by Cameron Jace
“Don’t panic, it’s me,” the voice said.
The March’s house was dark. It was a rabbit hole he had dug for himself in the soils of Wonderland. The Hatter had offered him a teacup as a house once — a large teacup the size of a tree house — but the March preferred his own hole in the ground. He’d always wondered if he should have called it the Hare Hole instead of a rabbit hole, but he didn’t want anyone to know where he lived.
“I’m Carroll,” the voice whispered. “Lewis Carroll.”
“How can I know that for sure?” the March put his glasses on as if they would help him see in the dark.
“You can put the light’s on, March.” The voice said.
“I don’t have lights in here. It’s a hole,” the March said. “Besides, I have a light bulb in my head.”
“Stop that,” the voice kept whispering. It sounded impatient. “I’m Lewis Carroll. Charles Dodgson. I gave you your name: March Hare.”
“Okay?” the March leaned toward the opening of his house, a small window looking outside. In the dark, he could barely see Lewis’ face. “Holy carrots,” the March said. “It’s really you.”
Lewis looked worried, borderline scared. He wore his priest outfit again. “I need your help.”
“My help?” the March said. “No one ever needs me.”
“Listen. You’re wasting my time! I need to be able to trust you, March.”
“Trust?” the March’s ears pricked again. They hurt when he was excited. “You are going to tell me a secret?”
“A big one, March.”
“How big?”
“Big enough that I’m afraid your head is too small for it. I’m afraid you will end up telling someone else.”
“I can’t keep a secret, but I really want to know.”
Lewis seemed disappointed. The March acted like a child most of the time, but he couldn’t help it. He liked being a child, full of hope and imaginary friends.
“I’ll tell you part of it, then,” Lewis said.
“Part of a secret is still a secret.”
“I guess so.”
“Why me, Lewis? I’m the stupidest person in Wonderland.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re kind — and naive.”
“Naive?” the March grabbed for a teacup. “Let’s have some tea then. You seem stressed.”
“There is no time for tea,” Lewis snatched the cup away. Usually, Lewis was never this tense. “Listen to me!”
“Of course, Lewis. Calm down. What do you want to talk to me about?”
“The Six Keys.”
“Six keys?” the March scratched his temples. “Ah, you mean the Six Impossible Things. I’ve never figured that out—“
“The Six Impossible Things is a metaphor I made up for the Six Keys.”
“Oh, impossible keys. I like that.”
“It’s all a metaphor,” Lewis insisted. “They aren’t really six keys.”
“They aren’t?”
“They are, and they aren’t.”
The March got dizzy.
“I know it’s puzzling. The Six Keys are the most important things in the world, March.”
“If you say so, Lewis. But why?”
“They protect a most precious thing.”
“Precious?”
“Precious beyond imagination.”
“Protects it from whom?”
“Black Chess.”
“And you have them?”
“I have them, and I don’t have them.”
“Hmm… this so hard to understand. But also why tell me about the most important thing in the world? I’m just a Hare. I’m useless.”
“You’re not. You’re going to play a huge role in saving the world.”
“The world? You mean Wonderland.”
“No, the world. The whole world with all its hidden dimensions and realms.”
“Oh,” the March scratch his temple. “So they are really keys? I mean like normal.”
Lewis smiled. The March had had a genuine concern. “March,” Lewis said. “This is the trick.”
“What trick?”
“As I said, the Keys are keys, but they’re also not keys.”
Present: The River near the Radcliffe Asylum
We’re in the river, stuck inside a boat, me, Constance, the March Hare, Tom Truckle and the Mushroomers. The sound of bullets is deafening. The shouting voices from the land are creeping me out. Waltraud and Ogier are lining people up, giving them guns or encouraging them to swim over and kill us.
A man, who could easily be some girl or boy’s father, is holding a semi-automatic and is staring at us. His loving eyes are two knobs of dark obsidian anger right now. He prepares to shoot at us.
“This isn’t Inklings against Dark Chess,” I mumble with fear. “This is World vs. Wonderland.”
“Which sounds bonkers already,” Tom Truckle can’t help himself. He shudders behind me. A coward with no ability to defend anyone. “You mad Mushroomers. Get away from me!”
I want to tell him to swallow some of his pills, so he shuts up, or I swear I will drown him in the river. But he has lost them in the escape. It’s Ironic how the Director of Radcliffe Asylum is the maddest among us now.
“Get out of the way, loser,” Constance pushes Tom away and addresses the Mushroomers. “Man up and fight back!”
All we have are a few boats. March and Tom are on mine. March is unconscious. Tom is talking gibberish and not helping.
I am still eyeing the man with the semi-automatic, wondering if he is going to shoot. Waltraud and Ogier seem to be organizing something. A proper way to attack us?
But no, I get it. They can’t swim over and have to wait for us coming to shore.
“I am sure that soon they will be shooting us from above or something,” Constance says. “They want us out of the water.”
“What do you think they have in mind?” I ask her.
“I don’t think. I know,” she points away. “Can’t you see it?”
“What?” I squint.
“Look, Alice. Look.”
Then I see it. “Oh,” I fight the urge to clamp a hand over my mouth. In the distance, troops of soldiers are arriving. “This is war.”
“And I thought we were at a picnic,” Constance makes fun of me. “Lead us, girl. You’re the chosen one.”
Her words cut through me. I am afraid I might not be the chosen one. But hell, I have to be.
“This is like a zombie movie,” another Mushroomer squeaks. “The world wants to wipe us out.”
“I can’t believe it,” Constance mumbles, still pointing at the soldiers. I look again and realize it’s not just troops that are coming for us. I see tanks approach the shore.
“This is going to suck,” I mumble back.
“Didn’t I tell you, you’re not the Real Alice,” Tom can’t stop, “You’re just a mad girl in the asylum. And the Pillar was madder. Now he is dead. We have no one to save us.”
Constance has her hands on her waist. She blows out a long sigh and stretches her neck. Then she pulls a rope from the bottom of the boat and walks over to Tom. In a flash, she binds his hands behind his back.
“If you don’t stop talking, I’ll duct-tape your filthy mouth,” she tells him. Then the tough girl comes back to me and says, “All good, boss.”
The River
Lost in my thoughts, I feel sorry for the Mushroomers. I feel like I have let them down. They must think life was much saner inside the asylum, in the comfort of a cell and guaranteed meals every day. The Mush Room and the pain are paradises compared to being outside. Being mad isn’t that bad. Being hated and humiliated tops the pain a million times.
I’d like to pretend I’m the strongest girl in the world, but I am not. I can save myself. I can save Constance — and the March. How am I supposed to get all those Mushroomers out alive?
“Alice!” Constance shouts at me, waking me up from my haze.
I hear her but am unable to speak. Tears are
about to roll down my eyes. I hold them back. All the enthusiastic words I’ve just told Constance minutes ago mean nothing to me right now.
I know we need to get the Mushroomers to a safe place. I know we need to wake up the March and save his life, then find out whatever secret he wanted to tell us before he passed out. But none of this matters, as I start to feel lost and unable to help anyone, even myself.
“Alice!” Constance’s voice is getting fainter. The noise of the battle is just a hiss in the background. A monotonous silence clogs my ears. I am all in my head now.
All I am thinking about is that maybe I am just mad. Perhaps none of this is really happening. Maybe I am in a Mush Room somewhere, shocked to death, in hopes for a cure. It could all be a nightmare in the head of a girl struggling with facing everyday’s life, like everyone else.
What the hell is wrong with me? Even if I am mad, why do I feel this way?
My gaze diverts toward the asylum. Suddenly, I know what’s troubling me. It’s not that I am a coward or lazy or unable to stand for myself and my friends. I’ve done it a hundred times before. This time it’s different.
My eyes are still fixated on the place that has just burned down with Jack and the Pillar inside.
A bitter laugh tickles my lips. It reminds me that maybe Jack is all in my imagination as well.
Please let it all be a crazy girl’s dream.
“Alice!” Constance’s voice slowly surfaces back. “Alice!”
It’s not a dream. It just isn’t. And it sucks. I’ll have to wake up and turn around and face the day. I’ll have to pretend that I know what I am doing and be there for everyone counting on me.
Before I do, the image of the burning asylum behind us reminds me of the Pillar. Damn you, strange and wicked man. If my life isn’t a dream, then who are you?
And Jack, whether you’re a figment of my imagination or not, I know I love you. I don’t have time to ask what you were doing inside, or why you pretended you were the Dude. I just don’t have time for the two most important men in my world, because now they are gone.
I take a deep breath, my eyes open wide. The world is in chaos. My friends need my help, and I have to come up with a solution. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I am anything useful without the Pillar. He has always been there for me, with all his devious plans and motives. I, Alice Wonder, now wonder if I can do it alone.
The man with the semi-automatic shoots. I pull Constance and duck with her, face planted to the bottom of the boat. She stares at me in shock.
“You saved my life,” she says.
“I know,” I say.
White Hearts Hospital, London
“Lewis! Behind you!” Fabiola was shouting as she fought the Reds.
Lewis Carroll had morphed into a child again. One who’d been playing a video game of killing Reds who were trying to stop him and Fabiola from reaching out and helping the Inklings.
“One down!” the rabbit in Lewis’ pocket stuck its head out, cheering for its master.
“Two down!” Fabiola killed another Red, back to back with Lewis.
“Long time,” Lewis grinned, battling along as they descended the hospital stairs.
“I thought I’d never be myself again,” Fabiola commented, choking another Red.
“I see you have healed,” Lewis said. The closer they came to the door at the bottom of the stairs, the more the noise outside increased. The world was in a mad state of war.
“Seeing you did the trick for me,” she said. “Never give up on us, Lewis.”
He said nothing, fighting a little, tiny, teeny tear in his eyes.
“Never give up on the most precious thing,” Fabiola said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. They had only a couple of Reds to fight to kick the doors open and face the world.
“What’s that most precious thing everyone is talking about?” the rabbit peeked its white head out, chewing on a carrot, “Really? What is it?”
Fabiola and Lewis exchanged a brief look. It was as if they held to certain secrets between them. The rabbit couldn’t read between those lines.
“It’s what this war is all about,” Fabiola said, stabbing a Red to his death.
Lewis killed the other two; then he peeked out through the broken glass in the door leading outside.
“How bad is it?” Fabiola asked.
“It’s mad.”
“That’s sad!” the rabbit said, trying to rhyme up. “Mad, sad, and bad!”
“So it’s happening,” Fabiola said.
“The Wonderland War,” Lewis nodded absently. “I never thought I’d live to see this day.”
“How can you say that?” Fabiola asked. “This what you’ve been waiting for.”
“Sometimes the things you wait for, feel so different from what you expected them to be.”
“Let me see,” she shared the view outside. “It’s a mess.”
“People don’t even know what they are fighting for.”
“They think they are fighting terrorism.”
“In the form of a group called the Inklings.”
“A mad group, I beg your pardon,” Fabiola said. “The sane humans think they are fighting madness.”
“They are being used.”
“Black Chess played it well,” Lewis said. “The Vatican Pope is a slick addition to their manipulation.”
“So what’s our next move?”
“We have to help Alice and her friends by the river,” Lewis said.
“Are we going to tell them everything?”
“Too soon to think about that. Let’s gather as the Inklings once again. We’ll take it from there. Saving Alice and her friends is a priority.”
“Let’s do that,” Fabiola reached for the handle, but Lewis stopped her.
“You know the Pillar is dead, right?” he asked.
She felt a lump in her throat. “So?”
“Are you okay with that?”
“Of course I’m okay. I only regret not killing him myself.”
“Why haven’t you then?” Lewis was curious. “All those chances you had, you could just have stopped him.”
“You know he has fourteen lives,” she said.
“That’s not it. You could have killed him 14 times. You’ve been around him so long — not to mention that maybe he isn’t dead yet, having so many lives.”
“I just couldn’t, Lewis. Let’s not talk about it,” Fabiola looked away.
The rabbit in Lewis’ jacket got ever curiouser and curiouser.
“I need to know, Fabiola,” Lewis said. “I don’t want surprises. It’s a sensitive time. Why did you not kill him?”
Tears rolled down Fabiola’s cheeks.
“Good,” Lewis said.
“Don’t be cruel to me, Lewis. You know what he did.”
“I’m not cruel. I need to know you didn’t switch sides. That you don’t have personal plans that will conflict with the Wonderland War.”
Fabiola dried her tears and straightened up. “I didn’t kill him because…”
“Because?”
“Alice loved him. It pained me not to kill him every second I saw his ugly face. I wouldn’t mind stabbing him a million times, not just fourteen. But somehow he touched Alice in ways I’ve never seen before. And he knew it. He used it, all the time. Or he wouldn’t have introduced her to me in the Vatican in the first place. He knew my heart would weaken, seeing her.”
“But you were not sure it was her at first.”
“I wasn’t, Lewis, but I hoped. Who wouldn’t hope that the Real Alice is back? I pushed her. I hated her. I even wanted to kill her. With all the conflicting feelings inside, I did my best in case there was a tiny hope that it’s her. In case we can save the most precious thing.”
Lewis nodded. He knew how hard it was for her. Oh, God, how she had suffered in Wonderland. Damn you, Pillar, Lewis thought. He pushed the door open, ready to fight thousands of people who wanted him and Fabiola dead.
Past: The Poison Ga
rden, Alnwick, Northumberland, England
Reluctantly, Lewis entered the Poison Garden. Though it was a real place in the real world, it had a portal leading to Wonderland. In fact, the first breach from Wonderland to the real world had started here.
Lewis rubbed his eyes against the bluish darkness veiling the garden. It wasn’t night time, but the garden had always been dim and gloomy, filled with smoke spiraling like ghosts through the enormous trees. In truth, these weren’t trees. They were large mushrooms.
Looking up, he could see the sun at noon, so far away, trying its best to slither through the density of mushrooms and hookah smoke. The Poison Garden had always hosted the worst of Wonderland’s creatures. The Cheshire had been a recent addition.
But the Cheshire didn’t own this place, nor had he known of its secrets or inception. This place had been owned by one man only. One of the scariest in Wonderland. Not Mr. Jay, but the second best.
Carter Chrysalis Cocoon Pillar.
He liked to call it Mushroomland, which he later re-created all over the real world.
Carter Pillar, not only was he a devious existence of crap, but he made money from drugs. Mushrooms, to be precise.
He had sold it to the kids. He had watched his client suffer and die. And many times he had laughed at them, smoking his hookah. Whether he’d been an addict himself or not remains a mystery.
“Pillar,” Lewis whispered.
Not only was he scared and worried, but Lewis had been in pain for days now. This was earlier in the day before he reached out to the March to trust him with his secret about the Six Keys. Right now, he still had the secret in his head, and soon Carolus would rise and pull it out of his memories. Lewis needed to forget, and have enough time to pass it to the March.
It was a stupid plan. Unspecific and disjointed. It was executed on a whim. The pain and migraines in Lewis’ head prevented him from thinking correctly. All that occupied his mind was the possibility of Carolus rising and knowing about the Six Keys.
He had to pass them to the March and had to forget. To do it, he needed to eat a specific pant. No one sold such a plant but the devious Pillar.
