Alice

by Christina Henry

  “There are many girls sold to men,” Pipkin said. “I could hear them screaming from my cage. There are also some that the Walrus saved for his own use.”

  Hatcher sighed. “We’re crusaders, are we, now? We’re going to free all these girls and send them into the streets, helpless?”

  “They won’t be helpless,” Pipkin said. “I will stay with them.”

  Alice translated this. Hatcher appeared doubtful that an oversized rabbit could defend a pack of crying girls from the men who would prey on them. Alice narrowed her eyes at him so these doubts were not voiced aloud.

  “And a wonderful champion you will be too,” Alice said. “Do you know where they are?”

  Pipkin nodded, and gestured with his head toward the opposite side of the ring. There was an entryway Alice had not noticed before, carved in between the rows of benches.

  “What about the Walrus’ soldiers?” Alice asked.

  Pipkin considered. “Some of them are loyal to him, though most of them came back broken after the raid on Carpenter. The ones remaining are frightened by the tales they’ve heard, and only keep working because the Walrus frightens them.”

  Alice quickly told Hatcher what Pipkin said. Hatcher considered. “It shouldn’t be so difficult, then, to get the girls out.”

  “Yes,” Alice said.

  “Lead the way, then,” Hatcher said.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Pipkin nudged open the door with his nose. There was a smoldering cigarette just inside the passage. Hatcher rubbed it out with his boot.

  “Someone watching,” he said. “No doubt he’s gone to tell the others that the Walrus is dead and their fighting rabbit killed him.”

  There was a stair that led down just to the left of the entry, and then a hallway before them that slanted up.

  “That was the way to my cage,” Pipkin said, his head gesturing toward the downward stair. “The girls are kept upstairs, though I am not certain where. I only know what I hear the guards saying.”

  “It’s very helpful,” Alice said. “This way, Hatch.”

  Hatcher took the lead, his axe in his hand. The passage led up to a very large room, a kind of oversized parlor, decked out in red velvets and carved wood. It looked, Alice thought, precisely as a bordello should look, if you thought of such things. There appeared to be no one in the room.

  The windows were open, letting in the night air. It always seemed to be night in the Old City.

  In the center of the room was a wide set of velvet-covered steps, sweeping up to the left and right. As they reached the steps Hatcher suddenly broke away and kicked over a heavy chair in the corner of the room.

  The girl who hid behind it screamed bloody murder when she saw Hatcher standing over her with the axe. Alice frowned at him and went to soothe the girl, who scuttled away as Alice approached. Hatcher backed away, tucking the axe out of sight.

  “It’s all right,” Alice said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  The girl kept screaming, and Alice had to slap her to make her stop. She was sorry for it, but they had things to get on with. The girl had very pale skin and the imprint of Alice’s hand was red against her cheek.

  “What’s your name?” Alice asked.

  “Rose,” the girl said. “Tom came back yelling that the Walrus was butchered and that we’d all get it too. Everyone cleared out of here in a hurry, but I was afraid to go out in the street on my own in the dark.”

  Alice gave her an approving nod. “Very wise. Now, Rose, can you help us? Do you know if there is anyone left here?”

  “Is he the butcher? The one who killed the Walrus?” Rose asked, her eyes wide as she looked at Hatcher. “Will he kill me too?”

  “He won’t kill you,” Alice said firmly. “And he didn’t kill the Walrus. That was Pipkin.”

  A furrow appeared between Rose’s brows. “Pipkin?” “The rabbit,” Alice said.

  “I thought I was imagining him,” Rose said. “I’ve never seen a rabbit so big.”

  “It’s not usual,” Alice said.

  Rose slid around Alice and approached Pipkin, her hand out. “Can I touch him?”

  Pipkin nodded regally.

  “He understands me?” Rose asked, looking back at Alice.

  “Yes.”

  She seemed like a little child at a petting zoo, cautious and excited at the same time. Her attitude clashed with her dress, which was nothing more than a lacy slip with a thin red robe covering her shoulders. Her eyes were ringed with smeared black paint.

  Rose patted Pipkin on the head between his long ears, and the rabbit bumped against her hand. The girl giggled, and she seemed so young that Alice’s heart ached.

  “Thank you,” she said to Pipkin. “Thank you for killing him.”

  Alice had been raised to think violence was wrong, that a person should never take another’s life. She was learning that there were times when it was necessary, and even right. The gratitude shining on Rose’s face only confirmed that notion.

  “Do you have somewhere you can go, Rose?” Alice asked. “A family?”

  Rose shook her head. “My mam had her neck broken when the Walrus’ soldiers came for me and my sister. She fought them like a demon, and they killed her for it. My sister died the first year here. She wouldn’t eat.”

  She was very matter-of-fact about it. There wasn’t really any other way to be, Alice thought. If you let the grief in, it might consume you.

  “Is there anyone left upstairs?” Alice asked.

  “Probably,” Rose said, leaning against Pipkin’s side and resting her head there. “I didn’t see anyone come down, and if the men are at their business they won’t be out until they’ve gotten their money’s worth.”

  “What about the girls the Walrus kept for himself?” Alice asked.

  “They’re in his room at the end of the hall, locked in. You’ll need his key.”

  “Where is his key?” Alice asked.

  “He always keeps it with him,” Rose said.

  Alice was not about to return to the Walrus’ remains and sift through the pieces to search for the missing key. “We’ll find another way. Pipkin, would you stay with Rose until we return? We’ll send the girls down to you as we discover them.”

  “Yes,” he said. “What shall I do with the men?”

  Alice repeated this question to Hatcher, who smiled his grim hatcher’s smile.

  “There won’t be any. But if one slips away, you can feel free to do what you think is right.”

  Hatcher and Alice climbed the steps. When they reached the junction Hatcher shook his head at the look on Alice’s face, cutting off the suggestion in her eyes. “We’re not splitting. We’ll do one side and then the other.”

  “It’s not efficient,” Alice argued. “And if the men on the left side hear noise from the right, they may get away.”

  “Pipkin will do his duty,” Hatcher said. “He’s listened to the girls screaming upstairs for years.”

  “You seem very confident in him all of a sudden,” Alice said.

  “He was very gentle with that girl,” he said.

  That, Alice realized, carried more weight with Hatcher than the rabbit’s brutal disassembly of the Walrus. And that was why she loved him—even though he was mad and would probably never be sane, even though he was a dangerous murderer— (You are too, though. You killed the Caterpillar without thinking about it. You saw red, just like Hatcher.) —and even though their future was hardly assured. Alice had not allowed herself to think on it too deeply, but there was certainly a possibility that they might not survive the encounter with the Jabberwocky—or, for that matter, the Rabbit.

  There were five doors on this side of the landing. Now that they were closer Alice and Hatcher heard the expected noises coming from the rooms. And when Hatcher opened the door they saw the expected tableau. Hatcher dispatched the man before he could shout in alarm—indeed, before he even realized they had entered the room.

  Alice ru
shed to the girl’s side before she could scream, hastily explained that they were there to help and sent her downstairs to stay with Rose and Pipkin. And then they moved to the next room, and the next, and all through the balcony on both sides until all the men were dead and all the girls were gathered in a weeping, exhausted cluster around Pipkin.

  Finally, only the Walrus’ room remained. It was tucked at the end of a small corridor, separate from the other rooms. Hatcher peered at the lock, the door, the frame, and then snorted in contempt.

  “It’s just for show,” he said. “So no curious birds flutter in here and see the Walrus’ merchandise.”

  He kicked the door twice, hard, and it broke open.

  Inside there were five girls, naked and stuffed inside tiny little cages that had them hunched and twisted. They began to sob when they saw Alice, crying out for help. A silver key hung on a peg near the cages, and in a short while all the girls were free. They all struggled to stand after their time in the confined space, leaning against the walls or the doorframe. One girl, tiny and red-haired, kept collapsing to the floor. Hatcher finally scooped her up in his arms, where she promptly gave him a smile of thanks and fell asleep.

  “She’s not slept since she got here,” one of the others said. “She’s cried for twelve days straight.”

  Alice searched the room for clothes and found only the Walrus’ oversized shirts. She handed them to each girl with an apologetic look. It could not be pleasant to wear the clothing of your tormentor.

  And he had tormented them. All of the girls had bite marks on their bodies and bruising at their hips where he’d held them down.

  Alice allowed two particularly hobbled girls to use her for support, and the whole party limped downstairs. The other women were gathered around Pipkin, all of them with a hand or a finger on the great rabbit, like he was a lodestone attracting their touch. All eyes turned to Alice, waiting for her to tell them what to do.

  She realized it was a terrible responsibility to free them, and that Hatcher had tried to tell her this many times. They belonged to her now, all these little lost lambs, and if they were hurt, it would be her fault.

  “Do any of you have families to return to?” Alice asked.

  Not one girl assented. They all had stories like Rose—a parent or brother killed in their taking, a sister who expired or was traded away to another house. There was nothing for these girls in the Old City except more suffering.

  Alice wasn’t certain what to do then, but Pipkin spoke.

  “I will take them with me, out of the City, and return to my place in the country,” he said. “They may find their own way then, or stay with me, as they choose.”

  “How?” Alice asked. “You would have to pass through the New City, and the soldiers will hardly let such a large group out of the Old City. Not to mention that you are, well, conspicuous.”

  If a rabbit could grin, then that was what Pipkin did just then. “There are places. Aboveground is not the only way to travel. I remember the path they took when the Walrus first brought me here. I can find it again.”

  “Tunnels that the Walrus and the Rabbit and Cheshire and the Caterpillar use for their own purpose,” Alice warned.

  “But the Caterpillar is dead, and so is the Walrus, and you will soon do the same for the Rabbit. Cheshire, I think, is not interested in us,” Pipkin said.

  Alice explained Pipkin’s suggestion to the women. To her great surprise, all consented to accompany him. She would not have thought that City girls would go to the country willingly, even with all of the dangers in the City.

  “We’ve nothing to stay here for,” Rose said. “At least out there we’d have a chance.”

  Alice worried that they would not be able to eat without supplies or money, or that the Walrus’ victims would be unable to walk. Pipkin took three of the weakest girls on his back, and assured Alice they could forage.

  “It might be nice,” said one of the girls. “Picking berries and all that. I had some strawberries once when I was young. My brother nicked them off a seller’s cart. Never tasted anything so sweet.”

  So it was settled, and Alice could see Hatcher’s relief. He’d sympathized with their lot, and once committed, he’d freed them with his usual efficiency. But Alice knew he feared dragging the crowd around behind them like a long rat’s tail.

  Pipkin explained that the entry to the underground tunnel out of the City was near. Alice thought she and Hatcher should accompany them to the place. She hoped their own quest succeeded, that they would take the blade from the Rabbit and destroy the Jabberwocky. That completed, they could use the passage Pipkin spoke of to escape the Old City and begin their search for Jenny.

  We’ve come so far and there is still so much ahead, Alice thought as she led the group out the front doors of the Walrus’ establishment.

  The silence in the street outside should have warned her.

  Alice stopped just past the threshold, turned to send the girls back inside, but it was too late. They’d been tempted by the promise of freedom, far away from the cruelty of the Walrus and his ilk. They crowded around and past her, speaking hopefully of their futures.

  Then they stopped, and gasped, and covered their mouths with their hands. Some of them started to cry softly.

  The street was littered with the dead. Everywhere Alice looked she saw bodies of men and women and children. There were dead dogs and horses and cats too, and so much blood that a river of it flowed down the middle of the street.

  “How can this be?” Pipkin asked.

  “The Jabberwocky,” Hatcher said.

  “Hatcher, how is it that you didn’t feel him pass?” asked Alice.

  “I haven’t felt him since you sent him away,” Hatcher said. “I thought at first it was Cheshire’s maze, and then that the Jabberwock wasn’t near. But he was near. He just didn’t want you to know, Alice.”

  “Do you think he knows about the Rabbit?” Alice asked. “That the Rabbit has the blade, I mean.”

  “I think he’s angry,” Hatcher said, looking at all the destruction before them. “He must not know, not yet. He’s getting frustrated that he cannot find it.”

  “What will we do now?” one of the girls cried, and several of them raised their voices, repeating the same question.

  “We’ll do just as we intended to do,” Alice said. “Pipkin will take you out of the City.”

  “How?” Rose said. “Whatever did this will come for us too.”

  “An angel of death,” one of the girls said. Others murmured their agreement.

  “An angel of death will find you whether you hide in the house or not,” Alice said. “Pipkin, show us the way.”

  The rabbit moved into the street, carefully picking his way over the bodies as best he could. His white paws were soon stained red, as were the bare feet of the women. Not one of them had shoes—“shoes mean we can run away,” one girl told Alice—and several wept so hard they could barely see in front of them. Alice and Hatcher brought up the rear of the group, ensuring the stragglers did not fall behind. Alice tried not to think about what squished beneath her boots.

  Their progress was so slow that Alice feared they would be caught out in the open by the Jabberwock. Hatcher pointed out in a low whisper that the Jabberwock had no reason to think he’d left anyone alive behind. It seemed to take hours, though in truth it was only a few blocks away, just as Pipkin said.

  There was a little shack crammed between two larger buildings. On one side was a tavern very much like the one Nell and Harry had. On the other was a shop that sold medicines for healing.

  “In there,” Pipkin said, indicating the shack. His memory was very clear for a rabbit who’d used the path only once, and Alice told him so.

  “Rabbits don’t forget,” he said.

  It sounded like a promise to Alice, and a warning about the other Rabbit.

  There must have been guards posted once; otherwise curious folk might wander in, and that didn’t seem the sort of t
hing the Walrus would approve. Any watchers were likely mixed in with the Jabberwocky’s other victims. Just inside the door was a slanting hill dug into the dirt, and below a cave like the one Alice and Hatcher had taken from the Caterpillar’s to the Walrus’. The girls rushed down the ramp, whooping with joy.

  Pipkin sniffed, and beat the ground with his back legs. “Can’t you smell it?”

  Alice copied him. There was the damp mustiness that she associated with being underground, and the stale wood of the shack. “The cave?”

  Pipkin shook his head. “Open fields, and flowers and trees and butterflies and rain.”

  Alice remembered the dream she’d once had, of a cottage by the lake and someone bringing her tea, and thought that might be a home for her and Hatcher. She longed suddenly to go with Pipkin too.

  “I’d best follow them before they get off too far on their own,” Pipkin said. He nudged Alice with his nose, and she smiled, and he disappeared down the tunnel.

  Hatcher took Alice’s hand. “We can’t go.”

  “I know,” she said. Her future didn’t have butterflies and flowers and rain followed by sunshine. Her future slogged through a river of blood to find the well from which it sprung.

  She buried her head in Hatcher’s shoulder, ashamed of the tears pricking in her eyes. She couldn’t run away now, and let everyone in the Old City fall beneath the Jabberwock’s wrath. And if the monster found the blade, its rage would only spread until there was no safe place, not even in a cottage by a clear blue lake.

  So she and Hatcher left the tunnel behind, and followed not the white rabbit but the red river. There were no other crumbs for them, as they had to find Alice’s Rabbit but had no notion of how to do it. Anyone who might have told them about the Rabbit’s place was dead.

  “Hatcher,” Alice said. “Everyone calls you the Hatcher of Heathtown.”

  “Yes,” he said. “That’s where I lived before, with Hattie and Jenny.”

  “Could you find it again?” Alice asked. “You said before you followed a map in your head from Bess’ place.”

  Hatcher glanced about. “I don’t see anything familiar. I don’t think I’ve ever been here before. Though it’s not easy to tell with all this.”