Blank In Wonderland, Part 7

“It would have been nice,” Brett continued as she made her way down the endless dirt path, “if I had the chance to ask Marcia about the boys, or if she told me where this Queen's croquet game is taking place. I have no idea where I'm going or how I'm going to get there.”

As she gazed up into the endless masses of evergreens, the misty pale afternoon light became a vibrant purple haze. When the haze vanished, she was more than a little shocked to see a long, lean leg in a fur-trimmed high-heeled boot dangling off a branch. The Cheshire Cat still grinned at her...but this time, it was the familiar wide Miss America smile of a slender young woman in a tight black leather pantsuit trimmed with sleek fur. Fuzzy cat ears perched in her shiny velvet brown curls. 

“Oh, good grief.” Brett pushed the leg out of her face. “Lee Merriweather, what are you doing up there?”

She purred and licked her gloved hand. “It's as good a place as any for a nap.”

“Oh no, you don't!” Tugging at her furry tail produced a hiss and a glare from her heavily lashed velvet orbs. “You can't take a cat nap now! I need to help me find my boys and figure out how to hightail it out of here, before that Red King sends us all to that Limbo place. Have you seen them around? Two teen boys, one taller and his voice is cracking, one shorter. I've been looking all over for them!”

“They're around,” Lee purred sleepily, “if they're anywhere. I don't think they've gone anywhere else. They can't go to Limbo. You can only be sent there.”

She made a face. “That's a big help. You wouldn't know where 'around' is, would you?”

“I believe,” she chuckled, “they were heading off to the Mad Tea Party. They thought you might be there, and it would be a way to get something to eat and find where their father has gotten to.”

“Considering their father is consorting with the enemy, at least in this world,” Brett grumbled, “I think we're all better off not knowing where he is.” She made a face. “Do you know where the Mad Tea Party is, and how I can avoid going crazy when I'm there? I've read the book, you know!”

“Oh, but you can't help being mad!” Lee exclaimed gleefully, her pearly white grin widening. “We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. After all, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore, I'm mad.”

Brett smirked. “I've known for a while you're not exactly the full deck of cards, dear.” She frowned as a horn playing the theme from Hogan's Heroes came from somewhere off her right. “Lee...” 

The cat-woman vanished in a puff of purple light before she could finish. “Damn it,” she grumbled, “she still didn't tell me exactly where to find that Mad Tea Party!”

A slender pale hand with sharp crimson fingernails pointed to the right. “It's at the March Hare's house, though they're more likely to be with the Mad Hatter and his protege the Doormouse.”

“I'll remember that.” Brett sighed and started down the path again, only for all of Lee to reappear in front of her. 

“By the way,” her tall feline friend mewed, “what happened to the baby? I'm assuming you two got out of there before the flying crockery did any major damage.”

“Yes, we did, thank heavens!” She rolled her eyes. “Darn thing turned into a pig. I let it go. If Marcia wants her child, it’s rooting around the wildflowers looking for lunch.”

Lee gave her that throaty chuckle again. “I rather thought it would.” She vanished in a purple puff, and Brett started towards the increasingly loud horns again. “Did you say pig,” Lee, or at least her head appearing in a purple light, asked, “or fig?”

“Pig, dear. Turn up your hearing aid, and stop reappearing and disappearing like that. You'll give me a heart attack with all that in and out!”

“Very well,” sighed Lee. This time, she vanished slowly. Her head went first, then her hair and ears, and finally, her wide, light-up grin. 

“You know,” Brett added thoughtfully, “most cats don't have grins, but I've never seen a grin without a cat!”

Even as the last of the Cat's purple mist vanished into the afternoon haze, Dickie Dawson and his playing card entourage clip-clopped down the path. Dickie stopped before her and pulled up his visor, giving her that smirky grin most women found irresistible. “We meet again, fair elder maiden! You appear to be lost. Where are you bound that vexes you so?”

“Dickie,” Brett said patiently, “have you been reading Shakespeare again? I'm trying to get to the Mad Tea Party, but the Cat...wherever she went...didn't give me the world's best directions.”

“Milady, the Mad Hatter and March Hare are the very people we seek!” Dickie frowned. “It's said they're quite close to the King and Queen of Hearts and often bring messages to them. My liege, the White King Gene, is hoping we'll be able to convince them to join our cause. The Red King ravaged Looking Glass Land with his tyrannical rule, and we fear he may do the same to Wonderland.”

“We were the Queen of Hearts' men,” the little blonde fellow with a sweet mischievous smile and gentle southwestern accent admitted, “but we planted white roses instead of red roses. The Queen only likes red roses. She sent us into exile, and now we work for Sir Dawson.” He tugged at his Three of Clubs card front. 

“Why would she do that?” Brett made a face. “Just because you planted the wrong thing?”

“Let's say,” added the dark-skinned Six of Diamonds, a broad-shouldered fellow with thick black curls under his cowl and an easy smile, “the Queen has a bit of a temper, and leave it at that.”

Dickie climbed off his elegant white steed with the plume taller than him. “I would be honored if milady would ride with us.”

“Thanks, Dickie,” Brett added, “but it's not 'milady.' My name is Brett Somers, but Brett's fine.”

“Very well, Miss Brett.” Dickie led the horse while his sons and the cards followed behind. “Why do you seek the Mad Hatter and March Hare?”

“I'm not looking for them,” Brett admitted. “I'm looking for my sons, Adam and David. The Cat...I was told they went to the Mad Tea Party. We got separated when we...fell down here...and I've been trying to find them since.”

“I'm terribly sorry, Miss Brett.” Dickie put an arm on one of the boys on a smaller steed. “I love my own sons dearly.”

“We talked to two boys,” Mark threw in. “One about my age, one older. They were looking for their mum and dad.”

“They said they're really worried,” little Gary added. “Their mom got lost, and something bad happened to their dad, and he's not himself anymore.”

Brett stiffened at the mention of Jack. “I am not speaking to their father right now. Not after what he did at the Caucus Race. Those poor animals were just trying to dry off, and he and that Red King had to break in and ruin everything.”

“I'm sorry about that, Miss.” Dickie's tanned face turned down in genuine sorrow. “By the time my men and sons and I arrived at the Race ground, they had already taken prisoners. We were detained by the Red King's knights on the road. We thrashed them,” now that cocky smirk looked a lot more familiar, “of course, but it prevented us from coming to your rescue in time.”

“Couldn't you have gotten past them faster?” Brett glared at him. “Dickie, he turned those animals into toys! They'll never move or laugh or take care of their children or do anything ever again! They were just enjoying themselves. What's wrong with that?”

“To you and me, nothing.” Dickie easily swept onto his horse, holding her a little too close for comfort as he tugged on the reins. “The Red King ordered everyone to play the game his way. Those who play a different game, or play by their own rules, must be punished.” He gave Brett another smirk. “The Mad Hatter and March Hare are said to follow no one's rules but their own, not even the Queen and King of Hearts. They are among the most creatively insane people to live in this land.”

Brett made a face. “Dickie, watch where you put your hands. You're not my type.”

“You're scarcely my type either, Miss Brett.” Dickie wrinkled his nose. “I prefer buxom golden English roses with brains and beauty to elder maidens with smart mouths and no figure to speak of.”

“I'm not that old!”

“Oh come on, you two,” the younger boy protested, “don't fight!”

“Yeah,” the older one added. “Dad says we should save fighting for when we have to rescue people from the Red Knight, right?”

“Right, Mark. We'll show that slob of a warrior who's the real head knight around here!”

Brett rolled her eyes. “Good grief,” she muttered, “that man can't take care of himself, even down here.” She went on out loud. “Who is the Red Knight, and what's he doing with the Red King?”

“The Knight was one of the strongest warriors in the kingdom,” Dickie puffed as the horses bumped along the hard dirt path. “Until the Red King got his hands on him. Threw him into his dungeon and performed unspeakable tortures on his mind...and now he's the King's most obedient servant.”

“How?” Brett tried to keep the shock from creeping into her voice. “He seems like a pretty tough guy. I doubt he really...meant...any harm...”

“Miss, he's terrible!” Gary squeaked as he and his brother rode by them. “There used to be a lot more White Knights. He captured them all, locked them up in the King's torture chamber, and either let the king turn them into chess pieces and cards, or chained them up and put them on the rack and twisted their minds until they couldn't think about anything but old socks and stinky cheese, and...”

“Gary!” His older brother Mark elbowed him. “She gets the idea. Dad, tell him not to be gross.”

“Gary, enough.” Richard shook his head, but he was smiling. “Forgive my sons' exuberance. They don't exaggerate that much, though. That's what the Red King does to those in his power. He twists their minds until they only play the game the way he wants.”

Brett frowned. “I'm wondering if this is a good idea. I don't think the Red King knows the boys and I are here, but...”

“We're going to find out!” Bert the Card Guard pointed his sharp spade lance at two small cottages in a clearing and a long table set with mismatched chairs and lots of tea cups. “We're there!”

Blank In Wonderland, Part 8

Two small houses, one a Vermont fishing shack, the other a New York brownstone with a sign shaped like a top hat hanging on a pole next to it, stood on either side of a small clearing. In between was the untidiest tea party Brett ever saw. Mismatched chairs surrounded a long table with a slightly stained embroidered cloth. Tea pots, cups, and saucers, some china, some sprinkled with flowers, some in bright tropical greens and corals, others glowing in pearly metallics, were scattered across the table.

“Dad, look!” Gary jumped off his steed first. “Food, and lots of it!” He pointed at the plates and towers piled high with cakes, sugared fruits, and tiny tea sandwiches. “Do you think they'd be willing to share?”

“I don't know, son.” Richard got off next. “Seems deserted to me.”

“Well, I don't care.” Brett slid off Dickie's white horse, pulling away from his sweaty manliness as quickly as she could. “I'm hungry, and I want tea. Where's the service around here?” She smacked her palm on a silver bell and plopped in the largest and softest of the chairs, a towering Victorian confection covered in garish pea green and magenta velvet.

“No room!” Maybe it was a trick of light dancing around the late afternoon shadows, but Brett swore a tall rabbit with light brown fur, fuzzy ears, and a sharp square chin sporting a slouchy beige striped shirt and worn jeans waved his paws at Dickie. “No room at the table!”

“Sir,” Richard protested, “there's plenty of room! It's not nice to turn away guests.” 

“Well, it isn't nice of you to sit down without being invited!” 

That came from Charles Nelson Reilly. At least, it looked like him. Same mousy hair, enormous round glasses that dominated his little face with the pale blue eyes and dimpled chin, same nasal Bronx accent, same figure that somehow managed to be tall and pudgy at the same time. “On the other hand, it is nice to see guests. We don't often get people all the way out here.” He even wore a bright green, blue, and red patchwork suit with a paisley silk scarf that wasn't far removed from his usual attire on the show. The green and red silk top hat with the blue "Tea Shop" sign in the band looked like something he'd wear, too. 

That was when she looked down at the table and saw his bare legs under a pair of threadbare boots. “Good gravy Marie!” she groaned. “Even here, you're STILL not wearing socks!” 

“What have you got against that, lady? It's far more comfortable on my feet, with all the running between houses and kingdoms we do all day.” He sighed and sipped his tea. “Why don't you have some wine?” 

“I don't see any.”

The March Hare snorted. “There isn't any. Hatter,” he swiped at Charles, “finished it a half-hour ago.”

Richard glared at him as the others joined them. “It wasn't nice of you to offer it to the lady.”

“It wasn't nice of you,” Orson twitched, “to sit down when you weren't invited!”

“Calm down!” Brett snapped. “We didn't know. The table's set for a heck of a lot more than you two and us!”

Charles leaned into the huge teapot in the center of the table. “You three. Doormouse, wake up! We have visitors!” 

“Huh?” Gary Burghoff with mouse ears and a furry brown argyle vest popped his head sleepily out of the teapot. “Oh. People. Five more minutes, Major Blake...”

“Doormouse!” Orson grabbed his collar, and with Charles help, dragged him across the table and into the nearest chair. “Why don't you go get our other visitors? The younger ones?”

“Oh...yeah. Sure. Them.” The mouse yawned and rolled out of the chair. “Yeah, I'll go...” He managed to fall asleep standing on his paws, snoring lightly as his head dropped onto his furry chest.

“Doormouse!” Charles shook him this time. “Go get the kids!”

“Yeah!” His head shot up, and he blinked his round blue eyes. “I'll go get the kids. They were getting more cookies...”

The Doormouse came out two minutes later with Adam and David in tow, Adam with a butter cookie in his mouth. “Mom!” Adam yelled through his cookie. “You're here! We found you!”

“Boys!” Brett threw her arms around both of them before they settled down on either side of her at the table. “Where have you been? Why did you run off? Adam, honey, swallow that before you talk. You'll choke!”

“Where have you been?” David asked worriedly. “We've been looking all over for you, ever since we went through the door into the woods back at the hall and got lost.”

“I got lost, too.” Brett hugged both of them hard. “Oh, you don't know how worried I was!”

“Mom,” Adam asked, “can we have dinner before we go home? These guys are really weird, but they've been nice to us.”

“Yeah,” David added. “Let us have tea and look at their upside-down tea pot collection and everything.”

“It's really cool,” Adam added, tugging at his mother. “You've got to see it!”

“These are your boys?” Charles lifted his tea cup. “I think we ought to celebrate reuniting you. I knew taking them in was the right thing to do!”

Orson smirked. “You liked that they tried to solve your riddles.”

“Tell her the one about the raven and the writing desk!” Adam added as he reached for one of the chicken salad tea sandwiches.

Brett lightly smacked his hand. “First of all, ask someone if you want that. Second, what raven and writing desk?”

“I'll do it.” Charles passed around tea cakes and sandwiches, then cleared his throat and turned to Brett. “Why, dear lady, is a raven like a writing desk?”

Orson grinned. “Well, do you think you guys can answer it?”

“I think we can,” Brett admitted. She rubbed her head, trying to stop the pulsing in her temple. “Do you boys have anything stronger than tea laying around?”

“We have blackberry cordial.” Charles poured a dark brew from a small bottle into a pale pink porcelain cup covered in purple pansies. “Should get your brain moving, Susan.”

“Dad,” asked Gary as Richard gave his sons sandwiches, “can we have some?”

“No, son.” Richard made a face. “That's a grown-up drink. You boys and I will stick to tea. Our brains move fine without liquor.”

Brett glared at him. “You always were a stick in the mud, Dickie.” She downed the dark brew in one swallow. “Hey,” she purred as the fruity liquid slid down her throat, “this stuff isn't bad. You ever think of selling it?” She grabbed David’s hand before he could reach for the bottle. “And don't you get ideas. You're not quite old enough yet, either.”

“Aw, Mom,” he grumbled, “I'm almost 19. I'm practically a grown man. When are you going to stop treating me like a kid?”

“When you aren't one.” 

Orson picked this point to clear his throat. “Hatter, what day of the month is it?”

“It's August 9th, 1976.” David raised an eyebrow as Charles opened a gold pocket watch the size of his head. “What's with the watch, dude?” 

Charles sighed. “It's still two days slow. Been two days slow ever since you told me to put the butter in the works, Hare. I knew I shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife.” 

“Aw, come on Hatter!” Orson shrugged. “It was the best butter! Can I help it if crumbs got in there, too? We eat a lot of toast around here.” 

Adam peered over the Hatter's shoulder. “Hey, man, you got a wild watch there.”

“What's so strange about it?” Mark asked between bites of cucumber sandwich as he and his older brother strained to look around their father.

“Mom, look!” He pointed at the numbers. “It tells you the date and the day, but not what time it is!”

“All watches in the under-worlds are like that.” Charles closed the watch and shoved it back in his jacket. “Don't the watches where you come from tell you the date?”

“No,” Brett explained as she kicked back another glass of cordial, “because it's the same month for a lot longer than it is an hour.”

“Hey Mom,” Adam asked as he licked crumbs off his fingers, “have you figured out the answer to the raven riddle yet?”

Brett sighed and popped a tea cake in her mouth. “No, kiddo,” she coughed before remembering what she told him about swallowing and talking earlier. “I haven't. What's the answer?”

“Gotcha, Mom!” David nearly fell off his chair laughing. “There's no answer, right guys?”

“Nope,” Charles honked. “None at all.” He shrugged and tossed his empty cup over his shoulder. “Ok, clean cup time! Everyone move down!”

“Clean cups!” Orson pushed at the Card Guard. “You boys all start moving to your right! We'll all have to move down.”

“Oh good.” David smirked as he found himself between Richard and the Clubs card. “I can reach for the bread and butter now. If all the butter didn't end up in that guy's watch.”

Adam waved an empty cup. “Hey, can I have more?”

“How much, son?” Charles lifted the nearest tea pot.

“Oh, half a cup will be ok, Mr. Hatter.”

Charles actually sliced the cup in half and filled it without the tea spilling out. “Wow!” Adam sipped it. “You're a magician, Mr. Hatter! And it tastes good, too!”

“Thank you, sonny.” Charles flipped his scarf around, preening as he always did when someone complimented him. “It's a talent I've always had.” 

“You know, Hatter” Brett complained as she reached for another chicken salad sandwich, “you boys could find better things to do with your time besides making up riddles that have no answer.”

Charles burped slightly and patted his lips with the tablecloth. “Susan, your hair wants cutting.”

“And you,” Brett added sharply, “don't have enough to cut. Personal remarks aren't necessary, Victor.”

“You know,” Charles went on, ignoring the comment on his lack of hair, “if you knew Time like we do, you wouldn't talk about him like an it. He is a he.” 

Richard frowned. “How did you boys get to know Time?”

“Oh, we used to be very good friends with Time,” The Doormouse explained with a yawn. “Until Mr. Hatter got into some kind of a fight with him over music.”

“You sing, Mr. Hatter?” Adam asked. “Can you give us a concert?”

Brett smirked and gulped another snifter of blackberry cordial. “I'm not sure you boys would want that.”

“Why don't we all have a concert? Right here and now.” Orson pulled out a harmonica. “Show them what you sang at the Queen of Hearts' palace last month that got Time so mad, Hatter!” The Doormouse stifled a yawn long enough to pick up two spoons and bang them on the bottom of the bread bowl like a drum. 

“Yes, but it was a duet I sang with the Queen,” Charles explained as he climbed on top of the table. “I'd need two to sing it.”

“Hey Mom,” David grinned, “why don't you do it? You sing with Dad and Mr. Reilly at parties.”

“Sure!” Brett shrugged. “Why the hell not?” 

Charles helped her onto the table, leading her nimbly around the breakable china and plates with food. “Do you know 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat' Susan?”

“No, but if you hum a few bars, I can figure something out.” 

He looked down at the others. The Three of Clubs whipped a harmonica out from between his cards. The March Hare hopped in his shack and returned with a guitar. “Is the band ready?”

The Three of Clubs gave him that sweet little smile again. “Ready and willing, Mr. Hatter, boy...I mean, sir!”

The Hatter bowed low for the crowd around the table. “And now, 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat,' in the key of G. Susan, follow along.”

“Twinkle, twinkle, little bat, how I wonder what you're at...”

“Oh!” Brett cackled. “I know this one! We have a song like this at home.” She sang along with him, more-or-less making up her own lyrics that didn't match his. They always did sing well together, his gentle tenor and her foghorn contralto somehow melding together in perfect harmony. He even swung her around for a couple of two-steps around the table.

Soon, everyone got into it. Brett knew Dickie was a good singer, adding his own smooth English baritone to their goofy tune and clapping along. The Cards all sounded surprisingly good as well. They made enough noise to shake the tree-tops. Maybe they weren't ready for a concert hall, but Brett thought it was good noise, all the same. She laughed when the boys danced around the table with each other, and the Five of Spades tried to swing the Doormouse around, to his squeaked surprise. 

“Susan,” Charles chuckled, “I think we have a hit.”

“Mom, you were great!” Adam yelled over his brother's sharp but appreciative whistle. “You were better than Sonny and Cher!”

“Well, we weren't half-bad.” He grinned at her. “Maybe we ought to have an act, Susan. Time might not get so angry if I had someone to keep track of him with me. The Queen said I murdered the time on that number, and ever since, he's always made it tea time, never dinner.”

Orson grinned. “What does the Queen know, anyway? We ought to go on the road.”

“Not if...” the Doormouse yawned, “I can't get my beauty sleep.” 

“Doormouse!” Charles tapped him on the back. “Why don't you tell us a story? That'll keep you awake.”

He rolled over and opened one sleepy eye. “Oh, all right.” Charles helped Brett to another seat as the others moved down. After they were all settled, he continued. “Once upon a time, there were three little sisters, and they lived at the bottom of a well...”

“What kind of a well?” David asked as he finished his half-cup of tea.

“Oh,” yawned the Doormouse, “it was a treacle well.”

Adam made a face. “What's treacle?”

“I think you call it molasses.” Richard tapped the Doormouse on the shoulder. “Please continue. The boys won't interrupt you again.”

“Well, yes,” the Doormouse went on, “they lived on treacle...molasses...”

“Wouldn't they get sick from drinking that?” Mark asked. “I don't feel well when I have too much sugar.”

“Oh yes,” Gary murmured, his eyes drooping, “very sick all the time.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” David snorted. “Why would they live at the bottom of the well if they're sick all the time?”

The Doormouse shrugged and laid his furry round-eared head on the table. Charles coughed. “Would anyone like more tea? Brett?”

She made a face. “I haven't had any tea, so I can't have more.”

“Ahh,” Charles scolded, “you mean you can't have less. You can always have more of something.”

“Nobody asked your opinion, Charles.”

“Who's making personal remarks now?”

Richard calmly sipped his tea. “Before we all kill each other, I need to ask you gentlemen to join my cause.”

“Cause?” Charles looked up from his blackberry cordial. “Cause of what?”

“He wants you to help us stop the Red King,” the Three of Clubs explained quickly. 

“Oh, he wouldn't come here.” Orson chuckled. “We don't care about him.”

Charles shrugged. “Let him have his own tea party.”

“We could always stuff him,” Orson waved at the Doormouse, who nodded off, “in the teapot. He's sleeping again.”

Richard's younger son Mark heard it first, the tell-tale rumble.“Dad, what's that?”

“Damn it.” Brett broke away from Charles, rubbing at the pounding in her head. “It's them. The Red King and his ass...jerks. I heard that same noise when they broke up the Caucus Race.”

“Maybe we ought to get out of here,” David added as he jumped up from the table, “before they ride all over us.”

“We're knights!” Mark brandished his short sword and tried to look tough. “Knights never run, right Dad? We stay and fight the enemy!”

Richard raised his chin defiantly and pulled out his own weapon. “Let them try to ride over us! We'll get them this time.”

“You boys stay and fight.” Brett gulped the nearest cup of tea in the hope it would make the throbbing in her temple subside. “My sons and I are leaving.  We don't have weapons. We don't even live here!”

“We did drink their tea, Mom.” Adam frowned. “Shouldn't we stay and help them?”

The Red King and his men rode right up to the tea party table looking like nothing more than a wave of dark red blood flowing closer and closer. “All right, men.” Richard slid his heavy silver sword out of its leather scabbard, holding it out as the Card Guards readied their lances and closed around the table. “The second they attack, hold them back. Remember the children and civilians here.”

David made a face. “Mom, tell Mr. Knight I'm not a kid!”

“What about Dad?” Adam gulped. “Isn't he with them?”

Charles and Orson continued to sip their tea as if nothing happened. “Charles!” Brett shook his shoulder. “I think you three ought to get out of here, or at least go inside. This place is going to make Night of the Living Dead look like a kindergarten in five minutes. Blood will take forever to wash out of that silk hat.” 

“Give us a minute!” Charles shouted over the din. “We're not finished with our tea yet!”

The blood tide stopped suddenly before their table. The Red King, his snow-white hair standing out against the gushing waterfall of crimson silk banners, trotted up to Richard. “White Knight, are you here to help us arrest these miscreants?”

The Doormouse yawned and stretched his furry little arms. “What's a miscreant?” 

“Don't even think about it.” Richard pushed the others behind him. “This is Wonderland. They don't subscribe to your rules.”

“Oh, but they will soon.” The king's sinister chuckle made Brett shiver. “As soon as I have...a little chat...with your King and Queen of Hearts. Right now, I'm bringing them a few troublemakers who aren't playing the game properly.”

“Hey, Your King-ness...” David began as he raised his hand. 

Adam gulped and nudged his brother. “Dave, I think he's a highness.”

“Yeah, Your Highness,” his brother went on, “what's 'the game?'”

The King glared down at him. “You, child, are far too young to understand. I'm only helping everyone. The rules must be obeyed. My rules are the only ones that will keep order in this topsy-turvy world. If everyone follows my rules, we'll have winners, not losers.”

Brett threw down her tea cup so hard, the crack could be heard over the din. “Someone has to lose sometime! That's how things work! And YOU,” she added, waving a finger at Jack, “I'm disgusted with you! How could you turn on these people? You traitor!”

“Mooom,” David hissed, “that's not a nice thing to say to Dad. He has a pointy sword that could really hurt you, and you don't.”

“I don't care!” She shoved the sword away when he tried poking her. “Point that toothpick somewhere else. I don't like it in my face.”

“It's going to be a lot more than in your face in five seconds, lady!” He yanked her arm so hard, she was sure he left bruises. “You and the kids are my prisoners. They're too young to work for the boss, but we'll keep them under wraps until they're old enough.” She did not like the way he looked at her. “You, on the other hand...”

She managed to yank her arm away, her flashing eyes boring holes into his grimy scarlet armor. “First of all, I'm no one's prisoner, pal. Second, what in the hell are you doing? They're just kids, a rabbit, a mouse, cards, and...whatever Charles is!”

“Sorry, lady.” He smirked, pushing his dusty sword at her throat, “but I gotta take you all in. Nothin' personal. My boss has a real interest in you. You ain't from around here, are you?”

“You might say that.” She had to keep him talking. Richard tried to get the Red King off his horse, but he swung his scepter at him. Lights from the scepter bounced around the clearing. They upended the tea table, sending cutlery, cups, and pots flying.“Hey,” she snapped, “tell your boss to watch where he aims that thing! It could have hit the kids!”

“Fellas, I think the party's over,” Orson yelped as he scrambled away. “Besides, we have an invitation to the Queen's big croquet shindig. We need to get the rest of the messages about the Red King out.”

“And besides,” Charles added, his nasal Bronx accent thickening with every word, “I need to iron my dog.”

“Uh, yeah,” the Doormouse added drowsily. “I left my car running in my other pants.” 

Brett never saw a tea table empty so fast. Orson hopped in the direction of the woods, dragging the Doormouse with him. Charles grabbed a cup of tea and two scones and followed them. The Red King's horse-helmeted knights ran into the woods after them. 

Richard shoved in front of Jack, sword at the ready. “Leave the maiden alone, Red Knight! She's no prisoner of yours.”

“No,” Brett snapped, “she isn't! You tell 'em, Dickie! Give me a sword! A knife! A spoon! A toothpick! Jack, this goes against our divorce agreement!” 

“Fair maiden,” Richard insisted, “you're better off fleeing with your children. I'll take care of the Red Knight, like I always do.”

“Humph!” Jack rolled his eyes. “I wipe the floor with ya every time, shorty.”

“Mom,” David started as their swords clanged, “shouldn't we do something? That's Dad there! Or it looks like Dad, anyway.”

“And what about those other boys' dad?” Adam frowned as he reached for a last sandwich. “He might get hurt.”

Even as Adam spoke, Dickie swung his sword right at Jack's head, sending him flying back into a tree with a clang. “Mr. Dawson can take care of himself, boys,” Brett managed to yell over the cheers from his Dickie's sons. “However, we don't have that giant toothpick.” She gently shoved her kids down the path. “I think we'd better get out of here.”

“Where, Mom?” David yelled and waved his hands at the trees. “We're in the middle of nowhere! Face it, we're lost! Again!”

Adam pointed into the branches. “How about we ask Catwoman?”

Brett did not like the light in David’'s eyes as the Cheshire Catwoman faded into view, in all her clingy leather and spandex glory. “Hey babe,” he drawled knowingly, “can I have your autograph?”

“Sorry, honey,” the Catwoman told him as she licked her hand, “you're too kittenish for me. However, I can help you find your way out.” She leaned over and pulled down a branch, revealing a door in the tree. “This should get you back where you need to be. After that is up to you.”

Blank In Wonderland, Part 9

They ended up back in that yellow hall at Television City. Everything looked exactly the same as it did when she fell down the shaft. The key and the “drink me” bottle still sat on the little glass table. She even found Bill's fan and gloves on the floor, a little sodden but still there. This time, she tucked them into her pocket. The gate to the garden remained shut tight.

“Mom,” David called, looking up at the ceiling, “the hole we came in through is gone.” 

She joined him, gazing up at the ceiling. It was whitewashed smooth, not a hole to be seen. “You're right. I don't think we could have gone back that way, even if we wanted to. It would have taken way too long to climb.” 

“Besides, Mom,” David added, “what about all these people? Mr. Dawson and his kids, and the rabbit, and the mouse, and Mr. Reilly. They need help. What about Dad?”

“I don't think that's your father,” Brett explained with a sigh. “Your father may not be the best husband in the world, but he's never killed an animal. That I know of.”

“Hey Mom,” Adam called as he waved them over to the gate, “maybe we could try to get into the  garden. There's someone in there. They might be able to help us.”

“It's better than nothing.” Brett grabbed the key, then handed the boys one of the mushrooms. “Take a nibble from this. Just a nibble. I don't want you overdoing it and eating yourselves so small, I can't see you.” 

As soon as they began shrinking, she continued. “And from here on in, I want you to stay with me. David,” she added when he opened his mouth, “I know you're old enough to wander on your own, but we don't know where we are. I don't want anyone getting lost again.”

“Fine, Mom,” David sounded more like his father every minute. “We don't wanna lose you, either.”

“Now that we're all small enough,” Adam added as he tugged on his mother's arm when they were all the size of the grate, “can we go now? I hear music! I think there's something really big going on.”

Brett turned the key. “Let’s go. And if the Red King's there, or we see anything or anyone that could remotely hurt us, we leave and try another door.”

“Moooom!” David's tenor rose to a near-whine. “Can we just go without you talking?”

“All right, all right!” She and David pushed the gates open. “Follow me and don't touch anything. We don't know what's safe and what isn't.”

At first, the brilliant sunshine blinded her. After a few moments of blinking, she could help her gasp. The garden sprawled for miles, far larger and more elaborate than her small spread at home. Red roses and flowering cherry trees waved gently in the soft breeze. The grass under their feet was as soft as shag carpeting, and about the same shade of lime green. 

“Mom,” David breathed in awe, “did we walk into Oz?”

“Yeah,” Adam added with wide eyes. “I thought the networks only ran The Wizard of Oz once a year. Are the Scarecrow the Wicked Witch around?”

“At this point,” Brett added breathily, “it wouldn't surprise me.”

That was when her gaze dropped to a clear pond filled with shiny goldfish darting around lily pads. “Good gravy Marie! Boys! Come and look at this!”

Between the hall and the pond, she traded her floral granny dress for a cobalt blue Victorian gown out of the real Alice In Wonderland. Long, tight sleeves and the ankle-length blue skirt were made of the softest taffeta that swished when she walked and trimmed with black satin ribbon. A white ruffled apron was tied around her waist, ending in layers of white bows like the icing on a wedding cake. She retained her black stockings and shiny strap shoes. 

“Wow, Mom!” David grinned. “You look like a real Victorian lady from the history books.” 

Brett grinned and fluffed her black curls, now piled high on her head and pulled back with the same silk ribbon. “You two look pretty good yourselves.” She gestured for them to look into the pond. “I knew my boys were the handsomest around.”

“Aw, Mom!” David made a face at his short brown jacket, bell-legged trousers, and long black silk bow tie. “I look like a little kid!” He tugged at the huge white collar. “And I can't breathe in this.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Adam fussed at the jacket. “This is kind of itchy.” His outfit was identical, only pale blue and with shorts instead of trousers. 

“Well, if we're going to the Queen's croquet game, we have to look like we belong.” She gently pushed the boys along the checked path. “Come on. Hopefully, we can pass for couriers or whatever long enough to ask the Queen and King how to get out of here.”

They followed the winding paths through the garden, past some of the biggest and brightest rose bushes Brett ever saw. Most of the roses bloomed in brilliant shades of scarlet and coral, but one row that stood out was pure white. “Wonder what she does to make these grow so big?” Brett leaned over and sniffed one. “And they smell good, too. So sweet! Like candy.”

“Here, Mom.” David gently put a white rose over his mother's ear. “I'm sure the owner won't mind if I borrow one. There's tons.” 

Brett picked two red ones and threaded them in her boys' jackets. “Gentlemen should have flowers in their buttonholes.” 

“Thanks, Mom!” Adam sniffed at his, grinning. “They're almost as nice as yours.”

“Aw, thanks, kiddo.” Brett ruffled his hair affectionately. 

David snickered as Adam flattened his wayward brown locks. “Hey Mom,” the younger boy wondered, “what happened to the others? The White Knight, and his boys, and all of them?”

Brett settled briefly on a half-rotted stump. “I wish I knew! I wonder if we should go back for them...hey!” She jumped up as a grappling hook caught itself in the top of the stump. “What's going on?”

“Ma'am?” Greg, the Diamond Guard with the dark curls and cocoa skin, poked his head out of the stump. “Glad to see you're all right.” He came out first, carrying a bucket of red paint. 

“Miss Brett?” Larry the Club Guard came out next. “Thank goodness! We were sure the Red King got you.”

Brett raised an eyebrow at the paint. “Hi, fellas. We're glad you're alright, too, but what's with the paint? Queen wanted you to re-do the castle to match her roses?”

“Actually,” Greg whispered as he looked quickly to his right and left, “we're on a secret mission.” 

“Remember,” Bert the Spade Guard added as he shimmied out next, “how we told you we planted the white roses by mistake, and the Queen likes red roses?”

“Uh, yeah...”

“Well,” Larry the Club Guard finished, “we're going to paint them red! She'll never know the difference!”

“Can we help?” David grabbed a paint brush and slathered red paint on the nearest white rose. 

Brett made a face. “First of all, we're wearing good clothes. If you're going to help, cover up with something.”

“Here.” Larry handed Adam one of his card fronts. “I'm not using it. “ Bert did the same for David, and Greg handed Brett a diamond card.

Brett had to admit, painting roses turned out to be a lot of fun. She, Greg, and Adam painted the upper branches, while David, Bert, and Larry did the lower ones. Greg occasionally slunk around the roses to make sure no one was coming. 

They were on the last bush when they heard the loud trumpet fanfare. Brett raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like the theme from The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” 

“Guys, we gotta go!” Greg yelled as he grabbed the paint and threw it into the stump. “The Queen of Hearts is coming!”

“Good.” Brett handed Greg his card back. “I have a few things I want to ask her, starting with how in the hell do you get out of here?”

Adam leaned around Greg, his dark eyes wide. “Mom,” he yelled over his shoulder, “you're not going to believe this! The Queen is Mrs. Ludden!” 

“What?” Brett smirked and rushed to his side. “Oh, this I have to see. The closest Betty ever got to being a queen was hosting teen beauty pageants with Allen!”

“The Queen!” Bert croaked behind her. “She's here already!”

“Awww!” Larry fussed. “We're not done yet! We still have one bush left!”

“Forget it!” Greg dropped the grappling hook down the stump after the paint. “We'll finish it later. Right now, the best thing we could do is vacate the premises.” 

“Yeah,” Larry added helpfully, “and we gotta get outta here, too!” 

Blank In Wonderland, Part 10

As it turned out, there wasn't time. Even as he spoke, the ground rumbled with stomping cards.  Clubs came first, holding their shamrock-shaped lances high. The diamonds came after them, followed by the spades. The cards dropped to their faces on the ground, spread out like a bad poker hand. 

The Heart Guards were last, strapping male and females dressed all in dark red. They accompanied the kings and queens, each of them bedecked in the finest ebony and scarlet silk gowns and linen suits of the Victorian era and glittering crowns that glinted off the bright sunshine. Even little card children wore suits with starched collars like her sons' and white ruffled dresses with high lace collars. 

It took every ounce of restraint Brett had to not fall over laughing at the sight of Betty White, in her rose-and-heart trimmed scarlet gown with its giant bustle and stiff collar, strutting on the end. Allen Ludden was a tad subdued by comparison in his gold and ruby crown and white linen suit. Both carried scepters topped with huge ruby hearts. Ira Skutch, the Match Game producer, followed in a red and white Victorian suit that somehow managed to be open at the navel. Bill Daily the White Rabbit played the fanfare as he breathlessly caught up with them. 

“Knave!” Betty demanded, pointing at the prostrate cards on the ground. “What, pray tell, are those? And what,” she ran a finger over a rose dripping blood-red paint, “happened to my roses? The most beautiful in the kingdom?”

Ira turned the cards over with his toes, making a face. “I recognize these men, Your Majesty. You banished them from the kingdom for planting the wrong roses and ruining your precious garden.” 

“You!” Her pointed finger swung to Brett. “Why are they here if they were banished?”

Brett shrugged. “No clue, Bet...uh, Your Heart-ness.”

“We never saw 'em before in our lives,” David added smoothly.

“You know Miss,” Allen went on in a far gentler voice, “we've never seen anyone like you here. Are you a club? Or perhaps a diamond? You don't look like a chess piece...”

Brett didn't know how to curtsy, so she settled for a bow and nudged the boys to do the same. “Forgive us, Your Heart-ness, but we're strangers in this land. My sons and I are merely passing through. My name is Brett Somers, and these are Adam,” she touched their shoulders gently, “and David Klugman.” 

“When you address a queen,” Betty ordered, “you should open your mouth a little wider, speak up, turn out your toes,” she pulled and pushed at Brett's arms and legs, “and always say 'Yes Your Majesty.” 

Brett smirked and pulled her legs right back where they were. “Sure, Betty.”

“Mom,” David muttered, “I wouldn't piss her off. She's the Queen here and can take off your head.”

“Um, dear,” Allen held up Larry's chin with his scepter,  “what are we going to do with those three liar's club members?”

“Off with their heads!” Betty yelled, waving a hand. “To the dungeon with them!”

Ira's smug grin annoyed Brett to no end. “I agree, Your Majesty. They broke the law...and we might be able to torture them and find out who returned them to this garden, too!”

“Hey!” David’'s yell almost topped Betty's. “That's not fair! All they did was paint your roses. Come on, Mrs. Lud...er, Your Majesty, anyone can make a mistake!”

“He's right.” Brett glared at her. “Have a heart, Your Majesty! Or at least, use the one in your chest, not on your little stick there.”

“We only behead the worst criminals, dear,” Allen added gently. “Why don't you let them off with a warning?”

“Who's Queen here?” Betty bellowed before waving three of her biggest Heart Guards over. “Take them to the basements. We'll decide their fate later.”

“Mooom,” David whispered as they dragged the protesting cards towards the castle, “I still don't think that's right. They didn't do anything.”

“Yeah,” his mother muttered, “but we're not the ones in charge here. I don't want us to end up in the dungeon with them.” 

“You know,” Betty went on, ignoring their chatter, “you have a rather strong voice yourself, Miss Somers. You wouldn't make a bad queen if there weren't already queens in Wonderland.”

“Mom's a queen, all right,” David broke in with a smirk. “A drama queen!”

Betty jumped in before Brett could reprimand her son. “Now, what I want to know is, do you play croquet?”

“Well, I'm not great at it,” Brett stammered, “but the boys play at our barbecues sometimes.”

“That's good enough!” Queen Betty squawked. “White Rabbit!” she called, “get them flamingos and hedgehogs, and tell the card wickets we have three more for the game.”

There was barely time to blink before someone shoved a pink bird with a very long, rubbery neck in Brett's arms. “What in the hell is this?” One of the cards dropped a fuzzy porcupine-like animal at her feet. “Hey, Your Majesty, how are we supposed to play with these?”

“Owww!” Adam pushed his flamingo off his arm. “Mom, the bird tried to bite me!”

“Moooom!” David yelled from where he clutched a flurry of magenta feathers. “It's trying to get away!”

“Betty...Your Majesty...” Brett wasn't having much more luck. “How the hell am I supposed to hit the ball?” She grabbed the neck so it aimed at the hedgehog, but the damn thing always moved its neck or attempted to escape before it could.

“Talk to it sweetly,” Betty trilled. “They like that.” She cooed at her flamingo like it was a baby. Whatever she did worked. The creature ran up on its own and smacked the hedgehog so hard, it sizzled through every arched card on the lawn and tapped against her pole. 

“SWEETLY?!” Brett roared. “I'll show you SWEETLY!” She swung the damn bird by the legs as hard as she possibly could, not caring about the horrified squawk from the bird or Betty. Everyone dove for cover as the hedgehog banged against the heart trees and sculpted bushes like a ping pong ball before finally ending up against a rose bush.

“I told you,” Queen Betty wailed, “you don't smack an animal like that! Off with your head!”

Brett glared at her. “Go soak yours. You're cheating! You don't play this game with flamingos and hedgehogs. Everyone knows that!”

“What's all this?” Brett suppressed a groan as The Red King strolled over, carrying his own scarlet flamingo. “You know that slamming is against the rules!”

“I tried to tell her you don't treat animals that way in this kingdom,” Queen Betty grumbled huffily “But she lost her temper. Only I'm allowed to lose my temper!”

“Of course you are, You're Majesty,” Ira the Knave simpered. “You have the greatest temper of anyone in the Under Lands!”

Brett gave her the death glare that usually sent her sons running for the Hollywood Hills. “If we weren't playing with moving mallets and balls and you didn't cheat...”

“Mom!” David grabbed her fist and pushed it by her side. “You're threatening a queen! I think that's illegal.”

“It's not illegal,” Allen explained, “but it doesn't make her happy, either. Ladies, why don't you make up, and we'll go on with our game?”

The Red King inspected the croquet grounds with a sweep of his golden head. “I don't think we can go on with our game. Not until we play by the rules.”

“Rules?” Betty snorted. “We play by my rules!”

“Of course,” the Knave added quickly. “Your rules, and only your rules! Right, Red King?”

He nodded with that knowing little smile “And we need to make sure everyone's playing by them. After all, you are the Queen of this fair land.” He kissed her hand, ignoring the face Allen made.

“Mom,” Adam muttered, “the Red King's grossing me out.” 

“Yeah, me too. Ok, break it up, folks!” She finally pushed between Betty and the Red King. “Your Red-ness,” she added, “I don't know if you've seen her finger recently, but she has a ring on. That means she's married, and not to you.” 

Glints of red hot anger flashed briefly in the Red King's eyes, but they passed so fast Brett thought she imagined them. “Of course.” He bowed low before Allen. “Forgive me, but I couldn't help admiring your intelligent wife. After all, a ruler must assert themselves to make sure the game is played properly. The rules are the rules.”

“What's this obsession with rules?” Brett grumbled as she snatched her flamingo and took another whack at the hedgehog, only for it to run away. “Sure, we need rules. Keeps people from killing each other. But sometimes, folks just want to have a little fun. That's not so bad, either.” 

“Fun?” The Red King raised an eyebrow. “The most important thing is doing things the right way. Fun isn't a consideration.”

“Of course, we have fun!” Brett finally grabbed the hedgehog's soft underbelly and plopped it on the ground. “You can have fun in any way you choose. It doesn't always have to be the right way.” She gave the hedgehog another smack. It banged against two bushes and a tree branch and almost took off Betty's crown before finally knocking Betty's hedgehog aside at the pole. “There! I win!”

“Don't worry, Your Majesty,” the Knave crooned as Betty's face turned an unbecoming shade of tomato sauce red, “you'll win the next game.”

“I'd better win,” Betty grumbled, “or everyone's going to the basement!” 

“Perhaps,” the Red King suggested slyly, “we should take off the heads on all those cards who failed to let your hedgehog through.”

“Yes!” Betty turned to the cards quaking on the grounds. “Off with their heads!”

“Dear,” Allen scolded gently, “that's half our army right there! Maybe we should take away privileges instead. We may need them.”

“And YOU,” Betty yelled as she continued to Brett, “shouldn't be beating me! I ought to take your head off right here!” 

Brett rubbed the side of her head. Now she really wished that the blackberry cordial at the Mad Tea Party hadn't been so damn fruity and delicious. She supposed she could blame Charles for her hangover. Wouldn't be the first time. She was very close to grabbing her children and walking out of this madhouse, while her sanity remained intact

She couldn't have been happier when Dickie Dawson and his boys trotted across the lawn on their shiny horses. “Your Majesty,” he called, “you must be kind to that fair elder maiden! She doesn't mean what she says.”

“Yeah!” Brett added. “What I mean is, best two out of three?”

“You're on,” the Queen of Hearts snapped back. “As for you,” she added to the White Knight, “Sir Richard, what are you doing here? Where's White King Gene and White Queen Helen? I invited them to the game, and I think it's very rude of them to not even send an RSVP!”

Dickie easily slid off his horse, helmet in hand, and bowed low before Betty and Allen. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but they were unavoidably detained. This fiend,” he glared at the Red King, “placed The White Castle under siege. His Red Knights and their Jub Jub Birds and Mome Raths killed many White Knights. My sons and I are among the few survivors. We're here in search of my men. They came on ahead, but I don't see them anywhere.”

The Red King gave him that creepy chuckle. “You have quite an imagination, Sir Dawson. What would I be doing here if this fiction of yours was fact?”

She had to hand it to Dickie. He didn't even flinch when the Red King lifted his chin with his scepter. “Trying to keep Wonderland out of your hands.”

“It's not in his hands!” Betty stroked her flamingo's feathers, her voice matching its squawk. “We're in charge of Wonderland! All ways here are our way!”

Allen gave her a squeeze. “Of course, dear. Now, why don't we just continue with our game?” He moved aside for Richard. “You can go next, Sir Dawson.”

Bill the White Rabbit pushed between them at this point, holding a tray filled with strawberry pastries. “Tarts, miss?” He did a double take before screaming in her ear. “Yiiiiiii! It's you! You're the monster! But how...how did you shrink? Where did you go? You just disappeared from my house! Which is a mess, thanks to you! The furniture is all over the place, and the tops of my carrots are broken...”

Brett put a hand over his mouth. “Bill, get it through your head. I'm not a monster.” She handed him his fan and gloves. “By the way, you lost these. And watch it with that fan. I nearly fanned myself out of existence a while back!”

“Oh, that fan is very important.” He tucked the items in his pocket. “Sometimes, I go up to the surface, and they don't like rabbits up there who are my size. I just fan myself, and I look like a regular rabbit. I kind of forgot to do it when I was up last time. My mind was just so much on the Queen, and not getting my muchness taken away or sent to Limbo and eaten by the Jabberwock...”

“Bill, enough.” She took a pastry and bit into it. It...wasn't bad, surprisingly. Her Betty couldn't boil water without burning it. “Hey, these are good! What are they called, anyway?”

“Those are strawberry tarts.” Bill beamed with pride. “The King makes them for the Queen with love, and graciously shares them with royalty and special guests like you. He does everything for the Queen with love. He loves her more than anything.”

“Oooh, those tarts!” Drool ran down the Knave's sharp chin as he took one. “Best in the kingdom! No one makes better tarts than King Allen.” He exchanged a sly look with the Red King, then smirked. “You know, it would be a shame if someone stole the rest of these wonderful tarts clean away! What about you, Sir Dawson?”

Richard bit into a tart, grinning ear to ear as the jam ran down his chin. “We didn't have food like this in the Chess Army, let me tell you that! These are amazing! I wouldn't mind having two more right now.”

“Sorry, your Knight-ness.” Bill quickly moved the tray from his grabbing fingers. “We have to share with everyone, and the Queen will want some for herself later.”

“In that case,” Richard said smoothly as he bowed before him, “I volunteer my services to guard the tarts, so no jackanapes get ideas of stealing them before your Queen can have a taste.”

Allen nodded thoughtfully. “I like that idea, Sir Dawson. It would be wonderful to have someone reliable keep an eye on the tarts until we're ready to eat the rest.”

“You can count on me, Your Majesty. Me and my young squires.” Richard grabbed his boys before they could reach for the tarts and nudged them in front of the table. 

The moment the Queen went to take her turn, Brett turned to Richard. “Dickie,” she whispered quickly, “the Card Guard's in the dungeon, or basement, or whatever. The Queen caught them painting roses. You're lucky Allen talked her out of beheading them.” She rubbed her neck. “I'm lucky my boys and me convinced her not to behead us!”

“Why do you think I took this job? 'Tis not the tarts I seek.” Richard frowned, his eyes furrowing in concern. “I must release them and find the Red Knight. He's nowhere to be seen. It's a rare day when he isn't trailing his master.”

Brett then caught a flash of dirty scarlet metal hiding in the bushes. “I think I can handle the Red Knight, Dickie...Sir Dawson...if you and the boys keep an eye on the Queen and Red King.”

“But Mom...” David started, wide-eyed. 

“No buts, kid.” She tossed her flamingo in his arms. “You two stay with Sir Dawson. I'm going after your father.” 

She caught up with Jack trying to keep out of sight in the closely clipped hedges. He just blew one of the pink flowers off his nose when she bent over his shoulder. “Hi there, hon. Enjoying the view?”

“You!” It was almost comical to see her ex-husband leap out of the bushes like that in his heavy armor. He must have jumped six miles. “How did you get away from me? You're supposet'a be my prisoners! You and the kids! The boss just about had my head in a jar for lettin' you escape!”

“What are you doing here, spying?” 

“My boss wants to figure out what Shorty's doin'. He's got somethin' real big planned for gettin’ that jerk out of the way.”

Brett arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He smirked right back. “And I ain't tellin' you what. I don't tell stuff to prisoners. So there!”

Being this close to him was really starting to get to her. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they were making out on that bench in Central Park in 1959. “Jack,” she gasped,  “why are you going along with him? The Red King's an asshole. All he cares about are rules, rules, rules.”

His craggy face twisted into a surprising anguish. “Lady, you don't know what he does. What he can do to your head when he gets in there. I gotta do it. I just...it ain't want to. I gotta.” 

Brett could barely focus with that familiar scent of dirt, oil, and the Schlitz beer and pepperoni pizza he had for dinner last night on his breath. “Jack...I can't...” Her resolve cracked like the tiny spiderwebs of fissures in the walls behind her as he stroked her cheek. “Jack...this isn't right...we're not...married anymore...”

As Jack leaned in to kiss her, a purple light poofed over the flowering bushes in the garden. “I hope I'm interrupting something.” 

“Lee?” Her disembodied head somehow floated over the bushes in the garden without a neck or anything else. “Where's the rest of you?”

She chuckled. “Not here, obviously.”

Brett turned to Jack...only to realize he was gone. “Jack? Jack?” She groaned. “Damn it to hell, he's gone! Did you have to show up when you did? I wanted to find out what the Red King's doing now.”

“Oh, I know that.” The Catwoman chuckled. “He wants Wonderland, so all of the Underground Worlds will follow his rules.” She raised an eyebrow as youthful laughter came up from some naughty joke of Dickie's. “I take it you found your sons?”

“Yes, thank you.” Brett sighed. “Now we need to figure out how to get home. That damn Red King seems to have everyone over a barrel. I'm worried what he'll do if he finds out we're not from around here.”

“I don't think he can do much.” Her toothpaste smile widened as the Red King's smooth tenor drifted over the garden walls. “He tries so hard to charm the Queen, but he'll never get to her. The only things she loves are her husband, her animals, and her garden, in that order.”

“Yeah, I've noticed.” Brett winced as Betty's foghorn voice demanding yet another beheading carried over the hedges. “Honestly, I'm almost starting to wish the Queen would obey whatever the Red King's damn rules are. This game is ridiculous! If she keeps taking everyone's heads off, there won't be anyone left to play croquet!”

Brett wished she were better at modulating her voice and listening when people sneaked up on her.  “What did you say, Miss Brett?” Betty asked as she walked over with Allen on her arm. 

“Oh, I just mentioned how we shouldn't bother playing,” Brett added quickly. “You're so likely to win that it seems pointless.” 

That got her. Betty preened and fluffed her hair. “Well, thank you. I do practice often.”

Allen raised an eyebrow at Lee's disembodied head. “Who...or what..is that?”

Brett shrugged. “Friend of mine, sort of. Cheshire Catwoman,” she nodded at the King, “meet King Allen and Queen Betty. Royals, meet the Catwoman.” 

“How do  you do?” The Catwoman managed to look down at them with her unsettling wide white grin. “It's nice to meet you, Your Majesties.” 

“I'd say, 'you may kiss my hand,'” the King began before the Queen glared at him, “but I'm not sure I like the way it's looking at us.”

Betty made a face. “I know I don't like it. White Knight! Sir Richard!” She screamed. “Off with its head!”

Richard and the boys suddenly materialized at her side. The four boys' hands and lips were sticky with strawberry jam. She'd give her sons a mild scolding for eating tarts that didn't belong to them later. “What do you wish of us, Your Majesty?” Dickie bowed before them before coming up...and giving the Catwoman his own wide grin when their eyes met. “And who is this charming feline?”

That unsettling cat smile grew even wider as their eyes met. “You can call me the Cheshire Catwoman, Sir Dawson, or anything your heart desires.”

“You can call me yours.” 

Betty cleared her throat before the obvious flirting could continue. “Sir Dawson, I want you to take her head off!”

“Why? Has she done something wrong?”

“Don't mind her, Sir Dawson.” The Catwoman purred as her dark eyes roved up and down his trim tanned figure. “That's her way of dealing with everything. She wouldn't know what to do with herself if she wasn't giving orders.”

“Mom,” David smirked as she tugged him away, “the cat lady is really cute. She reminds me of the Catwoman on Batman. She's got those...” 

“David Klugman!” Brett glared at him when he waved his hands to indicate certain parts of the female anatomy. “You do not refer to a lady that way!”

She winced when the sneer he gave her looked suspiciously like her own. “You're just jealous. You don't have nearly as much on top as she does!”

Gary, Dickie's younger boy, frowned. “Nearly as much of what?”

Brett grabbed his and Adam’s hands and led them rather roughly away. “Nothing you need to know about right now.” 

“Looks like the game's nearly over.” The Red King chuckled, strolling by her side. “The Queen won this round, of course, but I'll win the next one. I always do.”

“Oh yeah?” David snapped. “How do you figure that, man? Can you tell the future?”

The Red King quirked a pale eyebrow. “I always win, child. I'm the King. We play by my rules.” 

Her oldest son distinctly resembled a young black bear about to strike. “Stop calling me a child! I'm 18!”

“That doesn't mean you win all the time,” Brett grumbled as she firmly took Dave by the shoulder. “Someone ought to give you a few rules. You're always going on about rules, but what about the rules you live by? Who's giving you orders?”

The Red King's boyish cheeks flushed the same shade of blood crimson as his expertly tailored suit. “None of your business.”

“Mom's going to be a queen, you know!” Adam was almost the same size as the Red King and shot him the hardest glare a 14-year-old could manage. “Queen Betty said so!”

“Yeah!” Mark Dawson added heatedly. “And I'll bet Miss Brett will be a much better ruler than you ever were!”

“And Dad,” Gary piped in, “would make a much better king! He knows how to get people to do things without ordering them around or turning them into mushrooms or something!”

The Red King narrowed his eyes at all of them. “Children,” he swerved to Adam, “and young men, should be seen, not heard.”

“Why?” Brett smirked and threw her hands on her hips. “Because they're smarter than you? What are you afraid of? That Betty won't suddenly do everything your way?”

She didn't even flinch when the King leaned into her face, his eyes boring red  hot coals, even as he gave her his creepy slasher smile. “I'm never afraid. But perhaps, you are. Or you will be.”

Brett didn't like the look in his eyes. Maybe it was her, but she felt a sudden chill in the warm afternoon air. Even as she subdued her shivering, she drew on her days in live television to keep her composure. “We'll see about that, pal. I'm not scared of you, and you know it.” 

“Do you think you'll be able to lean on my Red Knight to save you? Or that meddling White Knight?” He nodded at Richard ignoring Betty trying to get him to take Lee's head off to flirt outrageously with the comely cat woman. 

“No one needs to save me, or my sons. I rescue myself, pal.” Brett crossed her arms stubbornly and glared at him until he finally moved on to the Knave near the Tarts. 

Mark pointed at the grounds. “Miss Brett, the Red King is right about one thing. The game's over, I think.” The cards all vanished. All that remained were her hedgehog and the queen's, who took part in a squeaky brawl by the rose bushes. The flamingos searched for lunch in one of the small ponds on the edge of the garden. “I think we should get Dad and find out what the Red King has planned.”

Blank In Wonderland, Part 11

Dickie reluctantly fetched Duchess Marcia from the dungeon. Brett didn't want to know how she ended up there. Marcia could be mouthy, and given how touchy everyone in this world was, it was a dead-on given she said something that offended somebody. By the time they dragged Marcia into the garden, Lee vanished in a puff of purple smoke and a kiss blown to Richard. The White Rabbit hurried out in search of her, but she was gone. Everyone else returned to the game, except Richard, who forlornly resumed guarding the tarts, and the Red King and the Knave, who chatted near the refreshment table.

“Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes.” Marcia tucked her arm in Brett's. “I thought they'd never spring me. Do you know how dark it was down there?” 

“Glad to see you, too.” She grinned. “Ok, what did you say to Betty that got you dumped in the basement? I want all the gory details.” 

“Well,” Marcia admitted huffily, “it's not what I said, it's what I did. I boxed her ears.”

Adam and David trailed behind them, throwing rocks in ponds and occasionally giving each other playful shoves. “Hey Ms. Wallace,” David grunted, “what does 'box her ears' mean?”

“I grabbed her ears like this,” Marcia took her own ear and gave it a sharp tug, “and yanked. Got tired of listening to her going on about executions she doesn't intend to go through with. I knew she'd let me out sooner or later. She gets angry, but she doesn't hurt anyone. I think it's more of a way for her to let off steam.”

Brett had a hard time keeping up with her leggy friend. She forgot how fast Marcia could be when her mouth was running. “Marcia,” she puffed hard, “I need help. My boys and I want to get back to our home, but the way we came is blocked, and we don't know where there might be another exit.”

“I don't know, either.” Marcia stopped, thoughtful. “But I know who might.” 

The croquet grounds were a ghost town. No one remained but her, the four boys, Marcia, the White Rabbit, Dickie, and the Queen and King. “What happened?” Brett couldn't help the worried look on her face. “Where did everyone go?”

“Most of them are in the dungeon,” Betty admitted. “I might have been a tad hasty in making arrests. We'll let them out after we clean up the croquet grounds.”

Dickie made a face. “Does that include my men, Your Majesty?”

“The men who painted my beautiful roses?” Her glare turned frosty. “The Red King already asked about them. They're staying in the dungeon until he can retrieve them after their trial.”

“Look, Your Majesty,” Brett growled, “my sons and I just want out of here. Their father will be picking them up any minute! Is there anyone in this crazy place who knows how to get back to the surface?”

“I think I know.” Richard took her aside. “The Mock Turtle may have some idea of how to get you out.”

Marcia gulped at Betty rubbing her ear and raised her hand. “I'll take them there, if the White Rabbit comes with me. He knows him better than I do.” 

“Well...” The White Rabbit shook even harder than usual. “I...all right! Ok! I'll do it! Just don't let me lose my muchness or get thrown into Limbo!”

Richard took his boys aside, then whispered into her ear. “I'm going to see what I can do about getting my men out. She never really has anyone killed. There hasn't been an actual beheading in Wonderland for almost 200 years. I wish you luck in getting home!”

Brett nodded. “Thanks. Good luck saving your men, Dickie.” 

As they followed Marcia and the rambling White Rabbit, Brett swore she saw the Knave tip-toe to the tarts and grab one...and then another one, and two more, shoving them in his face. She wanted to take another look, but the others moved so fast, she worried about being left behind. 

“Marcia,” she asked breathlessly as they followed a dusty path down to a wide, sandy yellow beach, “what's a Mock Turtle?”

“What, you mean you don't know?” Marcia looked shocked. “It's what Mock Turtle Soup is made from!” 

Adam stuck his tongue out as his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Why would you eat a turtle?”

“Mock turtle, doofus,” David snickered. “It's not real.”

Brett got between the boys to avoid more insults. The path from the castle became rockier and harder to follow. As they made their way down the beach to the gently lapping waters, the sounds of noisy sobbing became far more apparent. Whatever it was, it sounded like its heart broke a thousand times, then broke again after his dog died.

Blank In Wonderland, Part 12

It was the strangest assemblage of animal parts she'd ever seen in her life. Flippers like on that dolphin – Flipper? - the boys watched on TV wiped tears from heavy-lidded cow eyes. He had big elephant ears and chubby round cheeks. From the back, though, he was all turtle, with a shell and wrinkled knees. And maybe it was her imagination, but a shock of wild black curls waved in the sea breezes on top of his head as he let out long, deep sighs. 

“Avery? Mock Turtle?” Marcia shook his leathery shoulder with her puckered look of disgust. “Come on, buddy. You know it's all in your head. You don't have any problems.”

“Maybe he does!” Bill threw a paw around him. “I'd tell you my problems, and boy, do we have some problems! You know, the Red King is really on the warpath...” That only set him off sighing and sobbing again. 

Adam went to his other side, looking a bit worried. “What's wrong, sir?”

Yes...somehow, that strange assemblage did look a bit like Avery Schriber, the cute but very strange comic with the wild curls and thick mustache who sometimes sat next to her on the show. “Sit down,” he wailed through the sobs, “and I'll tell all of you my story.”

“Once,” he wailed, waving his flippers in dramatic fashion, “I was a real turtle.” Brett wondered if the long pause of sobbing and wailing was for effect, or because he just wanted to be a drama queen. It seemed like an eternity before he finally finished crying and continued. “I went to school at the bottom of the sea. There was an old turtle we called Tortoise...”

David raised his hand. “Why did you call him a tortoise if he wasn't one?” 

“We called him Tortoise,” said Avery, wrinkling his bushy mustache in annoyance, “because he taught us. Really, little boy, you must be very dull.”

Brett grabbed David’s hand before he could protest another adult calling him a kid. “Please continue, Mr. Turtle.” 

“Yes, we went to school in the sea,” he continued, sobbing a bit less now, “and you may not believe it...”

“We never said we didn't!” Adam interrupted. His brother nudged him this time.

“We had the best education,” the Mock Turtle continued between great gulps, “and we went to school every day...”

“Hey man,” Adam grumbled, “we go to school everyday! It's not that big of a deal.”

“Speak for yourself, pipsqueak,” David sniffed. “Some of us will be going to college in a few weeks.” 

“Boys,” Brett scolded, “hush. Let the...turtle...speak.”

The Turtle raised one bushy eyebrow. “With extras, kids?”

“Well, yeah.” Adam shrugged. “I took Spanish and drama and edited the school paper...”

“And I was on the basketball team!” David added proudly. “I was the center. Even got to make a few baskets.”

“Did you take washing?” The Turtle whimpered anxiously. 

“Um, no.” David shook his head as his brother made a face. “We didn't need to. Humans sorta come knowing about washing.”

“Then your schools weren't that great,” the Turtle moaned with a sigh of relief. “See, we took Spanish, drama, sports, and washing – extra.”

“Yeah,” Adam added, “but you're a turtle! You wouldn't need to learn that!” 

The Turtle shrugged heavily. “We couldn't afford the extras. I only took the regular course.”

Brett raised an eyebrow. “Which was?”

“Reeling and writhing, of course,” he explained as those great eyebrows waggled up and down, “and uglification and ambition and distraction and derision. There was mystery, ancient and modern, and Seography.” 

“Lovely things to learn,” Brett muttered. 

“What's Uglification?” David asked.

“You've heard of beautifying things, making them prettier?” The White Rabbit started. “Well, uglifying is the opposite. You make them uglier. Considering what some of the animals under the sea look like, it's a very popular class down there. Every fish and eel always takes it, and some take two courses, I've been told.”

The Mock Turtle burst into tears again! “Don't remind me! Oh, how I miss it so! But I miss Drawling most of all. We had a wonderful Drawling teacher, an old eel who taught us Stretching and Fainting in Coils.”

“Sounds like fun,” Brett went on quickly. “You know, with all those classes, how long were you in school?”

“You see,” whimpered the Mock Turtle, “we took classes for ten hours the first day, nine hours the second, eight the third, and so on, until we only had one hour at the end of the week.”

David raised an eyebrow. “Never heard it done that way, man.” 

“Can we go to your school?” Adam added with a big impish grin. 

“I'm afraid it's only for sea creatures,” the Turtle admitted ruefully. “Of course,” he added, “we didn't just learn. We played games, too, like the Lobster Quadrille.”

“Oh, I love that one!” Marcia grinned. “Teach 'em that one, Turtle! Bill,” she shoved the White Rabbit out from behind the boys, “you know it, too. You used to live down by the water with your warren.”

The Mock Turtle sobbed while Bill's mouth opened and closed like a fish's. Brett sighed as the rest of them waited for the Turtle to recover again and Bill to find what little wits he had. 

“Mooom,” Adam whispered, “how long is he gonna keep crying? He sounds like he has a bone in his throat.”

“Hopefully not for long,” his mother muttered back. “I guess he led a very...full...life.”

“Now,” the Turtle sniffled once he got a hold of himself, “you may not have lived in the sea...”

“We haven't,” Brett muttered.

“And you may not have met a lobster...”

Adam started to mention they'd eaten lobsters when they visited their mother's family in Maine, but Brett elbowed him. “Um, we haven't,” she said quickly.

“So you have no idea how much fun a Lobster Quadrille can be!” The Mock Turtle managed to roll to his feet. “First, you have to form a line along the seashore...”

“Two lines!” Bill added, grabbing Marcia's arm and swinging her around. 

“Seals, turtles, salmon, and so on,” The Mock Turtle added, swinging around them. “Come on, let's show you!” He grabbed Brett and twirled her around. “This is easier with a lobster as a partner, miss, but I think you'll do all right. Come on,” he said, “I'll even teach you the song!”

He dragged her on a rock as the others gathered. “Ok, everyone follow along with me,” he announced, wiping his eyes again. “This starts slow, but I assume you'll pick it up after a few tries. With that, he sang sadly and slowly. “Will you walk a little faster, said a whiting to a snail...”

She laughed as they all danced around the beach, slow and gentle at first. Soon, the song picked up in tempo. By the end of the number, they were all swinging each other around and weaving between each other like a fishy square dance. 

These folks may be weird and temperamental, Brett decided, but they sure knew how to have a good time. The Mock Turtle even tossed her right out to the edge of the shore at one point! She hadn't felt so good since she and Charles went bar crawling and she got propositioned by four sailors who didn't know her real age.

“That was great, Mom!” David said as they all fell on the beach, out of breath. “Mr. Mock Turtle, you were really groovy!”

“I don't know what grooves have to do with anything,” sniffled the Mock Turtle, “but I am glad you enjoyed it. Now, tell us about your adventures.”

“Well,” Brett sighed, “we'll try to explain what we've been through today. It's no use going to yesterday. I was a different person then.”

Brett winced as the two animals hemmed her and the boys in. Even with their bug eyes staring at her, she did her best to explain how they ended up in Wonderland. They seemed especially impressed with all the rhymes Nipsey the Caterpillar came up with. 

“I know a rhyme like his,” the Turtle gulped as he wiped his eyes again. “Only slower. And it's more like a song.”

“Well then,” Marcia grumbled, “let's hear it, before you flood the place with all that blubbering again.”

Brett's ears perked up as he sang. Something about “Beautiful soup, soup of the evening, beautiful sooupp...” It was as sorrowful as everything else he brought up, but it had a nice melody. It was actually rather soothing, listening to his song between sobs, with David drowsing on her shoulder and Adam in her lap. He hadn't cuddled in her lap since he was little. 

“That was glorious!” The White Rabbit sobbed when he finished. “Do it again!”

They were spared another round of wailing and crying by the hasty arrival of Dickie's oldest son Mark. “Miss Brett! Duchess! Come quick!” he gasped, his blue eyes glittering with tears. “Dad...Dad's in trouble. The Queen put him on trial. She thinks he stole King Allen's tarts!”

“What?” Duchess Marcia rolled her eyes as she brushed sand off her black gown. “The White Knight's not a thief. He's never stolen anything worse than a kiss from a damsel in distress.” 

Brett made a face. “Everyone's been sneaking those things all afternoon. I saw the Knave grab a bunch before we left. Somebody probably ate them when Dickie's back was turned.”

“It's the Red King, Miss.” Mark looked like he might cry harder than the Mock Turtle. “He told Queen Betty Dad stole the tarts. He didn't, Miss! Dad wouldn't! Honest!” 

“We know, kiddo.” Marcia already started up the rocky hill. “Come on. Let's find out what the Red King's up to this time.”

Adam turned to the Mock Turtle. “Are you coming with us, sir?”

“That's all right, young man.” The Turtle sniffled and waved a flipper. “I'm not much for trials. I'll stay here with my memories.”

They left him bawling on the shore and followed Mark back over the rocky beach and into the garden. Brett put an arm around him. David went to his other side. “Where's your little brother, sweetness?” she asked gently. 

“My brother said he'd hide. I don't know where.” Mark gulped and tried not to look too upset. “He didn't want the Red King's men to take him away, like he did Dad's men. He took them to his lands. They're not in the dungeon anymore.” 

Brett's face tightened. “He took those poor boys away? All they did was paint roses the wrong color!”

“He doesn't care about that.” Duchess Marcia grumbled. “He'll either take their muchness – what lets them walk and talk – or zap their minds and make them into mindless drones, like the Red Knight.” The White Rabbit clutched her arm and muttered a mile a minute. 

Blank In Wonderland, Part 13

They arrived to find crowds of animals, cards, and people in lacy Victorian outfits like Marcia's streaming into Heart Castle. Brett followed them so quickly, everyone else had to nearly run to keep up with her. She didn't like this, not one bit. Dickie could be an ass and a camera hog, but he didn't deserve to lose his head.

The throne room was an endless corridor of gray stone hung with heart and animal-print tapestries. Betty and Allen settled on two heart-shaped thrones draped in rich red velvet and gold leaf. Allen looked pretty silly wearing his gold crown over a long judge's wig. Betty glared at Richard, who was held back by two card guards at the accused's stand. His wrists were bound with heavy iron cuffs and thick chains. 

“Dad!” Mark nearly leaped to his father's side, but Brett grabbed his arm. “They're hurting Dad!!”

Brett put an arm around him as David gently took his shoulder. “We'll think of something. Look, that must be the jury.”

The “jury” consisted of many small animals scratching away at blackboards. Some of them were among the survivors of the Red King's earlier attack on the Caucus Race, including Robert the Squirrel. She thought of waving and seeing if she could get his attention, but his long nose was intensely bent over his slate. Pat the Pig and Bill the Lizard were there as well, talking to each other on either side of Bill's guitar.

“There you are!” Orson the March Hare tapped Brett on the shoulder. “Wondered where you went to. We saved you seats. Oh, and White Rabbit, the King and Queen were asking for you. They want you to announce the judge and the facts of the case and act as transcriber.”

The White Rabbit quickly raised Marcia's arm. “She can take the notes. I'll do the announcing, while I can still move. I don't like the way the Red King's been looking at me. I think he's giving me the fish eye. With real fish and everything.” He ducked fish thrown his way as he and Marcia climbed over the crowd, stepping on more than a few heads. 

Turns out, the Doormouse and Jimmie the Dodo did save them seats. They were spread out on them, sound asleep. Orson tapped the Doormouse on the shoulder, then Jimmie. The bird with the ebony feathers jumped a mile, landing on his clawed feet in his idea of a karate stance. “Don't nobody move! I have a black belt in origami!”

“Huh?” The Doormouse opened one sleepy eye. “Oh, hi. Where did you guys wander off to? And could you get him to quiet down? Some of us lost sleep while escaping and need a nap or five.”

“Pipe down, guys.” Brett settled down next to the Doormouse, with her boys and Mark Dawson taking up the remaining seats. “Ok, why's the jury scribbling?"

Jimmie poked his beak over the shoulder of a guinea pig scratching away, only to have it shoved off the blacktop “Yeah, same to you, pal!” He winced as the little pig squeaked heatedly. “Um, since you cats don't speak pig, I'll translate. They're writin' down their names, just in case this is a long trial and they forget them by the end.”

“Idiots,” Brett muttered. “That's the dumbest thing I ever heard.” Bill's pencil squeaked so badly, she could hear it over the din. “Bill, honey,” she cooed, “let me help you with that.” 

“Why, thank you kindly, ma'am,” Bill started before she grabbed his pen and stuffed it in her pocket. “Uh, can I have that back, please?”

“No. I want to hear myself think.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I didn't know thoughts could talk.” He wrote on his slate with his finger for the remainder of the trial. It didn't really do him much good, since it didn't leave a mark on the board. 

Further complaints were drowned out by the White Rabbit's nice fanfare on the trumpet. “Shh, Mom!” Adam shook her arm. “I think the trial's about to start!” 

“Herald,” King Allen announced, “read the accusation!” When the White Rabbit continued to blink at him, he finally tapped him on the shoulder. “Um, Bill,” he whispered loudly, “that means you.”

“Oh! Yeah. Right. That's my job.” He unrolled a parchment scroll, then squinted at it a moment before reading. “The Queen...I mean, the King of Hearts, he made some tarts, all on a summer's day. The Knight of Hearts took those tarts and stole them clean away!”

“Mom!” David hissed. “That's not how it goes! It's the knave of hearts who stole the tarts in the rhyme, not the Knight!”

“Ahem.” The Red King called, before Allen could open his mouth. “Consider your verdict!”

“Not yet.” Allen coughed. “There's still a lot to do before that. Bill,” he gently prodded the White Rabbit, “please call the first witness.”

Everyone jumped as the White Rabbit let loose with three blasts on his trumpet. “Charles,” he called, “the Hatter!”

Charles still held his tea cup, which rattled as his hands shook. He had a piece of bread and butter in his other hand. His wrists were in handcuffs, and his face was ghostly pale. “Um, You're Majesty,” he tried conversationally, though his teeth chattered, “I'm sorry I brought my lunch, but my friend Orson the March Hare and I hadn't finished our tea yet...”

“When,” King Allen asked, raising an eyebrow, “did you begin?”

Charles gulped and turned to Orson at the seats. “The...fourteenth, I think it was, Orson?”

“The fifteenth.”

“The sixteenth,” the Doormouse added helpfully.

“Write that down!” The King ordered. The jury wrote it down, added all up in their heads, then subtracted, and were still working out the percentages as Betty glared at Charles.

“Take off your hat,” the Queen scolded. “There's a lady present.”

“I can't.” Charles grabbed his hat and managed to hold it firmly on his head, even while clutching the teacup and bread. “It's not mine. I sell them in the forest. I'm a hatter, you know. It's my job to sell hats. I have none of my own. Besides,” he wailed, “there's nothing under there! My toupee is at the cleaner's!”

“Give your evidence this minute,” the Red King demanded, glaring at him. “And stop that shaking, or I'll have you put to death on the spot.”

“C...can't I even defend myself, Your Majesty?” Charles chattered, or maybe it was his cup that chattered. “You see, I'm a very poor man, and we hadn't started our tea yet, and it was right after the Queen's concert...”

“Don't mention that!” Betty groaned. “You're normally a good singer! Why did you have to go off-key at that moment?”

“I just...I don't know, Your Majesty,” Charles whined. “I guess I got nervous. He,” he pointed at the Red King, “kept staring at me like he expected the wrong notes to come out! And they did! The twinkling didn't sound right. The twinkling of the tea...” He was so spooked, he bit into the teacup and tried to drink the bread and butter.

“I did nothing of the sort,” The Red King complained. “Your Majesties, I demand that this man states evidence or be sent to Limbo, where he can stammer about tea to the Jabberwock.”

“Oh no!” Charles fell to his knees and grabbed at the skirts of Betty's dress, smearing the hem with butter. “Your Majesty, please! Anything but that! I don't want to be food for a Jabberwock! And besides, I don't think it drinks tea. The Red King disrupted our tea time, and we never did finish...”

“I?” The Red King merely raised an eyebrow. “I disrupted your tea time? What would I be doing at a tea party?” 

“He was there!” Richard added angrily, waving an accusing finger at the Red King. “He and the Red Knight! They destroyed the tea table and forced everyone to flee. We're lucky we escaped with our lives.”

“Hell yeah!” Brett added furiously. “My boys and I saw it! So did Sir Dawson's men!”

Charles' watery blue eyes grew less afraid as Richard and Orson nodded. “Your Majesty,” he said with more confidence, “my fellow party-goers and I witnessed these men,” he pointed at the Red King and Jack, “charge into our table. We were just drinking tea, minding our own business, singing our songs...”

“If you sounded anything like you did at the concert,” Queen Betty snapped, “I can understand why the Red King broke up your party!”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Charles begged, dropping his cup and bread and getting on his knees, “I'm a poor man...”

“You're a very poor speaker!” The Red King stood, raising his scepter as the ball glowed red. “Perhaps cooling your heels in Limbo might do wonders for your tongue.”

Charles took off for the door like a shot, the red light following him down the hall. The second it hit him, he vanished. Orson followed him, but two of the guards shoved him back into the throne room. “What are you doing?” Dickie growled as he lunged for the Red King. “Your Honor, he's badgering a witness...and made him disappear!”

“King Mark,” King Allen sighed, “bring him back from Limbo. He doesn't deserve to be there.”

“He was annoying me.” The Red King glared at him. “Perhaps we should move on and call our next witness.”

Allen nodded, but his face was considerably paler under his thick glasses. “Call the next witness, White Rabbit!”

Bill checked his scroll. “Mistress Mary Wickes, cook for Duchess Marcia Wallace!”

“What?” Marcia's eyes widened. “What's she doing here? The only thing she knows is how to add pepper to anything and use me for target practice!” She ducked under her desk, trying to hide behind her notes. 

Everyone knew when Mary arrived. Thick black clouds of pepper trailed in her wake like a well-seasoned thunderstorm. “Could we get on with this?” Mary waved her wooden pepper grinder. “I have soup to make!” 

King Allen rubbed violently at his watery eyes. “Ma'am, what do you know about this terrible theft?”

“Nothin', Your Majesty, other than those tarts could use a lot more pepper!”

Allen made a face. “Those tarts are fine the way they are, ma'am.”

“Don't you insult my husband's cooking!” Queen Betty roared. “Off with your head!”

“Um, Betty,” Marcia warned from behind the transcriptions, “I wouldn't upset her...”

“I thought they were mostly made of treacle,” Gary the Doormouse added sleepily.

“Him too!” Betty spluttered. “Off with his head, too! Turn them both out of the court!”

“Don't touch me!” Mary yanked her arms away from the guards, grabbing slates and throwing them at the shocked cards instead. “I can find my own way out!” She threw a few more pepper shakers at the jury and the trio of royals before she stomped out the door.

Marcia made a face. “Remind me to fire her after all this is done.”

“Well,” grumbled Brett, “that did nothing. We really need to find Charles and get out of here, before everything goes to pot. God only knows what poor slob they're going to call next!

“Our next witness,” the White Rabbit blathered, “is Miss Brett Somers!”

“Present, Your Majesty!” Brett shot out of her seat and stomped over to the remaining tarts so hard, the table rattled. “And I think this entire trial is a travesty. For one thing, Dickie wouldn't steal tarts. Steal a kiss, steal airtime, but not someone's lunch. For another thing, Red King, why did you send Charles to Limbo, or wherever? Annoying you? More likely, he was about to tell the truth, and you didn't want to hear it.”

The Red King's blue eyes showed the same smoldering wrath they did when Brett confronted him in the garden. “I could send you there too, Mistress Somers. Do you know anything about this?”

“You bet I do!” She pointed sharply at Ira, who tried to look as innocent as possible in his open shirt and gold chains. “He ate the tarts from the table a few hours ago, right before we went to visit the Mock...went to visit a friend.”

“Your Majesty,” Ira began, “I would never...”

David stood and glared at the room in general. “My brother and I saw him, too. That weasel poked at the tarts all afternoon!” 

“He did seem interested in them earlier when I handed them around,” Bill the White Rabbit rambled. “Although,” he added quickly when the Red King glared at him, “it's possible that the sun was in my eyes, and I was really seeing the glare off a card back.”

Brett got as close to the Red King's face as she could manage. “What kind of evidence do you have against Dickie? Did anyone see him steal the tarts? Besides,” she added, grabbing a tart and waving it at the Queen, “they're not all gone. There's still some here. You're acting like they all vanished!”

Betty finally shot out of her seat. “Enough! I'm tired of this legal talk. Red King, could we get on with the sentence, so I can relieve my temper on someone?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” The Red King's wide smile gleamed evilly. Dickie stepped back, but Brett stayed where she was. “Sentence first. Verdict afterwards.”

David shot out of his seat and glared at them. “That’s dumb, man! That's not how it works!”

“Yeah!” Adam piped in as he stood. “Even President Nixon got a fair trial!”

Brett got right into Betty's face. “Come on, Betty. You know none of this is true. The Red King doesn't give bupkiss about you, me, Dickie, or anything besides getting his hands on this kingdom. That's what this is all about. Who's in charge here, anyway, you or him?”

“Dear,” Allen added gently, “this is our kingdom.” 

“Yes, it is!” Betty sat much straighter. “First of all, I'm calling the shots here! Not any of you! Second,” she softened a bit at Brett, “I was right that you'd make a good queen. You have my undivided attention. I know someone took the rest of the tarts, and Sir Richard was the only one there...”

“Of course, he did!” Ira whined, pointing at Richard as he struggled in the guards' arms. “Who else would have done it?”

“Who else, indeed?” Purple smoke smoldered directly over Queen Betty's head, revealing the Cheshire Catwoman stretched over the thrones. One slender leg swung behind the king's back. “Who possibly could have stolen the tarts? Or did anyone?” She produced a tart, though the jam was purple. “Maybe it was me who took your precious desserts, Queen Betty. After all,” she licked a finger, “cats have to eat too. Or perhaps,” she swatted a paw at the Red King, “it was him. Or,” she waved a paw at Brett. “Her. Or someone else.” 

“Lee!” Brett groaned. “You're not helping here!”

“I've had enough!” Betty shot out of her seat. “Someone's going to be sent to the dungeon for this!”

“Your Majesty,” Richard begged as his sons leaped from their seat and behind a tapestry to run to his side, “please! You know I'd never do this! He,” he pointed at Ira, “stole the tarts when I was busy with the Cheshire Catwoman!”

Brett had to do something to distract these people and get Dickie out of there. They were never going to decide anything with the Red King prodding everyone and Lee getting in people's way. She reached into her pocket...just as a hand grabbed her arm.

“Hey, prisoner.” Jack gave her one of those smug grins he always got when he thought he was right. “Told 'ya you shouldn't be messing with this. You an' the kids are comin' with us.”

“Oh yeah?” Brett yanked her arm away. “Just try it!” Throwing her hands into her pockets reminded her that she still had those mushrooms in there. “Let's see you take me prisoner if you can't reach me!” She jammed both mushrooms in her mouth at once before he could stop her.

There was that popping and creaking as her bones stretched again. There might have been gasps and screams from below, but it was kind of hard to hear them when you topped out at ten feet tall. Good thing the throne room had a high and well-painted ceiling. Brett reminded herself to ask Betty who did those nifty heart-carrying cupids.

“Come down from there!” The Red King demanded. “You can't grow like that here!”

“All people more than a mile high must leave the building,” King Allen added nervously. “Rule 42, miss. Oldest rule in the book.”

Brett glared at him. “Then it ought to be number one.” 

“Besides,” the Cheshire Catwoman added when she puffed onto Brett's shoulder, “I don't think she can get out the door now.” 

“She's right!” Brett grabbed Ira by his coat collar. “Ira, tell them the truth. Who stole the tarts? It wasn't Dickie.” 

“Hey!” Ira wildly kicked out his legs. “Put me down! What are you doing, lady?”

She shook him until his teeth rattled. “Getting you to confess. The boys and the White Rabbit and I saw you around the tarts. You and your boss have it in for Dickie...Sir Dawson.”

The White Rabbit pointed a paw accusingly at Ira. “You were around the tarts earlier, too, when I put the tray down. You and your boss!” 

“Hey Mom,” Adam called upwards. “I always knew you were a big lady!” He turned to Betty as his brother nearly fell out of his seat laughing. “Queen Betty, it's true. We did see The Red King and the Knave earlier, talking near the tarts. He loaded them into a bag and took off with them.”

“Ira,” The Red King called nonchalantly, “perhaps you ought to admit it. It was your idea. You never liked that the good king and queen wouldn't share their treats with you. Why don't you give them that bag back?”

“Hey!” The knave screamed downwards, “don't give me that, boss! You said you'd make me head regent of Wonderland if I stole the tarts and got them clean away! As for giving them back,” he gulped, his face slowly turning a shade of green only seen in canned peas, “you might be able to clean them off the floor in a minute if she doesn't put me down!”

The Red King raised one perfectly sculpted snowy eyebrow. “Don't be crude, Knave.”

Betty glared at both of them. “I ought to have you and the Red King expelled this moment! And you,” she added to Brett, “need to either shrink or get out of here.”

“How? I can't exactly just walk out.” Card guards shoved their metal lances at her patent leather shoes. “Oh, cut it out. You guys are nothing but a pack of playing cards. You can't do anything to me!”

“Well, well.” The Cheshire Catwoman chuckled as the purple smoke dissipated and the guards surrounded her. “Looks like we're ready to play. Come and get me, boys!” The card guards lunged at her all at once, only for her to vanish again, letting them all run into each other with a clatter and a rustle of cardboard. 

Another poof sent her behind Richard. “Looking for these?” She dangled the keys to Richard's cuffs in front of his guards. They frantically searched their pockets for the keys, only for their card sides to fall off. They blushed, grabbed the cards to hide themselves, and dashed into the nearest bathroom.

“Thanks, lass.” Richard held out his hands as she unlocked the cuffs. “You did me a favor there.”

Brett gently let Richard climb onto her hand and set him down with his sons. “There you go, Dickie.” “As for you,” she made sure to turn out her feet and curtsy to the royals on the throne, “Your Majesties.” 

Allen gulped and threw his arms around Betty. “What are you going to do with us?”

“Nothing to you two.” Her face softened for a moment. “Betty, take it from someone who has a bad temper. Calm down and listen to your subjects. You want what's best for this kingdom.” She shook the Red King before dropping him hard on the floor. “This jerk wants to do the kingdom in. You,” she growled to the cowering blond man, “are a pompous, self-centered, materialistic, obnoxious, fun-hating old windbag!”

No sooner had the words escaped her lips than she felt herself shrinking. “Damn it to hell! Not now!” She tried to stretch and reach the ceiling, but it was no use. Within minutes, she found herself back on the floor.

“Mom!” Adam ran to her side in an instant, with David on his heels. “Are you all right?”

David gave her a big hug. “I like you better on the ground. Although,” he added with a wicked grin, “I did want to see you stomp on all those guys. That would have been groovy! You were like Godzilla!”

“Or God,” his brother added.

The Red King's smirk was decidedly nasty as he shoved himself into her face, his remaining men surrounding her. “Now, what is it you were saying, my dear?”

Lee poofed next to him. “Well,” she mewed as she gave his rear a solid kick, “she only called you a pompous, self-centered, materialistic, obnoxious, fun-hating old windbag!”

“Red Knight,” The Red King purred the moment Lee vanished, “take Mistress Somers, the four boys, and the King and Queen prisoner. Kill the cat, the Duchess, and Dawson.”

Betty and Allen almost leaped out of their seats in horror. “Now wait just a minute here.” Allen threw off his wig as the jury went wild, climbing out of their seats and throwing their slates in the air. “We're still in charge...”

“Not for long.” The Red King waved his hand at his own army. “Take them. Take them all.”

“Uh, Mom,” David tugged at his tight white collar, “did the book say how Alice got out of Wonderland?”

“Not that I remember!” Brett kicked at a guard, trying to get the boys behind her. “The card guards jumped on her, and she woke up by the river!”

“Mom,” Adam whined as he shoved a guard away, “can we wake up by the river now?”

Dickie huffed as he fought off the card guards. “Mistress Brett, you did me a favor, so my sons and I will do you one. There may be a way to your world in Looking Glass Land.”

Orson threw tea on one Red Knight, rusting his armor, and the cup at another. “At this point, I'm all for getting out of here. These guards don't seem to appreciate good tea. Not to mention, I'm worried about Charles. We have to get him out of Limbo.”

Waves of Knights and Guards parted as Betty simply walked between them. “Thank you, gentlemen. You have some respect for your queen! Sir Dawson,” she added as she whacked a knight in the stomach with her scepter, “there's a mirror in the hall large enough to pass through. It's how we usually travel to Looking Glass Land.”

“What?” The White Rabbit yelped as he bounced away from Red Knights and their sharp lances. “I can't go to Looking Glass Land! The Red King and his guards are there! Besides, I have so much to do here! I have to set my furniture back up, fix my garden, make sure my life insurance is paid up, make my will...”

Betty glared at him. “White Rabbit, do as you're told, or off with your job!” 

“Yes, Your Majesty!” He gulped and snapped to attention. “I'll go with them, Your Majesty. Just make sure my insurance is paid up, and notify my next of kin...”

“Oh, come on, Bill!” Marcia shoved him out the door. 

Orson threw the snoozing Doormouse over his shoulder. “We're coming, too. We have to find Charles.” He hopped after Bill and Marcia down the hall. 

Jack grabbed at her arm as she made for the door...but then his face softened slightly. “Lady, just get out of here, and take the kids with you. You can't stay here.” He pushed her out of the way so hard, she nearly ended up on the floor. “Move it! I'll stall my boss!”

Richard shoved his sword in front of her. “What are you doing to this poor elder maiden?”

“Dickie,” Brett grumbled, “could you drop the elder thing? I'm only a year or two...or ten...older than you.”

“She's still mine, White Knight.” He threw up his own rust-smeared sword, slashing at Richard's highly polished silver blade. “I ain't gonna let her go that easily...whoa!”

Suddenly, Jack fell back on the floor with a noisy clang “Sorry, Dad!” David ducked out from behind him, holding part of the rug. His brother had the other side. “But we couldn't let you hurt Mom!”

“Dad,” Adam added as Brett pushed him out the door, “we'll come back for you!”

They all followed Betty and Allen down the gilded hall. “Betty,” Brett yelped over the racket, “The Red King's jerks are still after us!”

“Our men will handle them.” Betty stopped suddenly in front of the biggest mirror she'd ever seen. “This is the royal family's private entrance into Looking Glass Land. Most people use smaller mirrors in their own homes.” 

Brett made a face. “How do we get through? Won't it shatter?”

“Of course not.” Betty put up her hand and waved it around, creating a rippling effect. When the ripples subsided, a black void replaced the opposite image of the hall. “There. It's open.” She rolled her eyes at the crashing behind them. “And I think you'd better get on your way, before those Red Knights destroy all the antiques in the hall. I'll take off their heads for touching the royal palace, or at least give The Red King the bill!”

“Thanks, Your Majesty.” Orson managed to bow awkwardly for Betty while carrying the sleeping Doormouse. “And he'd thank you too, if he was awake. Good luck, Your Majesty.” He pushed the Doormouse into the mirror, then bounced in after him. 

“Gangway!” Bill the White Rabbit leaped down the hall, swords and arrows following him. “Come on, Your Duchess-ness! We've gotta get out of here, before those guys skewer us!” 

Marcia raced after him, stumbling over her long gown. “Bill, I don't have your feet for hopping. I don't think...ack!” She was barely able to take a breath as he snagged her by the waist. “What are you doing?”

“I don't knoooowwwww!” he screeched as he took a huge bunny hop through the mirror, with her cradled in his arms.

Purple poofs and black fur skimmed over the tops of guards' heads. “Sorry, boys!” The Cheshire Catwoman purred. “Can't play today. This kitty's busy!”

“Miss Brett, take the boys and get through now!” Richard slashed and parried and thrusted, his gleaming silver sword whirling through cards. “We'll cover you!”  

Brett didn't stop to think. The guards' lances weren't Tinker Toys! She pushed the four boys through first before they could protest and was about to tell Lee to follow when she vanished in a puff of purple smoke. “That takes care of her,” she muttered. “Now...” 

Her hands fingered the cool glassy surface. It flowed like water and felt rubbery between her fingers, like pushing through silk.

“Mistress Brett!” Dickie squawked. “Go! Now!”

“All right, all right!” The blackness stretched before her, without even a tiny bit of light showing at the end. “Well,” she whispered, “here goes nothing.”

Well, if astronauts could take one big step for mankind, she could take one small step into a mirror. One foot glided through the glass, then the other...and once again, she could feel herself falling. Unlike when she toppled into the hole into Wonderland, she saw nothing going down but a void.