Alice (8 page)

“But he marked you, didn’t he?” he continued.

At these words Cheshire reached across the tiny table, the first two fingers of his hand extended. Alice knew what would happen and steeled herself not to show any emotion. Cheshire’s fingers, cold and slightly damp, stroked down the scar on her cheek. She swallowed the shudder of revulsion at his touch.

“Yes,” Cheshire said. “He marked you so that he would know you again, and know that you belong to him.”

“I belong to no one,” Alice said, her voice harsher than she intended. She would fight if she must, and so would Hatcher. Whatever power Cheshire wielded, he could not make her go back to the Rabbit.

Cheshire giggled. “Oh, yes, there’s that spirit that the Rabbit liked, before you spirited away, that is. Then he was not so fond of your energy, particularly after what you did to him.”

(
a blade in a blue-green eye
) Cheshire watched her carefully, and Alice feared he could read the thought that had gone across her face. She must be careful now, very careful.

“Yes,” Cheshire said, taking a bite of rose-shaped cake. “I think the Rabbit would be very interested to know you’re in the Old City.”

Alice didn’t know what to do. Should she threaten Cheshire? Should she tell Hatch to pay him so that he wouldn’t talk? He seemed the sort of person who might like knowing something another didn’t. He might like lording it over them in his own mind. Then, suddenly, she knew what to do.

“The Rabbit and me is hardly news, is it?” Alice said lightly. “A very old affair.”

“But one, I assure you, that the Rabbit thinks of every day. You made quite sure of that, my dear,” Cheshire said.

Yes, if I did take his eye, I imagine he would think of me every day,
Alice thought. She plunged on, aware that Hatcher watched the proceedings with a curious gaze. They were doing the precise opposite of what they’d intended—that Hatcher should talk and Alice should listen. But Hatcher was wise enough not to muddy the waters, and to wait until Alice was finished.

“I think the more interesting news is the return of the Jabberwocky. Do you not agree?” Alice asked.

It hadn’t seemed possible, but Cheshire sat up even straighter then. Alice thought he was surprised, but she couldn’t tell for certain. Cheshire was very difficult to read.

“And what does the Rabbit’s lost toy know of the Jabberwocky?” Cheshire asked.

Something in her heart burned when he called her a “lost toy.” She did not show it.

“We have seen him,” Alice said, indicating Hatcher and herself.

“Seen him and survived?” Cheshire asked, and now it was clear that he was surprised. “How can that be?”

“Good fortune,” Alice said. She did not want Cheshire to know about the pendant or how Nell claimed she sent the Jabberwocky away.

“Good fortune indeed,” Cheshire said, and he narrowed his eyes and looked between the two of them. “Of a kind not usually found in his presence.”

“It is because of the Jabberwocky that we are here,” Alice said. “Bess told us that you could tell us how to trap him again.”

The little man chortled. “Trap the Jabberwock? You are ambitious, aren’t you, little toy?”

Alice said nothing. He was baiting her, hoping she would lose her temper and reveal something she did not want him to know.

“Bess said the Jabberwock was searching for something,” Hatcher said. Alice noted that Hatcher did not mention his own connection to the monster. “And that you would know what that something was.”

“Oh, yes, he searches,” Cheshire said. “Snicker-snack, snicker-snack. He must have it before anyone else does, before anyone realizes what it does.”

“What is ‘it’?” Alice asked, unable to hide her impatience.

Cheshire sat forward, his eyes eager. “Would you like to hear a story, my little ones? For I have a story I could tell. I like to tell my stories, sometimes.”

Alice thought he would like such a thing. It would be a way for him to show off what he knew, but only as much as he wanted to tell.

He looked at them expectantly, waiting for them to acknowledge the treat.

“I would like very much to hear a story,” Alice said, and tried to sound properly grateful (instead of resentful, which was what she actually felt) when she said it.

“A long time ago,” Cheshire said, his voice dreamy again, “there was a Magician. Well, to tell it properly, there were two Magicians. And these two were friends, close as brothers. Both had an insatiable hunger for knowledge, to find the furthest reaches of their power, to discover how deep magic could take them. But one line they swore never to cross, and that was into dark magic, for they knew that once tasted, the darkness would overcome even the purest of intent. And so they went on, day after day, experimenting and growing ever more powerful, until no other Magician could possibly defeat them. They were the strongest, most magnificent Magicians the world had ever seen. And for one of them, it was enough. He used his magic to help the common folk, to make their crops grow, to heal their sick, to do good with the gifts he had been given. But the other . . . Well, there are some who will never be content. He grew restless, and saw the giving of magic to simple folk as unworthy of his power. And so, in secret, he went to the dark places, and learned all the dark things there were to know.”

As Alice listened to Cheshire’s dreamy remembering voice she heard another, laid over the voice of the man. It was light and soft and full of love, and it sounded like her mother. She could see her mother’s face there, just above her in the flickering candlelight, as she snuggled under the coverlet.

“His friend, once so close as a brother, saw the changes in him and protested, tried to stop him. But the other had drunk deep in the well of shadows, and for him there was no returning. The good Magician knew then what he must do, for such a threat could not be allowed to exist in the world. He went to the blacksmith, and asked him to make a blade, a special blade that curved like the moon at its crescent. Before the last strike of the blacksmith’s hammer the good Magician took the blade in his palm and closed his hand around it. His blood seeped into the blade, and so did a little of his magic, and his intent.

“Then the blacksmith struck the blade once more, and declared his work complete. The good Magician took the weapon with a heavy heart, for he mourned the friend and brother he once had.

“He went to the place where the other Magician was learning the ways of darkness. His friend had become a monster, hideous and twisted, and the good Magician was repulsed by this creature. The monster that had once been a Magician laughed as his old friend stood before him, and said nothing could defeat him.

“But the good Magician had right on his side, and his pure heart, and though the two battled for many days, in the end the good Magician prevailed. He pinned the monster to the ground with his blade, and that blade drew away some of the monster’s magic, so that he could no longer defend himself. The monster told the Magician to kill him, for if not, he would rise up again, and destroy the Magician and all of his line. But the Magician could not kill his friend, though he knew it was necessary. In the end he took the monster and put him in a box, a tiny prison without a key, and buried the box deep in the soil. Then he went away from that place, taking the blade with him.”

Her voice faded away, and it was only then that Alice realized she spoke in time with Cheshire, and that he and Hatcher both stared at her.

“You know the story of how the Jabberwock was formed, then?” Cheshire asked, and his eyes were more speculative than before.

“My . . .” Alice began, and then thought it wise not to mention her mother. “Someone told me once, when I was young. But I’d forgotten until you told it again.”

“It is interesting that you know that tale,” Cheshire said. “Yes, you are very interesting, Alice. I can see why the Rabbit prized you so.”

Each time Cheshire mentioned the Rabbit so casually she felt like ice was pricking her all over her skin. Memories surfaced, one by one, and she was afraid to see all of them at once, and afraid that if Cheshire continued to mention it, all of her lost thoughts would return in a rush, and destroy her.

“So the Jabberwock was a Magician, and another Magician took some of his power in the blade that defeated him,” Hatcher said. Alice knew he tried to steer Cheshire away from the topic of the Rabbit, and she was grateful.

“Snicker-snack,” Cheshire said again. “The Jabberwock seeks that blade, for he is crippled without the magic inside it. He cannot fully become until that power is returned to him. And the blade is also the only way to defeat him, for the good Magician put his power inside it also.”

“Then we simply need to find it,” Alice said. “And the Jabberwocky.”

“Oh, don’t fret, my dear. I am certain he will find
you
. You are very interesting,” Cheshire said again.

Alice did not wish to be interesting to Cheshire, or to the Jabberwock. It was true that the Jabberwock would be drawn to them, but that was because of Hatcher’s connection to the creature, not because of her. In Alice’s mind, therefore, the wisest thing would be to find this sword as soon as possible, before the creature drew near them again.

“Do you know where the blade is?” Hatcher asked.

His feet moved restlessly under the table. Hatcher never liked to be still for long. Even in the hospital he was constantly moving, pacing, twitching, rolling. The uncomfortable chairs and low table essentially penned him in place, and Alice sensed he was on the verge of having enough.

“I know many things, Nicholas, grandson of Bess Carbey. I know things you yourself do not know. I know where Jenny is. Far away, over the forest and over the mountains she’s gone.” Cheshire sat back a little, apparently to appreciate the effects of his news.

But these words apparently meant nothing to Hatcher, who only frowned slightly. “Do you know where the sword is?” he repeated.

Cheshire looked put out, as though he were expecting to enjoy an explosion that didn’t occur. “I don’t know where the blade is now,” Cheshire said, his tone short.

Alice and Hatcher looked at each other, their feelings plain.
This was a wasted trip.

“However,” Cheshire said, and the crafty tone was back in his voice. “I know someone who may know.”

“And who is that?” Alice asked, though she did not relish the thought of another goose chase across the Old City only to find someone who may or may not have what they were looking for.

“I shall tell you,” Cheshire said. “First, you must give me something in return.”

Alice wanted to say he had already gotten plenty, more than they had intended to give, but she did not want to remind him of the Rabbit again. It was too much to hope that he would forget who she was, but perhaps the Jabberwocky would distract him.

“What is it you want?” Alice asked.

“Why, your memory, of course,” Cheshire said. “Your memory of taking the Rabbit’s eye.”

CHAPTER
8

Alice blinked in astonishment. “But I don’t remember. I don’t remember that at all.”
But thank you for telling me. Thank you for letting me know I didn’t imagine it.

Cheshire seemed disappointed. “At all? Not a spick? Not a speck? Not a shadow?”

Something sharp sinking into something soft, and a man screaming.

“No,” she said, with as much guile as she possessed.

Cheshire peered at her very closely. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he was trying to look past her eyes and into her brain, trying to search and find that fragment of memory so he could snatch it away. Good or bad or broken, her memories were her own, and Cheshire had no right to them.

After a long moment Cheshire grinned. “Just because there is nothing there now doesn’t mean there won’t be in the future. What if we agree that you owe me that memory, when it returns to you?”

Hatcher shook his head once, short and sharp. “No. I won’t have Alice owing you anything.”

Cheshire smiled wider, very well pleased now and showing it. “Oh you won’t have it, will you, Nicholas? Perhaps the Rabbit’s little toy now belongs to the Hatcher of Heathtown?”

“She told you she belongs to nobody, and she told you true,” Hatcher said, though his eyes flickered a little when Cheshire called him that name.

“The Rabbit doesn’t think so. The Rabbit says he marked her, and she is his,” Cheshire said.

“That’s more than enough,” Hatcher said, pushing away from the table. “You don’t know where the sword is, so you’re of no use to us.”

“Your manners did not improve in your cage, Nicholas,” Cheshire said. “You are my guest, and a very poor one. You didn’t even eat any of my cakes.”

He raised a finger, almost as if he were testing the wind. Then the scent of roses was abruptly stronger, overpowering. Alice coughed as thick perfume filled her throat like fog.

Two things happened at once. The roses set in vases around the room shot from their containers like spider’s silk, impossibly long, as if their stems had not been cut at all.

At the same time Hatcher pulled something from his coat. It was not the axe, as Alice expected. It was the gun, the forbidden weapon. She had nearly forgotten he carried it.

Cheshire crooked his finger down in the shape of a hook. The roses halted midair in their flight. For the first time since their arrival, Cheshire did not seem smug or in control. His left eye twitched as Hatcher pushed the gun very close to Cheshire’s face.

The very idea of the gun made Alice nervous. Hatcher wasn’t supposed to have it, and it was too easy for an accident to happen. When you used a knife or an axe, you had to think; you had to be deliberate. If Hatcher’s finger twitched, then it wouldn’t matter if he meant to kill Cheshire or just frighten him. The little man would still be dead.

“Your manners most definitely did not improve,” Cheshire said. “I could have Theodore run to a copper. You would be hanged on the spot just for holding that.”

“You would be dead whether the copper came or not,” Hatcher said.

Alice did not like this. This was not going as it was supposed to at all. Cheshire liked Bess, and so was to be disposed to help her grandson. They were not supposed to be threatening the person who was to provide them help. Hatcher’s temper was short, and if he “saw red” as he had when they met Carpenter’s sentries, then there was sure to be a tragedy.

If Cheshire were killed, then who would move in to take over his territory? A monster like the Walrus? Certainly whoever moved in would think nothing of selling girls. The women of Cheshire’s district were likely safer here than they would be elsewhere.

Finally, despite all their bravado, they had no clue where to look for the sword, and Cheshire did. They needed him, like it or not.

Alice reached for Hatcher’s hand, not the one that held the gun but the other, and gave it a very soft squeeze. “That’s quite enough, Hatch.”

He stared at Cheshire a moment longer, and Alice was certain he would pull the trigger. Instead, he exhaled slowly as he hid the weapon under his coat.

Cheshire grinned again, his default expression. Alice felt a nearly overwhelming urge to slap at that smile, to break the perfect line of too-whiteteeth.

“That will be enough to be getting on with,” he said. “The two of you have given me a lovely morning’s entertainment. I’m so pleased I told Theodore to let you in.”

Alice and Hatcher glanced at each other, baffled. Cheshire appeared unaffected by the events that had just occurred. The roses slid slowly back inside their vases, harmless flowers once more.

He reached for another cake and stuffed it in his mouth, talking through the crumbs. “Oh, yes, a lovely morning’s entertainment. And now I know something the Rabbit does not know.”

“Will you tell him?” Alice asked. She disliked the hesitant tone in her voice, the tiny little hiccup of fear.

Cheshire waved his hand. “Oh, no. Why would I do that? Then he would know too, and it’s so much more fun when I have something he doesn’t. His streets press right up against mine. Just to the west. And sometimes his lads come in at night and take my girls from their beds, though it’s hard to prove with ruffians on all sides. I don’t know why they’re all so crude. So I will enjoy knowing that his girl Alice is walking free and he’s ignorant.”

“For the last time, she’s not his girl. She’s mine,” Hatcher said.

“Of course, of course,” Cheshire said soothingly. His manner was completely different from before. He was friendlier, and apparently took no offense at Hatcher’s waving a gun in his face. “Though I wouldn’t mind being there when you tell him that. Oh, yes. I would enjoy that indeed.”

His green eyes gleamed just like a cat’s in the dark, Alice thought.

“Now, as to your question,” Cheshire continued. “My knowledge of the sword ceases with the story of the Magician and the formation of the Jabberwocky. However, there are many collectors in the City.”

“Collectors?” Alice asked.

“Yes, they collect things that are interesting or precious. The Rabbit is one, you know. He collects many things, pretty things and rare things, and you are one of those pretty and rare things, my girl. So you keep out of his sights, for he wants you back in his collection, and he won’t let you get away again.”

It’s strange,
Alice thought.
It’s almost as if he’s warning me, like he cares what happens.

“I don’t like these men that scoop up girls and use them for their own purpose,” Cheshire said. “I try to keep the girls in my district safe. I keep them safe by knowing more about these men than they know of themselves. But I am, alas, a rare breed.”

“Do you know of the Walrus?” Alice asked, thinking of what Dolly said.

“Whatever you have heard is not only story,” Cheshire said, and there was no hint of playfulness now. “He eats them as he defiles them, and I cannot imagine a worse fate. You would be better off in the Rabbit’s collection than taken by the Walrus.”

“I won’t let him take her,” Hatcher said.

“You are very much a man, Nicholas.” Cheshire sighed. “But you were not able to protect Jenny. Though you were younger then, it is true. And there was deceit.”

This time a spasm went across Hatcher’s face at the mention of Jenny. Alice wanted to ask who Jenny was, if he remembered, but she did not want to do so in front of Cheshire. He was too unpredictable.

“But that is old business. We are concerned with this moment, and at this moment the Jabberwocky is walking the streets. Now, the craftiest collector of all is the Caterpillar. If the blade is in the Old City, then he will know. He may even have it, which would certainly make your task much simpler. Although if he does have it, he may not want to give it up.”

“Everyone has a price,” Hatcher said.

“Yes, but can you pay it?” Cheshire asked. “The Caterpillar is not as interested in simple coin as some might be.”

“Where will we find him?” Hatcher asked.

“His streets are north of mine. Most nights he can be found at an establishment he calls Butterflies. You may imagine what kind of establishment that is,” Cheshire said. “And now, while this has been very amusing, you must run along. I have much business and you are delaying me.”

His attitude was again different from what it had been a moment before. Now he was brisk, waving them out of the parlor and back into the small foyer before they realized what had happened. The door to the parlor closed behind them with a firm
click
.

Alice and Hatcher looked at each other, and Alice saw the confusion she felt reflected on Hatcher’s face. What had just happened? Had Cheshire helped them or harmed them? It certainly seemed that he had obtained more information from them than they had from him. He appeared genuinely concerned for Alice’s safety from the Rabbit and other predators about the Old City, yet at the same time he was not a friend. He could not be relied upon to assist them unless he could gain by it.

The guard Theodore waited there, and Alice thought he seemed pleased about something.

“This way,” Theodore said, leading them through an extraordinary hallway.

It was patterned all over in black and white tiles, ceiling and floor and walls. Looking at it made Alice sick and dizzy, and she already felt a bit ill from the heavy blanket of roses in the parlor air. “Why are you taking us this way instead of the way we entered?” Alice asked.

“Mr. Cheshire has important visitors coming and doesn’t want rabble like you crossing them on the step,” Theodore said. Alice wanted to take offense at the “rabble” designation, but it didn’t seem important enough to bother with. Besides, they hardly appeared presentable in their dirty and bloodstained clothing. She had a feeling Theodore would enjoy using that silver wire he carried on them, and she wasn’t interested in providing him motivation to do so. She glanced over her shoulder at Hatcher. He frowned fiercely, like he was trying very hard to remember something. He likely had not heard what Theodore said.

The hallway went on and on, much longer than should be possible for such a small house. Far at the end there was another white door—
like a house full of teeth,
Alice thought.
Teeth in every doorway, waiting to bite.
Theodore stepped to one side and indicated they should exit that way.

Alice turned the doorknob and opened the door. Outside, the glare of the sun was surprisingly strong, and for a moment she was blinded. Then Hatcher pushed into her back and she tumbled to the ground. The door closed very firmly behind them, and Alice heard the lock turn.

She rolled to her back, ready to snap at him for pushing her, but stopped when she saw large rosebushes, taller than Hatcher, rising up from the ground on either side of her.

Hatcher reached down to help her. “He pushed me out the door. That guard. I think he didn’t want us to get a good look at what was out here.”

“Where are we?” Alice asked, staring around in wonder. “This can’t be Cheshire’s garden.”

The bushes grew above them and stretched on in the distance, much farther than should have been possible. There was an intersection in distance, turnings going left and right.

There was no sign of the City, the buildings that surrounded the cottage, the noise of the street. It didn’t even smell the same. The air was clean and fresh and the roses here lightly perfumed the air instead of clawing at Alice’s nose and throat. The sun was so bright compared to the dreary Old City that it hardly seemed to shine on the same world.

“This is Cheshire’s idea of fun,” Hatcher said.

Alice studied the passage before them for a moment. “It’s a maze.”

“Yes, and I’ll wager anything we’re trapped in here until we solve it,” Hatcher said.

He turned back to the white door and gave it a hearty kick, strong enough to rattle the panes of glass in the windows.

“We haven’t the time for this, Cheshire!” Hatcher shouted. “Have you forgotten the Jabberwocky?”

There was no answer, although Alice thought she heard the faint sound of laughter in the wind.

“This is the price for what he told us,” Alice said. “He must be a Magician himself, Hatch. How else could this be? And we saw what he did with the roses inside.”

Hatcher shook his head. “He is not a Magician. I told you a Magician built Rose Way. Whoever built it must have added this maze, and Cheshire is simply taking advantage.”

“But doesn’t he need magic to manipulate the space?” Alice asked.

“I don’t know that much about magic, Alice,” Hatcher said. “You would likely know more than me.”

“Don’t repeat that nonsense Nell said,” she said, irritated.

“Why not? You did something in that tavern. They all saw you. I felt the Jabberwocky leave, and he wouldn’t leave unless he was forced.”

“What if he simply found better prey elsewhere?” Alice asked. She did not want to believe that she had the power to send something so horrible away. She did not wish to be any more “interesting,” as Cheshire had said, than she already was.

Hatcher did not say anything more. That wasn’t his way. He walked away and into the maze, expecting her to follow. He would not stand and argue with Alice when they did not agree, even if she wished to.

And she did wish to. They had left the hospital, and since then she had felt as though she were buffeted in a rushing river, pulled along by the force of the water and knocking up against everything in her path. There had hardly been a moment when she felt her fate was in her own hands.

She did not wish to be a Magician, and to draw attention from those who would seek to exploit her. Alice was no fool, even if she had been muddled for a time. If anyone thought she as a Magician (and Alice did not believe she was), then even Hatcher’s skills would not keep her safe. She would be scooped up by a boss and presented as a curiosity to the discerning men who frequented the Old City looking for excitement. If a boss did not kidnap her, then the government would. It was illegal to practice magic in the City, to be a Magician. Alice did not know how Cheshire managed to keep the government’s interest out of Rose Way. He must have knowledge that the men in power would not like revealed.