Malice in Wonderland Bundle 3

by Lotus Rose

  “Ditto.”

  Malice looks at them in disbelief.

  “Lads...” the Jabberwock says warningly, as he watches the anger increasing on Malice’s face.

  “It’s a game of checkers!” she shouts. “The winner is not ‘judged’. There are rules of play that guide the game, and then at the end, the winner is declared in an obvious, unquestionable manner! You numbskulls! Here!...” She bends down and swipes all the pieces off the board with her arm.

  “Malice!” the Jabberwock says.

  The Cat chortles and says, “Oh ho ho! Look at her go!”

  Tweedledum, with a cringey expression, says, “Well how can either of us win, now?”

  “Contrariwise, we both shall lose now.”

  “Nohow, brother, it must be declared a draw.”

  “Enough!” Malice shouts. “I’ve about had it with you two! But praytell, what is your third condition? I have a morbid curiousity to know! I suppose it’s less troublesome than the first and second conditions?”

  “Most certainly,” Tweedledee says.

  “Ditto,” says Tweedledum. “The third condition is that, whenever we duel with those other than ourselves—”

  “Such as with loathsome foes,” his brother offers.

  “Yes, such as with loathsome foes—during such battles, in the interest of fairness, each brother shall be allowed one minute to fight the villain, before switching off with his twin. The timing of each minute shall be conducted by Her Highness.”

  “Oh, of course it shall be,” Malice says.

  Tweedledee says, “So you agree?”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  Tweedledum says, “Yes, well all joking aside, we devised that solution, because we have a bit of a sibling rivalry—”

  “You do?” the Cat says.

  “Yes. And we each don’t want the other to gain more glory from battle than the other, you see.”

  “Quite understandable,” Malice says, being sarcastic again.

  “Who would go first?” the Cat says. Malice shoots him a glare, but he continues, “In your battles. How would you determine whose turn is first?”

  “Coin toss,” says the one brother, at the same time his brother says, “Scissors rock paper.”

  They glare at each other.

  Malice touches her hand to her forehead and shakes her head. “It just gets worse and worse. Am I to stand there as one of you fights, timing it with a stopwatch?”

  The brothers nod. One says, “Quite,” the other says, “Ditto.”

  Malice says, “And when I tell one of you to stop fighting, what if the villainous foe decides to attack me because I’m standing there like a loon watching a bloody stopwatch?! Oh, dash it all. Don’t even respond, you’re just sucking me into your idiocy!”

  The brothers glance at each other, but don’t speak, seeming not to want to anger her further.

  Malice lets out a scream of frustration. “Alright, you’ve laid out your three conditions. Now, Jabby and I came here to talk to you about—”

  Tweedledee raises his index finger in the air. “Begging your pardon, but we’ve only told you the three conditions my brother and I both agreed upon.”

  Malice grits her teeth. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  Tweedledee says, “It’s just that there are conditions my brother and I did not agree upon.”

  Tweedledum crosses his arms. “We didn’t agree on the conditions because they give him special privileges and are not equal between the two of us.”

  Malice sighs. “I do hope it shan’t take too long to explain, as I must go back to the castle for my medicine. But again, my morbid curiousity... What is your condition, Tweedledee?”

  Tweedledee says, “I hate to have to bring this all up.” He points upward again. “But, you see, it has to do with my rattle. I shall need to carry my whistle for calling my rattle, as well as the antidote in case things go awry. My brother thinks I should carry neither.”

  “Quite,” Tweedledum says.

  “Wait, what are you talking about?” Malice says. “There’s an antidote to your rattle?”

  Tweedledee says, “Well, there are two sides.”

  “Two sides?” Malice says. “You mean to say there are two sides to every story?”

  “Two sides to the tale,” Tweedledum says.

  Malice is getting irritated again. She says, “If a tale has two sides, it might be a lie.”

  Tweedledum looks confused. “Well it does lie, but it’s not a lie, nor is it a tall tale, and because he can’t speak, he’s not a tattle tale, either.”

  “More of a rattle tale,” says his brother. He points up into the tree.

  “What, for the love of Pete are you prattling about?!” Malice screams, full of rage.

  “Prattling about rattling,” Tweedledum says.

  “Rattle snake!” the Jabberwock blurts.

  “But he’s not a prattle snake,” Tweedledum says, “because as we said, he can’t talk.”

  “But he’s an amazing rattle,” Tweedledee says. “He comes when I blow the whistle.” He blows it.

  Malice and the Jabberwock shriek.

  “Why did you do that?” the Jabberwock says.

  “There’s a rattle snake?” Malice screams. She looks around frantically, even into the tree branches but sees no serpent.

  “He likes to show off his rattle,” Tweedledum says, “but there are two sides of his tail.”

  “And the other side is venomous,” Tweedledee says glumly.

  Malice hears a rustling amongst the leaves above. She catches a glimpse of a large snake slithering along one of the branches.

  “This I shan’t abide!” Malice shouts.

  “Do not be alarmed!” Tweedledee says. “That shall only make him more likely to bite!”

  “I’m just curious,” says the Cat, “as to why the snake comes when you blow the whistle.”

  “Envy,” Tweedledee says. “He yearns to blow the whistle himself, so whenever I do so, he can’t stand it, and he always approaches me to try to steal it. It is also when he shakes his most impressive rattle.” (There is more shuffling in the branches.) “And also, he has on occasion bitten me. But don’t worry. I have the venom antidote in my pocket.” He reaches in his trouser pocket. Then he reaches in the other. “Goodness, where is it?”

  In horror, Malice watches as a very large rattle snake coils down the tree trunk. As she watches in horrified fascination, she stammers, “I said— I, uh—we, came here to talk about uh—”

  “Perhaps I should flee,” mutters Tweedledee.

  The Jabberwock, completing Malice’s sentence, says, “About joining....”

  (The snake is about halfway down the trunk.)

  “Yes,” Malice says. “We wanted to talk about the possibility of you two joining the quest group, and what we wanted to say is that we don’t want you to. Well, ta ta!”

  Malice and the Jabberwock begin walking briskly in the direction of the castle.

  The Cat says, “I believe I shall stay, and see what happens.”

  The snake rests on the ground in front of the tree, now. It raises its head up in the air and shakes its rattle.

  Malice feels she is a safe distance away, so she stops and watches it, listens.

  “There it is!” Tweedledee exclaims. “My rattle, much more impressive than his.”

  “And more deadly,” Tweedledum says. “But don’t worry brother, I think he used up all his venom when he bit you this morning. It takes them a while to replenish.”

  Tweedledee meets the Jabberwock’s and Malice’s eyes, says, “Well, I must run. Best of luck to you on your quest.” He turns and takes off running.

  “Stay safe!” the Jabberwock calls.

  The snake hisses and slithers after Tweedledee.

  “Ta-ta!” Malice calls. “Good luck not being bitten.”

  The Cat says, “I would hate to see him killed, but a good biting would be a thrill to see!” And he zooms after the snake.
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br />   “Bad kitty!” Malice calls.

  She watches the group get farther away. Several seconds of awkward silence follow.

  She looks at Tweedledum, who is sitting calmly. He says, “My brother got a bit carried away in his effort to get the better of me.” He picks one of the rattles from the table.

  “Is that one your brothers’?” She’s pointing at the other rattle.

  “Contrariwise. It used to be, but he felt he needed a better one to compete with mine. Envy, eh?”

  “Indeed,” Malice says.

  “But I had a feeling he might be wanting his old rattle back, so I’ve been keeping it for him, considering how his choice of a new one has come back to bite him.”

  The Jabberwock and Malice chuckle.

  Tweedledum shakes his rattle. It’s a respectably functional rattle, but in recent comparison to the rattlesnake...

  “How underwhelming,” she says.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint, Your Highness. Best of luck on your quest. Good day to you, Queen and Jabberwock.”

  Malice and Jabby both say their farewells.

  Malice adds, “And remember what I said about you not joining our quest.” She mutters to herself, “Crikey, I really need that black rose.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  AS SOON AS MALICE GETS back to the castle, she takes another dose of about one and a half times the usual. It immediately calms her and makes her less vicious. It also makes her feel quite pleasant in that ironic way of being “drunk on darkness”. It’s good medicine, she decides, but she’s running dangerously low, and needs to start gradually cutting down, to get her body used to it. After all, she’ll be far from home and might not be able to easily attain more of the black rose, and the flower she has now is looking quite plucked and she fears it might even wilt and die.

  But she expects the black rose plants she planted to be shooting up anytime now—it might be a while until she can harvest them, but at least they can carry the plants on their quest.

  But until they ripen, she’ll have to cut back some.

  The rest of the day is spent getting ready for the quest. The Red Queen takes over as acting Queen of the castle at noon. There still haven’t been any sightings of the Snark or former Cook, so they may have to set off on their quest without dealing with them. The next day has been set aside for festivities and celebrations for Malice and her teammates. They will set out on their quest the day after that at the break of dawn.

  In the afternoon, the Cat shows up to tell what happened with the Tweedle twins.

  Tweedledee was bitten several times, but the snake had already run out of venom, so Tweedledee wasn’t poisoned.

  “It was thrilling to watch,” the Cat says. “He howled bloody murder. Bitten twice in the arm, and again in the neck. I felt sorry for the poor sod. Nonetheless, it was thrilling!”

  “So you said,” Malice says.

  “So the Tweedle twins won’t be attending the festivities, as the bitten bloke is lying in bed, recovering, and his brother won’t leave his side. You know how much they despise being apart from each other.”

  “Of course.”

  After their conversation, Malice asks the Cat to accompany her to check on the black rose seedlings she planted. He’s the only one she can trust with the knowledge of its existence.

  “They’re there, behind the barrier.” She stops short, because all the flowers outside the black roses’ area are wilted and drooping. “Oh no!” she exclaims. “Those other flowers were perfectly healthy this morning!”

  “Can you ask them why they look so poorly?”

  “No, they’re the non-talking sort.”

  She kneels and peers over the wooden barrier at the four black rose seedlings. The tiny sprouts are all flopped over, looking wilted as well. “They’re not thriving!”

  “You watered them?”

  “Of course! Maybe I watered them too much or too little?”

  The Cat says, “Perhaps. Maybe they don’t need water. Maybe they don’t even like sunlight! I’ve heard it said that they’re very different from other flowers.”

  “I’ve heard that as well, but nobody knows how to care for them.”

  “Perhaps they’re like the opposite of most flowers that grow on water and rich soil. Perhaps they’re like parasites that suck the life out of other flowers...”

  “You think the roses made the other flowers wilt?”

  “Well, were the other flowers okay before you planted the roses?”

  “Yes. I think you may be right.”

  “Perhaps the black roses feed on the misery and woe of other flowers, which would make them pretty impressive.”

  Malice says, “Maybe they prefer to be alone and killed the other flowers to free up space.”

  “Or they’re jealous of the other flowers’ colors, or maybe they’re just dumb plants that are poisonous or something. Who knows?”

  “But the black rose seedlings aren’t faring well either! This is horrible! Oh, I can’t run out! I don’t want my heart to malfunction!”

  “Plus you seem to enjoy its effects on your mind.”

  “What do you mean by that? It calms me. It effects my mind by keeping away murderous thoughts. Oh, dear, oh my! This is a disaster. Should I water them more or less than before?!”

  “Who knows?” the Cat says. “They’re black roses, perhaps you ‘water’ them with the blood of virgins.”

  “You’re being a smarty cat, but for all I know, it’s true! What should I do? I know, I shall transfer them to individual pots, and water them the same, decrease their light, and hope they come around. Because, if they don’t, I shall be in a sour mood when I run out!”

  “Quite,” the Cat agrees.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  WHEN MALICE AWAKENS in the morning, most everything is prepared for their quest, and the four black rose seedlings sit in pots in her chambers—they don’t look much improved from the day before.

  She’s dreading more and more that she may run out of her medicine within the next few days. At least if she runs out, she’ll be forced to stop and learn how to cope without it—she doesn’t want to use the medicine as a crutch, after all.

  Unfortunately, a lot of the effects of the black rose wore off during her sleep. She doesn’t want to be cranky during her last day of festivities—she doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. So, as a compromise, she takes a half dose of black rose, and prepares for her fun day of parties and games.

  When she makes her way to one of the dining rooms for breakfast, a guard card tells her that another message came for her by carrier pigeon.

  She dreads reading it, and even contemplates waiting until the end of the day to do so. Why ruin the mood the black rose is bringing? The fact that her dose was only half strength is all the more reason to cherish it.

  But she fetches her magnifying glass, unfurls the paper, unseals it. She steels herself to read the message.

  As usual, it reads on top: For Queen (M)alice’s eyes only.

  If you are reading this, it means you haven’t smashed the statue yet. I do hope its continued existence is upsetting you greatly. I hope the realization that you are too cowardly to destroy it with your own two hands makes you realize how weak you are, weak of both character and strength. The idea of it giving you inner turmoil pleases me greatly. And know that the longer the statue is allowed to exist, the more of a fixture it shall become, so that year after year it shall wear upon you, and you shall be tortured by the notion that you did not destroy it near the beginning.

  But enough of that. I wish to further inform you that inside the statue’s head is a map providing the location of a grove of black roses. Why, you ask? Because I know how shall we say, “fond” of the flower you are, so I thought it would be jolly good fun to hide the map in the statue. Only by breaking it can the map be retrieved. But, of course, you won’t, will you? You just don’t have the gumption. What would people think if they found out? You’d be scandalized. And so, inste
ad, you shall sit and stew, and I shall stand by secretly and relish. Have you figured out who I am yet?

  I hope someday soon, that all barriers between us can be removed, so that I can reveal myself to you. But my fate rests in your hands... I yearn for the day you shall finally come to me, and allow me to wrap my arms around you. Oh, how I wish I could just whisk you away, to a place where both our hearts can be free!

  SINCERELY,

  He who yearns for your caress

  P.S. I SUGGEST YOU burn this message after reading.

  HER HANDS ARE SHAKING badly now, her thoughts racing.

  “Blast it! Who are you!” she shouts to no one, alone in her chambers.

  Some coward, hiding, toying with me. A map to black rose locations? How obvious! And obviously a lie, a trick to make me smash the statue!

  Anger swells in her, barely contained by the measly dose of black rose. She burns the message, and tries to forget it and focus on the partying and festivities.

  It’s a long day of goodbyes and fun, the last hurrah. It’s all quite exhausting, really. And it’s really not the best of days to be cutting down the dose of her medicine, because by midday she’s feeling glum and edgy—but it would be terrible for her to go unhinged on this day when everyone is going out of their way to be nice to her. She mulls it over, and decides that if she’s going to have to go through the withdrawals of abstaining from the rose, it’s better to do it during the first few days of their journey, when at least her misery and unhappiness will be understandable, and almost expected.

  But, on this day, she owes it to her friends and loyal followers to be festive, so after lunch, she takes the last of her black rose, trying not to think how she’ll be feeling tomorrow, hoping that the black rose seedlings turn around and start thriving. The last of her black rose amounts to a double dose. As soon as she takes it, she feels calm and at peace, and a dopey grin creeps up her face.