NOTE: This is the first chapter, obviously, but also the most rushed, as this is the chapter that I wrote before I had decided to turn this into any sort of ongoing thing. Even if "ongoing" may be a slight stretch at this point. I hope you enjoy it!
FURTHER NOTE: May get around to splitting this into two chapters to actually flesh things out a bit. This chapter is just, so rushed compared to the others. You'll notice towards the end, it gets a little more intelligently paced. Midnight writing!
(and no, it is not entirely told in first-person.)
PROLOGUE
"The date was Eighteen Eighteen the year of our lord on this poisonous earth.
Grounded, as we were, our journeys were wretched, dark affairs that lead us, skulking, through barrow and mire. Our map marked the spot we wished to see, far further inland than we had expected to find it. However, it was only through use of the compass that we reached it at all. Thank the lord in heaven for that glorious compass, such a small thing, but something so powerful as to affect the fates of us all.
Cracking open the casket, I and my associate looked within at the decrepit, skeletal remains, twisted in fury and anguish at their state of defeat. With trembling hands, I let myself down next to him, and on my knees, I separate skull from neck. Nearly a hundred years he had lain dormant, but now the pirate king would rise once more, along with my own renown.
"Frau Mulan, I beseech you. Will you stay to witness the rebirth of he that lays before us?" The question barely hisses through my parched, cracked lips as I look up at her, the dust of the cairn settling over my cracked glasses. The girl with the dragon tattoos simply stood there over me, the polearm never leaving her side, with eyes as dark and judgemental as the Black Forest itself.
Never letting a word escape her, she nods, and we return, our cart loaded with the final pieces of our biological puzzle, to my castle, the castle of Doctor Frankenstein.
Our journey was, if anything, harsher and more turbulent than the one preceding it. Though my associate was, as ever, an implacable force, she too could feel it, even going so far as to stop us in the middle of the night, in the depths of some foul wood that I did not care to learn the name of. Amidst the twisted, gnarled and rotten stumps, she stood, tall and imposing as the warrior-born I could see she was, but if any warrior were as mighty as the beast she seemed to imitate, then surely they would be an angel of death.
Holding her great weapon ahead of her, she began to move in simulated combat, her breathing crisp and harsh, her body radiating power and heat. As she moved, the compass bouncing on her fulsome chest, it seemed that a spirit, that I had not before noticed, was cowed before her. A darkness drew away from us, and our journey was smoother, if not truly easy, afterwards.
You see, from then on, it seemed as though there were three of us. Me the timid doctor, she the dragon-born heroine, and he, the spirit of the man we had taken.
Truly, I felt smaller than ever in such company, myself having rarely left the fatherland. Stood betwixt the she-demon and he that had straddled the world, so very like the Englishman he once was. Sometimes, I would see her gazing towards the body, clearly seeing and remembering things that no other could recognize, let alone understand.
Something that I was all too familiar with.
I was, as I have told you, the premiere student of the scientific arts at the University of Ingolstadt. Yes, chemistry, physics, and biology, all these things were my tools, the building blocks from which I would work. Had my mother survived to see me, she would have been proud indeed. But, it was not to be. However, I have not told you how I came to be there, in the dead night, my cart adapted for quick travel, a team of dogs purchased at the border of the fatherland, whipped by the ancient soul of Hua Mulan, given new and glorious form.
You see, I was approached. Approached by a figure from beyond time, for a very specific purpose. A man, he seemed to be, though he could take the form of a woman should he wish. Claiming to be a god from the harsh and ancient lands of the north, he took me under his wing. The secrets of more than just science, yet more than faith, were to be mine. And they were. For, under the tutelage of that trickster, I was given the power and knowledge to return life to the dead.
With jars and balms, I could grow new forms and parts. With waters and unguents, I could pump ichors and blood through the veins. Yet, my work could not be complete without the Spirit. And so, with the blessing of my Patron and the accompaniment of a noble woman, I departed.
Ever since that modern Prometheus, Benjamin Franklin, had tamed the heavens and brought electricity to us, humanity has searched and yearned to use it to bend the earth to our will. And, through my intuit and that of my patron, I had succeeded. So it was that I stole from that grave, and that great Mulan herself was there with me.
Looking down at the head and body of the man that had once terrorised virgin America, I found a grin spreading over my features. Truly, it was the first moment that I was certain of our success, as I looked at him, his beard still clinging to the desiccated skin, cloyed with wax and burned to ashes at the ends. And so, truly, that was when we failed.
As we came back to the castle on the hill, I noted the sickly green hue of the sky, what few clouds there were sliding over the sky like the tendrils of some ancient beast. The aurora was moving over us as we laid him out, the jars emptied, with what flesh he was missing being positioned and sewn back into place all up and down his body. New eyes, new lids, new hair, new guts and bile. The muscles of the jaw took some wriggling to get into place, but they stayed as well as would any other person's in the end.
When everything was in place, the she-devil stood at the back of the room, holding her weapon for comfort. Indeed, it was probably what saved our lives. As the aurora struck, the ions and charged particles lanced through the mast I had erected, pumping into the ancient, enormous body that we had created. All nine foot of him was jolted into the air with the first blast, and his teeth and bones rattled with the surges of cosmic power. Never before or again would I bear witness to such terrifying power, and I hope to the lord that nobody else shall, either.
With the whole of his body in the air, a change took him. That dread spirit we had felt suddenly burst into action, its immaterial form charged with godless power. With a cackle that shall haunt me til my death, til my very undoing at the end, the beast of that man's soul flew back into his body, upon wings of the darkest umbra. The smell of blood, surf and ichor filled the air, along with the metal tint of electricity. For the barest moment, I believed I could see the dark branches of some great tree sprout from his chest, an anchor growing from his back… but then, all was gone, and dark.
And, when my eyes opened once more, he was standing there, his beard and clothing soaked and leaking into the floor. Barnacles covered him, and his jaw ground, as though he were trying to split rocks in his teeth. A green flame was about him, and he glared down to the terrified form of Hua Mulan, that draconic Valkyrie cowed and abashed in front of him. Yet, he seemed loathe to approach, while her hands were about the grip of her powerful weapon. The rattle of death came from him, though in all his might and terrible glory he was the most lively thing there was under heaven, be it the will of god or not.
And then, that ancient mariner stood before us no longer, as, with barely the slightest twitch of his neck, he was whisked away by the wind, gone as would be a candle in a blizzard. I and she shared a look, before I retched and collapsed to my knees. In the throes of illness, I did not see her leave, but when finally my senses returned to me, she was gone. The two people in the world that knew what it was to return from death were gone, and would doubtless lock blades before the end.
And for me, I could do nought but this; write my story for you to find. I am Herr Doktor Victor Frankenstein. I am sorry if my English is not entirely, shall we say, up to Scratch, but I am sure my meaning is not lost on you. It is thus that I beseech you, whoever you are, that if you receive this message, find him.
There is so little that I have learned since that time. That he now has a weapon of equal potency to Hua Mulan's is a certainty; I have heard as such from one of the very few people I trust. It is something centuries old, from the Arabic nations. A scimitar, with burning letters on its surface, linked to the one-time-Caliph named Vathek.
Edward Teach is alive once more, and he cannot be stopped. He cannot be reasoned with. He will hunt down everybody of importance, and he will kill them. He will kill them slowly. I simply give you this one piece of advice: Find Hua Mulan, and stay with her, if you want to live."
The man finished reading, and raised his head, meeting the eye of a cold, blonde-haired woman. "This was the message that was left to my predecessor, the last dean of the University of Bristol, in the last will and testament of Doctor Victor Frankenstein. There were specific instructions that it be made known to as many people as could reasonably be expected to be able to counter… such a thing."
Pushing the small, half-moon glasses back up his nose, the man, who was quite round, with a smiling face, looked through a sheaf of notes that was more for show than anything practical. "And, what with your own personal history…"
The woman, in her twenties, wore a scarred expression and a blue dress. A single blue ribbon was tied into her hair, which reached the bottom of her back. Starting forwards, she spoke. "Sir, I'm sorry. I… should I take it to mean that, by telling me of this…" she sat back, trying to think of the words, her expression unreadable, her eyes shut. "That, after so long…" her words were hardly more than a whisper now. "…You believe me?"
With a kindly expression, the man placed both hands on the table. "Why, Miss Liddell… through all the time you've been with us… at the orphanage, at bedlam, even with me… have you ever heard anybody say that we didn't believe you?"
1865:
Magic And Man
Her room was small, hard and unloved. Her bunk, something that could never be called a bed, was black iron, wrought with little care for comfort or motion. Her spine had stiffened from nearly ten years of sleeping on it. She straightened for a moment, to look at the dreary, rain-lashed window that still held the only view she had known in that time, and her back protested with a noise like twisting metal on a smaller scale.
The red brick opposite her overlooked an old foundry, repurposed as a refinery for oils. The windows were black with damp and a smell like tar coiled through a small crack in the lower left corner. Alice turned to her bed, where a small case still lay open with her best dress and several lesser fares inside. Placed on top was a single playing card, browned with age and fraying around the edges, which showed the red-faced fury of a one-time tyrant.
Sighing, she pulled open the single draw she owned and stared down at its contents.
The locket had been her one prized possession. It was gold, or so she had been told. The staff at the foundation had been particularly hesitant to touch it, and several acted like they couldn't even see it. It contained, or so she had been told, the image of an old companion of hers. Companion for lack of a better term, at least. There was so little that she had been able to bring back from Wonderland, after all, that the locket would have to do.
She could not open it. She did not know how.
What she did know, however, was that this was the last time she was staying at this particular institution. The Sandal-Carver Protection foundation had been her home for the past five years, after she had been released from her last "accommodation". Bedlam.
A madhouse, filled with the screams of those better off dead, The Bethlem Royal Hospital had incarcerated the wicked, the insane, and the maladjusted with equal ferocity and certainty. Whilst the reforms had been meted out for over a century, there had been one corner of the fortress of ill-ease that had retained its bloodthirsty nature. The corner of the Wyrd.
For six hundred years, Bedlam had taken them, the stragglers, the sufferers, the scorned, and for just as long those poor souls had been betrayed. That the world as most knew it was not the only one to exist had not been a fact of interest to Alice for a very long time, but for Bedlam, it had been the reason for its founding. Whilst the number of patients had been small, at most thirty during Alice's stay, the Wyrd Quarter was not listed. On average, for six hundred years, five different beings would enter one month and four would leave the next. It was a corridor of doors, each leading to a new horror.
Surgeons, trained in the arts of vivisection and extispicy, would take the fittest of the beings and slaughter them in their waking hours, distilling their blood and spreading their innards, attempting to find purpose in their darkest ichors.
The four would be kept awake during this time, hearing the wrenching and tearing coming from the room at the end of the corridor.
Then, when the process was complete, they would be forced to leave and their comrade's remains displayed as trophies in their former rooms. And so, the cycle would continue.
All the way up until Alice. From the event on her seventh birthday, she had no longer truly been part of the normal world. After that, after her parents' death…
Alice quietly sat down.
She'd gone there, and things had been different. That's all that needed to be remembered right now, now that she was starting a new journey.
She had never travelled the "real" world before. She didn't really know what it was like, only that it was full of bad people who did nothing to hide how bad they were.
It was May the Fourth, she suddenly realised.
Her twenty-first birthday.
That… seemed somewhat appropriate, she thought. It had been a week since her discussion with the director of the Foundation, and her carriage had been prepared. She was to enlist a ship's captain for aid and take to the seas in search of the mysterious Frau Mulan, though truth be told she could not say who she was looking for.
Mulan was a Reincarnate, they had said. Upon death, she would be born again, in a new body, with a new purpose, but the same mind. That meant that, considering the time gap, there was every chance she had been killed and born again by now.
There was a soft knock on the door. Alice turned just as it opened to reveal a tall, balding man in a weathered coat. Grimsley.
"I'm here to escort you, Miss Liddell. Your carriage is here."
Alice smiled at him faintly, tossed the Locket into her case, and flicked the clasps shut.
"Shall we?" She asked, feeling strangely confident. Grimsley, while keeping as much distance as any other of the personnel at the Foundation, had always managed to make her feel… stronger, somehow.
Grimsley nodded, bowing towards her slightly, and stood to the side to let her pass. "The lady goes first."
He was a gentleman in a world of psychosis and deceit. Suddenly, as she moved past him into the corridor, pulling on a thick travelling coat, she wondered how long it would be until she met someone like him again.
Her breath caught in her throat as the sudden enormity of what she was doing hit her. Memories of what she had done at that young age rushed back to her, filling the place she tried to keep purposefully empty with images of impossibilities, of the world falling away, of talking animals, of cannibalism and slaughter and mocking laughter and…
She took her next step, and she pressed firmly down on the memories, keeping them below her throat, below her heart. It would never go away. Never.
The corridors echoed and creaked, as though time was slowing like it had in wonderland. She wondered that there were no tags on the doors, saying things like "Open Me", or "Run From Me". No, instead there were numerals on the doors, as with her own, each with the same prescript. Hers was "SCP - 42 - MXXV". She had never asked what it meant, and now she realised she never would. It was not her place, neither literally nor in the sense of etiquette.
Walking to the front door, she suddenly realised that she hadn't taken this route through the building in a long, long time. She had never had need to, as there was a courtyard plenty large enough for exercise, and leaving was disallowed to all residents. The doors in this area seemed to be made of tougher materials. More than one was black steel.
And then she was in the foyer, and the doors were being drawn open. Red felt beneath her feet felt strange. It almost seemed like they were in a theatre of some sort. The wind howled in, rippling her clothes and making them snap about her, before the door behind her was closed and the room equalised. The rain didn't stop, though. Lashing, angry-seeming rain, pouring like buckets of tears, charged down from the heavens to splatter on the pavement and twist inside, reaching her even before she walked forward.
And walk forward she did, with Grimsley behind her. The carriage waited in the road, with black horses whose manes were slick and sodden, stuck to their necks. A driver sat above her, and he didn't look down when she came into the rain.
And the rain threw itself at her, pushing her down like a huge hand. Her coat drove off the worst of it, being made of thick brown leather, but she was chilled to her skin, and her hair straightened down in an instant. Grimsley opened the door, seeming immaculate despite the downpour, and she clambered up the short steps into the warm, musty interior.
A pair of lamps hung over the sides of the carriage, providing light to passengers and pedestrians both. Alice took off her coat and hung it on a well-placed hook opposite the door. She slicked her hair back and tied it in a bun, before jumping with surprise.
She didn't know what she'd expected, but there was a man sitting opposite her.
A very, very small man.
A very small man who was stroking his pointy chin with a malicious smile and a twinkle in his eye, above a very sharp set of teeth.
And he muttered. He muttered in a voice like rats in a sewer, like crawling insects and dripping drains. Like the splash of a raindrop just too far from the throat of a dying man.
"Today do I bake, to-morrow I brew, The day after that the queen's child comes in…"
And he looked at her, with eyes like midnight, tiny, beady eyes that eschewed and analysed at the same time. He reminded her of the Tweedle two, yet he was not fat. He reminded her of the Cheshire cat, but he was not manic. He reminded her of the Queen of Hearts, but somehow opposite.
"I am to be your guide, Miss Alice. I am the Stilzchen, and I know more of you than you of me. It is a fine journey we take, is it not, Miss Alice? A voyage into the unknown? A quest for a girl from a far-off land? A checkerboard battlefield before us, a bloodthirsty Jabberwock behind, and the blade of curiosity to Snicker-Snack in our timid hands, am I not correct? Yes, yes this and more, I believe. This and much more."
Alice edged away from the tiny man, the Stilzchen as he called himself. "What is your name, small one?" She managed to keep the fear from her voice, but her hesitance showed.
He giggled to himself, an unnerving sound like rattling bones given voice. "A fine question, Miss Alice. A fine, fine question indeed! I am Tom Tit Tot, I am the riddlemaster, I am SCP-400-XIIV. I am more than you and less than they, I am less than you and more than I. I am he who is and she that isn't, I am what is right and not unlike that which be wrong. I am Gilitrutt of the gilded truth. I am Cvilidreta and Civil. I am he that asks and he that receives, and I am here to guide you."
Alice wrinkled her nose. "I apologise, master sprite, but I am in no mood for games. If you will excuse my rudeness, I must wonder what sort of guide you might be? I have had my share of capricious leaders before, you understand."
Tom leaned forward, smiling a smile that spread too wide. "Why of course, who could not know of your adventures in Wonderland? Never never a land for adventure, always always a land for mischief, as they say. What horrors met you there, the good people wonder. What mindless beasts did you encounter? Always they question, never do they ask. It is my gift to you that they do not, Miss Alice. My gift that holds true. Ask and you shall receive, but know there shall be a price to pay. Do you know the price, Miss Alice? For that matter, do you yet know the gift?"
Alice clasped her hand to her collar. "I.. I do not, mister Stilzchen. I don't suppose you shall tell me?"
The imp clapped his hands together at the moment the driver above cracked his whip. "No, Miss Alice. I don't suppose I shall."
The Carriage rattled forwards, taking its charges into the rain-tortured night.
They were on a dirt path when Alice awoke. The stones on the road jolted the carriage, causing it to rattle like planks, hastily strapped together and tossed down a set of stairs. She was amazed that she'd managed to sleep for so long, but the plush cushions were surprisingly comfortable.
"Where are we..?" She addressed the Imp from the night before, but he was nowhere in sight. Alice sat up, rubbing her eyes and neck, and looked about her. In the daylight, the carriage was easier to look at. It was apparently brown on the inside, instead of lacquered black like she had assumed before. The hooves of the horses continued noisily outside.
Bending down, Alice slid her briefcase from under her seat. Flicking the clasps open, she placed a hand on the lid and pushed it open. Though she had thrown it in the night before, the locket's chain encircled the playing card. Alice frowned at the sight, and slid a slip of paper from under her clothes.
"Dear Miss Liddell," it began.
"At your behest, this is a list of instructions and suggestions to aid in your quest and for your quest for aides.
A sailor boy is making land at Port Talbot. He was spotted by our American associates some time ago, but they failed to enlist him to the Foundation's cause. We recently heard word of him. He would be a good first stop, as he is not overly distant, and he shall be gone before long.
A trawl through the Bristol Library is being conducted. You may wish to look out for any books or other pieces of lore alluding to the Pirate King.
Another building of the Sandal-Carver Protection Foundation is being built in Bulgaria. They are scouting the local area, which was allegedly one of the sites that Doktor Frankenstein visited. They most likely would be of use to you."
The letter continued for several pages, but there was little more that was as easily parsed as those three points. Alice mused over them.
With a crack and a sound like twisting wood, the Imp levered himself in through the window of the carriage and the noise from outside lessened.
"Good Morning, Miss Alice. The sun is high in the sky and the hour is late, yet morning it remains. Is there something you wished us to provide for you? A nightcap, perhaps a roaring fire or footstool? I hear there are several books that aid in the narcoleptic arts."
Alice looked at him. "You're mocking me."
The Imp bowed low, his nose touching the seat. "Yes, yes indeed I am Miss Alice, how astute of you. You will be glad to hear that I have taken the liberty of beginning your first point of order. Our destination is the south of Wales, Port Talbot. We shall be there by nightfall, and there shall be rain. Oh yes, there shall be rain."
Alice neatly folded her letter and slid it back into her briefcase, which she shut with a snap.
"Is there ever anything else? This is Britain, Imp. It does nothing but rain here, and when it does change it only changes to fool us. There have been far too many rainy days of late."
Her comrade smiled a trickster's smile. "Yes, indeed there have. As well as rainy nights. You are calling me Imp again, I see. Shall I call you human? Or perhaps, what with your past, Human-No-Longer? Why is it that when you talk to me you feel able to breach general etiquette? I happen to know that you can't look another true-human in the eyes anymore. Has wonderland damaged you so much, I wonder? It is a thing to ponder, is it not?"
Alice's gaze dropped. "Quiet. Please."
The Imp sized her up with puckered lips. "I suppose you've probably had enough, yes, Miss Alice. I shall talk to you again, three hours from now, when the rain starts once more. We shall nearly be at our destination. Fare thee well for now."
And with a crack of his spinal column, he straightened up, stamped his foot with a sound far too loud for his tiny frame, and disappeared. Alice sagged. Suddenly, the carriage jolted to the side.
A wrenching tear, and the carriage's wheel was shorn clean off, bouncing down the road. The whole thing lurched, and Alice was thrown from her seat as the carriage tipped past its turning point and came crashing down. There was a twisting, splintering noise and a thunder of hoofbeats. The horses screamed, and their screams disappeared into the distance. Dirt flew into Alice's face, and she saw blackness.
A chill set into her bones.
"Alice…"
It was that voice.
"Wake up, Alice…"
The voice she'd heard every night since wonderland.
"It's your time to shine…"
Alice's eyes sprang open to find herself laying on her back in the wreckage of the Carriage. The interior was now a tunnel to the bleary sunlight, trying to wax its way through a heavy mist above her. Dark clouds seemed to swirl beyond it, scudding across the dreary sky.
The shadows had moved. Hours had passed.
Softly, she moved to her knees, and touched each of her bones to check for breaks or factures. She'd gotten lucky. Straightening and bending her fingers, she got to her feet. A dislodged seat had swung out partly above her, and she used it as a foothold to climb up and out of the vehicle. It wobbled violently, but she managed to ease herself out anyway.
The mist had condensed over the black of the carriage's exterior, dying it black once more. Standing shakily, she looked about her. Several meters from the roadside and back a further dozen, the wheel was resting against a tree, barely visible through the cloying whiteness. There was no sign of the Driver. Easing herself down over the roof, she got her bearings and walked towards it.
The blood was pounding in her ears and her vision blurred with every step. She felt as though she was still asleep. There was a soft whisper in the back of her mind, as though the voice still spoke to her, almost calling to her. But she couldn't make it out.
As she got to the grass, it threatened to overtake her. She slapped her hand to her eyes and staggered dangerously to the side, the dirt of the road scraping under her feet. She fell to the side just as a tree came into reach, and used both hands to steady herself.
The wheel looked like the back-left, she thought. Moving forwards once more, she tried to shift it. It moved, but it moved downwards, and jammed into a gap in the treetrunk. She placed her head on the trunk and let her shoulders sag once more.
Opening her eyes, she saw a mark in the wood. A circle, with two intersecting lines overlapping it. It was probably an old trail mark, but it reminded her of something. The whispering at the edge of her hearing started up again, sounding like the rustling of leaves, and… A drop of rain landed on the back of her neck.
There was a crack behind her, and the tree and the ground shook.
"Well, Miss Alice. It seems you've found yourself in rather the predicament. Shall I help you again, I wonder?"
She didn't look around. Instead, she pushed herself from the tree and looked up to the heavens.
"I suppose your help, in this case, would be entirely related to the problem at hand, as opposed to some whimsical flight of fancy?"
"Why of course, Miss Alice. What could have given you such an idea, I wonder? My aid is always relevant to the problems the aidees face."
She shook her head before turning. "And what proof is there of that? I have no need for a riddlemaster, Stilzchen-Imp. Your aid is of no use to me. Fix this? I shall do so myself." And so she returned to look at the wheel, and then the forest. The wheel itself seemed fine, although the axle was beyond her ability to mend.
But the Imp didn't need to know that, of course.
Looking around her, she saw an old tree with low-hanging, straight branches. One was twisted in an ungainly way. With quick steps, she moved to it and tried to bend it in a few places along its length. When only one place moved, she nodded to herself.
"What are you doing, Miss Alice? You do not think that you could-"
"Quiet, Imp!" She called over her shoulder. "A practical woman is working!"
She knew the way to fix this situation. It was obvious. And there didn't need to be anything magical or supernatural or… or illogical about it. Planting her feet firmly, she took hold of the branch as closely to the bending point as she dared. Turning it, she bent it up and over itself as far as it would go, and put pressure on it. Turning it the other way, she twisted it around as far as she could, and applied pressure again.
"Miss Alice, you seem to believe you can coerce this tree into abiding by your company with a firm handshake. You are mistaken."
Alice ignored him.
The branch was more supple now, more malleable in her hands. She pushed it, and the inner wood splintered. She heard the imp take a step back. He held his silence, for a change.
Twisting it, she pushed again and the wood fell through the paper-thin skin of the bark.
Letting it drop, hanging on with the tough, thin exterior, she stepped in for a closer inspection. It was a strange kind of tree. She didn't recognise it, although she hadn't been one for botany. Working her fingers between the split bark, she managed to peel it up in long strands. Once each strand was loose, she snapped the final one, and the branch was free.
Taking it back to the wheel, she spotted the Imp eyeing her suspiciously. Ignoring him yet again, she wedged the branch under the wheel, working it in just between it and the trunk. It took a few minutes, but it finally fit. And tightly, too. Wiping her now-wet hair out of her eyes, she wrapped her hands around the end of the branch and pulled, hard.
It didn't move. The Imp made to make a comment, but she glared at him. With a bemused face, he folded his arms and cocked his head to the side, inviting her to continue.
Putting a hand halfway to the wheel and keeping the other where it was, she tried again. There was a groan of wood protesting against wood, and the branch twisted upwards with a thunk. Putting her weight behind it, she pressed even harder, and the branch slammed down. Alice staggered forwards, and the wheel shot from the tree, falling into the road on its side.
Righting herself, Alice walked past the Imp and slowly lifted the wheel onto its edge. She rolled it along, back to the carriage, which she rested it against. Looking the wreck up and down, she turned back to the imp.
"Alright, so. I've done that. And I'm pretty sure I could fix this, too, given enough time. But the thing is, we don't have enough time, do we? You said you were SCP-400-XIIV, correct? Then you are from the Foundation too, am I right?"
He eyed her with an angry eye. "That I am, Miss Alice."
"Then you have your reasons for being here too, correct? I doubt it would be the best thing in the world for you to miss your deadlines, would it? And of course, I must go where I am needed, too."
The Imp waved her words away with a long-fingered hand. "Your attempts at coercion grow more blatant by the second, Miss Alice."
Alice copied his movements. "A coercion to get you to commit to an act that will benefit you, fellow SCP."
The Imp stamped his foot. "But that's not the point! You may ask of me and I shall CHOOSE whether to answer! You do not make demands of ME, no matter how honeyed your words!"
Alice watched the tiny man throw a tantrum in the rain.
"I am the woods you see about you! I am the mist that clogs your vision! I speak for the trees! I sing for the earth! You… You are abomination, you that have been touched by Beyond! I accept no parlay with your kind, you shall sit and you shall watch as I commit us to our path! And I say we shall continue!"
And with that the Imp strode forwards. He swatted his hand to the side, and Alice fell as though buffeted by a strong wind. He stamped his foot and raised his hands, and, with a sound of pulling wood, the carriage raised into the air, wheel and all. The screaming of far-off horses came to Alice's ears, and it was as though the day moved in reverse. The carriage, moving in midair amidst rushing wind, arranged itself. Splintered wood blew together like an ant hive assembling into a bridge. The axle twisted together as though it were alive, as though it were a snake about to coil and strike.
The horses' screaming pierced Alice's mind, and she shut her eyes tight. The wind lashed around her, until suddenly, BANG.
The imp stamped its foot once more, and the carriage fell to the ground.
Alice opened her eyes. The door to the carriage sprang open, letting the tiny man step up to its interior. The horses had returned. So had the driver. The carriage was immaculate. Getting to her feet with a slight tremble, Alice stepped up the short ladder and entered.
Sitting down, she saw her briefcase next to her. The man had his arms folded, and was looking directly in front of himself at the other end of the seats. She slid her case onto her lap, and held it to her.
The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage jolted forwards once more.
The sky darkened as they travelled, and the rain returned in force.
Slowly, the road became more travelled. They passed pairs and threes of people, huddled together for solace against the downpour, some of them carrying lanterns. And then, passing a small bunch of trees, they could see it. Port Talbot.
A bleak fog rolled across the sea, at the edge of which several boats were moored. Lashing rain drove trenches into the surf, before the roiling waves closed them and spat back with almost equal fervour. Peaks and gullies of salt water clashed with tumults of undercurrent, and the ocean roared and groaned like a harpooned whale.
Alice shuddered, as much from the cold as from the knowledge that soon enough she'd have to face the waves herself, if from a distance. The carriage's lanterns continued to spill their golden lights into the night, however, and when she looked over to the imp opposite her she saw that he had stopped sulking.
"Our wee laddie will be a-thirstin' after such a perilous journey adrift, Miss Alice. No doubt he'll wish to make for the Froth's Head. A tavern of some ill-respite."
Alice shook her head and turned back to the window. "I suppose I should be somewhat hesitant, but in truth I had no doubt that a public establishment would be our host this night. I guessed it was simply in the nature of the salty men of the sea to find solace amongst those of their ilk."
The imp grinned a mischievous grin, seemingly more to himself than to her, and muttered a rhyme under his breath.
"Salt takes in water as water takes salt. The brawler of all shall assist our assault..."
Slowly, they wound down the road, set into the side of a hill. The town's lights were blazing, but from the position of the moon Alice could tell that it wasn't yet midnight. With rattling wheels, they navigated the slim streets, hearing the sounds of their inhabitants, and catching the eyes of more than a few unscrupulous figures. With cracks of the driver's whip, they scattered away.
The wind whistled and roared through the cross-roads, shaking the carriage around them like the branches of old trees. Finally, they came to the very end of a road that spread across the docks. At the other end was a clearly demarcated pub.
Rising from his seat, the Imp brushed down the front of his worn jacket. "And now, Miss Alice, I believe I shall make arrangements for the night. Three bedrooms, of course. We gentlemen must have our luxuries."
Alice quickly looked around at him. "Three? You are to join us?"
Grinning wickedly once more, he wagged a large finger. "Oh no, Miss Alice. Rather, you are not. I do believe the Driver shall be most exhausted after such a long journey. And, what with our nasty accident, he shall need some rest."
Alice sat, agape, and watched as he hopped lightly to his feet and passed by her knees, pushed open the door to the whipping gale, and walked smartly along the front, casually ignoring the spray and bluster as though it were nothing but a midsummer's eve.
Pulling up her hood and snatching her warmest hat and coat from her case, she eased herself out of the carriage, holding tightly onto the brass doorhandle as the wind threatened to pick her up and blow her away. Making her way to the horses, she looked up at the driver. Who was not there.
Her face turned red. "That ACCURSED WRETCH!" She shouted, in her least ladylike voice. One of the black horses turned its head to observe.
She kicked hard at the carriage, receiving nothing but a painfully stubbed toe for it.
"Perfect. Just PERFECT. A host of the creatures of Wonderland could not be as annoying as that belittling, meagre-bodied APE." Stamping back over to the door, she wrenched it open and sat down hard. Putting a hand over her face, she exhaled and inhaled sharply until she regained her balance.
Perhaps it was the seawater flicking into the carriage, or perhaps it was that she had finally been permitted to leave, but she was in a most unexpectedly rancorous mood. Kneading her eyes with her knuckles, she licked her lips and attempted to come up with a plan.
Planning had never been her strongest point as a child, but as she had grown, she had realised more and more opportunities she had had to improve her lot during her misadventures.
And now, it was clear that "Misadventure" was a term she would be using more frequently. And for that matter, not simply because she would actually have some people to talk to.
That last thought... didn't seem quite right, somehow.
Sighing, she sat back. Sliding the briefcase onto her lap once more, she clicked the hinges open and stared at the contents. They had been jumbled together in her rush to grab warm clothing, and now the locket had wrapped itself around several shirts, the card, and a pair of replacement shoelaces.
Frowning, she took the tangle out and tiredly fiddled with it.
Minutes passed. Minutes turned to an hour. An hour stretched. Eventually, only the string and the locket remained, and four of her shirts now had holes in them. Undoing the locket's clasp for the third time, she unwove them with sore fingers.
With a half-triumphant, half-exhausted sigh, she bent her head down to fix the locket about her neck.
Putting her spine to her seat, she let her head fall back and glanced out of the window. There, on the ocean, a light bobbed among the waves.
Immediately, she was on her feet. Remembering to fix her buttons this time, she slammed the case shut and stuffed it under her seat. With only a moment's hesitation for its safety, she slipped out of the carriage once more and ran to the only free pier.
Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the horses shaking their wild manes in the wet air, before a spray of white and grey obscured them entirely. Turning to the road again, her legs burning, she almost collided with a mooring post, and, sliding over the sodden stone beneath her, barely managed to brace herself against a pile of lobster pots in time to save herself from going in.
Looking up, she saw it. A small, metal boat, with round portholes and a large smokestack, it clearly held an engine meant for a ship larger than itself. She had no idea how it hadn't yet sank.
A flash of lightning blinded her for a moment, and then ship's hands were on the dock, securing the boat and unloading bales of supplies.
Straightening, she watched as the men, each looking centuries old, traipsed past her in clothes that seemed more water than solids. Eventually, the boat seemed empty. She stepped forwards, holding herself firm against the wind and driving wet, and looked about herself. This was the right ship, wasn't it?
She turned, seeing the elderly sailors making directly for the Froth's Head. Should she follow them?
And then suddenly-
"Goil! Youse wait there goil!"
The dock was windy, rain-lashed and lightning-wracked. Alice stood at the end closest to firm ground, watching as the short man hobbled towards her, his gait low and his thick arms to the sides like a gunslinger.
As he reached her, she saw his face, looking as hard as leather. He glared at her with the one beady eye he had open, and chomped on his corn-cob pipe.
"Well blow me down…"
The man adjusted his cap, and took alice's chin in two large, calloused fingers. He wasn't, she suddenly realised, nearly as old as he seemed. He could be barely twenty, she thought. "Youse shuddint be in a place like this with yer fancy hair and yer hat, missy."
Alice tried to pry his hand away, and he relented.
"I… I'm here at the behest of her majesty." She looked at the man's face, and what was visible of his flesh. The tobacco seemed to run in his veins, almost. His voice, certainly, seemed like it had been scraped behind a carriage for a hundred miles before being struck too many times with a cricket bat.
He reminded her of some bizarre wonderland creature. His arms really were too thick, fists almost the size of his whole head… at the very least, she thought, he did not seem to be on opiates. His clothes were entirely unsuited to the harshness of the weather, seemingly made for ceremonial purposes only, and denoted a rank much lower than she had assumed.
"And you, I believe, are an American?"
The ancient-looking boy suddenly seemed twice his age again. He rolled up his sleeves, adjusted his neckerchief, and puffed out his chest.
"AN' WUTS IT TA YOU, MISSY? I'S A FREE SAILOR, COMES AN GO AS ME PLEASES!"
Shoving past her, he walked away from her and the carriage, clearly making for the Inn. The imp remained as infuriatingly correct as ever.
Steadying herself, she turned on her heel to follow him. The wind blew her coat all around her, and she crossed her arms firmly over her chest.
Catching up to him, somewhat assisted by the driving wind at her back, she talked to him in the calmest voice she could manage.
"Sir, I mean no offense. I am here as a part of the SCP Foundation of Bristol, and-"
The sailorman turned to her and shouted, the force of his words splashing rain into her face.
"FOUNDATION, EH? WELL I GOT NEWS FER YOU, YA LILLY-LIVERED, YELLA-BELLIED PUKE, I AINT INNERESTED IN YER FREAKSHOW CIRCUS YA HEAR? I YAM WHAT I YAM, AND I AINT NO GODDAMN EX-EH-IBIT!"
They had reached the door to the establishment. The sailor slammed his powerful fist into it, knocking it clean off its hinges and letting the rain billow in. Alice watched as he stormed inside like thunder, at a complete loss for words. A few moments later an enormous man smashed through the window next to her, easily seven feet tall and as broad as a church, and flew past her, shedding splinters from broken furniture and shards of glass, into the sea.
If she had been at a loss for words before, she now forgot that words were ever available to her.
A wave crashed around her, and she turned around reflexively. Lightning flashed, and she saw the juggernaut form of the giant man hauling himself out of the ocean. Reaching up, he removed a seaweed-strewn, broken lobster pot from around his neck, and twisted it in his hands before throwing it over his shoulder. With a growl that might have set her hair on end, he addressed her.
"Whatter you lookin' at?"
He stomped forwards, the rain parting around him as though it feared his touch. He had a huge, black, wiry beard, and the muscles and veins on his neck stood like cables. For a second, she thought Blackbeard himself stood in front of her. She took a single step backwards.
"Sir, I apologise, I didn't mean-"
"YOU DIDN'T MEAN NOTHING! YOU BEST COME WITH ME!" He roared, rolling up his sleeves and stepped in front of her, putting one of his mammoth hands around her waist and pulling her to his side.
"NO!" Alice shouted, barely more than a shriek, as commanding as she dared, but it was too late. He stuffed her under his arm and turned to walk away. Then, suddenly, he jumped back as though scalded. The locket around her throat dug into his arm like a tooth into bread, and blood gushed from the hole and splashed down the front of Alice's coat.
And then, the voice like ground cats came back to her.
"You leave her alone."
It was surprisingly soft, although it carried well over the storm somehow. The young sailor was pointing at the man with one beefy finger.
"Ya aint welcome bud, so scram!"
He stood there, chewing the end of his pipe as though it were toffee. His open eye was fixed on the huge man's own. Alice looked between the two. The young sailor was maybe a head shorter than her, even, but he was squaring up to the brute with less fear than she would even to the Imp. She wondered if the Stilzchen was watching.
Quick as thunder, the giant man moved. He leapt towards her with both hands outstretched, and grabbed her by the arms. Scooping her up, he held her above his head with one hand around her trunk. "Aaagh!"
The young sailor shot into the fray, pummelling his colossal competitor with both hands, his fists sinking into the stomach of his foe. Alice was waved about as he fought back, stumbling over the onslaught he was now prepared for.
The young sailor smashed through a cast iron bollard, cracking the ground around it. Jumping over him with agility that caused Alice to shriek unabashed, the brute snatched it up and swung it at the sailor's head. He flew backwards, impacting into the wall of the Froth's Head and forming a crater. Falling out onto his hands, Alice was almost beyond belief when his head snapped up. Inspecting the metal in his hands, the Brute was rendered into the same state when he saw a huge dent, shaped like a human head, which bent the iron almost double.
He threw it with the speed of a cannonball. Reacting faster than she could see, the sailor brought his head back and smashed it forwards, headbutting it in midair. There was a sound like thick tar mixed with straining cables. Like chains squealing in protest. Like a bridge twisting hard in an unexpected wind. The bollard came back at the brute, smashing him in the forehead and thankfully ricocheting away from Alice, into the docks.
The brute, evidently, was not up to the same Scratch as he. Wobbling on his feet, he fell to his knees, then onto his chin, dropping Alice neatly on her feet. Shuddering away from him, she fell onto her rump and looked at the damage. A huge bruise and a lump were forming on the monster's head. That... that was certainly not as much of a wound as he should have taken.
Slowly, she got to her feet and rearranged the crumpled clothing she wore. Feeling a wetness quite separate from the rain, she looked at her palm. It was crimson with the brute's blood. She put her hand to her throat.
"Missy."
It was the Sailorman. She dropped her hand to her side and turned to him.
"It aint safe here, goil. I's gonna get you to a more respect-tibbul es-dablishmunt"
The words were clearly not a regular part of his vocabulary.
He walked forwards and offered her the crook of his arm, and she took it. Turning away from the Froth's Head, they walked inland, through a few side streets. He seemed to know where he was going.
"Sir, I..." She started, but knew she couldn't finish the sentence. She looked at his face, expecting to find it a ruin.
She stopped in her tracks, making him stagger around her. "Your face! It's completely... I mean, that is, you aren't... Why aren't you hurt, sir?"
The sailor's grin spread almost to his ears, which wiggled in an unseemly manner. "I aint just a pretty face, goil. I aint just a one for fists, got one heckuver constituishin."
She gaped at him. "Yes, I see." Although she couldn't even begin to explain what she thought of it.
"Sir, if I may ask..." He eyed her wearily as the words left her lips. "Have you ever... ever been to a place..." Her certainty faltered.
He hadn't been to wonderland. But then, what was he? Some sort of demon, maybe? A creature of hell, perhaps? Was there even another establishment that he was leading her to? She stepped back from him, dropping his arm. He looked alarmed. "Goil, is ther summin wrong?"
She backed up to the brick, clasping her arms around herself. For the life of her, she couldn't think of anything to say.
He stepped closer, but she gasped and cowered.
The look her gave her made it clear what her expression was like.
And so, he stepped back. On one level, that encouraged her. On another, it affirmed something terrible.
"Sir, please. I am here... I am here as a part of the Sandal-Carver Protection Foundation of Bristol, and... Sir... I..."
She shook herself into silence.
"The What Foundation?"
The question slipped from his lips before he seemed to realise he'd asked it.
"The... the Sandal-Carver... Protection Foundation, sir."
Smirking, he crossed his arms over his chest. He tapped out his pipe on his forearm. "Protectchin? Goil, youse aint from the Foundachin I knose."
Stashing the pipe in a pocket on his shorts, he opened both eyes to get a good look at her.
"I awdda have known. Youse aint the kine ta be involl'd wit da Secretive Capture Procedure Foundation."
It was probably the ease with which the words came from him that startled her most. He could see it in his eyes, a barely-restrained anger, almost. A violence that came with those words, like they'd been drilled into him. Like they'd been barked through bolt-hole doors. Like they had been emblazoned on wanted posters and stamped into the weapons he'd been forced to tear from the hands of his pursuers. Like they'd been a mantra of deceit, like they'd been the thing that had hounded and battered him over long, long years.
He was less than twenty, she suddenly realised with a jolt. Rather a lot less than twenty.
"Sir... How old are you?"
His grimace returned, this time tainted by a certain darker confidence.
"I been six-deen fer almose a year now, Missy. At leas', dat's what dey tell me. An' how ole' are youse?"
She stared at him. It didn't seem possible, almost. But then, the voice, while partly due to smoking, could have just been breaking. The attitude, that could certainly be linked, especially with what must have happened in America. The, when she looked closely, almost gangly nature of him, that could fit. She guessed he would stay that size forever, though, at that rate.
He cocked his grin back in her direction. She realise she must have been staring for quite a while.
"Is that all, goil?"
She flushed. "I'm older than you. Don't call me girl."
"Affirmadive, Goil."
She got the feeling he wasn't going to stop.
"So, where is this other establishment?" She asked, ignoring his irritating response for now. "It must be near midnight by now..."
He continued to smirk, and pulled out his pipe to refill it.
"Sure is, Goil. But youse been leanin' on it fer a while, nowse..."
She jumped, and looked at the building she'd had her back to.
"Oh, of course I was." She muttered to herself. "Of bloody course."
Straightening her back, she wiped the rainwater and some of her stress away with the back of her hand. "Very well then, young sir. Let us enter."
And, letting him walk forward and offer his arm, she took it and they entered.
There was only one man in the bar of the place at this point, and he was behind it, resting on his elbow.
His head slipped from his palm and smacked on the lacquered wood in front of him.
"Excuse me, you two, but closin' time's in two minutes and after that I'm done for the night."
He covered his tracks by wiping the bar with an only-partially filthy rag.
The sailor boy walked up to the bar and rapped his knuckles on it loudly. It was unnecessary, but it made the point. The barman, less than a foot away, observed him with some dislike.
"Oi'll take the rooms, barkeep."
The old man looked at him with a pithy expression. "You'll need to be more specific than that, sonny. We have five rooms and two of them are booked."
The Sailor leant forwards. With a plaintive look at Alice, he pulled out a small pouch. Turning it over, a dozen fat, shining, golden coins bounced across the bar and over the floor.
"Oi'll take the rooms, barkeep."
The warm, fiery light from the coins shimmered over Alice's vision. They were carved with hieroglyphics, it seemed. Some sort of jungle society, perhaps?
They slept in incredible comfort that night, with each of them in a separate room, with the largest beds available.
The Sailor Boy was definitely somewhat more than unusual. He was something else entirely.