by Jenn Thorson
Mary Ann knew the moment they started down the lane, it did not make the right impression with its audience.
“This is the end of our quest?” asked Sir Rufus, wrinkling his nose at the place. “Well, it’s not much to look at, is it? No motes to cross. No towers to scale.”
“Triumph comes in all sizes and types,” Mary Ann told him.
But it was true that the cottage looked worse for wear since the last time Mary Ann saw it. Ladders were propped against the house, for one. In some spots, the roof slate was completely missing. In others, it looked like it had a very bad night’s sleep. The shutter on the main second floor window hung clear off one hinge. There also seemed to be damage to several cucumber frames along the side lawn.
The knight and squire dismounted and went to work unstrapping the mirror. “Indeed,” said Goodspeed, stretching his back a bit, “this is the oddest quest I’ve ever been on.”
“You only ever went on that Jabberwalk,” sneered Lolly next to him, “and that, only by half.”
“As I said. This being the oddest of the lot,” Goodspeed doubled down.
Mary Ann and Sir Rufus approached the front door, the mirror shared between them. Mary Ann read the familiar brass nameplate: “W. Rabbit.” That was one thing that hadn’t changed in the past few days.
They had only just knocked when a voice came from behind them. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sirs, His Honor is not home at the moment. Is there anything that I could be helpin’ you with in his absence?”
It was Pat, one of two overalled handymen standing there. Pat was a stout furry fellow with a twitchy nose that had always made Mary Ann think he was telling lies. In actuality, it was probably just the effect of being a guinea pig. Hugh was with him. He was a guinea pig, as well. Less twitchy, though.
Mary Ann pulled her hat down lower on her face. “Where is Mr. Rabbit?”
“Yes,” said Sir Rufus, coming to life, color flushing along the cheekbones, “We are here to bring him this magical questing relic. So he can use it to transform himself from his sorry rabbit state back into a prince.”
Mary Ann knew she had gotten somewhat too elaborate in her quest story.
But Pat shrugged it off. “Oh, well, I don’t know anything about that, sir,” he said, who was never one to pry, “but there’s a jam tart scandal on trial at the castle. His Honor is a herald for the Queen, don’t ya know.”
“A trial …” Mary Ann breathed, “Is everyone there, then?” She was thinking purely of Jacob Morningstar.
“Oh, everyone who’s anyone in the court is there,” Pat said. “Even Nobody must have made it there by now.”
“We saw him walking that way hours ago,” added Hugh. “I looked down the lane and I says to Pat, I says, ‘Why, I see Nobody for miles.’”
Mary Ann relaxed a little. “Someone should tell the Tweedles. They’ve been looking for Nobody for two days now.”
Pat frowned. “Beg pardon?”
“How’s that?” asked Hugh.
“Never mind,” said Mary Ann. “What happened to the house?” She pointed.
“Not a Jabberwock, was it?” asked Rufus, looking worried this quest was going to grow very serious, very quickly.
Pat shook his head. “Oh, no, sir! Sure, at first we was certain it was some kind of creature what done it. But after further discussion, we suspect it was Mr. Rabbit’s housemaid, Mary Ann.”
“What? No, it was n —” Mary Ann caught herself and cleared her throat. “What makes you think it was m — her?”
“See, Mr. Rabbit sent her into the house to fetch his gloves and fan,” Pat went on. “And in two shakes of a lizard’s tail, someone inside went monumental. Parts of her were pouring out the windows. Parts of her were blocking the doors and the chimbley.”
“Too much Burgeonbevv at the wrong moment, as I understand it,” said Hugh. “You know girls these days, growing up so fast.” He gave a sad shake of his head.
“And the creature looked like this Mary Ann?” Mary Ann asked.
“Well,” twitch, twitch, went Pat, “the thing had yeller hair. And she was … a girl.”
Hugh nodded.
Mary Ann felt vaguely like she should be offended by this. But she supposed it was hard to know what someone looked like beyond being blonde and female when they were invisible eighty percent of the time. “So what happened to her once she became a giantess?”
“Oh, she booted poor Bill Leafliver clear into the middle of next week. Then, while we was helping him, she got tiny and scarpered out again. And right good she did, because we’ve assault charges being brought up on her. It would be handled neatly already, if the Queen weren’t being consumed by this more pressing tart business, don’t ya know.”
“In the meanwhile, Pat’s drawn up some posters to put round,” said Hugh. He reached around the corner and came back with a page that read WANTED in ink and had the rough sketch of a blonde girl — likely one far younger than Mary Ann, based on the clothes and loose hair. But there in the place where a face should have been was an empty sphere.
“I’ve still got the fiddly bits to do,” said Pat. “You can’t rush quality work, ya see.”
“Of course,” said Mary Ann. “Is Mr. Rabbit’s house open? We’d like to just drop off this item for him. He’ll know what it’s about.”
9
“What a quest we had today, eh, my friends?” asked Mary Ann brightly. They’d just crossed the border into Turvy, where it paid to distract oneself with conversation. She smiled at Sir Rufus, who had once again become a dark cloud in the saddle. “Did you learn a few things that will be useful in your knightly endeavors?”
“Indeed, I did,” said Sir Rufus. “More than I ever imagined.”
This was a sweet surprise, given the sour look on his face.
“I learned much about my teacher,” he continued.
This sounded ominous. She countered it with the lightest tone she could manage, “Oh, indeed?”
A single nod. “You’re that rabbit’s home-wrecker.”
It took a moment for the meaning of this to sink in under Mary Ann’s hat. Even Lolly got it sooner, because the horse gasped.
“Excuse me?” said Mary Ann.
Sir Rufus removed his helmet and turned to her. “I saw that handyman’s drawing, and it was the spitting image of you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She was stuck on denial and couldn’t unstick it.
“Come now. Her name is Mary Ann? And yours is …” He frowned. “Oh, you are slippery, aren’t you? … What is your name exactly? It’s very like Mary Ann, isn’t it? I know Father mentioned it, but then Father’s use of names is always more of an approximate than an actual.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this discussion.” Mary Ann tried to pull Lolly ahead as a gesture of her offense, but Lolly had one speed and that was arthritic.
“Besides that,” persisted Rufus, “she’s a housemaid. You’re a housemaid …”
“So? People can be housemaids, can’t they?”
“She’s got your hair,” he said.
“In a different style.”
“And your eyes.”
“He hasn’t gotten round to drawing them yet.”
“Well … she will do, when he’s done,” he spat.
“I understand now. There’s simply no reasoning with you,” she said. “You’re mad.”
“You’re wrong there as well, Miss Mary Ann.” He brandished the name like his sword. “I am all reason. I’m the one who’s dangerously approaching sane, remember? I am cross, but hardly mad enough. In fact, do you know what I think? I think this wasn’t a quest at all. I think we were simply delivering that mirror to that rabbit.”
Mary Ann’s limbs went cold. “And how do you figure that?”
“The recipient of our quest wasn’t just any rabbit. It was Warren Rabbit, herald to Queen Valentina of Neath. I’ve met this fellow before and he is not now and never has been anything other than
a rabbit.” He shook his head. “Prince changed by a curse, indeed … Ha!”
Yes, that did pose a slight problem.
Mary Ann decided to change tactics. “Fine,” she said. “Yes. I’m Mary Ann, the former housemaid to Mr. Warren Rabbit. But I did not damage the fellow’s house. Clearly, some impostor came in and made a mess of things in my absence.”
“Mmn,” said Sir Rufus. And an disagreeable “mmn” it was.
In fact, the rest of the return trip hung on that “mmn,” and likely would have stayed there, dangling indefinitely, had Lord Carmine’s guards not arrived at the Manor at the same moment that the two crusaders did and jumped queue.
“Lord Carmine, sir!” D.I. Tweedle burst into the Manor and shouted down the vestibule, voice echoing. It proved an effective scheme, for the Baron joined them in a heartbeat. “Given the evidenciary cluedoms that’ve come to light, M’Lord, we’ve got a suspect in custody for the recent deaths on the Wabe. We would like your presence to oversee a mirrigation and —”
“But this is Douglas Divot!” said Lord Carmine, indicating the tove of interest. Now that everyone had filtered into the entryway, Mary Ann could see the poor fellow. There were shackles at his wrists and his claws had mittens over them. They drooped sadly.
“Yes, M’Lord,” said D.I. Tweedle, reading off his notebook. “Divot, comma, Douglas. Species: tove. Occupation: digger.”
“We know all that,” said Lord Carmine. “I’ve known Douglas since he was but a tiny tove.”
“But these new evidenciary cluedoms …” interjected D.M. Tweedle.
“Well? What are they?”
The guard looked pleased to finally get to the crux of the matter. “The raths, M’Lord,” said D.I. Tweedle. “T’were poisoned.”
“Poisoned?”
“Yes, M’Lord. Judging from the residue in the suspicious bowl, as well as the inner tummal area of the victims, it appears as if the raths was poisoned by shellfish with, er, poison in ’em. To be more pacific: oysters, M’Lord.”
Lord Carmine stroked his chin. “So you’re saying the oysters were bad.”
“Very bad indeed, only not spoilt,” said D.I. “This was not food poisoning. We know this because the poison rezzibules detected in the bowl and the bodies themselves all had the odor of bilberry jam.”
D.M. explained, “Bilberry jam being the odor of zarlene oil, the household chemical substance commonly used to polish fine furniture. When, of course, it’s not the odor of bilberry jam itself,” he added, in case anyone was confused on that point.
D.I. Tweedle nodded. “So, given the situation, we would like your presence and use of your premises, M’Lord, as we mirrigate this suspect further.”
“Fine,” said Lord Carmine, with a concerned look to Douglas. “It’s best we get this resolved as soon as possible. To the Mirrigation Room!”
“To the Mirrigation Room!” announced D.I. Tweedle, and everyone in the entry hall went pushing and shoving down a corridor so that even Mary Ann and Sir Rufus were caught up in the roiling crowd.
The majority of them ended up in a small room behind the Mirrigation Room, looking in at it through a pane of glass — a two-way looking-glass, it would seem. Mary Ann knew this because first one Tweedle and then the other peered into glass critically and licked an index finger to smooth his eyebrow, before turning around to the business at hand.
The most interesting feature of this room, she noticed now, was that every wall was paneled floor-to-ceiling with mirror. Mary Ann thought it very shiny and bright considering she hadn’t known this place was here to clean it.
Lord Carmine took a seat at the table, a Tweedle to either side of him, while the downcast Douglas Divot sat perpendicular, facing three sides of mirrored wall.
“Right,” began D.I. Tweedle, who seemed to be the one in charge of things. “This here is the Mirrigation Room. What you see before you are three special looking-glasses. Now, we’re going to ask you some questions. And when you respond, the mirror will show us the truth of it. The mirror on your left will signal when the truth reflects poorly on you. The one on the right, when it reflects well.”
“And the middle?” asked Douglas in a voice so small one would think he’d been swigging DwindleAde all the way there.
“The most important mirror of all, Mr. Divot,” said Tweedle. “The one in which you must face yourself.”
Back to her, Mary Ann could see his face reflected in the mirror; Douglas Divot swallowed hard.
“So let us begin. Mr. Divot,” proceeded D.I. Tweedle, “did you know the following creatures located at addresses One to Forty-Nine-and-a-Half, East Wabe, Tulgey Wood, Turvy?” He flipped a page on his notebook. “… George and Eleanor Rath, Ignatius Rath, Terry-Belle Rath, Stephen J. Rath, II, Indigo Rath, Emily Esther Jane Rath —”
“Er, skip ahead a bit, would you?” Lord Carmine said here. “I’m supposed to attend an Unbirthday party in six days. I’d like to be done with this by then.”
“Yes, M’Lord,” said D.I. Tweedle. He turned back to the tove. “Douglas Divot, did you or did you not have issues with some of your neighbors?”
The tove was still molting around the cheeks and Mary Ann swore she saw him blush along the empty patches. “As I’d said before, one has nothing against most people, of course, but some people do require more patience and —”
The mirror to the left of him began to change. It showed Douglas Divot, yes, but a dark shadow of the tove chastising the neighbors over what appeared to be the bathwater incident, his corkscrew tail twitching, his horns glistening threateningly in the light.
“Oh dear,” breathed the suspect.
“Ahh,” said the crowd of observers.
“And, Mr. Divot, is it true that you not only have an extensive collection of handmade wooden furniture in your domicile, but that you keep a certain quantity of furniture polish at all times? Furniture polish made of zarlene oil, the very same chemical found in the oysters that killed your neighbors?”
“Er, well, yes, I do,” Douglas’ mittened hands were clenched tightly before him. “But it’s such a common oil. I mean anyone has it who keeps —”
The mirror on the left was changing again. The reflection had shifted to images of Douglas Divot polishing his furniture with an almost obsessive level of detail. And everyone could see clear as day, the pot of zarlene oil in one clawed hand.
“Ohhh,” said the crowd of observers. Mary Ann’s heart raced; partially from the fact that there were magic mirrors, right here, working away before her, and partially the fact that things were not looking good for dear Douglas Divot.
The audience was on the edge of their seats. (It was a narrow bench.)
“Douglas Divot,” and Tweedle’s words seemed portentous now, “have you ever committed murder?”
“Yes,” said Douglas shakily and everyone in the room gasped. “I murdered a whole block of a frabjous extra dull cheddar by myself at brillig yesterday. And I regret nothing. Nothing I tell you!”
And the middle mirror began to change, showing Douglas Divot greedily gnawing on a block of cheese the size of a dictionary. It was shameless. He didn’t even get a plate.
In the back room, all the Square guards were talking at once.
“How can he face himself?”
“I feel bloated just looking at ’im.”
“I prefer a nice Turvydale, me.”
“Would you all please be quiet?” Lord Carmine demanded, facing the hidden room. “We can hear you clearly through that wall, you know. It’s the same way you can hear us.”
There was some surprise about this from the room’s inhabitants but mostly mumbling of “Someone should’ve said, then,” and: “Can’t expect us to know everything,” and: “That’s them acoustics, innit?” But finally everyone fell to silence.
“Last question, Douglas Divot,” D.I. Tweedle said, thumbs hooked into his suspenders. “Can you give us one reason you could not have committed this heinous crime against your rath neighbors?
”
“Other than my shellfish allergy?” asked the tove.
You could have heard a pin drop. Then you could have heard any angels currently dancing on the head of that pin say, “Dear heavens, I hope we have emergency medical coverage for this.”
It even took a moment for D.I. Tweedle to recover himself. “I-Is that true, Mr. Divot?”
“Oh yes.” The tove nodded. “I cannot eat, touch, smell or receive personal correspondence from shellfish without coming all over in hives. I’m sure if you check my property, you will find no hives there whatsoever. My residence and the surrounding area is completely beehouse-free. I believe the last time I found myself broken out as a beekeeper was after I was invited to a Lobster Quadrille five years ago. I shell never do it again.”
And there was no question of the truth of the matter. Because the rightmost mirror began to glow a cheerful gold and recapped the Lobster Quadrille outbreak of five years past. In no time, the tove in the mirror was up to his nose in wooden boxes and netted hats.
“Well, then,” began D.I. Tweedle scratching his head, “there’s nothing for it. We have to set him free on circumnavigational evidence.”
Lord Carmine looked puzzled. “I believe I’m not familiar with that.”
D.M. Tweedle stepped in. “Circumnavigational evidence. Where we’ve gone round and round and round the matter, and it’s no further solved than when we started.”
“Ah! Then, case dismissed!” said Lord Carmine, and he looked quite pleased for it, too.
The Tweedles took a moment to unshackle Douglas Divot and the freed tove met the crowd of well-wishers in the hallway.
“Oh, thank goodness!” said Mary Ann, crouching to hug her friend. “We were so worried.”
“Glad for your exoneration, Mr. Divot,” said Sir Rufus, shaking the fellow’s hand heartily. “My father’s always spoken well of you.”
Mary Ann turned to the knight. “The various mirrors in that room … Where did your father get them?”
So much had gone on, Sir Rufus seemed to have forgotten his earlier crossness with her. “No idea. Never sat in on a mirrigation before. In fact, I’m not really certain the room was here yesterday. Happens all the time, though; lose a room, gain a room. You know how it is.”