“Oh, this can’t be good,” you mutter.
“She has broken the past!” Time cries. “We have to get to the Grand Clock before it stops forever!”
So everyone gets into the whirligig thingamabob—the, uh, Chronosphere!
Good thing you don’t get airsick. You have a feeling this is going to be a wild ride!
You cling to anything you can get your fingers curled around as Alice navigates the Chronosphere across the Ocean of Time. You nervously peer over your shoulder. Enormous rust waves crash behind you. Everything they roll over freezes and turns to rust.
Just like her, you think, scowling at the Red Queen, now a rust-covered statue cradled in Mirana’s lap. This is all her fault. Even frozen Big Head causes trouble.
“I still don’t see why we had to bring her,” you mutter. Mirana and Iracebeth may have made up, but that doesn’t mean you have to like Iracebeth.
You look around. Below you, rust is spreading across the land, freezing grass, trees, buildings, and people! Even the snowflakes pause mid-air and are turned a muddy red.
And behind you, the days stop. The waves are gaining on you. This isn’t looking good.
“I’ve really enjoyed our time together,” you tell Alice, trying to keep a brave face.
She expertly zooms into Time’s castle, even as the walls turn to rust and crumble.
Maybe it’s not over yet….
Crash!
The Chronosphere smashes through a window and crashes to the floor in the Chamber of the Grand Clock. You, Alice, Time, Mirana, and Iracebeth tumble out.
The Chronosphere snaps back to its small size. Alice grabs it and runs. You follow close behind, dodging and weaving through the deluge of rust.
You pass rusted mechanical men lying about the floor. “We did our best, sir,” one of them gasps, then collapses.
Alice keeps going, and you run after her. Rust flows in from all sides. You turn and see that the rust has completely enveloped Time. He collapses to the floor.
“Alice!” you call.
But she doesn’t stop running and rushes into the giant clock, rust nearly upon her. You stand frozen and stare down at the rust creeping up your legs as she slams the Chronosphere into place.
But did she save Time in time?
Everything goes deadly quiet.
And then you hear a wonderful sound. A beautiful sound. A frabjous sound! A tick. And then a tock! Then a ticktock ticktock ticktock.
Time is resuming! The rust is receding!
She did it!
Before you can congratulate Alice, you hear your father call your name. You turn to see your unrusted family coming into the room. You rush to embrace them, each and every one.
You grip your father’s arm. “Father! This whole time I thought you were…but you weren’t! And you couldn’t come see me because you were…and you kept the hat!”
“Of course I kept it,” Zanik says. “It was a gift from you. But the greatest gift we have is the time we have together, and I promise I’ll never waste another second.”
You beam.
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” Zanik says.
You decide there’s no time like the present. “I make hats, Father!” you say proudly. “I’m a hatter, just like you.”
Zanik’s eyes tear up. “I want to see every one, Tarrant. I want to see every hat you’ve ever made.”
You dash over to Alice and grab her hand. “Come, Alice, you must meet my family. You’ll love them. We’re all going to have so much fun together.”
But Alice hesitates. You frown, wondering what’s wrong. Then it dawns on you. “Oh, but I’m forgetting you have a family of your own, don’t you?” you say.
She nods. You eye Mirana and Iracebeth, the Tweedle brothers, your parents, your aunts, your uncles, and your cousins. “Very important thing, a family,” you say. “You only get the one.”
“Hatter, I think it’s time for me to go home,” Alice says.
You smile, letting her know you understand.
You bid Alice au revoir—until you meet again. You know you will someday. It’s Alice, after all. Then you rejoin your family, relishing this reunion.
You and your father go into business together, making twice as many hats as ever. And you and your family live happily ever after. Now that’s what you’d call a frabjous
END.
YOU’VE GOTTEN YOUR VERY OWN FAMILY BACK. WELL DONE! NOW IT IS TIME TO GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING AND TRY BEING SOMEONE ELSE.
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YOU PUT the finishing touches on your makeup and then go meet Time for your date. You slip inside the grandfather clock you use to get to Time’s castle. It’s a little hard to fit your generously sized head into the clock, but you manage.
You enter his grand parlor and hold out your hand. Time kisses it, tickling you with his mighty mustache as he does.
“Oh, my radiant and beautiful dial-face, bulbous of head and soft of heart,” he says, standing back upright. “You are my only beacon. Here: a gift—nay, a tribute!”
He holds out a small music box. Your face lights up. You do love presents!
“How sweet!” you say, taking the box. “Dear old tick-tock!”
He blushes when he hears your nickname for him. “I-I know how you love tiny things,” he stammers.
You open the box. A delicate melody plays. The box top shows a mechanized miniature tableau of an executioner and a king with his head on the block. The ax falls and the king’s head drops into a basket. The head then reattaches, and the ax repositions as the melody ends. How adorable! You giggle girlishly.
“I’ll treasure it forever,” you say. Then you toss it onto the sofa and sigh. Murderous miniatures are all very well and good, but what you really want is Time’s Chronosphere.
Time frowns. “Something troubling you, my dear?”
You take his hand and bat your eyelashes at him. “You know what I desire! With my big brain and your little Chronosphere, we could together rule the past, the present, and the future!”
Time’s face falls. “But my dear Iracebeth, I’ve told you time and again that’s out of the question. You ask the impossible. You cannot change the past.”
You turn away from him, rage bubbling inside you. You need that Chronosphere. It’s the only way to show all those rotten, vile people who so mistreated you that they can’t push you around.
Time gestures to his cabinet of magic beans, dodo birds, trinkets, and other odds and ends. “My dear, I would happily part with any one of my diversions! But I cannot give you the Chronosphere!”
Is this possible? Is he actually refusing you? Again? You? You’re appalled! You figured he would’ve come around by now. There’s really only so many times you can be refused before heads must roll. Although, a headless Time wouldn’t be any good to you.
Hmmm. How do you want to play this?
YOU CAN SHOUT LOUDER. THAT USUALLY GETS YOU WHAT YOU WANT. GO HERE.
POUTING SOMETIMES WORKED WHEN YOU WERE A LITTLE GIRL. TO TRY THAT, GO HERE.
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TIME IS being ridiculous. All this nonsense about how time travel has severe consequences, how if your past self sees your future self, dire things will happen, blah blah blah. No, you are getting that Chronsophere and you are getting it now. With a shouting match.
Usually when you shout, the person you’re shouting at gives in. You can outshout pretty much everyone.
But not Time. He shouts the same infuriating statement over and over back at you: “Sorry, but I can’t!”
You shout louder and louder and louder, until finally you take in a deep breath and let out the loudest shout ever—so loud y
ou break the sound barrier!
Unfortunately, it shatters the castle, the Chronosphere, and all of Underland.
Oops. That wasn’t how you hoped this would
END.
Go here to continue.
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“YOU WOULD if you loved me!” You let your lower lip quiver. Then you stick it out in a serious pout.
“But I do love you—” Time begins. Suddenly, a shiver goes through his body. A strange look comes over his face. He glances down toward his chest.
“The Grand Clock!” he gasps. He charges out of the room.
“Huh?” You stare at the spot where he was standing. What just happened? Did he actually run away from your best pout of all time?
You run after him, dashing into the Chamber of the Grand Clock. Time has sunk to his knees. You shriek when you see none other than that dastardly Alice disappear—in your Chronosphere. What the rutabaga is she doing here?
Time points a shaking finger at the Grand Clock. “My Chronosphere. She got it after all!”
“Alice? The Alice?” You feel your face growing purple with rage.
Go here to continue.
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WELL, SINCE YOU’VE ALREADY DESTROYED EVERYTHING, YOU MIGHT AS WELL TRAVEL BACK TO THE BEGINNING AND TRY A DIFFERENT PATH. THE CONSEQUENCES OF TIME TRAVEL CAN’T BE WORSE THAN THIS!
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Time cowers as you stomp closer to him. “The White Queen’s champion who defeated the Jabberwocky? The very reason I have been banished from my kingdom? She was here—and you didn’t think to tell me?” You are vibrating with fury.
“I-I-I didn’t realize!” Time stammers.
You bring your face close to his. “Idiot!” you cry into his ashen face. “Imbecile! You let Alice steal the Chronosphere?”
“It’s happening already!” he says, looking dazed. “Without the Chronosphere the Great Clock will unwind. Time myself will stop!”
This is too much.
SHOULD YOU JUST SHOUT “OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” AND BE DONE WITH IT? GO HERE.
OR DO YOU GIVE HIM ONE CHANCE TO MAKE THIS RIGHT? GO HERE.
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IT TAKES every ounce of strength you have not to throttle him. But you have a better idea.
“I’m feeling very generous because I like my little music box,” you tell him through clenched teeth. “I am giving you one last chance. You will find a way to get back that Chronosphere. Then you will give it to me!”
Time appears to be dazed. Has he even heard one word you’ve said?
“Wilkins, get in here!” Time cries. “We’ve got a Tempus Fugit to build.”
What did he say? A Temper Futsit? No matter. As long as it’s something that will bring back the Chronosphere, you don’t care about the details. At least he’s on top of it. You return to your castle in the Outlands to wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
This is boring.
Nothing exciting happens when you live in an organic castle in the middle of nowhere. Especially when your servants are vegetables. What to do, what to do….
Go here to continue.
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GO OUT TO YOUR ORGANIC COURTYARD BY GOING HERE. PERHAPS SOMETHING WILL AMUSE YOU OUT THERE.
GO LOOK AT YOUR ANT FARM BY GOING HERE. THAT OFTEN RESTORES YOUR MOOD.
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YOU RESORT to your usual method of solving problems. “Off with his head!” you shout at the top of your lungs.
Your guards rush into the room and arrest Time.
Only thing is, when Time is, er, arrested, everything stops, bringing the whole world—including you—to a standstill.
Unfortunately, frozen like this, you can’t exactly tell the guards to let Time go. Besides, you really don’t like reversing your queenly orders. So everything stays like this forever and ever. Without
END.
THE ONLY WAY TO START MOVING AND SHOUTING AGAIN IS TO GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING AND TAKE A DIFFERENT PATH.
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YOU STROLL through your red, vine-covered court-yard, trailed, as always, by your vegetable footmen. You notice some of your other vegetable servants carrying cans of red paint and hurrying toward a particularly suspicious-looking section of the courtyard. “What is going on?” you demand.
One of the veggie-men whips his paint can around his back and bows. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t give me that. Tell me what you’re doing!”
The vegetable servants exchange nervous looks. “We, er, that is…” one begins.
“Off with his head!” you bellow. “For not getting to the point!”
“Some of the plants have sprouted white buds. We know how much Your Highness detests the color, so we’re painting over them,” another footman blurts as the one who took too long is hauled away.
Your eyes widen, then narrow. “Well, thank you for telling the truth.” You point at him. “Off with his head for telling me a truth I don’t like!”
As the vegetable man is dragged off, you mutter, “How many times must we go through this?”
You turn your back on the offending shrubbery and go back inside your organic castle. You walk along the root-infested corridors, smiling at the vegetables on spikes along the walls. You stop when you spot a misty figure approaching.
“Why don’t you curtsy?” you demand. She must be one of your courtiers, given how fancy her dress is. She has a refreshingly large head. But she just stares at you, an unpleasant expression on her face.
“What are you looking at?” You pat your hair, in case she has noticed some strands out of place. Infuriating! She does the same thing.
“Stop that!” you shout, pointing at her.
She points back at you.
She’s mimicking your every move and gesture! That dreadful Knave of Hearts used to torment you the same way when you were children. You stamp your foot indignantly. So does she!
“That’s it! Off with her head!” you bellow, pointing at her. She points back. She should be looking much more afraid. This makes you even angrier.
“Off with her head!” you shout over and over.
Two vegetable guards appear by your sides. “Are you sure?” one of them asks nervously.
“Imbecile!” you shriek. “Do you want to lose your head, too?”
Go here to continue.
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YOU ENTER your private chambers and go to the ant farm sitting on your bedside table. You peer through the glass panes at the tiny village sitting on top of an elaborate network of tunnels.
Only there aren’t any ants inside. They’re tiny little people—people you captured, shrunk, and put there.
You stride around the room, gloating. “It was a brilliant plan,” you brag. You enjoy this, even though you’ve gone over the details of your revenge dozens of time. It must be the captive audience.
“You were so easy to fool, drinking up the shrinking potion. You wriggled so much in that sack that Stayne nearly dropped you. Oh, but then!” You clap your hands. “Oh, the glorious terror I unleashed when I let the Jabberwocky loose at the Horunvendush Fair! The screams! The panic!”
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“If you insist, Your Majesty.” Suddenly, you’re surrounded by ten guards. So is your nemesis.
Your reflected nemesis.
You caught sight of yourself in a large but unwashed mirror.
So there goes your head. Because you always get what you ask for in
THE END.
ER, YOU MIGHT NEED TO TRY SOMEONE ELSE’S HEAD NOW THAT YOU’VE LOST YOURS. GO BACK TO THE BEGINNING.
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Through the Looking Glass Page 10