Alice in Wonderland- Through the Looking Glass

by Kari Sutherland

  All at once, everything went back to normal. But Time knew the trouble wasn’t over. The Grand Clock itself must be rusting. While Wilkins and the Seconds might have bought Time some more of himself, they couldn’t save him completely. As Alice watched, he pulled open his vest and stared in alarm at the spreading rust on his heart clock.

  “I need that Chronosphere—now!” Time cried. His voice was thin and shaky as he advanced on Alice.

  “Let me go,” Alice pleaded. She finally had the pieces she needed to save her friend’s family. “The Hightopps! I know where they are. I’m going to rescue the Hightopps!”

  “You’ll rescue no one,” Time wheezed. “There is nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”

  Backing away, Alice bumped into a cabinet and slid sideways, glancing behind her as she went. There, on the wall above a fireplace, hung a large antique mirror. The glass seemed opaque, its center turning into wisps of mist.

  “My dear.” Time chuckled as Alice clambered up onto the mantelpiece. “You cannot escape Time.”

  “Actually,” Alice said as Time reached for the Chronosphere, “I can.” Confidently, she stepped backward into the mirror.

  Time lunged forward, but his fingers grasped nothing but air as Alice disappeared into the mist. Feeling a jolt, Alice could see the outline of the Ascots’ parlor room. Then bam. She thumped her head against something terribly hard. I don’t seem to be doing a good job preventing head trauma this evening, Alice thought before everything went black.

  A BRIGHT LIGHT woke Alice. She cracked her eyes open, raising her hand to shield them. Above her loomed a plain white ceiling she’d never seen before. Feeling a bit dizzy, she sat up slowly.

  She was lying in a metal-framed bed. The room was shaped in a peculiar circle and filled with other beds, all of them empty. A box with wires coming out of it sat next to a hulking bathtub, and across the room, a man in a white doctor’s coat stood in front of a washbasin mirror, smoothing his hair.

  Fabric rustled and Alice turned to see her mother in a chair by her side.

  A creeping suspicion snuck into Alice’s mind. Where had her mother brought her? This place was strange and oddly menacing. Surely she hadn’t locked her up in an asylum…had she?

  Drifting up to the sides of her head, Alice’s fingers patted half frantically at the strands of her hair. They were shorter than they should have been—much shorter. Someone had cut her hair while she’d slept.

  “Where am I?” Alice asked. “How long have I been here?”

  “Not long,” her mother said reassuringly. “You were in an upstairs room at the Ascots. Perhaps you fainted?”

  “No,” Alice said. She hadn’t fainted; she was sure of that. She was not the fainting sort.

  Helen darted a glance at the doctor, who was approaching, then lowered her voice. “They say you were trying to get under the furniture. Talking about the atmosphere?” Her eyes looked worried.

  “The Chronosphere,” the doctor clarified, peering at his notes.

  “The Chronosphere!” Alice began patting her clothes. She was wearing a rough beige tunic and a pair of thin pants made from the same material. The sphere was gone. “I have to get it back and save the Hightopps before the end of Time!”

  “Let’s see,” the doctor said, marking things down on his clipboard. “Excitable, emotional, prone to fantasy—a textbook case of female hysteria.”

  Alice glared at him, but Helen ignored the doctor and brought her face close to Alice’s. Brushing her hand over Alice’s cheek, she spoke soothingly. “Alice, please,” she said. “You’ve had a long voyage and you’re exhausted. We can all agree to that.”

  Just beyond her mother’s head, Alice spotted a table laid out with medical tools. A gigantic syringe filled with golden liquid gleamed ominously at her. Throwing back the sheets, Alice started to leap from the bed. Her mother backed away hurriedly, but the doctor’s arm snapped out like a bar across Alice’s chest. His hands clamped on her shoulders and he pushed her back down to the mattress.

  Watching her daughter squirm under the doctor’s weight, Helen shifted uncomfortably. “Dr. Bennet, is it necessary to—” Helen began timidly.

  “Excuse us, Mrs. Kingsleigh,” Dr. Bennet interrupted. “What Alice needs right now is a long, dreamless sleep.” He nodded to two orderlies who had just entered.

  Furious, Alice lashed out with her legs, kicking anything she could reach.

  “Now, now, Alice,” Dr. Bennet said. “You mustn’t be so headstrong.”

  Helen started slightly; she’d often said those very words, but hearing someone else utter them cast everything in a new light.

  The orderlies reached Helen’s side, and their hands gently guided her toward the door. She obeyed reluctantly, staring back over her shoulder at her struggling daughter as though she wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing.

  As Dr. Bennet lifted his eyes to watch them leave, Alice’s hand snaked out to the side, then quickly back. The door swung shut behind her mother, and Dr. Bennet turned toward his tools.

  “That’s odd,” he muttered. “Where did I put the nee—”

  Springing up, Alice plunged the needle into the doctor’s back. She injected the golden liquid, then leapt out of the way as he slumped toward the floor. Whatever it was, it was fast-acting and powerful.

  “Oi!” An orderly shouted as he came back into the room. He and his partner raced toward her.

  Alice crouched and snatched the key ring from Dr. Bennet’s side. Her eyes landed on her father’s pocket watch, which the doctor must have confiscated, among the tools. Grabbing that, too, Alice vaulted over the next bed as the orderlies pounded near. She shoved through the door and out into the main hallway.

  Rushing out after her, the men shouted to their colleagues. More orderlies poured into the hallway from the other direction and Alice skidded to a stop, the soles of her shoes sliding on the wooden floorboards. She pivoted sharply and barreled up a stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. At the top, she heard music coming from behind a set of double doors.

  As she weighed her options, Alice glanced down the stairwell. The orderlies were panting as they jogged toward her. Quickly, she ducked through the doors and found herself surrounded by a soothing harmony.

  The room was large and windowless. Fifty or so patients sat on stiff wooden chairs, facing the front, where a string quartet played for them. Slouched against the wall, a bored orderly had his back to her.

  Alice slid into a row, excusing herself to the people she passed. They gazed blankly up at her as she made her way to an empty seat. Just as the doors swung inward and a very out-of-breath group of orderlies tramped in, Alice slipped onto the chair. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice watched as they split up and began searching the crowd.

  “Alice?” a soft voice asked.

  The song came to an end and Alice recognized her own aunt sitting in front of her. What was she doing there?

  “Aunt Imogene!” Alice said in surprise.

  Her aunt twisted in her seat, her kind face full of hope. “Have you seen my fiancé?”

  Alice shook her head sadly. Poor Aunt Imogene. Alice couldn’t believe her relatives had locked up her aunt just because she had an imaginary romance. It was perfectly harmless! Evidently her family couldn’t cope with any women who had imagination.

  The musicians’ bows sliced across their instruments as the next song started. With a covert sideways glance, Alice noticed an orderly spot her and start gesturing at his partner. Together, they waded through the patients toward her.

  “He’s a prince, you know,” Aunt Imogene continued blissfully. “He’s coming to get me. All I need to do is wait.”

  Alice leaned forward and pressed the set of keys into her aunt’s hands, gazing into her eyes intently.

  “Don’t wait any longer, Aunt Imogene,” she whispered. As she knew all too well, you had to make the most of your time. Alice sprang to her feet and darted down the row away from the orderlies.<
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  With a shout, they surged forward, but Alice was already out of the room through another door and climbing up a narrow staircase.

  At the top, Alice emerged on the asylum’s roof. The London sky was pink and purple, the sun just dipping below the horizon. A Union Jack flapped in the evening wind, and the air reeked of factory smoke. Wasting no time, she picked her way around the metal pipes to the edge of the roof and leaned over.

  Dangling toward a broad courtyard below, a metal ladder was attached to the bricks. But there would be no escape that way; several orderlies were already climbing it.

  One of them spotted her and began pulling himself up faster, shouting at the others to hurry. Alice backed away and scanned the roof again. There had to be another way out.

  Just then, the door she’d come through was flung open and the other set of orderlies tumbled onto the rooftop. Alice darted toward the flagpole, a crazy plan in her head.

  She grabbed the rope and wrapped one end around her waist, her fingers moving rapidly.

  “If three years at sea taught me anything,” she muttered to herself, securing the other end to the base of the flagpole, “it was how to tie a bloody good knot!”

  Alice spared a glance at the advancing orderlies as she gathered up the slack in the rope; then she spun and leapt off the roof.

  For a second, she hung in midair, the world almost—but not quite—frozen in time. Then, twisting to face the building, she braced herself for impact.

  Her feet slammed against the bricks and she pushed off again, letting out more slack in the rope. Below her, an empty carriage waited outside the asylum. With a few more leaps, Alice was within range. Jumping down into the open carriage, she landed with a thud on the cloth seat.

  The horses whinnied in alarm and jolted forward. Alice had to move fast to scramble up into the driver’s seat, untying the rope from her waist as she went.

  “Oi!” The carriage driver raced out from the building, waving frantically at her. “You can’t take that!”

  As she gathered up the reins, Alice turned to wave at him apologetically. “Sorry. Needs must,” she called. “I plead insanity!”

  Feeling wild and free, she galloped the horses through the institution’s gate and into the night. Alice didn’t recognize any of the streets around the asylum, but she heard Big Ben tolling in the distance and used the bell’s chime to veer north. Soon she came to more familiar neighborhoods, but instead of heading for home (there was no point in that; her mother would just send her back to the asylum, and she had a mission to complete), Alice steered the horses toward the countryside.

  There was hardly anyone else on the roads, and Alice passed unnoticed through the moonlit landscape. The wind ruffled what was left of her hair as she finally pulled the carriage to a stop outside the drive to the Ascots’ mansion. After climbing down, she clucked to the horses, sending them back toward the center of London. They’d find their way home.

  Silently, Alice made her way along the path. No movement came from within the Ascot mansion, everyone inside surely fast asleep at that hour. She circled the building until she found a window that had been left ajar.

  With a strong push, she hefted the pane higher, and she wriggled her way up and through, landing in a disheveled heap on a couch just under the window. Sitting up, she recognized the library. Books were stacked on top of every available surface—including assorted tables and cabinets—and large family portraits hung on the walls. Hamish gazed down disapprovingly at her from one, the artist having perfectly captured his stiff and superior posture. Ignoring him, Alice strode to the oak door and tugged.

  It didn’t budge.

  She tried again, throwing her weight backward and gripping the knob with both hands.

  Nothing.

  Creak. Alice froze at a noise behind her. As she turned slowly, her heart sank.

  Across the room, James Harcourt sat at a desk, pen in hand. There were books piled all around him, as though he had built himself a mini fort. His eyebrows were raised in surprise as he studied her. He slowly got to his feet and edged past a piano toward her.

  Alice backed away. “Please,” she whispered desperately.

  Stopping in front of the door, James lightly pushed against it. The door inched open as he stepped back, smiling.

  “It’s easier if you push,” he said.

  “Thank you!” Alice’s shoulders relaxed.

  “They’re going to ask your mother to sign over the ship. Seeing’s you’re so unwell,” James added as Alice moved toward the door.

  “Buy me some time?” she asked.

  He nodded and Alice shot him a smile before ducking out the door and heading upstairs.

  In the dusty parlor, Alice dropped to the floor, searching frantically along the Persian rug and under the chairs. Her heart raced. Where is it?

  Then something twinkled under the sideboard. There!

  Alice lunged toward it. Wrapping her fingers around the Chronosphere, she brought it to her chest with relief. As she stood, the looking glass shifted, the silver mist swirling once again within the frame.

  Newly determined, Alice climbed up onto the mantelpiece, a fierce look in her eyes. With the Chronosphere in one hand and her father’s pocket watch in the other, she stepped through the looking glass one more time.

  I RACEBETH PACED along the balcony of her castle deep in the Outlands. It was nowhere near as comfortable as her previous palace, and the walls smelled of mildew—an unfortunate side effect of being banished to the Outlands and having only vegetable and plant matter as building materials. Iracebeth sniffed unhappily, lifting her binoculars to her eyes and scanning the horizon.

  There was nothing but rocks and grasslands for miles. Cursing her sister for exiling her to this awful place, Iracebeth whirled and stalked inside, the skirt of her dress swishing through the air.

  Maybe Time had some news that would cheer her up. Surely by now he’d tracked down Alice and retrieved the Chronosphere. She paused in a hallway to peer into a dark void.

  “Tick-tock?” she called. “Tick-tock!” There was no answer. “Where is that old fool?” she muttered as she continued on to her private chamber.

  The walls and ceiling, like everything else in her castle, were formed from bloodred trees and vines. The bed was draped in red blankets, and a threadbare canopy drooped over the top of it. All around the room, the vegetables that had refused to bow to her will hung from spikes or were stretched out on racks. Jars of mushrooms, mandrake, and other useful sources of poison cluttered her bookshelf, and a desk sat to one side, covered with her sketches of the Chronosphere and how to pilot it. Too bad Alice had beaten her to it.

  Turning, Iracebeth arched an eyebrow at the old childhood ant farm she’d placed on a side table. An elaborate network of tunnels ran through the sand, and the creatures inside shuffled around busily.

  “What do you think, my pets?” she asked, her voice oily.

  She stepped over and with two fingers lifted a dome covering a nearby plate. On top of it rested a tiny white cake.

  “Look,” Iracebeth said, taunting them. “How close you are to your salvation! I’m talking to you.” She bent down and tapped on the glass, jostling the sand.

  When the tiresome beasts didn’t move fast enough, Iracebeth picked up the whole ant farm and shook it. “Earthquake! Ha-ha!” She laughed shrilly.

  From far away, she heard a screeching sound. Curious, Iracebeth set down the ant farm, oblivious to the now frantic movements of its occupants. The Red Queen sauntered to the window and pulled back the curtain.

  Up in the sky, a wooden and metal machine was squeaking toward her castle. As it neared, she recognized Time pumping hard at several levers. What was he doing?

  The machine wobbled in the air, then dropped toward the very window where she stood.

  Iracebeth leapt back as Time’s contraption careened through the window.

  Bang! The wooden platform smashed into the floor. A metal cog broke off and rol
led away, bumping into a root near the wall. Time lay panting amid the rubble of his machine.

  Picking her way over to him, Iracebeth frowned.

  “Where the devil have you been?” she snapped. “Where is Alice? Where’s my Chronosphere?”

  “She’s gone.” Time gasped for breath, each word a struggle. “She took it!”

  “What?” Iracebeth exploded. “You let her get away?” She needed that Chronosphere! It was the key to her revenge on Mirana.

  Time reached out and used part of his ruined Tempus Fugit to climb to his feet.

  “You don’t understand,” he said. He peeled back his vest and pointed anxiously at his heart clock. It was ticking slowly and softly, its face almost entirely obscured by rust.

  “I must find her! Where is she?” Time asked.

  “How should I know where she is?” Iracebeth said irritably. He was the one who’d lost her.

  “She’s your enemy! She—” Time broke off. “Hightopps!” he cried. “She kept talking about Hightopps! She says she knows where they are. She said she was going to rescue them. Do you know what that means?”

  As Time looked at her with desperate hope, Iracebeth pursed her lips and turned to consider the room, her eyes resting on the ant farm. Several new tunnels had already been constructed. She smiled grimly, a plan clicking into place in her clever, oversized brain.

  “I know exactly what it means,” she said. She raised her voice. “Guards!”

  Two giant soldiers, who were actually animated vegetables—the best Iracebeth could come up with, given her circumstances—lumbered into the room. Their pointed noses drooped and tufts of withered greens sprouted up from their heads through their helmets.

  “Put him in the dungeon!” the Red Queen commanded, pointing imperiously at Time.

  “What?” Time’s jaw dropped. “Wait! My dearest, you can’t! It will not work, it is impossible to stop Time!”

  The soldiers grabbed his arms and wrestled him toward the door. Time’s eyes rounded in surprise and he collapsed between them.

  “Oh, it is possible. I see,” he observed.