Allison's Adventures in Underland

by C. M. Stunich

  “Another poem?” I ask as I wonder how to light a match and hold the gun at the same time. Certainly not very gracefully is the answer to that question. As I bite my lip and push the box of matches against my hip to open them, Dee reaches over, plucks one out and tucks it behind my ear.

  “The Queen always kept a match or two here and there—in her hair, behind her ear, in her brassiere.” Okay, I do not miss the way he emphasizes that one, leaning too close to me and letting his breath tickle my cheek. “And no, not another poem although I can recite exactly two hundred and thirty-six different ones from memory, if you wish.”

  Dee crinkles up his face in an even bigger grin. I can't decide if he really is just this happy-go-lucky or if he's hiding from that same darkness that seems to take over his brother's face.

  “What's the story then?” I ask as Dee moves behind me and puts his lips next to my ear.

  “Permission to touch the Alice requested,” he whispers and my skin feels suddenly tight and achy as I nod and Dee steps in close, sliding his fingertips down my arms, tantalizing me even through the fabric of my borrowed blouse. When he gets to the gun, he curls his fingers through my own, repositioning them until my grip on the weapon feels natural and easy. “The key is maintaining a certain level of confidence when using a weapon like this,” Dee continues, putting a booted foot between my legs and kicking them apart. The suggestive nature of that movement doesn't escape me. “Feet apart. Don't forget to brace yourself, Allison-who-isn't-Alice.”

  Dee steps back suddenly and the icy chill of the air and water surrounds me again, trying its best to douse that wild heat his nearness summoned up in me. Doesn't work. Ugh. Insta-lust drives me totally crazy insane. Like, I'm no good at resisting impulses. It's one of the reasons I prefer to stay home and read—it's a lot harder to get into trouble with your nose buried in a book.

  Nah, I'd much rather watch hapless literary heroines bury themselves in shit … liiiiike giving into absurdly attractive men like Tweedle-fucking-dee.

  “Strike the match on the gun,” Dee says, and I notice a charcoal gray strip on the side of the grip, just like the ones you see on any matchbook. I hold the Queenmaker in a slightly unsteady left hand and use my right to pull the match from my ear, light it, and then transfer the flame to the fuse, flicking the used match over the railing and into the river. “And don't worry too much about aiming—the Queenmaker is more like … a directional sort of weapon.”

  “Huh?” I ask as I watch the tiny orange flame chase down the fuse.

  “Now, where was I?” Dee snaps his fingers and nods, reaching up to adjust his peaked cap. “Yes, yes, of course, a story. Now, how could I forget?”

  “What do you mean by directional sort of weapon?” I ask, but it's too late because the fuse is just about burned all the way out and Dee is leaning casually against the railing, not at all concerned about what's about to happen.

  “What kind of story would it be if it didn't start off with once upon a time?” Dee asks, and I can't tell if it's a rhetorical question or not as the fuse disappears and … a violent fucking shiver echoes out from the gun and into my arms, up my neck, into my teeth. I'm clenching my jaw so hard, I'm afraid I'm about to bite off my tongue. “Once upon a time …” Dee starts as the gun goes off with this sonic fucking boom, like a goddamn cannon, rocking me on my feet and lobbing what looks like a metal baseball out of the barrel and into the water.

  It hits a rock on the way down and … Jesus fucking Christ.

  “Once upon a time there was a fair and just Queen of Hearts,” Dee continues as an explosion rocks the ship, sending us bouncing on violent waves, the river pulsing and thrumming as a red and orange ball of flame shoots straight up into the sky, alighting the grass on either bank … and basically dragging my jaw to the wet surface of the deck in shock. “She ruled with compassion and grace and—”

  “Seriously massive fucking firearms,” I add, staring at the weapon in my trembling hands with my very first dose of—and here it is folks—shock. I am shocked shitless. I just shot what's basically a goddamn missile out of an ancient looking flintlock pistol. Color me impressed.

  “—seriously massive fucking firearms,” Dee adds without skipping a beat, humming slightly under his breath and lifting his hands up, fingers splayed, and spreading his arms wide as he continues with his story. “Never had the land known such peace, such prosperity, but …” He pauses and rises to his feet, coming over to me and taking the gun. With a single flick of his arm, he opens the chamber and looks inside. “We'll grab some ammo and fuses when we get to where we're going.”

  “And where's that?” I ask as Dee makes that same arm motion and the gun clicks shut. He hands it over to me and I tuck it back in my satchel with a certain level of respect. Now that I know what it can do? I'm treating this thing with kid gloves.

  “Why, exactly where we need to be, silly.” He stands up and gestures with his chin for me to follow along. “Now do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”

  “Continue,” I say with a small sigh, walking alongside him and passing by the rest of the crew. I notice as I walk that they watch me with a certain level of curiosity that makes Dee narrow his eyes and curl the corner of his lip.

  “But the queen's reign of peace wasn't to last long. The Riving hit and tore her to pieces—literal pieces that had to be scraped off the walls and floor. After that, her daughter, the crown princess, yet another powerful sorceress, found herself in the magic-less body of a broken man. Princess became prince became tyrant king.”

  “And that's the current King of Underland?” I ask, trying to jump ahead in the story. Dee pauses at the front of the boat and looks out over the railing, his blue and black hair whipping back against his face.

  “There's no King of Underland, per se. There are four completely separate kingdoms with their own ruling families,” Dee explains, holding up a fist. I figure he's about to tick off the kingdom names, so I beat him to it.

  “Hearts, Spades, Clubs, and Diamonds?” I ask and he pops up a finger with each, adding onto the end with another big grin. The dark woods flash by behind his head, growing more ominous as the day's shadows start to fade into night. Just like back home, it must be winter here because I feel like the daylight didn't last long. Already, some of the giant mushrooms are starting to glow—an eerie blue here, a sickly green there, a vibrant pink on that one.

  “See, you know more than you think you do, Alice.”

  I sigh, but I don't correct my name this time. Why bother? Dee seems like he's going to do what Dee wants to do, the rest of the world be damned.

  “So the King of Hearts is the tyrant then? Or the King of Clubs?” I was told the former slaughtered Dee and Tee's people while the latter sent an assassin after me soooo … they're both villains?

  “The current King of Hearts is grandson to the queen in our story and son to the princess-turned-prince-turned-tyrant. He's a massive improvement over his father except …” Dee pauses and unconsciously reaches up a hand to touch his shoulder. For just a split second, his eyes are melancholic and far away, filled with a longing so deep it would take two seas just to fill it. “Except he's not perfect either.”

  “Because he gives naked boys away as presents?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest and noticing that the smile on Dee's handsome face is tinged with bitterness. He copies my pose and leans back, meeting my gaze dead-on.

  “Boys? Didn't you see what we had to offer? We're certainly men, don't you think?”

  “How old are you?” I hazard and his grin reminds me of the Cheshire Cat … Speaking of, am I going to run into him, too? Fuck, I need to ask someone about those damn books and see what they say. I don't believe in coincidences. Well, I don't believe in fate either. So … maybe I just don't believe in anything anymore except pure chance?

  “Nineteen,” he says as he salutes me and I roll my eyes.

  “Boy,” I say and Dee shakes his head.

  “There are many wa
ys for a boy to become a man, but being bathed in blood? That puts us above all else. If anything, we're men amongst men, the manliest really.” Dee glances past me to the woods and we both pause as this awful screeching sound echoes across the water, the shock of it hitting my eardrums literally driving me to my knees.

  My hands clamp over my ears and I feel a hot wetness against my palms as the screaming, wailing roar cuts through the landscape. Dee kneels down beside me, seemingly unaffected by the god-awful noise. But when I look up, I see that his ears are literally bleeding, red rivulets running down the sides of his face.

  “It's the jabberwock,” he tells me as I pull my hands away from my ears and stare down at palms that are just as red as they were yesterday—yesterday—because it's only been twenty-four fucking hours since I saw Brandon Carmichael shot in the face. Then again, if the White Rabbit works for the king, and the twins hate the king, then really we're on the same side, aren't we?

  “That is a jabberwock?” I ask, and I feel this cold shiver pass over my skin, something more than just the sting of saltwater and the brutal arms of the wind. My voice sounds fuzzy and distant, even to my own ears, and my head is ringing like I just spent all night at some shitty underground punk concert, standing next to the speakers in front and not caring that I can feel the bass inside my brain.

  “The Tulgey Wood is full of them,” Dee explains, looking into my eyes and reaching out for my hands. For some reason, I let him take them and watch in fascination as he pulls a black handkerchief from his pocket and starts to clean them off. “You don't have jabberwocky where you come from?”

  “Not exactly,” I say and then pause at the sound of scuffing boots on the wood behind me, glancing back to find Tee, his face stoic, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a slight frown. His ears are bleeding, too, but as I watch, he uses an identical handkerchief and scrubs the sides of his face clean.

  “If you're tired Allison, you could sleep. Or else I'll send Dee to bed.”

  “Or two in bed is more than just twice as fun,” Dee says, leaning in close enough to kiss. I notice he doesn't try though which is nice—he might be crazy but at least he's not a totally sexist prick like some of the guys at my school.

  “I'm not sleeping with you,” I tell him and he shrugs loosely, dropping my hands and reaching out to mop up the blood on my face instead.

  “Suit yourself, but the offer is open. We belong to you, after all, Allison-who-isn't-Alice.” Dee rises to his feet and pulls me up along with him. Tee watches us both with a tenseness in his shoulders and hands that I don't quite understand.

  “I could sleep,” I say and Tee nods briskly, handing over the key to the cabin. As I start off toward it, he calls out to me. “Wait, Allison.”

  I turn back as Tee shrugs out of his purple jacket and hands it over to me.

  “It's awfully cold in there,” he tells me with a sharp nod. “And wet. Sleep on top of this; it'll keep you dry.”

  “It's awfully cold out here,” I start, but Tee is dropping the long trench over my shoulders and moving away before I can protest. Dee gives me a look and a wink as his brother saunters off and I reach up to tug the jacket closed across my chest. It smells good, too, like fresh leather and soap and clean air. I bury my nose in it for a moment, but just to get away from the reek of fish and the stink of salt.

  “Don't bother arguing with him—he's one of those pesky, chivalrous types.”

  “And you?” I ask as I head to the cabin and unlock it.

  “Me?” Dee asks as I open the door and glance back at him. He has bedroom eyes again, heavy and half-lidded. “I'm the cheeky asshole. If you want someone to fuck while you're here, I make an awfully nice bedroom buddy.”

  I raise both brows.

  Scratch what I said—he's just as much of a dick as the guys back home.

  “Yeah, thanks, I'll remember that,” I say caustically, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.

  I don't expect to fall asleep right away—not in the cramped, smelly room with its uncomfortable bed and musty stench. But I guess literally stumbling into a brand-new world that I never knew existed, one that matches up with one of my favorite childhood reads, has really taken its toll on me.

  One minute I'm curling up on top of Tee's trench and wondering how the hell I'm ever going to sleep again, after hearing the roar of that goddamn jabberwock, and the next …

  Sunlight is streaming across my face and … Dee is snoring beside me.

  I roll in his direction and narrow my eyes. This motherfucker … when did I ever say he could share a bed with me?! But then I realize that it was getting dark when I went to sleep and now it's bright as hell outside. There's literally nowhere else on this ship he could have slept.

  With a sigh, I sit up and scoot off the end of the bed, heading outside to find Tee at the edge of the railing, watching the shore.

  “More trees?” I ask as I come up behind him and offer up the coat. Whatever it's made out of—some leather or suede or something like that—water beads off the exterior, and I was careful to keep the interior facing toward me. It should still be dry enough for him to wear, even if that burlap sack covered lump they call a bed is like a damn sponge. “How vast is this Tulgey Wood place?”

  “It seems to go on forever sometimes,” Tee says as he shrugs into his jacket and casts a look in the direction of one of the crew members. This one is young and blonde and honestly, he's pretty goddamn handsome, too. Like, every fucking man in this world is beautiful. That's what makes it feel the most like a fairytale, I have to say. Where are all the ugly blokes, huh?

  “You guys do know that back in my world, there's a book called Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, right? And all of this …” I pause and sigh. “Including you are in it.”

  “You've read it then?” Tee asks, turning his severe face to look at mine. I can see with my own eyes that he has the same full lips as his brother, the same long, curved lashes, the same smooth jawline and head of mussy hair. But the way he carries himself, his expressions, even the cadence of his voice when he's not chortling singsong nonsense is so goddamn different. If I hadn't seen them standing right next to each other, I might not've believed they were brothers let alone twins.

  “Of course I've read it. Basically everyone back home has. There are hundreds of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland adaptations. Now, tell me, why the fuck there's a book back home that … somehow echoes everything that's happening here.”

  Tee stares at me for a long moment and sighs.

  “The prophecy—the one you don't believe in.”

  “You're telling me Charles Dodgson aka Lewis Carroll was a prophet for Underland?”

  “Well, it wasn't called Underland back then, now was it?” Tee whispers, casting another mean look over my shoulder. I turn and it's a different crew member this time, a brunette. I think the blonde's name is Duck and this one … is Mouse? Shit if I can remember. “Did we sell tickets?” he asks, his voice as sharp as the blade on his hip. “Because as far as I can recall, we did not. If you want to see a show, visit a box office.”

  The crew member scurries away with a roll of his eyes before Tee looks back at me, the amethyst color of his irises striated with a range of other shades, the darkest aubergine shadows and the brightness of lavender. I have to blink myself awake before I get caught in them.

  “Lewis Carroll fled Wonderland after the Riving. Whatever you think you know about him, it's a lie. He was a coward and a prude and possibly even worse things. Mad as a hatter with all his visions.” Tee's coat whips around him in the wind as The Long Tale takes on a particularly sharp turn and he gestures toward the mess hall with a hand. “There's breakfast waiting, if you're hungry.”

  My stomach is rumbling like fucking crazy and honestly, I don't care if it's dry crackers and meat paste again—I'll eat six.

  “So Lewis Carroll wrote the book as a prophecy for … me?”

  “For the Alice,” Tee says, sounding exasperated and annoye
d with me as he opens the door to the mess hall and gestures me inside. I'm surprised to find the captain, Lory, and … another brunette, one with darker hair this time who I think is Eaglet? But fuck if I know. “It didn't matter which one, so long as an Alice showed up here. But the book is jumbled and broken, and whatever survived of Carroll's mind after he became a man was fractured at best. He was writing the prophecy from memory only because after the Riving, he didn't have a lick of magic left.”

  “This old story?” Lory says with a sigh, flicking braids over her shoulder as I take a seat at the table and Tee moves over to the kitchenette to fix us plates. I'd do it myself, but I have no idea what the rules of propriety are here, what I'm supposed to eat, how I'm even supposed to fix up the meals we're being served. Lunch yesterday might've been crackers, but breakfast was slices of fruit smooshed together with a cream cheese filling dotted with nuts and currants. Not even sure if there's a name for that back home. “You tryin' to bore your mistress to death?”

  Tee just sighs, but I can see that his back muscles are stiff and tense. The twins don't seem at all interested in sharing with anyone else that they think I'm this Alice character. They haven't said as much to me, but I'm smart enough to pick up on social cues. If Edith were in my place, she'd be dead already. Well, either that or she'd have fucked one or both of the twins. Shit, maybe she'd even be home? Because I'm not a hundred percent sure that she wouldn't have sucked Tee off and swallowed, just for fun if not to get into that minuscule little door.

  Now that part certainly wasn't in the original book, now was it?

  “Here,” Tee says, putting down what looks like some sort of meat scramble in front of me. It actually smells good and I vaguely recognize the yellow fluff and bits of meat. The only question now is—what kind of eggs and what sort of meat is on my plate? I don't think I'd have much problem eating any species of egg but the meat … could be an issue. “Bacon and eggs,” he explains, like he's reading my mind … or maybe just the expression on my face.