Possible Side Effects, Ch. 12

[wanderamaranth]

Possible Side Effects, Ch. 12: The White Queen's Wish

AiW WiP.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

Alice awoke the following morning after a night free of dreams, wondering what caused her success in not traveling to Somewhere Else. All she had really been able to do to avoid said travel was to give herself a good talking to.

"Now Alice," she'd said, "As much as you may like to visit the Hatter again tonight" (and here she flushed, embarrassed that it was so; yet it was true, and she did try to not lie to herself) "doing so would be foolishness indeed. Why, he told you it could be fatal! So you are going to lay here, stay here and not dream of a thing at all!"

One thing that Alice was exceptionally good at was giving herself a stern talking-to; she'd had lots of practice at it. Sometimes, (mostly when she was a little girl, but still occasionally) she'd give herself such a tongue-lashing that she'd cause herself to burst into tears. (When she was young, she'd do this with no warning in any company. Age had tempered her somewhat; she learned to be more circumspect in her self-punishment.) When she knew she was due for a good talking to, she'd wait until she was in the privacy of her room, and then proceed with the castigation.

Still, the young woman quite doubted that the strength of her warning to herself alone was enough to prevent a trip Somewhere Else. Perhaps it was the Hatter's will, preventing her from returning there again? Despite rather strong evidence to the contrary, (as three kisses could hardly be called anything else, not mentioning the way he held her close to himself and rocked her and--oh, she was getting carried away again!) Alice still had Doubt that the Hatter held her in as high of a regard as she feared she was beginning to hold him. Men didn't think the same way about kisses and small caresses the way women did, after all. Lowell was proof of that.

Yet Lowell was the lowest common denominator she could measure a man against. (She was not at all sure what a lowest common denominator was, but it sounded Low indeed.) There were other men out there that did not think of women as property to be used or discarded, or traded for more wealth. Her father had been one such man, had he not? (And he'd been considered mad for that as well.) Alice realized the man who triggered this particular bout of brooding was himself mad, and might just perhaps see a woman as someone to be respected, an equal.

This terrified Alice.

So used was she to destroying men's preconceptions on what a woman could or could not do, be or could not be, say or could not say, that she was not at all certain on how to behave with one whose conceptions did not need trouncing. For over a year she'd demanded respect from her fellow apprentices, business partners, trade suppliers, and sailors--all males who had an opinion of what she should do, should behave like, should say that was contrary to her own. The businessmen (Chinese and English alike) in particular had been baffled by her presence in many a meeting; they'd naturally assumed she was there to serve them foods or provide entertainment, and she'd had to remind herself that their culture was such that women simply did not ever even think about such things, let alone request to be a part of them.

Being contradictory to their expectations became an expectation of itself, though, and those same businessmen that were shocked when she wished to be included were as equally shocked when she'd express an interest in a gentle pursuit--one fellow apprentice in particular had literally dropped all that he had carried, ledgers, maps, and inventory sheets--simply because he'd walked into a room and saw her beading a handbag. (To be fair to the shocked gentleman, she had only been beading said bag so she could trade it to a local woman for a Most Interesting little sculpture that she had wished to put on the corner of her desk in her room; but he was not aware of this.)

"You've done well enough this far, I suppose." Alice murmured, thinking on the Hatter once again. "Mayhap just continue on in the manner you have been, being…yourself?"

This was very good advice that Alice gave herself, as the Hatter most assuredly did like her best as her proper Alice self. (Not that he disliked the Not Hardly Alice, or the Almost Alice--he liked them just fine. It was the Alice, At Last, however, that was his Favorite.) Yet it seemed too simple to believe. Behave as herself, and she would earn his regard? There certainly must be more to it than that!

Growing disgusted with her line of thoughts (because really, she was beginning to think of earning the Hatter's affections as a Plan that needed executed, much like a business plan, and the Idea that she would even consider such things similar at all left a sour taste on the back of her tongue--and when had she decided she wished to gain his affection, at all? Last night, when he was humming into the back of your throat, a snide little voice whispered in her mind, and Alice was amused that her internal voice sounded like the Cheshire Cat.

Shoving away all thoughts of the business she'd left behind (as she did miss feeling useful, despite the difficulties inherent in her chosen profession) and the Hatter (for the moment; she believed she would be unable to keep thoughts of him at bay for very long), Alice concentrated on the task of rising for the day. Her skin felt feverish, and her left arm throbbed with each beat of her heart. A private spot to carry out her Necessary business would soon be needed, as well. Alice lay for a few moments gathering her strength, and becoming fully lucid.

Her eyes flicked over to Stayne, who was propped against the half-crumbled bit of wall. It seemed he'd succumbed to Morpheus while guarding her own slumber.

A feeling not unlike guilt crept up. If she's been more cautious while traveling through the doors, the Knave would not have felt the need to even try to stay awake; he'd have been more than pleased to have her take her turn to guard, as she would have insisted on doing, had she known there was a need for it to begin with. To wake him now and whine that she needed his assistance so she could eliminate in a bush would be insulting indeed.

"Bloody Big Head be not the only danger herein."

The memory of the dream from--was it just a few nights ago?--came to her then, the Hatter's warning clear. She shivered briefly. "I must not trust the Knave." she said, sad at the idea, even knowing it was the best advice she could give herself. Guilt had no place here; too much depended on her keeping a clear view of who and what he really was. "And yet he must be my friend, if we are to travel together with any success. How may a friendship grow, if there is no trust?" For this, she had no answer. She knew, however, that she would do anything to prevent the Fate she foresaw.

She decided to focus on things that were quantifiable, and not so confusing to her, namely:

She was on Hightopp Hill.

Virtually alone, with Stayne being asleep.

She desperately wanted to look around.

When would she have another opportunity to explore what was left of the Hatter's home without an escort or another's distracting ruminations on what Clan Hightopp used to be? She'd like to make her own observations of the land her friend and his entire family had called home.

She struggled to a sitting position, and sat in that attitude for a few moments, breathing heavily. She would have loved just about any concoction for the pain in her broken arm--even one of those foul smelling pastes her mother's doctor adored using, that often left the patient feeling more ill than before ingestion. Just the idea that was doing something for the pain would alleviate some of it, surely?

Wobbling to her feet at last, Alice wiped the sweat that had beaded on her brow away with her right arm (the one that was whole), grimacing. Her duster, she decided, was definitely ruined.

Maybe she could find something for them to eat while she was exploring? She wasn't sure what it was that Stayne had served her last night, but the idea of eating something that she could hold a conversation with did not appeal, and she hoped to make their limited supplies from Above last as long as possible. Having fresh food supplement it would be helpful indeed.

Briefly, the blonde considered what, if anything, she should leave her companion to let him know she was awake, then mentally shrugged. She wouldn't be gone for too terribly long, and he looked exhausted, besides. Likely she'd be back and he would have no need to know she had even gone. If he did wake and she was not here, well, it would just have to be self-evident that she had awoken.

***

Stayne had made their camp just off to the right of a ring of broken houses that surrounded the most scorched bit of earth on the Hill; this must have been where all the Hightopps had been gathered that day, where the May Pole they'd danced around had been located. The Hill rose to her before her, and became more thickly wooded; a path to the left led to what appeared to be the remnants of shops. She walked this first, taking in the beautifully carved signs advertising items for sale. If each Hightopp had been as skilled in their trade as the Hatter was in his own, this street must have been constantly packed full of creatures vying for their products. She could almost hear the buzz of voices, feel the press of so many people happily going about their business, see the tradesmen and the vendors speaking proudly of the wares they had available. A lump formed in her throat and she turned away, suddenly wishing to walk instead up the Hill towards the houses that were there.

Each house, Alice soon discovered, had a large brass plate to the left of the front door. Some of these plates were as short as two feet high; others spanned the entire height of the home. Not all of the houses were still standing, thus not all had the brass plates; but the ones that were standing and whole enough to display said brass were doing so, and Alice deduced that every house on the Hill must have borne one.

Listed on the placards was a long litany of names and relations. Alice read through one of the shorter plates (as the longer ones looked quite intimidating indeed) and soon realized it was a listing of everyone whom resided in that particular home, and how they were related to all others on the Hill.

"Nathun the Cobbler," she traced with her finger, "Son of Elroy the Printer, Cousin of Welud Hornblor, Husband of Jardin the Fair…" this particular plate went so far as to list Nathun the Cobbler's third cousins thrice removed. (As the plate noted, they had attempted to remove them from the family once for disreputable behavior, but they came back, and it was necessary to remove them twice more before it stuck.)

Soon she was moving from house to house, eyes quickly scanning the names presented on them, her steps moving faster and faster as she didn't find what she was looking for. This place, these houses, reminded her far too much of a cemetery, the plates listing the names of all those dead, killed by the Jabberwocky on the Horunvendush Day.

The Hatter had told her of the Red Queen's orders, but she hadn't realized how excruciatingly vile they actually were until she was faced with the devastation on this scale. It had been abstract, a bit of subtext in the drama of her attempts to figure out what was happening in Underland. Now, though, the subtext had become the text, and her stomach churned at the idea that she'd ever thought of this in detached terms at all.

It made her glad the Jabberwock was dead.

She was gladder still she had been the one to kill him.

It was at the top of the Hill, just off to the side, next to a smallish, pleasant wooded area (that had a path running through it that looked as if it had been cultivated at one point in time) and a tiny stream that she finally found what she was looking for.

The house's frame was surprisingly intact, mostly due to the fact that it was so set up out of the way, Alice surmised. The roof had been blown or torn off, yes, and the walls, while standing, had large holes riddled in them, but they were standing, which was more than what many of the other homes could claim. When it was cared for, Alice believed this house must have been very cheerful indeed; the siding was a friendly blue, the door that half-hung off of its hinges, a faded sunshine yellow. A randomly weaving stone path led to the woods beside the house instead of the front door as she expected, and Alice could just make out a seating area in the tangle of plants.

A low stone bench sat directly in front of the little creek; the roses that had been planted for pleasure there were now neglected and ornery. They shouted demands for Alice to prune them, or to at least clear away a bit of the other vegetation, of which the other vegetation in question protested vehemently against. She hurried away from the sudden debate and went back to the house.

Overgrown dogwood lined the front of the structure; bittersweet had completely overtaken an entire wall. Alice ignored the barking of the bushes and the child-like taunts of the shrubbery vines and placed her attention on the plate by the door.

"Gambriel the Painter, husband of Marta the Knowing, Mother of Tarrant the White Queen's Haberdasher." Alice's hands could barely trace the wording, shaking as they were, as she spoke it aloud to herself. This was what she'd been looking for, without being fully aware that she sought it out. This was the home of the Hatter's parents.

Gently pushing open the door (as to why Alice bothered to push it this way, she didn't know--it was just about ready to fall off the frame on its own) she stepped into the body of the house.

It was a very simple home. To her right, Alice could see a small kitchen: a pot-bellied stove, an overturned table, four roughly equal piles of splintered wood she guessed were the dining chairs. China was scattered everywhere, and she stepped gingerly, her eyes tightening when her feet crushed the shattered bits still more, a giantess grinding the bones of the defeated under her heel.

Directly in front of her was a staircase that led to nothing, just the open air, and Alice was a bit confused as to why the stairway would do such a thing, until she puzzled out that when the home was whole, it had not led to nothing; it had led to the second story. To the left of this stairway was a sitting room.

Loads of items were in this room. Pieces of domesticity were strewn about: pillows with their stuffing pulled out, mirrors with their reflective surfaces shattered, family portraits sliced where they hung in their frames. It was destruction for destruction's sake, and Alice realized that the damage to this particular home had not been done by the Jabberwocky (except for maybe the roof and the second story) but likely by the Red Queen's victorious raiders, filled with the desire to conquer something, even if it was just a sofa cushion.

Ash sat thickly atop all of this wanton waste, drifted over to this location from the wind; the ashes of all the other homes on the Hill that had burnt that day.

Heedless of the greasy grey soot that coated all (did it never rain on this Hill, to help to wash away the scars of the damage that had been wrought? Did the wind did not blow, to carry away the smell of Death?) Alice collapsed onto the sofa, as it looked the most complete of all the room's furnishings, only to have the legs give way under her.

She tumbled to the floor, her broken arm jarring painfully, stealing the breath from her. The sofa was now a pile of rubble, like so much else in this home. Tears welled in her eyes, and try as she might to contain them, she could not. Soon sobs were shaking her shoulders, as cried at the heartlessness Iracebeth of Crims must have needed to possess to destroy such an obviously happy place for the sake of her ambition.

The cawing of a magpie bird brought Alice out of her sorrow. It sat atop the ragged edge of the wall where the second story's floor line should have rested, beady eyes regarding her in serious contemplation. It bobbed its head, twice, its gaze locked on the pin resting in the hollow of her throat.

"Go on, you!" Alice shouted, anger welling from seemingly Nowhere. "Be gone! It is very rude to stare at a person in such a way!" She pushed herself to her feet with her good arm, a look of determined fury on her face. The magpie cawed once again, bobbed its black head once, and took off, just as Alice began striding towards its perch, determined to give it a piece of her mind, throbbing arm or not.

She tripped over something on the floor as it swooped obnoxiously close to her head, and she nearly fell face first onto the floor once more, but was able to steady her balance at the last moment. Turning to see what exactly it was she stumbled over, Alice at first did not see anything, but she stirred the ash at her feet with her toe, and soon the corner of a small box was visible. She picked it up gingerly, picked up the hem of her ruined duster, and wiped it down.

The ash gone, the box revealed itself to be a very pretty bit of craftsmanship. It was small, only as tall as three of her fingers, and three hands wide. The main body was a darkish wood, not dissimilar to walnut; there were designs inlaid into the top, comprised of a blonde colored woods and various semi-precious stones, some Alice recognized, others she did not.

A smallish lock graced the front of it, but Alice tried to open it anyways, as she would have felt silly had she not tried to without the key, only to discover she hadn't needed it at all! The key was needful, though, as the lid refused to budge without it.

There was no way to see its contents, then, (and Alice did know there were contents, as she could hear whatever-it-was clinking softly) without smashing the box open, and she was loathe to do that to one of the only whole pieces in the Hatter's family home. It was a light box, nonetheless, so she decided that even if she were unable to open it, she'd place it in her knapsack, and give it to the Hatter when she saw him.

She continued digging through the rubble as best she could after that, with one hand and a suddenly raging fever. Why had the Hatter never come back to this place, to what was left of his life, to collect what he could of his family's possessions? Sweat trickled down her spine, and Alice could feel the ashes clinging to the moisture on her skin. She must look a sight.

The Hatter was a person that lived in his own skin, she thought, but like the magpie, will pick up what little bits he sees that make him happy. Perhaps nothing in this house would bring him any joy, only the pain of loss.

She almost put the flat box back in the ashes, suddenly ashamed for rooting through the equivalent of a graveyard, to satisfy her own curiosity! What would the Hatter think, to see her as a truffle pig looking for a treat in the remains of his childhood home?

Nausea swirled in her stomach, and the urge to retch was strong, but she held her breath, resolute that she would not be sick on the ashes of his kin. She was bent over with her head between her knees, taking slow, measured breaths, when she saw it, a bright glimmer on the ground. A small key, just large enough to fit into the box's lock.

With shaking fingers, she grasped the key then stood, knowing before she even inserted the key in the lock that it would fit the box. She was moments away from turning it and revealing the contents, but she stayed her hand. She'd already disrespected so much here, she really should leave it to the Hatter to open this box, but oh! She was so curious, and the key was right here…

A small, warbling voice interrupted her moment of indecision: a tremulous query of, "Your Majesty?"

Alice looked around, but did not see the source of the voice for several moments.

"Down here, your Majesty!" it called again, and it was then that Alice saw a Mouse at her feet, staring up at her with adoration in its gaze.

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" Alice said to the Mouse, stepping back to get a clearer look at the creature. "Are you speaking to me?" (She thought this likely, as there was no one else around that she could see, but believed it most polite to inquire, as, after all, she had not seen him to begin with, so she may not be seeing to whom he spoke; besides which, she herself was no Queen.)

The Mouse's eyes narrowed for a moment, then recognition dawned. "I thought it must be you, from the description 'twas given." He nodded to himself, and pulled his tail about, nervously holding it tight to his body. "Your Cat is not about, is She?" Alice's own eyes narrowed as she wondered of what he spoke, but her face cleared when the memory dawned.

"The Mouse with the Long, Sad Tail!" she cried, and crouched down to get a better look at him. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I ever got your proper name."

"Tis Snellum, Your Majesty Queen Alice." he bowed, a curiously proper little bow.

"Snellum, sir, I am sorry to tell you that you are under a misapprehension, if you believe that I am a Monarch."

The little Mouse did look confused indeed for a moment. "That is what the obscenely large Knave back in the Weaver's house be calling you, mum. Queen Alice, he's fussing about, wondering where his 'pretty blonde Queen' has gone off to." Looking her up and down, Snellum added, "Well, I suppose I see your point. While you may be blonde, you're not exceptionally pretty. Is there another blonde human female named Alice in the area, perhaps?"

Hand on hip, Alice huffed, "There is no need for personal remarks!" While she scolded the Mouse, her mind was racing.

Why in Underland would Stayne call her a Queen, of all things?

***

"Did you ever think that maybe by telling him, we could have a more effective means of fulfilling your task?"

Mallymkun paused outside the doorway. She was on her way to visit the Hatter, as she'd just heard from the Pawn that prepared his room that he'd apparently hit his head and fallen. Worry for him gurgled in her guts, as she'd never known the Hatter to be particularly clumsy.

Yes, he often gave the appearance of being so, but then again, she'd always taken the care to have people believe she was an obsessively rhyming narcoleptic, as well. They were both adept at portraying a personality they did not actually possess. The Hatter was 'clumsy' and 'foolish', Mallymkun was 'sleepy', and Thackery…well, everything everyone assumed about Thackery was true, sadly.

But to hear that the Hatter actually had perpetuated an act of clumsiness had her concerned indeed, hence the visit. She'd avoided him since the White Queen came to the House and doctored him, as she believed the whole business with Alice was doing him much more harm than good, and knew if she told him so, she had the large possibility of losing her friend. Yet there was no way for her to not say what she was thinking, for when a thought was in her head it came out upon her lips; thus her best course of action had been to not speak to him, just for a little while. If things were getting bad enough that the Hatter was actually clumsy, though…

Still, worried as she was about her friend, she stopped just outside the doorway she'd intended to simply pass by at the tremor in her Queen's voice. She'd never head Queen Mirana's voice take that particular tone with anyone, not even her Bloody Big Headed sister when she was banishing her. She sounded almost…angry. But Mirana never got angry!

"No, and neither did you, biscuit. If you had, you would have never requested my services in the first place. You would have simply asked them yourself." Chessur sounded very pleased with himself, but he always sounded pleased with himself. "But then, you've never been really the most secure creature in matters close to your heart, have you?"

"You know at the time I was unaware that you were the means of fulfilling my request." Mirana sniffed, ignoring the Cat's deliberate personal remark, and Mallymkun began to feel uncomfortable indeed standing there, listening in on what was obviously a private conversation. The anger in Mirana's voice had blunted into a muted sorrow. Her Queen deserved more respect than what she was currently showing her, even if she was unaware that Mally was being disrespectful. She went to move away again, but froze in place from Cat's next words.

"The means? Goodness no. I hardly think my spunk would do more than disgust the child, Mirana, let alone get her with child. Not the way that Tarrant's can."

An icy blast of wind slammed through the corridor, knocking Mally to her bottom. Head spinning, she looked up from her now-sprawled position on the floor. A thick pile of slushy snow blanketed the room beyond, and when the Dormouse looked up, she shivered at the look on Mirana's face. Her eyes were rimmed in fuchsia, and looked pained indeed.

"You will not speak of either of them in such a way again, Chessur." she warned. "Being deliberately crude will not induce me to Release you from your Vow." Pausing for a moment, she continued with, "You should not speak to me as you do, either, for I am still the One Queen of All Underland."

"Wishes just don't happen, you know. Someone has to carry them out. More often than not," the feline gave a martyred sigh, "that's me."

He yawned and stretched wide, the vertebrae along his back popping in an accordion affect. "A Cat may look at a King. " A grin appeared. "Or in this case, the Cat will just have to settle for looking at the Queen, hmm? I do enjoy how you throw that Title around, 'One Queen of All Underland', when this whole charade's purpose is so you will no longer possess said Title." Absently he took one ear off, looked inside of it, and then placed it back atop his head, slightly askew.

"Do not tease me so, Cat. Please. Not about this… Not about the Children. You, of all others, due to that cursed wish, know how that pains me."

"Yes, I do know how dearly you wish for the Alice and Hatter's offspring." Chessur mocked, and Mallymkun had to place her hand over her mouth to muffle her dismayed cry of shock.

"That is only a last resort, Cheshire Cat. If we are able to find even one of the Red Royal Children, then the necessity for a child borne of my Champion does not exist." Mirana thought she was speaking reasonably, logically, and Chessur would agree and the conversation could move on. She should have known better. The Cat being whom he was, he simply had to goad her.

"Don't lie to me, Mirana. With the Jabber blood still in your veins, I can practically taste your Desires. You said, "I wish for a Royal Child, or multiple Children, most conveniently the Red Royal Children, to take up the vacant crowns of Underland', true." One side of his grin hitched up higher than the other, and he said, as if imparting a secret, "Yet convenience is not Desire, my crumbling biscuit, and Desire is what powers the wish."

"The blood sings to me of the wish deep in your bones, the selfish part of you that whispers…if a Red Royal is not to be found, then the only way for a Royal Child to be crowned is if the only living Queen, besides yourself, bears one. You would not be terribly disappointed if that became a necessity, either, despite the Red Royals one and all being your Nieces and Nephews." He clucked his tongue at her, still smiling. "Shocking!"

"Say what you will, Cat," Mirana said, an eerie calm falling over her features, fingers tracing patterns in the air, "but my sister must not be allowed to regain her position of power. This is a way to ensure that she does not."

Mally wished she had never heard any of this conversation. Yet is was terribly difficult to Unhear a conversation, especially one such as this. She began to creep away, more intent than ever on reaching the Hatter, despite the parts of her that wanted to march straight into that room and jam her hatpin in the fleshiest parts of Mirana and Chessur's bodies she could reach, Queen and Randomly Incorporeal Cat or not.

The Dormouse had not thought of the Red Royal Children in a long time, as she was sure most inhabitants of Underland had not. It was simply too painful to do so. Back when the Red Queen was only occasionally cruel, and never to any lasting effect, (this being due mostly to the influence of her husband, it was agreed) she had borne five sets of twins, scarcely a few years apart. It was a highly unusual event in Underland for a birth to occur even once; to have so many children was amazing.

They had been loved by all. Their mother had often dressed them in matching outfits, and they would giggle when she carefully powered and painted small Hearts upon their faces. Skipping through the Red Gardens and singing were favorite activities, and many other Kings and Queens would visit Salazum Grum simply to gaze upon Iracebeth and the Red King's good fortune, wishing for the day they too would be blessed with heirs.

Many a Queen had presented herself to the Red King, in hopes that he would be able to Sire upon them a child, as he'd obviously had so much success with his wife. Yet Tertian had always refused, claiming that he loved his wife and to do such a thing would pain her greatly, and there was nothing less he wished to do.

He'd refused, that is, until one day, when a certain Queen approached him, who was rumored to be so lovely, so sweet, and so good tempered that he could not resist her advances. (It was rumored, because no one knew for sure whom this mysterious and beautiful Queen was. There were a few that whispered it was Mirana herself, but very few indeed, as hardly anyone believed the wonderful White Queen could do such a thing to her own sister.)

What was known was that, after Tertian's betrayal of Iracebeth, she went into an uncontrollable rage. She'd ordered the execution of Tertian and anyone involved with or related to him in any way. His advisory staff, parents, tailors, shoemakers, barbers, cousins--even his own children, her own children. There were so many executions to be carried out, that the executioner had said two days would be needed to do them properly. So the staff and assistants had gone the first day, the plan being Tertian's family would go the next. But when the guards had gone to retrieve the Red Royal twins from their cramped dungeon cells, there had been no children there.

All had hoped that someone had shown them a kindness and spirited them away from their mother's rage. Iracebeth had been furious, and declared executions all around for her prison staff if an explanation was not given to her in a timely manner.

No one ever discovered what happened to the darlings, and the Red Queen had to satisfy herself by declaring them disinherited and presumed dead. Then she'd sent her armies out, taking over the various King and Queen-doms throughout Underland. Spades, Clubs, and Diamonds had fallen to her quickly, followed by the Green King, the Yellow Queen, and the Burnt Orange Barony, until the only kingdom to overtake had been the White Queen's domain, and all knew how that turned out.

It sounded now as though Mirana now planned to discover what happened to Red Royal Children and re-establish as many of the Crowns of Underland as she was able--and that was a noble thing indeed! For Underland had always been thus, before Iracebeth's ambition overtook her--there were many Kings and Queens of their various smaller kingdom, and one High King or Queen to guide them all.

Mally knew that Mirana would make a fine High Queen, at least she thought she knew, but the conversation she'd just heard, the implications it presented to her…

If she'd just minded her own business and kept walking, she would not be thinking the things of her Queen and the Cat that she was now. It sounded as though they wished for they tricked the Hatter into…and they wanted him to…how did they believe such a thing could be accomplished? Even should the Hatter and Alice…(she could not even think the words!)…even if they did what Chessur said Mirana wished for them to, how would that provide her Majesty with a Royal Child? For that to be the case, Alice would have to be a Queen, as the Hatter was certainly not a King, and that was just…

Queen Alice. The name that she'd heard so briefly such a long time ago clanged about in her memory. It couldn't be, and yet, she knew instantly it was. She needed to get the Hatter, immediately. Discretion forgotten, she began to run, accidentally knocking into a displayed suit of armor in the hallway. She cursed a bit as it fell to the ground, but with any Luck at all, she'd be gone before she was discovered.

***

Two heads jerked towards the doorway of the room they occupied, startled. Each moved towards it, having the same thought that perhaps their most Delicate Conversation should not be held where just anyone walking by could overhear it. Mirana reached it just after Chessur, and she was asking, in a startled, breathy voice, "What caused that--?"

A suit of armor lay scattered about the hall. The Cheshire Cat evaporated and then reappeared beside it, inhaling deeply. "I smell a Mouse. A Dormouse, to be precise." he said, grimly. "Shall we follow her? I have a fair guess as to where she is going."

"We shall." Mirana said, picking up her skirts to walk faster. "If Tarrant should hear anything of my wish from anyone other than myself…especially if the only knowledge the speaker has of it is from the conversation we just had…"

"Now she thinks of this." Chessur tutted to himself. "Yes, let's hurry along. Tarrant is quite cross enough with me about that whole Hill business. If we add this mess to it, the man may never forgive me."

They turned the corner, and saw just the flash of the Dormouse's tail turning the corner at the opposite end of the hall. The Queen and Cat began to run, and Mirana said, in between breaths, "And…you…wish…for…his forgiveness?" (She was horridly unused to physical activity.)

Chessur glanced over his shoulder briefly at the Queen, and then said, seriously. "Yes, I do. I considered him a good friend at one time, and he me. I should like to be able to claim such a distinction again."


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