Alice

by Christina Henry

  She didn’t think so. The Jabberwocky was a Magician, even if part of his magic was missing. He might just snatch them up and devour them before Alice had a chance to do anything.

  They opened the door to see the rows of loyal soldiers still in place, and Alice sighed. She’d forgotten about them. There was only the Jabberwocky for her now, and they had no time for this nonsense.

  Hatcher raised his axe, ready to slice his way through all of the Rabbit’s pawns, but Alice shook her head. She wanted to try something first.

  “I wish you would all go to sleep,” she said.

  Each man slumped in his place, eyes closed, and soon they were all dozing.

  “I think we should kill them anyway,” Hatcher said. “They were loyal to the Rabbit. When they wake up and find out what we’ve done they’ll come after us.”

  “We didn’t do it. Dor did.”

  “They won’t know that. There will be a dead king and a dead queen, and we the last ones who saw them alive.”

  “We won’t be in the City anymore,” Alice said. Or we might be in the Jabberwock’s belly. “It won’t matter.”

  Hatcher shuffled in place. “I don’t like leaving them unfinished.”

  “There will be plenty of blood for you outside,” Alice said, recognizing his mood. “The Jabberwock, remember?”

  “Can’t I just . . . ?” Hatcher began.

  “No.”

  She paused at the exit, clearing her mind. He was outside.

  “Can you feel him, Hatch? I can,” she said. “Like a great bird that fills up the sky with its wings.”

  “No,” he said. “He’s hidden from me now.”

  She opened the door, and climbed the steps.

  A man stood in the middle of the street, an average-sized man wearing a black suit and a black cape and very shiny black shoes.

  Alice turned to Hatcher then, and put her hand on his cheek, and let him see the love in her eyes.

  “You’re not alone, Alice,” he repeated.

  “Sleep until it’s over,” she said. “Sleep, little butterfly.”

  She caught him as he fell, and lowered him gently to the ground, his axe clutched in his hand.

  Then she walked out to face the Jabberwocky. Her heart did not pound. Her breath did not pant. She felt apart from her body, lighter than air, as if she were in a dream and only watching it all.

  His face was bright and curious. Something about it reminded Alice of Cheshire, and his eagerness to learn everything about them. His eyes were very black, though, black like a night without candles or stars.

  She stopped when she was within arm’s length of him, and cocked her head to one side.

  “You aren’t what I expected,” she said.

  “What did you expect?” he asked.

  Alice gestured with her hands, holding them above her head. “Something bigger.”

  “More like a monster, then? I can do that if you like,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t prefer it. This is fine.”

  “You touched the blade that cut me,” he said. “I can smell it upon you. I felt it when you drove me out.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” Alice said. “I only wanted you to leave Hatcher alone.”

  “Hatcher? The one who dreams of blood?” the Jabberwocky asked. “Yes, I liked him very much. His dreams kept me alive, made me stronger. I couldn’t risk keeping the connection open with you about. Once you’re gone he’ll feed me for a good long while, and protect me when I’m at rest. We are kin, Hatcher and I, in our hearts.”

  “No,” Alice said, and it was a “no” to all he had just spoken.

  “You think you will stop me?” The Jabberwock laughed softly.

  “You are not kin, you and Hatcher,” Alice said. “He dreams of blood, yes, but not the blood of the innocent. He is more human than you or I will ever be.”

  “You’re just like him, you know. Your grandfather of many greats past. You even look like him.” He waved his hand around the shape of Alice’s face. “Here, in the bones. It shows. And in the contempt you have for me in your eyes, those same cold blue eyes that he had.”

  His voice never changed but something underneath it became deep and dark, the warning growl of an animal.

  “What else could I have?” Alice asked. Her eyes were wide and innocent. “You are a terrible creature, a thing that should not be.”

  “And who are you to decide what should and should not be?” the Jabberwocky said, and now Alice saw his shadow on the ground, stretching back over all the paths walked by her and Hatcher, covering the whole City in its blanket. “You are nothing but a child to the universe, a mote of dust drifting in an ocean of galaxies. Your magic is a small and puny thing compared to mine. I know the deepest secrets of the earth, and I know a power you could never understand.”

  “That is true,” Alice said. “I could never understand you.”

  She would never comprehend the need to hurt those who never hurt her, the need to hate for the sake of hating. She never wanted to rule over others in fear. No, she would never understand the Jabberwocky.

  Nor, it suddenly occurred to her, would he understand her. That was a power too—the power to be incomprehensible to great beings, beings that would expect her to behave just like them.

  Wish.

  “Give me your hand,” she said, and held out her own.

  The Jabberwocky narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You will not be able to trick me thus; nor will you put me to sleep like your friend.”

  “I don’t wish to trick you, or put you to sleep,” Alice said, and it sounded true because it was true.

  “You cannot force me out of existence,” the Jabberwocky said. “My magic is stronger than yours.”

  “If you are so much more powerful than I, then you have nothing to fear,” Alice said.

  She knew then that he was frightened of her, deep in the well of his soul, for he did not understand her. She faced him with clear eyes and a clear heart, without trembling or crying. She was nothing like anyone he had met before.

  She waited. He placed his hand in hers. His hands were cold, colder than snow in January, and Alice thought she could feel all the evil in the world trapped just under the surface of his skin.

  “Now what will you do, little girl?” the Jabberwocky said.

  She was dancing in her mind now, dancing through the garden on the first warm day of spring, wings brushing against her ears and landing in her hair, fluttering beauties just out of reach.

  The rose pendant on her chest glowed, and the Jabberwocky squinted against its light.

  “I wish you were a little purple butterfly in a jar,” Alice said, her voice high and clear. “A very little jar without holes.”

  The Jabberwocky’s eyes widened, and for one moment his hand squeezed convulsively on hers. She felt a tug deep in her chest, as though the bit of him that had accidentally been trapped inside her was trying to get out.

  Then there was a scream, a scream not from the Jabberwocky’s mouth but his shadow, a primal roar of pain and fury and disbelief, disbelief that such a simple child could have defeated him.

  The wind blew Alice’s hair and streamed dust in her eyes. It whipped into a vast dark cloud that started in the sky and ended a few inches from her feet.

  Then the cloud was gone, and the shadow was gone, and all was silent.

  A little green jar, just the size to fit in her pocket, rested near the toe of her boot. The top was sealed shut. Inside it a purple butterfly the size of her thumb beat its wings angrily against the glass.

  Alice picked up the jar and held it at eye level. The Jabberwocky fluttered faster, throwing its body in her direction. She imagined his angry little eyes cursing her, though he was so small she could not see them.

  “I’m going to put this jar in my pocket now,” Alice said, and the Jabberwocky stilled. “I’m going to put it in my pocket and I am going to forget you. It will be a very long time before I recall that you ar
e there. When I next take this from my pocket, your wings will no longer beat. And when I pass by a river or a lake, one with very deep water, I will throw this out into the middle and watch it sink, and never think on you again. One day I will have a daughter of my own, and I will not tell her the story of the good Magician who trapped the Jabberwocky. I will not tell her so that the world forgets your name, forgets you ever existed. It will be as if you never were in the first place.”

  At this the butterfly frantically resumed its activity. Alice closed her hand around the jar and pushed it deep inside the pocket of her pants. It felt heavier than a jar that size ought to, like it concealed something larger than a fluttering insect.

  Alice sighed. Somehow things had not quite turned out as she expected. In her mind she would find the blade that defeated the Jabberwocky, and use it to vanquish him like that girl in the story who led all the soldiers. She’d thought Hatcher would be at her side, her white knight, defending her from the Jabberwocky’s armies.

  Life is not much like stories, Alice thought. Still, her life had a giant talking rabbit in it, and she didn’t think that was very common.

  She had lived. Hatcher had lived, and all of their enemies were vanquished.

  And she was a Magician.

  Applause broke out behind her, obscene in the silence. Alice knew who it was before she turned to face him.

  Hatcher had woken, and was rubbing his head and frowning at the little man who stood a few feet from him. Alice could read the thoughts that ran across his face, and saw when he decided that chopping off Cheshire’s head wasn’t worth the trouble.

  “Cheshire,” Alice said. “I suppose I ought to thank you.”

  “No need for thanks, no need,” Cheshire said.

  “I said I ought to thank you. I didn’t say I would.”

  Cheshire was not moved in the least by her rudeness. “That was just magnificent, my dear. Magnificent. And not at all what he expected, was it? Such an interesting solution.”

  There was that word again—“interesting.” Alice hated being interesting.

  “Just what was your stake in all this?” Hatcher asked. He joined Alice, giving her a sideways glance that told her she would pay later for putting him to sleep.

  Cheshire patted his hands together, softly now. It was as if he couldn’t stop clapping, couldn’t contain his excitement.

  “Why, you’ve given me the whole City on a platter,” Cheshire said, spreading his arms wider than the grin plastered on his face. “What wonderful, wonderful children you are.”

  Hatcher stared. “You mean all the territories? You’re taking them now?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, and his eyes gleamed. “The Caterpillar and the Walrus and the Rabbit all fell down, like lovely little dominoes before the flick of her hand. Mr. Carpenter is nothing, nothing but a human, and he’ll be gone soon too. Theodore is seeing to that. Oh, speaking of Theodore—he was not very happy with you about Theobald, Hatcher. But I convinced him it was all for the best. Yes, all for the best.”

  “Why did you send us into the maze?” Alice asked.

  “Oh, just a little test. If you could survive the creature, then I was certain you’d be up to the task ahead,” Cheshire said.

  “What about the mermaid?” Alice said.

  “Back swimming in her lake, as she ought to be,” Cheshire said. “Her magic does not work on me, you know. It’s how I was able to take her out and deliver her to the Caterpillar in the first place. She should have remembered that.”

  Alice wanted to be angry at Cheshire, but she was too tired. He’d always been interested in something besides their success; she’d known that. And he had helped—in his own strange way. Hatcher said Cheshire didn’t deal in girls, so hopefully all those girls taken would be set free to better lives.

  Still, enough was enough, and Cheshire was hardly a hero. If Alice and Hatcher died it would have made little difference to him. He would have found some way to benefit.

  “I wish you would stop watching us from afar,” Alice said, putting the emphasis on the first two words.

  She heard a little popping noise then, like something had broken in the space between them.

  Cheshire frowned. “That was not very fun of you at all, Alice. I’ve so enjoyed your adventures.”

  “Yes, but they are my adventures,” Alice said. “And I think we will get along just fine without your assistance from now on.”

  “But so many exciting things to come! The quest for Hatcher’s daughter!” Cheshire said. He sounded a little whiny now, like a child who’d been denied sweets.

  “You’ll have plenty to do,” Alice said. “You won’t have time to watch us.”

  She deliberately turned her back then, and started walking away. Hatcher joined her, tucking his axe away underneath his jacket.

  Cheshire laughed softly behind them.

  Alice couldn’t help herself. She looked over her shoulder, and saw him fading away bit by bit, until all that remained was his wide, white smile, and then that was gone too.

  Hatcher didn’t speak for a long while. Alice waited for him, feeling she shouldn’t try to explain her actions unless forced to do so.

  “I suppose you thought I would distract you,” Hatcher finally said.

  “No,” she answered. “I was afraid the Jabberwocky would take you.”

  He considered this, and then took her hand in his, squeezing it tight. “That I can understand.”

  She told him then of what happened while he slept. He asked to see the jar with the Jabberwocky inside, and Alice shook her head.

  “I said I wouldn’t take it out again until I’d forgotten about it, and then he would be dead. So I think it’s like a promise, or a wish, or a magic spell. He has to stay there until I forget and remember again.”

  The City slowly woke up as they walked, people emerging from their homes and blinking as if seeing the sun for the first time. When they passed the square and crossed to the path where the Jabberwocky had wreaked death, they saw survivors loading bodies on carts.

  “There will be a terrible burning,” Alice said. “It will draw the attention of the ministers. They will have to help people here.”

  “They don’t have to do anything, Alice, if they don’t wish it,” Hatcher said.

  “I wish it,” Alice said. “I wish the ministers would help clean up the Old City, give money and food and shelter to those that have lost theirs.”

  “You’re getting quite dangerous with those wishes,” Hatcher said. “I’d best not cross you, or you’ll wish me right out of existence.”

  “No,” Alice said. “I have only one wish, but it’s a secret wish, and I cannot speak it aloud.”

  I wish that you will love me forever, forever and always, until the end of time.

  It was a not thing to say aloud, for a wish like that shouldn’t be forced on the other. Alice was grown-up enough to know that. If he loved her, she wanted it to be because he wished it too.

  He smiled then. “I have the same wish, and I’ll keep it in my secret heart, just like you.”

  They reached the place where the tunnel led out of the City and slipped into the shack. Once inside, Alice hesitated.

  “Should we lock the door? Block it somehow? Keep others from leaving the City?”

  Hatcher considered. “It’s Cheshire’s territory now, so it’s his problem. He’s sure to plug up the hole soon. We should get away while we still can, and good luck to anyone else who stumbles onto the tunnels.”

  Yes, Alice thought. Let as many escape as they can, if they can find this place.

  She could smell the promise of green grass and sunshine, and butterflies dancing in the wind as they entered the cave.

  The footprints of the girls who’d passed before them were in the dirt, and the giant paw prints of Pipkin. Alice thought she heard their laughter far ahead. She smiled at Hatcher, and started to run, her laughter chasing theirs.

  “Alice!” he called, and she heard him laugh
too, and the pounding of his feet, nearly upon her. “What are you doing?”

  She couldn’t stop laughing, the happiness she had never hoped for overflowing in her heart. “Following the white rabbit, of course.”