Freedom

Chapter 2

Or, The Price Of Negligence

Dawn broke brightly the next day. It beamed in through Alice's window, warming her blankets and sparkling through the glass of a vase that held flowers on the windowsill. Her boots were standing neatly at the foot of her bed. Her coat was hung on a proud wooden hook on the wall. Her dress was hanging to dry on the other side of the room. Her feet moved as she stirred awake.

The Imp was sitting directly in front of her. She shouted, sudden images of knives and bloody playing cards and teeth swimming in front of her, and she fell out of her bed in a heap of cloth.

"A fairer maiden there never was, Miss Alice." The Imp's sly, judgemental voice curled through the air like a hook waiting for a fish.

"And such a magnificent day, wouldn't you agree? The ships rest easy on the ocean, the gulls circle above, and our young princess lies swaddled in foolery."

The Imp walked over the bed and peered down at her. She hadn't yet attempted to get out of the covers. Alice's voice shook as she replied.

"Imp, I would appreciate it greatly if you promptly left. A woman does not wish for the eyes of the craven to pore over her body when there is any other option. No matter how senior the craven party may be. Indeed, that is oft a cause for yet greater concern, for a woman already filled to the brim with concerns."

The Imp straightened with a snort, and he flicked his hand. Alice's boots flew onto the pile. "As though such a thing would interest the Stilzchen. You do yourself far too much credit, oh sleeping beauty, oh fairest of them all. Oh wonder of wonders. I shall see you in one hour, at a place of my choosing. And until then, I bid you farewell. Chop chop!"

And, jumping from the bed to the hard wooden floor, he stamped his foot. With the same thunderous noise as ever, he disappeared.

Alice stayed in the pile for several minutes as she tried to breathe properly. Slowly, slowly, she managed to convince herself that the Jabberwock was in fact not crouched just outside her field of vision.

Slowly, she pulled herself into a sitting position and edged her knees up to her chest. With eyes closed, she eased down the blanket from her face, and she squirmed as the sunlight shone through her eyelids.

Blinking, she opened her eyes to blurry sight.

Her skin was still covered in goosebumps, and she shivered. Putting her hands over her face, she breathed deeply. Had everything that had happened yesterday... had it really happened? It was like before, things were making less and less sense, everything seemed to be seven steps removed from reality, but everything was still cloaked in the rules of the real world, wasn't it?

Mirrors wouldn't show you upside-down, oysters didn't talk, cats didn't disappear...

But imps did. Imps disappeared all the damn time. They came in and tossed your life about and ransacked your mind like a jackanape looking for booty, and they sat in the middle of that chaos and called it the real world.

What if she'd just been wrong? What if the "Real" world she imagined didn't exist? What did "real" even mean? Was wonderland real? Had everything really, trulyhappened? Or should she still be in bedlam, tied to a bed and made to listen as those around her slowly lost what precious little of their minds they still had?

She realised she was rocking. She was drenched in a cold sweat.

Forcing the thoughts to her empty place, which seemed adamant to shrink with every passing hour, she demanded herself to breathe deeply and evenly.

Slowly, sluggishly, her breath returned to normal. She finally leant forwards onto her knees, put her hand on her bed, and got to her feet.

She was wearing a white cotton nightgown. Her hair was messy and unkempt. She knew that she probably wouldn't be able to meet the imp in time. But... would it be worth it to rush? Would she exhaust herself trying, or would she simply let him burst in on her, perhaps in the middle of dressing, perhaps putting her back into her... broken... state? Her breath caught in her throat, so she breathed heavily through her nose.

Her hand moved of its own accord. It went to her stomach, where a scar was hidden. She used to cover that mark with bandages, when she was little. It was too horrible. She still would have, had the Foundation and Bedlam not each denied her such privileges.

Slowly, she turned and sat. She reached for her briefcase, which was under her bed, and she flicked it open on her lap. She took out her comb, and she started to brush at her hair.

The shadows slowly moved. Her hair was done after a good ten minute's rushed work.

She picked out a shirt and a pair of old knickerbockers, and she swiftly exchanged her nightgown for both, closing her eyes to avoid her scar.

Getting to her feet once more, she inspected her dress. Its colouration had not been dimmed, but it was still, unfortunately, wet. She wondered how long she and Popeye would have their rooms for. Considering the down payment, they might have even bought the whole place, but she still didn't like the idea of coming back to find her dress missing, even if it was unlikely.

Frowning, she turned to her briefcase and unfolded a separate piece of clothing. A more practical, movable dress of brown felt. She slid it on.

She had just pulled up her socks when she heard the whinnying of horses outside her window. Taking her dress with her, she hung it just inside the window, and leaned around it to look out.

The carriage was there, the Driver sitting hunched forwards, and the horses clattering along the cobblestones.

Heaving a sigh, she hurried to find her boots. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she paused for a moment when she spotted the Locket still hanging around her neck. Then, the tavern shook as the front door opened and slammed shut.

She jumped over the bed and pulled up her shoes, not bothering to tie them for the sake of speed.

Opening the door, she rushed to the stairs in time to see the Imp looking up at her.

"Miss Alice. I see you have made your appointment. If you would not mind, there is someone we must speak with."

That little bastard. Alice's cheeks flushed. She hurried down the stairs without saying a word.

In the front of the bar were three men. The sailor boy, the Barman, and the Stilzchen, who hopped up into a free seat opposite the other two. He waved his hand and a fourth seat pulled out, with a view to all three. Alice stepped forwards and took it, holding tight when it was pushed back in for her with equal force.

The sailor boy was glaring at the Imp and the Bartender equally. The Stilzchen Gilitrutt was smiling deviously at the Bartender. The Bartender, for his part, looked dreadful. They each had a large drink in front of them.

Alice realised they were waiting on her. She cleared her throat nervously.

"So, uh... what's happened?"

The Stilzchen gestured to the sailor and the bartender.

"Well, Miss Alice, what has happened is this: A transaction has occurred, a hefty price for the purchase of five rooms. The sailor here believes the building is, therefore, his."

Alice quickly looked between them all. She had been right.

"However, I have just paid an even more substantial sum for the building itself, ignoring the rooms previously purchased. The rooms are his; the building they are supported by is mine. So, Miss Alice, what do you suppose we do?"

Alice gaped at him.

"I'm sorry, Miss Alice, could you please repeat that?"

The sailor slammed his fist into the table. Luckily, he didn't split it in half. The tankards leapt a foot in the air, though. Froth spilled over all three of them.

"I PUT DOWN THE MONEY FER THEM ROOMS!" He yelled, his croaking, cracking voice making Alice's ears ring. She winced.

"And I own the stairs you'd use to access them. You see your problem?" The Imp's grin was spreading, showing far too many teeth.

Alice's hand went to her locket again, and she held it softly. "Sailor. You have done me a very great favour already. Two, in fact. You saved me from peril, and purchased estate to allow me a bed. You are a more worthy man than the Imp. However, if he has paid the money, and clearly from the barman's expression he already has, then he does indeed own this place, all but the rooms."

The sailor sagged back in his chair, looking dumbstruck.

The imp leaned in to gloat, but Alice snapped her fingers at him. He snapped his head around to her with a snarl.

"That does not mean that the imp should be allowed to blockade us in our rooms, though, does it? Besides which... I think, maybe, there's a way this could be good for both parties, don't you both?"

The sailor and the Stilzchen glared at each other.

"Barkeep, how much would you charge to rent those rooms per night? Not counting any, um... recent inflations?"

The barkeep, looking wildly out of his depth, tore his eyes from their pattern of stealing glances at the Stilzchen's teeth and the Sailor's arms, and gratefully fixed his gaze on Alice's face.

"Only a few coins per night, nothing too pricey..."

Alice nodded. "And, Master Stilzchen, you are able to improve the, uh, value of those rooms?"

The imp rubbed his hands together. "If there is one thing I know, miss Alice, I know how to spin a profit."

Alice smiled. Turning to the sailor, her face softened. "So, if, perhaps, mister sailor, you were to rent those rooms to the Imp, then the Imp can improve on them and rent them out further, and perhaps return some of the gains to your own pocket?"

The sailor raised an eyebrow. "Well well well, if dat aint a shrewd use of da market place den I dunno what wud be."

The Sailor grinned at the imp.

"So long as da tiny man cud be trusdid ta pay up, dat is."

The imp sat back, stroking his beard. "Perhaps, master o' the seas, such a thing could be arranged... if you will produce proof that you are willing to partake in this agreement."

Alice glared at him. "What proof would you suggest, Imp?"

The sly little man grinned his grin, and his small black eyes fixed on the pirate's expression of dawning understanding. "The Sailor must be beholden to me, to fulfil one single demand, and after that, I shall trust him."

The sailor ground his teeth. "And what favour wud dat be?"

The Imp smiled, sheathing his teeth. "You must follow us. You must aid on our quest. For as long as you do this, I will pay you for twice as long. You must answer, wholly, totally, and in all things..."

Alice shook her head, a feeling of revulsion at the imp welling in her throat. He would twist and twist until he could bleed the poor sailor boy dry, given the chance.

"To Miss Alice, who is to be our leader."

What.

Alice looked at the Stilzchen as though he had grown another head. His tone had actually changed at that last sentence. That... that didn't make sense, how could he have meant that? It must have been a trick.

"Sir Imp, I haven't asked for that."

The imp's grin returned. "Well, you'll only be our leader if he accepts, won't you? So until then, I still have the authority to offer such a thing, don't I?"

Aaagh! Alice put her hands to the sides of her head. She looked at the table. There were still bubbles there from when the beers had been spilled.

She shook her head plaintively.

The Sailor cleared his throat. "I accept."

What?

She stared at him as though he had turned into the imp.

"Sir Sailor, this is not what I want!"

The imp folded his arms, leaning back. "Well, you are the leader now, Miss Alice. I believe it's time you made some decisions, in other words, don't you? Are you going to let him free, and have him break our pact early, or shall you keep him with us, and perhaps grow into a facsimile of a person of intelligence?"

She glared at the imp, her eyes open too wide. "Shut. Up."

The imp, to her surprise, closed his mouth and started looking at the ceiling in rapt fascination.

Well, that part wasn't so bad.

But then... they did need all the help they could get, didn't they? A man of such strength, whatever his age, would be a very great asset in the fight against the Pirate King...

She put her face in her hands once again, and sighed loudly through them. Not moving them, she spoke through her palms at the sailor.

"I would appreciate it, master Sailor, if you would indeed accompany us in this venture. We require individuals of unusual... talent, after all. You would make a fine addition."

She flinched when one of the sailor's fingers touched the tips of her own. He gently eased her hands from her face.

"Dat wud be a pleshur, Goil. And is da Barkeep happy ta stay behind as we head off 'n dis advenchur?" The Sailor turned to the man next to him.

He flinched as though slapped.

"Yes! Yes, master Sailor, yes very much so! I would, I believe, be no use on such a journey-"

The imp cut him off. "We know. Now, Miss Alice, Sailor of name unknown, I believe it is time for us to make ready for a long voyage. Perchance, a trip to a bookstore, if there is one here, would be in order? I do believe your list mentioned such a thing, miss Alice."

Alice nodded, glum. "Frankly, this is not how I saw this going at ALL. But yes, okay. I shall do my best, so long as you follow my orders, the both of you. Other than that, you do as you please. We should meet back here at nightfall, to discuss our travel arrangements. I… I should go to look for that bookstore. I'll see you all later."

And she slid off her chair, held herself as straight as she could, and walked from the building.

Out on the street, the sun almost blinded her before she pulled the hood of her coat up. Looking side to side, she spotted a nearby bench and rushed to it. Sitting down, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

She rubbed her hands together. It was unusually cold, if "unusually cold" could ever describe the weather of the British Isles.

She sulked. Frankly, any expectations she might have had had been trashed. It wasn't exactly the best start to an adventure, she thought. Not that she had ever really BEEN one for adventures, now that she thought about it. Maybe she was just destined to be dragged from one calamity to another? How tiresome.

The bench rattled underneath her. She snapped her head around and jumped when she saw the sailor boy sitting there next to her. He tapped out some tobacco for his pipe.

"So, missy. You got yerself inna some trubble here, eh?"

She pursed her lips.

"Dat'd be a yes, den. Now look, missy. I dunno if ya know what's been happenin' over in America right now, do you?"

She looked up at him.

"Well, ysee, right now, over in America, we's gots oursel's a Civil War."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, that's abou' right, missy. An' a' course, there's alla dese people aroun' tryin' ta kill eachudder, ya hear? An' the President, he ain' doin' too much right now. Took me an' my ship abou' a month to get here, so who knows what's happened wid all dat. An' it took us a week ta get from Wisconsin out ta da sea, an' while I's sure youse ain't got da firs' clue abou' American geography, I can tells ya, dat oughta have taken a whole lot less time dan dat, specially considderin' da horses we got out dere."

Alice watched him. He seemed to grow older with each word he spoke.

"But lisin. I's tryin' ta be adult about alla dis, okay? So I's gonna be okay, so long's dere's somebody keepin' it tagedder, ya unnerstan'? Now I don' mean we all gots ta be heroes. In fact, bein' heroes is probbly da worst ting we cud be doin' on diss particular route…"

Alice looked over to the Inn again. "He told you what we're doing? Just like that?"

The sailor smiled unevenly. "Yea, jus' like dat. Da goblin's not so bad, I don't think. He just got sum kinda stick up 'is ass about sumthin."

Alice winced. "How revolting. And I might say, master sailor, it's easy for you to say that, when you are neither expected to act a part nor chastised and mocked when you fail to fulfil it."

He looked her up and down with a sparkling eye. Shrugging, he struck a match on the bench to light his pipe. "It aint 'master sailor', yanno. Da guys call me Popeye."

Alice averted her gaze. "I can't imagine why. But, thank you, Popeye. I suppose it probably is better this way. At least, we'll have somebody else with us, so it would not remain one infernal Stilzchen, an ever-mysterious carriage-driver, and I. I thank you for that."

Popeye grinned at her and nudged her arm. "Glad ta be here. Honnisly, after what I came from, it aint like I cud jus' go back to da quiet life. Da pas' few weeks'a changed me."

"I think we've all been a little changed, Popeye… I know that I have."

Popeye chuckled. "Hah, dat's as maybe. But I ain' seen you sprout muscles da size'a grapefruit."

Not turning her head, Alice looked at his arms. "Those are… new?"

"Well I wusn't born wid dese, princess."

She frowned at him. He was like a child. She sighed. He was, basically, a child. "I had thought not. It doesn't pay to assume such things have no basis."

Popeye nodded. "Dat's certainly one way a' puttin' it. Now seein's how you an' the little man are both already a part a' da Foundation, what's da odds dat if I tell youse how it happened, you'd tell yer bosses all about it?"

Alice shook her head. "I really don't think I'll be telling them much, Popeye. There was one man… one good man, there. But other than that, no. None of them would… they'd misuse it. Any report I could give, that is. I'm just thankful that they don't seem to have asked for any. I read a few letters on the journey here, and they didn't… well, they basically just want us to find Mulan, kill the Pirate King, and that's it. After that, I don't know…"

Popeye sucked on his pipe thoughtfully. Waiting a second, he blew out a pair of smoke rings. "I don' suppose ya's wud wanna think about dat sorta thing, would yas. I knowse I certainly wuddint."

Alice smiled despite herself. "Thank you. Now, you seem to know your way around this place. I won't ask why, but do you think you could lead me to a book shop?"

Popeye looked up at the sky, squinting harder than usual. "I dunno, goil. I ain' much of a reader, I prefer me stories told, not written."

She leaned forwards to catch his eye. "Please? It would be a real favour, something I could actually pay you back for without being rude, and then… well, you could get to doing whatever it is you need to do."

Popeye sighed, slapped his knees, and got to his feet. "Alrighty den, we'll go lookin' fer it. If it weren't fer da types a people ya get aroun' here, I'd probbly let ya go alone, but considerin' dat, it'd probbly be for da best…"

Alice frowned a little. He seemed like he was trying to make excuses. She got up and straightened her clothes. "Very well. Let's go."

And they walked off down the cobbled path. Alice was glad she had her walking shoes, although he remembered with a start that they were untied. That was going to be awkward, when she had to eventually tie them up again. She bit her lip.

"So, your muscles?" It was as good a distraction as any, for the both of them.

Popeye sighed, a strange, strained noise. "I dunno, I kinda guess da time for dat sorta secret's passed now. Maybe anudder time, okay?"

"Oh, okay…" Alice scanned the buildings around them. They seemed mostly residential, but there was a turn to a main street coming up. There were already people bustling up and down it.

Walking swiftly, if not exactly hurriedly, they made their way through a slowly-assembling crowd of shoppers and passers-by. Several stalls had been erected or rolled out, and many storefronts had been thrown open.

Women in simple coats and men in jackets passed by them nonchalantly. Alice was suddenly struck by how simple their lives must be. Would they even know if the Pirate King came to Britain? She tried to imagine, for the briefest moment, what would happen if the people around her could suddenly see Wonderland.

She closed her eyes hard, clenching her jaw. No need for that. Not right now.

Looking back around her once more, she scanned the shop signs around them. Only a few were written. Popeye grumbled next to her.

"Ther's all dese damn Limeys aroun' here... All a-hobblin' about, not goin' anywhere. Makes ya wonder what sorta lives dey's got goin' on, don't it? Ah, it wern't like dis when I was 'ere last time."

Alice bit her lip. Seeing nothing of use for now, she opted for conversation.

"You've been here before?"

"Well I didn't just wake up yesserday with a map a the place in my head, did I? Yeah, I been here. Couple'a years back, with me family... but that ain't gonna happen no more, I guess."

Alice tried not to look at him. There was clearly something amiss, but she couldn't...

"Aha!" Grabbing his arm tightly, she steered him towards a grimy-windowed shop with an open page carved into the sign over the door.

It was musty inside, with a smell like weevils and ancient paper. The floorboards creaked under their feet.

"...Hello? Is there a Proprietor here?"

There was a cough from behind the counter, and a back door opened. A pale-faced man with sunken eyes came out, a pipe between his lips. Popeye raised an eyebrow before turning to peer at the shelves.

He wore a green suit jacket and white trousers.

"Can I help you?" His voice seemed somehow strained, almost pale, if such a term could be used for a noise.

Alice tried to look behind him, but he closed the door and sat. There seemed to be a sudden tension about the man. The door jingled as another customer walked in.

Alice breathed. "Well, I hope you can. I was hoping to find some written works on Pirates? Preferably from around a century or so ago."

The shopkeeper interlocked his fingers for a moment, cracking the knuckles. Placing his fingertips on the wood before him, he rose. Alice realised suddenly that he was rather exceptionally shorter than her. She wondered if all men had over the last few years simply shrunk around her.

He folded his arms behind his back. "I believe we may have some things for you here... There is an historical section..."

He walked her to a small, dusty corner. The shelves carried around in such a way as to impose three walls around her. He gestured simply at a higher shelf. "Pirates would be up there. I must say, though, that we do so seldom manage to sell a book in these parts. I was rather thinking we might just pack up shop, as it were."

Alice snapped her gaze away from him. His skin was almost alabaster. She reached up to slide a book from the top shelf, sucking in her lips from the strain.

She eased it out, and realised that the shopkeeper had returned to his chair. She hadn't heard him move.

Popeye was still fingering the spines of a row of fiction when one of the other customers spoke. He looked around; it was two men, perhaps in their mid-thirties.

"I could have sworn, though, that this was a butchers', just the other day..."

Alice cracked the book open, not listening to her fellow shop goers. Its pages fell open at a particular spot, showing an illustration of several seafarers standing around a large black cross in the sand.

She read.

Popeye leant back to get a view of the shopkeeper. He was looking at the other customers above steepled fingers.

Alice licked her finger to turn the page. As she did so, a particularly sharp corner cut her finger. She dropped the book with a small yelp and put her finger in her mouth, squatting to pick it up again.

Popeye watched as the shopkeeper's eyes flicked to her, then to the customers, and then to him.

Alice held the book under her arm. She noticed her laces, and looked through the shelf in front of her at the other customers' feet. She put the book on the floor and fumbled with the strings.

One of the other customers pulled a book from the shelf and flicked through it for a moment.

"This is gibberish. Do you know what language that is?"

Alice finished with her laces and stood up, taking the book with her. She walked back over to the shopkeeper and placed it in front of him. "This should be useful, thank you. How much would it be?"

The shopkeeper eyed her. He unsteepled his fingers and slid it towards himself, opening it and leafing through a few pages.

"Just a few pennies, Madame. How much have you?"

His eyes met hers, and she was stunned for a moment. Their pupils seemed far too small, their colours far too white...

Popeye stepped beside her. He pulled out a coin from his purse, and placed it on the book. "Dat oughta cover it. Goil, we's got other places we oughta be."

The shopkeeper stood. Picking up the coin, he studied it. "Where... did you get this?" The words were sibilant, softly-spoken.

Popeye took the book under one arm and Alice in the other. "That ain't yer business. Thanks fer da book. Seeya now, don' expect ta seeya again!" And he turned on his heel, steered Alice around an overflowing table of books, and out into the open.

As they passed them, they heard one last mutter from the other patrons.

"How do you even pronounce that, anyway? That doesn't have nearly enough vowels..."

And the grimy-windowed door swung shut.

Alice tugged the book from Popeye's grip. "Thank you, Popeye, but I had that under control. Now, I believe that you have several other deeds to attend to?"

Popeye smirked. "Yea, Goil. Oi'll meet ya at da inn in da evenin', you read up an' stay safe. Seeya den!" And he nodded to her, gently punched her in the shoulder, and walked off down the road.

Alice could feel a bruise forming already.

She folded her arms behind her back and looked around.

It seemed that the day would be not only busy but long. She took a few steps into the street, getting her stride back. She looked back at the book shop.

…That was strange.

She must have looked in the wrong place. She looked up and down the road.

She couldn't see it, however. Had popeye tugged her further than she'd thought?

She walked around in a small circle, but she still couldn't see it. A chill went up her back.

"Well… it seems that maybe the world is yet stranger than I had thought…"

She pulled her clothes around herself tightly, and walked on down the street.

There were so many people around! Alice kept her eyes straight ahead, otherwise she'd be forced to look at each and every one of them in detail. It wasn't that there were few people at the Foundation, it was just that they rarely congregated at any time. Out here, at Port Talbot, they were everywhere.

A weary washerwoman. A harried-looking gentleman. Two children, talking and joking loudly at the side of the road. Alice didn't know what to feel. There were so many people in the world. She felt like she was only just realising quite how many there were, as though something had made her forget. Or maybe, she had simply never understood it before?

With this many, would finding the woman with the dragon tattoo be easier? Or harder? Would they get help from less… unusual people along the way? She turned to see if Popeye was still on the same road as her. He wasn't.

Alice baulked. Even if they did find her, would she want to help? Would their mission be in vain? She had served under blackbeard, she had resurrected him. Why did they think she would be an asset? Would an immortal woman bow to their wishes? Would there be any use in finding a woman who would have to be, at the very least, an ancient crone by now?

With the perspective of centuries… with the freedom of rebirth, would she even view them as worth listening to?

Would all their efforts be for naught?

Gathering her strength once more, she held her book tightly under her arm, and pressed on to her next destination.