by Wol-vriey
In fact, in all their discussions so far, he’d always stopped just short of suggesting she be assassinated for the trouble she was causing everyone.
***
“But this has to be easy to resolve,” Alice had protested yesterday, while they watched endless processions of March hares hopping everywhere in the streets with relief and medical supplies.
“In theory it is, or at least should be,” Lord Busybody agreed. “But with Anna, nothing’s ever simple. You’re familiar with our country’s geography, yes?”
“To some degree . . .”
“A minor refresher, then – to avoid exactly this sort of dispute, our national border is very clearly demarcated. Victoria and Anna agreed to divide up the country along existing state boundaries. The states of California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina form the northern border of the Texan queendom. Everything north of this line is clearly New York queendom.”
“Everything, that is, except for Kansas, which both queendoms can reasonably lay claim to, being hemmed in by Colorado (which is Texan) to the west, and Missouri (which is New York) to the east. To the south lies Oklahoma (Texan), and to the north is Nebraska (New York).”
“Kansas should be easy to divide then,” Alice said. “Either a North/South, or an East/West division would work. Everyone would be happy.”
Lord Busybody sighed. “You’ve obviously no idea what Anna’s like,” he said. “She was our father’s favorite child; she claims now that she’s fulfilling King Victor’s last will and testament.”
Sensing Alice’s confusion, he smiled sadly.
“Allow me to explain. On his deathbed the old guy had a dream, one in which he was told by an angel that Victorian America would one day be called the United States of America; it would have fifty states, one of which would be the combined isles of Hawaii. So if we create either North and South Kansas or East and West Kansas now, Anna points out, the future United States will have fifty-one states instead of fifty.”
Alice gaped at him. “That’s the reason behind this war – a dead man’s dream?” She mused a while. “But still . . . what I mean is . . . one of your sisters must have inherited Kansas when the country was divided between them. Which one?”
Lord Busybody’s smile became even sadder.
“You’re sure to find this hard to believe, but initially neither Victoria nor Anna wanted Kansas.”
“Huh?”
“It’s true. Both by reputation and in practice, Kansan natives are an extremely difficult lot to govern – cattle rustlers, magicians, prophets, founders of strange cults, extreme rabble-rousers – not the sort of influence you want corrupting your society. Neither one wanted it, so they both simply pretended it wasn’t there. They conveniently avoided it in the border negotiations, as if it were a lake.”
***
“I think there was even a plan to grant the Kansans conditional independence at one point, but now . . .”
He pointed to some figures in the paper.
“The NYT lists yesterday’s death toll at six hundred,” Lord Busybody spat in disgust. “All because of a dispute over a resource that is more than plentiful for all concerned. And my bullheaded eldest sister.”
“Yes darling,” said Alice automatically, although she was no longer following his words. She’d noticed something else in the paper. She took the Times from him to read what was, today, a much smaller headline than it had been yesterday.
The Ripper had struck again overnight. Another streetwalker had been found with her guts decorating the sidewalk.
“My biggest fear now,” Lord Busybody said, “is that there may be more of those spiders trudging the seabed on their way to New York.”
Alice looked up from the Times in alarm. “Walking the seabed?”
He nodded gloomily. “From what I saw of that one yesterday, they’re designed to function like submersible ships. Once launched into the ocean from Texan soil, they’ll float up the Atlantic coast till they reach the mouth of the Hudson River, then submerge and walk right into town like this one did. We’re by no means safe. I’ll have to go to the palace later today to speak with Vicky. There may be more spiders in the Hudson as we speak, biding their time to strike.”
Alice felt a chill go through her. Shit! She needed to kill him A.S.A.P. and get the hell back to Chicago.
After finishing their breakfast in silence, the two of them then dressed for lab work.
***
“Surely you can tell me what this is and does now,” Alice said, pointing at the small metal box she’d noticed her first day in the lab, the one with the mirror screen and odd tube ending in a paper clip.
Lord Busybody smiled. “You’d never believe me.”
She smiled coquettishly. “Try me.”
He grinned. Better “I give you a demonstration.” He pointed to a doctor’s examination table covered with files. “Crank, clear those away.”
The robot did as directed.
Once Crank had the bed clear, Alice lay upon it. Its leather covering was cold, causing her skin to erupt in goose pimples. Lord Busybody placed a rolled-up plastic sheet under her head as a pillow.
He strapped her down. “Just a precaution. The process is fully safe, but sometimes a subject becomes startled and jerks. You may hurt yourself if you flail an arm or leg.”
Alice was by now extremely intrigued. “But what is it?”
Lord Busybody laughed. “You’ll find out in a moment. All secrets will be revealed.”
There was something about the emphasis he put on ‘secrets’ that had Alice worried, but she forgot it when he pulled a tray of cupcakes from his hat, selected one, and after peeling off its paper backing, placed it between Alice’s lips.
“Eat up, it will relax you.”
Alice ate the cake. She immediately became after-sex drowsy. She saw and heard everything in the room but was too weak to even lift a finger.
“Now for the big revelation.”
Lord Busybody took the box down from the shelf and opened it up. It was full of clockwork gears and wiring. He made some adjustments, wound it up using the built-in key, and shut the lid.
Its mirrored surface instantly fizzled to life. Lines of sparks like confused lightning ran zigzag across its face. Lord Busybody pinched the skin of Alice’s left forearm arm and clamped the connecting tube’s clip to it.
“Now watch,” he said in childish excitement; “this will be fun!”
Alice watched. The on-screen static slowly congealed into colored images, the first of which was a picture of the Busybody’s Chicago mansion.
“Now that’s odd,” Lord Busybody said. “That’s our house in Chicago . . . This damned thing’s malfunctioning again.”
“S’whatsit do?” Alice slurred.
Lord Busybody shrugged in exasperation. “It reads your memory, shows the past – everything you’ve done in the past two weeks should come up on screen.”
Alarm bells rang within the fog of Alice’s drugged-up head. Shit!, she thought, but only gurgled her reaction.
Disappointed, Lord Busybody moved to switch it off, then froze.
“What’s this?” he said.
The screen portrayed a miniature image of Alice and Marie Busybody laughing raucously over gin and limes.
“
“Neither did I, Crank,” Lord Busybody said, his lips settling into a cold hard line. “Let’s hear what it was they talked about.”
While the scientist and his robot both listened to his wife and Alice blithely planning his murder, Alice futilely willed her doped body to rise up and flee the lab, the house, the city.
Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, the scene changed to show Alice back at Madame Lola’s the next day, when Count Honas Obese came visiting. Lord Busybody gaped in disbelief as he watched Alice search through the duke’s rolls of fat for his
cock. Once she’d found the thing, she fondled it to stiffness, coated it with chocolate syrup, took it into her mouth, and started sucking it like a rabid ferret devouring a snake.
Lord Busybody turned and stared at Alice coldly. “I should have realized you were too good to be true.” His expression became pained. “But Honas? You fuc . . . had sex with Honas? Damn, girl! He looks more like four conjoined pigs than a human being!”
“Han’sum munny,” Alice slurred at him, feeling the misplaced urge to defend her prostitute’s creed that a man’s good looks resided in his wallet.
On the little screen, Honas Obese was now ejaculating all over Alice’s face.
Lord Busybody took one look at Alice’s cum-splattered image and looked away.
“Couldn’t you just swallow it?” he asked her in disgust. “You look as much a pig as he does . . .”
“‘Onas ‘ikesit duuuurty . . .”
“So what if he likes it dirty? He’s a fat pig!”
Alice realized at that moment that Lord Busybody was angrier at her for screwing Count Obese than plotting with his wife to kill him.
After Count Obese, the machine showed Alice entertaining six more brothel customers, Lord Busybody growing more and more irate and insulting to her each time she got one off, as if he’d been cuckolded.
Fuming in anger now, he turned away from the screen after the fourth cumshot. He didn’t look back at the machine till it again showed Alice visiting his wife.
“
Lord Busybody waved a tired hand at the brass man. He looked drained, as though Alice’s betrayal had robbed him several years of life.
On screen, Marie handed Alice the pills, told her to expect a package in New York the next day, and sent her on her way. Then it was back to the brothel. They watched Alice powder her nose with cocaine, then step into her boudoir to service a group of six visiting Russians who wanted to do a gangbang.
Afterwards she bathed and dressed, then packed her bags and took a horse-and-trap to the Chicago rail station. There, she caught a late train to New York.
Lord Busybody disconnected the clip from Alice’s arm.
“Go to her room and search her bag for the gas pills,” he told Crank.
The robot departed.
Lord Busybody regarded Alice miserably. “I’d have married you in place of Marie you know, paid her off enough to emigrate to Europe with the kids if she liked.”
“‘ou ‘ill ‘e now?”
“No, I’m not going to kill you, you twit, though I admit I’m tempted to drop you in a tub of sulfuric acid and watch you dissolve away . . .”
Alice shivered with fright.
“. . . but I won’t kill you.”
He reached into his humongous hat and pulled out a small bottle of liquid. “Just something to wake you up,” he said, tilting it between Alice’s lips and pouring half the contents over her tongue. “There’s a ‘wake cake’ too, but you might choke on it in your state.”
The liquid tasted of cherries. Alice wasn’t too surprised when, rather than waking up, she felt herself sinking deeper still into the darkness of night.
***
Oldwoman Girl
Alice sneezed. Crank removed the bottle of smelling salts from under her nose.
“
Lord Busybody hurried over for a look at her.
Alice felt odd – weak, like the cake hadn’t completely worn off yet. She remembered where she was and what had happened.
Her only objective now was flight – getting as far away from this place as was humanly possible.
She was no longer strapped down; all that remained was choosing her moment to run for it. Once Crank moved to the other side of the lab, she would have her chance.
Lord Busybody smiled at Alice. “How do you feel?”
She frowned. “You tricked me.”
He shrugged. “How do you feel? It’s an important question.”
“Like something drank the vigor out of me.”
He smiled. “You’re fine then.” He pulled a mirror from a hat-drawer and handed it to Alice.
She peered into the looking glass and saw Marie Busybody staring back at her. Then she looked up at Lord Busybody in disbelief. “You’ve trapped her in a glass? What sort of monster are you?”
“One who doesn’t want to be killed . . .” he sighed. “You’re missing something. Look again.”
Alice looked into the mirror again, then saw what she’d missed the first time – Marie Busybody was wearing her clothes. Marie’s eyes widened upon the looking glass, her mouth forming an ‘O’ of surprise.
Alice gaped at Lord Busybody in horror. “This is me? What have you done to me?”
He laughed. “That much should be obvious. I’ve aged you. You’re now Marie’s age: forty-three.”
Alice lost it. She launched herself off the bed, knocked him to the floor, and began throttling him.
“Fucking give me back my twenty one years!” she shrilled, “or I’ll fucking kill you!”
“
Alice stared at Lord Busybody through teary eyes. “How could you?”
He rubbed the marks of her fingers on his throat. “Try to control yourself,” he said angrily. “Attack me one more time and your youth is forfeit.”
Alice calmed herself. “Okay, I’m sorry I lost it there. What is this about?”
“Let me first explain exactly what I’ve done to you, so you’ll understand the gravity of your situation.”
“Okay . . .”
“While you were out cold, I injected you with a serum I made. It’s an aging serum. You’re now eighty-five years old.”
Alice winced. “You said forty-three!”
“Be patient. I’m coming to that bit. Don’t interrupt me again – it’s very important that you understand this.”
Alice gulped, then nodded.
“Good. The serum’s aging effects are permanent, unless I give you an antidote. The antidote’s another serum, an anti-aging one. This anti-aging serum comes in two forms – a total cure and a partial cure. The partial cure is partial in two senses. First, it can shave off a fixed number of years – ten – in incremental values, and second, each usage only lasts a month at most. So here we are now. After injecting you with the aging serum, I gave you four doses of the antidote, hence your present age.” He peered intently at Alice. “Do you understand clearly what I’ve just explained?”
Alice nodded. She was horrified. “You want to torment me for trying to kill you.”
“No, you little twit, I don’t want to torment you. I want you to perform a service for me; in return, I’ll restore you to normal.”
“What service?” she asked, although she was already reasonably certain what his reply would be.
Well, Alice guessed, what was good for the goose would suffice for the gander. Marie Busybody had no one but herself to blame for her own impending death. If she had to kill her former mistress to regain her leeched youth, so be it. She had no intention of remaining an old woman for the rest of her natural life.
She couldn’t even blame Dudley Busybody for being so horrid to her – she’d brought it on herself. In fact she was glad to him for not killing her or handing her over to the authorities.
Lord Busybody was just about to confirm her suspicions regarding this ‘service’ he had in mind, when all of a sudden they were interrupted by a ‘poof’ of displaced air as Cheshire Cat appeared.
It bowed to Lord Busybody. “Sir, your sister, her Majesty Queen Victoria, the Queen of Hearts, requests your immediate presence at the palace.”
Noticing Alice, it genuflected once more. “Greetings milady,” it said, �
�I trust you had a pleasant trip from Chicago?”
Alice was speechless. Lord Busybody smiled at her, then at Cheshire Cat. “Her ladyship is a little under the weather, that’s all. Please tell her majesty that I’ll be over to the palace straightaway.”
Cheshire Cat bowed one last time before vanishing again.
Lord Busybody turned to Alice. “Okay, darling, it’s time you met the queen.”
“Me?”
“You saw what happened with the cat just now, didn’t you? It thought you were Marie.” He laughed at the unconvinced look on her face. “Look it’s easy being Marie – just bitch a lot and no one will be able to tell the difference. Remember it’s been two years since she was last at court.”
He held out his hand to Alice. “Come milady, we must get you dressed.”
***
Alice was attended to by three frog-maids. The girl-frogs had smooth green skin, bulbous eyes, and webbed feet. They were dressed in frilly lace and their cheeks were heavily rouged. Their wide, lipless mouths were painted in pink lipstick.
The frogs dressed Alice in a HUGE dress that was all lace and satin, frilly ruff and tassels. They painted her face white, her lips red, and a black beauty spot on her left cheek, then penciled her brows into arches. Then they brought out silk gloves for her arms, silk stocking for her legs, and glass slippers for her feet.
They doused her body with perfume.
Finally, they fitted a pearl tiara in her hair.
Alice took one look at herself in the mirror and almost started crying. Despite her lost youth, she looked so beautiful in this new guise; she couldn’t believe she was viewing herself.
The frog-maids waited till Alice regained her composure, then they patiently touched up her makeup once again, ensuring that they used less mascara this time in case she wept some more.
Lord Busybody entered in his topcoat and trousers. His monstrous hat was still as ever upon his head. Upon his arrival, the frog-maids curtsied and left the room.
Lord Busybody looked at Alice and sighed. “You’re the spitting image of Marie; too bad your character’s even worse than hers . . .”
