The Collectors' Society

by Heather Lyons

WE CHANGE INTO THE Wonderlandian clothes the Hare has brought. He did well—all of the pieces are nondescript and do not bely my royal status one bit. The grays and purples of our linen dresses, pants, and shirts do not tie us to any one Court. While the pieces are far more formal than standard everyday wear of the Twenty-First Century, there is a whimsy to the fabrics and cuts that makes them uniquely Wonderlandian. Hems are uneven, stitches change course, shape, and size, and the textures alter from top to bottom.

  I cannot help but think about the Caterpillar.

  For years, he served as my most trusted advisor. I had met him as a child, when his disdain for me was at its peak. “Who are you?” he would ask me time and time again, scoffing at my attempts at philosophy and deepness until I could answer him succinctly.

  Alice was the answer. The Queen of Diamonds. So simple and yet so meaningful all at once.

  I never asked for him to be my Grand Advisor. He simply appeared one day telling me it would be so. From that point on, we would spend hours together as he lectured me on what it took to be a queen. I disappointed him frequently. I frustrated him even more. He begrudgingly loved me and yet found me lacking in every department. Our arguments were legendary, his condemnations even more so.

  He died championing me. And I spent months lost, no longer assured of who I was.

  “Are you okay?”

  Concern reflects in Finn’s blue-gray eyes. Concern I’ve finally accepted has a right to be there. “Yes,” I tell him quietly.

  “Liar.” It’s just as quietly voiced.

  I am lying. And it’s strange, but I’m glad he knows I am.

  He touches my face gently, and I’m lost to the sensation. Our mouths drift closer to one another and then—

  Sirens sound. Loud, wailing screams that have the Hatter and the Hare terrified.

  “What’s going on?” Mary demands.

  “Card soldiers,” they cry in unison. “A raid!”

  Both Victor and Finn swear under their breaths as they grab weapons out of my trunks.

  “Your Majesty, you must hide,” the Hatter nearly wails. “If they catch you—”

  I grab a nearby sword. “They will not catch me. Now tell me, and be quick of it. Where is the White King?”

  The Hatter’s eyes flick back and forth between me and Finn. “His Majesty is on the front lines. You know he would not leave his men and women to fight and risk their lives if he did not offer the same.”

  The situation just got a thousand, no, a billion times worse. “Which direction?”

  The Hatter is horrified. “He will have me thrown in jail if I sent you to the heart of battle!”

  “Which. Direction?”

  It’s the Hare who answers. “He is in the West.”

  I take a deep breath. “And the White Queen?”

  Both the Hatter and the Hare rapidly shake their heads. “She is to the East,” the Hatter says. “All of the courts have split.”

  My eyes widen. “Split?!”

  “There are six fronts now. His Majesty’s army is in the West.”

  I can barely wrap my mind around any of this. But at least I have this small bit of luck on my side—I will not encounter the White Queen. “I need horses. Now.”

  “I cannot,” the Hatter whispers. “I will not risk your life.”

  “Four,” I tell him firmly. “And fast.”

  “But, Your Majesty—”

  “Now.”

  His nod is reluctant, but he finally darts toward the door. All the torches are extinguished and the doorknob ensures my lock is once more in place. We hurry through the corridors until we come to a door upon the ceiling. The Hatter pops it open just in time for our worlds to turn upside down.

  People are screaming. The Land that Time Forgot is in chaos. Card Soldiers are everywhere, their spears and swords hacking at innocent bodies. Quick glances at their weapons tell me they are Hearts.

  My blood boils. My hand is on my sword when Finn grabs me. “We can’t fight them all.”

  “Yes,” I say darkly, “we can.”

  “No, we can’t.” He grabs my face, forces me to look at him. “I am just as horrified as you about what is happening here. But you need to think long range. There are people after this Timeline’s catalyst. War isn’t going to mean shit if the catalyst is destroyed, because there will be nobody left to fight.”

  He’s right, I know he’s right, but as I take in the blood and tears and fear surrounding us, guilt swarms me. “How can we just walk away from this injustice?”

  His answer is lost as the crowd pushes at us, people trying to escapes the dozens of card soldiers flowing in. I will avenge these people, I desperately vow to myself. I will avenge the Caterpillar, too.

  The mass of terrified people in the club grows and surges. New card soldiers appear, ones that are of a different suit. Incredibly, as if on cue, a third suit appears. As swords clash, the terrified screaming crowd becomes casualties in the battle between three armies. The crush becomes catastrophic, with bodies being trampled by revelers desperate to flee. Before I know it, my hand is ripped from Finn’s. The crowd engulfs me, carrying me in the opposite direction, and I’m yelling his name but I can no longer see his head in the crowd. Somebody close by shrieks out in agony; a severed head arcs high above me.

  Pandemonium is too mild a word for what is going on.

  Somehow, I get pushed toward and out a side door. People spill onto the cobblestone street, fleeing in every direction. For a moment, I have no idea what to do. And that, naturally, is when a hand grabs hold of me.

  My sword slashes through the space between us only to nearly topple me over when I see who has a grip on me. It’s Victor.

  “Where is Finn?” I’m frantic as I search the crowded streets. “Mary?”

  “I don’t know, but I think we need to get the bloody hell out of here. People are dying in there!”

  “But—”

  “But they can track us. Hurry!” He tugs on my arm once more. “We must get you to safety!”

  We’re off and running. The entire city is in an uproar. Citizens are shrieking and weeping as they desperately try to lock their doors against the card soldiers. Houses are lit on fire. We keep running until my lungs burn and my feet ache. Victor tries door after door in an attempt to get us off the streets, but all are locked. Finally, he finds a broken-into storefront and shoves me inside. We duck down behind a counter, our hands firmly gripping our weapons.

  Terror threatens to consume me. Somewhere, out there right now, are Finn and Mary. If they were to be captured . . .

  I cannot even bear to think of the possibility. If the Queens were to discover Finn and Mary’s importance to me, what was done to the Caterpillar would be child’s play compared to the fate they’d face.

  I tug out my phone from my backpack and flip on my GSP—no, GPS. GPS. What in the bloody hell do those letters stand for, anyway? No matter. Work, I silently beg the small, glowing machine in my hand. Find me Finn. Let Finn find me.

  Sweat pours off of me despite the chill in the air. I’m thirsty, painfully so. My breathing is labored, my muscles so tight I fear my limbs might snap off. But just when I think we might be in the clear, glass shatters within the shop.

  My breath stills in my chest. Victor’s does too, I think.

  Footsteps crunch across the littered floor, bringing someone or thing much closer to us. Whoever it is is certain to find us if they cross the counter’s threshold—and from here, we have nowhere else to go, as there is just wall in front of us.

  I lift up my hand and show Victor three fingers. It is far better to go out swinging than be picked off like apples from a tree. He nods, and I drop one finger. Our grips tighten around our weapons—me with my sword, he with his gun. Another finger drops. He nods once more, determination filling his face. My third finger drops.

  We spring up from our location.

  I don’t recognize the card soldier standing less than a meter way, and he doesn’t recognize me
, thankfully. He’s young, though, and already hardened. His eyes are beady and pink, his hair wild and black. A pike, caked with dried blood and dirt, is jabbed toward us. It takes everything in me to not show weakness and flinch. “Drop your weapons. Put your hands up.”

  “I have a better idea,” Victor says. He cocks the safety of his gun and points the barrel directly at the man’s chest. “You drop your weapon, and we’ll let you live.”

  Hints of maniacal laughter overtake the card soldier, but he’s good, because he’s able to wrestle it under control nearly immediately. But I know better. Whether or not we drop our weapons, we’re both good as dead. He’s a pike soldier. He’s impervious to pain and will fight until his head is cut clean from his body.

  But then a miracle occurs. I spy the small emblem carved into the tip of the pike.

  Before Victor can do anything stupid, I toss my sword against the counter. “You may collect our weapons on the condition you take us to your commanding encampment immediately.”

  Small, dark eyes narrow in on me. “And if I don’t?”

  I simply say, “Gangan.”

  There is no hesitation. The card soldier shifts his pike until it stands next to him. “As you insist.”

  Victor is nearly apoplectic. “What in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

  We don’t have the time to argue like he wishes, though. Not when Finn and Mary are still out there in the midst of a Wonderlandian war. “Give him your guns, Victor.”

  The good doctor is resolute, though. “I most certainly will not.”

  “You will,” I tell him. “And I promise you, before daybreak, you will get them back.”

  “What about Mary? Finn?”

  Twin twinges of fear and hope course through me. “This is our best shot at finding them. Is your GSP turned on?”

  Victor stares at me for what feels like a century before his eyes flick back over to the card soldier, now standing at perfect attention. There are dents covering the youth’s armor, there is more blood than either of us would like to see, and his grim face borders on madness.

  But then, amazingly, Victor unholsters both guns. “I’m keeping the clips,” he mutters. “And it’s GPS. Yes, it’s turned on.”

  “Fair enough.” I turn back toward the card soldier. “How long until we reach the encampment?”

  “If we are unimpeded and can circumnavigate much of the fighting, we can be there within two hours.”

  A loud blast sounds nearby, rattling the walls around us. Two hours . . . Two hours is a long time to not know where Finn and Mary are. I glance back down at the phone in my hand; no red dots flashes back at me. This may be my only chance at finding them.

  The Caterpillar had six hours. I just need to find them within that time period.

  I stuff the phone into my backpack. “Then let us depart immediately.”

  Victor watches in mute fascination as the card solider collects our weapons and stores them in a small, seemingly bottomless satchel. But the fascination soon turns to anger when the card soldier searches the rest of our bags and then claps all-too-familiar thick, silver bracelets around all four of our wrists. “What in the bloody hell are these contraptions?”

  “They’re called wrist cuffs.” I keep my voice calm, lest the card soldier gets spooked. “And if they are removed without the proper card or stray too far from the owner, they will detonate in a rather large, nasty affair.”

  He’s horrified—and justifiably furious. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but you better start talking.”

  The pikeman snaps, “Follow me.”

  His pace through the town, keeping to side streets, doesn’t falter despite ear-deafening roars of what sounds like cannon fire. When we turn a corner into a dark alley, I lift my arms and brandish my wrists to Victor. “These are used to ensure we keep our word.” I lower my voice. “If all goes as planned, they’ll be off shortly. Just bear with them a bit more—better wrist cuffs than death.”

  Fading shouts filter through the smoky trees surrounding the town. I’m impressed that Victor isn’t rattled the least by what’s going on. “Would he kill us, though?”

  “Oh, without a doubt. Pikemen are notorious for being unyielding in the field.”

  “It was the word you said,” Victor murmurs thoughtfully as we jog to keep up with our captor. “That’s what changed his mind. What does it mean?”

  “Roughly: safe passage. Each monarch in Wonderland has a different one that is subconsciously programmed into card soldiers when they join the military.” My smile is thin. “Had I issued the wrong word, though, one attached to a different monarch, we would have been killed on the spot.”

  “I think the two of us could have deflected a single pike. I’ve been in worse situations.”

  The card soldier twists his head to look at us. I elbow Victor in the ribs and hush him.

  Once the soldier’s attention is back on the route before us, I murmur, “Those pikes are undoubtedly like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Outside of being constructed of a poisonous metal, at the press of a button, the blade open ups, elongates, and whirls like a cross between a whip and a saw. I’ve seen a single pike take down close to ten soldiers in a matter of minutes. If this one has a pike,” I jerk my head in our captor’s location, “it means he’s terribly strong. Pikes don’t go to the weak.”

  Victor’s silent as he digests this.

  The farther we push into the silvery woods, the dimmer the screams from terrified citizens become. Soon, nothing but the hum of insects and night flowers and the mournful wail of birds press against us. Our only sights are the colorful red and purple toadstools dancing in between the trees and the riots of dozing pansies and lupine littering the floor There is no chattering to be heard.

  At least a quarter of an hour goes by before Victor speaks again. “Do you think they’re all right?”

  I desperately wish I had that answer. Too many scenarios race around my mind, some abhorrently frightening. If they were captured, if they were to admit knowing me . . .

  “They’re resourceful.” I nearly stumble on the angry brambles below my feet; a nearby violet pulls its head up and warns me to watch where I’m going. “If anybody can survive, it’ll be them.” And I pray I am right.

  I am not ready to lose sight of my north star.

  Victor’s sigh floats up, echoing through the darkened trees and their velvety gray and blue leaves illuminated only by the sliver of moonlight, but he does not press the issue in the company of the card soldier. But I think about his question the rest of our hushed march, all those insidious scenarios taunting me until the panic in my chest is tight and heated.

  If they were captured, if they were brought to one of the ruling encampments, all they would have to do is say my name. Just one word. Just two syllables. And then their heads would be forfeit.

  Fear tastes so very bitter upon a tongue.

  Stay the course, I insist to myself with each step. This is the best hope to find them. We can track one another. I just need to get us to a safe place and with the supplies to do it.

  I think back to those last moments with Finn, of how it felt to know I held his confidence and trust. How he believed in me, and was willing to help me defend a land that banished me. Of how he didn’t judge me over the past few months, of how we accepted one another for who we are now rather than who we’re seen to be. I think about all of our conversations, and how we gradually gave each other tiny shards of one another but still have many more that need to be passed over. I think about how, as I stumble through these woods toward my past, it felt to have my mouth on his and his body in mine.

  I think about how I’m not ready to let that go yet.

  I think about Mary, and of her acceptance and her friendship. I think about how much she and Victor truly love one another, and of how this latest hiccup is just that—a hiccup. They deserve the time to make things right between each other.

  I think about how these people t
ook me in, of how quickly I was folded into the Collectors’ Society. Of how these people are tireless in their efforts to protect those who don’t even know of their existences. And of how many lives they’ve saved with no thought toward their own.

  I won’t fail them.

  I can’t.

  THE CARD SOLDIER HAD told us it would take two hours to reach the encampment, but by my estimations of the greenish-golden lights of daybreak filtering through the trees, it’s taken much longer than that. So when we finally break through into a large clearing filled with small white tents ringing a larger circle of tents ringing a pavilion, it’s all I can do to stay on my feet.

  Dirty, tired soldiers both human and animal mill about, sharpening their weapons around campfires. Eyes trail us everywhere we go, as do murmured words I do not try to pick apart. I’ve got my hood up, but too many have keen eyesight. Let them gossip. It’s not as if I’ll be able to hide myself much longer.

  “Blimey,” Victor whispers. “Where are we?”

  “This is the current base for the White King.”

  Both Victor and I jerk our heads up in surprise. These are the first words the soldier has uttered in hours.

  “The White King,” Victor says thoughtfully. “He was a bit of a bumbling oaf, wasn’t he?”

  The card soldier whips around, his pike pointed in our direction. I throw myself in between them, my hands held out. “My companion does not know of the White King. His words should not be taken as gospel.”

  Muscles around the card soldier’s eyes and mouth spasm. He does not put his pike away.

  I repeat slowly, carefully, “Gangan.“

  As if he knows his life is suddenly on the line, Victor repeats what he hears from me.

  A full five seconds, during which the soldiers surrounding us watch while murmuring furiously, pass before our captor retracts his weapon. “Do not let it happen again. The next time, word or no, I will slay you.”

  I believe him.

  As we weave our way through the camp, the smell of crisped swallows burns my nostrils and sends my salivary glands into overproduction. I can’t remember the last time I ate. Drank. It was early in the morning, back at the Institute, and even then, all I could manage was a piece of dried toast. Pikemen are incredibly durable, and he provided no relief or rest the entire walk.