Malice in Wonderland #1: Alice the Assassin

by Rose, Lotus

  Alice is not about to try to figure out what that might mean. “I’m afraid that must just be your eyes. What do you mean, she made you eat your hat?”

  “Yes, she rudely burst into our private tea party and started making demands that we hand over the heart I legitimately got from Humpty. She fought with the March Hare, who ran off and she forced me to lick my hat. I protested. The wearing of my hats is no problem, but the licking of them is not at all good. Well, she said she would cut me if I didn’t do it. She had a razorblade. And well, what could I do? I’m not a fighter. I prefer to watch the action, rather than dirty my hands with it. Filthy stuff, that action is. Then she took off with the heart, and now I’m probably going to die.” He looks mournful.

  A bit of sweat rolls down his forehead, mixing with the blood of his wound. He seems to be sweating quite heavily.

  Alice says, “Just from licking your hat?”

  “Yes, well, she made me lick quite a lot, a lot more than usual. Usually I just bite the brim while I’m shaping my hats, and a wee bit of mercury and chemicals gets in, making me a wee bit mad. It’s quite inadvertent. I mean I don’t go around licking hats for no reason. Why that would be positively mad, don’t you think?” He’s trembling now.

  Alice says, “You don’t look well.” She can’t help but smile a little, but she has no burning desire to see the Hatter die out of revenge. The Hatter might have been rude at times, but he was more of a nuisance who never engaged in the completely horrible things that the others in Wonderland used to.

  The Hatter looks kind of swirly…like a pineapple cactus or something. No, wait, there isn’t such a thing. Or maybe there is, in Wonderland. It had been such a long time since she’d lived in the ordinary world where reality followed proper rules. Who knows, maybe if a gardener—

  The Hatter clears his throat.

  Mary realizes she has been kind of staring vacantly at him.

  He says, “May I ask you a question?”

  “Okay.”

  “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “It shouldn’t be too much later, as I will be inconveniently indisposed being deceased.”

  Alice can believe that. The Hatter is outright shuddering now.

  The Hatter says, “So whose heart was it, anyway?”

  Alice shrugs. “I’ll tell you, if you tell me what’s so special about your hat.” He’d always referred to it as his “very special hat”, but never said why.

  The Hatter sighs. “Very well. There’s no point in keeping the secret anymore. And besides, I’m just dying to tell you.” He chuckles. “Sorry, a little bit of gallows humor. Yes, this my dear, is my voyeur hat. Why, I’m proud to say, I designed it expertly myself! It is exquisite for what it does! All I have to do is tap the top to make it work. Its only limitation is it can only be used three times a day. I can see your expression. What does it do, you wonder.”

  Alice nods with an encouraging grin.

  “Why I use it to watch you, my dear. Though, since I can only use it for short amounts of time, I try to get the timing right so I can view you when you are suffering.”

  Her smile falters. “Suffering?”

  “Yes, all the creative and delicious torments the creatures of Wonderland subject you to. Oh, how I love to watch! To see the exquisite agony on your face, to watch the tears roll down your cheeks, to hear you sob. Oh, you are so exquisitely beautiful in your suffering my dear. And that’s why this is the only hat I wear.” He gazes into her eyes. “Why you are the most beautifully suffering creature I’ve ever seen. Why I wish someone would torture you right now so I could witness your beautiful pain one more time before I die.” He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.

  Alice says, “Well, what if I were to wear that hat?”

  “Well, it’s tuned to you, but it would be silly to see yourself, don’t you think? Perhaps you would see your twin. Perhaps you could use the hat to get revenge on her? I mean, for my sake. Venge my death, won’t you, my dear?”

  Alice’s grin grows huge. Why, the Hatter looks absolutely wretched at this moment. Why, it seems as if he’ll keel over at any instant. There are bits of sparkly pops of light in her vision, but she thinks that must be the lingering effects of the spice.

  She waits for him to ask…

  “So,” he says, “you said you’d tell me.” He coughs for several seconds. “So, who’s heart was it?” His voice sounds raspy.

  “It was mine.” As his face registers fear, she nods. “Yes, I’m heartless now.”

  He nudges the Dormouse. “I say, my man, wake up. There’s a little girl you must maul.” The Dormouse doesn’t respond.

  Alice doesn’t break her gaze with him. “You’re close now, aren’t you? You look terrible.”

  “Yes. But we all go sometime, right?”

  She nods. “Fancy a riddle?”

  Mournfully he says, “Sure.”

  “Why is a raven like my writing desk?” Alice asks.

  “Are you going to tell me? I haven’t much time.”

  “Because they both belong to the past and refer to what will be nevermore. A bit of a stretch I admit, but we both know you never intended the poem to have an answer.”

  He nods sagely. “Ahhh…” His eyes begin to roll to the back of his head. “I do believe I’ll be dying now.”

  “No wait! One more thing?”

  “Yes? Go on then.”

  She picks up a custard pie, lifts the hat off his head, and smushes the pie into his face. The timing is perfect and he slumps over face down on the table, his face still in the pie tin. He doesn’t move, so she assumes he’s dead.

  She stares at him for several long seconds, then nudges the Dormouse. “Whaddya think of that, aye?”

  The Dormouse doesn’t respond at all. Usually, he responds a little, in his sleep, then goes on sleeping.

  Unsteadily, Alice stands up. She’s still quite out of it. She grabs the Dormouse by the back of the head (She misses the first time she tries, but gets it the second), then yanks his head up.

  The Dormouse’s throat has been slit. Red blood has poured out over his body, but she hadn’t seen it till now.

  She says, “Well that’s a problem, isn’t it?” She chuckles. She lets go of the Dormouse’s head and it plonks onto the table. She takes the Hatter’s hat and sets it atop her own head.

  And even though she knows she’s inebriated and not thinking straight, she just gives in to the sudden impulse because, why not? After all, she’s been wanting to do this for so long, but never had the heartlessness to actually go through with it.

  So she pushes the dead Dormouse and Hatter out of their chairs onto the ground. She puts her hands under the edge, then she flips the table, shouting at the top of her lungs, sending china flying.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Shadow

  Underneath her chin, Alice hears a female voice say, “Sickening! Why you ought to be ashamed!”

  Alice’s eyes bug out comically. She can’t see her own eyes, but she can imagine, and the thought makes her giggle. She tries to look under her chin, but peers instead at her chest.

  “No dummy!” says the voice. “Down here. On the ground.”

  Alice looks but only sees…

  “Yes,” says the voice. “I’m your shadow!”

  “Well well well, has my shadow come out to play?”

  “I want to speak to you, because I’m outraged by your recent behavior—separating from your reflection and running around. Why it’s just not proper!”

  Alice blinks. She realizes that the shadow’s voice sounds similar to her own, only flatter and less colorful. She stammers, “Well I. Um. I’d like to change that.”

  “You better! How am I supposed to decide which of you two to be the shadow for? Why, I’ve been hopping back and forth between you two! I’m so tired!”

  Alice and her shadow wipe her brow.

  Alice scowls. “Well, pic
k one! Aren’t shadows supposed to be silent? I don’t need your attitude.”

  Alice and her shadow put their arms akimbo and say, “No! This can’t go on much longer! Unless you two get back together, I’m leaving you both! Then you’ll have no reflection and no shadow either! I don’t think you’ll like that, will you?”

  Alice’s and the shadow’s shoulders slump. “I wish I could recombine with Malice, but I don’t know how.”

  Alice and her shadow raise a finger in the air. “I know how. You must both go to the Looking Glass and be reflected by it at the same time. That will undo all of this separateness silliness.”

  Alice knows where the Looking Glass is. It was the entrance she went through when she first arrived in Wonderland, and she’s always dreamed of going back out of Wonderland through it. It’s inside a house on an eighth square of the chessboard, guarded by the Jabberwock. She wonders if Malice would voluntarily meet her there just to become a reflection again. “But—”

  Alice and her shadow put a fingertip to her lips to quiet her. “Shhh. You’re wondering, why would Malice agree to that? Well don’t worry. I will convince her. I’ll even lie if I have to. I am so sick of this hopping about! So, here’s my plan. You make your way to the Eighth Square where the Looking Glass is, and I’ll persuade or deceive Malice into doing the same. And hopefully we’ll go back to being one big happy family again, and I can go back to being your silent shadow. Agreed?”

  Alice and the shadow nod. Now Alice and the shadow each takes one of their hands in the other and makes a hand shake.

  “Okay, then,” says the shadow. “Let’s see what Malice is up to right now. Hold on.”

  Alice’s shadow disappears. It’s quite an unnerving occurrence.

  Alice doesn’t have much time to “reflect” on it though, as it were, before her shadow pops back—for a brief moment, it appears to have kitten ears.

  The shadow says, “Oh, you shan’t believe this! Malice is going to try to summon the Cheshire Cat. If that hat works, now would definitely be a good time to use it.”

  Alice and her shadow point to the hat on the ground.

  Alice and her shadow put it on and tap the top.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Malice and the Cat

  The vision before Alice’s eyes shimmers, then suddenly she is gazing at a girl wearing a cat suit. It’s as if Alice is hovering slightly above and a short distance away from the girl. The girl is sitting on the ground, in what looks to be an outside area with wooden plank floors. There is a wall made of cobblestones to the right. There are two guillotines behind the girl. It looks a lot like the Queen’s execution area where she sends creatures off to be beheaded.

  Alice gasps. “Oh! Why, it’s as if I’m floating above! Can she see me?”

  The shadow answers, “No, she can’t. You are watching from afar. I can see all that you see, as well.”

  “Is that Malice? At the Queen’s execution area?”

  “Yes, she got the cat suit from the Queen of Heart’s tailor. It’s glamored to summon and charm the Cheshire Cat. And she’s going to use the catnip too. But I’m afraid I must go now, lest he suspect.”

  “Lest who suspects?”

  Alice sees the shadow appear next to Malice on the ground.

  Catnip? They say it makes cats really amorous.

  Alice observes Malice more. On the ground, next to scurrying rats, is a jar, a ball of yarn, and the pistol. The rats are surrounded by a circle of white chalky substance. Alice assumes it’s some of the Queen’s special rat poison—the rats, sensing it, would be forced to stay inside the circle.

  Malice opens the jar, dips her hand into it, then smears some goopy substance onto her lips through the mask before shouting,

  “Here kitty kitty!

  Won’t you come out and play?

  I’ve got some rats, I’ve got some yarn,

  For you to swat today!”

  Malice looks around hopefully for a few moments, but now her shoulders slump.

  “Kitty kitty come out and play!

  I’ve decided to shoot myself today!”

  The head of the Cheshire Cat materializes in front of Malice. Just the head, as usual. Alice can only see the back of his head from her viewpoint.

  Alice feels fright go through her. If Malice shoots herself, I’ll die too! She shouts “No!” but they don’t respond. “Shadow? Shadow stop her! Shadow come back!” None of it works, the shadow remains at Malice’s side, so all Alice can do is watch.

  “Hello Alice,” the cat says to Malice. “My, that is a fetching outfit you have on today. You’d make such a pretty kitty. And what is that? Rats and yarn? Gifts for me?”

  “Yes, to thank you for all your help.”

  “My pleasure, kitten.”

  Malice takes a deep breath. “Well, here goes.” She lifts the pistol, presses it to her temple. “Oh, but first, I’d like to request my customary kiss of death.”

  The cat grunts in frustration. “What?”

  “My kiss of death. Why it’s…customary! It’s only the polite thing to do.”

  “Yes, yes,” says the cat. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I daresay it sounds a proper right and fitting thing to do. Well, here goes.” The hovering cat head floats to shift to kiss her cheek.

  Malice shouts, “Rudeness!”

  “I’m sorry, am I doing it wrong?”

  “Of course you are. Have you never given a kiss of death before?”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

  “Well it’s got to be on the mouth! Well?” She shakes the pistol as if to say, “I can’t hold this here all day.”

  “Very well.” The cat floats and as far as Alice can tell from her viewpoint, they kiss for several seconds, before the cat head floats back.

  The cat says, “Why, your lips are delicious.”

  “Thank you. Well, here goes.”

  Alice hopes she isn’t about to die as she watches.

  Malice pulls the trigger. Alice winces.

  But there is no bang. Only the click of the hammer.

  Malice pouts cutely. “Gun no go boom.”

  The cat shouts, “Outrageous! Is the gun broken? Did you fire its shot already?”

  Malice shrugs. “Go ask Alice.” She points and it looks as if she’s pointing right at Alice.

  Alice feels a twinge of fright, though her heart, of course, doesn’t begin to race.

  The cat turns his head, and now Alice can see his face. He’s looking without focusing his eyes, his smile is gone. He now looks a bit sleepy, as if too tired to smile. “I don’t see her,” he says. While he’s looking, Malice goes onto all fours. The Cheshire Cat turns back around. “Alice?”

  “No, sorry, she left. I’m just an itty bitty kitty, won’t you come out and play?”

  “You are? You look like—”

  “No! I’m an itty bitty kitty!” She purrs. Licks the back of her hand. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the Cheshire Cat. I—I feel strange.”

  “Won’t you come frolic with me? I’ve got yarn, pretty yarn, I’ve got rats for you today, so won’t you come out to play?”

  Malice slaps sloppily with her “paw” at the scattering rats. She isn’t being serious she seems to be saying, as she grins big at him, tilts her head to the side. She pouts. “Why, where are your paws? Won’t you bring them out so we can play?”

  Alice can no longer see the Cheshire Cat’s face, but his voice sounds slurry and slow. Was it from the catnip? He says, “I—I can’t. I—I can’t bring my body out, because the Queen wants to behead me. So I don’t want to pop my body onto my head, because if I don’t have a body I can’t be beheaded. I must be careful.”

  Malice looks around. “I don’t see the Queenie Weenie. Come onnnn. Play with the yarn wif me.” She begins swatting the yarn back and forth.

  “Ooh, I absolutely adore yarn!” He groans in exasperation. “It’s just that I only have one life left. The Queen took the other eight away. I can never le
t down my guard! She can be so sneaky.”

  “Oh, poo!” She gives a megapout. “She’s not here. It’s just me, the rats, and a scaredy cat.”

  “Awww come on. Don’t tease…”

  “Here, just hold the yarn in your mouth then, if you aren’t gonna bring your claws out.”

  She stoops and takes the ball of yarn in her mouth as if she’s a cat, then sashays up, offering to transfer the yarn to his mouth.

  The Cheshire Cat’s head flits lightly forward, but Malice bounds a short distance away and sets the yarn down. “Nuh uh. If you want the yarn, you must give me a kiss.”

  “Another kiss, didn’t I just give you one? Or didn’t I? I feel so confused.”

  “You didn’t give me a kiss. Maybe you just wished you did.”

  “I feel so strange, like I’m drunk. I’m forgetting things even from moment to moment. I’m sorry to be rude, but who are you again?”

  “I’m a little kitty kitty.

  Tell me, do you think I’m pretty?”

  “Yes, very much so.”

  “Would you like to kiss me? Don’t be shy.”

  “Well—”

  “I’ll only let you play with my yarn if you give me a kiss,” she says in a flirtatious, mock demanding voice.

  “Ha ha! Very well! I shall do as the lady kitty commands.”

  Malice lowers her head slightly as the Cheshire Cat approaches and gently kisses her.

  “I say!” he exclaims. “Your lips are as sweet as catnip.”

  Malice merely smiles then nudges the ball of yarn over to him with her nose.

  “Oh my, that is most delectable yarn, the fibers, the most lustrous color. I can tell the craftsmanship in the weaving—it is most exquisite. Rarely have I seen such yarn.”

  Malice purrs. “Let’s play with it together. Let me see your paws, my darling.”

  “Oh, I can’t resist you, my darling kitty! Here! Here are my paws.” The rest of his body materializes. He sits on the ground, like a normal cat, as opposed to floating.

  They begin to frolic and play. They bat the ball of yarn between them. Then the Cheshire Cat kills a few of the rats, while Malice pretends to swat at some of them—the Cheshire Cat offers the bloody rats to Malice as a gift and she accepts them while taking the opportunity to coax him into two more kisses.