Through the Looking Glass

by Carla Jablonski

  Copyright © 2016 Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-3067-6

  Book designed by Megan Youngquist Parent

  disneybooks.com

  disney.com/Alice

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Warning

  Alice

  The Hatter

  The Red Queen

  The White Queen

  For those original adventure-choosers:

  Edward Packer and R. A. Montgomery

  And for Judy Gitenstein and Charles Kochman who

  chose me to have adventures with the big boys.

  —C.J.

  To my mom and dad—thank you for always

  encouraging my love of drawing.

  —V.W.

  For Mom, Dad, and Megan—your love and

  support made me the artist I am today!

  —J.T.

  To my husband, Eddy, for his continued love and support.

  —O.M.

  To my mom, my brother, Larry, and Stephanie—

  thank you for all your love and support.

  —R.T.

  In this book you are the most important character, and you get to choose exactly who you are! Not only that, you also get to choose when you are! Yup! What you hold in your hands works just like the Chronosphere you will discover within these pages. That means this book is a kind of time machine—allowing you to move forward and backward.

  what happens to you depends on what choices you make. So choose wisely. While you may not be able to change the past, you might just learn something from it. Your first choice is on the next page!

  You stand in front of a mirror. “You don’t have all day,” you remind yourself. “Stop wasting time!”

  There’s just one last thing to do before you go.

  You take a long look at your reflection.

  Smooth your long blond hair and the brightly colored silk skirt of your gown, go here.

  You are Alice now.

  Add one more of your father’s hats to the two already on your head, go here.

  You are the Hatter then.

  Pick up an enormous powder puff and give your gigantic face a poof, go here.

  You are the Red Queen now.

  Straighten your tiara, lift up your doll, and twirl, go here.

  You are the White Queen then.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  YOU PEER out the carriage window as your mother fusses nervously beside you. She’s worried about the two of you showing up to the Ascots’ party uninvited.

  “Don’t worry, Mother,” you reassure her. “I’ll just run my business proposition by Hamish, and then we’ll be out of there in a couple of shakes. Besides, as captain of the ship the Wonder, I need to give him my report.”

  “He may not be happy that you were at sea an extra year,” your mother says as the carriage stops outside the Ascots’ enormous mansion.

  You think perhaps it’s your mother who isn’t happy about your lengthy voyage. You’ve been home only a few hours and already you’ve noticed how changed her circumstances seem. The house is run-down, she has let the servants go, and she seems edgy and tired. But, you think with satisfaction, once Hamish agrees to my plans, she will have nothing to worry about.

  The Ascot mansion is lit up with lanterns. The strains of lively music drift toward you. At the front door, a footman raises his eyebrows when he removes your cloak and catches sight of the traditional Chinese outfit you’re wearing.

  Noticing his reaction, your mother sighs. “I do wish you’d worn that yellow dress….”

  You run your fingers along the rich silk of the gown. “If it’s good enough for the Dowager Empress of China, it’s good enough for the Ascots.”

  Your mother shakes her head, frowning. “Please, Alice, must you be so headstrong?”

  “Obviously I must,” you quip, then dart toward the grand hallway.

  The party is in full swing. As you scan the guests for familiar faces, Mr. Harcourt, Hamish’s company clerk, approaches you with an anxious expression. “Miss Kingsleigh? What are you—”

  “I’ve come to give my report to Lord Ascot,” you explain. It feels odd to call Hamish that. The former Lord Ascot, Hamish’s father, passed away while you were at sea. Unlike his son, he was a great man. You are truly going to miss him.

  You break yourself out of your reverie as Mr. Harcourt leads you and your mother to a corner of the room where the hosts are greeting guests. Hamish looks smug—his usual expression—and his mother, Lady Ascot, is as imperious as ever. A young woman holding a baby stands beside Hamish. Seeing the infant’s red hair, you surmise that he must be Hamish’s son and the woman Hamish’s wife.

  When Lady Ascot notices you and your mother, she is momentarily flustered. You hope that your uninvited arrival doesn’t cause a scene. You don’t want to embarrass your mother. But Lady Ascot quickly regains her composure.

  “Helen! What a surprise!” she tells your mother. Then she turns to you. “And is that Alice? My, the sea and salt air have done wonders for you. When you left you were so pale and peaked.”

  How’s that for a backhanded compliment? “Thank you,” you say politely.

  You hate the way she’s sizing up your mother in her less-than-perfect gown and how self-conscious this scrutiny makes your mother feel.

  “Alice!” Hamish says. “Welcome home. Only a year late. We were afraid you might never come back with our ship!”

  “My ship,” you correct him quickly. Then, in an effort to keep things civil, you smile and add warmly, “Hello, Hamish.”

  The woman holding the baby sneers. “It is proper to refer to my husband as Lord Ascot. It is why we are having this little soiree, after all.” She passes the baby to a nearby nanny, who drops a curtsy, then vanishes.

  “Miss Kingsleigh,” Hamish says, “this is my wife, Alexandra. The new Lady Ascot.”

  You’ve never been much interested in small talk, so you get down to business. “I’ve come to give my report, Lord Ascot.”

  “Ah, of course,” Hamish says. “If you would follow me.”

  He leads you into a formal drawing room stuffy with cigar smoke. Six older men, not one under the age of sixty, stand around a large fireplace.

  One of the men glances your way and raises an eyebrow. He nudges the man beside him, who looks over with disapproval. The rest glare at you with expressions of annoyance and outright disdain. You’re not sure if all women would get such a frosty reception from this group of old fogies or if it’s just you in particular.

  “Gentlemen,” Hamish announces, “allow me to introduce Miss Alice Kingsleigh. Miss Kingsleigh—the board.”

  Ah, so these gentlemen form the board of directors of the company. In other words, they’re the ones who make all the decisions and pay all the bills—the people you need to win over.

  “Gentlemen, we must move quickly!” you say with great enthusiasm. “The profits of my voyage—”

  Hamish cuts you off. “Scarcely outweigh the costs.”

  You continue, “Further expeditions to Ta-Kiang or Wu-chang—”

  But Hamish interrupt
s again. “There will be no further expeditions.”

  You gape at him. “What are you saying?”

  Hamish shrugs. “The risks are not worth the reward.”

  “There are risks, indeed, but the possibilities are limitless!” you argue.

  “An extra year at sea, Alice.” Hamish shakes his head. “There were hard decisions to make in your absence.”

  This can’t be happening. The voyages you’ve already planned! All cancelled? Just like that?

  “But…what am I to do?” you ask, bewildered.

  “There’s a position in our clerking office,” Hamish says. “You’ll start in files….”

  The smirk on Hamish’s face tells you all you need to know. “This isn’t about China at all, is it?” you exclaim, fury rising. “It’s because three years ago I turned you down when you asked me to marry you!”

  You see a tiny flicker of doubt in his eyes, but he quickly straightens up and his expression hardens. “I’m sorry, Miss Kingsleigh. But that is all we can do for you. No other company is in the business of hiring female clerks, let alone as ships’ captains!”

  The six gentlemen board members let out loud guffaws and chuckles. This only makes you angrier. You are not going to let these ridiculous men push you around!

  You hold your head up high. “I have voting rights and ten percent of the company,” you declare, proud that you aren’t letting your anger get the better of you. “Your father set those shares aside for me.”

  Hamish’s slow smile seems almost triumphant. “Correction. He gave them to your mother, who sold them to me, last year, while you were gone. Along with the bond on the house.”

  This takes the wind out of your sails. “Her house?” you repeat.

  “Secured by your father against the ship he bought.”

  Your chest grows tight. “The Wonder?” Your voice is barely a whisper. Beyond Hamish you can see Mr. Harcourt, the clerk. His is the only sympathetic face in the room.

  “Yes, the vessel,” Hamish confirms. “Sign it over and you’ll redeem the house, receive a salary, and a pension.”

  “Give up the Wonder?” According to Hamish, your mother is in terrible financial straits. If you don’t sign over your ownership of the ship, she will lose her home.

  “It’s the only way we can help you. And your mother.” Hamish crosses to the large desk and locates a document. He holds out a pen and grins.

  This is all too much.

  Party guests complain as you race through the ballroom. You hear your mother call your name. You whirl around as she catches up to you.

  “How could you sell our shares?” you demand.

  “I had no choice, Alice,” she says. “With your sister on her mission and you at sea for an extra year! What was I to do?”

  You turn and march away. You’ll suffocate if you stay in this dreadful mansion surrounded by all these people a moment longer. You find an open door and rush outside.

  A bright moon illuminates the greenhouse. You enter, inhaling deeply, taking in the heady scent of the tropical plants. After all your travels, this exotic sanctuary feels more like home than the fussy rooms of the mansion. You lower yourself onto a bench and take out your father’s broken pocket watch. It may no longer tell time, but you’d never part with it. It brings you such vivid memories of your father, a man you miss desperately. His belief in the impossible has always given you strength in times of trouble.

  You stroke the stopped timepiece sadly. “Sign over the Wonder to become a clerk?” you murmur. “Just give up on the impossible?”

  A movement catches your eye. A large blue butterfly perches on an orchid in front of you. It flutters, then holds still. You gaze at each other.

  “Absolem?” you say uncertainly.

  Could this actually be Absolem, once a caterpillar and now a butterfly? Your friend from the time you visited the most fantastical, most wondrous world of all? Underland.

  The butterfly flits away.

  Should you follow it? If it is Absolem, he must have come here to find you!

  But that’s silly! He could very well be just an ordinary butterfly, not the wise caterpillar turned majestic butterfly you befriended in Underland. On the other hand…

  IF YOU FOLLOW THE BUTTERFLY, GO HERE.

  IF YOU DON’T FOLLOW THE BUTTERFLY, GO HERE.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  THAT CAN’T be Absolem, you tell yourself. You figure you’re just upset and your mind is playing tricks on you.

  “Alice?” Your mother hovers in the greenhouse doorway. In the moonlight you can see how frail she is, how worried. Things have not been easy for her in the years you have been gone. You know what you have to do.

  You brush away a tear and force a smile. As much as you hate doing it, you feel it’s the right thing. Your mother needs your help, and this is the only thing you can think of that will solve her problems.

  You return to the party and find Mr. Harcourt. You don’t think you could go through with this decision if you had to face Hamish’s smug sneer. You tell Mr. Harcourt that you will agree to the conditions. You will sign the papers and become a clerk.

  Sigh.

  Go here to continue.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  YOU PURSUE the butterfly into the mansion’s dining room. It dodges past guests, and you lose sight of it. Where could it be? You whip your head around frantically.

  Then you spot it. It’s perched on a chandelier above the dining table, as if waiting for you to catch up.

  You hoist up the hem of your long skirt and climb onto the table. You pick your way among the punch bowls, platters of sweets, and fruit cornucopias.

  “Alice! Get down from there!” your mother calls from behind you.

  You feel multiple pairs of eyes on you, but you are determined to get to that butterfly. It’s on the move again, heading toward the end of the table where Hamish is holding court.

  The butterfly flutters near Hamish’s head. He looks up and swats it onto the table. The butterfly teeters on the white tablecloth as if stunned.

  “Bloody moths,” Hamish mutters. He brings his hand down to squash the butterfly.

  You leap onto Hamish, sending him flying to the ground.

  Go here to continue.

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  Being a clerk in Hamish’s offices is just as awful as you had expected. You are miserable, buried under stacks and stacks of paper. One especially boring day, while listening to Hamish droning on about something dull, you absentmindedly start folding papers, just like the origami you saw in your travels. You make a little swan and keep it on your desk beside your lamp. Each day you add another creature to your paper menagerie. Soon you have quite a collection!

  People love them. In fact, so many people ask where they can buy them that you decide to go into business.

  You set up shop and become extremely wealthy creating all kinds of paper trinkets. The most popular turns out to be a tiny replica of your former ship, the Wonder.

  You smile as you realize your ship brought you a fortune after all!

  THE END

  NOW THAT YOU’VE CRAFTED A LUCRATIVE BUSINESS, GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING TO TRY YOUR LUCK AS SOMEONE ELSE!

  WARNING! You’re about to spoil a great story by not making a choice! Page back, then click one of the links to advance the story. Otherwise, the next section may not make any sense to you.

  You land on top of him and pummel him furiously. “How could you?” you shriek.

  “Help!” Hamish cries. “Assault! Police!
Mother!”

  Chaos breaks out all around you. You don’t care. “You brute!” you scream at Hamish.

  “Get her off me!” Hamish whines. “Get her off!”

  Lady Ascot’s voice breaks through all the confusion. “Helen! Control your daughter!” she orders your mother imperiously.

  Two sets of hands pull you off Hamish. The footmen back you up against the dining table. You have no idea what they have in mind for you, but you know it’s not something you want to stick around for.

  You reach behind you, feeling for something to use as a distraction. You grab two small finger bowls and fling them at the footmen’s eyes. Instantly, one of them starts sneezing and tears stream down the other’s face.

  “Ah. Salt and pepper,” you say. As a group of servants rush over, you spot the blue butterfly fluttering out of the room, toward the grand staircase. Once again, you give chase.

  You vault up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Behind you, you hear people shouting.

  “The girl’s gone mad!”

  “After her!”

  “Don’t let her get away!”

  The blue butterfly turns a corner. You dash after it up another flight of stairs and run along a dilapidated corridor. The footsteps keep coming. You have to hide. But where?

  You try several doors, but they’re all locked. Then a knob turns and you fling open the door. You duck into the room, pull the door shut, and lock it.

  Your breath comes in gasps as you lean against the door. You gaze around your hiding place.

  Dust-covered furniture fills the room. A burnished antique looking glass hangs above a marble fireplace with an ornate mantelpiece. On either side hang oil paintings. A chess set is laid out on a side table. The blue butterfly flits around you.