Chapter 11: Alice
"I would really prefer to walk!" Alice chokes out, gagging on the stench of the creature which carries her slung over its mangy shoulder. Yes, she is genuinely willing to cooperate with her captors in exchange for an unimpeded supply of fresh air.
Initially, the potato sack they'd installed over her head had provided a modest – if earthy – buffer. Now, however, it merely gathers the stink in increasingly concentrated quantities. The potato sack had been forced upon her "fer s'curity" according to the wolf in charge… although security is rather a moot point now that Hamish has gotten away with all the pertinent information concerning both her destination and the enemy; it's only a matter of time before he stumbles back into Underland, finds the Hatter, and a counter-assault is launched upon the "Black King."
"Surely we are far enough from Whotchworks that I won't know the way!" she pleads.
"Ar, she's gots a point, Barker."
There's a beat of uncertain, waffling silence. Eagerly seeking to press her advantage, Alice takes a breath and nearly heaves right into the sack. "Set me down or I shall be violently ill, sirs!"
"Set 'er dauwn, Dungo. Th' king don' wan' no harm t' come t' th' Alice."
Alice grits her teeth against the wave of dizziness which accompanies the sudden reversal of her position. Head now right side up rather than bumping along against some creature's fetid rear end, she shakes her head slowly from side to side, generating a bit of a breeze within the sack. If her hands hadn't been bound behind her back, she might have dared to lift the thing a bit to receive a fresh supply of air.
"Don' keep doin' tha'," someone orders gruffly, "'r ye'll get a crick in yer neck."
"Then kindly remove the sack," she gasps, her eyes still watering and stomach rolling.
"Er, well, 'is Majesty says—"
"Lift it, Gorben."
Alice freezes at the sound of that voice. She swallows an oath and wonders when they'd passed out of the mountain terrain and into the tower they'd spoken of. Had Dungo's stench truly been so discombobulating? It must have been, because as soon as the sack is snatched off her head and Alice shakes back her tangled hair well enough to get a good look at her surroundings, she discovers that she is indeed indoors. More specifically, she's standing on a long, black carpet in an ominously shadowed throne room.
She has no notion of the size of the room. Even the throne upon its dais has been cast in shadow. She can only just make out the outline of the chair and the head of the man seated in it: the Black King, Ilosovich bloody Stayne.
"So, you decided to stay in Underland after all, Alice," he drawls in that sickeningly oily tone of his.
Alice feels her nose wrinkle in answer to the assertion. Remembering how very much the man enjoys listening to the sound of his own voice, she doesn't bother to show off the witty reply which springs to mind.
"You don't know how pleased that makes me," he continues, leaning back in his chair of self-importance.
Alice merely arches a brow.
He chuckles knowingly, as if her droll expression is charming rather than insulting. Perhaps, according to him, it is. She'd always suspected that the man is terribly unbalanced and highly irregular. Slithering for so long at the maniacal Red Queen's behest could not have been beneficial for his sanity in the long term.
A motion in the darkness from the man upon the throne makes her tense. A moment later, she realizes there is no cause for alarm… yet. He'd merely spread his arms wide in a gesture meant to direct her attention to the supposed grandeur surrounding them. "What do you think, Alice? It's a promising start to a new reign, isn't it?"
"I couldn't say," she hears herself reply in a bored tone. "I can't see much of it."
"Of course!" he laughs, his voice thick with mockery. "How remiss of me to forget the lights!"
Stayne snaps his fingers and two of Alice's half dozen captors leap to obey.
The first thing Alice notices in the flare of the torchlight is that the Black King's tower is rather… small. The second thing she notices is that Ilosovich Stayne, who had once towered as the tallest of men in Underland, now seems to have been, er, cut down to size.
He stands and strolls down the steps from the throne, bypassing a smaller seat set a step below his, and swaggers over to Alice as if he is indeed still eight feet tall and not nose-to-nose with the White Queen's former champion.
The former knave's unexpected shrinkage is a temptation too inviting to resist.
"You appear to have lost some… standing since we last met," Alice points out with a little too much relish.
Stayne, busy posing for his henchmen, rounds on her. His black-gloved hand tangles in her hair and pulls relentlessly downward. She schools her face to impassivity (or as near an approximation as she can manage). She will not allow him to see her wince or cringe. Not unless it is to her advantage to do so!
"Truly? You're looking rather small at the moment," he growls, looming nearly as large as he had once been. But it is only an illusion, she knows.
"This is how you think to belittle me?" Alice retorts with disgust. "Pishalver would be more effective."
"Indeed it would," he replies with soft menace and a sharp smile. "But no, it is not I who will have that honor."
Alice braces herself as best she can considering the relentless pressure in her hair and her still-bound hands behind her back.
"Darling…?" Stayne calls in a nauseatingly sweet tone.
A moment later, a second figure steps out from the black curtains framing the dais and passes a small, pale hand over the smaller and lower throne as she approaches. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice recognizes a much smaller-headed Iracebeth of Crims clothed in a horribly stiff, black gown. "Yes, my king?" she replies with such devotion that Alice has to swallow back a mouthful of bile.
Stayne grins. "May I present to you the Alice you requested." With a flick of his wrist, he forces Alice's face toward the former Red Queen.
Alice's gaze meets the woman's eyes which are unfocused with pure, mad, manic glee. For the first time, Alice fears she may truly need the help she'd sent Hamish to fetch in order to get out of this.
Iracebeth coos, "She's lovely, dearest. You are too generous."
"Enjoy your new pet, my love."
Alice's gasp of denial is cut off by a blow to the back of her legs which causes her to crash to her knees. She glares back at Stayne, the rotter, and swears she'll have his other eye for daring to strike her.
"But this is hardly fair, my muffin," the queen argues with a childish pout. "Where is yours?"
Stayne smiles. "Don't you worry, darling. He'll come."
Alice doesn't have to guess who Stayne's pet is meant to be. And she is very much afraid that Stayne is correct. The Hatter will come. Alice is not sure where her relationship with the Hatter stands now, but she is sure that he is, at the very least, her friend. And a friend with a sword, at that. Very useful in most disadvantageous situations. Except, perhaps, for this one.
"In the meantime, however…" Stayne continues and holds out a thick collar and a leash to a gleeful Iracebeth. "Have fun, my sweet one."
Alice grits her teeth in answer to this rather unwelcome turn of events. Oh, she'll find a way to get through this, but so help her, if Hamish dawdles on his quest or if he allows the Hatter to launch a rescue all on his own…!
Well, Alice is sure – after a day spent with the now-deflated but utterly unhinged Bluddy Behg Hid – she'll have a very expansive repertoire of tortures to unleash upon him if he fails.
NOTES:
+ I've taken the idiom "Cut someone down to size" and run with it. With the loss of their power (and arrogance), Stayne lost his superior height (which means I guess he can't really look down on people like he used to) and Iracebeth's head is no longer swollen up with her own self-importance. That's kinda what I thought Burton was getting at in the movie: their grotesquely out-of-proportion bodies were the result of being corrupted by power (i.e., being full of themselves). Hm, yes... something to think about...
Next: Chapter 11, Part 2 in which Hamish promises two favors...