by Various
Standing behind them was a monkey, immaculately dressed in a spotless white sailor’s outfit.
‘Why are you dressed as a sailor?’ asked Tweedledum, deciding to start with the most obvious question.
The monkey blinked. ‘Well,’ it answered, ‘you know what all the nice girls love, don’t you?’
‘A sailor?’
‘No,’ corrected the monkey, setting its hat at a slightly jauntier angle, ‘a monkey dressed as a sailor.’
The brothers considered this statement and collectively decided that there was too much wrong with it to even begin a fruitful line of questioning. Instead Tweedledee asked, ‘Do you know if this is where we can find the monstrously large crow?’
The monkey sucked in its breath theatrically, widening its little monkey eyes and dancing a brief, dramatic hornpipe. ‘Oooooh,’ it said, ‘you seek the colossal crow?’
‘Yes,’ answered Tweedledee. ‘I just said that.’
‘Behold,’ said the monkey even more dramatically, pulling a small brass telescope out of the pocket of its sailor suit and putting it up to its eye, ‘the springs of different sizings!’
‘Least catchy name ever,’ complained Tweedledum, peering through the trees in the direction the monkey was looking.
As they inched forward, they could see that they had come to the edge of a large clearing. On the opposite side, set into a tall mossy bank, were two stone basins from which water was trickling. The streams filled two large pools in the centre of the clearing.
‘Behold the Pool of Ensmallment!’ breathed the monkey, using capital letters for extra emphasis.
It was pointing to the left-hand pond, which appeared to be empty. It was surrounded with what seemed at first sight to be tiny plants, like cress. But as the Tweedles looked more closely they could see that they were, in fact, perfect miniature trees clustered around the edges of the water, each no taller than one of your smallest fingers.
‘And behold again, but this time, behold the Pool of Enlargement!’ continued the monkey, gesturing with its telescope.
The right-hand pond was hard to make out because it was completely occupied by an enormous fish. The middle section of the fish was in the water, but its head and tail flopped out across the grassy clearing like a tall person trying to sleep in a baby’s cot. The fish caught sight of them as they peeked through the trees and waved a large fin in greeting.
‘Welcome!’ the fish told them in a deep, rather pompous voice.
‘Who are you?’ questioned Tweedledee, forgetting about the crow in his curiosity and stepping forward out of the forest.
‘I,’ replied the fish grandly, ‘am a big fish in a little pond.’
‘Right,’ said Tweedledee. ‘That’s more of a description than a name in the traditional sense, but anyway. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Kindest regards,’ added Tweedledum, moving out to join his twin.
‘Have you come to seek enlargenment?’ asked the fish seriously. ‘Or to ensmallify yourselves?’ Seeing their blank expressions, it went on, ‘Drink from that pool over there, and you shall shrink. This one, however, will make you bigger. I myself jumped over from the other pool only this morning, and already I am several times larger and cleverer.’
‘Cleverer?’ Tweedledum frowned.
‘You perhaps do not understand because of your size,’ said the fish disapprovingly. ‘But as I have grown larger my brain has swelled too, to an extremely clever size. Why, only just now, I thought of an excellent song within seconds, which I expect you would like to hear.’
Tweedledee was about to politely refuse, but the problem with big fish in small ponds is that they rarely listen to other people. The fish waved its fin again, calling for silence, and began to sing in an odd, high-pitched warbling voice:
Come, little prawns, and rest your heads,
Warm and safe on the comfortable bread.
Come, little prawns, and lie lengthways,
’Neath a blanket of lovely soft mayonnaise,
Sleep, little prawns, till morning.
Sleep, little prawns, till dawning.
Lay off your hard coats and your tickly legs,
And curl up safe in the buttery bed.
I shall pull a bread counterpane up to your chest,
With a sprinkle of lemon to sweeten your rest.
Sleep, little prawns, till dawning.
Sleep, little prawns, till morning.
‘You are simply enticing those poor prawns into a sandwich!’ burst out Tweedledee when the fish had finished. ‘Why, that practically makes you a cannibal!’
‘If you are going to be a cannibal, you may as well be practical about it,’ reasoned the fish smugly, smacking its lips grotesquely. But the self-satisfied expression disappeared from its face as a terrifying sound came from close by, somewhere away to the right.
‘KARK!’
‘The crow!’ panicked the fish, thrashing around in the pond like an overweight man in a paddling pool full of wasps. ‘Flee! Flee for your very lives!’ It eventually managed to flop its way out of the right-hand pool and began to roll itself across the clearing.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Tweedledee, hopping from foot to foot in panic.
‘The crow drinks from the enlargening pool,’ explained the fish as it rolled. ‘Flee!’ It flopped into the left-hand pond and began gulping at the water, growing noticeably smaller with each mouthful. Within seconds, it was the size of an averagely large fish – the sort that a fisherman might boast about catching. Then it was a size he would lie about. Then it was a size he would barely even mention. Then it was as big as a tadpole. Then it had vanished altogether.
‘It’s disappeared!’ exclaimed Tweedledum.
‘It’s disappeared from sight,’ corrected the monkey, which had climbed into a nearby tree and was hiding behind a large apple. ‘That’s quite different, you know.’
For a moment, Tweedledum pondered what had happened to the fish. It has shrunk so much that it’s no longer even a part of our world, he thought to himself. I wonder what it can see now? The fish was, indeed, now a very small fish in what was, relatively, an infinitely large pond. But there was no time to think about it any further. With a thunder of wings that shook the branches around them, the gigantic crow landed in the centre of the clearing like a nightmare that someone had managed to glue feathers on to.
‘KARK!’ it explained.
These are the times when you really discover what sort of person you are. When you are being menaced by a giant crow and all help has vanished; the pompous fish has shrunk to microscopic size, and the sailor-uniform-clad monkey is concealing itself behind fruit. These are the moments when you have to show what you’re made of. Tweedledum had spent his whole life being terrified of this black shadow that appeared out of the sky. But, suddenly coming face to beak with it in a forest clearing, he was surprised to discover that he was not afraid. Not as much as he’d expected to be, anyway.
The crow dipped its enormous head and took a great, slurping mouthful from the pool on the right of the clearing. It opened its wings and flapped them – and as the Tweedles watched, it visibly grew slightly larger.
‘It drinks from the Pool of Enlargenment!’ gasped Tweedledee, who had never been the fastest on the uptake. The rest of us had worked that out at least two pages ago.
‘And that’s why it’s so big!’ added Tweedledum, who was, if anything, slightly slower on the uptake than his brother, running on average about a paragraph behind.
‘KARK!’ agreed the crow, advancing towards them with its beak open. The beak – just to give you some context – was about the size of a dustbin. Easily big enough to swallow a boy whole, even a rather big one. And still leave room for a second boy as pudding, possibly with a scoop of ice cream on the side.
Tweedledum raced over to the trees at the edge of the clearing and began to climb as fast as he could.
‘Oh great,’ scoffed his brother, ‘you’re running away as well, are you
? Thanks a lot. Well, if you think you’re going to be able to hide behind an apple, you are much mistaken.’
But that was not Tweedledum’s plan. As the crow passed underneath, stalking towards his brother like an embarrassing memory, he used a springy branch to sproing himself high into the air. Yes, it is a real word.
Tweedledum sailed through the air like a rugby ball with a hat on, landing perfectly on the back of the monstrous crow. The crow screeched in fury, thrashing its wings to try to dislodge its unwanted passenger. But Tweedledum held on tightly to a handful of feathers – and with his free hand, he reached into his pocket to grab his cloth cap, which he snagged neatly over the crow’s eyes.
There followed what can only be described accurately as a crowdeo. In other words – a rodeo, only with a crow instead of a horse. The crow bucked and capered around the clearing, flailing its wings but not daring to take off without being able to see where it was going. Tweedledum held on quite literally for dear life, puffing out his cheeks in concentration, although I’m fairly sure that at one point he did let out an involuntary ‘yee-hah!’. Well, you would, wouldn’t you?
Tweedledee now joined in. Skipping and squealing, ‘Over here, Mr Crow – come and eat me! Over here!’ he lured the crow across the clearing, towards the left-hand pond.
And the plan worked perfectly. The furious crow followed the sound of his voice, but before it could reach him, it fell – splash! – into the Pool of Ensmallment, still with Tweedledum planted firmly on its back.
‘KARBBBRBBBBRRRBBBBBL,’ said the crow, which is what happens when you start to say ‘kark’ but fall into a pool of water halfway through. Tweedledum desperately held its beak under the surface until he felt the enormous bird gradually begin to shrink.
‘It’s working – it’s working!’ he cried out to his brother, who was hopping about on the bank in glee.
Before long, the crow was merely the size of a cow. Then it was the size of a large dog. Then a smaller dog. Then an even smaller dog. And then finally, it was the size of a crow. At this point, Tweedledum was able to pick it out of the water and set it on the edge of the pond, pulling his cap off its head.
‘Kark!’ said the normal-sized crow in a normal-sized voice.
‘Now it’s time for us to scare you for a change!’ declared Tweedledee, pulling a wooden rattle out of his jacket pocket. With a glint of victory in his eyes, he spun the rattle, and the loud noise so terrified the normal-sized crow that it fled into the treetops, squawking in fright. Tweedledee dropped the rattle on to the forest floor and danced a capering jig of victory.
‘You know, in life, we all have our giant crows to face,’ said Tweedledum, squeezing water out of his cap. ‘But when you meet them head-on you often realize that they aren’t nearly as big as they first seemed. Or as scary.’
‘Are you looking for morals again?’ asked Tweedledee suspiciously. He finished his capering with a final flourish, which was accompanied by a splintering, cracking noise. It sounded almost exactly like the sound a wooden rattle makes when a large boy treads on it and breaks it.
‘Did you just step on my rattle?’ asked Tweedledum in an unnaturally quiet voice, his face turning pale with fury.
‘Ummmm,’ hedged his brother, trying unsuccessfully to push the broken pieces of the rattle into the pond with his foot.
‘That was brand new!’
‘Errrrrr . . .’
‘Come here! I demand a battle! Where are you going? Come back! How dare you run away! Stand and fight!’
And the two Tweedles disappeared down the hill, running as fast as their stubby legs would carry them. The monkey, peeping out from behind its apple, watched them go. One of them looks smaller than the other, it thought to itself, adjusting its sailor hat.
During Tweedledum’s drenching in the Pool of Ensmallment, it is possible that some of the water got into his mouth. So it could be that the monkey was right. Perhaps, forever afterwards, the brothers were no longer exactly the same. Tweedledum was, perhaps, very slightly shorter than Tweedledee. I couldn’t be sure – it’s impossible to get them to stand still long enough to measure them.
But one thing at least was certain: it had definitely been the weirdest day of the week so far.
And it was still only Tuesday.
Ina Out of Wonderland
by Robin Stevens
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland has always been more than just a book to me. I grew up in Pembroke College, Oxford, across the road from where the real Alice and her sisters had lived more than one hundred years before. My father was the Master of Pembroke and hers was the Dean of Christ Church – so I know all about being a little girl in the very mannered, very academic adult world of Oxford University. Because I spent a lot of time in Christ Church College and on Christ Church Meadow, Wonderland has always felt like a very real place to me. I’ve seen the tree where the Cheshire Cat vanishes. I imagined the Mock Turtle dancing on the banks of the Cherwell, and the Duchess playing croquet in the Christ Church quads.
I knew I wanted to write a story that made Christ Church a part of Wonderland, and that featured the real Alice and her family. I discovered that Lewis Carroll met the eldest Liddell girl, Lorina, first, and (presumably) began to tell her stories before he knew Alice, and I began to wonder how she felt about her sister stealing the limelight in the final book. Then I saw Lewis Carroll’s photograph of the three sisters, taken around the time that Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland was written. In it, Alice and Edith droop sulkily on a sofa while Lorina sits between them, her back furiously straight, staring down the camera like she’s issuing a challenge. I knew that this was a girl who could not be pushed around – and I knew what story I wanted to tell.
Robin Stevens
I was beginning to get very tired of reading, for my book had very small lettering and no pictures at all, when my little sister Alice snuffled in her sleep and gave a great fidgety turn of her head on my lap.
I looked up through the dappling sun on the river bank and saw a rabbit in a smart new waistcoat and a bright checked jacket. He was running away from us through the daisies, and, as I watched, he paused, staring down at the pocket watch in his hand.
‘Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!’ he cried.
Then he took one more bounding leap and vanished into his rabbit hole.
He had bought a new jacket since the last time I saw him.
Alice cried out, ‘Ina!’ at me and jumped like a fish, her hands making stars on the grass, and I knew that although she had not physically moved (as far as I could see), in her mind, she was falling down and down into Wonderland, a place that is at once further away than London and Paris and also no distance at all.
Wonderland is a place that I know an unfortunate amount about. It does not have rules or bounds. I have learned to my cost that it is everywhere and nowhere at once. It began as a story He told me, but it did not stay that way.
‘Alice!’ I said, and I shook her shoulder. ‘Alice, wake up!’
But Alice did not wake. I had not really thought she would. She could not – not until Wonderland was done with her.
At that, my sorryness grew and spread until it filled me up inside. For I had not told Alice about Wonderland, not even once. I had practised before the mirror, many times, but I only sounded contrary, and I only looked sour. After all, how could I explain to Alice – or anyone – that a dreamland where you can have a tea party that never ends, play croquet with hedgehogs and dance to the Mock Turtle’s song is a horrid, dangerous place, to be avoided at all costs?
And now Alice was lost in Wonderland too.
But instead of feeling hopeless, I found that I was filled with rage. I am the oldest. The one who can bear anything, and I do. For years, Wonderland has been catching up with me and toying with me like our cat, Dinah, toys with a mouse, and I am almost used to it . . . although I have fought the Jabberwock more times than I would have chosen, and I have been beheaded by the Red Queen more times than I
care to admit.
I felt that it was most ill-mannered for Wonderland, and Him, to now set upon my sister as well, for Alice is giddy and foolish and does not know a raven from a writing desk. Wonderland’s madness would swallow her up like a whale does a fish.
At least, it would unless I did something about it.
And, at that moment, I resolved to. He should not always have everything his own way, after all.
So I leaned forward until my lips were almost at Alice’s ear, and I whispered to her. I did not know if she could hear me, but I had to try.
‘I shall help you, Alice,’ I told her. ‘Just remember to keep your head.’
And then I stood, gathered up my skirts and ran.
A student punting by ‘hallo’ed at me cheerfully, splashing his pole about and nearly tipping himself into the water, but I ignored him. I scrambled up the bank and broke through the trees to see the golden stone walls of our Oxford College rising up like a ship, with the tall black hat of Tom Tower behind it. I shot past two fellows walking along the gravel path in their flapping gowns, heads bent, chattering like pigeons. I ducked right, past the timber and dust of the half-finished new buildings, through the little side gate, around the cathedral and up past the gardens into the echoing corridors that led to our deanery.
I dived past it, on up the stairs, round and round until I was dizzy
And
Then
I
Arrived
At His front door.
I squeezed my fists together and tried to breathe calmly. I remembered that in Wonderland I was the girl who had outwitted the Hatter and beaten the Red Queen at chess. I had done those things despite Him, so He ought to listen to me now.
I rapped on the door, and it opened at once. He was standing in the doorway just as though he knew to wait for me, and behind Him was the nonsense of His room. And on His desk I could see freshly inked pages: new Wonderland stories.
I do think that He looks like a person from Wonderland. He is fearfully thin with such a quantity of chestnut hair, and He stands up ramrod straight. His hands were splattered with ink, the nails all dark with it, and He was frowning at me as though I had disturbed Him. I stared at his fingers, and then at Him.
