Other Alice

by Michelle Harrison

  ‘We should leave now,’ I said. I was used to Dad being away, but without Alice and Mum – and even Twitch – the house didn’t feel like home.

  Gypsy packed away the tools and closed the back door, locking it and then giving it a good rattle. It stayed closed.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said gratefully.

  She nodded. Get your things together, she wrote. We’ll go to my boat.

  I went upstairs and grabbed a few bits: my toothbrush, some money from my money box and pyjamas. I switched off the lights and took my keys from the hook by the front door, locking it after me once everyone was outside. Stepping out into the cool night air, we stood as quiet as church mice on the garden path. It was way past midnight. The streets were silent and empty.

  Something slithered past my ankles. I bit back a yell, almost tripping, and looked down. Tabitha blinked up at me, her golden eyes luminous in the yellow street light. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’ I hissed. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  She jumped on to the wall, arching her back in a stretch. ‘Coming with you, of course.’

  ‘I don’t remember anyone inviting you,’ Piper said rudely.

  ‘Perhaps she should come,’ I said. ‘Once whoever took Twitch realises they got the wrong cat, they could be back for her.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Piper. ‘She might come in useful to bargain with.’

  ‘That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking,’ said Tabitha, a little tartly. ‘It’s not much fun being in an empty house, you know.’

  ‘Oh, I can imagine,’ I said. ‘Nobody to wait on you.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said the cat. ‘It’s not like I can make my own tea, is it?’

  ‘Perhaps you should learn,’ Piper muttered, skirting close to the wall, like he was used to staying in the shadows.

  ‘I’ve tried.’ Tabitha jumped lightly down from the wall and wound herself round his ankles in a way that suggested she was being deliberately annoying. ‘Tea bags and claws don’t mix.’

  ‘Proper little madam, aren’t you?’ said Piper. ‘Never was one for cats. I always preferred dogs. At least they’ll do as their master tells them.’

  ‘Dogs have masters,’ I said, remembering something Alice had said once. ‘Cats have servants.’

  ‘I’m no ordinary cat, though,’ said Tabitha. ‘There is a way you could become my master if you’re up to a challenge.’

  ‘Why would you want a master?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t,’ she replied. ‘But rules are rules. I didn’t make them.’

  No, I thought. Alice did.

  ‘Why would anyone want to be your master?’ Piper asked. ‘What’s in it for them? Apart from the pleasure of your company?’

  ‘Don’t get lippy,’ Tabitha replied. ‘I can be pretty useful as it happens.’

  ‘How?’ he scoffed. ‘Even when you are awake you just sit there guzzling tea.’

  ‘I’ve certain talents,’ she said. ‘I can be eyes and ears when people least expect it.’

  ‘A spy, you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘If you like,’ she replied. ‘Plus, I make an excellent party trick, or the voice of a fake ghost at a seance. No one ever suspects the cat.’

  ‘Fake ghosts are in such short supply,’ Piper said sarcastically. ‘That would come in useful next time I hold a seance.’ He rolled his eyes.

  ‘And then there are the nine lives, of course,’ she purred, ignoring him. ‘Those are always in high demand.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘I thought everyone knew that cats have nine lives?’ she said.

  ‘That’s just a saying, isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  Gypsy nudged me to look at something she’d written. I read it aloud.

  My papa told me about this once. Mischiefs can transfer their lives to others if they choose to, or if they’re made to.

  ‘Transfer their lives?’ I repeated.

  ‘I’ve saved a life or two in my time,’ Tabitha said airily.

  ‘So, if someone were about to die, you could save them by giving them one of your lives?’

  ‘Bravo,’ said Tabitha. ‘Told you I could be useful, didn’t I?’

  She had everyone’s attention now.

  ‘What does someone have to do then?’ Piper asked. ‘To become your master?’

  ‘Answer a riddle. If you solve it, I’ll promise to serve you faithfully.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said. I felt excited, but anxious, too. Like I always did when solving one of Alice’s riddles.

  ‘Very well,’ said Tabitha. ‘Here it is:

  ‘‘I’m up when I’m up

  And down when I’m down

  A thump when a smile

  And a flick when a frown.

  The opposite side

  To the wife of a king

  A vessel of venom that

  Can kill with a sting.’’

  Piper blew out a long breath, looking stumped. ‘You actually reckon anyone’s gonna get that?’

  ‘It’s perfectly solvable,’ she replied. ‘You haven’t even tried.’

  ‘Wouldn’t know where to start,’ he retorted.

  I stayed quiet, thinking. I had a better chance of solving this than anyone, if I could get it straight in my head. It was more difficult than Alice’s other riddles, but she’d taught me how to make them up and how to pick them apart. I just needed time, but I was determined to solve it. If the cat could save lives, then I wanted her on my side. I shivered, recalling Alice’s words as she’d described Ramblebrook and Dolly.

  They’re dangerous, and crazy . . .

  Alice had always had a talent for writing sinister characters. In the past, it was something I’d enjoyed. I’d even egged her on. The nastier the better. Now everything had changed. There was no option to stop reading, or to put the story down. It was happening and the characters were here. And one of them, at least, had killed before.

  Yes, I decided. I needed to become the cat’s master all right.

  I took a final look back at the house as we turned out of Cuckoo Lane. Our ordinary little home where, until now, we’d lived ordinary lives. Where, up in her attic room, my sister had written extraordinary tales. And now I was walking along with a make-believe boy and a make-believe girl, and a make-believe cat who was strutting beside us with its tail in the air.

  I glanced at Gypsy. She was staring at the ground. For the first time, I realised no one had asked her if she minded the cat coming with us, on to her boat. She hadn’t made any objections, but she’d seemed uncomfortable having the cat around. You shouldn’t keep these cats, she’d said. You can get into a lot of trouble . . .

  One of the fortune cards had been a black cat. What did it mean? Was it lucky, or unlucky? Or did it just depend on what you already believed?

  I decided I was going to have a good look at those cards later, once Gypsy and Piper and the cat were asleep. A very good look indeed.

  I needed to figure out exactly what Alice had been doing with them.

  14

  Elsewhere

  GYPSY’S BOAT WAS THE ONLY one on the water that night. It was past one o’clock in the morning when we arrived, but none of us was tired except the cat, who curled up on a cushion, opening one sleepy eye every so often.

  Gypsy put some milk in a pan to warm on the stove and set four mismatched teacups on the side. The boat was crammed with books and trinkets, notes and pictures stuck on the walls. A magpie’s nest, just like Alice’s attic room. There were two bunk beds with patchwork quilts, a table with slide-in booth seats, and another sitting area with lots of throws and cushions that Gypsy called ‘the snug’. This was next to the kitchen, and was where she sat when she was reading or writing her stories. We huddled there now, shivering into the blankets and swaying with the motion of the water.

  ‘So what next?’ Piper asked.

  I took the wooden box out of my rucksack and placed it in the middle of the floor.

  ‘I guess we figure out how to fin
d Alice’s dad,’ I said. ‘And we go to him as soon as possible.’ I glanced at Piper. ‘Once we have the missing part of the story that you took.’

  Piper nodded. ‘I can get it at first light.’

  ‘And my cat?’ I asked. ‘We have to get her back.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll be let go once Dolly realises she’s an ordinary cat,’ Piper said, stifling a yawn.

  I felt a twinge of annoyance. ‘Or maybe she’ll keep her as a hostage in exchange for Tabitha.’ Everyone turned to look at the snoozing cat. I thought I saw a whisker twitch, but couldn’t be sure.

  Gypsy came over with a tray of cups. We each took one and she left a cup of tea by Tabitha’s side, but the cat didn’t stir.

  I opened the box and looked through the contents. I left the fortune cards where they were, as well as the little wristbands and the rolled-up story. Instead, I took out the things I’d overlooked earlier: the photos and postcard.

  I picked up the photos. There were two and they were very similar. The first showed Mum and a man I knew must be Ramone standing hand in hand on a hillside. Behind them was a pavillion with a statue of a stag on top. Mum looked so young and happy. Daisies dotted the grass. Ramone wore a white shirt that was partly unbuttoned, and his hair was long, past his shoulders. Even though the picture wasn’t a close-up, his pale grey eyes were piercing and his black eyebrows were so thick they gave the appearance of a frown.

  In the second photo, Mum and Ramone stood in the same place, in front of the stag, but this time they stood at a slightly different angle. Thick snow lay on the ground. In Ramone’s arms was a little girl, probably no more than two years old. She was bundled up in a woollen coat, like a plump little lamb, her cheeks red.

  Alice.

  I stared at the two photographs. Before tonight, I’d never seen Alice’s father, only heard him described by her.

  ‘He looks just like Alice said.’ I had a lump in my throat at the thought of this past life of Mum’s that I was not part of, and knew almost nothing about.

  Gypsy touched the postcard. I tore my eyes away from the photos to look at it. At first, it appeared to be a simple countryside scene in the sunset, but then I saw it again, a horned silhouette on the horizon.

  ‘There it is again,’ said Piper. ‘What’s with this stag?’

  ‘Good question.’ I picked up the postcard and turned it over. There was a National Trust logo on the back and a little printed description: The Stag of Yonder Hill, West Maiden.

  ‘It must be some kind of landmark,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard of West Maiden. I don’t think it’s too far from here.’

  I turned the photographs over. The back of the summer one was blank, but, on the reverse of the winter scene, something had been written. I didn’t recognise the writing. It wasn’t Mum’s or Alice’s.

  ‘It’s a poem.’ I read it out.

  ‘Where five should be four

  There once stood three

  Before there were two

  And now there’s just me.

  Now five are still four

  There are no longer three

  If two should come searching

  It’s where they’ll find me.’

  ‘What’s that s’posed to mean?’ Piper asked, after I’d read it a second time. ‘It don’t make sense. Poetry is stupid.’

  ‘It’s not stupid,’ I said. ‘It’s a riddle. It’s meant to be confusing, but there has to be an answer. Whatever it means will be linked to these pictures.’

  There was something about the photographs that was bothering me, but I couldn’t work out what it was. ‘It’s like one of those spot-the-difference games. It’s bound to be something simple . . . and all these numbers in the riddle, that must mean it’s something that can be counted.’

  ‘Then that can only be the people,’ Piper said lazily. ‘Two in the first photograph and three in the second, after Alice had come along. Other than that, I give up.’ He leaned back into the cushions, draping his arm over his face.

  ‘So where do the five and the four come into it?’ I wondered. No one answered. Gypsy traced her fingers over the edges of the postcard, her eyes glassy.

  My own eyes were gritty and sore. I was tired now, but I couldn’t stop staring at the photographs. I looked from one to the other, something still niggling at me like a pebble in my shoe. I blinked, my body tensing.

  There it was. ‘But why would there be five . . .’ I trailed off, confused.

  Next to me, Gypsy sat up straighter, her eyes questioning.

  ‘There. Look.’

  Piper sat up, bleary-eyed. ‘You spotted something?’

  ‘Yes.’ I pointed to the stag in the first picture, counting its legs. ‘One, two, three, four. Now look at this one.’ I moved my hand across to the second photograph. ‘One, two, three, four . . . five.’

  ‘A five-legged stag?’ Piper said.

  ‘You can’t see the fifth leg in the first photograph,’ I said. ‘It’s the angle it’s taken at. But in the winter one you can see it clearly. That’s what the riddle is talking about – where five should be four.’

  ‘There once stood three,’ Piper said slowly.

  ‘Three people. Mum, Ramone and Alice.’

  And, before Alice was born, it was just the two of them, Gypsy added.

  I reread the second part of the riddle. It made sense now.

  ‘Now five are still four

  There are no longer three

  If two should come searching

  It’s where they’ll find me.’

  ‘And now there’s just me,’ I repeated. ‘Just Ramone.’

  ‘He’s a slippery one, this Ramone,’ said Piper. He drained his drink and leaned back again, closing his eyes. ‘Why didn’t he just leave an address instead of messing around with riddles?’

  Maybe he didn’t want to be found easily, Gypsy put in.

  ‘He’s a traveller. If he never stays in one place, maybe even he doesn’t know where he’ll be.’ I wrapped my cold fingers round the warm cup. ‘But finding him must be linked to this stag.’

  No one answered. Piper lay still, his face covered by his arm. A snore escaped his lips. The cat was nearby in a tight ball, with her tail tucked over her nose.

  It’s late, Gypsy wrote. We should get some rest, too.

  She got up, pulling thicker blankets from the overhead cupboards. She handed me one, then, after a moment’s pause, tossed the other one at Piper. It landed in a wrinkled heap in his lap, but neither she nor I made any attempt to straighten it out.

  Seconds later, she snapped out the overhead light, leaving just a little lamp on in the snug. The lower bunk creaked as she got into it, then everything was quiet. I pulled the blanket over myself, then put the postcard and photos back into Mum’s box. My fingers brushed the fortune cards. A fold of the blue fabric around them fell open, revealing a spray of silver stars.

  I took the cards out and unwrapped them, feeling once again like I’d stumbled on some sort of secret, or, at the very least, an expensive box of chocolates that wasn’t for sharing. I spread the blue cloth over my lap, intending to lay the cards out and have a good look at them, but then noticed a detail about the cloth that I hadn’t seen the first time.

  The stars only decorated the edges of the cloth. At the centre there were several rectangles arranged in the shape of a cross. Four more vertical rectangles were stacked on top of each other on the right side of the cloth. Each outline was numbered and had something written within it, a single word or phrase. They went like this:

  i

  The Seeker

  ii

  The Obstacle

  iii

  What’s Behind

  iv

  What’s Ahead

  v

  Strengths

  vi

  Weaknesses

  vii

  Enemies

  viii

  Friends

  ix

  A Choicer />
  x

  The Outcome

  It was a spread for a fortune telling, that was clear enough. I guessed the person who was having their cards read must be the Seeker, and, after they had shuffled the cards and asked their question, the cards were then laid at these positions on the cloth to give an answer.

  As I studied the words, it occurred to me that the list also looked a lot like the sort of things Alice wrote down when she was planning her stories. I started looking through the cards. Each one was so beautifully painted. I set aside the ones I’d seen already and began studying the others. They were easier to put meanings to now I knew the cards were linked to stories. Some were obvious: two children following a breadcrumb trail, a spinning wheel, a poisoned apple, a girl in a red cape.

  There were others I didn’t understand: an open book full of words that were too tiny to read. Next to it was a burnt-out candle stump. Another card was almost identical, except the book was blank and the candle was tall and had only just started burning.

  The next card showed a man who was rowing a boat between two places. Alice had told me this story a few times; it was in an old book of myths and legends. The only way the man could escape was by tricking someone else into taking the oars.

  The final card was a story that had always frightened me. A hooded man was playing a flute, leading a trail of hypnotised rats to drown in the river. I pulled the blanket round myself more tightly, remembering what happened next. Though the Pied Piper had got rid of the town’s rats, the mayor cheated him out of being paid. In revenge, the piper played a tune which lured all the town’s children away with him, except one, a little boy who was deaf and unable to hear him play. The rest were never seen again, nor was the Pied Piper.