by Frank Beddor
The Lady of Diamonds’ neck muscles were tensed and trembling. She had gone from trying not to blink to squinting hard, as if the slit of her eyes determined the degree of her mental focus. But her conjured jewelry case resembled nothing so much as four pieces of wood glued together by a toddler.
“The more complex an object,” the imagination enabler said, “the longer the process takes and the more energy that is required. More energy requires a greater imaginative gift. To conjure a chair is easy; to conjure a meticulously engineered aerial craft is significantly more difficult. Those with powerful imaginations seem to intuit complex objects, as they can conjure instantaneously what it would take lesser imaginations days or weeks to conjure, if at all. But anyone can see from this display of your strength—just look at the jewelry case you’ve produced!—that you have a particularly powerful imagination.”
The Lady of Diamonds gazed proudly upon her creation. “It looks exactly like the 104 I have at home,” she said. “Put them side by side and I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” enthused the enabler. “Being from Wonderland, the name of Alyss Heart will obviously be familiar to you. But what you cannot know, as I don’t like to mention it lest it seem like bragging, is that I was your queen’s imagination enabler when she was a child. Since that time I have enabled many other highly gifted imaginationists, but you, Lady Diamond, are easily the most gifted imaginationist I have ever coached.”
“Well,” the lady said. Was this not further proof that she should be queen instead of Alyss Heart or any of Wonderland’s other ranking ladies? Should someone as gifted as she not lose herself in reveries of her own stupendousness? Absolutely she should. So the Lady of Diamonds floated away on musings of her magnificence, which was why it took her a moment to realize that her tent had been invaded by the white rook and his small force of pawns and card soldiers.
“Lady Diamond,” the rook said with a sarcastic bow, “by order of Queen Alyss Heart, I hereby take you into custody, to be carried back to Wonderland, where you’re to stand trial for treason and conspiracy to murder the queen.”
“What?!”
The pawns and card soldiers surrounded the lady.
“This is outrageous!” she raged. “Someone’s clearly playing a trick on you, chessman! Do you have any idea how much my vacation package at this retreat costs? Get out of here before I have you arrested!”
The rook threw a grenade at the lady’s feet. She flinched, but instead of a bone-shattering explosion, the grenade’s detonation produced a small cell, one just large enough to contain her.
“But you don’t even have jurisdiction here,” she whined, shaking the porta-prison’s bars.
“King Arch is aware of my mission and has granted me all the authority I need.”
“King Arch? That deceitful…Arrest him, why don’t you? He’s to blame for everything. I’m warning you, chessman! Let me out of this thing or proceed at your own risk! I can stop you with the power of my imagination!” The lady squeezed her eyes shut, balled her hands into fists and—
Poosh! A piddling little jewelry case formed. The rook, soldiers, pawns, and imagination enabler stared at it, wondering what miraculous means of escape it would provide. Then it fell apart.
“Hup,” one of the card soldiers said as he and the others lifted the Lady of Diamonds’ porta-prison between them and carried it out to the waiting smail-transport.
“Somebody notify Lord Diamond!” the lady shrieked, shaking and rattling the bars of her cell. “Lord Diamond knows how to put chessmen in their proper places! Just you wait, Mr. Rook! You’ll face a punishment worse than any you can fathom for this mistake!”
“You and your husband will have plenty of time to discuss my punishment while you await your trials,” said the rook.
Their memories of the previous night were unreliable, befogged and sketchy, entire chunks of time blacked out by overindulgence. Still, Jack of Diamonds was pretty sure that he had fallen asleep atop a mattress-sized pillow stuffed with the first-growth feathers of tuttle-birds. The Lord of Diamonds was likewise certain that platters of tasty treats and decanters of mind-fuzzing libations had been within arm’s reach when he had drifted to sleep beneath the canopy of an antique Kalaman bed. And both father and son remembered tiring themselves out with dancing, their ears even now ringing from the loud volume of the Boardertonian deejay’s music. How then had they become surrounded by so much blatant industry?
“What’s all this?” the Lord of Diamonds asked, waking from a heavy slumber and reluctantly opening his throbbing eyes.
They appeared to be in a factory. The signs of mass production were all around: conveyor lines, automated assembly arms, laser-solders, racks of intel chips, an army of steel skeletons, some fitted with wire-vein armatures and lab-grown muscle, others plain. On the billowing tent walls: blueprints for building Glass Eyes.
“Where are the ladies and servants?” Jack of Diamonds yawned.
Which was when the white knight, leading a contingent of pawns and card soldiers, marched into the tent. The knight gazed around at the Glass Eyes manufacturing facility—overwhelming corroboration of King Arch’s story, if ever there was.
“Lord Diamond,” he said, “by order of Queen Alyss Heart, I hereby take you into custody, to be carried back to Wonderland, where you are to stand trial for treason and conspiracy to murder the queen.”
“Arrested?” the Lord of Diamonds murmured, backing away and shaking his head. “Treason and murder?”
The knight turned upon the Jack of Diamonds. “And you, sir, being an escapee from the Crystal Mines, are also under arrest. I intend to personally deposit you back where you belong.”
The knight lobbed a pair of grenades—one at Jack’s feet and the other at the lord’s. Foosh! Porta-prisons shot up at the grenades’ points of impact, but—
They contained nothing. Jack could be surprisingly quick for his size, and he’d jumped behind the machine that screwed Glass Eye heads onto Glass Eye bodies. The Lord of Diamonds, meanwhile, was ducking under mechanical arms and stumbling across loading bays. The pawns and card soldiers split into two groups and gave chase, but the lord ran a serpentine course, erratic and nonsensical enough to avoid capture until he sighted an unobstructed path to the tent’s exit. He sprinted toward it, was just a couple strides from freedom when—
“Ugh!”
The white knight dove off a storage rack and tackled him. Out came another grenade and—foosh!—the Lord of Diamonds was encaged in a porta-prison.
The pawns and card soldiers gathered round, congratulating one another on a mission accomplished. Or mostly accomplished. For in all the rumpus, he of the oversized rump, Jack of Diamonds, had quietly slipped away.
CHAPTER 27
HATTER FOLLOWED Arch’s bodyguards out of the Sin Bin Gaming Club and across a dusty street to a tent repair shop that was itself in need of repair. Blister took up position on one side of the entrance, Ripkins on the other, and the Milliner pushed aside the tent flap and stepped inside.
“Hatter Madigan,” King Arch said.
He instinctively calculated his odds: Arch; the nervous proprietor hunched over a patching machine; the two assassins out front; probably reinforcements nearby. Not the greatest situation, but Hatter had faced worse.
“Where are the Ganmedes I’m to negotiate with?”
“They couldn’t make it. But I have the power to deal on their behalf. I assume you have the power to negotiate for your queen?”
Hatter gave no indication either way.
“Ripkins!” Arch shouted, and when the called-for guard entered the tent: “Escort our host across the street for a drink.”
“N-no, that’s all right,” said the proprietor, “I’m not thirsty.” But Ripkins had already stepped up to him and taken hold of his elbow. “I mean, I’m not not thirsty. Sometimes I don’t realize how thirsty I am until I have a drink, and then it’s as if I could drink an entire…
”
The proprietor’s words were lost to the world outside. Hatter and Arch were alone. Reinforcements would never make it in time. All Hatter had to do was flick his wrist and the king would be dead.
“I wonder how Alyss and the others reacted to hearing that the great Millinery man had secretly fathered a child,” Arch mused.
“And I wonder how the great King Arch knew about it.”
Arch laughed. “That is a question that will soon be answered, my Millinery friend. I prefer questions that have definite answers, don’t you? As opposed to abstract ones concerning the meaning and purpose of life, blah blah blah. You’d probably like to know that your daughter is being adequately taken care of.”
“I want to see her.”
“As would I, were our places reversed. Unfortunately, I’m unable to accommodate your request. The Ganmedes are clever. They’ve asked me to negotiate for them, but they haven’t told me where they’re keeping her.”
“There are no Ganmede kidnappers,” Hatter said through tightened jaw. “Not unless they’re working for you.”
“No? Well, they’ll be surprised to learn of their nonexistence. But if you’re so sure, why don’t you take me prisoner and force my hand?”
Hatter was wondering the same thing.
Arch assumed a look of benevolence. “Do you know, Hatter, that I often worry about you? I fear you’re not making the most of your skills and intelligence. You’ve worked closely with two queens and so know the ins and outs of governing. You have the respect and loyalty of all who serve in Wonderland’s military. It’s a surprise to me that you haven’t become Wonderland’s ruler yourself.”
“I was born a Milliner.”
“Don’t be so old-fashioned. You were born to reinvent yourself as many times as you like. We all were. What was it Queen Genevieve used to say? ‘In imagination lies freedom’? It’s rare that I agree with any female, but in this case I’ll have to lend authority to Genevieve’s little maxim by seconding it. Why not be a Milliner and a ruler? You’re not being very imaginative, Hatter.”
“I’m not here to discuss my personal failures with you.”
“But wouldn’t you consider Homburg Molly among those failures?”
Hatter reached for his top hat as if he’d been physically attacked. He ran his fingers along its brim, Arch’s life saved by the hesitation. The king would have to wait for what he deserved until Hatter could be sure of Molly’s safety.
“Having been away from your official duties,” Arch said as the Milliner’s hand lowered to his side, “you might not have heard, but I’ve developed a weapon capable of destroying all of Boarderland, Wonderland, Morgavia, Unterlan, and who knows what else. I call it WILMA, which stands for Weapon of Inconceivable Loss and Massive Annihilation. It also happens to be the name of one of my former wives, who had to be put down on account of her feisty temper. I’m sure you can guess that I have no desire to obliterate myself or my nation. I do, however, know that for the betterment of all life and the inflation of my self-worth, my nation must expand to include yours and the others. But for this to happen, WILMA must be fully operational and the threat of my employing her genuine, otherwise your queen and the ‘rulers’ of Morgavia and Unterlan will have no reason to subjugate their governments to me. The interesting little wrinkle in all this, Hatter, is that in order for WILMA to operate at her full power, I need you. How and why I need you will be explained in the near future. But first, I’d like to invite you to join my tribe. I don’t ask everyone. You should be flattered.”
“Are these the terms for Molly’s release? I ‘join’ your tribe and you’ll let her go, unharmed?”
Arch, pacing throughout his talk of WILMA, had paused at the tent’s entrance. He now waved for someone outside to approach. “I think you’ll find that you have more reasons to join with me than merely securing Molly’s safety.”
With that, the king stepped outside. In his place stood an apparition, an illusion, a wish: Weaver. How long the ensuing silence lasted, Hatter didn’t know.
“I thought…” he murmured finally, unable to finish. I thought you were dead.
“Did you get the diary I left for you?” she asked.
He nodded. “But I don’t under—”
“Oh, Hatter!”
She ran to him and he held close the much-loved body he thought he’d never hold again, breathing in the smell of her and waiting to be overwhelmed by the joy and relief of finding her so unexpectedly alive. But he had too many questions, the same, nagging, prickling questions he’d had since his reclusive days atop Talon’s Point.
Gently, he unclasped Weaver’s arms from around his neck. Tears were in her eyes. She guessed what he was thinking.
“I wasn’t as irresponsible as it seems,” she said. “The Alyssian camp in the Everlasting Forest…I knew Molly would be in excellent care. I just…I had to leave you word of our daughter, and I had to leave it somewhere safe where I knew you’d get it no matter what happened to me or Molly or the Alyssian cause.”
“But what are you doing here, with Arch?”
“That,” she said, smiling, “was a lucky accident. One of his guards, Ripkins, happened to see me enter the tunnel leading up to our cave at Talon’s Point. He followed me and overheard me recording the diary. I thought he was one of Redd’s troops come to kill me. But without saying a word, he gave me one of his communicators. Arch was waiting to talk to me and said he knew about Redd, that she was hunting down everyone connected to the Millinery and that, if I’d let him, Ripkins would bring me to Boarderland, where I’d be protected. I wasn’t going to go at first, but then I thought…I worried that if Redd found out who Molly was, she would kill us both, so I thought the best way to save our daughter was to stay away from her. Tell me I made the right decision. Tell me I did.”
She was crying afresh. Hatter reached up and cupped her face between his hands, wiped her tears with his thumbs.
“You made the right decision, Weaver.”
She put her head against his shoulder. “I’d assumed the worst after Redd destroyed the Alyssian headquarters. But Arch came to me as soon as Molly was abducted. He promised to do everything he could to get her back. We’re lucky the Ganmedes chose him as their intermediary.”
“You really believe Molly’s been kidnapped by Ganmedes?”
“I’ve seen them. I’ve seen her.”
Hatter was taken aback. “Where? When?”
“In Boarderland. I don’t know exactly where we were camped, but…it was during the last eclipse of a Thurmite moon. She’s grown so much. She was confused more than anything else. About us. I didn’t get to spend much time with her.”
Hatter was no longer listening. Molly was in Boarderland, probably not far away. Arch would want to keep her close. Arch, who was probably monitoring his and Weaver’s every word. Unless the king knew something about Weaver that Hatter didn’t, and there was no need to bug the tent.
“Before I met with Arch,” the Milliner said, “I suspected there were no Ganmede kidnappers. Now that I’ve met with him, I’m sure there aren’t any.”
“What are you talking about? I just told you I saw them.”
“They’re working for Arch.”
“That’s ludicrous! You think, after all he’s done for me, Arch took her? Why would he—”
“He’s using the two of you to get to me for some reason. Who else knew she was our daughter? You said his guard heard you record the diary.”
“He found me by accident, Hatter!” The folded arms, the head tilted slightly forward while she eyed him from beneath the overhang of her brow: She was getting mad. “I owe Arch my life,” she said. “He’s been nothing but kind and helpful.”
“When has King Arch ever been kind and helpful without an ulterior motive?”
“Being a Milliner makes you suspicious of everybody. You’re so smart when it comes to military things, why doesn’t it translate into being smart about others? I don’t want you to accuse Arch aga
in. He’s my friend.”
He would get nowhere arguing with her. Either she’d been brainwashed or the stress of the past years, of giving up her daughter, had made her susceptible to a faith in the goodness of others, even in those who’d exhibited no special affinity for goodness.
“You truly believe we need Arch if we’re to get Molly back safe?” Hatter asked.
“Yes.”
“And you trust him?”
“Almost as much as I trust you.”
He kissed her. “Wait here.”
He hadn’t decided what he was going to do even as he stepped outside the tent, where Arch, Ripkins, and Blister were waiting. Kill or defer, kill or defer, he couldn’t make up his mind. But then he was standing in front of the king and his body seemed to decide for him. Just as he had done in the past, whenever showing reverence for Genevieve or Alyss Heart, he prostrated himself.
“If your invitation still stands, Your Majesty,” he said, “I would be honored to join your tribe.”
CHAPTER 28
REDD HEART had been born to attract attention, and no garment from any universe, known or unknown, could have prevented the eyes of lesser creatures from being drawn to her. Finding that all attempts to blend in with the sorry specimens of Earth were futile, she stopped trying. In London’s Crystal Palace, she donned her dress of flesh-eating roses and twirled before a reflective glass, a renegade Heart pleased with what she saw.
“I now consider myself officially introduced to Earth society,” she pronounced.
A cheer went up from her recruits—a cheer more akin to grumbling thunder than a hearty outpouring, which for the thousand or so earthlings and ex-Wonderlanders enlisted to Redd’s cause in the past months, was the closest they could manage.
“Scatter,” Redd commanded.
