The White King’s pavilion is not too far, but I allow my card soldier his request. Other soldiers and pikemen form lines on either side of the route, pikes raised in the air so that their tips touch. The Diamonds song knits into the chilly, misty air.
I hold my head high.
“Our queen is here to save us from Hearts!”
“Funny,” Mary murmurs from just behind me. “I don’t think they’re talking about the White Queen, do you?”
Before we enter the pavilion, I beat my fist over my chest. The soldiers surrounding us follow, the sound deafening.
Inside the tent, Jack whistles. “Hot damn. You’re like Beyoncé around here.”
Marianne says, “Oh, Jack,” as if silly creature were missing. “There is no one like Beyoncé but Beyoncé.” She affectionately pats his arm.
Mary stares at her, hard, as if she were a changeling we picked up alongside the road.
One of Marianne’s eyebrows twitches high as a smirk emerges.
Ferz Epona has my name announced. I step through the flaps leading to the main room of the pavilion to find the White King of Wonderland waiting before a large table filled with scrolls, maps, and figurines. The Cheshire-Cat perches at the edge of the largest exposed map, batting a small chess figure, as advisors crowd around him.
The White King’s eyelashes meet his cheek: a fleeting check of wakefulness. A sigh, quiet and meant only for my ears, curls forth. He strides across the room, hands out. “My lady, you are a most welcome sight.”
He is, too, although the display of bruises marring his face leaves me desirous of strong words with the camp’s physicians.
For a brief twinkling of time and space, I allow myself to soak in the familiar warmth of his skin against mine.
The familiarity of it all is too raw, though, even now, even a year and forever later. My palm grows cold as proper distance, dictated by decorum, etiquette, and agreed-upon decisions, stretches between us. “I thank you for receiving us at such little notice.” I turn my attention to the handful of recognizable faces waiting behind the White King, ones that, both not too long ago and a lifetime ago, I knew as well as those standing behind me.
The White Nightrider, a distinguished Unicorn, bows. “Wonderland welcomes home one of its brightest and most formidable champions.”
The company surrounding him follows suit. My heart swells.
The Cheshire-Cat leaps from the table and ambles to where the White King and I are. After he scratches at the White King’s legs, Jace picks him up. “Are you sure this is where you want to be, Your Majesty?” the White Grand Advisor asks. “I have a very unsettling feeling about the next few days.”
I smile. “I bring you a gift to play with.”
The Five of Diamonds makes his entrance, dragging our prisoner behind him. The assembled crowd gasps; some clap.
The Cheshire-Cat’s grin is most feral. “You do remember what I like best.” He springs from the White King’s arms and sprints over to the youth. The haze of the attack wearing off, our would-be assailant struggles against his wrist cuffs, garbling assumed insults and/or threats from beneath his gag. The Cat expands to the size of a pony as he loops the youth, sniffing and hissing the whole way.
The Nightrider bellows for guards. The White King says, as the Cat slashes at the youth with unnaturally sharp claws, “I am unsurprised that it takes the Queen of Diamonds and the Collectors’ Society to bring in the first live capture.” His grim smile eases as he takes in my colleagues. “My apologies for neglecting you too long. You are all most welcome, even if under such unsavory circumstances.”
The Cheshire-Cat announces, “This creature is no Wonderlander. It smells entirely too wrong.”
Jack eases his backpack off. “We could ‘ave told you that, mate.”
Mary tells the White King, “All I can say is that there better not be any more SleepMist attacks.”
His bow is neat and smooth. “We shall do our best to accommodate.”
“Although,” she muses, “I will not rule out other poisonous exposures, providing antidotes are readily available. Feel free to share any and all.”
Guards arrive, only to remove the Chosen youth to a more secure location. “It’s best to let it stew a bit,” the Cheshire-Cat announces after the guards depart. “Let it get fat and juicy with worry. Then I will go in and milk all its wicked little secrets.”
Jack leans closer to Mary. “If that cat starts talking about baskets and lotion, I’m out of here.”
“We,” the Librarian announces to the Cheshire-Cat. “We shall question the prisoner.”
The pupils in the Cheshire-Cat’s large yellow eyes expand into cavernous slits. “I do not always play nice.”
Not even a beat passes before the Librarian responds. “Neither do I.”
Ferz Epona introduces the Society agents to the Wonderlanders present. As there is no time to waste, we immediately get to work. A secondary table is brought for Marianne to set up her technical equipment upon. Whilst Wonderland has no satellites or Internet, our specialist assures us there are many other tools we may utilize to help us with our quarry. The Wonderlanders are fascinated with her laptops and battery-powered generators she guarantees are strong enough to last for a fortnight. All of the Wonderlandian maps are scanned into her databases. “As long as there are those of you willing to supply details of the area and the Queen of Hearts’ terrains,” Marianne tells to the small crowd gathered ‘round, “I shall be able to run search programs.”
“We brought a drone,” Jack adds. “It’s just a little thing, but it might help us track this nasty queen down.”
The Nightrider whinnies quietly. “A drone?”
“It’s a little robot that flies, but we control it with a remote control,” Jack explains. “It spies on things for us.”
Ferz Eponi startles. “Your robots are alive?”
The White King pulls me aside as Marianne clarifies a drone’s function. “Where is your prince? The doctor? Their absence is worrisome.”
The cut his innocent query drags across my heart is neat and clean and stings as if astringent were poured within. And although I exposed the depths of my fears and shames with him the day before, I choose now to brush off his concern as unnecessary, even though I nearly drown in my own. “They were unavoidably detained, but are expected to rendezvous with us within several days.”
“I will inform those on watch to be on the outlook.” He cracks the knuckles of both hands in succession. “A temporary cease-fire will enact in three days’ time when we meet with the other Courts, save Hearts.”
Although I had asked him to call such a meeting, part of me was ready to accept refusals from three of the other Courts. “What of the King of Hearts?”
Jace shifts, the leather of his heavy belt creaking. “Intelligence has him at odds with his counterpart, but one never knows.” He scrubs a weary hand across his stubbled jaw. “He has agreed to come.”
Before us, the Librarian, Nightrider, and Cheshire-Cat pour over maps whilst Mary and Jack interview Jace’s advisors for Marianne’s search programs. “Any word on Hearts?”
“I have three teams searching, and spies in all Courts on notice, but so far, it is like she has disappeared from Wonderland.”
My grunt is indeed unladylike. While it is quite possible the villainess is traipsing about Timeliness, instinct insists she is here. The Chosen bear her insignia. That cannot be by happenstance. “And the White Rabbit?”
Jace folds his arms across his chest. “Interestingly enough, he was spotted at Cor Castle just last night.”
“Is he still at the Heart seat?”
“A report via jubjub is expected by nightfall.”
If anyone were to know the Queen of Hearts’ secrets, it would be the White Rabbit.
Attacking or imprisoning fellow Courts’ Grand Advisors is unlawful. Hearts broke this long-held agreement by capturing and executing the Caterpillar. She also kidnapped and tortured the Cheshire-Cat, alt
hough, thankfully, he was liberated. How she has failed to pay for those grave sins against the Diamonds and White Courts is unforgiveable.
While I would not stoop so low as execution or torture, I have a right to retribution. But it is more than that. Hearts, as villainous as she is, is a link to the Piper.
The Hearts Court is nearly a day-and-a half- worth of uninterrupted travel from the White King’s encampment. If I were to leave now. . .
“I will go with you.”
I tilt my head toward Jace, my lips curling in amusement.
“That is what you were plotting, correct?”
“Am I so predictable?”
A quiet chuckle falls into the space between us. “I simply have the honor of knowing you for many years.”
“It would be best if you stay here and oversee the drone searches.”
He gazes at the cluster of Society agents and Wonderlandian advisors working together. “Matters are well in hand.” And then, hushed, “She abducted my Grand Advisor, too. He may still live, but I also have bones to pick.”
“Once word gets out, the other Courts will not look kindly upon us. I am fine with such censure, being exiled already, but you—”
“As if I bloody care.”
I sigh and chuckle all at once. “Well then. Let us see what Mary has brought in her bag of tricks that will help loosen the Rabbit’s tongue.”
The acrid sting of smoking torches hazes around the red-sandstone and black-marble monstrosity looming at the base of the Venae Cavae Mountains. Neither the king nor queen’s banner flies above the tallest turret, but as a good number of card soldiers and pikemen line the battlements, chances of the White Rabbit’s presence remain high.
True to Jace’s recent report, the road leading to Cor Castle no longer bears severed heads on spikes. Long a favorite punishment and deterrent of the Queen of Hearts, Jace’s army struck the carved posts down whilst liberating the Cheshire-Cat. I hold no illusions about the dungeons’ purification, though—queen in residence or no, they are undoubtedly filled to the brim with prisoners both political and indigenous.
The crunch of pebbles upon the cobblestone road alert Jace and me to pair of patrolling card soldiers. For the last half hour, we have lain in ambush, waiting for just such an opportunity. We chose a spot around the first bend leading to the castle, just out of sight of the main guards—and we are not the only ones taking advantage of such circumstances, for our prey removes their helmets and let them drop to the ground once they are no longer in view. The taller of the card soldiers tugs out a flask and savors a long drag.
The other holds out a hand. “It’s cold as a witch’s tit tonight, it is.”
The first belches, wiping his mouth with the back of a gloved hand. “Or Her Majesty’s.”
The two chortle so loudly they nearly weep. In their distraction, Jace and I creep from beyond the shaped rosebushes, the butts of our blades at the ready. Just as the second soldier drinks from the flask, we simultaneously bash the hilts against the backs of their heads. As the card soldiers crumple to the ground, Jace says, “They could have at least put up a fight.”
I hide my smile as I drag the smaller soldier back toward the rosebushes. “Alas, there is no time for a proper fight tonight. It seems a shame it had to be these two, though, doesn’t it?”
After all, like us, they apparently bear no love for Hearts.
At first, Jace makes to follow me, but he freezes as reality crashes through the moment. He drags the taller soldier toward the rosebushes on the other side of the road.
I quickly strip the hapless patrolman of his clothes in order to wear them myself. I strap my weapons beneath the large tunic, alongside a small satchel filled with Mary’s drugs. I tie the man up, spraying him liberally with SleepMist.
Jace and I slip the helmets on, claim the card soldiers’ weapons, and turn back toward the castle.
“Six of Clubs! Two of Spades!” A brawny Gryphon trundles out of the shadowy front gates. “Your check-in was ten minutes ago. If I find out you have been drinking again. . .” He stomps closer, feathers ruffling beneath his armor. Both Jace and I snap to attention, keenly aware of our assumed rolls. My pulse quickens; my hand itches to ready my blade.
The Gryphon crowds our space, his beak clattering as he chirps softly. Although I know the helmets offer a modicum of anonymity, there is always the chance this soldier could suss us out.
We simply do not have time for such a delay.
“Hmm.” The Gryphon’s dark eyes narrow. “You don’t reek of juice.” He jerks back, clearly irritated. “Miracles never cease. You may resume your patrol.”
“Permission to speak privately, sir.”
I am impressed at Jace’s spot-on impression of the taller card soldier’s intonation.
The Gryphon’s head bobs as he chatters some more, his attention riveted on the White King. But then he sighs heavily. “You have three minutes.”
The Gryphon leads us into a small office just off of Cor’s main entrance. Once I close the door behind us, Jace whips his blade out and slams its butt against the Gryphon’s temple. I ready another dose of SleepMist.
The castle is sleepy, with nary a servant to be seen. Much of the furniture is draped with cloth, indicating no one has been in residence for some time. Still, Jace and I unobtrusively make our way down a series of hallways we know will lead to the White Rabbit’s offices.
While certainly never a frequent guest, considering the shared animosity between Queen of Hearts and myself, I have visited Cor Castle a number of times during my tenure in Wonderland. Annual balls in each Court are tradition, or at least were, prior to wartime. Spies are tradition, too, as are their reports familiarizing monarchs with their rivals’ home bases.
The White Rabbit is a contradiction amongst the Wonderlandian Grand Advisors. Unlike the others, he spends half of his day calm and level-headed, even fearful, whilst the rest utterly deranged. There is no set schedule for such behavior, no identifiable patterns or triggers to rely upon. It is not a solid twelve hours of sanity verses madness, either—both flow in and out of one another like two rivers repeatedly meeting on their way to the ocean.
As we have no idea which Rabbit we shall encounter tonight, it is fortunate Mary brought with her a number of sedatives.
Light spills from an open doorway at the end of the hallway. The White Rabbit employs an entourage of handlers whose sole purpose is to rein in his erratic behavior, meaning they are trained well and are highly effectively. Whilst Grand Advisors, as a whole, are not combat ready, the Rabbit is vicious in his deranged state, his teeth and claws just as effective as any weapon.
It is little wonder that Hearts adores him so.
We linger outside the door, listening for several minutes. I am relieved to overhear the White Rabbit’s familiar whiny brogue as he discusses battle plans for several Hearts’ regiments with at least two other persons.
I hold up a hand and count down our surprise arrival. I can practically taste Jace’s anticipation as he quietly shifts next to me. For so many years, we fought side by side. And here we are again, together, just like old times.
Only there will be no reveling in our victory whilst making love afterward.
We enter the room as nothing more than card soldiers. The White Rabbit is seated at a large desk, scratching a quill across a piece of parchment; a man and woman stand at attention before him. Stationed across the room are two others in a similar stance.
The White Rabbit glances up from his work. His whiskers tug down as he frowns, his pink nose twitching. “Yes?”
Jace taps two fingers upon my back—once, twice. I nod, even as the White Rabbit asks, “Do you have a message or not? We’re rather busy, I’m afraid.”
Simultaneously, Jace and I pull out the weapons strapped beneath our stolen Hearts tunics. He lunges for the guards stationed near the fireplace, I attack those closest to the White Rabbit. Hearts’ Grand Advisor leaps from his chair, shouting for additional guard
s, just as I kick out at the man. The solider sprawls across the desk, scattering the Rabbit’s papers and spilling his inkpot.
The woman snarls, leaping onto my back. Much heavier than expected, as she is fit, I stagger beneath her girth. Is she woman or stone? We crash into the man, still struggling to climb off the Rabbit’s desk. He clamps his legs around me, and I become the filling of a Hearts sandwich. The woman claws away at me as the man fumbles for his sword.
The Rabbit screams, “Kill him! Kill the traitor!”
Breath is becoming a luxury. Disagreeable as it is, I plunge my dagger in between the man’s legs, right into the soft organs that make or break a man’s ability to continue in a fight. He shrieks as warm blood seeps through my gloves; better yet, he immediately releases me in order to attend what is left of his precious manly jewels. I rear back as hard as I can, toppling my barnacle and me onto the ground. Whilst I am undoubtedly lighter than her (anyone but a colossus must be!), being on top, I have my advantages. Still wearing my helmet, I slam my head into hers several times until her grip slackens. I roll off just enough to snatch a fallen book to use to finally knock her senseless.
Jace calls, “He’s escaping!”
I spring to my feet and dart out the door. The Rabbit is still in the corridor, shouting up a storm. He is not yet too far away. I dig out a special dart Mary supplied me and send it soaring. When it strikes him in the dead of back, he throws his arms out wide. As if by magic, the Rabbit stops, shudders, and falls face first onto the lacquered floor.
“How dare you mishandle me in such a way!”
Jace stands back, having successfully restrained the White Rabbit with wrist cuffs and to a chair. We are no longer in the Grand Advisor’s office, instead choosing a more discreet, less obvious room on a different floor to use for our interrogation.
“You two will lose your heads for such treason!”
The White King of Wonderland tugs off his helmet. “Under whose authority? Yours?”
The Lost Codex Page 24
