We’re led to one of the tents just outside the pavilion. Before the flap is folded back, goose pimples break out up and down alongside my arms. My heart trips over itself; my fingers tremble.
“Wait here,” the card soldier tells us before entering the tent.
Victor is uncharacteristically quiet as he takes in his surroundings. I estimate there are at least four or five hundred soldiers in the encampment, which is a surprisingly low and worrisome number. A thought comes to me, one I never remotely entertained before.
What if things are different? The uncertainties plaguing my chest morph into an iron band.
A pair of old, decorated soldiers walk by, deep in discussion, but the moment they catch sight of me, they halt.
I recognize one of them. More importantly, he recognizes me, having been one of my own. “Son of a jabberwocky,” he whispers. “Can it be?” He drops to a knee, his head bowed. “Today is the most miraculous of days. Welcome home, Your Majesty. May the bells ring in your honor.”
I cut him off immediately. “Thank you, Sir Halwyn. But I must insist you do not announce my arrival.”
“Of course, my lady. Please tell this old knight what he can do for you, though. An item? News? Ask it and it’s yours.”
“I ask that you rise, good sir. I require no prostrations.”
Once more upon his feet, his genial concern is torn away by a snarl. “Who dares to place you in wrist cuffs?” The sword from his scabbard is in his hands in the blink of an eye. “Which scoundrel has done this to you?”
Victor pokes at the tent flap. “The chap you’re looking for is in there.”
“The least I can do is rectify this situation in lieu of the King’s absence.” The knight knocks the flap aside, but I reach out and grab his arm, alarm coursing through me. The flap closes as he steps closer.
“The King isn’t here in the camp?”
He softens at my question. “My lady, he is merely in the field and is expected back shortly. We’ve had word that this night has been a most successful one for His Majesty.”
I ask quietly, “And Her Majesty?” What if the Hatter had been mistaken?
“They have separated across the battlefield in order to utilize the army in the most efficient manner.” He points into the distance, toward the East. “Seventy kilometers yonder lies an identical encampment.”
I bite my lip and peer in the direction indicated. Seventy kilometers is not far at all, unfortunately. “And the Red Queen and King?”
“They have also separated.” He motions first to the North and then to the South. “The Red Queen’s encampment is closest; it has edged about twenty kilometers closer to us these last few days.”
Bloody hell, this has gotten out of control. “And the Heart Court?”
“My lady, we have yet to successfully locate any of their encampments. They are tricky, deceitful buggers, and have splintered into many small pockets to hide within.”
As I process this, he folds the flap of the tent back once more. And then, before I can say anything, the knight bellows, “Who is the bloody imbecile who put wrist cuffs on the Queen of Diamonds?”
I quickly step through the flap, dragging Victor with me. “That’s enough, kind sir.”
Inside the tent is a handful of men and women I am very familiar with, and when their eyes find me, confusion, elation, and terror fill their brightly colored orbs.
Nightrider Quigley, a tall yet aged and distinguished Unicorn, starts in surprise. The rest of the suit does the same. And then, as if on cue, they all drop to a knee (or the equivalent of a knee for those who are animals) before me—all except the card soldier who brought us here. He’s bewildered, his focus flitting quickly back and forth between me and his commanding officers.
The officer next to him yanks him to the ground.
Victor nudges me. “I rather like this. Why couldn’t this other fellow have fallen to his knees before you rather than threaten to slay us?”
The tents occupants rise up when Nightrider lurches upright. “SLAY THE QUEEN OF DIAMONDS?!” Spittle flies from his thick lips. “Five of Diamonds! On your feet, private!”
Five of Diamonds, I muse. How deliciously ironic. “This isn’t necessary,” I say, but a sharp jab from Victor quickly hushes me. He’s taking too much pleasure in seeing our captor get dressed down.
The pikeman quickly scrambles to his feet. His lead officer, a burly Griphon whose feathers have begun to gray, barks, “Explain yourself immediately.”
“These are the prisoners I was telling you about.” The card soldier’s lean body goes taut. “The ones I found in the midst of Queen of Heart’s assault on Nobbytown. They were carrying weapons, sir. None of the ordinary citizens did so.”
The Nightrider’s face turns a mottled shade of red and purple beneath his graying, coarse hair. “Do you have any idea who you have insulted, private? Do you know that your life is forfeit now?”
This has gone on long enough. “I must insist that this soldier was only doing his job, and ceased any attempts on our lives once I provided him with the safe word. I beg of you to release him of any accusations of wrongdoing. I am here, in this encampment, which is exactly where I wanted him to bring me.”
The Nightrider grunts but concedes to my request. “Get those cuffs off immediately.”
I’ll give it to him—the card soldier is stoic the entire time he extracts his card. “Yes, sir.”
Victor’s winsome smile as he thrusts his arms out makes me want to roll my eyes. I bite back a comment about ladies first, and allow him this bit of early freedom. Four quick swipes, though, and the cuffs are off our wrists and back into the soldier’s pack.
Victor taps the card soldier’s bag. “Our weapons?”
Without a beat, the soldier tugs them out of his bottomless bag and passes them over.
“If I may be so informal,” the Nightrider says gruffly, “I’m surprised to find you here today, my lady.”
Not as much as I am. “I’m told His Majesty ought to be here shortly?”
“Yes, my lady. I got word via jubjub bird just half of an hour confirming this. May I offer you and your companion some food or drink?”
I smooth my skirts, hating that my hands are once more shaking. “No, thank you. But that reminds me. Gentlemen and gentleladies, I would like to introduce you to a colleague of mine. This is Dr. Victor Frankenstein.”
It’s then I remember his surname is actually Van Brunt, but Victor takes no offense to my bumbled introduction. While hands are shaken, it’s clear the White King’s military advisors have taken an interest in his title. One of my former lead Sergeants says, “We have a medical tent set up, but our staff is currently limited as most were recalled to the White Queen’s camp a few days prior. There are several soldiers who are in dire condition—perhaps we might have the honor of you taking a look at our patients and facilities?”
For a moment, I worry Victor will refuse them. After all, Mary and Finn are still out there, and we have no idea what shape they’re in. But then my friend graciously agrees to do so, even going as far as asking about supplies and conditions.
While he’s talking with the Sergeant and a few others, the Nightrider pulls me aside. “My lady, this is no place for you right now. While our encampment is fairly safe, the battles around us are brutal. With the bounties still placed upon your being, I urge you to find safer quarters.”
I place my hand on the hard metal covering his chest. It’s dinged in far too many places, rusty in others. “I appreciate your concern, but there are things I must discuss with His Majesty before I depart. How bad is it?”
A hoof runs over his face. “May I be frank?”
“Always.”
“The situation is most dire, my lady. The contentiousness between the three remaining courts is most egregious. As far as I know, communication has broken down entirely. As a last resort, the White Court sent a pair of diplomats out a month back, only to have their . . .” Bleakness carves lines o
n his worn, half-painted face. “Well, my lady, both the Queen and the King received identical boxes bearing severed heads. I suppose you have heard about your Chief Advisor by now. I’m terribly sorry about that, my lady. The Caterpillar was a force to be reckoned with.”
I cannot help the shudder that overtakes me. Things are bad enough back at ground zero—but to hear that conditions in Wonderland have deteriorated to the point they are? “I am most despondent to hear of such an atrocity. Are the Red and Hearts Courts in collusion?”
The Nightrider is grim when he shrugs. “It is a possibility that cannot be ruled out, but His Majesty does not think this the case.”
I glance around the tent, taking in the maps pinned to the canvas walls and the model battlefield and miniature statues that encompass at least half the space. “What does the Cheshire-Cat have to say about all of this?
“The Cheshire has been captured by the Hearts Court.” He’s uncharacteristically bleak. “His Majesty received an inch of tail a month prior, but there has been no word since. We fear the worst, my lady. Despite our best efforts, we have been unable to find him. First the diplomats, then this?”
“And Her Majesty’s Grand Advisor?”
“Also missing.”
Good God. The Hearts are systematically taking out the Chief Advisors.
The Nightrider turns toward the old knight who first recognized me, now guarding the flap alongside the card soldier. “Sir Halwyn. A moment, please.”
The knight jolts to attention, his armor creaking. “My lord.”
“Go to His Majesty’s pavilion and tell the page to ready a pair of rooms for our esteemed guests.”
Sir Halwyn nods before swiftly exiting.
“Five of Diamonds?”
The card soldier instantly turns toward his commanding officer, his body snapping to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“You will be charged with protecting the Queen of Diamonds and Dr. Frankenstein during their stay in the encampment.”
Across the room, Victor goes silent, his eyes widening significantly in aggrieved disbelief.
I head him off the pass, as I’m fully aware of why the Nightrider is assigning this soldier to us. “That is most generous of you, but surely you remember I am well-equipped to protect myself. Dr. Frankenstein is also quite skilled in weaponry.”
“Your skills are indeed legendary, my lady. But I would be remiss if, in the midst of warfare such as we’re seeing, I do not do everything I can to ensure your safety. His Majesty would not wish it any other way.”
Words of dissension tickle my tongue, but then it strikes me a native Wonderlander—and a pike wielder, no less—might come in handy. “Very well. We would be grateful for his service.”
Hi chin juts in the direction of the youth. “Despite contrary experiences you may have had with him today, the Five of Diamonds is one of our better pikemen. He isn’t much of a talker, though. Chances are, you won’t even know he’s around.”
My eyes follow the Nightrider’s over to where the card soldier is standing at attention. “This one is quite young, isn’t he?”
“You, of all people, can surely attest that youth has nothing to do with natural talent.”
I turn back to find the Nightrider smiling wistfully. “You are incomparably sweet, my lord.”
He looks away, voice gruff. “And you have been greatly missed, my lady.”
I do not say anything further. There isn’t any need to, not when my apologies are best served for another’s ears.
AN HOUR LATER, AND after a quick intake of rations from our backpacks, Victor and I are safely ensconced inside the sitting room of the White King’s pavilion. Never one for extraneous frivolity like his other half, the walls are bare, the floors covered with simple yet comfortable carpets, and the furniture is functional and practical.
This is not lost on Victor. He glances around as he swallows several pills he’s just taken out of an unmarked bottle in his backpack. “This belongs to a monarch?”
My eyes wander over to where the Five of Diamonds is standing, pike at attention as he guards the entrance in. “It does.”
“Interesting.” His lips curve upward before he takes a swig of water. “Who knew that royalty in Wonderland were so frugal?”
I wonder what type of pills he just took. “Not all.”
“But this one is. I suppose I expected extravagance, or at least whimsy.” He wanders over to a draft table filled with a model battlefield almost identical to the one in the Nightrider’s tent. “Do you know this White King?”
A twinge plucks within my chest. “I do.”
“You’re going to ask him for help, aren’t you?”
Sometimes I don’t think I give Victor enough credit. “I am.”
“You think he can help us find the catalyst and Mary and Finn.”
I keep my voice steady. “Yes.”
Our phones have yet to register either Finn or Mary’s movements. Do these blasted machines even work? The waiting is unbearable.
“Can you trust him? I’m sorry to have to ask, but this is my girlfriend and my brother we’re talking about. For all we know, this king will blow us off since he’s got a multi-front war going on.”
A bit of my old madness tickles the back of my throat, because the urge to laugh is strong. I wonder if Mary would be pleased or annoyed to hear him refer to her as such. “I promise you he will assist us.”
“You can’t promise that.”
And yet I can.
I wander over to where he’s standing, and for several long minutes, we simply stare at the figures and scenes below us. He picks up a small chess piece of the Red Queen. “Were you frightened when you left?”
I take the piece from him and run my fingers over the crown jutting off the top of the miniature queen’s head. “Yes and no. I had hoped a multi-front war could be prevented by my leaving Wonderland, but it appears I was wrong. And that saddens me more than you could possibly know.”
He picks up the King of Hearts figurine and stares at it. There’s a distance to his eyes, though, one I can’t help but guess at.
Even though it’s only a hope, I say, “I have faith that your father has found the suspects in our absence.”
“I hope so.” The figurine is placed back upon the table. “Do you think we will get the catalyst?”
“Oh, most definitely.”
“I’m lucky, you know. My original Timeline’s catalyst is already safely catalogued into the Museum.” And then, more softly, “It’s sometimes a hard burden to bear in the Society, when so many other Timelines are not as fortunate.”
I think about what Van Brunt told me about his Timeline, and of how Victor and Finn lost Katrina. “You should never feel guilty that your original Timeline thrives.”
“I always ask myself, each time we lose one, was there something more I could have done? Or any of us?”
I can only imagine what a terrible feeling that must be for an orphaned child. “Your father told me about your mother.”
His smile is fragile, and in this moment, Victor looks more like a young boy than a man of thirty-one. “She was the best. The warmest, sweetest, kindest, loveliest woman to ever walk in any of the Timelines.”
He’s a good son to think this.
“To lose her was unbearable. We were all helpless and confused, and here was Brom—strong, in control Brom, and his—our—family was gone in an instant.” He runs a hand through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling. “Katrina and Brom wanted children, but they never could, I suppose. She used to tell me when I was a lad that I made her the luckiest mother in all the Timelines.” His chuckle is soft and sad. “She said, ‘You chose me to be your mother. I am so lucky, Victor. The luckiest.’ And I would argue stupidly, ‘I didn’t choose you.’ She would just laugh and smile and assure me I had. ‘You hugged me and kissed me and called me mum. You chose me.’” He lets out a hard breath. “I was the lucky one, you know. I had her since I was just a tot. Finn didn’t join ou
r family until he was a teen. He was a hellion in the beginning, used to freedom and no one requiring anything remotely like responsibilities from him.” His grin is rueful. “The ironic thing is, Brom was just as bad when he was younger. We always teased Finn that, for being adopted, he sure took after his father. For the first year or so, the NYPD and our parents interacted far too often. But Katrina didn’t care about how many times Finn was in trouble with the law. She would tell him, as he raged about, that she loved him exactly as he was. That there was nothing he could ever do that would make her love him less. He was terrified of family, terrified of what it meant because family and the like could be taken away from him. He was quite a nomad in his youth, you know.”
I didn’t, actually.
“I grew up with the Society. Finn hasn’t had as many years as me, as the last published book in his series had him at fifteen. So he couldn’t join the Society until after that.” He shakes his head. “Even though he came willingly to the Society, he still lashed out a lot back then. It’s funny now to think about, considering.”
I’m fascinated by all of this. Huckleberry Finn Van Brunt, a hellion? The polite, kind man whose gentle deeds toward others has endeared him to me? “When did you join the Society?”
He scratches the back of his neck as he considers my question. “Honestly, I can’t remember. I was young and poor, living on the streets with my biological mum. I remember not wanting to go, but she was sick and knew it was a better life for me, especially as my biological father, who I’d never met, was already dead.” A few seconds of pained silence settle between us. “Later on, when I was at University, I had the A.D. track her down for me. She’d died not two weeks after I moved to New York. I think she knew she was dying, so that’s why she gave me up so easily.”
He’d lost not one, but two mothers. “Oh, Victor,” I murmur. “I am so terribly sorry to hear this.”
“Katrina insisted that I spend all of my summers in England, as that was where my father was from. This England and my Timeline’s England are similar, she reasoned. It would be like me holding onto pieces of my past—or at least learning about them. For most of my childhood, she stayed with me in London. Once Finn arrived . . .” He shrugs. “She stayed in New York to help him out. And I went away to college and medical school in England.”
The Collectors' Society Page 27