Alice

by Christina Henry

  Dolly eagerly picked up the bucket, obviously pleased to be released before her task was complete. She stopped halfway to the kitchen, looking from Hatcher to Alice to the keeper. “What about me wages?”

  The older woman huffed, putting the dishes on a table. She hurried to the girl’s side, muttering, “Come along, you ninny.”

  They disappeared into the box, leaving the other three around the table. The keeper looked at the scar on Alice’s cheek, and then back at Hatcher. “I don’t want no trouble with Mr. Carpenter.”

  Hatcher reached into his pocket and doubled the number of coins on the table. “We don’t know Mr. Carpenter. We just need a bed until nightfall, and perhaps some food.”

  The man looked at the coins on the table, and back at Hatcher, who added two more. “You’ll never even know we were here,” he said, and Alice understood this to mean that the keeper was to forget them entirely after they left.

  The keeper nodded, scooping up the coins. “Up those stairs,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. His eyes moved to Alice’s shirtsleeve.

  She saw the blood there, coating the cuff, which she hadn’t noticed before. Hatcher’s right hand, his axe hand, had it too, and along the back of the wrist. Alice supposed they should have done a better job of cleaning up, but then, the blood seemed to help the tavern keeper take them more seriously than he otherwise would have.

  “My wife will bring you up some pies in a moment. Second room on the left. I can’t vouch for the mattress. Some of the lads who come in take it for an hour.”

  Alice paused on the steps behind Hatcher.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, not looking back.

  At the top of the stairs there was a little turn and then a hallway that stretched back above the tavern floor. Hatcher opened the door to the room and waved Alice in ahead of him.

  She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. For a moment she’d been afraid that they would come upon a man and a woman in the act. But the room was empty.

  There was a dirty mattress on the floor, straw leaking from a hole in one side. A filthy wool blanket was tossed at the foot. Alice had spent ten years sleeping on the floor in the asylum, but she shuddered when she saw the foul bed.

  “You don’t have to sleep there,” Hatcher said solicitously.

  “I’m not certain I can sleep at all,” she said.

  “You have to try and get some rest,” he said. “Mayhap after you eat something you’ll feel calmer.”

  A small dusty window let in the faint sunlight. Alice went and looked out at the alley below. Hatcher joined her.

  “Useful,” he said. “You can see the back entrance from here, and right down onto the tavern floor from the door.”

  “Do you think someone will come looking for us?”

  Hatcher shook his head. “Who’s to know we’re the ones killed those two guards? It was dark.”

  “Someone could have seen,” Alice said, thinking of the buildings all around, with their windows that hid watchful eyes.

  “They would have followed us, then,” he said. “Any soldier of Mr. Carpenter would have raised the alarm on us right away. And any looking to curry favor with him would have tracked us here.”

  “How do you know nobody did?” Alice asked.

  She felt restless, and strangely trapped. She wasn’t certain she could fit through that dirty little window, skinny as she was, if they needed to get away. And the stairs could be blocked.

  “Don’t worry, Alice,” he said. He lay on the bare floor, away from the mattress, and tucked the pack behind his head. He held out one arm to her. “Come and sleep.”

  “Not yet,” she said, watching the activity under the window. A grubby-looking girl of twelve or thirteen approached a young man smoking a cigarette. They talked for a moment; then the girl took the man’s hand and led him away to the shadows. Alice turned away, feeling sick to her stomach.

  The tavern keeper and his wife seemed all right, but she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that they weren’t safe here. “Hatch, don’t you think there’s something wrong?”

  “No,” he said, pulling his cap low over his eyes. A moment later his breathing was deep and even.

  He always slept like that, Alice thought. He would be wide awake and talking to her through the mouse hole, and then suddenly the talking would cease and she’d hear the sound of his breath, smooth and regular. Except when the Jabberwock was awake. When the Jabberwock was awake he couldn’t sleep at all.

  There was a soft knock at the door, and Alice remembered the landlady was going to bring them some pies. But it might not be her, she thought. She pulled the knife from her pocket and kept it low against her thigh as she opened the door a small crack.

  The tavern keeper’s wife stood there, holding a tray covered with a piece of flour sacking. She expressed no surprise at Alice’s caution. “Pies,” she said.

  Alice nodded, tucking the knife back in her jacket before opening the door farther. She took the tray from the lady, murmuring, “Thanks.”

  The woman peered over Alice’s shoulder at the sleeping Hatcher. “That your man?”

  “Yes,” Alice said without thinking. Then her eyes widened in terror, because she was supposed to be a boy.

  The woman shook her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”

  “How did you know?” Alice asked, her voice low.

  She was worried that Hatcher might not be completely asleep, that he may have overheard. If he had, there was no telling what he might do. He could decide to pay the keeper and his wife to keep their mouths shut. Or he might think killing them was easiest. Hatcher was not easy to predict. That fact was clear after his actions with the guards. Alice didn’t want to leave a trail of bodies behind them all the way to Cheshire’s place. If anyone were following them, the bodies would be better than bread crumbs.

  “I was like you, once,” she said, her eyes full of understanding. “My Harry saved me, and kept me safe all these years. You can trust us.”

  There was a history in those few sentences, the story of a girl who’d been taken and used, like Alice. Only Alice didn’t remember who had saved her from her captor. She might have had help. She might have saved herself. The feeling of a knife in flesh had felt so familiar. Still, Hatcher had rescued her from the asylum, and from the traders who would have taken her the moment she was free from there.

  “I don’t think others will know what you are, unless they’re looking for a girl,” the woman went on. “But they won’t find a girl here.”

  Alice met her eyes, and a shared understanding passed between them. “Thank you . . .” she said, her voice trailing off into a question.

  “Nell,” the woman said.

  “Thank you, Nell,” Alice said.

  “Now, you eat up those pies,” Nell said. “I’ve got the sense you have some traveling ahead of you. Are you running from Mr. Carpenter?”

  Alice shook her head. “He told your husband true. We don’t know Mr. Carpenter.”

  Nell wisely did not ask whom they had escaped or where they were heading. She nodded and went away down the stairs.

  Alice sat on the floor with the tray in her lap and pulled off the sacking. She’d half expected something greasy and half-cooked, automatically assuming that the quality of food would not be so remarkable in this part of the City.

  But the pies she uncovered smelled heavenly, and the pastry that wrapped them was golden brown and flaking, which meant Nell used lots of butter in them. Alice knew that because as a child she’d spent many an afternoon in the kitchen, watching Cook magically turning flour and water and butter and a little sugar and salt into delicious pies.

  She bit into the crust, savoring the melting buttery taste on her tongue. The pie was stuffed with meat and gravy and potatoes, the smell of it taking her back again, until she was just four or five years old, perched on a chair eating a bun while Cook stirred the pot at the stove.

  She finished the pie before
she knew it, and looked longingly at the second one on the tray before wrapping it in the piece of sacking and tucking it in her jacket pocket. Hatcher would want it when he woke.

  Alice knew she should sleep, knew that Hatcher would push the pace when night fell. She was eager to escape Mr. Carpenter’s territory. The uneasy feeling stayed with her, growing despite Nell’s assurances that they were safe. Something was coming. Alice was sure of it.

  But Hatch is a Seer, and he doesn’t think anything is wrong, she thought. It was just nerves. There had been nothing except stress and danger since they’d emerged from the poisoned river, and now that they were a few moments away from that danger, she couldn’t shake it.

  “Sleep, little butterfly,” she whispered, pulling her jacket close around her and crossing her arms. The cap tilted low over her eyes, like Hatcher’s, but she did not lie down. She was under the window and across from the door, feeling that if something came through either opening she would know immediately.

  And what’s coming through the window, you nit? she thought. She’d noted herself that it was too small for any but a child to fit through.

  “Sleep, little butterfly,” she repeated, and closed her eyes, humming the tune softly.

  She did not expect to fall asleep, but she must have, for she woke later with Hatcher’s hand on her arm, his face close to hers in the darkness. The darkness had a different quality, the dark of falling night. They must have slept all day, or at least Alice had, and Hatcher allowed it. She could just make out the finger over his lips, silently telling her to stay quiet. Alice shook off the dream that clung to the edges of her brain, something about cake. She’d eaten the cake and gotten very tall, so tall she’d filled up the room.

  Hatcher moved away from her, tiptoeing to the door. The pack was already slung over his shoulder and the axe in his hand. Alice slowly came to her feet and followed him, stepping carefully so the floor would not creak, until she was at his shoulder. Now she could hear the sounds of struggle downstairs, glass breaking, benches falling over. Hatcher turned the knob on the door and eased it open a tiny crack, just enough to peer over the balcony and down into the tavern room.

  There were five men there, all of them wiry with muscle and wielding knives. There were two other men near their feet, who looked like they might have been customers. They would not be customers any longer. Both of the men had slashed throats.

  The attackers appeared to be untouched. They also seemed to be better kept than the sentries Alice and Hatcher killed earlier. Their faces were clean, as were their clothes. They were all dressed in a kind of uniform, blue coats and grey pants and black bowler hats.

  The intruders formed a loose half circle around Harry, who stood in front of Nell and Dolly, his hands curled in fists. Nell had her arm around the girl, who was shaking with terror, her mouth open in a silent scream. There was no one else visible. Alice assumed that the other patrons had fled.

  She put her mouth close to Hatcher’s ear, speaking so low only a mouse could hear. “Do you think they’re from Mr. Carpenter? Looking for us?”

  Hatcher shook his head once—No—and then cupped his hand over his ear to indicate they should listen.

  The man in the middle of the group spoke. He didn’t look different from the rest of the men, but he had clearly been designated the leader.

  “The Walrus is taking over this street, and as you can see,” the man said, nudging one of the bloody corpses with the toe of his boot, “the terms of your agreement may be different from your terms with Mr. Carpenter.”

  Alice took an instant dislike to this man. It wasn’t the posturing and bullying—she’d seen that already, and would see it again—but the oily smugness of his tone made her back teeth grind.

  Someone should teach him a lesson, she thought, and she felt the handle of her knife under her hand.

  “I pay Mr. Carpenter thirty percent of the takings, plus the rent,” Harry said. “Anything more and we won’t be able to eat, nor pay the girl wages.”

  “Thirty percent,” the man said, his tone musing. “Well, that is quite generous of Mr. Carpenter. Unfortunately the Walrus is not quite so generous. Forty percent is where he starts, and your books will be checked by Allan here every week.”

  He gestured toward the man next to him, who did not look like he knew very much about figures, in Alice’s opinion. But perhaps that blank snake’s look was what the Walrus wanted in a numberchecker.

  “Forty percent?” Harry said, his voice hoarse with outrage. “I might as well close up shop and leave. We’ve barely enough to get by as it is.”

  The leader of the little gang sidled forward, touching the tip of his knife with a finger. He looked at Harry, the position of the knife suddenly more purposeful, and Alice thought that blade would slide right between Harry’s ribs smooth as a spoon through jam.

  “I don’t think it will be so difficult for you to make forty percent,” the man said, and pointed the knife toward Nell and Dolly. “Especially since the two of them will be coming with us, and that will be two less mouths for you to concern yourself with.”

  Dolly did scream then, a howl of fear that chilled Alice to the marrow of her bones. “No! No! I won’t go to the Walrus, I won’t! He’ll eat me!”

  CHAPTER

  6

  “That’ll do,” Hatcher said, and threw the door open.

  Alice watched in astonishment as he leapt over the rail, his axe in his hand. By the time she collected her wits he had already killed the two men closest to the stairs.

  Harry took advantage of Hatcher’s surprise appearance and swung a meaty fist at the leader. The man was likely too fast for Harry under normal circumstances, but the tavern keeper managed to land a blow hard enough to make the man’s nose crack.

  The leader snarled as blood gushed over his mouth, slashing at Harry with the wicked-looking blade. Alice wouldn’t have credited the big man with speed but he avoided the slash easily, punching at the leader again. The smaller man avoided Harry’s blows. The two of them settled into a kind of dance, each one striking, missing, settling back to try again.

  Alice hurried down the stairs, her knife out. Hatcher appeared to have the other two under control. These men were considerably more skilled than the thugs that Hatcher dispatched the night before, but a glance told her that Hatcher could manage them. One of the attackers already sported a large gash in his left shoulder from Hatcher’s axe. His face was white and Alice didn’t think he would last much longer.

  Nell and Dolly had scampered away from the fighting, toward the stairs. Dolly still screamed, though Nell shook and shushed her, trying to keep the attention of their attackers away. Alice pushed around them, one goal in mind, and Harry made that goal much easier by keeping the leader’s attention on him and his back to Alice.

  She jammed the knife into the leader’s back with so much conviction that the blade disappeared up to the hilt. It wasn’t quite the same as pressing a knife into a soft and squishy part (like eyes) but her anger gave her strength she didn’t know she had. Eyes? Where had that come from?

  He stilled for a moment; then his arms flailed out, clawing for the thing that was stuck inside him. Harry stepped in and punched the man one last time. He caromed backward into Alice and she fell over an upturned bench. She scrambled to her feet again, hands curled and ready to fight, though she had no idea how she would defend herself without the knife. The leader crashed against the bench as well and spun to the floor, landing on his stomach, his legs kicking unnaturally.

  Harry and Alice stared down at the twitching body of the leader for a moment. Dolly was still screaming.

  Alice had missed Hatcher’s final blows but the other two men were also on the floor now. He wiped the blade of his axe on his coat—where, Alice noted, there was quite a stain building up— and crossed the room to Dolly and Nell. Nell backed away from him, her arm around Dolly pulling the girl with her. Alice couldn’t blame her. Hatcher was splattered in blood and his grey eyes wer
e fierce and wild.

  “Don’t you hurt her,” Nell said, and though the tavern keeper’s wife was putting on a brave face she didn’t seem very sure of Hatcher at the moment.

  “I won’t,” Hatcher said, his voice impatient. He put his hand under Dolly’s chin and made her look at him. “That’s enough, now.”

  Dolly’s mouth clapped shut and she gave him a small, frightened nod.

  Hatcher looked around the room at the bodies—two the result of the attackers’ actions, the rest due to himself and Alice. “Do you know these lads?” he asked Harry.

  Harry shook his head. He seemed somewhat deflated now that the fight was over. He and Nell shared a frightened glance. “They said they were from the Walrus.”

  “And who is the Walrus?” Hatcher asked. Alice could tell by his tone that he was walking on the thin edge of patience.

  “He eats them,” Dolly said, and her voice was small now, scared to be heard.

  “Eats who?” Alice asked.

  “The girls he likes best,” Dolly said. “He’s monstrous, they say, bigger than four men put together. And when a girl catches his eye his men bring her to him, and she’s never see again. ’Cos he takes them and eats them while he’s doing it. Eats them alive.”

  The vision these words presented made Alice shudder. As if rape were not enough of a horrifying specter for those girls, now there was this—a man so hideous and evil that he ate his victims even as he defiled them. Could this be a true thing? Could the world really be this terrible? Every step Alice took made her long again for the safety of the hospital, a place where the only nightmares to burden her were familiar ones.

  “That’s only a story, girl, and one you shouldn’t be repeating,” Nell said, though her eyes told Alice a different story.

  “No, it’s true,” Dolly said, shaking her head. “Everyone knows.”

  They all fell silent then, looking at one another, wondering whether it was real, that such a monster could exist. The specter of the Walrus seemed to fill the room, an enormous shadow casting a pall over their seeming victory.