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.
No comments:
Post a Comment