Chapter Three

Although she had solemnly promised to become a queen, Alice had read through The Lost Book of Underland seven times not for her own amusement but for verification that the path ahead of her was unavoidable. But the words in the tome seemed regrettably clear: Underland needed another queen, needed several new monarchs in fact. She had no doubt that if the Oraculum was consulted, it would illustrate that it was her destiny to take up the crown—to become the second queen of Underland and save Mirana from madness.

Her only consolation was that she would make her own path as a queen of Underland—how she went about it would be entirely up to her own Discretion. It need not involve heavy gowns and jeweled crowns. It need not involve porters and pawns. It need not change her life with her husband or change their future hopes for their family. Much.

So, resigned to her Fate, she had parted from her husband after a profusion of kisses that cats and dormice alike would have found Revolting and set out on her journey, still carrying their Secret.

Alice adjusted the pack on her back, full of odds and ends Tarrant considered essential for her trip: a bag of corn, cheese, a canteen for water, twine, three blue ribbons, a change of socks, a book of poetry, a pad for sketching, an odd padded contraption for her head, and an elaborately engraved horn. Having great faith in her husband's uncanny forethought, she trusted that she would find use for all of it, although some of them outwardly seemed odd items to select for her journey. He had also seen to her travelling costume. White, as a representative of the White Queen, but simple enough in knickers and shirt, as she was just a Pawn. He had wanted her to carry a pike to suit her role and provide for her protection, but she insisted that hers was a peaceful trip and she would have no need for pikes, swords, or knives—except for cutting the cheese that he had packed for her.[1]

It was clear that Tarrant hoped she would be right about the peaceful nature of her trip as opposed to believing it entirely. He had reminded her mournfully, 'I was a Pawn once. You never want to be a Pawn in the game.'[2] But, she had brushed off his concern while accepting his thoughtful packing assistance.

Looking out over the terrain, she still could not see the squares, but she had been assured by the Queen that she was starting at the second square, a place she could not recall ever having seen before. In order to ascertain whether she was truly in the right place, she looked about. Upon spying a man who looked somewhat official, leaning up against a tree in the distance, she considered him worthy of query and set forth to speak with him.

"Excuse me? Halloo!" she called towards him, cupping her hand to her mouth.

The man pulled something from his pocket, which appeared to be a telescope, and pointed it in her direction. Before she had reached him, he had switched the telescope for a microscope and then again for an opera glass. Alice could tell by the gentleman's grey uniform that he was a guard of some sort, and yet, there seemed no job for him to perform here in this desolate spot.

"And you are here, I suppose, to defile the place even further," he grumbled as she stopped before him.[3] "This was all once quite grand, quite a marvel of modern efficiency. But they all come to defile."

If it had once been a grand place, there was no evidence of that now—just a grassy expanse and bare patches of earth stretching through the forest—but Alice knew better than to Quibble. "No, I'm here to advance to the next square."

The man looked her up and down through the opera glass before tucking it away in his breast pocket and assessing her with great Imperiousness. "Only one square? I'd jump two if I were you, but then, I'm not. I'm me, which is eminently preferable."[4]

"Can I take two squares at once?"

He frowned at her. "What kind of Pawn are you?"

"A new one," she confessed. Her knowledge about her post was incomplete at best, but if she could skip a square, she would happily do so. After all, she was eager to proceed to the eighth square as quickly as possible. Back home, back to Tarrant.

"Yes, you can jump two squares, though it would have been easier to do so before She had the tracks torn up."

Alice was familiar enough with the tone he employed to know to whom 'she' referred.

"I was very good at collecting tickets," he complained, folding his arms across his chest.

"I'm sure you were," she agreed sympathetically.

"But She didn't just take the tracks. She sunk the engine in the Crimson Sea and took the heads of half my passengers for meaningless crimes. 'Locomotion spread loquaciousness,' she said, and she despised loquaciousness. She disliked just about everything." He narrowed his eyes at her, "You're not Her Pawn, are you?"

"No, sir." She gestured to her clothes, "White Queen, as you see."

He nodded. "Well…as far as queens go, the White One isn't so bad. That puts me in mind. I might be able to help you cross those two squares if you can help me. One hand washes the other, you know."

"If you happen to have two. Not everyone does," she retorted.

Alice shifted on her feet. She liked to be helpful, but she was wary about promising things to strangers. In her experience, the people of Underland could make rather enormous requests. However, she doubted she would get through this process without relying on some of the residents of Underland and repaying them in kind. It would do no harm to at least inquire. "What can I help you with, sir?"

"If Underland had a train again, if the tracks were re-laid, I would have tickets to collect and passengers to transport across these squares. It has been a great transportational loss, you understand. So, you might speak with the White Queen on it for me, for Underland."

She sighed with relief, "Yes, I can certainly do that." That was no great thing. In fact, it occurred to her that someday she might be able to aid the people of Underland in a similar fashion if she was really to be a queen here. Perhaps being Queen Alice could have its advantages, even though she had initially been so reluctant to take the crown. It reminded her that being a monarch was supposed to be about serving the people and not entirely about uncomfortable gowns and tedious balls and fawning courtiers.

"What will it be then, White Queen's Pawn: two squares or one?" he inquired.

"Two."

He pointed up into the tree's spreading branches. "You'll find the help you need above. You can glide over the two squares."

"Glide?" she repeated, peering up through the branches.

The man knocked on the trunk of the tall tree, and immediately Alice could hear something moving amongst the broad, leathery leaves overhead. As she continued to gaze up, a rope and wood ladder lowered through the branches.

"I'm to climb up and…glide across?" That did not sound particularly safe, as she had no practice in gliding.

A woolly, brown face with fat cheeks peeked through the leaves, blinking round, black eyes at her. "If you would rather hoof it on those stumps of yours," the creature griped, "I can spare myself the trouble. Thank you very much."

Alice considered it Rude of this creature to speak of her legs in such a manner, but she did not think it worth aggravating the animal any further by saying so. "Well…" she hedged, "I'm only concerned about falling." It could be a great Adventure, but she could not currently afford to be carelessly adventurous for the time being.

The man shook his head, "That is a ridiculous concern. He would be a Falling Squirrel and not a Flying Squirrel if he sent his passengers falling to the ground. Wouldn't you say?"

That was Underlandian logic if she had ever heard it. "Why…yes, I..."

"Hurry up," the Squirrel demanded, withdrawing into the upper reaches of the tree after giving the ladder an impatient shake.

"You'll remember about the train, won't you?" the man asked, as she tentatively grasped the smooth rungs.

Surely this man would not recommend a treacherous mode of travel, when he was counting on her to speak with the Queen on his behalf, Alice reasoned. "Certainly, sir. I shall be sure to mention it," she promised, "and tell her of the kindness you showed me."

He watched her, as she stood motionless with the ladder in hand, despite her intention to take the Squirrel up on his offer. She could not help wondering: was this entirely mad?

Clearing his throat, he asked, "Do you need a boost?"

"No, I can manage," she said, summoning her resolve and placing a foot on the first rung.

As she climbed carefully into the treetop, she whispered repeatedly, "I slew the Jabberwocky, I can do anything." Gliding across two squares of Underland barely even ranked as an Impossible Thing, after all. Only, now she had a baby to worry about, which made this Barely Impossible thing sound Potentially Reckless.

When she reached the top, the Squirrel was waiting upon a platform and his twitching whiskers made her suspect he was eager to get going. Nevertheless, she was hesitant, being unclear as to how they were to travel safely, and her palms were sweaty as a result. Tarrant would never forgive her if she let something happen to herself. He would go quite mad, and she could not have that.

Quickly scanning the platform and Squirrel, she could now see that the he was wearing a leather halter that no doubt helped to anchor his riders to his back.

"Climb on, please," he instructed, as he moved towards the edge of the platform.

Alice paused, looking out over the green tree line. She fancied she could see almost the whole of Underland. Moreover, she could finally make out the chessboard the White Queen had assured her was beneath their feet: six rows of squares alternating in light and dark stretched before her in a checkerboard.

The visual proof that she was frighteningly high did very little to quiet her fears. If she could only see their little house…

"One moment," she said, pulling the pack from her back and digging for the padded leather helmet, she had thought a curiosity only a few moments earlier, when considering the contents of her pack. She had laughed when Tarrant had made it for her, but now her husband's curious headgear was about to come in handy, even if she suspected it would look rather silly upon her head. Her dear, thoughtful husband, seeing to her care even from afar—it was nearly as good as a glimpse of their home.

The Squirrel looked askance at her, evidently scornful of her precautionary methods. He made a chattering noise before speaking, "This is a perfectly safe method of travel. Quite the only way I would ever travel."

It would be quite Odd if a Flying Squirrel skipped or swam, Alice mused. It was perfectly Reasonable for this creature to prefer gliding over other forms of travel, but not as Reasonable for an Alice to glide. "Yes, but I might be a great deal heavier than you are accustomed," she explained, as she latched the helmet's strap below her chin.

"Don't presume to know what I am accustomed to," the Squirrel grumbled, even as she climbed atop his back. "Besides, the good news for you, Pawn, is that I can't travel backward."

Alice did not know why that should be good news, but she did not bother to question him about it.[5] She intended on getting this over with so that she might move on to the fourth square post haste. Too much of the day had already passed: the sun was low enough in the sky that she thought she might reach out and touch it from her current potion.

Balancing atop the animal, she grasped the leather halter in her hands. "Am I heavy?"

"As heavy as a rock."

And then they were gliding.

…

Having safely and successfully reached the fourth square, Alice stood before two wooden signs in the shape of fingers pointing in the same direction, one pronouncing 'TO TWEEDLEDUM'S HOUSE' and the other 'TO THE HOUSE OF TWEEDLEDEE.'

Alice could not recall ever having visited the Tweedles' house nor being aware of their even having one, and she was in high spirits at the prospect of meeting with familiar faces, so she moved with renewed energy in the direction the fingers pointed her.

Before she ever reached a house, however, she saw the pair of them standing in the road, and the closer she got, the more she could make out their Raucous Recitation:

"KING LEIR once rulèd in this land
With princely power and peace,
And had all things with hearts content,
That might his joys increase.
Amongst those things that nature gave,
Three daughters fair had he,
So princely seeming beautiful,
As fairer could not be."

"Tweedles!" she called to them, raising her hand to wave at them enthusiastically.

The boys paused, turning to greet her with mirrored waves. "Hello, Alice." "Alice, hello."

"Hello, boys. I didn't think to meet with you."

"We didn't think to meet with you either," Dee said, waddling a few feet towards her.

"Contrariwise, I specifically said I thought we might meet with the Alice," Dum contradicted.

Dee pouted at his brother, but seemingly eager to continue with their recitation, he asked her, "Do you like poetry?"

"Ye-es. Well, it depends really. What were you reciting?" she inquired, taking a seat upon an unassuming stump, although telling the different between an Unassuming and an Assuming stump in Underland could be quite difficult. When it did not shriek, she knew she had chosen well.

Dee spoke first: "A ballad."

"King Leir and his Three Daughters."

"That being the same. 'King Leir' is a ballad."

"But not all ballads are 'King Leir'."

Alice dug in her pack. "Would you like some cheese?" she asked, attempting to put an end to their bickering. That and the weak cheese Tarrant had packed did not make her empty stomach queasy.

The boys nodded enthusiastically. They were hardy eaters and took several more short waddling steps forward to eagerly receive her proffered nibbles. She carved the cheese into several chunks and held out the pieces to them.

She would have liked to ask them whether they had news from court, news of her Hatter, but this far from Marmoreal they were unlikely to have any more news than she did. It had only been a day, she reminded herself somewhat sullenly. It was only the prospect of several days like this and the crowning at the end that weighed her down. It was only the magic of Underland urging her to be of one mind and be of one path with her husband who was necessarily separated from her. It would not do to feel sorry for herself, however. She would be with her husband again soon enough.

She smiled up at them, attempting to turn her mood upside down, though she felt like frowning. "I didn't know you boys lived out here." Wherever Here was.

"Lived."

"Not live."

"In the past."

"Not presently."

"No?" Alice mumbled around a mouthful of cheese. "Why not?"

"It's not safe."

"It hasn't been safe."

"But the Red Queen's gone," she reminded them. It was not that Underland suddenly was without dangers, but until recently Alice had rarely been called to court as an advisor to the Queen for anything more than Grumblers and Petty Thieves. Underland had largely been made safe.

"It wasn't She that made it unsafe."

"Contrariwise, She made everything unsafe. It might have been Her creature."

"But we don't know that."

"Can't be sure."

"What creature?" she asked.

"An enormous crow. Black as a tar barrel."

"Nohow. Not enormous. It was monstrous huge."

"That being the same thing."

Alice looked up into the clear blue sky. "Have you seen it since?" Since the Other One was exiled, she meant.

"We hadn't thought to check."

Dum shook his head, having swallowed his last bite. "No, no. We did think to check. That's why we're here."

"Nohow. We came to look for my rattle!"

"It is my rattle!"

"It's mine and you broke it!"

She interrupted what seemed to be developing into a rather disagreeable disagreement, as both Dee and Dum were beginning to grow frightfully red in the face, "Are you going to finish the ballad? It sounded very promising."

The interruption had the desired effect: both boys gave her their attention, their irritation with each other diminishing in their eagerness to share their recitation.

"You want it finished?"

"Or do you want it begun?"

Alice tucked away her sack. "You have already begun it, have you not?"

"But we haven't reached the end."

"There is the middle to be considered."

She was tired. Indeed, she had been more tired of late than usual, and the day had been long. The ballad might put an end to their bickering, but she did not truly want to hear the whole of 'King Leir', even if it was an Uncommonly Good ballad. "Is it terribly long?"

"Terribly."

"Contrariwise, it's horribly long."

Alice rubbed her forehead briskly, hoping to stave off a headache. "What part is the best part of 'King Leir'?"

"The best is the end," Dee asserted.

"The ending is best," Dum agreed.

"Then begin at the end," she urged them, crossing her ankles and leaning back on her hands.

"Only it is frightfully sad."

"Dreadfully sad."

The Tweedles were not usually given to sharing sad stories: they were cheerful boys if a tab bit argumentative. That they were reciting such a story surprised her. "I'm duly warned, I suppose. Only, why is the King's story so sad?"

"Because it ends in death."

"Death for all."

"King Leir and his daughters."

Alice frowned, "That does sound sad. And yet you think it's the best part?"

The boys only nodded emphatically before bursting into their recitation once more.

"But when he heard Cordelia's death,
Who died indeed for love
Of her dear father, in whose cause
She did this battle move,
He swooning fell upon her breast,
From whence he never parted;
But on her bosom left his life
That was so truly hearted.

The lords and nobles, when they saw
The end of these events,
The other sisters unto death
They doomèd by consents;
And being dead, their crowns they left
Unto the next of kin:
Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
And disobedient sin."[6]

Alice frowned. Having only heard the ending of the ballad, 'King Leir' did not make much sense to her. A consequence she should have predicted. "Who was King Leir?"

"A dead man."

"She means to say prior to his being dead," Dum said, giving his brother a slight elbow to the ribs.

"Oh. Red then."

"Red King," Dum agreed with a nod.

"Wasn't he a lovely sight?" Dee asked Dum with evident sadness contorting his rounded face.

"Lovely and red, but very sleepy."

"A great snorer."

"I once thought that he was dreaming us all, but that can't be true now."

"Couldn't be true, he being dead."

"Iracebeth's king?" His head had bobbed in the castle's moat along with many others, Alice knew.

"Oh no! The Red King that Was."

Furrowing her brow, Alice shook her head, confused.

Dee smiled at her as if she was somewhat slow. "She was not the Red Queen to begin with."

Dum looked similarly sympathetic about her ignorance. "Though she ended as it."

"Who was Iracebeth to begin with then?" she pressed, wondering if these boys were capable of explaining themselves entirely.

"Queen of Hearts."

"Princess of the White," Dum corrected.

"That ain't what she meant, and you know it," Dee grumbled.

"She married the King of Hearts then?" Alice wagered.

"Precisely." "Exactly."

So it was the King of Hearts' head that floated amongst the rest. "But the Red King died as well?" she asked, as a chill stole over her. Has the grove grown colder?

Both boys gestured to their throats, drawing their index fingers across their wide necks menacingly, as they intoned darkly, for once in unison, "And his daughters fair."

Dum whispered, "Important types were convinced of the necessity that the two that lived should live no more."

"Necessary it was, so they said," Dee said with a nod.

"And that left the Red throne empty?" she asked.

"Yes," they replied once more in unison.

Alice suddenly felt terribly uneasy. "Who was the next of kin who took their thrones?"

They whispered their overlapping answers so quietly she could barely make them out. "Her." "The Other One."

"She sat both thrones then and took the higher title of Red," Alice reasoned aloud. She wondered if that was when the madness had begun.

A large shadow fell across the valley floor, causing both of the boys to nervously look towards the sky.

"Time to go, Alice."

"Alice, go we must."

She shook her head, "No, I can't go back. It appears that I must keep going forward." She had attempted to retrace her steps some time earlier, thinking she had strayed from the Proper Path, but her boots had refused to turn back.

"We shouldn't have mentioned the Red King or Her."

"It was you that did it, not me."

The boys wrung their chubby little hands. "Dark words, dark deeds." "Dark deeds, dark words."

"I'm brave generally, Alice. But today I have a headache," Dee apologized, as the boys took each others' hands and began backing away.

"My head hurts much worse than yours—I'm suffering from a terrible toothache," Dum whined.

She wanted to promise to protect them from whatever cast the shadow, like the Champion she knew herself to be would do, but she had not taken the pike with her on this journey. Perhaps, she thought with regret, she should have taken it like Tarrant had wanted. Even a dagger would suit.

"Wait," she said, stretching out a hand as they began to waddle backwards. "May I sleep the night in your house?"

"Our turret?" "The tower?"[7]

"Yes, may I?"

She had no choice but to take their squeals as they turned and ran as an affirmative, as she was beginning to suspect that sleeping out in the open air might not be as safe as she would like it to be. Not everything evil had departed Underland with the exiling of the Queen of Hearts and her Knave. So, intent on finding cover and a place to rest her weary body, she slung her pack over her shoulder, looking to the sky before she began the rest of the hike to the Tweedles' abode.

…

Hatter had taken a break from his hats to putter around the garden and imagine Alice beside him putting the seeds to bed, when the sky grew dark and the air suddenly cold, chasing him inside. Shucking his shoes into the corner with a tumble of hard leather against wood, he slumped onto the bed and stared around what had once been his bedchamber, but was now theirs. The process of it becoming theirs had been the greatest improvement this little room had ever seen, but now it barely looked familiar. Instead of a lively painted ceiling, wide, warm wooden plank floors, and colorful quilts, he looked around and felt as if he was on the inside of a cold stone tower. Most incommodious. Most unfamiliar. Completely devoid of Alice.

Any room could be vastly improved with Alice, and this room suffered mightily from the loss.

It was oh so much more than that, however. So much so that he began to wonder if his eyes were playing tricks on him. For unless he had unknowingly wandered where he ought not, this was their home and their bedchamber and there was no way it could have become stone in the meantime. Rubbing roughly at his eyes with his fists did nothing to dissolve the illusion, however.

"Botheration," he grumbled to No One, his voice echoing off the walls uncharacteristically.

Normally he would blame the Madness, but he did not feel Mad exactly. It was merely as if he was in someone else's shoes—or stockings to be precise, as he had just removed his shoes. Alice might be absent, but his manners need not be: dusty sheets would be a most unwelcome surprise upon his wife's return, so shoes and sheets must not meet.

Throwing himself back into the quilts on their bed, he turned his head into the pillow, which did not even properly smell of Alice. It had only been one day, so he could not understand the lack, but the prospect of spending a night in this fractured reality worried him more. How can I sleep when the pillow doesn't smell of Alice? He had grown accustomed to being able to turn and look upon her fair face with her blonde locks spilled across the goose down pillow whenever dreams disturbed his sleep and he awoke with his heart in his throat. Taking in the sight of her, drinking in her Aliceness, he no longer needed to rouse her and seek her solace, grasping her to him in a panicked attempt to fuse their bodies together. No, just having her pressed alongside him was enough now to slow his pulse and clear the cobwebs.

But she would not be there tonight. She and the babbie were elsewhere, and he could hear neither of their voices.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he began to hum a tune he could not name, attempting to sing himself to sleep. A Plan he knew was fraught with difficulties given his miserable singing voice. But what else was he to do?

Humming louder to drown out his Doubts, he chanted inwardly: Seven kingdoms, seven thrones. He had seen the book. He knew what was at stake, and it was a momentous thing.

One sleepless hatter on the other hand was a very small thing.

[1] Pawns are the weakest piece in chess. They are meant to represent the infantry, more specifically pikemen.

[2] In the dramatis personae for Through the Looking Glass, Hatter is listed as a white pawn.

[3] Pawns are differentiated by the files upon which they stand. The queen pawn stands on the d-file.

[4] Pawns can generally only move one square, except in their first move, where they can move two squares.

[5] Pawns cannot go backward.

[6] King Leir and his Three Daughters is an old English ballad.

[7] The Tweedles are white rooks—Dee is the White Queen's rook and Dum the King's. The rook in chess is represented in the west as a crenellated turret or siege tower.