The Looking Glass Wars

by Frank Beddor

  The Looking Glass Wars

  Frank Beddor

  THE LOOKING GLASSWARS

  BY

  FRANK BEDDOR

  PROLOGUE

  Oxford England. July 1863.

  Everyone thought she had made it up, and she had tolerated more taunting and teasing from other children, more lectures and punishments from grown-ups, than any eleven-year-old should have to bear. But now, after four years, it had arrived: her last, best chance to prove to them all that she had been telling the truth. A college scholar had thought enough of her history to write it up as a book.

  She sat on a blanket on the banks of the river Cherwell, the remains of a picnic lunch in a basket at the Reverend Charles Dodgson’s elbow. She held the book in her hands. He had written and illustrated it himself, he said. It had a nice weight and heft, felt substantial. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a black ribbon. Dodgson was watching her, anxious. Her sisters Edith and Lorina were hunting minnows at the river’s edge. She untied the ribbon, carefully undid the wrapping.

  “Oh!” Alice’s Adventures Underground? What sort of title was that? And why was her name misspelled? She had told Dodgson how to correctly spell her name, had even written it out for him. “By Lewis Carroll?” she read with growing concern.

  “I thought it would be more festive than saying it was by a reverend.”

  Festive? She had told him little that was festive. Concern was fast turning to alarm, but she swallowed it.

  What mattered was that he had faithfully recorded her history in Wonderland as she remembered it.

  She opened the book and admired its rough-cut pages, the neatness of the handwriting. But the dedication took the form of a poem, in which her name was again misspelled, and she didn’t think the lighthearted rhyme scheme appropriate, considering the material it was supposed to introduce. Her gaze caught on one of the stanzas:

  The dream-child moving through a land

  Of wonders, wild and new,

  In friendly chat with bird or beast- And half believed it true.

  Dream-child? And what did he mean by half believed?

  She turned to the first chapter and immediately felt as if her insides had been scooped out, like the half grapefruits Dean Liddell ate for breakfast every morning, after which only raw, pulpy hollows remained. Down a rabbit hole? Where had the worrisome White Rabbit come from?

  “Alice, is something wrong?”

  She skipped ahead, turned page after page. The Pool of Tears, the caterpillar, her aunt Redd: It had all been twisted into nonsense.

  “I admit that I took a few liberties with your story,” Dodgson explained, “to make it ours, as I said I would. Do you recognize the tutor fellow you once described to me? He’s the White Rabbit character. I got the idea for him upon discovering that the letters of the tutor’s name could be made to spell ‘white rabbit.’ Here, let me show you.”

  Dodgson took a pencil and small notebook from the inside pocket of his coat, but she didn’t want to look. He had indeed said it would be their book, his and hers, and she had found strength in that-strength to suffer the indignities that came from insisting on truths no one else believed. But what she held in her hands had nothing to do with her.

  “You mean you did it on purpose?” she asked.

  The grinning Cheshire cat. The mad tea party. He’d transformed her memories of a world alive with hope and possibility and danger into make-believe, the foolish stuff of children. He was just another in a long line of unbelievers and this-this stupid, nonsensical book-was how he made fun of her. She had never felt more betrayed in all her life.

  “No one is ever going to believe me now!” she screamed. “You’ve ruined everything! You’re the cruelest man I’ve ever met, Mr. Dodgson, and if you had believed a single word I told you, you’d know how

  very cruel that is! I never want to see you again! Never, never, never!”

  She ran, leaving Edith and Lorina to make their own way home, leaving the Reverend Dodgson-who considered children to be spirits fresh from God’s hands, their smiles divine, and who thought there could be no greater endeavor than devoting all of his powers to a task for which the only reward was a child’s whispered thanks and the airy touch of her pure lips-shaken, unsure of what had just happened.

  He picked up the book, still warm from Alice Liddell’s touch, not knowing that it was as close to her as he’d ever be again.

  PART ONE CHAPTER 1

  T HE QUEENDOM had been enjoying a tentative peace ever since the time, twelve years earlier, when unbridled bloodshed spattered the doorstep of every Wonderlander. The civil war hadn’t been the longest in all of recorded history, but no doubt it was one of the bloodiest. Those who had entered a little too quickly into the carnage and destruction had trouble adapting to life during peacetime. When hostilities ceased, they ran amok on the streets of Wonderland’s capital city, looting and pillaging Wondertropolis until Queen Genevieve had them rounded up and shipped off to the Crystal Mines-a spiderweb-like network of tunnels carved in a far-off mountainside, where those unwilling to abide by the laws of decent society lived in windowless dormitories and labored to excavate crystal from the unforgiving mountain. Even after these people were taken off the streets, the peace that settled on Wonderland was nothing like that which had existed before the war. A third of Wondertropolis’

  quartz-like buildings had to be rebuilt. The smooth turquoise amphitheater had suffered damage in an air raid, as had the public works towers and spires sporting fiery, reflective pyrite skin. But the scars of war are not always visible. Although Queen Genevieve ruled her queendom judiciously, with care for the

  well-being of her people, the monarchy had been forever weakened. The coalition of Diamond, Club, and Spade dynasties that made up Parliament was falling apart. The matriarchs of the families were jealous of Genevieve’s power. Each thought she could rule Wonderland better than the queen. Each watched and waited for an opportunity to wrest control from her, keeping a none-too-friendly eye on the other families in case they happened to make a move first.

  After twelve years, the daily life of Wonderland had returned to what might be called “normal.” Were you to walk Wondertropolis’ gleaming streets, enjoying the sight of its jagged crystal buildings and shop fronts, were you to pass the stations where Wonderlanders arrived for work in sleek glass tubes hovering on cushions of air, were you to stop and purchase a tarty tart from a vendor and relish its tarty tart flavor bursting upon your tongue, you would never have known that in certain back alleys, on certain open plains, precautions were being taken: regiments of card soldiers put through military maneuvers,

  transports produced, weapons of attack and defense designed and tested. And you would not have been alone.

  Entertaining no thoughts of war, Princess Alyss Heart stood on the balcony of Heart Palace with her mother, Queen Genevieve. The city was in the midst of a jubilant gala. From the Everlasting Forest to the Valley of Mushrooms, Wonderlanders had come to celebrate the seventh birthday of their future queen, who, as it happened, was bored out of her wits. Alyss knew she could do a lot worse than be Queen of Wonderland, but even a future monarch doesn’t always want to do what she is supposed to do-like sit through hours of pageantry. She would rather have hidden with her friend Dodge in one of the palace towers, dropping jollyjellies from an open window and watching them splat on the guards below. Dodge wouldn’t like the jollyjelly bit-guardsmen deserved better treatment, he’d say-but that would only make it more fun.

  Where was Dodge anyway? She hadn’t seen him all morning, and it wasn’t nice to avoid the birthday girl on her birthday. She searched for him among the Wonderlanders gathered to watch the Inventors’

  Parade o
n the cobbled lane below. No sign of him. He was probably off doing something fun; whatever it was had to be more fun than being stuck here, forced to watch Wonderlanders show off their silly contraptions. Bibwit Harte, the royal tutor, had explained to her that most of Wonderland took pride in

  the Inventors’ Parade, the one time every year when citizens flaunted their skills and ingenuity before the queen. If Genevieve saw something in the parade that she thought particularly good, she would send it into the Heart Crystal-a thirty-three-foot-tall, fifty-two-foot-wide shimmering crystal on the palace grounds, the power source for all creation. Whatever passed into the crystal went out into the universe to inspire imaginations in other worlds. If a Wonderlander bounced in front of Queen Genevieve on a

  spring-operated stick with handlebars and footrests and she passed this curious invention into the crystal, before long, in one civilization or another, a pogo stick would be invented.

  Still, Alyss wondered, what was the big deal? Having to stand here until her feet hurt-it was punishment. “I wish Father were here.”

  “He’s due back from Boarderland at any moment,” said Queen Genevieve. “But since the rest of Wonderland is here, I suggest you try to enjoy yourself for their sake. That’s interesting, don’t you think?”

  They watched as a man floated down from the sky with what looked like a hollow mushroom cap strapped to his back.

  “It’s pretty good, I suppose,” said Alyss, “but it’d be better if it were furry.”

  And with that, the mushroom contraption was suddenly covered in fur, its inventor falling to the ground with a thump.

  Queen Genevieve frowned.

  “He’s late,” Alyss said. “He promised he’d be here. I don’t understand why he had to make a trip so close to my birthday.”

  There were reasons, as the queen well knew. Intelligence had indicated that they may have already waited too long. Unconfirmed reports suggested Redd was growing more powerful, outfitting her troops for an attack, and Genevieve was no longer sure that her military could provide adequate defense. She was as keen as Alyss for King Nolan’s return, but she had determined to enjoy the day’s festivities.

  “Ooh, look at that,” she said, pointing at a woman wiggling as she walked so as to keep a large hoop swinging round and round her waist. “That looks diverting.”

  “It’d be more fun if it had fountains of water coming out of it,” Alyss said, and immediately the hoop was spurting water from tiny holes all along its surface, the surprised inventor still wiggling to keep it swinging round and round.

  “Birthday or not, Alyss,” Queen Genevieve said, “I don’t think it’s nice to show off.”

  The fur on the first-ever parachute vanished. The fountains of water on the newly invented hula hoop dried up. The power of Alyss’ imagination had made them appear and disappear. Imagination was an important part of life in Wonderland, and Alyss had the most powerful imagination ever seen in a

  seven-year-old Wonderlander. But as with any formidable talent, Alyss’ imagination could be used for good or ill, and the queen saw mild reasons for concern. Hardly one revolution of the Thurmite moon had passed since Alyss’ last incident: Impatient with young Jack of Diamonds for some childish indiscretion, she’d imagined his trousers filled with slick, squiggling gwormmies. Jack of Diamonds had said he “felt something funny,” looked down, and saw that his trousers were moving, alive. He’d been having nightmares ever since. Alyss claimed not to have done it on purpose, which may or may not have been true, Genevieve couldn’t tell. Alyss didn’t yet have full control of her imaginative powers, but the girl

  would say anything to get out of trouble.

  “You will be the strongest queen yet,” she told her daughter. “Your imagination will be the crowning achievement of the land. But Alyss, you must work hard to develop it according to the guiding principles of the Heart dynasty-love, justice, and duty to the people. An undisciplined imagination is worse than no imagination at all. It can do more harm. Remember what happened to your aunt Redd.”

  “I know,” Alyss said sulkily. She had never met her aunt Redd, but she’d heard stories about the woman for as long as she could remember. She didn’t bother trying to understand it all; it was history-boring boring boring. But she knew that to be like Aunt Redd wasn’t good.

  “Now that’s enough lecturing for one princess’ birthday,” Queen Genevieve said. She clapped her hands and the parachute and hula hoop passed into the Heart Crystal, much to the joy of their inventors.

  An empty pair of King Nolan’s boots floated out from behind the balcony door and began to dance in front of the brooding princess.

  Queen Genevieve, watching yet another extraordinary display of her daughter’s imagination, said, “Alyss.”

  Something in her tone made the girl stop what she was doing. The boots thudded to the ground, still.

  “It’s all in your head,” the queen sighed. “Remember that, love. Whatever happens, it’s all in your head.” It was both a warning and an expression of hope: Queen Genevieve, aware of the dark forces at work

  somewhere in the wastes of the Chessboard Desert, knew that joy and happiness didn’t last forever in Wonderland; sooner or later the queendom would come under attack, and it would require all of Alyss’ imaginative powers-and then some-to ensure its survival.

  CHAPTER 2

  T WO DAYS into their return trek through Outerwilderbeastia, King Nolan and his men urged their spirit-danes at a gallop along a narrow mountain ridge. Four-legged creatures with bodies that looked vaguely bulldoggish from the front and tapered to a thin, tail-less rear end, spirit-danes had flat faces with slow, blinking eyes, fist-sized nostrils, and a quizzical mouth. They were not the fastest means of getting around Wonderland, but they proved the most efficient mode of travel to and from Boarderland-being the only creatures capable of carrying a man, as well as gifts of wine and crystal, while making decent time over the irregular terrain of Outerwilderbeastia.

  This had not been a journey King Nolan desired to make. He had done it for the good of the queendom. A last-minute negotiation with King Arch of Boarderland to establish an alliance between their two nations against Redd. It was of course Genevieve’s rightful place to conduct all negotiations, but she had thought it prudent to send her husband in her stead: Boarderland was a kingdom; King Arch didn’t believe in queendoms. The seat of power, he often proclaimed, was no place for a female.

  King Arch greeted Nolan as if the mere sight of him brought on fatigue. “Why should I form an alliance?”

  he asked after Nolan had just explained the reasons. “Redd doesn’t dare attack Boarderland.”

  “Because we’re neighbors, Arch. If Redd does take control of Wonderland, she’s likely to grow more ambitious and look to Boarderland as her next target.”

  “Oh, I think I can defend myself against any female, even without an alliance.” Arch snapped his fingers and a shapely courtesan emerged from behind a glittering curtain to massage his shoulders. “Besides, it

  rather goes against my principles-partnering with a queendom. I don’t want the peculiar ways of your nation influencing Boarderland’s female population. The last thing I need is the seeds of some so-called greater purpose being planted in their feminine heads, as if they should ‘do more with their lives’ than is required for their marital administrations.”

  “I’d be more concerned about the influence a Redd-controlled Wonderland would have on your entire population,” said King Nolan.

  King Arch made a sound deep within his throat, a doubtful grunt. “Frankly, Nolan, I don’t have the highest regard for you, letting yourself be bossed around by your wife as you do.”

  King Nolan did not feel-nor had he ever felt-bossed around by Genevieve. He loved his wife, in part, because of her strength, her estimable handling of the very responsibilities that Arch thought should fall only on a man’s shoulders. To Nolan, nothing could compare to the love of his kind, strong-willed queen.


  “So,” Arch said, “you’d receive military support to help defend against your enemies and what would I get? What benefits would the people of Boarderland be able to expect as a result of this proposed nation-coupling?”

  “I am prepared to offer you crystal-mining rights within our borders, twice-yearly payments of a million howlite gemstones, and the use of our military should the need for it ever arise.”

  King Arch stood; the meeting was over. “I’ll consider it and send word of my decision in the next week or so.”

  Eager to arrive back at Heart Palace in time for Alyss’ birthday, Nolan made a race of the journey with his men, riding at full speed without stopping for rest or food. They were still half a day’s ride away. The mountain ridge was far behind them now and they galloped across a dusty plain. At the crest of a hill, with Heart Palace visible on the horizon, Nolan reined in his spirit-dane. A gust of wind carried with it-or so he imagined, for he was quite a distance from the palace-the sounds of revelry, music, and laughter. His men came to a stop beside him.