Alice Through The Multiverse

by Brian Trenchard-Smith

  Paul dragged Alice down the narrow alley between two warehouses, then disappeared round a corner, just as their pursuers came into view.

  Alice caught a glimpse of them. In a flash her world changed again. Horsemen in chainmail were cantering down a cobbled street in pursuit, swords outstretched, getting ever closer. Then just as quickly Alice found herself back, running between buildings, the brick walls flashing past. Perhaps she truly was in Hell where sorcery rules and all you encounter mean you harm. All except James, whose hand she gripped hard. But a feeling grew within her, as she ran with all her strength, that something dreadful was around the next corner.

  CHAPTER 20

  Thieves’ Market

  Alice and Paul burst out of the alley into an open area abutted on all sides by abandoned factory buildings, in the middle of which was a homeless encampment filled with improvised dwellings made from plastic sheeting, gutted cars, ragged tents. Twenty or more destitute men, women and children took refuge there, the walking wounded of poverty who had formed a community for mutual benefit. Two men, warming themselves by an open fire, shared a cigarette and a bottle. Near them, a woman held two slumbering children close against the pre-dawn chill. Some people were sleeping; others milled about, unable to sleep.

  But what Alice saw instead were the outcasts of her own society, thieves with the letter T burned into their foreheads, whores shorn of their noses, beggars and cripples, and a tall man with jagged broken teeth who stared at her intently. Alice realized that she was standing in one world while experiencing glimmers of another. Her old life was still going on. An event had taken place that she was only now catching up with. As memory flooded back, she tugged on Paul’s hand. “Thieves’ Market! No! This is where they catch us!”

  “They will if we stop,” gasped Paul.

  He dragged her on, scanning for some good cover near an exit. He pulled her down behind a tent, as Nelson, Brandt, Selwyn and Jones ran in. The ruckus roused the camp. The young mother screamed at the sight of their guns and shielded her children. Heads turned. Nelson raked a pocket flashlight across the encampment. He knew how to deal with refuse. “Police business! We are looking for a man and a woman, armed and dangerous; they just ran in moments ago. We need you to point them out. Just point. That’s all you need to do.”

  Nobody stirred. Silence.

  The two younger agents moved to impress their boss. Jones ripped open the nearest shelter made of cardboard boxes before Selwyn could get to it, so Selwyn switched to a leadership role and addressed the crowd. “Come on. They’re here somewhere. Don’t make us take the place apart. Tell us where so we can do our job.”

  “Give her up, lad,” Nelson added as conclusion.

  Paul glanced at Alice. She seemed in a trance, though a tear was rolling down her cheek. But she was calm, and that was how he needed her.

  Alice’s calm was resignation. This is where they were caught before. This is where they would be caught again. Here before her was Thieves’ Market, a tiny enclave in the heart of London Town, rarely bothered by the authorities, because this was where the underworld and the overworld met to trade. Again they were surrounded by Córdoba and his men. This is where they would be taken, after much slaughter. As she blinked, a barrage of images assaulted her mind. Blades flashing, blood gushing, children screaming, horses trampling the fallen, James fighting valiantly till overwhelmed, both of them dragged away in chains. Which world was she in? Was she possessed by a demon that could take hold and leave her at will? So Alice wept silently and submitted to the will of God, Whom she believed she would meet soon. Because she had no intention of being taken alive by Córdoba again.

  “Fascists!” came a cry from behind Nelson, who whirled round.

  Alice snapped back to what was taking place thirty feet away. A tall gaunt man in rags, with long matted hair and jagged broken teeth, walked towards the intruders and yelled at them again. “Rottweilers of the ruling class! That’s what you are!”

  Nelson pointed his flashlight. The advancing figure had a crazed look.

  Brandt leveled his pistol. “Back off!”

  “Keep the masses in line, that’s your job, so the rich can go on fucking us up the arse!” continued Mr. Broken Teeth, now changing direction towards Brandt.

  “I mean it!” growled Brandt louder.

  “Easy...” said Nelson, not wanting to have to explain at this critical time the public shooting of a civilian to his superiors at the European Security Taskforce, let alone the British police. There was enough damage control in their wake as it was.

  Mr. Broken Teeth stopped inches from the tip of Brandt’s gun. “What’ ya gonna do? Shoot me? Go ahead. I don’t give a shit.”

  Brandt looked at his weathered face. Could be anywhere between forty and sixty. Maybe a homeless lifer. The man pointed to the center of his forehead. “Put it there. Make my day.” Brandt and Mr. Broken Teeth glowered, assessing each other. This dickhead has a screw loose, better be ready, was Brandt’s thought. Mr. Broken Teeth sensed his opponent’s hesitation and tapped his forehead again.

  Nelson noticed many more homeless people standing up, emerging from their shelters, edging forward, muttering. “Calm down. Everybody just calm down.”

  Paul felt the rising tension. It would work for him. He picked up a smooth shale stone from a nearby pile. If his pitching arm was still as good as it was in college, he could lob it through an empty window frame in the building to their left, and divert attention perhaps long enough to slip away.

  Alice saw the stone in his hand. You’ll need a bigger weapon than that, James, she thought at first. Then she saw his mind working. Oh, you are the clever one, but how can you change what has already happened?

  Paul drew a mental bead on the window frame, its glass long shattered, now a three-foot-square hole. The distance was achievable, but having to throw from a crouch made it harder. If he missed and the rock hit the wall, he would give away their position. The gag would only work if the noise came from the inside. He limbered up his shoulder, then let fly. Loud clangs echoed as the rock flew through the window frame and bounced off heavy machinery. Years of Saturday softball had paid off. Nelson and his team immediately reacted to the noise, and ran to the building, glad to abandon the standoff.

  Mr. Broken Teeth smiled triumphantly. He had frightened them off. Nice one Cyril, he said to himself. Not that his name was Cyril. “Nice one, Cyril” was the punch line from a TV commercial that had aired before he was born. Where it came from, he had no idea, but somehow it surfaced whenever he was feeling pleased with himself. In fact, he had no clear idea what his real name was. Nor could he remember his childhood, parents, relatives, anything. All he could remember was The Street. It was as though he had been born onto dirty asphalt already into his teens. Fighting for scraps. Learning how to forage. Teaching his skills to others. Becoming Obi Wan to the homeless in each new camp until he had had his fill of its women and moved on. Once again fate had given him the opportunity to act as protector to his flock. It would reward him.

  The moment their pursuers disappeared into the building, Paul grabbed Alice’s hand, pulling her towards the nearest alley from the courtyard, just as James had pulled her away from the fighting, but to no avail. “They’ll catch us!” wailed Alice as they ran into the dark narrow alley with her other life exploding in her head anew. In front she saw their escape blocked by pike-wielding soldiers. To their right was a wall of advancing swords. She looked round. Cavalry were closing in from behind. A horseman put a horn to his lips as if to summon hounds. Then an intense sound wiped the image from her mind. A big rig roared past, horn blaring, as Alice and Paul burst out of the alley into a suburban street now busy with early rush hour commuters and pedestrians. “See,” said Paul, “they haven’t caught us. Now trust me and run.”

  Nelson stared at the rock lying by a rusty turbine, and knew he had been fooled by one of the older tricks in
the game. Demented laughter echoed from outside. They ran out, weapons at the ready, to find Mr. Broken Teeth, convulsed, pointing to the alley at the back of the camp, the only escape route.

  Brandt gestured Broken Teeth. Plan B? Nelson nodded.

  Paul and Alice meanwhile had run down the street. Paul waved at taxis but they were all taken. Then Brixton Underground Railway station came into view. Seeing a gap in the traffic he grabbed Alice’s arm and they rushed across. Alice jumped as one of the metal beasts made a bellowing sound as it passed. Paul steered her to the entrance of the station, his eyes scanning for pursuit. He realized that the next mode of transport would be frightening to her present persona. “This place will get us where we can be safe. I warn you, it’s going to feel strange. Come on.” Then he saw Nelson and his team across the street. They saw him too. Just another few seconds and he would have lost them. He could still do it if they moved fast.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Metal Serpent

  Paul hustled Alice inside the tube station. It was the hour before dawn, when opposites converge. Night shift workers trudging homewards, day shift workers fresh and alert, insomniacs and early risers, the indolent and the ambitious, all on the commute.

  What dreadful place is this? Alice wondered. A cavern full of strange colored lights, the sound of giant millstones grinding below, people scurrying in all directions jabbering to themselves. Was this some kind of Bedlam where the mad walked free? Ahead was a barrier through which people passed one at a time. James extended his hand holding something Alice could not make out. The barrier opened. No end of sorcery. James picked her up and carried her through as if they were one person. She delighted in his pressing her against him. This was the closest they had come to intimacy, and her heart swelled. Alice heard a woman shout out her disapproval as the barrier closed behind them. James hurried her towards what looked like a steep staircase, yet it was moving. Gusts of noisome wind wafted up from below.

  Alice baulked, but Paul dragged her onto the escalator. Its unexpected movement caused her to lurch and cry out. Paul steadied her: “Hold onto me.” She gripped him tightly. Suddenly she was traveling downwards without walking or falling. The noise of grinding millstones got even louder. Alice felt faint. She let James guide her down the moving staircase, past sullen-looking men and women, most gazing at objects like prayer books or holding them to their ears and mumbling to the air.

  Then Alice caught sight of the tiny people cavorting in box windows on the wall as they passed. She had seen little folk many times when the mummers came to Farnham on High Holy Days. They were such wondrous tumblers. Paul realized from her face she was reacting to the animated billboards for consumer goods and holiday resorts. Further down came lingerie models, sinuously displaying their wares. Alice was shocked. Harlots can put their likeness up on walls in public places, what kind of Godless world would allow that? Before she could think further on the subject, they reached the bottom and she tripped getting off. Paul caught her. Alice likened herself to a newborn foal, unsteady on its legs in an unknown world. She would master this place, or any place where she could be with James. Paul steered her towards platforms signposted for the West End of London. Nelson arrived at the top of the escalator in time to see where they were headed.

  Paul and Alice arrived at the designated platform. Commuters were hurrying away from a departing train. Paul groaned. Ten seconds earlier, and they would have caught it. The hounds would have lost the scent. At least for a while.

  Alice watched wide eyed as the giant metal snake full of people slithered away into a big hole and disappeared with a loud roar.

  “They ride within a metal serpent?”

  “A train...a subway train. Don’t you Brits call it a tube?” Paul asked with baited guile. If she would just let slip one anachronism, then he would at least know what he was dealing with. But no. Bewilderment in her expression.

  He led her towards the farthest end of the bustling platform, which was rapidly filling with passengers for the next train. Alice had no idea what his words had meant, but could see that his attention had moved to the entrance from which they had come. Paul was scanning for their pursuers. The digital timetable showed the next train arriving in one minute. He hoped that they would not guess which platform he had chosen. They just needed a bit of luck.

  Paul and Alice had reached the far end. The carriages were going to be packed. Soon enough, Paul saw the distant figures of their four pursuers weaving through the crowd, maintaining their separate identities as random commuters. The floating box and converge maneuver.

  The train burst out of the tunnel, an intense high-pitched squeal from its brakes. The sound seemed to go through Alice like a knife. She shrank fearfully, blocking her ears with her hands. She bent over. Then, as Paul grabbed her, she suddenly snapped upright, gasping. “Alice? Are you alright?” “I am not fucking Alice! Are you deaf?” she shouted over the noise of the arriving train, wondering where the hell she was this time.

  Paul instantly recognized Jane from the choice of words and the fierce stare.

  Jane’s eyes darted in all directions. What was she doing in an underground railway station with the American who called himself Paul but had James’ face? How had they gotten here? And he was still calling her Alice! She had to trust that he was trying to save rather than harm her. It was surreal. “How did I get here?” she moaned, then before he could answer, she recoiled. “Oh, my God, it’s them.” She saw Suit, The Giant, Jonesy, and Red Curly Hair. Had the American betrayed her? But clearly Paul was not pleased to see them, either.

  “Call the cops,” said Jane, “Call the police!”

  Paul shook his head. “They control the police.”

  “What?”

  The train had stopped. Paul pushed Jane forward against the tide of exiting commuters.

  “They’re rogue European Security Taskforce agents...” he began to explain.

  “EST?!”

  “And they’re after you.”

  “Because I’m an activist? Because…”

  Paul cut her off: “To be a patsy, take the rap, no argument because you’ll be conveniently dead. Or so I think.”

  “Me?!! Dead?”

  “I’ll explain later. Move!” He pushed her into the carriage still crowded with commuters.

  Nelson, Brandt, Selwyn, and Jones closed in on the open carriage door. Nelson saw that he had his quarry trapped. It would be better that he not participate in the next stage. He spoke to Brandt and redefined their orders. Offer safe passage, then isolate and kill the American. Bring the girl to him. He signaled his men forward and stepped back onto the platform, and pulled out his phone. There was other business pressing.

  Paul pushed Jane ahead of him along the standing room only carriage. Brandt, Jones and Selwyn, hard on their heels, had now cut them off from an exit, when two transport police stepped in front of them through the central double doors. Jones and Selwyn stopped, looking to Brandt for instruction.

  Fifteen feet away, Paul and Jane found straps to hang onto near four sturdy skinhead girls. Steel-capped boots, tattoos, lots of piercings, and high as kites. Still partying at six in the morning. They giggled and exchanged deep kisses. The doors closed. The train moved off. Jane glowered at Jonesy, who looked back with a contemptuous smile. No point in pretending any longer; besides, very soon she would be back in the bag for good.

  Jane’s mind was racing. This was a pretty extreme response to minor civil disobedience. Waving a sign, throwing a pie in a face that deserved it? Give me a break. Since that incident, she had complied with the requirements of her probation. Well, except for neglecting to take her medication. Even the most radical anti-authoritarian might look to the police for protection in a pinch. Jane gestured the transport cops to Paul.

  “Talk to the police.”

  “No. I’ll talk to ‘them’.” Paul inclined his head back to where the
ir pursuers were standing. He leaned forward and whispered. “I need you to trust me. Otherwise we are both dead. Do you trust me?”

  They locked eyes. Jane nodded.

  “You’re the best friend I’ve got, right?” she said echoing his words from their earlier encounter, not entirely convinced. She realized that she had been away from herself, as she privately called it, for much longer periods than usual. Couldn’t recall a thing about Alice’s world. And she could feel a large bruise on the side of her head.

  “Right?” said Paul. Again she nodded. He moved away through the crowded carriage to stop near the transport police. He gestured to Brandt, who slid past the cops, and stood in front of him. Selwyn watched them, as he reached into his coat pocket for the syringe container and unfastened it, ready for the moment when he could discreetly inject Alice with a fast-acting sedative. They would then play the role of Good Samaritans and take a girl under the influence of alcohol and drugs off the train at the next station. But first they had to neutralize this mysterious American. Brandt and Paul conversed in mock-friendly tones.

  “You’ve no idea what you’re messing with,” said Brandt.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then you know you can’t win. So my advice is hand her over at the next stop, run to the nearest airport. You can still survive.”

  “Think you’ll survive?”

  Brandt glared at him. The American could not be played. They would have to sedate them both. He and Jones would get Alice off the train, leaving the American apparently asleep in his seat. Selwyn would remain behind, to finish him off when a discreet opportunity arose. The short blade of a Swiss army knife into the kidneys needed only three inches of penetration from a precise angle to be fatal, with little external bleeding. The murder would not be discovered for many stations.