by Wol-vriey
All three of these massive rifles were currently pointed at the three New Yorkers.
“Now my name’s Aron, and these here boys is my brothers Elvis and Presley,” the leader said. “We the Graceland brothers. Our friends in the rustler alerted us that some darn New Yorkers done crossed into Texan lands. That wouldn’t happen to be y’all three now, would it?”
Alice decided that a partial truth would do in this situation.
“We are from New York,” she began. “We’re on a mission to see her majesty the queen. Our airship was attacked . . .”
The bullyboys laughed. “Way we heard it told, you’se the ones done the attackin’,” Aron said. “Now’se we got beef with y’all three. Not ‘beef’ like cows of course, but beef nonetheless. Y’see the Boss, he don’t like no one messin’ wit’ his rustlin’ business. There’s much demand for beef now’days what wit’ the war on n’ all, and he’s supplyin’ the Texan army, and y’all done gone’n blown up two prize rustlers – cost a fortune in stolen cows, those two. So’s y’all three comin’ wit’ us to see the Boss.”
“You’se can either come dead ‘r ‘live,” Elvis said.
“Don’t matter to us, longs as we d’liver y’all three.”
Presley gestured at Crank with his gun. “See here, dis gun’a mine’ll melt you some new holes, metal boy, so’s behave youself as well.”
Aron pointed back the way they’d come, and the six of them set off together.
“Can you kill them?” Alice whispered to Crank as they were taken.
“
“Best we play along with them,” Prince Jackson whispered. “Bide our time to escape.”
“Keep watching,” Alice said, “We break for it at our earliest opportunity.”
“Please stop whis’prin’ now,” Aron said. “Y’all makin’ us mighty nervy back here. Trigga finga’s getting’ itchy. Wouldn’t want us so nervus we start shootin’ now, would y’all?”
The three captives immediately shut up.
They were led down a path to a steamcoach – a steam-powered stagecoach minus the horses. They climbed aboard and Aron steered them eastward across the prairie.
***
The steamcoach’s engines were at its rear. Aron drove, sitting outside in front, with Crank wound down beside him. Alice and Jackson sat inside opposite Elvis, who kept them covered with his steam-rifle. Presley sat in the vehicle’s rear, beside a large tub of coal, lumps of which he occasionally shoveled into the furnace.
The steamcoach traveled much faster than a horse-powered carriage. It rolled over the grassland, back the way they’d came, huffing and puffing like it might blow apart at any moment. Twin exhaust tubes blew black smoke into the air behind it.
Alice was intrigued by the machine. “Where’d you get this?” she asked Elvis.
He scratched the base of his left horn. “Mech-Sioux made it. Boss trades ‘em cattle for ‘chines.”
“Yeah,” Presley added. “Sioux smart as Satan, always tryin’ cheat Boss, tho’.”
Book Two: Alice Across America
Part Two: Traveling in Situ
Chapter 1
The bullyboy’s camp was on a ranch.
The steamcoach rode up to the main house along a dusty aisle between corralled cows. Beyond the corrals lay several rusted, broken-down rustler mechs, some of which had been stripped for parts, their body-cages converted to cattle pens.
“Rustling must be big business around here,” Prince Jackson remarked as they juddered along the bumpy road.
Aron laughed. “True. Y’all need ta re’lize these diff’rent times now since a war begun. Southern army gotta eat.”
“Aron here used ta done been a chemist,” Elvis said. “War came, Yorker spies blew him lab up sky-high.”
“Same with us two,” Presley added. “I’s a schoolteacher, Elvis here’s travelin’ sales. Now we’s patriotic rustlers for Mech-Anna’s glory.
***
Mushroom Cake House
The ranch house was mushroom-shaped. It was brown and yellow in color with large patches of gray mixed in. The steamcoach rolled up to it and stopped. Aron wound up Crank a bit so they wouldn’t have to carry him in.
“Okay y’all three, time ta meet tha Boss. Now ‘member, best b’have y’all selves . . .”
“This is some odd building,” Prince Jackson said as they were led inside.
“Yeah,” Alice agreed. “It almost smells . . . edible.”
“It’s made of explosive cake,” Crank said.
***
The bullyboy’s ‘Boss’ was none other than Baker the caterpillar. Ten-gallon hat on his green, bald head, he sat atop a table sipping tea and eating cake. Other than the table and the four chairs round it, the room’s only other fixture was the large oven in one corner in which cakes were baking.
Alice groaned upon recognition of their old nemesis.
On noticing them, Baker downed the rest of his tea and picked up a Cuban cigar. He lit up and puffed a while, then waved them in with several of his forelimbs.
“Hello Alice, Crank. I’ve been expecting you two for four days now already,” he said. “Who’s your third guy?” He slid off the table and limped over to them, revealing the bandage on his left side where Alice had shot him.
“This is Jackson,” Alice said, suspecting that he might be dumb enough to introduce himself as New York royalty. “He’s a shiphand – cleans toilets and shit.”
Baker nodded. “Someone has to do the dirty work, I guess.”
“
“I overheard you planning this trip to kill the queen, remember?”
“They’s plannin to kill th’ God’ess, Boss?”
“‘fraid so boys, north’ners be stupid like that . . .”
“We should rip this here New York trash to bits.”
Baker waved eight hands to calm them down. “Easy now boys, we’ll have some fun with them yet, before handing them over to the Pumas.”
“What kinda fun, Boss?”
Baker laughed. “They look hungry . . . Don’t seem to have any bread left, so like Marie Antoinette suggested – we’ll have ‘em eat cake instead.”
***
Crank eventually shut down. Alice and Jackson weren’t allowed to wind him back up again. The two of them were sat at table. The Graceland brothers placed china plates before them.
“Let me just say this,” Baker said, returning from the oven with a tray full of odd-smelling cakes. “This is intensely personal. All the Pumas pay me for is to catch northern infiltrators, not torture them . . .”
Aron laughed. “Puma girls gen’rally ‘fer doin theys own torturing – they’s mighty good adit, too.”
“Like I was saying – this is personal.”
“Hold on,” Jackson said. “What do you mean ‘personal’? I don’t even know you!”
Baker puffed cigar smoke in his face, causing him to sputter angrily.
“True,” he said, “we’ve not met, but you’re friends with Alice here, who recently tried to kill me . . .”
“You tried to kill me first!” Alice snapped back.
Baker sighed. “Why does everyone keep interrupting me?” he lamented. “Anyhow, to finish my explanation – Seeing as you’re friends with Alice, who tried murdering me . . .”
“It was self defense!”
Baker persevered, as if she hadn’t once again interrupted him.
“. . . it stands to reason that if I ever had met you before, you would have tried to murder me as well, and . . .”
“He only murders prostitutes, Baker!”
“. . . as such, I’d currently be having personal beef with you, too.”
“Your logic makes perfect sense to me,” Jackson said. “I’ve often reasoned along similar l
ines – that friends of one’s enemies should be eliminated quickly, before they have the opportunity to become one’s enemies as well.” He grinned broadly at the caterpillar standing before him.
They’re both raving lunatics, Alice thought. And here I am trapped here with them. She looked over at Crank’s inert form; there would be no reprieve this time.
“I like you, Jackson,” Baker said, placing the hot cake tray on the table. “It’s a pity we’re sworn enemies. But still, we may compromise. Let’s have some magic cake first. I find it always helps to . . . broaden one’s sense of perspective.”
Alice now noticed that all the cakes had numbers on them. “What exactly is in a ‘magic’ cake?” she asked.
Baker smiled. “I do research for her majesty’s government now, since my explosive cakes proved so successful . . .”
Alice was forced to interrupt him now. “Baker, even you admitted that those explosive cakes were failures.”
“Only if one ate them – then one got indigestion. Used as weapons, however, they work perfectly well.”
Alice was struck speechless. Jackson spoke instead. “So what do magic cakes do?”
Baker took a puff from his cigar and laughed. He served a cake to each of them.
“That’s what you’re about helping me discover, my little human guinea pigs. Each cake has a different composition. Will do something different. Some cakes make you bigger, some smaller, no telling what will happen – believe it or not this house used to be a magic cake which just grew and grew and grew. If the effect of the cake is nasty enough, we’ll mass produce and ship them off to New York.”
Baker then motioned to their plates, “Now eat up you two. Let’s see what happens.”
As motivation, Aron and Presley held their steam-guns to the backs of Alice’s and Jackson’s heads, respectively.
They picked up their magic cakes and bit into them.
Chapter 2
Alice
Alice bit into her cake.
There was a moment of utter blankness, shortly after which she discovered her newfound ability to see through walls. She could even see the penned cows outside the mushroom house.
She could see through Baker and the bullyboys as well. All four of them were there, but only in an odd, spectral sort of way, one that didn’t interfere with her noticing objects behind them. Baker didn’t have a skeleton; the cowpeople did, though. Their skulls were like three-dimensional reproductions of the Texan emblem, over which blood vessels branched in a slow, writhing motion.
“How do you feel, Alice?” Baker asked. The caterpillar’s expression was one of deathly seriousness. He was now dressed in a white laboratory coat and held a clipboard in his left set of hands, one of his right hands gripping a pen. His cigar dangled forgotten from the corner of his mouth, dropping ash onto the floor.
His ten-gallon hat sat unwaveringly on top of his head. In that regard, Baker reminded Alice of Lord Busybody, who (for some reason) she’d actually begun to miss. In particular, she remembered her departure from New York, how Lord Busybody’s eyes looked almost teary behind their lenses.
“I feel odd,” Alice answered. “Real odd. But not too much more . . .” She wasn’t about to let on that she could see through things – this could lead to new Texan spy tech.
“What kind of odd? Be specific.”
“I just feel like I’m floating. Like I’m a seagull.”
“Subject Alice reports cake #242 producing mild hallucinogenic effects,” Baker muttered to himself, noting same on its clipboard. “Delusions of levitation may prove useful; maybe powderize and spray over advancing New York troops.”
Baker made some additional notes, then peered at Alice again. “Okay, we’ll up the dosage a little. Take another bite of cake, please, and wait for it to take effect.”
Baker then turned his attention to Prince Jackson, who sat grimacing and moaning in pain, an expression of intense horror on his face.
Prince Jackson
Jackson bit into his cake, marked #267. Alice, the caterpillar, and the cowpeople mutants instantly dissolved into a kaleidoscope of atomic particles.
He suddenly found himself standing in a boxing ring. He was naked. He sensed the ring was surrounded by a crowd of spectators he couldn’t see.
Where in Hades teeth am I? He was filled with a horrible sense of dread, wishing he still had his trusty sickle to protect him.
A door opened facing the ring, through which a huge black man entered. He walked over to the ring and climbed into it with Jackson. The unseen crowd cheered and cheered.
A bell rang somewhere out in the darkness. The negro rushed him, throwing punches all over his body. Jackson fought back as hard as he could, but the negro boxer was just too strong. The man was clearly a trained pugilist. Each time Jackson was about to collapse, the negro would pull him back to his feet, wait till his eyes cleared a bit, and then began pummeling him once more.
Soon Jackson had two black eyes and a cut on his left cheek, which dribbled fresh blood.
A bell rang somewhere out in the blackness. The negro went back to his corner, where he sat watching Jackson with angry eyes.
A beautiful Mexican girl walked in from out of nowhere. She was carrying a large card, which she raised above her head and paraded around the ring.
The card read:
BAKER’S CAKES SURE PACK A MEAN NIGGER PUNCH!
PURCHASE BAKER’S FOR ALL YOUR BAKING NEEDS!
The bell rang once more.
The black man came out of his corner, fists raised. He resumed beating Jackson once again, almost without effort. New York’s crown prince fought back as best he could, but it didn’t take long before the superior human specimen he was matched up against left him terribly bloodied and bashed.
And still the unseen crowds kept cheering and baying for his blood.
Alice
Prince Jackson’s painful groans forced Alice to look over in his direction. She gaped when she saw the blood dripping down his badly bruised face. His horrified eyes told her he was far away from the mushroom house.
“What are you doing to him?” she demanded of Baker. “Please, stop it!”
“I’ve already explained that my magic cakes have different effects on different people; I have no idea what’s happening to him, but I assure you he’s only imagining it, whatever it is.”
Alice pointed to Prince Jackson’s two black eyes and the deep laceration across one cheek. “Assuming he’s imagining whatever isn’t really happening to him, why is he bleeding?”
“This cake is rather odd . . .” Baker mused. “I wonder what he’s seeing?”
Jackson suddenly developed a split lip.
“You won’t find out if it kills him, that’s for sure! And it looks like it will, soon . . . How do you stop this?”
“Simplest way is to feed him another magic cake.” He made a note on his clipboard, then gestured to Elvis. “Pry his mouth open.”
The cow-headed man did as ordered. Baker shoved a large piece of cake into Prince Jackson’s mouth.
After ensuring that he’d swallowed it without choking, Baker turned back to Alice. “He should be fine now. Have another bite of cake yourself, and tell me how you feel.”
Alice ate some more cake. Her vision immediately normalized.
She was suddenly conscious of herself as separate from herself. She found that she’d been duplicated somehow, as if an invisible Alice could now leave her body. She got up and walked outside to have a look around. It was only after entering the backyard that she realized she’d not walked out through the door, but through the wall, like it wasn’t even there.
Perplexed, Alice stuck her head back into the mushroom house. She was just in time to see Prince Jackson abruptly vanish from his chair, as if he were a Cheshire Cat.
Baker stood facing the empty chair with an extremely perturbed look upon his face.
Alice pulled her head back out of the wall and walked off up the driveway.
&nbs
p; Prince Jackson
One moment Jackson was being viciously pummeled, and the next his boxing ring had disappeared. He seemed to be in a bedroom of sorts. He was still naked. Now, however, he was carrying his lucky sickle.
He was standing beside the bed of a sleeping woman. Curious, he looked more closely at her oddly familiar form. It was his aunt Marie Busybody.
Jackson winced from the beating the negro boxer had given him. Both of his eyes were swollen nearly shut, and he felt quite dizzy. In addition, two of his teeth were loose.
He took a step forward, cringing from the intense pain.
Marie Busybody woke up and saw Jackson standing there before her.
“Jackie,” she said, “what in the world are you doing here in Chicago, and where are your clothes? You didn’t come all this way naked, did you?”
Jackson took a moment to read her eyes, checking to see if she was pleased to see him. There was no welcome in her face, only an aggrieved look indicating she was about to be re-saddled with a task she no longer cared for.
After all, Alice Sin was currently in New York (or so she believed) killing Dudley. Once he was dead, Marie planned on emigrating to Europe to frolic with the royalty there.
“I’m not sure how I got here myself, Aunt Marie,” Jackson said. “One moment I was over in Texas talking to a caterpillar, the next I’m here with you.”
Damn, Marie thought, now this little punk has really lost it. She suspected that – desperate for his pathetic idea of sex – he’d defied his mother, hopped on a train to see her, and gotten in a fight with some other young punks who’d no idea who he was. He must’ve gotten beat up and lost his clothes, somehow getting there without the March hares arresting him for indecency. Somehow, he’d gotten past the gatekeeper and Cheshire Cat as well.
