And then he found himself repeating the nonsense verse as he ran. "'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe."
He was now running across what he took to be a croquet-ground, of sorts; pink-feathered bodies and balls of prickles discarded among the ridges and furrows like broken dolls and squashed windfall apples.
He could hear nothing from behind him now, but he kept running. He crashed through a privet hedge and back into the forest, branches reaching for him as they clattered together in the breeze.
There was something waiting for him there, in the cold and the dark.
"You!" he gasped.
"As large as life, and twice as natural!"
The creature fixed him with two piercing black diamond eyes, Alice's shark-mawed face smiling down at him from atop a sinuous, snaking neck that seemed strangely familiar, even though Ulysses couldn't for the life of him remember why.
Its whole body swayed, writhing hypnotically, from its saurian legs to its great skeletal claws. A huge pair of bat wings, the same colour as the darkness beneath the trees, flapped behind it and a long, snaking tail thrashed with an unspeakable life of its own.
"The time has come," the monster said, "to talk of many things..."
"Of shoes - and ships - and sealing-wax - of cabbages - and kings," Ulysses smiled. Harming a child was an anathema to him, but a monster...? You knew where you were with a monster.
"You can have no idea what a delightful thing a Lobster-Quadrille is."
"No indeed," Ulysses replied, "But I know you, and I name you Beast. I name you destroyer. I name you murderer. I name you Jabberwock!"
And, along with its name, his memories began to return.
The creature hissed, its forked tongue darting from between its glistening fangs, and lashed out with a malformed claw. Ulysses side-stepped it smartly, never once taking his eyes from the swaying child's head atop the snake-like neck.
"'Twas brillig," he began, his voice like steel, "and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe: all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe."
The beast lashed out again, this time with a whip-crack of its tail. It was fast, but Ulysses was faster.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!" he pronounced as he came out of the roll that saved him from being trampled by a heavy, clawed foot. "Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!"
Somewhere else, deep within his mind - disjointed, as if out of sync with the rest of the world - Ulysses heard a dispassionate female voice announce, "Jabberwocky protocol activated."
The Alice-thing gave a banshee wail of rage and frustration as Ulysses ducked another swipe of its claws and then rose up before it, assuming a fencer's stance. Reaching out his right arm, he uttered the words, "He took his vorpal sword in hand!" and his fingers closed around its hilt.
VIII
Alice's Phantasmagoria
May 1998
"So, Mr," Ulysses Quicksilver consulted the name written on the notepad in his hand. "Dodgson... Is that right?" The anxious looking whip-cord of a man in front of him nodded. "What appears to be the problem?"
The attraction owner had met them at the door himself and hastily ushered them inside, glancing up and down the street, the lurid neon sign lending his already unhealthy complexion a pinkish sheen. Having secured and bolted the door behind them, he led them upstairs to a cluttered office redolent with the smell of stale tobacco. The stub of a Cuban cigar still smouldered in the ash tray, precariously balanced on top of a teetering pile of cogitator print-outs.
"There's..." he began, rubbing his hands together, over and over, in agitation. "There's been a death."
"A death?" Ulysses repeated. Nimrod raised an interested eyebrow but made no comment. "But I wouldn't have considered the type of recreation you offer here as being hazardous to health.
"No. Neither did my associates and I."
"So where's the body?"
"This way. Follow me."
"So this is where the magic happens, is it?" Ulysses said in hushed tones, taking in the brass, coffin-like cabinets positioned equidistantly around the circular, teak-panelled chamber. In the dull red light it looked more like a mortuary, or a morgue, than a place of entertainment.
"Well, I suppose technically the magic, as you put it, happens up there," Dodgson said, pointing at the ceiling. "The analytical engine that creates and maintains the virtual environment experienced by our guests is housed on the floor above this one."
"Must be quite some machine," Ulysses remarked.
"And the floor above that, and the one above that."
A number of cable-bundles emerged from the middle of the domed ceiling above them and then spread out like the tentacles of an octopus, following the curve of the ceiling until each one ultimately connected to the top of one casket.
Through an archway Ulysses could see another chamber, like the one they were in. He wondered how many more there were like it located throughout the whole complex.
"Do you know much about analytical engines, Mr Quicksilver?" Dodgson asked.
"I've had dealings with one or two."
"Mnemosyne is one of the new generation of Turing machines."
"Ah, yes. I met one of those once. Its name was Neptune and it condemned some three thousand souls to a miserable death at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean."
Dodgson smiled weakly before continuing. "It utilises a series of chromodynamic processors and Bloch spheres to create and maintain a fully realised simulation of what is, to all intents and purposes - within the mind of the participant - an utterly real world."
"Can I stop you there?" Ulysses said. "Can you just remind me again, precisely, what it is you do here, Mr Dodgson?"
The nervously sweating Dodgson took a moment to compose himself, before commencing with what Ulysses took to be a pre-prepared speech, memorised for the benefit of the curious paying public.
"Here at Alice's Phantasmagoria we offer a unique recreational experience. Thanks to the latest bleeding edge technology we can immerse you in a fantastical world that, for all intents and purposes, appears to be real, and which is only bound by the limitations of your own imagination. With Dodgson and Digby's Patented Phantasmagorical Projector you really can live the dream!"
"And this... this virtual reality of yours, do you have a catchy name for it?"
"We like to refer to it as the In-Body Out of Body Experience."
"It's all based on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland?"
"At the moment. It is a classic, after all. But our environment engineers are already working on other worlds based on the writings of H.G. Wells, Jules Verne and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World."
"One step at a time, eh, Mr Dodgson? One step at a time. I wouldn't start counting your chickens just yet. After all, you can see dinosaurs in the wild for the price of a cruise ticket. And I don't expect this operation's cheap to run, is it? So basically, this is where overweight, middle-aged businessmen, with a thing for little girls, come to live out their fantasies. Am I right?"
"No!" Dodgson railed. "It is not that kind of establishment at all. We are a highly reputable company."
"But, I mean, come on. Alice's Phantasmagoria? That's rather a lurid title, don't you think? Admit it."
"It brings in the punters," Dodgson said, an awkward grimace on his face.
"Yes, I bet that sticks in your throat, eh, Dodgson? Your marvellous machine, your magnificent achievement, testament to the superior advances in technology, being corrupted by sleazy window salesmen for their own sordid pleasure."
"You said you wanted to see the body," Dodgson reminded him.
"Yes, I did, didn't I?"
"Well, it's this way."
The anxious attraction owner led Ulysses and Nimrod into the next circular chamber.
"Here," he said, pointing at the cadaver bound within one of the cabinets. The front of the casket was open, the reek of death comi
ng from it unmistakable.
"Ooh, nasty," Ulysses commented, peering at the body. The dead man appeared to be middle-aged, and was wearing two pieces of a poor quality three piece suit, along with a white cotton shirt and distastefully-patterned tie. His jacket hung on a peg beside the casket. His face was locked in a rictus of terror. "Hmm, overweight, middle-aged businessmen. Cause of death?"
"The life-support systems that monitor our guests' vital signs recorded his cause of death as cardiac arrest."
"Heart attack, eh? Could have just been bad luck I suppose. I take it all of your 'guests' sign a disclaimer."
Dodgson nodded.
"How long's he been dead?"
"Only a matter of hours."
"And it was after this happened that you evacuated everyone else who was here at the time."
"Er, no. Not quite. It all happened so quickly!"
"What do you mean?"
Ulysses and his manservant followed as Dodgson led them into yet another chamber.
"How many people can you accommodate at any one time?" Ulysses said.
"Our current maximum is forty-eight but the demand for tube-time is increasing and we plan to have another four simulation suites ready by the end of next month."
They stopped in front of another of the cabinets. This one also contained a limp corpse.
"Another heart attack?" Ulysses said.
"No stroke."
Dodgson set off again, stopping beside another cabinet. The dead man's body there was contorted in agony, the whites of the cadaver's eyes crimson with burst blood vessels.
"And what happened to this one?"
"Brain haemorrhage," Dodgson mumbled, as if he were guilty of some heinous crime himself.
"Oh dear, Mr Dodgson. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear." Ulysses looked the quaking man up and down. His skin had acquired an even more unhealthy pallor. "One death could be considered... unfortunate. But two? That's just careless. So what does that make three?"
"It wasn't my - our, I mean our - fault," Dodgson protested.
"That's what you're worried about, isn't it, Mr Dodgson? You're worried that the Met will get word of this and charge you with complicity to murder. That wouldn't be good for business now, would it, Mr Dodgson?"
"No, not murder. More like... an industrial accident."
"Oh, come on, Mr Dodgson. Now you're just pulling my leg. An industrial accident?"
"That's not what I mean."
"You should say what you mean."
"I did, I mean..." the man stammered. "At least I mean what I say - that's the same thing, isn't it?"
"Try telling that to the judge."
"But can you help me?"
Ulysses kept the man hanging on for a moment longer, before answering. "I can try."
"Good," Dodgson said, with a sigh of relief. "And, um, how much will that, um -"
"How much will it cost you to have me sort out this little mess of yours?"
"Yes."
"A not inconsiderable amount." Ulysses scribbled a figure on the page of a notepad, tore it off and handed it to the sweating gentleman.
"Oh."
"And that's my final offer. Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it."
"So, bottom line is," Ulysses said, after the three of them had gathered within Mnemosyne's control hub, "something's killing your customers and you need to find out what."
"You are a consulting detective, are you not?"
"Good. Then we understand each other." Ulysses stared at the meaningless columns of numbers scrolling across the monitor in front of him. "And you're sure it's not a glitch in the Lovelace algorithm?"
"We've gone through the code a hundred times and there's nothing there," Dodgson said, glancing anxiously at the lab-coated technician seated at the console.
"So, who do you think the killer is?"
Dodgson stared at him, flabbergasted. "I'm sorry. Haven't I just hired you to find that out for me?"
"Go on, humour me."
"Well, for starters, I would have thought that it was something from outside the system. There are all sorts of fail-safes in place. We've checked the Lovelace algorithms again and again and again, and there's nothing. Nobody should die in Wonderland!"
"And yet three people have."
Dodgson gave the technician another surreptitious glance. "We suspect that an alien algorithm has piggy-backed its way onto the system."
"Then why not simply shut the whole thing down and re-boot it?" Ulysses asked, incredulous that nobody more technically minded hadn't thought of that approach already. "I think the technical term is, turning it off and on again."
"We have," Dodgson hissed. "Three times. But every time we re-boot, and carry out another scan, the anomalous code is still present."
"So what can I do that you haven't tried already?" Ulysses asked, genuinely bemused.
"We've created a diagnostic tool. A virus-killer, if you like."
"So why haven't you deployed it?
"Because we cannot lock onto the anomalous string of code. It's as if it knows we're looking for it and keeps shifting position, using our original algorithm to disguise itself."
"Why don't you just pull the plug?"
"Because this technology has the potential to improve the lives of all."
"More brochure-speak?"
"This is a business, Mr Quicksilver," Dodgson said, "and I would prefer to stay in business."
"Ah, now we get to the truth of it."
"I already have the bank breathing down my neck as it is."
"Everything comes down to money, doesn't it? Anyway, I thought business was booming."
"It will be."
"Understood. Then you can add a nought to end of my fee."
Dodgson scowled, but said nothing. He was hardly in a position to argue.
"So, what you're saying is that actually you know what's responsible for this... this mess, and you just need some dupe to go in and excise the cancer, as it were."
Dodgson smiled but still said nothing.
Ulysses grinned. "Then you've got yourself a deal," he said, a manic timbre to the tone of his voice. "My interest is well and truly piqued and I quite fancy taking a trip to Wonderland myself. So let's see how far down the rabbit hole really goes, shall we?"
Dodgson stared at him, the utter amazement expressed on his face as readable as an open book.
"Are you sure, sir?" Nimrod asked.
"Yes, I'm sure. I'm not going in ill-prepared mind. I don't want to end up like our friends down there in the bunko booth."
"Don't worry, everything's ready," Dodgson said, animated again. "The system already has a back door built in. If things start to get out of hand, once you're actually inside Wonderland, you only need to follow the White Rabbit to escape. It's a fail-safe we put in right from the off-set."
"And you're sure that'll work, are you?"
"Absolutely sure. It's written into the base code. It can't fail."
"And what about this virus-killer? What if I manage to find the source of all your problems? What if I come across whatever it is that's been killing your clients?"
"To access the algorithm from within Wonderland you merely need to recite the first line of the third stanza of the poem Jabberwocky."
"Really? Why so convoluted?"
"It's a precaution, to make sure that the virus-killer is activated only at the right time. Do you know it?"
"''Twas brillig', and all that? Oh yes, have no fear, I know it. Chalky Chambers made us learn it off by heart. Third year English Literature class, last period before lunch on a Thursday. Good old Chalky."
"And you're absolutely sure about this, sir?"
"Stop fussing, Nimrod," Ulysses chided, as Dodgson fitted the electrode skullcap over his head. "You're like an old woman sometimes, really you are. Ready, Dodgson?"
"Ready."
"Right then, gentlemen, I'm going in," Ulysses announced, giving a thumbs up as he made himself comfortable on the cushioned ba
ckboard inside the cabinet. "Are you alright, Dodgson, only you're not looking at all well?"
"I-I'm fine," Dodgson stammered, even though he patently wasn't, and closed the door.
"If anything happens to him..." Ulysses heard Nimrod say as the tube sealed with a hiss of equalising pressures, and watched as Dodgson threw the switch.
And then he was falling again...
IX
The Bitterness of Life
Coal black eyes wide with fury, the chimerical creature went for Ulysses.
"Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?" Ulysses chanted as he brought the blade up in one powerful movement, the bloodstone-tipped pommel tight in his hand, the metal singing as he did so.
The monster only just parried the blow in time, retracted its writhing head and thrusting a claw in the way of the slicing blade.
The Alice-thing gave voice to a blood-curdling wail as the razor-edge of the blade took off three of its distended fingers at the knuckle.
Its scream of pain became a roar of rage and the malformed child's head darted forwards like a striking cobra.
Ulysses deftly spun the blade back and thrust it upwards in a reverse swing. He felt resistance as it bit into the meat of the thing's neck, before pulling back sharply with all the strength he could muster.
"Off with her head," he snarled in bitter triumph.
Alice's head - jaws still stretched impossibly wide - landed with a soft thud among the litter of leaves at his feet, the massive, warped body toppling backwards onto the ground moments later.
Panting hard, Ulysses stared dispassionately down at the malformed head of the twelve year-old girl. Alice looked back at him.
"You know," she said very gravely, "it's one of the most serious things that can possibly happen to one in a battle - to get one's head cut off."
"So it would seem," Ulysses agreed.
He gazed at the midnight forest and the darkness of the world around him, as if expecting something to happen at any moment.
"So what happens now?" the child-monster asked.
"Now?" the dandy said, staring at the sky above, as the heavens turned the colour of snow. "Now we wait."
The Ulysses Quicksilver Short Story Collection (Pax Britannia) Page 12
