might grow an elephant’s trunk...from your belly button.”

  “Oh,” Froud says. “Well I suppose that’s possible.”

  Humpty snaps his fingers. “Paralysis. Might that be a possibility?”

  Malice rubs her chin. “More likely than the elephant trunk, I’d say.”

  The Cat says, “I can’t say I fancy the paralysis possibility, because that wouldn’t be very exciting, now would it? No blood, no gore...unless he fell and hit his head, I suppose, even so—”

  “Enough!” Froud shouts. “I shan’t be discouraged. I’ve waited years for this moment.”

  “Well, then I suppose this is your last chance,” Malice says. “Unhat yourself and surrender to the mercy of the crown.”

  Froud smirks. “Your Highness is not wearing one.”

  “You know what I mean. Put an end to this madness.”

  “Clever. But no, I intend to put a beginning to my madness, my divine madness! And now, without any further ado, let the procurement of madness ensue!” He taps the top of the hat and proclaims, “Insanityhatthwapzoomzoom!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  FROUD’S EYES JOLT WIDE open like he has been startled by someone popping out of a box. But now his facial expression droops. He drops his sword and loses his balance, and very nearly stumbles onto the ground before lazily righting himself.

  Malice is thinking this is a good time to rush him, but he bends and picks up his sword again. His hand is trembling, but not out of nervousness—it is as if he is surging with energy.

  He is breathing heavily, his eyes vacant, as if he is busy assessing his feelings and thoughts. And now an overly huge smile stretches up his face—it is the smile of a madman.

  “No paralysis, unfortunately,” Humpty states quietly, so as not to be overheard by Froud.

  “There is still hope his head might explode,” the Cat says, not bothering to quiet
his voice.

  “But if it does,” Hatter says, in a normal-volumed voice, “it shall ruin the hat.”

  Froud’s eyes shift into focus, and now they crinkle. “I feel it!” He giggles. “The great madness within! I am filled to the brim with it! I’m very nearly to the boiling point with it, at which point my brim shall boil over with divine madness!”

  “Oh! Shall your head boil, then?” the Cat asks hopefully.

  “I am speaking metaphorically!” Froud proclaims overly-dramatically, as if he is an actor upon a stage.

  Hatter says, “I fear a boiling head may quite ruin the hat as well.”

  Froud says, “No, my fellow madman—”

  “Madgirl,” the Knight shouts in an offended tone. “You keep referring to her with male terms when she is obviously a loathsome little girl.”

  “Yes, obviously I was being ironic. And I thought I told you not to interfere. Now, as I was saying, no, my fellow madperson, my head won’t boil literally, but shall figuratively boil over with the ideas of genius! And it shan’t explode in a gory way, but it shall metaphorically explode with divine poetry and artistry!” He leans his head back and lets forth a devious, maniacal laugh.

  “You’re mad!” Malice says. And now she realizes what a silly thing that was to say.

  “Yes, divinely mad!” He winks at her. “And now that I am, I shall surely become a famous artist of some sort. I can’t decide whether to be a poet or a sculptor! Perhaps both!”

  “If you can evade my guards,” Malice says.

  “That shall surely be easy for me! For I shall be possessed of masterful cunning and intellect sprung from my glorious divine madness. Oh, Hatter! I am even madder than you! Perhaps I could henceforth be called ‘the Mad Therapist’.”

  “My nickname is ‘Hatty’. Would yours be ‘Therapy’?”

  Froud says, “Perhaps it shall be ‘PowerPillow’.”

  “Why Powerpillow?”

  “Alliteration?” Froud waves his hand dismissively. “But enough about how the history books shall refer to me. I feel like boinging.”

  “Boinging?” Malice says, but before she can even finish the word, Froud is hopping up and down whilst shouting, “Boing! Boing! Boing!”