Part 10: Muchness
Author's Note: After looking over recent response to this story, it seems that the numbers have decreased, in terms of reviews, favorites, and alerts. I really appreciate all of you who do review on a constant basis, and I want to encourage anyone who reads, to review. When reviews drop, I have to assume that it is because people are no longer reading or no longer like the story.
Please review; it's the only motivation for me to continue this story!
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"By Order of the White Queen:
Hear all; the traitors to the crown,
~'~,~(0)
Alice Kinglsey of the Otherland
and
Tarrant Hightopp the Mad Hatter
~'~,~(0)
Are to be put to death
By beheading on this day,
The Carendush Day,
When the hour strikes four
Brillig; In the Afternoon.
~'~,~(0)
Cakes and tea to follow
At Salazen Grum and by the
Good graces of the Queen."
Margaret had only been awake for half of an hour, at best perhaps. She had found the bill, nailed to an aching and groaning tree at the edge of the forest. Her little breaths began to come too fast for her, and she had to lean back against another oak. With her lower lip trembling, she tried to regain control of herself.
'Perhaps today is not the Carendush Day,' she thought to reassure herself, but she could only fool her own mind for so long. There was no sense in believing the queen to be anything but a cruel and calculated monarch, bent on the destruction of her family.
She had to save them, as soon as was humanly possible. It would be easier if the Cheshire cat would simply just get involved, but the flippant feline was not interested in sticking his neck out again.
Indeed, Margaret had no idea why her parents maintained a friendship with someone who was so unwilling to be fully joined to their side and cause. He must be good for a laugh, she mused.
As she ran back to the small secluded camp, she found herself growing more and more angry. How dare the queen demand that her parents be murdered simply because she was in a snit about something from the past? And furthermore, how dare she decorate such a bill of death with little red rose designs as if she were being cute? Margaret wanted to snatch those little drawings right off the paper. To treat the impending death of her mother and father with such carelessness; it made her furious.
If Valoren would not help her, then surely she could call the dormouse into her service. Mally always seemed to be ready to be roused into a good battle!
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The first thing that came into his consciousness was the sensation of a warm body pressed against his own. Tarrant allowed his hands to feel ahead of him, caressing first a warm shoulder. He felt down to a small waist and allowed his fingers to grip there a moment. Next he traced a warm hip, over it and down to a supple thigh. The fabric, the sheer lace, kept his hands from gaining access to the bare skin of his lover that he so desired to touch. Had he privacy, he might be so inclined to work the satin up her thigh and trail kisses there, instead of his fingers.
Alice had never woken up to such pleasant ministrations to her body. Her back arched, in much a similar fashion to a luxuriating cat, and she moaned out in pleasure. Knowing who it was that dared to touch her in such a fashion; she closed her eyes and imagined herself in a rather immodest state, with not a stitch of clothing on. Those fingers, with their bandages and thimbles, it was a dream she had been in before, and it culminated in her waking, covered with sweat and breathing hard.
A free hand brushed against the cold stone floor and she was brought back into reality. With much hesitation, she opened her eyes and sadly gazed upon the glum surroundings of the tower cell.
"Hatter?" She whispered his name and he sat up, looking down at her reclining form.
"I was so hoping that I would wake up somewhere else."
"If you were someplace else, you wouldn't be with me."
"Very true."
"My lady?" The white bishop-headed guard was standing at the bars.
"Yes?"
"I am to inform you that the queen has decided the time of your execution to be four in the afternoon."
"What?" Alice got to her feet; Tarrant was not far behind her.
"Her majesty wishes to execute you while she takes her afternoon tea."
"Lovely." Grumbled Alice, she walked away from the bars, "She wants to make us wait?"
"She wants us to suffer." Tarrant murmured, coming behind her and embracing her to him. For a small moment, both of them just stared off into the distance of the dungeon.
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"If mother was still alive, she would be very disappointed in you!"
"And if father was alive, he would be upset with you for not fighting harder, sister." Iracebeth's inner voice responded to Mirana's. Only in the morning hours did it seem like the conscious of the White Queen had enough power to forcibly argue with the Red.
"No, I very much believe that he would be upset with you for killing him and mother."
"They never proved that!"
The tactics switched, "Can you not just send them all to the Otherland? Send them back and close the doorway, we have had enough bloodshed in this kingdom."
"No! They must be punished for what they did to me!"
"What they did to you? You tried to have them killed, they fought back, and it is a common response as such."
"They should have just let me take off their heads; it would have been much easier on all of us."
"I swear," Mirana was exasperated, "Your mind is only about five years old, at the very best. Child."
"Silver-tongue."
"Brat."
"Goody-good."
"Fool."
The Duchess had been standing in the corner, observing the Red Queen. As there were no handmaids to the Red court, she stood in their place. The White maids could not yet be trusted and were confined at Marmoreal anyway.
The head of the White Queen twitched back and forth with each successive speech, but since the Duchess could not hear them, she was quite worried that her monarch was having an attack of the mind.
"My lady?"
Mirana's form whipped around, "What?"
"Are you alright?"
"She should be gone by now."
"Who, my queen?"
Iracebeth in Mirana's body merely shook her head, "Nevermind."
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"My my, someone is in an awful hurry."
"Chessur?" Margaret turned around and looked at where she believed the voice had come from.
A large pair of disembodied eyes blinked at her, "If the White King knew you had strayed so far from camp, he'd be upset."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"I have no interest in what either of you two do." Now came a mouth with teeth, many of which were small, but numerous.
"The Red Queen is going to kill my parents at four o'clock."
"Really? That's awfully late in the day for her; she usually loves a good morning execution. The first time she tried to kill your father; it was a bright sunny morning."
"The first time?
"Yes, he helped your mother escape and the Red Queen sentenced him to death. Of course, she didn't exactly get him though, as you well know. I saved him, in exchange for getting to wear his lovely hat."
"But I don't have a hat to give you."
"Of course not, and I don't have any help to give you."
"You won't help me?"
"I cannot, this time, I can merely offer advice."
"Alright," Margaret sized up the feline, hands on her little hips, "What would you do if you were me?"
"Well, I certainly wouldn't act like me, and I wouldn't do what Valoren would, or Mally, and certainly not Thackery, that insane hare."
"You are confusing me."
"I would act like you," The furry head floated around the young girl, "You certainly know what you want to do, don't you?"
"I want to rescue them."
"Then do it. The White Rabbit has a little potion that will make you as small as the dormouse, which is, conveniently, about the size of some of the cracks in the castle walls." The air around her seemed to slide and twitch, "But you didn't hear that from me."
With no ceremony, he was simply gone from sight. Margaret stared after him for a minute before deciding that the cat, though useless as an accomplice, was quite good for information. She snuck back into the camp where the rest of the parties still slept, despite the ever-rising sun.
Gingerly, she approached the dozing White Rabbit. He twitched, his hind legs jumping rapidly. She observed him, noticing that there appeared to be something in his waistcoat pocket. For once, she was glad of her tiny little hands.
A cursory glance around told her that all others were still asleep and she leaned over McTwisp. Her small fingers darted into the pocket without disturbing him and they plucked out a small clear bottle.
Looking at the label, 'Drink Me,' she muttered, "How foolish is that?"
McTwisp yawned, and Margaret stuffed the bottle into her dress pocket. It was all for naught though, as he merely turned himself over, smacking his furred lips and clacking his teeth.
As fast as her feet would take her, she scurried from the camp and back to the edge of the woods. Keeping as close to the forest as she could and still follow the path, she continued in the direction they had been going yesterday, assuming that this was the proper direction. The more barren the landscape became, the more she felt that she was right in this decision.
It was not long before she reached the end of the woods, and had to duck back into the brush and trees to avoid being easily seen. From this point forward, she would have to be very careful.
The little bottle seemed so very odd to her, but she had no other choice than to remove the cork, which pulled free with a tiny popping noise. It smelled awful.
"I suppose I should." She put it to her lips and sipped a small amount, unsure of how much was necessary. If it smelled awful, it tasted truly vile and she gagged, dropping the bottle. The Pishalver formula spilled all over the ground.
"Oh no!" Margaret dived down to retrieve the bottle, but the material had been lost.
Closing her eyes and pressing her palms to her cheeks, she stood back up. Only to find out that she stood not very tall at all anymore. Maybe she was as tall as Mally, or about the same height, she couldn't be sure. However it was, if she felt like a small girl in an unusually large world before, she was now an ant in the hanging gardens of Babylon.
"Goodness!" She turned around, "Chessur wasn't joking."
"Of course I wasn't."
He was back again, "Come on now, I'll show you the way in, but beyond that, you're on your own. I can't stay in that castle, it gives me the creeps."
Though mostly invisible, he led her over the long stretch of land to the moat of Salazen Grum. Mirana had ordered, upon her sister's exile, that the heads be removed for the sake of the aesthetic of the place. The thick, reddish water of Margaret didn't want to know what, still filled the dank and dingy hollowed out earth.
Fortunately, the years of neglect had fostered the growth of cattails and weeds, not to mention the convenient lily pad or two. She was certainly not lacking in the "muchness" that her mother had gifted to her.
Once on the other side, she rested a moment on the grass. The cat drifted around her, "Get inside, go to the tower, they'll be kept there."
The little girl nodded.
"Good luck."
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Valoren was in a full panic. Where on earth had that precocious little girl gotten to? If her parents managed to avoid the block, they might place him upon it should he fail to produce their child.
Nearly the entire party had been searching as discreetly as they could, but the ability to call out for someone was essential and they lacked it.
McTwisp was hyperventilating faster than usual. Having discovered that the Pishalver had been lifted from his possession, he was taking special care to look every time before putting down his enlarged feet. He was so afraid to reveal this that he stuttered whenever anyone walked past him until someone finally noticed.
"McTwisp? What's wrong?"
"The Pishalver is gone!"
"What?"
"I think Margaret may have taken the Pishalver."
The White King thought about it, "Why would she? And how did she find out about it?"
"Maybe a little bird told her."
"Or a Cheshire cat." Harumphed Mally, pointing up to a bare tree branch with her hatpin sword.
If Chessur was there, he was certainly not making his presence known, either by speech or glimpse of fur.
Thackery started off in the general direction of the Red Queen's castle, "Rescue." He mumbled like a madman. He was pulled back.
"I was afraid of that."
"What should we do?"
"I don't have any more Pishalver." The rabbit threw up his hands.
"Let me think, please."
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Sneaking and slinking along walls was not part of the training or upbringing Margaret had received from her dear mother. Neither was stealth nor secrecy, in truth, but due to her unusually small height it was quite easy for her to move about. She felt as though she were a tiny little mouse, attempting to steal crumbs from the pantry whilst a giant tabby cat prowled nearby.
One of her instant observations of the scene before her told her that the Red Guards were preoccupied with redecorating the castle or running after Iracebeth's trivial requests. The White Guards seemed as though they were biding their time, and she wondered if they were not simply just hoping for their White Queen to reappear.
It took her a good amount of time to cross the distance from the wall to the large, padlocked door that led up into the prisoner's tower. Not too far away was a large stone patio with a raised platform, the executioner's venue. It would be quite easy to drag the condemned one to their death in only a few minutes, and she shuddered.
Staying back and hidden away, she pondered her options, and realized that she might possibly have some trouble climbing the stairs when she was too short to jump them.
A white guard approached, carrying a tray of food, and she decided to assume that it was meant for her parents. With a few quick glances back and forth, she made for a quick dash and took a leap of faith.
Luckily, she landed well and clung to the guards boot undetected. Holding on for her very dear life, she hoped that she remained undetected as he made his way up into the tower.
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Without the benefit of a window, Alice and Tarrant were left to imagine the hour of the day. Despite the presence of the guard, a fact that both of them were lamenting still, he was rarely allowed to leave and check the time.
During the night, at moments when the guard appeared to be asleep, they had made every attempt at intimacy, but fell short of success. It was a pain in Alice's heart that she could not get close to him in the way she so wished she could.
It was in the middle of a thought like this that she felt guilt. Why had she left Margaret and the others? Why had she not instantly sent Margaret back to London when they had been reunited at Marmoreal? There were no answers that were sufficient.
A knock sounded on the heavy wood prison door and the guard opened it to allow another into the room. This second guard was carrying food for the two condemned persons, and he handed it off to the on-duty Bishop-headed one before turning and exiting as quickly as he could. Many of the guards were holding to a shame that they could not express; as they confined the Champion of Underland unjustly. Unlike the Red Guards, the Whites were only playing this game for the first time.
After the door was closed, the Bishop sighed and gazed down at the ground, "Who are you?"
Margaret froze; supposing that having to nearly throw herself from the other guard to avoid being swept out the door must have attracted his eye.
"No, no one?"
"Are you sure?"
Tarrant and Alice walked over to the bars, peering to see what tiny creature was speaking. He held out a hand to the little one, and coaxed them, "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise on my honor as a servant of the White Queen."
The guard approached the cell with a tray of food in one hand and something else in the other, palm flat and brought to eye level, "Would this be yours, by any chance?"
The parents were instantly elated and crushed; Margaret was in the tower of Salazen Grum.
"Hello sweetheart." Tarrant held out his hand to take her from the guard. Margaret carefully climbed from the white armor covered fingers to her father's own bandaged hand.
"What are you doing here? I told you to go back to London if anything happened to us."
"I will not! I'm supposed to just run back to Grandmother and hope that I don't become an orphan?"
Alice sighed, "Dear – "
"No! I wanted to try and save you."
With a single finger, Alice reached forward and brushed some of Margaret's unruly orange hair back, "I hoped that you would get my 'muchness,' but I am very scared for you."
"Don't be."
She looked over to Tarrant for support on her objections to their daughter's actions, and he seemed willing to give them, but resigned, "I don't suspect anything could have stopped you, love."
Margaret giggled the same odd, high-pitched tone as her father's and this earned her a harsh stare from her mother.
Staring over her child, Alice hailed the guard, "If we don't get out of here in time, will you please make sure she gets back to the garden of Crims?"
"As you wish." He nodded, and Margaret stared back and forth between them.
"The guard is on your side?"
"He is."
"Then why doesn't he just let you out of here?"
"I don't have the keys to the cell, only the queen has them. I think she suspects that not all of us are her dedicated slaves." Sighed the guard.
Tugging at the thimble on her father's hand to get his attention, she had an idea, "Let me try the lock!"
"That's a crazy idea!" He paused, "I absolutely love it!"
Lowering his hand, he angled his wrist to allow Margaret to stand directly in front of the keyhole.
She reached into the dark empty space, attempting to feel her way. The guard told her that a release latch was located inside, but he was not sure where.
For nearly a full minute, she simply pressed or pulled against every piece of metal that she came into contact with, part of her was terrified that something could slide back and simply cut off her hand.
Finally, on the far right side, she was able to move a peg. Snatching back her hand, she saved herself possible injury as the larger part of the lock suddenly unlatched and dropped down.
"You did it!"
Tarrant wanted to hug his daughter, but was terribly afraid to do so, instead he stuttered, "When we get out of here, I'm going to make you a hat, no, two hats! Perhaps three, it depends on how much material I can get and how fast!"
"Father! Let's get out of here first!"
"Quite right!"
The door to the jail cell opened and the Bishop-headed guard ushered them out, "Now, how do we get you out of the tower?"
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Valoren had an idea. It was not one that was particularly smart, or safe, and he might very likely lose his head in the acting out of such an idea.
But what else could he do? He had to get inside Salazen Grum and there seemed to be no other option. To ask the others to stand in his own sted would be unfair to them. Watching Bayard and Bielle tend their pups and Mally and Thackery chitter and converse about tea had made up his mind. He was the outsider to all this, indeed in their own minds, he had already been dead for years.
Maybe Iracebeth would be expecting him, maybe she would not, but either way, he would be placing himself square in the path of her plans. In truth, if Mirana was too far gone, he did not have much to return to.
He had one last trick that he could try. A desperate search for weapons had revealed something that was unconventional and he could guarantee that no one would be anticipating it.
As he moved away from the rest of the group, he tried to be quiet in his approach to the castle gates. He raised his hands in the air, showing himself to be unarmed.
Two Red Guards ran up, spears raised, "Halt! Who goes there?"
"I'm Valoren, the White King."
The two guards looked at each other, surprised, "What do you want at the court of the Red Queen?"
"I'm surrendering myself; I wish to be taken to see the Queen."