Alice (12 page)

(
A small hand collecting gold from a larger one
) It was too much, too much after finding out she was a Magician and that she was to see the Rabbit again. It was too much to discover that Dor, at the age of sixteen, had tried to sell her to a monster. Dor, who was supposed to have been her best friend, the friend she’d loved since she was a girl. The clouds parted, and the Caterpillar smiled.

“Ah, you did not know of her betrayal? Silly girl. How did you think you ended up in the Rabbit’s den?”

“I—” Alice began, scrambling to collect her thoughts and hide them again. “I suppose I always thought he tricked her, that he cozened her with nice words so that she would come back.”

“Why would a nice girl from the New City be in such a place to begin with? How would Dor have met the Rabbit so that he could charm her so thoroughly that she would take her innocent friends into a forbidden place?”

He was making her feel stupid, stupid and slow for not knowing. Why shouldn’t she trust a friend, her most wonderful friend in the world? Why wouldn’t she want just a little rebellion, just a taste of something dangerous? It wasn’t supposed to hurt. It wasn’t supposed to be scary. Dor had made it sound as though they were going on an adventure, an adventure she could hold close and remember that night when she snuggled under the covers, safe in her own bed.

“Of course she told you that, you nit,” the Caterpillar said, and he was full of contempt now, peering down his long nose at her. “She wanted you to come along willingly. Still, her betrayal turned out all right for you. Not like Nicholas.”

Alice looked at Hatcher. Sweat ran down the sides of his face. He was fighting hard, trying to stay here with her so he could keep her safe. She moved close to him, though she was afraid to put her arm around him or otherwise show the Caterpillar how much she cared. Every action, every word, could be used against them.

“What do you mean?” Hatcher asked.

“Why, Jenny, of course,” the Caterpillar said.

There was that name again—
Jenny
. Just the thought of it had nearly driven Hatcher beyond the edge of reason in Cheshire’s maze, and here was another who knew this name, knew that it was supposed to mean something to Hatcher.

“The Rabbit lied and said she would be safe, didn’t he?” The Caterpillar tutted. “If you can’t trust your employer, then who can you trust? Your child was supposed to be forbidden, was she not?”

“Employer?” Alice said. Hatcher had worked for the Rabbit? Was that why he’d always believed her when she’d spoken of him, because somewhere deep down, the memory of the Rabbit was buried? What had Hatcher done for this man, for this monster? Was he a guard dog like Theobald or Theodore? A snatcher of women, stuffing them into sacks? Her Hatcher, the one who had defended her, who kept her safe from those kinds of men?

“Child,” Hatcher said. As he said that word he staggered back like he’d taken a blow to his stomach. “Child. Yes. My Jenny. My beautiful girl.”

His eyes went wide, but not blank. A million memories ran across those grey eyes. Alice could see that they seized him, took his breath, pummeled his heart to pieces.

“What did he do?” Alice demanded.

“Nicholas? Or the Rabbit?” the Caterpillar asked.

He watched Hatcher fall to his knees, gasping for air, and the smirk on his face made Alice want to kill him right then, without question or mercy. She knew the hatred of the mermaid, the longing for not just blood but pain. The Caterpillar was hurting Hatcher, and Alice wanted to hurt the Caterpillar.

“Jenny,” Hatcher said.

Alice had never seen him like this before, even when under the spell of the Jabberwocky. She’d never seen him laid low.

“He knows the story, for it’s his own,” the Caterpillar said. “But it’s knotted in that snarl he calls a brain, and now he only thinks of one name—
Jenny
. I know the story too, for the Rabbit told me. I collect stories as well as things, you know.”

Alice waited. He enjoyed the performance, and wanted her to ask for more. She would not give him what he wanted, as she had with Cheshire.

His eyes flickered with annoyance, but he continued. “Nicholas was a bad boy, once upon a time, though not as bad as he would become. He fought and he drank and caused trouble wherever he might. He was big and strong and handsome, and all the bad girls wanted to be on his arm. Don’t you think he’s handsome, Alice?” Hatcher was handsome, she realized, not only to her eyes. He had the kind of bones and dramatic coloring that would attract attention, even now with the grizzled stubble on his chin and the madness in his eyes. And he was tall and strong, tall enough to make a tall girl like Alice feel small and protected. Girls in the Old City would like that.

The Caterpillar went on, seemingly satisfied by the expression on Alice’s face. “He made his flash here and there, fighting for money in the pits while rich men laid their bets on him.”
That’s where his nose was broken,
Alice thought.

“One day the Rabbit came to see Nicholas fight a man who was so large and unbeatable he was known only as the Grinder. The Grinder ground his opponents into meat, you see?”

The Caterpillar thought this was very funny, and laughed at his joke. Alice waited, practicing patience.

“Well, for a time it seemed that the Grinder would make a meal of Nicholas as he had with all the others. But your Hatcher can be unreasonable; have you noticed? He did not seem inclined to allow the Grinder to win. When it was over Nicholas’ nose was pushed to one side and his eyes were nothing but puffed-up slits in his face, but his boot was on the Grinder’s chest and the Grinder would not get up again.

“The Rabbit wanted a fighter of such spirit for himself. Nicholas was not inclined to agree. He knew what kind of man the Rabbit was, and what he did to women. Nicholas was better than men like the Rabbit and me, wasn’t he?” The Caterpillar’s voice became harsh. “Thought he could climb out of the mud he’d been birthed in. So he said no.

“But the Rabbit, he does not hear ‘no.’ He thinks there is always a way, always a price. And do not fool yourself, Alice—there
is
always a way, always a price. Everyone can be bought. The Rabbit found Nicholas’ price with Hattie.

“Hattie was one of the Rabbit’s girls, and her eyes were sad and blue, just like yours, only there was no fight in them anymore. All the fight had gone out of her years ago. Nicholas saw her and he wanted that sadness to go away. He wanted to fix her. When the Rabbit came around with Hattie on his arm, Nicholas offered his service for her freedom.”

Now, that was her Hatcher,
Alice thought. That was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

“The Rabbit wanted a good fighter more than a used-up girl. He could get another girl anyplace, and considered that he’d gotten the better of the bargain. Nicholas married Hattie, and took her away and kept her safe. And when the Rabbit had a person who needed persuading, he would send Nicholas.

“Soon enough they had a bouncing baby girl with black hair and grey eyes, the image of her father, and they called her Jenny. And as the girl grew older, she grew prettier every day, and even as a young thing people would say she would grow up to be beautiful. When Nicholas heard that, he started to worry, for a beautiful girl in the Old City draws too much attention. He asked the Rabbit to send out word that she was not to be harmed, that she was under his protection. And the Rabbit promised he would.

“He promised, but the girl grew older, and at ten she was so pretty, too pretty to waste in Nicholas and Hattie’s little hovel. A girl like that, so fresh and new and lovely, would fetch a glorious price. The Rabbit wanted to keep her for himself, but he didn’t want to tempt fate. He had seen Nicholas when he was angry.

“One night, when Nicholas was out about the Rabbit’s business, the Rabbit sent six men to his house. One of them took Jenny away. The other five kept themselves busy with Hattie, waiting for Nicholas. They were so rough in their play that she expired before Nicholas came home.

“When he returned he found his daughter gone, his wife raped and murdered. The neighbors heard the noise coming from inside the house, saw the blood running free under the door and into the street like a river. When the coppers came they had to send twenty men to pry the axe from his hand, and all that was left of the other men were unidentifiable bits.

“Nicholas was taken away, but he was not dead, and the Rabbit did not wish for the Hatcher of Heathtown to return for him one day. So he sold Jenny to a traveler from the East, who took her through the forest and over the mountains and far away, so that he would be safe. If Hatcher ever returned, the Rabbit would be safe, for only he knew the identity of the man who had taken her.”

“Except he won’t be safe,” Hatcher said, his voice like a blade against a grindstone.

He rose to his feet, and his eyes burned. Even Alice, who loved him, who knew his heart, was afraid of him. This was the hunter, the hatcher, the butcher who slaughtered without fear of consequence.

“He won’t be safe,” Hatcher repeated. “For I will find him and I will strip the flesh from his bones piece by piece. There is no place the Rabbit can hide, no hole he can disappear into. I will not sleep again until I have heard him scream for mercy he will never receive.”

The Caterpillar clapped his hands. “Wonderful, wonderful. Yes, there will be so much to see when the two of you meet the Rabbit again.”

That was when Alice lunged.

CHAPTER
12

The Caterpillar had been so wrapped up in his own story, his own importance, his own sense of immunity from harm that he did not see her coming.

The knife was in her hand and she cut a necklace across his throat, felt the muscle give under the blade. The Caterpillar’s blood spurted into her face as he fell to his knees, clutching at his neck, his mouth moving helplessly, trying to call Theobald. She stepped back as his arms flailed, reaching for her. She felt no remorse whatsoever as he fell to the floor, clawing at the rugs, desperately clinging to the hope of life.

The mermaid went wild in her tank, slamming her fin against the glass, surfacing to scream for joy. The noise drew Theobald, who threw open the door and rushed in, kicking it closed behind him.

He never had a chance. The axe was in Hatcher’s hand, and Hatcher was already dreaming of blood.

It was the first time Alice had attacked someone on purpose, without defending her own or someone else’s life. She ought to be worried, she supposed, that it was so easy to do.

Hatcher came to her side. “Why?”

There was no accusation in his question, just simple curiosity. “Because of them,” she said, and pointed to the girls behind the glass. “And because of you. He didn’t have to hurt you, but he did.” “Now we go for the Rabbit,” he said. “I have just as much reason as you to want to see him to his end.”

“Yes,” she said.

Perhaps Hatcher had even more reason than she to want revenge on the Rabbit. Alice had gotten her own self into trouble, doing something she wasn’t supposed to do. Hatcher had taken a job with the Rabbit to protect somebody else, and the Rabbit had taken everyone he loved in exchange.

Hatcher frowned down at the flopping, grasping Caterpillar. “I told you before, you have to make sure it’s finished.” “I will,” Alice said.

They waited. Hatcher took Alice’s hand in his and they watched the Caterpillar bleed out, the knowledge of his own death in his eyes. It took longer than Alice thought it would. The Caterpillar wanted to live.

His breath exhaled finally in a long rattle, and he moved no more. Alice and Hatcher went to the tanks. The butterfly was frozen in place, her eyes full of hope.

“How do we get you out?” Alice asked.

The butterfly and the mermaid pointed to a door nearly hidden by the Caterpillar’s shelves. Alice found the latch and pushed it open, Hatcher close behind. Inside, there was a narrow dim hall that led to the rear of the enclosures. Two diaphanous robes that would reveal more than conceal hung on pegs by the doors. Alice tried the doors, but neither would open. Hatcher pointed to the tiny opening under each knob.

“A key,” he said. “The Caterpillar probably has it.” He pushed around Alice and went out to rummage through the body. After a few moments he returned, his hands covered in blood.

“It was around his neck,” Hatcher said. “And that was the messiest bit.”

Alice unlocked the first door, which held the butterfly, and handed the key to Hatcher so he could release the mermaid. The girl had already crawled halfway to the door, but the effort of doing so had clearly exhausted her. She was so pale and thin and didn’t look like she would survive for five minutes outside the Caterpillar’s room, even if her legs weren’t broken beyond use. Alice knelt to pick her up. The butterfly wings beat at the girl’s back as she held out a hand to stay Alice.

“Don’t,” the girl said. Her voice was as fluttery as her wings.

“Don’t try to take me from here. Kill me.”

The ground beneath Alice suddenly shifted, and several items on the shelves crashed to the ground. Outside in the big room several of the girls screamed.

“What was that?” Alice asked.

“This place is held together by the Caterpillar’s magic,” the butterfly said. “Now there’s nothing to keep it here.”

The girl’s lips turned faintly blue during this short speech. Alice realized she must struggle to breathe, always hunched over and with those horrible wings pulling on her muscles. “Kill me,” the girl said again, her eyes pleading. “You need to run before this building collapses on your head. You won’t be able to drag me with you.”

Alice knew she should do it, that it would be a mercy. But it was one thing to kill a bad man, and another to kill an innocent girl. “She’ll only be taken by some other man,” said a voice behind Alice.

She glanced over her shoulder to see the mermaid and Hatcher standing there. The mermaid wore one of the robes, and her fin was replaced by human legs. Her wet hair dripped puddles around her feet. Her eyes softened as she looked at the butterfly. “She’s too exotic,” the mermaid said. “And the Caterpillar made certain she wasn’t good for anything else.”

She crossed the room to the butterfly, and knelt beside her, and took her into her arms. She kissed the girl on the lips, very gently, then pushed the butterfly’s head to her shoulder. The girl closed her eyes.

“We’ve only had each other for a long time, haven’t we? Just you and me with this wall between us,” the mermaid said.
Just like me and Hatcher, in the asylum,
Alice thought. The mermaid nodded at Alice. Alice hesitated. She didn’t want the girl to suffer, not like the Caterpillar. She didn’t know how to make it quick.

“I’ll do it,” Hatcher said, his axe in his hand. “You’d better lay her down and leave.”

The ground beneath them shifted again, and this time Alice heard the walls cracking.

The mermaid frowned at Hatcher. “I want to be with her.” He shook his head. “You’d better go out.”

Something in his face convinced her, though she was still reluctant. She lowered the butterfly to the ground, and Alice saw tears welling.

“It’s what I want,” the girl said. “Don’t cry. This is what I want.

I’ll be free.”

The mermaid nodded, brushing her hand through the girl’s hair. Then she left.

Hatcher jerked his head at Alice, so that she would follow the mermaid out. Alice did so, her stomach roiling. The girl wanted this, she knew. But was it right? Were they saving her from the same fate elsewhere? Or would she have had a chance to find somewhere new, away from the Old City, where she could be happy?
How would she find that place, Alice?
she thought.
Who would take her there, for she did not have the ability to take herself?
Behind her she heard the wet
thwack
of Hatcher’s axe. The girl never made a sound. Alice choked on her own cry. The mermaid stood outside the butterfly’s enclosure, her back straight and rigid, her eyes dry. Hatcher closed the door behind him so neither of them would be tempted to look.

The floor moved then, tilted completely to one side, and they both tumbled into the wall, which crumbled under their touch. The paint peeled away in long strips like the grasping tentacles of a monster, swiping at their faces as they passed. The screaming continued in earnest outside, the cries of men joining the long, panicked screeches of the Caterpillar’s butterflies.

“This way,” the mermaid gasped. A chunk of the ceiling had landed on her forehead and she bled from a deep cut. She led them deeper through the narrow corridor. It zigged and zagged this way and that, but Alice thought they were going downward. It was hard to tell.

Alice was afraid, very afraid, that they would be buried in this tiny space. The sounds coming from other parts of the building made her think that others were already dying that way. There were many doors, tall and small, that emptied off this hallway but the mermaid passed all of them.

There was a tremendous crash behind them. They all turned to see the tunnel collapsing entirely behind them—the ceiling and the walls folding in, the floor falling away.

No one needed prompting. Alice, Hatcher and the mermaid ran. They ran, and ran, and everything went to pieces in their wake. Alice did not know how long they ran, but the corridor came to an abrupt end at a large white door. Painted on it was a large smiling mouth, grotesque without a face attached.

“The key!” the mermaid shouted.

Alice had forgotten she held it. Frankly, she was surprised she had not dropped it. She put the key in the lock and pushed open the door. Hatcher and the mermaid tumbled in behind her, and Alice tasted dirt in her mouth. She twisted around to see the structure disintegrating right up to the edge of the doorframe. The weight of that mad, huge building settled on top of the hallway they had just run through, and kept falling.

Alice stared in astonishment as yet another impossible thing happened before her eyes—several impossible things, as a matter of fact.

The debris did not fall through the door. It slid down the frame as if there were glass in place blocking it. Alice saw wood and nails and doors and chairs and tables all tumbling, some in pieces and some whole.

There were also people tumbling, and they were also some in pieces and some whole.

The most incredible feature of all this was that all of these things continued to fall, like there was no end to the hole that had opened up. Alice wondered whether everything would keep going until it reached the center of the earth and then emerge on the other side, in the faraway East.

Hatcher seemed just as surprised as Alice, though the mermaid appeared indifferent. She stood, pulling the robe tight though it really covered nothing. “We go this way now. Unless you want to watch the Caterpillar’s house fall into an abyss?”

“Why doesn’t it stop?” Alice asked.

“Magic, of course,” the mermaid said.

She seemed very scornful all of sudden, and not at all appreciative.

That irritated Alice . She was tired and heartsick from the death of the butterfly, and her hands shook from their close escape in the collapsing building. She hadn’t even taken a moment to properly look around, so now she did.

They were in what appeared to be a tunnel carved out of rock.

The floor was packed dirt, and the passage began at the door they’d just entered. There were not any visible junctions that Alice could see. The cave was lit by lamps set at intervals. These lamps must have been lit by magic, for there was no flicker of candlelight, nor scent of gas.

“How do you know which way to go?” Alice asked. Hatcher helped her to her feet.

“Cheshire brought me this way when he traded me to the Caterpillar,” she said. “And I am returning that way so I can have my vengeance on one of them, if not both.”

Alice hadn’t imagined it. The mermaid
was
angry that Alice had killed the Caterpillar in her stead.

“If I hadn’t done it,” Alice said conversationally, “you and your friend would still be his prisoners.”

The mermaid turned on Alice, eyes flashing. “He was mine to destroy. I would have made him kneel before me. I would have made him scream and cry.”

As he did me.
The words were not said, but they were there. “He could read your thoughts,” Alice said. “You would never have been able to keep him from seeing your intent. You would never have gone free.”

“You did,” the mermaid said. “I heard the Caterpillar say that you once belonged to the Rabbit. You escaped him. How?” “I don’t remember,” Alice said.

Not remembering had never troubled her before. But now that it was clear she would have to face him—to get the blade to destroy the Jabberwock, to put her own mind at rest once and for all—it seemed a terrible disadvantage. Every person they had met thus far—at least, every person in a position of power—had known precisely who she was, had known more about her own story than she. She did not want to remember, but she would have to. “You must remember something,” the mermaid persisted. Alice shrugged, not liking the avidity in the mermaid’s eyes. She wished to remember, but she had no desire to put her memories on display.

Hatcher watched the proceedings silently. Alice had the sense that his mind was only half-present, that he was thinking of something else.

Someone else,
she thought.
Jenny.

“Does this tunnel only take us to Cheshire?” Alice asked. “We need to get to the Rabbit, and soon, before the Jabberwock finds out he has the blade.”

“Do you actually believe the Caterpillar told you the truth?” the mermaid asked. “What if he just wanted to see you captured by the Rabbit again?”

“She won’t be,” Hatcher said.

The mermaid frowned at him. “If he is anything like the Caterpillar, then you can’t possibly guarantee that. Besides, I heard that story too. He took your daughter. How can you promise her that you’ll keep her safe?”

“He will,” Alice said before Hatcher could say anything else—or get angry. She didn’t think he would hurt the mermaid on purpose, but the mention of Jenny had to be raw. “I will ask you again—does this path lead only to Cheshire, or can we reach the Rabbit?” “There were other turnings,” the mermaid said, indifferent. “I don’t know precisely where they lead, but surely you were listening when the Caterpillar said the fastest track from his place to the Rabbit’s was underground. You will find the Rabbit, as you want.

And I will find Cheshire, as I want.”

“Just how do you think you’re going to make Cheshire pay?”

Alice asked. “You’ve nothing to fight him with, and his roses . . .

aren’t nice.”

The mermaid tossed her black hair. “I can still beguile a man, still give him dreams. I was never able to do it before, for the Caterpillar was always watching, always knowing. But I can give Cheshire dreams so horrible he’ll claw his own eyes out, pull out his tongue, do whatever he must to make them cease. In the end he would carve out his own guts if I told him it would make the dreams go away. I don’t think you can do that with your Rabbit, even if you are a Magician.”

She said this in a doubtful way, like she could hardly believe the notion of Alice as a Magician. “You’re hardly beguiling in those boys’ clothes, with your hair so short.”

“He’s not
my
Rabbit,” Alice said. “And I have other ways, as you well know.”

She did not add that the thought of tempting any man, even to take vengeance upon him, made her shudder. She knew that it must not be all blood and pain and power exerted by one or another. She knew that married people did those things and that they enjoyed them—at least, they must, else the housemaids would not have giggled so every time a handsome man came to call. Would Hatcher ask this of her one day? Would he ask her to open her body to him? She didn’t know if she could, or if she would ever want to.