by Kaye Chazan
The sewing box was ancient, and the flowery fabric that covered it was threadbare and worn. Only one thing seemed untouched by age, and that was a small brass plate with a name pressed into it: A. LIDDELL.
"I don't understand," Toby said as he skittered around the box. "What is this thing? What's it for? Who's A. Liddell?"
"There once was a Golden Afternoon," the Catmistress said. "Many years ago, maybe more years here than there, or maybe years look the same anywhere you go. The leaves could fall slower on slow planets, faster on fast ones. The changing of the seasons might always be just the same if you are where you are. It's only different if you're not."
"Okay," Toby said, quite unsure of himself. "Could we maybe go back to the part where things were starting to make sense and I knew something?"
"There were once three girls, a man, and a boat on a Golden Afternoon. And there was a story that turned into many more stories, and the man wrote them down. And in them, there were other girls. Different girls, but the same."
"Lewis Carroll, you mean?" Toby was confused. "And Alice and... whatever Alice's sister was called, and all that?"
"Alice, yes," the Catmistress said. "But Alice was dreaming. When she woke up, she told her sister. And her sister dreamed, too. But the story is wrong. The story says they left. The story says they got old."
Toby shook his head. "Which girls? The real ones, Alice and her sister? Or the imaginary ones? I'm not getting you."
The Catmistress opened the sewing box. It was empty save for a single silver thimble. She picked it up reverently, careful to touch only the very edge. It seemed almost impossibly shiny.
"The World in a Thimble, the Most Precious Thing," she said softly. "My name was Dinah once, in the Golden Afternoon, imaginary except for Alice. Real Alice. False Alice. Alice who must burn. Now? Now this is who I am. This is who I thought I was."
Toby swallowed uncomfortably. "So what am I supposed to do?"
The Catmistress took the thimble and tucked it into a tiny pouch, then held it so that Toby could slip his paws through a pair of straps. A mouse-sized backpack. She put Toby on the floor and pointed to a hole in the polished marble. "We built this city on Alice. Layer by layer, up and up and up, and we changed. It's too far for any of us now. But not for you."
"You want me to find Alice?"
The Catmistress just grinned as the tips of her fingers began to vanish, then the strands of her hair, then her arms and legs and body until all that was left was her teeth. And then, even her smile disappeared.
Toby looked at the hole, shrugged on the tiny makeshift pack, and stepped into the darkness.
The tunnel was narrow enough that Toby's whiskers brushed the edges of it on both sides as he hurried down into the pitch blackness. He tried not to think about how difficult getting out would be if something happened to him. Or, really, even if he changed his mind. It was far too narrow in the tunnel, especially with the thimble, to turn around. He'd have to move backwards if he wanted out.
Eventually, the narrow tunnel opened into a slightly larger (albeit equally dark) one. That, in turn, opened into an even wider tunnel that was illuminated by faintly glowing fungus. That one eventually opened into another, which looked a great deal like he'd imagined sewers to look as a kid. Rows upon rows of odd little lamps that might have been electric punctuated the tunnel's walls. This turned out to be a mixed blessing, mainly because Toby could make out the sorts of things he might have been stepping through in the last tunnel, and some of it was stuff he'd prefer not to step in even while he was man-sized and wearing shoes.
Still, he tried to remind himself as he crawled over a morass of waste paper and rotting fruit, things could be worse. He could be in an abattoir, or the belly of a whale. Or eaten.
At the end of the tunnel sat, incongruously, an antique Victorian end-table. He could just see, as he approached, something sitting on top of it.
He scanned the tunnel for anything useful, like sticks or bits of wire, but found only pulpy, wet litter and leaves. The walls of the tunnel were smooth brick, but he tried climbing anyway, careful to keep a solid paw-hold in the mortar between the bricks. He made it about a third of the way up before the angle became too acute and one of his back feet slipped free, sending him toppling back into the muck. He landed hard on the thimble and cursed under his breath.
"Next time," Toby groaned as he righted himself, "I will ask for a goddamn grappling hook."
A slender golden rope ladder unfurled from the edge of the table edge. It dangled seductively, glittering in the dim yellow light of the tunnel.
Toby put his paws on one of the rungs and gave the ladder a firm tug. It felt steady enough. He looked up at the table's top, then checked that the tunnel was still empty.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered, and started to climb.
Well, tried to climb. Without his thumbs, gripping the rungs was difficult, and the ladder wasn't fixed to the ground. Frustrated, he bit down on to the next rung up while he got his paws in place. When he was satisfied that he was stable, he latched onto the next rung. By the time he got to the top of the table, he was panting, exhausted.
The glass bottle at the top of the table was a fine, polished thing, nicer than the bottle he'd drunk from in the crow's nest, or even the one that the Catmistress had offered him. It was as tall as he was, with a glittering glass stopper as big as his head. There was a label tied around its neck, with the words "DRINK ME" written on it. Next to it was a golden key, large enough he couldn't quite lift it up at his present size.
Toby frowned. He had a feeling that somehow he'd gone about this whole thing backward. Had Alice been too big or too small in the book when she'd found the bottle? He couldn't remember. Still, there was no way he was going to be able to get into the bottle or use the key as he was.
"It would probably help if I was bigger. And not a mouse," he muttered as he looked over the edge of the table for more clues. The tiny ladder had appeared after he'd voiced a need. Maybe it would happen again?
As if on cue, he noticed something sparkling in the muck below. Beside it was a tiny door, bigger than mouse-sized, but still too small for a child to crawl through easily.
Toby considered, briefly, asking for a million dollars and world peace, but decided not to push his luck.
It was easier to hop off of the table than to try to use the ladder to climb down. He aimed for the softest-looking patch of rubbish he could and still landed hard enough that he was stunned for a moment. Sore and slightly dazed, Toby inspected the glass box that peeked out from underneath a candy wrapper. Inside, predictably enough, was a little round cake with the words "EAT ME" written around its edge in icing. There was a tiny fondant mouse pressed into the cake's center.
He pushed the latch open and lifted the lid of the box. He shouldered out of his makeshift pack and set it down next to the case, then reached in and pulled a piece of the cake off with his paws.
"Tiny bites," he told himself as he nibbled at it. The cake tasted like fennel and rosemary. "I think that's how Alice got herself all wrong in the book. She ate the whole thing at once. Or at least she had too much. Same with the bottle. If I pace myself—"
He noticed the feeling in his stomach before he noticed the changes in his paws or the bare skin where he'd been covered in soft, thick fur. His arms and legs stretched out, and for a brief moment his hands felt eerily distant from the rest of his body while the rest of his body grew into its limbs again.
Toby stood, naked and barefoot (and also, he thought, not quite his usual height) next to the table. He plucked up the bottle and the key, which he set down next to the glass box and the thimble bag before unstopping the bottle and giving it a sniff. "Ugh. It's like Thanksgiving dinner in there," he said. A quick taste confirmed it, though he was at least pleased that the tastes seemed to come in rapid succession instead of hitting him with cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie and gravy simultaneously. As they did, the bottle seemed to get a little bigger in his hands.
A second sip and he was just small enough to squeeze through the doorframe.
He stoppered the bottle and set it down on the ground, hung the thimble pouch around his wrist, and then picked up the glass box and the key. As an afterthought, he fashioned a makeshift sarong out of a sodden blue rag, and then he unlocked the door.
The room was familiar, somehow. There was a cardboard box in the corner, and a desk, and—
"I'm at work," he said, surprised. He wiped his hands off on a bit of paper towel that lay next to his office trash bin and then opened up the glass cake box again. The fondant mouse had vanished, but the words "Eat Me" remained. He broke off a chunk and took a bite.
The surface of his desk came into reach. He took the now too-tight thimble pouch off of his wrist and held the string. The now-useless blue rag sarong lay on the floor. Another bite and he was above the top of his desk, looking down. A third and he was able to touch the top storage shelf as well (or possibly a little better) than usual.
Toby put the tiny glass box and the thimble pouch on his desk. He took a pair of battered, paint-colored coveralls from a hook and zipped them on, then pocketed the thimble pouch.
With a deep breath, Toby pushed the gallery door open and stepped through.
The afternoon light through the front windows was blinding.
Toby frowned and looked around, confused. He tried to think back to how he'd gotten here, but somehow everything seemed fuzzy. He thought he remembered something about sewers and cats.
Did cats live in sewers? No, that was alligators, he was almost certain.
He twisted the stick on the venetian blinds to block out some of the light. In the plaza outside, a pair of children fished around in a fountain for change while a third used a scrub brush on the marble.
The door jingled and he turned away from the window. A little girl in a blue and white apron dress stood looking at a small rack of blank sketchbooks. She wore white socks, which went up to her knees, and black patent leather shoes that had a thin strap that buckled over her instep. Her hair was long and loose and hung nearly to her waist.
"Hello there," he said to her.
"Hello, sir," she replied with a smile. She turned back toward the sketchbooks. After a moment, she chose one with a white rabbit printed on the cover, and carried it over to the cash register.
Toby followed her and stepped around the counter. He punched the old-fashioned buttons on the register, and the little girl's total sprang up in the glass window. "Five cents," he said.
The girl reached into the pockets of her apron. She held out a small, round wooden disc. It looked like a nickel.
He stared at it, then at the girl.
Through the blinds, Toby could just make out an emu in a tiara as it strolled past.
"Your money, sir," the girl said to him. Her posture was stiff, and her expression was blank. Her hair hung lank around her face like Spanish moss.
Toby swallowed. He was supposed to want that nickel, he knew. Of everything in the world around him, that nickel was supposed to be the most precious treasure, the fulfillment of some long journey he couldn't remember taking. He felt nervous, like he had back when he was seventeen and in the back of a van with nineteen-year-old Damon Jenkins, who'd gone off to college with a girlfriend the year before but came back wearing pride rings.
The girl lurched forward.
Toby stumbled back. "Get away."
The girl strained after him with the nickel in her outstretched hand. "Don't you want your money, sir?" she asked. "Don't you want your prize? You've come ever so far for it."
Toby shoved a heavy shelf of jewelry over at her. She brushed it away with a gesture, as if it were no more substantial than a sheet of paper.
"Don't you like Wonderland?" she asked him. "Isn't it better? Isn't it good? A whole wide world for you to dream up and keep forever and ever and never get old."
Toby bumped up against a cabinet. He felt something hard and small in his pocket. He reached in and found a tiny cloth pouch. He undid the drawstring and dropped the silver thimble into his palm.
"The whole world in a thimble," Toby said, not sure he understood the words. The memory of the Catmistress and her speakeasy, the coyote, his night in the forest came rushing back. Those things might have happened in Wonderland, but to Toby they weren't a dream. They were as real as anything. Real like the thimble was. Glittering in his palm, here in Wonderland, was the one true shred of Alice Liddell. The most precious thing.
Alice dropped the nickel and skittered back, eyes fixed on the thimble. "That isn't yours!" she snarled. "You shouldn't have that! It can't be here!"
"How do you know?" Toby asked as he picked it up between his fingers. It shone brightly, a tiny scrap of reality blazing in the dreamscape. "Lots of people own thimbles. Why shouldn't I have a thimble in my pocket?"
She shielded her eyes. "Put it away! It isn't yours!"
"No. It isn't." Toby held the thimble higher and took an experimental step forward. Alice cringed away.
"You're mine. You're in Wonderland. Everything in Wonderland is mine," she growled. On the shelves around him, things began to rattle and shake. "You have to do as I say!"
"Are you sure? I'm starting to think maybe I don't have to," Toby said, and held his ground.
Behind him, a whole wall of paintings crashed to the ground. Glass shattered and frames cracked, but Toby kept his eyes fixed on Alice. The thimble glowed in his hand as he advanced on her.
The sculptures and sconces and ceramics that lined the shelves of the gallery began to explode, one after the other. Alice made a desperate gesture and a set of wooden bowls zipped through the air at him.
Toby ducked. The largest of the bowls narrowly missed his head.
"Dinah, the Catmistress, asked me if I knew what I was," Toby shouted above the din at Alice, who he'd finally cornered up against the wall. Above them, the gallery ceiling cracked. Chunks of plaster rained down around them both. "She tried to get me to drink a bottle of something that could decide that for me. Well, you know what? I don't need some potion, or some creepy little girl to tell me who to be. I know exactly who and what I am. And I'm not going to let you take that away from me by dragging me into your little world and sending furniture and cowboys after me, or turning me into a mouse, or trying to pass off wooden nickels. I'm not doing any of that any more. I'm. Going. Home."
He threw the thimble with a yell. It sailed through the air, glowing more brightly before it struck home. Blinding light exploded from Alice’s mouth and eyes. Cracks burst out across the floor of the gallery. The windows shattered as the room began to collapse. Toby covered his head and bolted for the door as the ground crumbled away beneath his feet.
And then he fell.
Toby jolted bolt upright from his spot on the bench. The light hurt his eyes and he tried to cover them with his arm while he looked around, trying to figure out the source of the banging noise that had woken him up.
After a minute, he spotted a dark outline at the door. He stumbled to his feet and hurried over and turned the bolt in the lock, opening the door.
"Finally! I've only been hammering on that door for the last fifteen minutes," Hambrick bitched as he stormed in. Behind him, a pair of movers followed.
"Sorry. I didn't hear you right away," Toby said and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What happened to three a.m.?"
"Inspiration struck just as I was reaching for my keys," Hambrick said with a wave of his hand as he strode past Toby and toward the empty gallery wall. "I've learned never to turn my muse aside when she calls me."
Toby crossed his arms and shook his head at the movers, who gave him perplexed looks. "Next time, tell your muse to drop me a line. I just spent the night on a bench." He reached down behind the cashier's counter and opened the mini-fridge that sat there. He tossed each of the movers a bottle of water, then got one for himself. He twisted off the lid, took a mouthful, swished it, and pulled a face as he swallowed. Not his finest hygienic moment.
"And what on earth is this travesty?"
Toby looked up to see Hambrick scowling at a sculpture of a blonde girl in a blue and white apron dress. She looked demure, but with a hint of mischief in her eyes. She was shuffling a deck of cards.
"It's a sculpture of a little girl, last I checked. Is that a problem?"
Hambrick rolled his eyes, then turned his attention to his move crew. "Are you just going to stand around all day? Get in here!"
"Actually, Hambrick," Toby said as he turned on his work computer and twisted the key to turn on the gallery's cash register, "I had a fair bit of time to think last night. I'm pulling you from the show."
"You're what?"
"I'm pulling you from the show. I'm sick of this bullshit. You can't just order me around in my own gallery. If you want me to give you a venue for your work, great, but you don't get carte blanche to boss me around. My space, my rules. Now get out."