Looking Glass

by Christina Henry

  After what seemed like a very long while (but was probably not more than a quarter of an hour) Elizabeth and her family reached the front of the line. The City Father for their parish, Mr. Dodgson, smiled down at her as he presented her with a shiny gold coin.

  “You are the image of your sister today, Miss Hargreaves,” he said.

  There was something very odd in the way he said this, a kind of undercurrent that Elizabeth only just sensed. She did feel certain, however, that the sister Mr. Dodgson referred to was not Margaret.

  He’s talking about Alice. And that’s why Mama looked so shocked when I came into the breakfast room this morning—because she looked at me and saw Alice.

  So the voice wasn’t lying to her. Although that didn’t necessarily mean there was a voice, after all—it might have been her own cleverness that drew the proper conclusion.

  Although I don’t know what all the business about the Caterpillar and the throat-cutting was—perhaps a remnant of a nightmare I’d only just remembered.

  Mr. Dodgson was gazing at her expectantly and Elizabeth realized she’d been standing there like a goose, holding the coin and staring into nothing.

  “Thank you very much, Father,” she said, dropping into her prettiest curtsy. She sensed rather than saw her parents’ relief.

  It was only then, for the first time in her life, that she realized her parents feared the City Fathers. And more than that, too—everyone feared them. The Fathers’ censure could destroy a family, drive them from the New City and out in the wild plains or out onto the unforgiving sea—or worse, into the terror and darkness of the Old City.

  “Mr. Hargreaves, I’d like a word,” Mr. Dodgson said, grasping her father just above the elbow and pulling him back a discreet distance so their conversation could not be overheard.

  It was not unusual during Giving Day for this to happen—Mr. Dodgson often used Giving Day as an opportunity to speak with Papa about some issue or other. But Elizabeth felt this time was somehow different. Perhaps it was the tautness of Mr. Dodgson’s jaw, or the deep coldness in his eyes. Perhaps it was the way that Papa seemed to flinch away from the words Mr. Dodgson said.

  Or perhaps it was that Elizabeth saw, very clearly, Mr. Dodgson’s lips form the word “Alice.”

  Alice, Alice, Elizabeth thought crossly. Why is Alice haunting me today?

  It was hard not to feel that this Alice, who was possibly (probably) her sister, was trying her hardest to spoil the perfect day Elizabeth had envisaged that morning.

  Elizabeth felt suddenly that she was thirsty and her shiny patent leather shoes pinched her toes and the ribbons pinned in her hair made her scalp itch. She wanted to go home and have lunch—Margaret and Daniel and Polly and Edith would stay, for Giving Day was a feast day in the New City and after lunch there would be an extra-special pudding and then the family would give gifts to all the servants, and the adults would have presents for the children.

  She didn’t want to be troubled with worries over a ghost sister and her father’s cowering and Mr. Dodgson’s cold eyes. She wanted to stuff herself silly on roast duck and potatoes with lots of butter and gravy and then have the largest serving of pudding she was allowed. She wanted to tear open a box from Mama and Papa and find a new doll or a stuffed toy and then spend the rest of the afternoon keeping it out of the hands of her nieces. She wanted to pretend that all the uncomfortable knowledge she’d gained today was just some silly fancy, imagination run wild while she dreamed beneath the roses.

  She might even still be there now, under the roses and sound asleep, and soon she would wake up when she heard Mama calling her and saying it was time to go to the square.

  Papa and Mr. Dodgson returned then. Mr. Dodgson gave Mama a polite nod and smile and Mama nodded in return. Margaret and Daniel stepped forward with their daughters, and Elizabeth’s group moved off to the edge of the square to wait for them.

  Mama and Papa immediately put their heads close together and began speaking through the bottoms of their teeth so that Elizabeth couldn’t hear. When Elizabeth turned her face up in curiosity Mama waved her away.

  “Go and play while you wait for Polly and Edith,” Mama said.

  This was Elizabeth’s cue to Leave the Adults to Adult Business, and on reflection she decided it wasn’t any hardship to do so. She wasn’t interested in any more uncomfortable thoughts. She’d had her fill of those today, thank you very much.

  She scuffed her shoe soles along the polished marble, wondering if she might leave a mark there that no one would be able to clean.

  That would serve Mr. Dodgson right, she thought. His house is just there, and every day he would have to cross over a black mark as he goes into the Home Government building. And he would know that everything isn’t perfect and proper and ordered in his little world, and it would keep him up at night, a tiny thing under his mattress like the princess and her pea.

  Her chest was full of heaving anger all of a sudden, and it was mixed up with shame at seeing her father quail away from the City Father and the helpless frustration of knowing there was nothing that could be done about it.

  “Don’t go far, Alice,” Mama said absently.

  Alice again. Always Alice. I’m not Alice. I’m Elizabeth.

  She put the toe of her shiny black leather shoe against the perfect white marble and stared at it.

  The color from the shoe drained away, starting at the back of her heel, and poured onto the marble walk. In a moment her right shoe was a dull pinkish white and beneath her sole was a giant black stain. It wasn’t a puddle, either—it sank into the marble and set there. Elizabeth gave it a fierce grin. No amount of polishing would ever remove that mark, and every year when she came to Giving Day she’d see it there and know that she, Elizabeth Violet Hargreaves (not Alice) did that.

  Although she did regret the time that the servants would spend trying to fix it. Perhaps if she wished hard enough Mr. Dodgson would scrub at it himself, scandalizing all the servants and the other City Fathers.

  She lifted her gaze up to the place where Mr. Dodgson stood. Daniel and Margaret and Edith and Polly were still there, taking an inordinate amount of time for a short Giving Day meeting. Margaret had her hands on Polly’s shoulders and Daniel’s were on Edith’s, as if to keep the girls from shooting off into the plaza now that they had their coins in hand. The adults had their eyes fixed on Mr. Dodgson’s face and even from this distance Elizabeth could see the nervous twitch at the corner of Margaret’s mouth.

  He really is an old monster, Elizabeth thought. Yes, I think I shall wish that when he sees this stain he will spend all his days and nights attempting to clean it and never succeed.

  Elizabeth had never tried one of her wishes on a person before, but she was certain it would work if she put enough force into the wish. She had so much hate swelling in her at that moment that she thought she could set the dais aflame if she looked at it long enough.

  When you walk to your home this evening you’ll glance down at the marble when you reach this exact spot. And when you see the stain that has spread all over the marble you’ll call the servants and tell them to clean it. And tomorrow morning when they aren’t able to clean it you’ll fall to your knees and take the rags and polish and say, “I’ll do it myself, I’ll stay here as long as necessary.” And so you will never leave this place—you’ll stay right here scrubbing away until you starve and die.

  It was a lot of wish to send out, but Elizabeth wanted it to happen exactly as she saw it in her head. She wrapped the wish carefully in her mind, like a brown paper package delivered by the postman, and she pointed it at Mr. Dodgson.

  His head jerked back, as if he’d been slapped, and whatever he was saying to Daniel and Margaret seemed to trickle and die on his lips. The blood drained out of Mr. Dodgson’s face. Elizabeth saw Daniel reach toward the City Father as if to brace Mr. Dodgson and then pull his hand b
ack as if thinking better of it. Mr. Dodgson would not appreciate such familiarity.

  Mr. Dodgson shook his head from side to side, as if trying to dislodge an unpleasant thought.

  You’ll never dislodge that thought, oh no, that’s what you get for terrorizing my papa.

  Elizabeth turned her head away so that Mr. Dodgson wouldn’t see the triumph on her face. If he suspected her of any kind of wrongdoing he might punish her family, and even though her family was sometimes tiresome and often mysterious she didn’t want anything bad to happen to them. They were her family, after all, and she supposed they all loved each other even when they didn’t act like it.

  Aren’t you something, sister of Alice.

  There was that voice again, that horrible know-all voice that came uninvited and went away only when it felt like it. She resolved not to talk to it this time.

  Not speaking to me, sister of Alice?

  I’m not sister of Alice. I’m Elizabeth, she thought angrily, and then chided herself for not keeping her promise to herself.

  Very well, Elizabeth, the voice said, and Elizabeth was annoyed because it was clear that the voice was only humoring her. She could hear the laughter underneath.

  Just then Elizabeth saw a strange thing, a thing that shouldn’t be anywhere but certainly not in the Great Square on Giving Day.

  There was a small walkway, almost like a little tunnel, in between each of the City Fathers’ homes. These walkways were always there—there was nothing much to remark in that.

  What was remarkable was that there was a man standing in one of them, and he wasn’t wearing the livery of the City Fathers’ servants, and he wasn’t dressed in his best suit like all the men in the square. He wore a pair of trousers that might have been some other color once but were certainly grey now, grey because they’d clearly never been washed, and over them he had a ragged blue coat that was too large at the shoulders.

  And still this wasn’t what had drawn Elizabeth’s attention.

  The man had his back to her and the rest of the square. And this man had the tail of a bird—a long, white-feathered thing that arced up from under the hem of the coat. Elizabeth was almost certain that the bare ankles visible beneath the trouser cuffs were the same scaly yellow as the chicken feet for sale at the Saturday market.

  She took a few steps toward the man-bird, astonished that no one else seemed to notice him. Surely someone that raggedy should have drawn the notice of the guards that patrolled the square. But the only person who appeared to have noted him was Elizabeth.

  The man’s white tail floated away into the darkness in the back of the walkway. He was leaving, and Elizabeth hadn’t gotten a proper look at him at all. She wanted to know if he had the face of a bird, too, or just the feet and tail.

  She picked up her pace, but the marble made it impossible to run without falling flat on her face, so she had a kind of awkward hurried shuffle that surely appeared ridiculous to anyone who saw her.

  When she reached the edge of the square and the regular cobblestones she paused, squinting into the deep pools of darkness between the buildings. She thought she saw the white tail flash in the shadows, but she wasn’t certain. Elizabeth took a few more steps, feeling terribly daring. No one was supposed to approach the City Fathers’ homes without express permission.

  She glanced back over her shoulder to see if Mama and Papa were watching, because she was sure to be chastised if they were. Margaret and Daniel had joined them now and the four of them were having a Very Serious Conversation—Elizabeth could tell by the way they all stood close together and bent their heads toward one another so no passersby could eavesdrop. Polly and Edith were on their hands and knees trying to spin their new coins on the marble, and Margaret surely hadn’t noticed this else she would have told her girls to get up before they dirtied their dresses.

  Nobody will notice if I just dart away for a moment.

  Elizabeth didn’t look around again to see if anyone was watching. She ran into the walkway between the buildings and then paused, waiting for the alarm to be raised.

  No one appeared to have noticed her exit from the square.

  No one, that is, except for the Voice.

  What are you doing, sister of Alice?

  I told you I’m Elizabeth, not sister of Alice.

  Elizabeth felt pleased that the Voice sounded alarmed. She took a few more steps, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the shadow. She couldn’t see the white-tailed man any longer, and there was a little rush of disappointment. Perhaps she wouldn’t find out if he had the face of a bird, after all, and she would have to go back and spin coins with Polly and Edith until Mama and Papa decided it was time to return for the feast.

  There was a scratching of footsteps in the dirt, and the gleam of eyes near the very end of the walkway. Then Elizabeth saw the white-feathered tail disappear around the corner behind the left-hand house.

  If I only hurry, I can catch him and see, she thought, breaking into a run.

  No, don’t, sister of Alice! Don’t follow the white tail.

  “Why ever not?” Elizabeth said, huffing as she ran. She wasn’t an active-running-about sort of child and she was already hot and out of breath.

  I am the keeper of the stories and I’ve heard this story before.

  “My story isn’t the same as anyone’s,” Elizabeth said.

  Stories are retold more often than people think, because they don’t listen to stories and learn properly.

  Elizabeth reached the end of the walkway, which was much longer than she’d expected. She thought she would find herself between two back gardens (she’d expected the City Fathers to have the largest, most elaborate gardens imaginable), but instead she had arrived at a T-junction with another walkway.

  She glanced to the left and saw the white tail bobbing away behind the buildings.

  Elizabeth ran again, certain that she would catch up to the bird-man in a moment. He was only walking and she was running. The moment she caught him she’d tap his shoulder and he would look directly at her and then she would know for sure whether he was a bird or a man. And once she did she would run right back to Mama and Papa and no one would ever know where she’d gone or what she’d done.

  That’s what Alice said, too, the Voice said.

  “Oh, do go away,” Elizabeth told the Voice. “It’s not polite to eavesdrop on someone’s thoughts.”

  I only meant to say that Alice followed someone she oughtn’t have and she wasn’t the happier for it. You may not be either.

  “I told you, go away,” Elizabeth said.

  The Voice was distracting her when she needed to pay attention. It seemed that no matter how fast she ran the bobbing white tail never got any closer, though she watched carefully and the bird-man didn’t seem to be running.

  Elizabeth was only half aware of what was around her. The bird-man turned another sharp corner and Elizabeth huffed out an irritated breath.

  At this rate I’ll never catch up with him. Perhaps I should just turn back now.

  (But then you’ll never know for certain if he really is a bird-man, or just a man with a feathered tail stuck under his jacket, and if he is just an ordinary sort of man don’t you want to know why he’s done such a silly thing?)

  A stitch had formed under her right ribs, and it made little shooting pains with every step she took. She was starting to get hungry and cross, too, and felt that she’d been gone long enough that when she went back all the grown-ups would shout at her for sneaking off.

  Yes, I should just go back, Elizabeth thought, but as she thought it she reached the turning where the bird-man had disappeared.

  Just as she arrived she saw a flash of orange and one bright black eye flash around the next corner, which was about ten steps from where she stood.

  “Wait!” Elizabeth called. “Oh, wait, please. I won�
�t hurt you! I only want to talk to you for a moment.”

  Elizabeth sprinted to the corner. Her dress was sticking to her back and she tugged at it as she ran. She was certain her beautiful curls and ribbons were all bedraggled, too. But the bird-man was so close. She’d only just seen him. He couldn’t be more than a few steps away now.

  Elizabeth rounded the corner and stopped.

  She’d reached an odd sort of intersection. She stood in a circle with many alleys shooting off it in all directions, like she was in the center of the sun and its rays.

  Elizabeth peered down one of the alleys. There was nothing much to see there—the light petered out a few steps beyond where she stood and the rest of the alley was hidden in shadow.

  Just like the walkway where I first saw the bird-man.

  She peeked into another alley, and saw the same thing. She went all around the circle only to discover that every path looked exactly the same. It was only then that she finally noticed she couldn’t see any buildings around her, or hear the noise of people, or smell the Giving Day feasts that were surely being cooked in every home.

  All around her were high faceless brick walls, and above her was an identical brick ceiling.

  She wasn’t in an alley, running behind buildings in the New City. She was in a tunnel. And all the exits from the circle where she stood were identical.

  Including the one that would lead her home.

  Elizabeth felt the first stirrings of fear. Where in the City was she? She’d never heard of a brick tunnel anywhere—if she had, she might be able to determine just how far she’d gotten from the Great Square.

  Mama and Papa and Margaret and even Daniel, who never ever yells, are going to be very put out with me when I get back.

  She didn’t doubt at all that she would find her way back. The path wasn’t obvious at the moment but soon she would remember which direction she’d come from and then simply retrace her steps.

  And even if I choose the wrong path, I’m sure to come out on a street. And streets have cabs. I shall simply order the driver to return me home and then Hobson will use some spare change to pay for the cab. I might get a scolding, but I shall also have a wonderful story to tell Polly and Edith. They shall be ever so jealous to see me riding up all by myself in a cab like a queen.