“Why did you cut my hair?” Alice asked. It wasn’t what she meant to say. She meant to say, Thank you for washing and feeding me and binding up my wounds, but it had come out differently than she’d intended.
“You were crawling with vermin,” the old woman said matter-of-factly. “You and the boy. It’s likely been years since you noticed it. ’Twas easiest to cut off as much as we could and scrub the rest out. Besides, Nicholas seemed to think you might be safer dressed as a boy. Considering what he told me happened along the way here, that might be true. You’re thin enough to pass for one, and tall too, for a girl. Though your face is a mite too pretty, even with that scar you’re so concerned about. And in certain places boys are just as much at risk as girls. Still, Nicholas will be with you.”
“Who are you?” Alice asked. “To Hatcher, I mean?”
She couldn’t bring herself to call him by the name this woman called him. It didn’t fit with the man she knew.
“My name is Bess, and he’s my grandson, though he doesn’t remember it,” she said. “His mother was my daughter. She left me when she was nineteen, and then came back three years later with him, and left him with me, still wrapped in his swaddling clothes. Considering the way her eyes looked, that was likely the best thing.”
“How did her eyes look?”
“Like she was soaring somewhere above the City, like those flying machines the New City folk ride about it. She was not tied to the same earth as the rest of us anymore.”
“So you know what happened to Hatcher, then? Why he was in the asylum?”
Bess shook her head slowly. “Until yesterday I had not seen Nicholas’ face for twenty-three years. When he was seventeen, he took to running with a bad lot. I told him I’d have none of that nonsense beneath my roof, and he left. ’Twas like his mother all over again, and it seemed I’d made the same mistakes twice, though I’d tried my best both times.”
She paused here, and Alice saw her regrets as clear as if she’d spoken them aloud.
“I did not hear word of him after he left here,” Bess continued. “Then four nights ago I had a dream, a dream that he would return. There’s a bit of Seeing in our blood, enough to know that our visions are true things. Nicholas has it too. That’s why he speaks of the Jabberwock.”
“I thought it was some dream of Hatcher’s,” Alice said.
The old woman looked at her sharply. “Did you not see the creature in the fire? Do you not believe the truth of your own eyes?”
“No, I don’t,” Alice said. “Once, I saw a Rabbit, who was also a man, and everyone said I was a liar.”
Bess hissed at the mention of the Rabbit. “Oh, aye, he’s real enough, and as bad as they come. You stay away from him, girl, you hear? If you were lucky enough to crawl out of his hole once, you won’t be so lucky a second time.”
Alice was taken aback by the old lady’s vehemence, and also by her words. “You know of the Rabbit?”
“I told you to stay away from him,” she repeated. “Don’t let your curiosity lead you down the garden path. That, I imagine, was what got you into trouble in the first place.”
“Yes,” Alice said quietly.
Bess was right, of course. Nothing good would come of being curious about the figure that had haunted her nightmares for years. But there was a small place inside her that glowed with triumph, for they had all said she was mad, talking of a rabbit-man, but she’d been right. She was right.
“Heed me,” Bess said. “Do not go seeking the Rabbit, else you wish for more death and madness.”
Alice shook her head. “I won’t. I promise.”
The old woman looked at her closely, peering into Alice’s eyes. She nodded her head, as if satisfied by what she saw there.
“Good,” she said. “You’ll have no time in any event. You and the boy must find the Jabberwock.”
“Us? But why?” She’d hardly believed in the monster in the first place, but if it was real she didn’t think it any wiser to go seeking it than the Rabbit.
“You are the only ones who saw him loosed—saw and knew what you were looking at, that is. He’s already begun hunting again, and the blood he drinks only makes him crave more.”
“Surely the police will catch it, if it is that bad,” Alice said. “Or soldiers from the New City.”
“No ordinary human could catch the Jabberwock,” Bess said. “The police would not even know rightly what they were looking at. He can pretend he’s a man if he wishes, and often does, for it allows him ease of passage. And soldiers, as you well know, do not come into the Old City for anything. If the Old City were nothing but monsters and riots, the soldiers would not come. Their task is to keep the filth of the Old City out of the New, to keep the New City clean so the fine ladies there don’t trail their hems in the dirt.”
This was so like what Hatcher had said to Alice the night before that she flushed in shame. The old woman, sharp-eyed even in the meager light, noted this and cackled.
“Not from around here, are you, dearie? Still, you survived the Rabbit, so you must not be as dainty as your kin. And my dream told me the two of you must find the Jabberwock. There must be something inside you, something you haven’t shown yet.”
The old woman peered at Alice closely, and Alice turned her face away from the other’s scrutiny. She felt a sudden burning resentment against this woman, this woman who had cared for her though she had no obligation to do so.
Who was she to say Alice must do this or that? For ten years she’d been told what to do—ten years and more, for when she’d been her parents’ daughter they had always been commanding, always correcting, always, No, Alice, you must not do that. It is unseemly. You must not keep that friend. She is not appropriate.
She had never had freedom, freedom to be whom she liked and do as she chose. And now here was this strange person telling her that she still had no freedom. She did not have to seek out a murdering nightmare if she did not wish it, and no grandmother—seer or not—would tell her otherwise.
The old woman put her fingers on Alice’s chin and turned the girl’s face toward her. “Nay,” she said. “Do not think you can turn away from your fate. I have Seen it, and once foretold, it cannot be undone. If you go chasing your freedom your fate will only follow you there, and drag you back.”
Alice’s cheeks were wet again. “It’s not fair.”
“Fair or not, it is what it is,” Bess said, standing. “You’ll go and see Cheshire, up in Rose Way. He’ll help you, point you where you ought to be. Nicholas will be back soon. You should dress.”
She pointed to a bundle of clothes hanging from a peg just next to Alice’s bed.
“Where did Hatcher go?”
“To fetch some things for me that I usually have to pay a boy to carry. He needed busyness, Nicholas did. Near lost his mind when you fainted like that, and sat staring at you sleeping until I chased him out.”
Bess left, and Alice sat staring at her hands. She held the plate of bread and cheese, having taken only a bite of each. The old woman’s words still rang in her ears.
If you go chasing your freedom your fate will only follow you there, and force you back.
Why was she, Alice, the one who must find the Jabberwock? There was nothing special about her. And what were she and Hatcher to do when they did find him? Hatcher might have a gift of Seeing, but he was no Magician, and neither was Alice.
She took another bite of bread as she thought. The bread was good, far better than any food she’d eaten at the hospital. Her hunger was abruptly overwhelming, and she jammed the rest of the bread in her mouth, unable to chew fast enough.
She was so hungry. She had never been so hungry. The bread disappeared in the blink of an eye. When she looked at the cheese, her stomach suddenly heaved like the day before. She dropped the cheese to the plate, threw off the blanket and ran to the table.
The bare floor was cold against her bare feet. The pitcher was half-filled with water, as she’d hoped, and she l
ifted it to her lips, guzzling down as much as she could swallow. The water was so icy that it burned her parched throat, made her chest cramp from the cold. She stood, leaning on the table with her hands, breathing hard through her nose until the cramping and nausea passed and her body seemed normal again.
Alice shivered, for now that she was out of the cocoon of the blankets, she was aware of how chilly it was. She thought of the fire, which she could smell crackling away in the next room, and hurried to dress so she could go out and put her whole self as close to it as possible.
The bundle of clothes was revealed to be a man’s wool pants, a rough white pullover shirt and a grey jacket and cap. Alice spread all these things on the bed and tried not to think of the fine dresses she used to wear before, when she lived in the New City.
That life is gone. And anyhow this is better than what you wore at the hospital.
She pulled the nightgown over her head, and paused, getting a good look at the state of herself. There was a large purple bruise around the slight curve of her right breast, and abrasions down her stomach and thighs. There were matching purple finger marks on the sides of her legs, and the tops of her feet were scraped raw.
Her ribs and hip bones showed through the skin, so pale as to be nearly translucent, and everything hurt from the exertions of the day before, even if you could not see that on the surface. It had been years since she had walked so far, and she had certainly never jumped out of a third-story window into the river.
She looked up, her eye attracted by some movement, and found a strange man had pulled aside the curtain and was staring at her. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment, and she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
His hair was black, sprinkled with white, and cut very close to his head. His face was clean-shaven, revealing hollow cheekbones and a sharp chin. He was dressed in the same sort of rough pants and shirt that Alice had just unbundled. Her voice worked its way up to her throat, and then she remembered his eyes. His iron grey eyes, burning like she had never seen them before.
He approached her, pulling the curtain shut behind him, pinning her in place with his eyes. Her heart fluttered in her chest, a moth captured in a net. He stopped before her and his hand moved to her cheek, the one that had been flayed open so many years before.
He cupped her face, and she had never noticed before how large his hands were, or how tall he was, much taller than she. At this distance she could see a multitude of faded white scars all over his face that had been hidden by his beard.
His hand left her face, and he sank to his knees, laying his cheek against her stomach so gently that she wanted to weep. His arms went around her hips, not so tight as to hurt, but just enough so she knew he would not let her go. His skin seemed to melt into hers, like he was trying to crawl inside her.
Her hands went to his hair, the strands even shorter than her own, and much thicker and coarser. They stayed there for a while, each breathing in the other until that breath moved in the same rhythm.
Then Hatcher stood, and Alice saw that the fire in his eyes was banked. He touched her hair, smoothing it down, then left the room without a word.
Alice dressed quickly then. Her legs trembled as she tried to pull on the pants, and she did not know whether it was from cold or what had just happened. The pants would not stay up on her bony hips. She clutched the waist with her hands as she hobbled in her cold bare feet to the main room.
Bess and Hatcher were in conference, standing side by side over a variety of articles spread on the floor. The old woman noticed Alice struggling.
“I’ll get some rope for those,” she said, moving down the hallway toward the back of the flat. She disappeared into one of the two doorways Alice could see.
“Sorry about that,” Hatcher said, pointing to the pants, which also dragged on the floor a bit by Alice’s heels. “I was in a hurry when I got them and was mostly thinking this way”—here he gestured with his hand up and down—“and not this way,” he finished, moving his hand side to side.
Alice moved around beside him, partially because the fire was there and she desperately wanted the warmth, and partially because she was curious about the objects on the floor.
“Why were you in a hurry?” Alice asked.
“Hmmm?” Hatcher said. He’d gone back to studying the assorted items.
“Why were you in a hurry when you got the clothes?”
“Oh.” He grinned, and that grin went straight to her heart and lodged there. She’d never properly seen his smile before. “I was stealing them off a wash line.”
“Hatch,” Alice said, her voice chiding. “You didn’t need to steal clothes. You got a fistful of gold off that trader.”
“It’s less than a fistful now that I’ve bought these things,” he said. “Besides, we’ll need some of that gold where we’re going. Bess says her name will be enough to get us in to see Cheshire, but I remember plenty of palms needed crossing before you got there.”
“You remember,” Alice said.
Hatcher looked at her, surprise in his eyes. “I do. I do remember that.”
“Just that, or other things?”
“Just that for now,” he said. “It’s like I can only recall what I need to at that moment.”
“What are all these things?” Alice asked.
“Supplies,” Hatcher said.
Alice thought their ideas of “supplies” were very different. If Alice had been the one who’d gone out she would have come back with food and clothing and blankets, things necessary to survive. The spread before her looked more like an armory.
There were two knives—one a standard-looking dagger with a leather grip, and the other thinner one with a straight side and a curved side, almost like the kinds of knives butchers used. There were several coils of rope of different thicknesses and lengths. There was a small hand axe, and Alice gave Hatcher a sideways glance when she saw it. He followed her eyes back to that wicked-looking blade, and shook his head.
“It doesn’t make me remember, not as you’d think it should,” he said. “Though when it was in my hand it felt the most natural thing in the world, like it was part of me.”
There was one more object on the floor, and it was so strange to see that Alice stared at it.
“Is that . . . ?” she asked, pointing. She didn’t even know how to say the word. She’d only ever seen pictures in books, never the real thing.
Hatcher grinned again, and she realized deep down, underneath all the blood and madness, Hatcher was a rogue. Somewhere inside him was still the boy who liked to cause trouble.
“It’s a gun, yes,” he said.
“A gun,” Alice repeated. Nothing could have shocked her more, not even if he’d said he was a secret Magician. “Only the Royal Guard is allowed to carry guns. Not even the soldiers who protect the New City have them.”
Hatcher tilted his head to one side, like he was seeing her for the first time. “Do you always believe what you’re told?”
The way he asked the question made her feel foolish, and she flushed under his attention. “No. I suppose I used to. I don’t know if I do now.”
“Don’t believe anything the coppers or the soldiers or the government tells you, Alice,” Hatcher said. “They’re not interested in your happiness. They just don’t want you to cause trouble for the swells in the New City. Those soldiers have guns, Alice, sure as your eyes are blue. You just don’t see them.”
She didn’t care so much about the guns the soldiers carried as the one Hatcher was proposing to carry. “It’s illegal. Taking that gun will draw attention in a way a knife won’t.”
“Because they expect the rabble to have knives and use them on each other, so that’s not questioned.” Hatcher nodded. “I know. Don’t trouble yourself. It will be well hidden. It’s a last resort.”
Alice gave him a doubtful look, but said nothing more. He started collecting all the things on the ground. The knives and axe and gun all disappeared und
er his coat, so smooth that you would never know they were there. The ropes went into a small pack, along with some bundles of cloth she hadn’t noticed before.
“What are those?” she asked.
“Cloaks,” he said. “Better than blankets when night falls. You won’t lose it if we have to leave in a rush, see? And though during daylight you stand out a mile, they make you one of the shadows after dark.”
So he had considered something besides the violent defense of their lives, Alice thought. She was so warm by this fire she never wanted to leave. She didn’t want to think about what was going to happen when they walked out that door.
It was true that if they were discovered to have escaped from the hospital, they would be in plenty of trouble to begin with. But if Hatcher were caught with a gun, he would be executed. No trial, no semblance of justice. Likely they would shoot him with his own weapon.
Her head jerked up then from her contemplation and she stared.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You bought that gun so you wouldn’t have to go back to the hospital,” she said, and she was a little surprised to hear the anger, the accusation, in her voice. “You know if you’re captured with it they’ll kill you on the spot.”
Hatcher nodded. “Yes. I told you, I can’t go back there. I can’t abide the thought of four walls closing around me again. And they would separate us, Alice. No more comfort through the mouse hole. They would keep us apart, and I can’t bear the thought of that any more than being trapped. So I’ll make sure, if there is no other way out, that I still have a way out. And I can do it for you too.”
She knew what he offered. He would kill her first, with the gun or the knife or his fists if he had to, and make certain she was never trapped in that cage again. From another man this might be terrifying, that he would so blithely consider murdering his companion. But she understood that from Hatcher this was tantamount to an offer of marriage. This was what he could do for her, how he showed he cared.
Alice Page 4