The Looking Class Wars

Chapter 24

A lice worked hard to enter into the world in which she found herself and refused to see Dodgson whenever he came to the house. Pained by her refusals, he came with less and less frequency until he ceased coming altogether. The book he'd written for her was published for the public's enjoyment under the title Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. It was widely known that Alice's fantastic stories had served as its inspiration-fodder for poking fun at her, if ever there was-but so well had she adapted to the customs and beliefs of the time, so well had she adopted the inclinations of other girls her age, that she'd befriended those who used to tease her mercilessly. And although Mrs. Liddell never discovered the cause for Alice's tantrum that fateful afternoon at the river Cherwell, she was more than pleased with her daughter's behavior ever since. Far from being flattered by Dodgson's silly scribblings, it was as if they had brought home to Alice, as nothing else had been able to, just how inane all her Wonderland talk had been. She distanced herself from the book and its author, and Mrs. Liddell took this to mean that she was finally growing up-which, indeed, she was. Beginning in her sixteenth year, while on Sunday strolls along High Street with her mother and sisters, it was as the wardens of Charing Cross had predicted: Young men of rank paused in appreciation as Alice passed, took pains to learn who she was, invited her to parties where they did their best to impress her with their wit and knowledge of worldly affairs. They did not find Miss Liddell lacking in intelligence. Some perhaps even found her a bit too intelligent. She was a thoughtful, well-read young woman, with opinions on a variety of topics such as the responsibility that came with Britain's military power, the nature of commerce and industry under a monarchy, how to care for the poor and neglected, the sensationalist tendencies of the Fleet Street papers, and the convolutions of the legal system as exposed by the eminent author Charles Dickens. Many well-to-do dandies-even those uncomfortable with any woman who appeared smarter than themselves-thought it unfortunate that she'd been adopted. It meant that they could never marry her. Of course, these fellows took it for granted that Miss Liddell would have considered herself lucky to marry any one of them. But she was not easily impressed, nor prone to fall in love. The vicissitudes of her life had caused her to keep her feelings for others in check: It was dangerous to care for people; inevitably, you got hurt. She talked with young men, accepted their invitations to parties and galas, but more because it pleased her mother than because of any affection for the men themselves. The Reverend Dodgson published a sequel to Alice's Adventures in Wonderland entitled Through the Looking-Glass. Again, his scribblings met with popular success. Alice herself did not read the book, but not long before its publication, and against her wishes, she found herself in the same room with its author. Oxford was not a big town and she'd often seen Dodgson in the street, or crossing the college grounds, but she had taken care not to get caught in conversation with him; she would offer a word of greeting as good manners required, but that was all. Alice's eighteenth birthday having passed, Mrs. Liddell thought it time to document for posterity the young woman her daughter had become. She wanted Alice to sit for a photographic portrait and she asked Dodgson to be the photographer. "Mother, please. You know I don't wish to see him," Alice said. "A lady might not like a man," Mrs. Liddell said, "but she shouldn't show it so explicitly as you do." So Alice agreed to sit for the portrait. On the appointed day, she heard Dodgson enter the house and begin setting up his equipment in the parlor. Detestable man, how can you not understand what you did to me? Should I forgive? I can't, I can't. Must be polite. But be quick about it. Get in and get out. Alice could not completely hide her feelings, and when Mrs. Liddell called her down, she moved with the briskness of one overburdened with appointments. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dodgson," she said, and fell into a chair. She slumped there, hands in her lap, head tilted toward her right shoulder as she eyed Dodgson from under her darkened brow until-as fast as he could: her behavior made him uncomfortable-he took the picture. Then she heaved herself up out of the chair. "Thank you, sir," she said, looking not at him but over his head as she left the room. By Alice's twentieth year, Mrs. Liddell was becoming anxious for her to choose a husband from among her many suitors. "But I don't feel anything for a single one of them," Alice complained, shaking her head to fling out the unwanted memory of a boy left behind long ago. Don't think of him! I mustn't! Then, one Saturday, the Liddell family attended an outdoor concert by a quartet at Christ Church Meadow. They were about to take their seats when a young gentleman, under the pretense of introducing himself to Dean Liddell, approached. He was Prince Leopold, Queen Victoria's youngest son, and he had been sent to Christ Church so that Dean Liddell might oversee his education. This was his first time meeting the family. Mrs. Liddell became fidgety and excited as she was introduced. "And these ladies," said Dean Liddell, presenting his daughters, "are Edith, Lorina, and Alice. Girls, say hello to Prince Leopold." Alice held out her hand for the prince to kiss. He seemed reluctant to let it go. "I'm afraid you can't keep it, Your Highness," she said. And when he didn't understand: "My hand. I may have use for it still." "Ah. Well, if I must return it to you, then I must, though if it ever needs safekeeping..." "I shall think of you, Your Highness." Prince Leopold insisted that the Liddells sit with him. He placed himself between Alice and Mrs. Liddell, and when the concert began with a Mozart medley, he leaned over and whispered in Alice's ear, "I don't fancy medleys. They skip lightly over so many works without delving thoroughly into any one of them." "There are quite a few people like that as well," Alice whispered in return. Mrs. Liddell, not hearing this exchange, flashed her daughter a look, which Alice was at a loss to interpret. The prince talked to her through the entire concert, discussing everything from art to politics. He found Miss Liddell unlike other young women, who spoke of nothing but velvet draperies, wallpaper patterns, and the latest fashions, women who batted their eyelashes and expected him to swoon. Miss Liddell didn't try to impress him-indeed, she gave the impression that she didn't much care what he thought of her and he rather admired that. And her beauty...yes, her beauty was undeniable. All in all, he thought her a delectable puzzle of a creature. No sooner was the concert over and Leopold gone than Mrs. Liddell voiced what she'd been trying to communicate to Alice with her eyes. "He's a prince! A prince! And he's taken a fancy to you, I'm certain!" "We were only talking, Mother. I talked to him as I would have talked to anyone." But her mother's awe and enthusiasm were difficult to ignore, and she started running into Leopold all over town. If she strolled through the Christ Church Picture Gallery, she found him gazing intently at an oil painting by one of the old masters. If she visited the Bodleian Library, she found him thumbing through a volume of Gibbon's The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (which she had read in its entirety). He's handsome enough, I suppose. And obviously well bred. Yes, but so were many of the men who vied for her attention. At least he didn't stroke his mustache with impatience as she talked of the need to provide for Britain's poor. "A nation should be judged on how it looks after its more unfortunate children," she explained. "If Great Britain is truly to be the greatest kingdom in the world, it is not enough to flaunt our military power and our dominance in industry. We must lead by example and be more charitable to and protective of our own." Prince Leopold always listened to her judiciously, weighing her arguments and reasonings with seriousness. He never agreed or disagreed with her. Mother may be right. I could certainly do worse than marry a prince. But although Alice tried to feel something for the man, her heart remained unconvinced. Three months after the concert at Christ Church Meadow, while taking a ride in his carriage to Boar's Hill, Prince Leopold said, "Your father tells me that you'll be visiting the Banbury Orphanage tomorrow afternoon. I'd like to come along, if you'll have me. One never knows what sort of troubles might beset a young woman there." "If you think it best, Your Highness." He offered to take her in the carriage, but Alice said that she'd prefer to walk. "You see so much more of the town when you walk-a little curiosity shop or a snatch of garden where you wouldn't think it possible to have a garden, choked as it is by city things. In a carriage, you hurry past these treasures without noticing them." She didn't take the slightest quirk of mankind for granted, but viewed it as a small miracle and cause for celebration, and the prince had begun to love her for this. At Banbury, the orphans crowded around Alice, hugging her skirts, all shouting at once. Alice laughed, held four conversations simultaneously and, to Leopold's eye, set off against the soot-stained walls, the drab and loose-hanging clothes of the orphans, and the pale, bloodless faces of the wardens, she looked more radiant than he'd ever seen her. On a tour of the orphanage, a train of children following at their heels, one young boy refused to let go of Alice's left thumb. Alice requested a thorough accounting of the troubles facing the Banbury Orphanage. The wardens pointed out floors rotten from overflowing sewage, the sagging infirmary roof, the time-worn mattresses as thin as wafers. They showed her the pantry, empty save for sacks of dried kidney beans and uncooked rice. "The children have had nothing but beans and rice for two weeks," one of the women told her. "We were supposed to be getting a supply of beef ribs, but so far...nothing. This sort of thing happens rather frequently, I'm afraid." Prince Leopold had been silent for some time. He cleared his throat. "What of the warden responsible for ensuring that Banbury receives the food and clothes the children need?" "The chief warden is very selective as to who gets what and how much of it, Your Highness," the warden explained. "He says we take in too many children and that perhaps they are not so deserving. For example, that one there"-the warden pointed at the boy holding on to Alice's thumb-"he has a real talent for thieving, though often as not what he steals is food because of how hungry he is. They all are." She gestured at the surrounding orphans. Alice looked at the boy clutching her thumb, suddenly reminded of Quigly Gaffer. What's become of him and the others? Andrew, Margaret, and Francine were hardly old enough to dress themselves, never mind living on the streets without the love and support of family. The mournful, faraway look on Alice's face had a profound effect on the prince. "I shall talk with the queen," he said after several moments. "I think we might establish a Commission of Inquiry into the matter and, in the meantime, arrange for an increase in food rations. How does that sound?" "It sounds like generosity rarely met with among the living," said the woman. "Well, no one here shall soon discover if it's to be met with among the dead either, if I can help it." The orphans blinked and said nothing, hardly believing what they had heard: Queen Victoria and Prince Leopold were going to work on their behalf! The wardens offered the prince their thanks many times over, while Alice looked on and smiled, which was all the thanks he desired. On the walk home, they stopped to rest in the university's botanic garden, where Alice found herself sitting on a bench with Leopold suddenly kneeling in front of her. "No matter what you decide, Alice," he was saying, "I want you to know that in the coming years I will be only too glad to assist you in your charitable endeavors. But I hope with all my heart that you'll allow me to do so as your husband." Alice didn't understand. "I'm asking for your hand in marriage," Leopold explained. "But...Your Highness, are you sure?" "That is not exactly the answer for which I was hoping. Alice, you are a most uncommon commoner, to say the least, and I would be proud to call myself your husband. Of course, you realize that you will not have the title of princess, nor be entitled to ownership of the royal estates?" "Of course." Marriage? Again, she felt the tug of a long-buried affection for one who...She would not allow herself to think of him. She had to be realistic. The marriage would please her mother. She would do it for her mother, for her family's sake. "I accept, Leopold." She let herself be kissed, feeling the coolness of dusk settle in around her. "I have already spoken with the queen and I have asked for, and received, your father's blessing," the prince said. "We shall host a party to announce the engagement." If she'd had time to think about it, Alice might have stopped herself, considering the idea too whimsical. But the words had a force of their own, and only after she said them aloud did she realize just how appropriate the idea was. "Let's have a masquerade." Yes, it felt right: a masquerade to celebrate the orphan girl's impending marriage to Prince Leopold of Great Britain.

Chapter 26

After thirteen years, morale among the Alyssians was low. They languished in conditions hardly fit for mud-grubbing gwormmies. Every day brought defections and security breaches. The unspoken consensus was that a meaningful victory like the one at Blaxik would never be theirs again. Driving Redd out of Wonderland had once been a realistic vision, but the Alyssians were now reduced to a handful of splinter groups striking at insignificant targets in remote regions-an outpost monitoring jabberwocky movement in the Volcanic Plains or a weighing station for corpse-laden smail-transports at the edge of the Chessboard Desert. Redd had made it known that she would reward those who turned traitor to the Alyssian cause. One and two at a time, Alyssians surrendered to members of The Cut and divulged the location of Alyssian camps. The camps would be bombarded with cannonball spiders and glowing orb generators, or flattened to dust by Redd's rose rollers-onyx tank-like vehicles with treads of black, toothy roses. Defectors were never heard from again, but Alyssians with their own thoughts of defecting chose to believe that their former comrades were too drunk on the pleasures of Redd's reward to send word. The truth was, surrendering Alyssians were bound hand and foot, their limbs and chests slashed to spur the appetites of the flesh-eating roses, and thrown into pits where the roses ate them alive. At the oldest of all Alyssian camps, deep within the Everlasting Forest, General Doppelganger had called together a meeting of advisers. The camp was protected by a Stonehenge of massive, intricately balanced mirrors reflecting the sky and forest, an unending vista of foliage and clouds to confuse the not-quite-all-seeing eye of Redd's imagination, as well as any of The Cut who happened to be dealt through the forest. The mirrors were not connected to the Crystal Continuum and had been scavenged from labor camps raided in the first year of Alyssian activity. Guards patrolled the perimeter, and a mirror keeper was responsible for maintaining the mirrors' delicate balance, shifting them here and there according to changes in light, cloud movement, and the bloom and rot of the seasons. To the untrained eye, and unless you were directly in front of a mirror and glimpsed your own reflection-a thing not so likely, considering the complicated overlap of mirrors at myriad angles, the fragmented nature of their reflections-the camp was invisible. "She's offering a small portion of Wonderland, probably in Outerwilderbeastia but still to be decided, in exchange for a cessation of all rebel activity," said a plump fellow wedged into a chair and wearing the long mantle common among young men of suit families. "We will be free to govern ourselves unmolested, but we must give up the name of Alyssians. We won't have to swear our loyalty to Redd or the ways of Black Imagination, but we won't be able to practice White Imagination either. She has proposed a summit to work out the details of the agreement." "Why'd she pick you to deliver the message?" asked the rook. If he'd been face-to-face with Redd, he would have known how to take advantage of it. Redd would have found the Alyssian response to her offer at the point of his sword. The plump gentleman adjusted his white powdered wig. He was none other than Jack of Diamonds, now grown into this flabby, overfed man. His prominent rear ballooned out from both sides of his chair, tussocks of flesh swelling from between the armrests and seat cushion. "I don't know," he said. "I was powdering my wig when her image appeared in my looking glass. She must have thought I'd know sense when I heard it, since I come from a ranking family." "It sounds suspicious," the knight said. "Are you sure one of Redd's seekers didn't follow you here?" "Please. I'm not new to the ways of subterfuge and secrecy, you know." The rook grunted. "It's a trick, in any case." Jack of Diamonds had doubled his family's fortune since Redd's accession to the throne. His powers of observation had served him well in a society where only the shrewdest, most opportunistic, most selfish, and least loyal to friends flourished. As a boy, he had frequently accompanied the Lady of Diamonds to Redd's fortress on Mount Isolation. It was the best education he could have received: watching his mother flatter the queen and paying rare crystals to get whatever small concessions she wanted; studying Redd's negotiations with arms dealers and entertainment impresarios who wanted licenses to poach jabberwocky from the Volcanic Plains and pit them against one another in Wondertroplis' amphitheater. Strictly speaking, he was not an Alyssian-more a "Jackian," only concerned with his own well-being and profit. With Redd's permission, he procured food for the Alyssians; in exchange, he provided her with intelligence on their military maneuvers-intelligence from which he left out important details, for if the Alyssians were decimated, he would not be quite so rich. His methods were indirect and labyrinthine, but they brought him twice the profit of simpler business arrangements. He would learn when a shipment of cannonball spiders was leaving a factory, and then, using a reprogrammed Glass Eye as intermediary to protect his identity, he would sell this information to certain unsavory individuals. Once the theft had been carried out, his Glass Eye would inform on the criminals to Redd's authorities, but by the time the authorities interrogated the criminals and discovered where the cache of cannonball spiders was hidden, Jack would have already removed it and sold it to the Alyssians. "You think we should agree to the summit?" General Doppelganger asked him. "I don't see what choice we have." "Knight, what do you say?" "She is not to be trusted. But I will follow your orders, whatever they may be." General Doppelganger sighed and-much as a drop of water might divide in half to form two identical droplets-split in two. Generals Doppel and Ganger paced the floor. There were others who should have been at this meeting. The royal secretary, Bibwit Harte, had been unable to attend; it wasn't often that he could safely get away from Redd. And Dodge Anders...nobody knew where he was. He frequently went off by himself, no one knew where and no one had ever felt it right to ask. He was such a brooding, private man. "General Doppel?" "Yes, General Ganger?" The generals stood looking at each other for a moment, nodded; they had reached a conclusion. General Doppel spoke. "Obviously, we don't trust Redd either, but we agree with Jack of Diamonds. Our forces are weakening. Before long, Redd won't have to bother with the pretense of making any deal with us." "Then I'll arrange it," said Jack of Diamonds, attempting to wrench himself free of his chair. "I look forward to the day when I can sit with you all on some decent furniture. Now if someone...would...help me." The generals didn't mention their contingency plan, to smuggle key Alyssians into Boarderland and make an under-the-table agreement with King Arch to overthrow Redd: receiving soldiers and weapons in exchange for the promise of a male ruler. For now, they decided to keep this plan a secret even from their advisers, hoping necessity wouldn't demand its implementation.

Chapter 23

Bullet-like, Dodge raced headlong through the kaleidoscopic glitter of the Crystal Continuum. "Yeah-ha! Wooooo!" Wonderlanders, struggling to get out of his way, were sucked up through crystal byways and reflected out of looking glasses into seedy restaurants or the homes of strangers-looking glasses out of which they had never meant to be reflected, on their way to other destinations. "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Dodge shouted. "Come on!" Four Glass Eyes were chasing him. They looked like ordinary Wonderlanders except for the implants of reflective colorless crystal in their eye sockets. An artificial race with enhanced sight, strength, and speed, Glass Eyes were built for hand-to-hand combat, and they patrolled the Crystal Continuum with orders to annihilate anyone suspected of being an Alyssian. Their patrols had effectively limited rebel mobility, all but choked off a major channel for rebel communications. Handheld looking glass communicators had never been viable for anything but short, cryptic intelligence reports, as dispatches could be intercepted by anyone at any time. The most effective means of sending and retrieving sensitive Alyssian intelligence had been to use portal runners to traverse the Crystal Continuum. But that was before the Glass Eyes. Now being a portal runner meant dying sooner rather than later. Portal runs were one step removed from suicide missions. Dodge Anders had made more portal runs than any Alyssian and he always volunteered to deliver the most important messages, warnings, and intel updates. The occasion for this run: Redd's troops had been active and General Doppelganger suspected an impending attack on an Alyssian outpost situated in the Snark Mountain foothills. The outpost had to be warned. Shoooooooomph! Dodge flew through the Continuum, the Glass Eyes gaining on him. These contests of navigational skill and strength were the only times he felt anything even approaching happiness. It didn't matter that he might be killed. He was being useful and it made him feel that much closer to exacting his revenge. In front of him, the Continuum splintered in many directions. He threw his body weight to the left and made a sharp turn at the last minute. He looked behind him: One of the Glass Eyes hadn't made the turn. Three more to go. And he had to lose them quick, before others joined the chase. Spinning to avoid the Glass Eyes' gunfire, Dodge removed his sword from its scabbard and held it firmly with both hands. With a great effort of will, he came to a sudden stop. The Glass Eyes weren't expecting it, came rushing upon him, and the frontrunner impaled himself on Dodge's sword. Before the two remaining Glass Eyes could regain their equilibrium, Dodge relaxed, surrendered his body to the pull of the nearest looking glass, and was sucked up out of the Continuum, reflected out of a glass in the lobby of an apartment building. In less time than it took a galloping spirit-dane to make a single stride, he pressed himself flat against the wall next to the looking glass. The Glass Eyes flew out of it and past him. He smashed the glass with the handle of his sword. As fragments of mirror scattered and fell, Dodge squeezed his entire body back into the Continuum through a reflective sliver no larger than a jabberwock's toe-a feat the Glass Eyes hadn't mastered, for when they tried, they couldn't get their entire bodies into the Continuum, only those parts that had been reflected in the fragment. Zooming through the looking glass' fast-disappearing crystalline byway, the void racing up behind him, Dodge looked back a final time and saw one Glass Eye with half a face, a shoulder, and little else, the other with a head and torso but no arms. The Glass Eyes had no strength and were swallowed by the void. He too would have become part of the nothingness if he hadn't hooked up with the Continuum's main artery when he did. Dodge continued on his way, heading for a certain looking glass not far from Snark Mountain. He emerged from the Continuum and made the rest of the journey on foot. But the joy he'd felt during the chase quickly vanished. He had reverted to his usual tightly contained self by the time he arrived to warn the leader of the Alyssian outpost of a possible attack from Redd. Mission completed. What now? He could head back to the Everlasting Forest, but all he'd probably find there would be General Doppelganger and the others sitting around talking strategy. Anything was better than just sitting around. So he risked an extra portal run, emerged near the Whispering Woods, and passed through them to the Pool of Tears. He came here every once in a while, stood on the cliff overlooking the pool, thinking about the life that had happened to him. Like his father, he had once believed in the principles of White Imagination-love, justice, and duty to others. But he knew better now: An adherence to higher principles got one nowhere in this world. It was not, as his father had preached, its own reward. What sort of reward allowed others to conquer and murder and do away with all you held dear? He had been reckless to come to the pool. Shouldn't have taken the unnecessary risk. He had to stay alive. His vengeance required it.

Chapter 27

Dodge stood on the cliff above the Pool of Tears. The water sloshed and lapped in the breeze. Whether it was the wind that caused it or something else, he wouldn't have admitted, but a tear fell from his cheek into the water below. How he missed his father. How he wished he could still believe in the queendom of Genevieve's time, the one he had lived in a lifetime ago, when he and Alyss used the palace as their playground. But those years of innocence and indulgence belonged to someone else, another Dodge, not the man standing here. He turned to leave, saw something on the surface of the pool: a male figure swimming with difficulty toward the crystal-barrier shore. The trees and shrubs and flowers began to chatter and Dodge charged down a steep, rocky path to the edge of the pool, stumbling, not caring if he fell. The Wonderlander swam using only one arm; no wonder he was having trouble. But even after so many years, Dodge recognized him. "You're Hatter Madigan." "Yes." He helped Hatter out of the water and saw that the Milliner was injured. Hatter's shirt was torn, his right shoulder sopped with blood. Through a ragged hole of tissue and muscle, Dodge could see crumbs of bone. He pulled off his coat and made a tourniquet out of it, to slow Hatter's loss of blood. "I'm Dodge Anders. The son of Sir Justice, who used to command the royal guardsmen." "I remember you." "We were told you were dead, that The Cat-" "It makes no difference if I'm alive or dead except as it concerns the princess. I will not completely fail to fulfil my promise to Queen Genevieve. Princess Alyss Heart is alive. She's grown into a woman, old enough to return and claim her place as the rightful queen." Dodge had long ceased to be surprised by negative twists of fate. But Princess Alyss alive? Hatter Madigan returned to Wonderland through the Pool of Tears? "It's been a long time since anything good happened," he said, staring at Hatter until it occurred to him that he ought to get the man out of the open, to where his shoulder could be examined in safety. Dodge decided not to risk a portal run. The Millinery man leaned on him for support as they traveled by that most archaic of Wonderland means: They walked through the Whispering Woods and into the slum of Wondertropolis. "You won't recognize this place," Dodge said. Hatter did recognize some of the buildings, as dilapidated as they were, but he couldn't afford to feel sorrow for the changes wrought in the capital city since Redd's coup. He was exhausted, wanted sleep. He had to stop several times to rest. He could no longer feel his right arm. "Not much farther," Dodge said, when they entered the Everlasting Forest. They came upon Alyssian guards patrolling what looked to Hatter like more forest, indistinguishable from the rest. The guards stopped in disbelief when they saw him, glances roving from Hatter's face to his bracelets and back. They bowed and stepped aside. "You've turned into a legend," Dodge explained. "You and Princess Alyss." They entered the Alyssian camp through an opening between two mirrors. Alyssian soldiers fell silent at the sight of Hatter. Whispers of the Milliner's return spread rapidly through the camp. Dodge led Hatter into the tent, where the knight, rook, and General Ganger watched General Doppel hold a chair steady as Jack of Diamonds tried to yank himself out of it. "Yah! Hi-yumph!" At the sight of Hatter, a mixture of shock, wonder, joy, and confusion appeared on the faces of the chessmen and General Ganger. General Doppel spotted him just as- "Hooah!" Jack of Diamonds lurched out of the chair, massaging his bruised buttocks and cursing the detestable piece of furniture that had held him captive. "You'd have to be the size of a gwynook to fit in that thing!" Then he too saw the mythic man. "Hatter Madigan," Generals Doppel and Ganger said simultaneously. "Get the surgeon," said Dodge. The knight hurried from the tent, returned in half a moment with the surgeon, who, although in awe of Hatter like everyone else, did a commendable job of hiding it and going about her business. She touched at Hatter's wound with a glowing rod to clean it and stop the bleeding, then slipped a U-shaped sleeve of interconnected NRG nodes and fusing cores over his shoulder, giving it time to repair his broken bone, torn ligaments, muscles, veins, and tendons. She removed the sleeve and cauterized a patch of lab-grown skin over the open wound. Hatter tested his shoulder, moving his right arm in circles. With his strength slowly returning, he explained what had happened after he and Alyss had plunged into the Pool of Tears. "So Alyss Heart is alive?" Generals Doppel and Ganger breathed. "This is absurd," Jack of Diamonds sputtered, having listened to Hatter's account with growing concern. "Mr. Madigan, I am Jack of Diamonds. Doubtless you remember me. I was a boy before your untimely exit from Wonderland. I mean no offense when I say that I mourn for Princess Alyss as much as anybody, but things have reached a crisis here. We have no time to go chasing after phantoms." "I'm supposed to be dead and yet here I am," said Hatter. "I'm telling you that Alyss Heart is alive and she's old enough to return and claim her rightful place as queen." He stood. "I'm going back to get her." "No. Let me go," Dodge said. "My duty is to protect the princess." "So as to ensure a future worth having for Wonderland, if I remember rightly. But look at you. You're not exactly at your physical peak." Hatter said nothing, only swiveled his arm in its new socket. "With your skills and experience, you're more valuable to the Alyssians than I am," Dodge said. "Stay and help the generals. Prep arations have to be made. Alyss will need an army behind her." "Isn't everyone forgetting?" Jack of Diamonds whined. "We've agreed to stop all Alyssian activity." "If we have Alyss, there may be other options," Generals Doppel and Ganger said. Hatter considered: The surgeon's handiwork aside, it would take at least a day or two for his shoulder to feel normal. A little strategizing and a bit of meditation might do him some good, and the queendom even more so. He handed Dodge the soggy newspaper detailing Alyss' upcoming engagement party. "To find the return portal, look for water where no water should be." Dodge nodded, paused as he was leaving the tent. "A lot's happened around here and none of it good. There are things you should know. Ask the generals to brief you." There were indeed things Hatter needed to know: The Millinery dissolved, its studies illegal. The Millinery had always been a staunch supporter of White Imagination and it had been too much of a risk for Redd to leave it functioning. Students and graduates of the place-Caps, Brims, Cobblers, Girdlers-had been ambushed in the night by Glass Eyes and unceremoniously slaughtered. Among them a woman of ordinary birth who, though not herself a member of the Millinery, had overseen its administrative necessities, and for whom Hatter had cared more than any other.

Chapter 30

Dressed in her wedding gown, Alice stood before a full-length mirror in the vestry of Westminster Abbey. In less than half an hour she would be married to a prince, raised to the highest ranks of society's esteem without giving her heart to a man she neither disliked nor loved. But her future seemed as uncertain as her past had once been. The room began to vibrate with the strains of the organ, but she hardly noticed. She reached out toward the mirror. Her fingers touched the cold reflective surface and she stood fingertip to fingertip with her mirrored image. What more had she expected? For her hand to pass into the mirror? Ridiculous. A knock came at the door. Mrs. Liddell bustled in, holding the skirts of her gown to prevent them from dragging on the floor, and Alice was glad to be rescued from her solitude. "It's time, dear. It's time. I can hardly believe it!" "Nor I," Alice said, feigning breathless excitement. She kissed her mother on the cheek and together they walked to the abbey's atrium, where bridesmaids and grooms-men waited to make their entrance, along with Dean Liddell, who would escort his daughter down the aisle. "To think that the next time we speak, you'll be married to a prince," Mrs. Liddell sighed. "And you'll be a mother-in-law to one." "It tickles me to be reminded of it! You've made me terribly happy, Alice." With a last hug, Mrs. Liddell left to take her seat next to the rest of the family at the front of the abbey. The wedding march began, and bridesmaids and grooms-men started down the aisle a pair at a time. Alice peeked out at the guests. Queen Victoria and her entourage occupied the first few pews on the right side of the church. A buffer of soldiers separated the queen from the rest of the guests, who completely filled the abbey. In the rear of the church, newspaper reporters jotted notes. All were turned in their seats, waiting with anticipation for Alice to make her entrance. But she had wanted to take this opportunity to spy on her guests. Why? Because she was looking for somebody, one face in particular. She'd been wondering if he would show up today as mysteriously as he had at her engagement party. Wasn't that him, standing in the shadows underneath the left balcony? She couldn't see his face clearly, but- Dean Liddell held out his arm for her. She was being such a fool. Why torture herself over a stranger just because he had a few scars on his face? Lots of men probably had similar scars. It signified nothing. Likely, the man at the engagement party had just been a rival of Leopold's and wanted to show him up with his dancing. She took hold of her father's elbow. "Alice, my love," said the dean, "if it were anybody else marrying into such a public family, I should worry whether they were up to it. But not so with you. I suspect that not only will you continue to make Prince Leopold proud, and hold his love fast, but that you will teach him more about acting as a force for good in the world than I, merely as dean of his college, could have ever hoped to accomplish. He is lucky to have you." "Thank you, Father." With measured steps, father and daughter started down the aisle. Alice's face showed no sign of concern, no hint of the consternation that had been plaguing her since the masquerade. One might have assumed that all her thoughts were on the momentous occasion at hand, which was certainly what Prince Leopold believed. Dressed in full military uniform, ancestral sword at his hip, he stood before the high altar with the archbishop. Dean Liddell kissed Alice lightly on the cheek and deposited her at Leopold's side, then padded to his seat next to his wife. Leopold smiled at his bride. It was such a shy, awed, pleased, and overwhelmed smile that it fairly overwhelmed her. Alice feared he was making more of her than he ought, that not loving him wouldn't be the hardest part of their coming years together; it would be living up to his estimation of her. She turned to face the archbishop. Behind her, pews creaked, throats cleared. The archbishop began to speak, but Alice hardly heard a word he said. "If there is anyone here who objects to this union, let him speak now or forever hold his peace," the archbishop intoned. Alice had a strong desire to glance toward the left balcony, to where she imagined the scarred man was standing, a man whose name she had with great effort tried to erase from her memory and which she didn't dare say to herself even now, as if to do so would be to conjure a figure whose nonexistence meant everything to her present and future happiness in England. She heard herself repeating the archbishop's words without comprehending their meaning. The vows. I've taken my vows. And now it's Leopold's turn. She stood listening to the alternating timbres and resonances of the men's voices. Then something strange happened. It was as if a gathering storm, moments from breaking, had sucked up all the oxygen from the enormous room, only to unleash itself with that much more vengeance. Alice would later swear that she had felt it coming beforehand, had felt something before the stained-glass windows on both sides of the abbey imploded as the strangest-looking creatures broke through them and landed amid the shards and crumbs of colored glass. Guests ran screaming toward the exits, trampling one another in their haste. Others fell to their knees and prayed to be delivered safely from harm. In the seconds between the shattering of glass and the first casualty, soldiers surrounded Queen Victoria and hustled her through a door normally reserved for the archbishop, who hurried after her with breathless prayers. Prince Leopold put a protective arm around his fiancee, but she shrugged it off, unthinking, and now stood watching the cat-like beast fight his way toward her, swatting soldiers and policemen out of his way, raking their flesh with his claws. She recognized him, as one suddenly remembers a dream hours after waking, and the recognition brought her a troubling relief, for if this thing was real... She stood defenseless and unmoving amid the mayhem. These were not the card soldiers she remembered. Can't remember what isn't supposed to exist. Leopold and Halleck were battling four of the tall, steel-limbed creatures whose backsides were protective shields engraved with card suits: clubs, spades, and diamonds. Both of the men had studied swordplay, but Alice could see that they'd be lucky to survive. Please let Leopold be all right. Whatever else is to happen, may he- The Cat took to the air, lunging toward her. Still she didn't move. She extended her arm, reached out to feel once and for all if this beast was real, when- I knew it! The man with the scars came sprinting toward her from the periphery, pushing her out of the way just as The Cat landed and smashed the altar with a downward swing of his thigh-sized arms. And she was running now, her hand in his, the man whose name she would still not voice to herself. He pulled her out through one of the broken stained-glass windows and onto the street. The Cat and card assassins jumped out of the abbey after them. The London street was a blur, a confusion of shouting, screaming people. A card assassin fell onto the train of Alice's gown, bringing her up short. With a single swipe of his sword, the scarred man cut the train from the gown, spun around, and severed the leather harness ties that held a rearing horse to its carriage. "Hey!" the carriage driver protested. But the scarred man was already astride the horse, pulling Alice up behind him even as he spurred the animal at a gallop through the streets. The Cat chased after them on foot, his powerful legs making him as fast as any of Earth's four-legged creatures. The card assassins had come armed with glowing orb generators and, as the scarred man urged the horse this way and that, from streets to sidewalks and back again, zigzagging to make a more difficult target, explosions shook the surrounding buildings. Dizzy with all of this action as she was, it seemed to Alice that her companion had a destination in mind, for if the horse skidded past a certain street, he would steer the animal back to it and they would race along its course, past befuddled pedestrians and cursing carriage drivers. The man did know where he was going. He had memorized the route he'd taken from his exit portal to Westminster Abbey and was traveling it in reverse. And they were getting close. A few streets still to go when an orb generator rocketed into an empty police wagon not twenty yards away, turning it into a fireball. Their horse reared, bucking them off its back, and they landed on a pile of cabbage in a street seller's cart. They jumped to the ground and ran, the scarred man pulling Alice, gripping her by the arm. "Where are we going?" she breathed. "You'll see!" He pointed: a puddle. She was embarrassed by what she said next, the first thing that occurred to her as she and this man took a running jump into the puddle, their hands clasped. "I'll ruin my dress," she said, and then- Shoosh! They were rushing down, deeper and deeper. She lost hold of the man's hand. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't be...yet it was. And as she torpedoed up toward the surface, having worked impossibly hard to convince herself that the place about to be seen by her disbelieving eyes didn't exist, she said the man's name-Dodge Anders-and water filled her lungs.

Chapter 22

Hatter put one foot in the puddle, but the sole of his shoe never touched the bottom. He tumbled down, falling deeper and deeper until he stopped and floated in the depths, only to shoot up again as fast as his descent had been. When he broke the surface, he was in the Pool of Tears. The clouds above swirled violently and the water was rough and choppy. He swam to the crystal shore, his senses alive to any sign of Redd or her hordes. He climbed out of the water and stealthily approached the nearest tree-a beaten old thing with a scarred trunk and leafless, craggy branches. "Has Princess Alyss returned to Wonderland? Have you seen her come out of the pool?" "Princess Alyss is dead!" the tree said loudly, as if for the benefit of an unseen but all-hearing force liable to inflict great hurt at the slightest provocation. "I have no evidence of her death." "Princess Alyss Heart is dead!" the tree said louder than ever, but added in a whisper, "Redd's Glass Eyes are everywhere. It's dangerous to talk. The princess has not returned." Hatter didn't know what the Glass Eyes were-Redd had only recently unleashed them on the queendom-but he wasn't going to stick around to find out. As long as he had strength in him, his duty dictated that he return to the other world and search for the princess. He would find her, train her in the ways of a warrior queen, as he had her mother; then they could both come home to face plenty of trouble, the Glass Eyes being only part of it. He dived back into the Pool of Tears, the gravity of the portal-already growing more familiar to him-pulling him down. Likewise more familiar to him was the pause in the deep, the momentary suspension, followed by the heart-in-mouth feeling as he rocketed up and out of a puddle behind a milking shed on the outskirts of Budapest, Hungary. Three unimpressed goats were the only earthly creatures to see the figure twirl out of a sun-scorched puddle and land confidently on his feet. Hatter wondered whether he could learn to navigate the Pool of Tears as he did the Crystal Continuum, so that he might be able to choose his earthly destination. Control would be more difficult to attain than it was in the Continuum. Water was a heavy medium; to maneuver in it would require skill, balance, endurance, strength of body and mind. But these were considerations for another day, another year, because Hatter's worldwide search for Alyss now began in earnest. He trailed people alight with the glow of imagination, believing that one of them would lead him to Wonderland's princess, who couldn't fail to glow in this world. He visited hat shops in the towns and cities of Spain, Portugal, Belgium, Switzerland, Austria, Bavaria, Italy, Prussia, Greece, Poland (to name but several). In 1864, five years into his search, having twice circled the European continent, he took the Calais ferry to Dover, England. Had Alice's Adventures in Wonderland been published by the time he arrived, any one of the salespeople in the hat shops and haberdasheries he visited would have been stung with recognition upon hearing the name Princess Alyss Heart of Wonderland issue from his lips, though they might have thought him mad-a man in search of a fictional character. As it was, they only tried to sell him hats he didn't need while complimenting him on the one he wore. Hatter would be far from England a year later when Charles Dodgson's book was first published. As he roamed the world in search of Wonderland's princess, maps sticking out of every available pocket, worn from use and much scribbled on with notes of where he'd been and what routes he'd taken, Hatter's legend grew. Though the languages in which it was told varied as widely as the terrain he covered-ranging from Afrikaans to Hindi to Japanese to Welsh-and the details of the story often changed, its basic premise was the same: A solitary man blessed with fear some physical abilities and armed with a curious assemblage of weaponry crossed continents on a mysterious quest that led him to headwear merchants the world over-whether a peddler of knitted caps operating from a tent in a North African Bedouin encampment or an exclusive hat shop in the heart of Prague. Hatter sightings were reported in America, which was nearing the end of a civil war-glimpses of him stalking streets in New York and Massachusetts, tramping the snow-covered hills of Vermont, the icy roads of Delaware, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Maine. He traveled down through Mexico and South America, skirted the Antarctic Peninsula, and circled back up to California and Oregon. He passed into Canada and eventually made his way to the Asian countries and the Far East. Then, in the third week of April 1872, thirteen years after he lost Alyss, Hatter entered a shop in a crowded bazaar in Egypt, in the shadow of the Great Pyramid of Giza. "I'm looking for Princess Alyss Heart of Wonderland," he said to the shopkeeper. "I'm a member of Wonderland's Millinery. Any information you have pertaining to Princess Alyss will be highly appreciated and, in due time, rewarded." He had uttered these exact words so many times, and not once met with success, that a normal man would have given up on their power to provoke a meaningful response. The truth was, he didn't expect the shopkeeper to have any information, so he was surprised when the man beckoned him toward a high shelf, where a book was leaning between a miniature sphinx carved out of sandstone and a basket of dried camel tongues. The man dusted it with his sleeve and handed it to Hatter. It was an English edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Her name was misspelled, but...Wonderland? Surely, it was his Alyss. How could it be anyone else? The girl in the illustrations looked nothing like her, and yet it could not be coincidence. Hatter's future path had become clear: To find Alyss, he would first have to find the book's author, Lewis Carroll.

Chapter 28

Twenty year old Alice Liddell flitted gracefully from one group of well-wishers to another, her long silk gown trailing on the ballroom's parquet floor, her black hair rippling down past her shoulders, her skin like smooth, unblemished ivory in the light of the crystal chandeliers. The most prominent members of British society were on hand for her engagement party-dukes, duchesses, knights, earls, counts, viscounts, and country squires-and all of them hid their faces behind masks, as did Alice. In the morning, newspapers would print detailed accounts of the masquerade for the benefit of the city's washerwomen, footmen, tavern keepers, cooks, and maidservants, the lower-class folk who struggled day after day to make ends meet and liked to gossip about a world in which they could hardly believe, a world of such rare privilege and comfort as Alice Liddell's had become. "Why, Miss Liddell." The Duchess of Devonshire stopped Alice on her tour across the ballroom. "Your dress is as stunning as one would expect of you. And your mask too-only, what are you supposed to be, dear?" Alice's mask was as featureless as could be: wax paper on a wire frame, with holes punched in it for eyes, nose, and mouth. "I'm everywoman," Alice replied. "Neither ugly nor beautiful. Neither rich nor poor. I could be any woman, any woman at all." Leopold approached for a dance. He wore a mask similar to Alice's in simplicity, although not as perplexing to guests. It was a mask of his own face, rendered in oils by a local artist. "My dear," he said, offering his hand. The orchestra struck up a waltz, and the couple danced around the room, the guests leaning against the walls to watch. Along with the many pairs of eyes cast on them, there was yet another-a stranger watching through the window. Prince Leopold was not a good dancer, neither light on his feet nor easy with his turns. Alice was almost thankful; it somehow lessened her guilt for not loving him. Dancing was the only activity in which he appeared less than perfect. The waltz drew to a close and the prince noticed the queen frowning in a corner of the room. "I think I'd better pay my compliments to Mother," he said, kissing Alice's hand. Leopold took off his mask and set it on a table. The stranger who'd been watching through the window entered the ballroom and, unnoticed, scooped up the mask. Alice had barely finished refreshing herself with a few sips of wine when she felt a tap on the shoulder. She turned and saw her intended husband wearing his mask, holding out his hand in request of another dance. "Already?" she said. "But what about the queen?" The man in the mask remained silent. The orchestra swelled into another tune and he led her out to the dance floor. With an arm around her waist and a hand at the small of her back, he moved her easily this way and that, twirling her here, dipping her there. They were in perfect step with each other, as if they had been dancing together all their lives. The guests couldn't fail to notice; they cleared a space for the couple and applauded. Alice realized that whoever she was dancing with, it certainly wasn't her fiance. "You're not Leopold," she laughed. "Halleck, is that you?" she asked, naming the prince's friend. The stranger said nothing. "Who is hiding behind that mask?" Still, the stranger remained silent. Alice reached up and removed his mask, revealing the face of a handsome young man with almond-shaped eyes, a nose that had probably been broken more than once, and dusty, disheveled hair. "Do I know you?" "You knew me once," the stranger said. He turned his right cheek to her, showing the four parallel scars that shone pink and ragged against his pale skin. She stopped dancing, startled. "But...?" She felt a commotion among the guests behind her. Mrs. Liddell and Prince Leopold appeared at her side. She turned, but the stranger had vanished. "Who was that man?" Leopold demanded. "So rude. I'm sure he's nobody," Mrs. Liddell fretted. She'd never seen the prince so upset. "Tell him, Alice. Tell him that man was nobody." "I...I don't know," said Alice. "I don't know who he was. Please excuse me. I need some air." She hurried out to the balcony. It couldn't have been him. The man with the scars. It couldn't have. He didn't exist.

Alice in the wonderland weds

Lewis Carroll's Muse Alice Liddell to marry Prince Leopold Alice Liddell? "She goes by a different name?" he asked aloud, but more to himself than to Dodgson, who said nothing. There was urgency in his voice when he asked this time, "Where is the deanery?" "In...in the n-next quad. The b-b-blue door, but..." "But what?" "She is currently at K-K-K-Kensington Palace, prep-p-p-paring for-" Hatter snatched up the newspaper and bolted from the apartment, scanning the article as he sprinted in the direction of London. Why had the princess taken a different name? How could she pretend to be an ordinary, soon-to-be-married young lady of Earth? He hadn't known what to expect when he found the princess: perhaps a young woman not quite ready to fulfil her destiny, a woman who would need convincing of her own powers, in whom the bravery of a warrior queen was not yet second nature, but he hadn't expected this. Kensington Palace. Hatter ran toward the front gate, showed no sign of stopping. "Halt!" one of the guards ordered. Hatter leaped, somersaulted over the gate, and dropped to a crouch, startling a young, baby-faced guard patrolling the grounds. The guard tripped, his rifle went off, and- Hatter spun with the force of the bullet. He'd never been shot before. Incredulous, he touched the bloody wound. The guard stared at Hatter, paralyzed, unsure what to do. Whistles were blown. The clap and patter of running feet all around. The wild, angry barking of guard dogs set loose. Hatter had little choice but to run. The bullet had hit him in the shoulder, severing tendons and ligaments, shattering bone. He couldn't move his right arm. It hung limp, banging against his side, trailing blood. With his free hand, he put constant pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding. With difficulty, he jumped over the palace wall and hurried into a darkened street, got two-thirds of the way down it before he discovered that it was a dead end. The pack of dogs had already closed in when three guards appeared at the street's entrance, came forward with drawn rifles and bayonets, squinting into the shadows where Hatter stood, trapped. No doubt a dagger or corkscrew would have whistled out of the darkness into their vitals if Hatter had had no other choice. But when the guards reached the end of the drive, it was empty, deserted. They saw only a puddle on the ground where no puddle should naturally have been, the dogs growling at it until, with a few tentative sniffs, they began to lap up the dirty water.

Chapter 29

The cat swatted at a length of rope hanging from the ceiling of the Invention Hall. All around him early prototypes of Redd's numerous inventions were on display in spotlit alcoves: a seeker with the body of a tuttle-bird and the head of a gwormmy; a dry, withered shrub that had been Naturcide's first kill; a Two Card from The Cut, half steel and half flesh, more vulnerable and not as mobile as the card soldiers that eventually made it to production; a preliminary model of the rose roller; a Glass Eye with one long horizontal crystal for vision-intake instead of the more humanoid orbs in two sockets; even an early version of The Cat himself, with smaller claws and (as The Cat himself liked to think) not as good-looking as the completed assassin had turned out. He could play with the rope for hours-catching it on a claw, releasing it, snagging it again. He had begun to purr when Redd's voice reverberated through the hall. "Cat, come to the Observation Dome at once." Usually, a summons from Redd meant bearing a heap of verbal abuse, having his shortcomings shouted into his ear. But this time Redd had sounded different, almost pleasant, as if to surprise him with a treat. And it was about time. He deserved praise and spoils, since he was the one responsible for maintaining discipline among Wonderland's masses. The Observation Dome occupied the top level of the Mount Isolation fortress-slick, polished stone flooring with walls of telescopic glass panels that provided a 360-degree view of Wonderland. The Cat bounded into the dome with a meow, but quick as a tail flick his mood darkened. The walrus-butler and Jack of Diamonds were in the room. Why Redd insisted on tolerating Jack of Diamonds, The Cat would never understand. "I've been taking a stroll down memory lane," Redd said, "and Cat, I'd like you to tell me again how you tore Alyss Heart into little fleshy bits and hurled them into the Pool of Tears all those years ago." Something was wrong. The Cat could smell it. Jack of Diamonds' grin was more self-satisfied than usual and the walrus hadn't looked at him once since he'd stepped into the dome, too busy dusting the crystal-sticks at the center of a long table, sprinkling dust on objects and surfaces as they needed. The walrus had been dusting the same crystal-stick ever since The Cat's entrance, a mound of dust rising on the table. "I followed the princess and Hatter Madigan through the Crystal Continuum," The Cat started. "I tracked them to a cliff-" A volume of In Queendom Speramus flew at him from the side of the room and conked him on the head. "-ugh! So...I tracked them through woods to a cliff above the Pool of-" The walrus's pouch of dust shot toward him. He saw it coming, moved at the last second, and it exploded on the glass panel behind him. "-above the Pool of Tears. And Hatter-" A chair skidded toward him. He stepped out of its path. "-he tried to jump off the cliff into...the water-" Chunks of volcanic rock materialized and came hurtling toward him. He ducked out of the way of one rock only to be hit by another coming from a different direction. "-ow! I knocked Hatter back onto-ah!-the ground, and then-ow!-I tore him and Alyss into little fleshy bits and-ow!-hurled them into the Pool of Tears." He fell to the floor, tired and hurt. Redd came and stood over him. "You lie, Cat. You have allowed me to believe your lie for thirteen years. I have been informed that Hatter Madigan is in Wonderland and Alyss Heart alive." The Cat could see Jack of Diamonds behind her, pleasantly sipping liqueur from a clear goblet, his little finger raised in affectation. "It is of course all right for you to lie," Redd continued, "so long as you don't lie to me. It appears that if one is clever enough to figure it out, there is a way to return to Wonderland through the Pool of Tears." Her left hand formed into a cat's paw. She speared him through the stomach with the claws of her index and middle fingers. The Cat gurgled and convulsed, blood trickled from his mouth, and he died. The walrus did his best to ignore what was happening and nervously spread dust over the entire table with both flippers. Jack of Diamonds chuckled, but he stopped abruptly when his goblet leaped from his hand and spilled its contents onto The Cat's face. The Cat sputtered, coughed. His eyelids stuttered open. "Don't be so dramatic," Redd told him. "You still have six lives left. Lie to me again and you will have none. Now get up and wipe your chin." The Cat stood, licked his paw and rubbed it over his chin and whiskers, cleaning off his blood. "Here's what's going to happen," Redd said. "You and a platoon of card assassins of my choosing will pass through the Pool of Tears. You will find my niece and you will rip, chop, or twist off her head-I don't care which so long as her head comes off. You will bring this head to me. If you return without it, I will assume that Alyss is alive and you have failed, and that will be the end of you. If you don't return to Wonderland because you fear what I will do to you, rest assured that I will send others after you and you will die six more deaths." The Cat bowed. "I thank you for being merciful, Your Imperial Viciousness. I will not fail you this time." "No, I don't suppose you will." Briefed on Alyss' whereabouts by a smug Jack of Diamonds, The Cat led his card assassins to the cliff overlooking the Pool of Tears. With no fanfare save for the wind in the mute trees and the beating of their illicit hearts, they jumped, succumbed to the extended downward tug of the portal, the upward velocity, and sprang from a puddle inside the Houses of Parliament. They flew up out of it and smashed through the windows, landing on the sidewalk in a shower of shattered glass.

Chapter 25

The long, tortuous trail of publishers and translators led Hatter to Christ Church College in Oxford, England. He stood outside the door of a bachelor's apartment in Tom Quad. The time was 12:30 P.M. He was closer to finding Alyss Heart than he had been in thirteen years. On the other side of the door: Charles Dogson, aka Lewis Carroll. He knocked. "Who's there?" a voice called. "My name is Hatter Madigan. I am a member of Wonderland's Millinery and I've come to find Princess Alyss Heart." There was a long pause from the other side of the door, then, "I-I don't know who s-sent you, but th-this isn't fu-funny. It is Sunday, sir, and n-n-not a day f-for whimsy." Hatter stood outside the door long enough to realize that Dodgson was not going to open it. Shwink! The blades of his left bracelet began slicing the air and he pushed them into the door. It splintered apart and Hatter stepped through the opening into a small, warm room where a fire burned in the hearth. Dodgson jumped up, spilling tea onto the rug and dropping his fountain pen, which dripped ink onto the pages of his journal. "I beg y-your-" Dodgson started, backing into a corner of the room. Hatter snapped shut his wrist-blades. The man before him had the brightest glow of anyone he'd ever seen. "Where is Princess Alyss?" "Wh-wh-who?" "Princess Alyss of Wonderland. I know you've been in contact with her. I'm in possession of your book." As Hatter reached into a pocket of his Millinery coat, Dodgson whimpered. "Please, n-n-no!" But Hatter was only reaching for the copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. He returned the book to his pocket, strode to the writing desk, and flipped through the pages of Dodgson's journal. "Do you know who I am?" "I...I th-think I know who y-you're s-s-supposed to b-be. But I can't s-say that I f-find...find this a-at all amusing. Did A-Alice send you t-to make fun of m-me?" "I've searched many years for the princess-more than half her life-and made little progress. But now I've found you-" "Y-you c-can't be s-s-serious?" "Oh, I'm very serious. And I will find her whether or not you tell me where she is. But it will be better for your health if you help me." "But I've hardly s-seen her in n-n-nine years. She re-re-refuses t-to have anything t-to do w-w-with m-me." Hatter considered the sadness, the mournful reminiscence, in the reverend's tone. The man was telling the truth. "Where do I find her?" "Sh-she l-l-lives at...at the d-deanery here at Christ Ch-Ch-Church." Hatter was about to ask where the deanery was, but his eye alighted on a newspaper spread open on the tea table. One of the headlines caught his attention: