by Frank Beddor
“Add Dodge Anders’ name to the list,” she commanded, and released Jack of Diamonds. Small bruises formed where her fingers had touched his cheeks. She removed the crown from her head and tossed it to Bibwit. “Prepare for my coronation at the Heart Crystal. Now. All members of ranking families must attend-unless, of course, they prefer the comfort of eternal sleep.”
Surrounded by Bibwit Harte, The Cat, the suit families, those of her soldiers who were not too drunk to remain upright and some who were, Redd stood in the palace courtyard before the Heart Crystal and lifted her voice to the lightning-storm sky.
“I am prepared to forgive those who thrived during my exile and did little to support my return, with this exception: Anyone harboring or aiding a creature sympathetic to the former queen or White Imagination will be hunted down, imprisoned, made to suffer untold tortures, and then executed. Now put the crown on my head.”
Bibwit Harte stepped forward to fulfill the request, but fast as he was, he proved not fast enough for
Redd. With a curl of her finger, the crown leaped from his hands and landed on her head. “I reclaim my queendom,” she declared, placing both hands on the Heart Crystal.
A jolt of energy shook her. The crystal turned from white to red-a red so deep and piercing that Bibwit and the others had to turn away or close their eyes to prevent their pupils from scorching.
Redd had claimed the power of the Heart Crystal as her own.
CHAPTER 15
G ENERALS DOPPEL and Ganger and the few who survived Redd’s attack avoided the Crystal Continuum in case the invading force had already taken control of its shimmering byways. They made their way on foot to the Everlasting Forest, found refuge in a small clearing surrounded by trees that would alert them of approaching enemies. The healthy carried the wounded, but all suffered emotionally from their defeat and the loss of beloved left behind.
“We must organize quickly,” General Doppel urged.
“Before Redd settles into her rule,” agreed General Ganger. The white knight nodded.
“Our only chance to amass an army is now,” Doppel continued. “However ill-timed such recruitment may be.”
The three turned their eyes toward the battle-numbed card soldiers dragging themselves into the sanctuary of the forest.
“My bishops and I are prepared to risk everything for the good of the queendom,” said the knight. “We will find Wonderlanders to fight with us against Redd, you can rest assured.”
The knight gathered his bishops and their pawns. “Spread out through the capital city,” he ordered. “Find anyone willing to fight for White Imagination and tell them where we’re camped. They must make their own, careful way to us. But be sure they’re sincere in their wish to join our cause or you will give us
away and we’ll be doomed.”
Among the soldiers gathering in the forest sat one who wasn’t a soldier at all-just an inconsolable boy, slumped against the base of a tree, crying in fits and jags and not caring if Redd herself heard him. The generals would have known better how to subdue a raging jabberwock than a mourning child.
“You should never have brought me here,” Dodge moaned. “I shouldn’t have left them.” “There was nothing you could do, son,” General Doppel said.
“You would have been killed,” said General Ganger.
“At least I would have died alongside my father! I could have protected Alyss!” “If Hatter couldn’t-”
“Then no one could have provided protection enough, I’m afraid.” Dodge wiped his nose.
“We are sorry,” generals Doppel and Ganger said as one. “I’ve lost my father and…and Alyss!”
The Generals lowered their heads, took a moment to speak. “We have all lost Princess Alyss-”
“And feel your suffering on that score.”
Dodge doubted it. They couldn’t possibly know how he felt-the pain, the sudden wretched loneliness. They might have lost their princess, but Alyss was so much more than that to him. Would he never more see lively, sweet-smelling Alyss Heart? Never again confide to her his dreams of soldier-fame? What good were dreams now? And then his father…he could hardly take it all in. He would never see his father again. Where the two greatest loves of his life had been, he was faced with nothing, blankness.
“We are sorry,” the generals said again. But they had what remained of their army to comfort; they left him and strode among their soldiers, dispensing words of consolation to the wounded and commendations of bravery to all.
Dodge didn’t remember falling asleep, wasn’t aware that he’d even been sleeping until he woke the next morning with a sudden start, an idea blazing in his brain and the resolve to carry it through already firm. When the generals came upon him, he was ripping the fleur-de-lis badge off his guardsman coat, and they watched as he put his coat on inside out and rubbed handfuls of dirt over himself until it became virtually impossible to tell that he wore a guardsman’s uniform.
“What are you up to?” General Doppel asked.
“If it’s too late to do anything for Alyss, there’s at least something I can still do for my father.” The generals exchanged a worried glance.
“I’m going to get his body,” Dodge said. “The leader of the palace guard deserves a burial proper to his station and I’m going to give it to him.”
“You can’t go back there,” General Ganger said. “Why not?”
“Well,” said General Doppel, “who’s to say that Sir Justice’s body is even still there, and-” “And Redd’s soldiers are everywhere,” General Ganger finished. “You’ll never make it.” “I’m going.”
“But we forbid it!”
Dodge Anders had always shown respect for chains of command, for the discipline required of military men, but he suddenly barked, “Who are you to forbid it? Do you have Anders blood in your veins?”
“I’ll go with him if it’ll make you feel better, Generals.”
The white rook. Dodge felt his heart thumping in his throat. He was breathing short and fast. The chessman came and stood next to him. It was all right. Dodge didn’t know the rook well, but it was all right. It would be good to have company.
The generals shook their heads, couldn’t help being impressed by the boy’s character despite the foolishness of the proposed errand. In silent agreement, they removed the exact same crystal and gemstone quadruple-heart medal from their uniforms and presented them to Dodge.
“With utmost respect for your father,” General Doppel said.
“Please give him these,” said General Ganger.
Dodge took the medals in his hand and pocketed them carefully. He could feel his bottom lip quivering. He turned and hurried into the woods.
“Take care of him,” the generals told the chessman.
The rook knew he would be easy to spot in the capital city, so as he left the encampment, he grabbed a blanket and draped it over his battlements to give himself the appearance of an anonymous pauper. Silent, alert, he and Dodge made their way to Heart Palace.
They found Wondertropolis practically deserted. Small clans of Redd’s soldiers lolled outside abandoned cafes, drunk on wine and harassing the few Wonderlanders who braved the streets, hurrying to their destinations with lowered heads, intent on keeping to their own business.
Dodge and the rook cut this way and that through the city, avoiding the soldiers. They made it to the palace without incident, surprised to find it unguarded, unmanned.
“Where’s the Heart Crystal?” the rook asked.
Dodge paused to study the courtyard. How gloomy it was-forsaken and without the light of the powerful crystal. Suddenly, a figure scurried out of the palace. Dodge and the rook reached for their swords, but there was no need. The figure-a male-didn’t seem to notice them; arms laden with goblets and dishes, he ran past and was gone. Another Wonderlander trotted out of the palace and through the courtyard, carrying a music box and several pillows.
Dodge looked at the rook. What was going on?
In the palace’s darkened halls they discovered looters moving about in silent hurry, helping themselves to souvenirs of the former ruling family. A Wonderlander ran past with one of Alyss’ old toys in his arms: a set of glow-gwormmies. Dodge made a move to trip the thief, but the rook put a hand on his arm and shook his head: Dodge had to focus on what he’d come to do.
As flitting as the looters, Dodge and the rook drifted through banquet rooms and salons. They saw a
great many of Redd’s soldiers passed out on the floors and tables. But no sign of Redd or The Cat. They drew closer to the South Dining Room, stepped over dead card soldiers and guardsmen.
“That smell.” Dodge clamped a hand over his nose. “It’ll be worse inside,” the rook said.
They found the dining room deserted, the stench too much for the looters. The rook paused just inside the room, shaking his battlement-topped head at the carnage. But as ghastly as the scene was, Dodge saw only his father’s body. He stood over Sir Justice and cried silent tears.
“We should hurry,” the rook said gently.
Dodge wiped his face and nodded-more to himself than to the rook, a nod to convince himself that he had the strength to do this.
They carried Sir Justice out to the garden and, using broken chair backs as shovels, began to dig. It wasn’t easy going. They sweated; their muscles ached. But the hole was at last large enough. Once Sir
Justice was lying in the ground, Dodge removed from his pocket the medals the generals had given him and he laid them on his father’s chest. With timid, unsteady hands, he began to shovel soil into the grave.
No! It was impossible! Worse than anything he’d ever experienced, to see the soil fall on his father, the man who had given him life! A cry burst from him, he threw his makeshift shovel to the ground, ran and hid in a corner of the garden. How could he live? Why should he live when those he had held most dear did not? He became quiet, subdued. How and why should he live? These were questions to be answered. The only questions.
When he finally stepped out from his hiding place, Sir Justice was buried. The rook had taken care of everything…almost.
“Would you like to do this?” the rook asked, holding a seed out to Dodge: the Hereafter Seed.
Dodge took the seed and dropped it on his father’s grave. Instantly the seed took root and up grew a large, beautiful bouquet of flowers, the arrangement of which formed Sir Justice’s likeness; a living memorial.
“Thank you,” Dodge murmured.
The rook accepted the thanks in silence, detected no sign of tears on the boy’s cheeks. Dodge’s tight, squinting expression looked more angry than sad.
They stood together over the grave in final tribute.
“He was a good man,” the rook said, “a brave and honorable man.” Dodge snorted, bitter. “Yeah, and this was his reward.”
CHAPTER 16
A LYSS THOUGHT Quigly Gaffer the nicest in the band of homeless orphans and runaways of which he was a part, and not just because he was so attentive to her. He was attentive to everybody. He was the least sullen, the least prone to depression, the one who, with his lively, confident attitude, kept everyone’s spirits up when there weren’t enough crusts to go around, when it was cold and wet and they’d been chased out of too many sheltered doorways to count. In other words, Quigly Gaffer gave them hope when life seemed particularly hopeless. And he had suffered as much as anybody.
Walking alongside Alyss that first day in London, he said, “So, Princess, tell us about yourself,” and she voiced her woeful condition with a viciousness that surprised her.
“I saw my father, the King of Wonderland, murdered. My mother, the queen, is dead. Both of them were killed by my aunt. But it wouldn’t matter even if they were alive, because I’ll never make it home.”
“I saw my folks murdered, same as you,” said Quigly. “We were driving along in our coach when a couple of thieves decided they didn’t like the look of us and killed my father with a club to the head. I watched my mother get beaten to death with that selfsame club, all the while begging for mercy. And I would’ve been greeted with the club too if I hadn’t run into the dark and hidden while the thieves were trying to take the rings off Mother’s fingers. So I suppose you and me have something in common, what with our parents being dead, right enough.”
Alyss could think of other things she would have rather had in common with him. She didn’t know it, and this certainly wasn’t how Bibwit Harte would have taught her, but in the person of Quigly Gaffer, Alyss
was learning something that would one day serve her well as a queen.
Lesson number 1b in Bibwit’s carefully planned curriculum: For most of the universe’s inhabitants, life is not all gummy wads and tarty tarts; it is a struggle against hardship, unfairness, corruption, abuse, and adversity in all its guises, where even to survive-let alone survive with dignity-is heroic. To soldier through the days in the wake of failure is the courageous act of many. To rule benevolently, a queen should be able to enter into the feelings of those less fortunate than herself.
“Never mind that dress, I knew from your gab that you ain’t from anywhere round here,” Quigly said. “You don’t have any accent I recognize. I don’t know just what it is.”
“It’s Wonderlandian, I suppose.”
“Right, right. You’re from Wonderland, you say?” Quigly laughed. “Why don’t you tell us about the place, Princess?”
So she did, and the more she talked, the more she felt the cold, impersonal tone she’d used to describe her parents’ deaths fall away till she was almost overcome with sadness and longing for what, so quickly and suddenly, so unexpectedly, had become part of her past. She was sure the Inventors’ Parade wouldn’t seem so boring to her now, if she could only get back to the royal balcony to watch it.
“You see that light?” she said, pointing at one of the gas lamps lining the street. “That was invented in Wonderland, but instead of an open flame it had a glass bulb inside and you only had to flick a switch to turn it on.”
She described Heart Palace, the singing flowers in the royal gardens, the Crystal Continuum. “And I don’t mean to brag,” she said, “but I have a powerful imagination.”
“I’ll say.”
“You think I’m making everything up?”
Quigly didn’t answer. Alyss saw a lone dandelion poking out of some mud. She stared hard at the flower and imagined it singing. It seemed to require more effort than it would have done in Wonderland, and it took longer. But then the dandelion’s petals moved and from the bud at its center came a thin little voice.
“La la la la, la la la la, la la la la, laaaaaaah.”
That was all Alyss could manage, but Quigly was impressed. He’d heard about magicians who could “throw” their voices, making it sound as if a person or object across a room were talking when it would be the magician himself standing right next to you.
“Nice trick.”
“It’s not a trick.” And then, sadly, just remembering, the exiled princess added, “It’s my birthday.” “Happy birthday, ma’am.”
Alyss felt her eyes water, sorrow weighing her down.
“Aw, no crying on birthdays,” Quigly said. “You oughta meet some of my friends. They’ll cheer you right up.”
So they walked to a blind alley in the shadow of London Bridge, where a ragtag group of children
ranging in age from five to twelve lounged around on old crates.
“Hear ye, hear ye,” Quigly announced. “I bring a newcomer into our ranks.”
The children looked at Alyss, uninterested. They had seen newcomers before. Fact was, the makeup of the group was always changing, some boy or girl entering into it one day, sharing their bread for weeks or months and then going off, never to be seen again, no one ever knowing if they’d been arrested for stealing, stuck in a home, murdered, or what.
Quigly introduced everyone to Alyss. “The big one’s Charlie Turnbull. The one next to him with the mole on his nose is Andrew
MacLean-he’s an orphan too. That one there is Otis Oglethorpe-a runaway, but his mother’s dead. And in the ladies, we’ve got Francine Forge, Esther Wilkes, and Margaret Blemin-all of them orphans. Everyone, may I present you with Princess Alice of Wonderland. She’s come to us through a puddle of water, and I suggest you be on your best behavior in front of royalty.”
“Puddle of water?” Charlie Turnbull guffawed. “Princess of Wonderland?”
Quigly didn’t bother to explain. He dug in a heap of what looked like rags and held up a pair of trousers, a blouse, and a man’s coat for Alyss’ approval. “These should fit you right enough.”
Where was she supposed to change out of her wet things?
“Sorry, Princess,” said Quigly. “No private rooms for you here in the alleys of London.”
She stripped, trying to act as if taking off her clothes in front of everybody wasn’t unusual. The blouse fit her well enough, but the trousers and coat were too large. She added her birthday dress to the pile of clothes and blankets for anyone who might want it once it was dry. She slipped her feet into a pair of boots Quigly had rummaged up for her, discarding her Wonderland birthday shoes.
