by Lotus Rose
Ah, back to the festivities!
And she plays croquet and cards, eats pastries and cakes.
There is however, much unfinished business. There has still been no further information concerning the Snark or the former Cook. And no one knows where the Knight and Froud have gone off to, either. And Sleepy B seems sadder throughout the day every hour that her father doesn’t visit her—they still haven’t made up. And things have been awkward between Humpty and Malice ever since the kiss.
But the festivities must go on, and go on they do. And Malice has quite the pleasant time of it, “under the influence”, as it were.
But as the hours go by, the intensity of that feeling diminishes and she is loathing the dreadful empty feeling of waking up the next morning without the black rose’s soothing comfort to help her through the day.
And still there is the so-called “secret admirer’s” message nagging at the back of her mind—the possibility that if she breaks the statue, she’ll be led to more of the black rose.
It’s a trick. Surely it’s a manipulation to make me break my statue, and mock me for it.
In disgust, she finally burns the message in mid-afternoon.
Good riddance. I shan’t play the fool for that practical joker.
But as the afternoon drags on, she feels more anxious-she needs more black rose for the anxiety, but of course, she has none. By the time the dinner feast arrives, she is full of dread—she can no longer keep the thoughts from her mind—though she plasters a fake smile upon her face.
What if it’s true? I know it’s probably not, but what if it is? I have to take the chance, because I need any chance I can get to avoid a day without black rose.
And a part of her knows that she’s being foolish—that the black rose still in her system is dulling her logic, but that part is dampened by the intoxication, and there is a part that simply hopes, hopes for a miraculous solution to her woes.
And so she rushes through the dinner—she begs off partying into the night because, she says, she must wake up early tomorrow to begin her journey.
If I sneak off alone, I can destroy the statue without anyone knowing it was me. I can act outraged and blame unknown vandals. And if there really are directions to more black rose, I shall keep them for my eyes only so I can stave off ever running out again!
And so at the twilight hour, she sneaks off to the statue.
She finds the mallet hidden in the tree—fumbling in her intoxicated state. She enters the clearing and stands in front of the statue. In the dimming light of twilight, the sun causes it to cast a long shadow upon her as she looks up into its porcelain eyes, as she glares at it.
She reads the words carved in the tablet the statue holds. “Better to try and fail, eh?” she says to it.
The statue doesn’t respond—nor does she expect it to.
“That’s a dig at me, isn’t it?! Well I’ve had enough of your mockery...that smug impression. I shall try to knock your head off first, then smash the rest of you to pieces, you piece of junk! I’ve had enough!” The black rose is dampening her anger, but there is still quite a bit bleeding through—however, she should strike while the iron’s hot—so, she gives forth a shriek of rage and swings the mallet up toward the statue’s cheek and misses entirely—the mallet flings out of her hand and she drunkenly falls over.
Well that was embarrassing. Good thing no one was here to see that.
She picks up the mallet, gives another shout, swings another swing and this time the mallet slams into the statue’s cheek with a satisfying crash of breaking porcelain mixed with a clank of metal on metal. White pieces of porcelain fly everywhere, but metallic silver is revealed in the lower mouth area where the porcelain has broken away—the blow totters the statue to the side, but it doesn’t fall over, and wobbles back to an upright position.
Malice drops the mallet and stares curiously at the metal chin—at least, that’s what it looks like. The upper part of the statue’s face is cracked but still intact. Is there some sort of metal frame underneath? When I decided to break the statue, I assumed it was either hollow, or solid porcelain, and I would smash it to bits—a metal frame wouldn’t smash as easily.
The head of the statue makes cracking noises and now the head turns side to side as cracks form and pieces drop off.
Malice gasps.
A metallic silver head is revealed with the face of a man, and he smiles down at Malice. Oddly, his facial features are set into the metal itself. A man made of metal? Or an automaton of some sort. Cracks form at the statue’s elbows, now at its shoulders and its arms move—one arm punches up, slamming the statue’s tablet against its head, revealing more metal underneath.
The man sets about striking the statue’s body and royal gown—pieces of the broken porcelain fall away, revealing more of the metal man’s body.
“Who are you?” Malice says.
“Hold on just a moment, love,” the man says.
And upon closer inspection of his face, Malice now realizes that his jaws move on a hinge when he speaks.
He stands now with a wooden stick in his right hand—it had been inside the statue’s scepter. In his other hand he holds some sort of iron object that had been inside the former tablet.
“What were you—” she starts.
“Crikey! Lay off will ya?” He steps off the platform, walks backward a few steps—his hinged joints creak, as if they’re in need of oiling.
Malice stands with her arms crossed but remains silent.
The man made of metal presses the iron object in his hand to the top of the wooden stick and screws it on—he now holds an axe with a wooden handle.
Malice gasps.
“I’m the Tin Knight, Alice.”
“I’m not Alice,” she says while taking a couple steps back.
“Don’t bother running, unless you want an ax in your back. I have very good aim.”
“Why were you inside the statue?”
“I was waiting for someone to smash into its face so I knew it was time for me to come out of my shell. I assumed it would be you, and you’d be alone, because I masterfully manipulated you with my notes, didn’t I?”
“So there’s no map to the black rose?”
“No, but I assumed after I learned that you’d begun taking black rose, that you’d be craving more.”
Despite the danger she’s in, Malice can’t help feeling curious, plus, the longer she can engage him in conversation, the greater the chance that someone might happen by, so she asks, “How did you send letters when you were inside the statue this whole time?”
“I wrote the messages ahead of time, making certain assumptions about what would motivate you, what would compel you to come out here alone and smash the statue. Seems my plan worked, Alice. Queen Alice now is it? My how things change.”
“I told you, I’m not Alice. I’m Malice, Alice’s twin.”
He shrugs. “You look like Alice to me. I think you’re lying, but whoever you are, you have my ticktock heart in your chest and I want it back.”
“What?! Yours?! But—”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tear it out of your chest. My orders are to bring you back intact.”
“You can’t take me! My guards and friends shall find you!”
“But you’re a thief! You’re being extradited to face your charges.”
“I didn’t steal it! It was given to me, by someone—they claimed they had made it.”
“I wonder if everything you say is a lie. You didn’t know the heart was stolen? Is that why you sent inquiries throughout the land seeking me? Thank you for that, that’s how I found out where my heart went off to. I came here, found out you became a queen. The chief decided you’d become too powerful and it was time to bring you in, thief!”
“I told you, I didn’t know it was stolen when I first got it. I—”
“Yes, you didn’t personally steal it. I’m sure you sent one of your servants—perhaps you didn’t bother your
self with the details, didn’t concern yourself with the poor sod it came from. Do you truly know nothing about me? Nothing about the torment I went through to get that ticktock heart?”
Malice shrugs meekly, trying not to anger him, and wanting to stall for time. “I’m so very sorry. Please tell me.”
“Bah. I doubt you truly care. Although, now that you have that heart, perhaps you do. But it’s been malfunctioning lately, hasn’t it? That’s because it wasn’t designed for a little girl.”
“Crikey! Again I get called a ‘little girl’!”
“It was designed for me. I earned it with my heartbreak, whereas you simply stole it. What happened to the one you already had, you greedy scamp?” He removes an oil can from his belt. “Apologies. I get a bit stiff sometimes. But I happened upon a fellow knight in black armor who gave me this super-oil. Better than regular oil, he said—said it will really strengthen my joints—his own invention, he said.”
“I’m not greedy!” Malice snarls.
“Greedy and lazy. Another girl who stole my heart. That’s how I became heartless in the first place—a girl. She manipulated me into cutting off my body parts, which were replaced by metal. Then she told me to give her my heart. Which I did, because I loved her so. Then she ran off with it.”
“Oh, I forgot myself...” He squeezes the oil upon one elbow, then the other (a bit awkwardly while holding the ax, but he doesn’t set it down). He bends his arms back and forth and grins, but suddenly his arms lock in place in a bent position. “What’s this?” He struggles, but he can no longer bend his arms at the elbows. “What?”
“You got the oil from the Black Knight. His ‘inventions’ tend to be rubbish. Of course, the oil has strengthened your joints, I suppose.”
From off in the distance, the Jabberwock is shouting, “Malice? Are you there?”
“No, no, no,” the Tin Knight mutters while shaking his head. He drops the oil can, but keeps hold of his ax.
Malice chuckles, calls out, “I’m here! I’m in trouble. Hurry!”
“I’m coming!” the Jabberwock says.
Malice says to the Tin Knight, “Best scurry away. You won’t be able to fight with your arms like that.”
“Bah!” He backs away from her. “This isn’t over, Alice.”
If I can keep him talking long enough, perhaps Jabby shall arrive in time to capture him. “I’m just curious,” she says. “Did you never get your original heart back?”
He turns partway toward the dense woods behind him. “No. I had to visit a powerful wizard, who gave me my ticktock heart. You might’ve gotten a heart from him too, if you weren’t so lazy. He might even give your Jabberwock friend a body—he does that sort of thing.” He turns fully around now, his back to Malice.
“I’m coming!” the Jabberwock calls, closer now, but still far enough away that the Tin Knight has a good chance of escaping. Everything shifts into the dark of night as the sun slips below the horizon.
With his back to Malice, the Tin Knight says, “If I were you, I wouldn’t go on your journey into the wastelands, Queen Alice, because the chief will be watching for you.”
“Well he’ll leave us be if he knows what’s good for him.”
“You assume it’s a ‘he’. How sexist.”
“Female, then? A human woman?”
“A girl. And she hates you.”
“Her name?”
“Dorothy.”
And with that, he flees into the forest, hidden in the darkness of nightfall.
Book Two: Hush Little Baby, Don’t You Cry
CHAPTER ONE
MALICE PRESSES THE palm of her hand above her eyes as she peers into the distance at the sun peeking above the treeline. The glare of the light sends a throb of pain through her head, and she winces and lets out a groan.
“Are you feeling okay, love?” Humpty says.
“It’s just way too early to be up,” Malice says.
“You don’t look well,” Hatter says with a scowl of concern. “Did you take your black rose?”
Malice gives a dramatic groan. “Let’s just get this show on the road.” They are standing in front of the castle entrance. The manicured lawn is quite different from the wild forest and the desert beyond that they’ll be traveling the next seven days. She looks over at Sleepy B, who’s standing with her arms hanging loosely and barely seems able to keep her eyelids up. As she had agreed, Sleepy B has changed her wardrobe to be more modest for the sake of their quest. She’s wearing a chainmail dress with a hem that reaches her mid thigh—so at least it’s longer than the miniskirt-length altered-nightgown she’d been wearing. Her dress is made of enchanted metal that’s very lightweight and comfortable despite being very strong. The links of the chainmail are so tight that no one can see what she wears underneath it—she has joked that she’s wearing a chainmail thong, but Malice doesn’t believe that’s true. Down below, she wears knee-high leather boots. Her formerly-teased blond hair is now pulled back in a ponytail. Of course, she’d pulled such a sad, pouty face, that the team had given in, and let her keep her heavy eyeliner and fake fangs.
...And Malice had avoided the subject...about the black rose. Because the fact of the matter is that she’d run out of it yesterday, which is why she’s having such a rough morning.
And she’s not looking forward to the next few days, but she intends to grin and bear it and hope nobody notices.
“Well, the sun’s coming up,” the Jabberwock says from his new harness on the Horseman body’s chest. He said he’d gotten tired of holding his head in his hand, so Malice had ordered the harness made for him. Other than that, he’s the same, still sporting the cape on the decapitated Horseman body.
“Well, let’s get a move on,” the Hatter says. Malice looks at him, takes in his new outfit of a blue tunic, and trousers and boots. He’s retained his top hat, though—he is after all, the Mad Hatter. “No time like the present, and whatnot,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “After all, we aren’t in the future or the past, now are we? And even if we were, it would all then become the present as far as we are concerned.”
“Quite,” Sleepy B says.
Malice fights back the urge to groan, from her head throbbing from trying to keep up with Hatty’s confusing reasoning.
Humpty says, “Too bad that mangy Cat chose not to suffer this ghastly hour with the rest of us.” Humpty seems to have copied Hatter’s outfit, except for the top hat and the magic satchel with a shoulder strap Hatter has brought along for their quest. The other obvious difference in their attire, is that Humpty is the one wearing glasses.
The Cat said he’d be joining their quest, but since he can teleport wherever he wants, he’d chosen to sleep in.
Malice herself has also altered her appearance, choosing a plain, slim black dress that’s not at all poofy, to make it easier to walk. On her feet, she wears practical hiking boots.
Hatter, speaking about the Cat, says, “I’m sure the obnoxious little bugger shall come along around lunch time, for he’ll be wanting to munch on the wonderful grub the Cook made for us.”
“Yes,” Malice says, “he’ll be partaking of our meals, but of course, he shan’t ever interfere, oh no.” She rolls her eyes.
“Ah yes, his noninterference policy,” the Jabberwock says sarcastically.
Sleepy B lets out a woeful sigh. “I shan’t be interfering either,” causing them to shoot her questioning looks. “Because Daddy took away my storytelling powers,” she explains.
“Aw, don’t feel so bad about that, love,” the Jabberwock says. “You fit in with the rest of us now.”
Sleepy B gives him a little smile, says, “Just an ordinary sod like the rest of you sorry lot,” she jokes.
Hatter says, “I’m sure he had your best interests in mind. All that power can actually wear you down. You’ll be happier without it, trust me.”
“Whatever,” Sleepy B says, and rolls her eyes. “He said I was too young and immature. But I wish I had those powers
so I could help Jabby and everyone else, in case anything dangerous happens.”
The Jabberwock says, “Errr...that’s probably why he didn’t want you to have the powers. A good storyteller has to let things happen for the sake of a good story, even if that means allowing dangerous situations.”
“Phooey,” Sleepy B says. “Thanks for the lecture. I think Daddy just likes taking things away from me, showing he’s boss.”
“Aww,” Malice says. “I don’t think that’s true at all. He cares about you, squirt.”
“Yes,” Humpty says. “After all, you two made up, right? You spoke to him yesterday, right?”
Sleepy B frowns. “Yeah, we really connected yesterday. Really talked, and did all that feeling-sharing stuff. Of course he also did a heck of a lot of lecturing and nagging and a lotta ‘it’s-all-for-your-own-goodin’.”
Humpty frowns. “Oh.” He exchanges a glance with Hatter.
“Oh,” Sleepy B says, seeming to realize how negative she was being. “But blah blah, ‘he’s only doing it because he cares’. And I shall surely miss my daddy.”
Humpty and Hatter exchange another glance and each give a little nod.
I wonder what that’s all about, Malice thinks to herself.
Hatter says to Sleepy B, “We’re so glad you said that, because it turns out your father put together a little surprise to start you off on the very first day of your quest.” He breaks into a huge grin, and sweeps his hand toward the main entrance of the castle.
“What do you mean?” Sleepy B says.
Humpty says, “Your father wasn’t content with only saying goodbye to you once.”
“Huh?” Sleepy B says as she squints her eyes to focus on the arched entrance.
“Come on out, now!” Hatter bellows, which startles Sleepy B and Malice both.
The Storyteller steps out into the archway and waves—there is something brown in his hand.
“Daddy!” Sleepy B shouts.
“Darling!” the Storyteller shouts. He walks toward them.
They close the distance between them, and now Malice can see that the Storyteller holds a leatherbound book in one hand, and a pair of black lace fingerless gloves in the other.
