Chapter Eight: Poisons [Scene 1 of 4]
Mirana believes in being prepared for any potential eventuality. After her horrible mistake just two months ago, when she'd sent her Champion off to defeat the Jabberwocky in utterly preventable ignorance, she had taken to consulting the Oraculum religiously.
Which is why the entire episode – the abduction, the training, the duel – is so utterly baffling. Before their departure, Mirana had indeed gazed upon the Oraculum. She had very nearly taken it with them, but had left it behind in Absolem's care again instead.
With half of her laboratory now in Alice and Tarrant's apartment, awaiting the return of her Champion and her Hatter – fearing one or both of them might be seriously injured – Mirana has nothing left to do except... wait. And think about the Oraculum.
She wanders out onto the balcony overlooking the castle gates and peers through the spyglass but nothing moves on the darkening horizon.
A blue butterfly flutters next to her, landing on her shoulder. She very nearly brushes him off in irritation.
"You were supposed to warn us," she scolds him.
His antennae uncurl, become rigid with irritation.
Mirana arcs her brows in disbelief. "Are you telling me you didn't notice that the events foretold had changed?"
His wings beat once, furiously. She can only imagine what he would have said were he still capable of speech. He leaves her shoulder, lands on the balcony railing and begins pacing in agitated steps, his wings held rigidly upright.
Mirana sighs and forces herself to let go of her anger, for it will accomplish nothing. "I'm sorry, Absolem. I know how devoted you are to your position as Steward of the Oraculum."
He stops pacing, turns to face her and his antennae jab in her direction.
"All right," she says, meeting his challenge. "How many days ago did you realize Alice and I would be taken?"
Absolem flaps his wings very deliberately once, twice...
Mirana counts them, then counts the days backward. When she arrives at his answer, her eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh! On the fifteenth day of the trip! The day we departed Shuchland..." She frowns, considering the situation. Clearly, the partnership between the three men and the enlistment of the mercenaries had happened at a much earlier time. But why hadn't the Oraculum foretold their planned attack?
And then Mirana understands: the Oraculum had not foretold it because the day on which it would occur had not been decided yet. And, in fact, the timing of it must not have depended too greatly on the days and events leading up to their departure for Shuchland. So, something must have happened in Shuchland to force their hand.
Something, like... maybe...
She thinks of Dale's First Claw and, unthinkingly reaches for her neck, but she knows it's not there. It had been left behind at the inn in the confusion of the impending attack. Sadness and regret steal her breath. She hopes someone has found it, will return it to her...
She sighs and turns her mind back to the mystery of the Oraculum and wonders if the attack had come because Jaspien had heard of her betrothal and had feared Mirana and her realm had been slipping further and further away from him.
Still, she had made no secret of the trip at all before departing. Rumors had been flying across the countryside for weeks beforehand. Many had expected her to leave that land after promising her hand in marriage to the youngest Aven. And yet the Oraculum had not revealed a warning.
"Something must have happened while we were in Shuchland to set all of this in motion," she finally decides. On the railing, Absolem's antennae relax into a gentle curl once more. "Although I'm afraid I have no idea what that might be. I shall have to consult with Alice. Perhaps she will have a suggestion..."
Distractedly, Mirana peers once more through the spyglass. Just as she is about to sigh and turn away (again!) a motion catches her attention. She steadies the apparatus with her other hand and gasps as a large, bounding white blur crests over the rise and grows larger and larger in its approach to the castle.
"They've returned!" Mirana explains and drifts as quickly as she can down to the main entrance. The Bandersnatch wobbles up the grand, sweeping steps just as the queen swings open the doors. "You're injured!" Mirana gasps, noting the pink handkerchief stretched taut around Tarrant's right hand. "And Alice! Alice?" Mirana reaches forward to help brace Alice against the panting sides of the Bandersnatch when Tarrant lowers her then follows her down in the next instant. All it takes is one whiff of her Champion's matted hair, one glimpse of the utter pallor of her face, and one touch to her cold, clammy cheeks for Mirana to arrive at a diagnosis.
"Hafflaffen," she spits out in disgust. "That rotten collection of slime from a listless snail!"
"Your Majesty?" Tarrant asks in a strained tone.
"Later, Tarrant. If you can't help me get her up to your apartment, then at least help me get her into the kitchen." She runs her fingers over Alice's glistening forehead the lifts them to her mouth for a taste. Spitting to clean her mouth, she mutters, "No, not the usual remedy for this... Why must Uplanders be so contrary?"
Mirana fits herself under Alice's left side as Tarrant pulls her right arm over his shoulders. Together, they drag Alice into the kitchen. "Pondish, the large bath tub if you please, in the kitchen. Lakerton, heat the water for a very warm bath. Algernon, you may collect my things from Mr. Hightopp and Alice's apartment and bring them back down here."
Each creature rushes off to do her bidding. Mirana determinedly puts one foot in front of the other, wishing she had scheduled a bit more exercise into her routine.
"Your Majesty?" Tarrant asks again, his demand to understand slowly eclipsing his exhaustion. At least, that's what it sounds like. Mirana is glad of it. She'll need his help.
"Are you otherwise injured, Tarrant? Or is it just your right hand, which, from the swelling, I'd have to say is broken."
"Aye, 'tis. And it's the only thing wrong wi'me."
"Then I'm afraid it will have to wait until we've dealt with Alice."
"I wouldnae have it any other way." They take two more steps before Tarrant demands, "Who poisoned her?"
"Are you sure you want to know now?" she asks. "I need you to focus or Alice's health will be in serious jeopardy."
He nods once. Mirana notices his jaw is set. "Ye can tell me. I'll only wonder if ye don't."
"Oshtyer," she informs him, reaching out and pushing open the kitchen door. Pondish had worked fast and Mirana is relieved to see the old, battered bath tub set up beside the stove where several buckets of water are already heating.
"Arms out, straight in front of you, Tarrant," the queen orders and leans Alice back against his chest with her arms draped over his. Mirana hurriedly works on the buckles of Alice's leather armor. The bits that resist too much are sawed through with a root knife. Mirana doubts Alice will want to keep the memories that come with the attire anyway. The queen removes every stitch of clothing from Alice before directing Pondish and Lakerton to fill the bath. She checks the water temperature, adds a bit of cool water, mixes it, then reaches for Alice's knees. Tarrant gently lowers his wife into the bath.
"Up to her neck," the queen directs, then hands him a cloth.
It's only when she turns back around with her own cloth in hand that she realizes why he hasn't spoken for the last ten minutes. Tarrant Hightopp stares at his wife's nude body, his eyes a burning acidic orange as he catalogues each and every bruise, both fresh and nearly a week old.
"Tha'bloody cat tol'me they werenae hurtin'er..." he growls.
"I don't think they did," Mirana assures him, dipping her cloth in a basin of hot water and wiping at Alice's face then rinsing it out again.
Tarrant gapes at her for a moment before soaking his own cloth in a bucket near his knee and wringing it out over Alice's hair. He then wipes the rivulets from her slack face. "But look at her!" he whispers fiercely.
"Tarrant, each and every one of these bruises is a mark of victory. Each bruise she received marks each assault she won. Be thankful Oshtyer was not permitted to have his way or I would be truly fearful to find out how much of our Alice might have survived that place."
"Tha'bastard will pay..." Tarrant promises silently.
Mirana doesn't doubt it. "More hot water, please, Pondish. Ah, Algernon, the bottle of citrus extract."
She pours six drops onto the surface of the water and watches as the faint, lavender-blue oil slick that had begun to shimmer on the surface of the water dissolves.
"What is that?" Tarrant asks as he accepts another steaming bucket of water and continues wiping Alice's face after rinsing her hair.
"A very good guess," Mirana admits. "Alice's biology is different from ours. Had she been born in Underland, I'd merely need to dust her skin with Hafflaffen powder to draw out the poison. Unfortunately, it appears as if her body reabsorbs it too easily once it's perspired. When she cools, she merely takes in the poison again through her skin, doubling her symptoms. I can only guess how long she's been exposed, but every cycle of her body trying to expel it and the Hafflaffen re-entering it is like receiving dose after dose after dose."
Mirana looks up at Tarrant. His face is perfectly white, his mercury stains look like streaks left by bloody tears, and his eyes are pale with fear. She can barely see the dark line of his lips where his mouth has compressed tightly.
"Did everything go as plan? Did she fight?" Mirana asks because she cannot believe Alice would have had the strength to manage that portion of the plan.
"No and yes," her Hatter answers. "She fought... she fought like th'world was ending." He swishes the cloth in his own bucket of citrus-treated water before collecting more hot water with it and treating Alice's face again. "My fault," he whispers. "Chessur did his part. Thackery'n'Mally did theirs... But she di'nae stop fighting... Nearly killed Aven's Champion." Tarrant's eyes flash, but he doesn't become distracted. "'Twas th'promise she made me that nearly killed her."
Mirana doesn't say anything to prompt a full confession. He delivers it nonetheless.
"Alice promised to fight as hard as she must to win. Promised me that on th'second day of her training. And I kept sending her heart line messages to fight an' to win all through th'battle an'..." Mirana glances away as Tarrant's face twists into the most horridly miserable grimace she's ever seen on him. "'Twas I who almost killed her. Alice..."
"Tarrant, you could not have known how that promise would react with Hafflaffen in Alice's system. No, listen to me!" When Tarrant lifts pale orange eyes of self-loathing to her gaze, Mirana informs him quite firmly, "There was no way to know. None at all. Now, does this water feel cool to you?"
He tests it and nods.
"Lakerton, the other tub, if you could? Pondish? Yes, more water on the stove. Thank you."
And so the night continues. Mirana and Tarrant haul an unconscious Alice from her current, cooling bath and into another hot one, over and over and over again. Despite Alice's wrinkling, pink skin, the surface of the water continues to shimmer with the pearlescent gleam of the poison still escaping from her body. Hours later, when Tarrant truly looks as if he's going to collapse at any moment, Mirana hands her cloth over to a severely uncomfortable Algernon and instructs him to keep rinsing Alice's hair and face.
"Come here, Tarrant. We must deal with your hand."
"But, Alice..."
"Is breathing easier and, last I checked, her pupils weren't so dilated. We have time. Sit."
He does.
Mirana cuts off the thoroughly soaked handkerchief and regards his swollen hand. "Definitely broken. How did this happen?"
"Oh, um, well..."
"Did Alice do this to you?" Mirana asks suddenly, horrified at the possibility.
Tarrant clears his throat and looks away. "No, I... no."
"Fine," the queen huffs. "Don't tell me. We'll just never mind the cure and leave it like this."
Tarrant winces. "I struck Avenleif. In the face."
"Which part?" Mirana asks with clinical detachment.
"His great, furry nose," he growls.
"With your fist?"
"Aye."
"All right. Wait here a moment." Mirana gets up and considers her stock of remedies then selects one bottle, a jar of powder, and a medicinal compress. Resuming her seat, she takes Tarrant hand in hers and narrates: "One drop of Green Envy for each knuckle, a sprinkling of Vengeance, and a bandage soaked in Rational Thought." She glances up as she presses the compress to the back of his pale hand. "I'm assuming you found out about Avenleif's... feelings for Alice and that's what brought on the sudden urge to break your hand against his nose?"
Tarrant bows his head. "Aye..."
Mirana gently lays his injured hand down on the table and pats his other. "Don't blame Alice, Tarrant."
His head snaps up. "What? Why would I? I don't..."
"Just so," Mirana replies, seeing the truth in his eyes. "Alice kept her heart line a secret because the dear was driven to distraction wondering if someone might try to harm you while she was away." Mirana sighs. "I almost wish Stayne could be killed all over again for making her fear for you so much."
"Ye're not th'only one who'd like to see him dead all o'er again," Tarrant agrees.
Mirana continues, "On the last day of our stay, I persuaded Alice to wear... oh, uhm, well, to reveal her heart line as we were among friends. Until then, until Avenleif saw it, Alice had no idea of his intentions. Truthfully, neither had I, but I was... distracted..."
"It's all right," Tarrant tells her, surprisingly maintaining his grasp on calm rationality despite his obvious exhaustion. "He knows Alice is mine now."
Mirana nods and drifts back over to her supply chest. "We'll have to splint that hand," she warns him. "I know you won't like it, but Green Envy is notoriously unreliable when combined with Rational Thought." Tarrant manfully endures the wrapping of his right hand then helps the queen move Alice again into another tub of steaming water.
When dawn finally peeps in through the Witzend-facing windows, Alice groans a bit in protest when they switch her baths again and the cool air touches her skin. When they settle her into the next tub, she manages to open her eyes for the briefest moment. "Buttered fingers," she murmurs before falling asleep. Finally.
Mirana sighs with satisfaction. "This might be the last bath," she dares to tell her Hatter.
"And she'll wake up cured?"
"Let's hope so. I'd still recommend a hot bath every other hour whenever she can manage it. We don't want a relapse occurring."
He nods. Mirana notices how utterly exhausted he looks – his face is too pale and his hands shake with a fine tremor and his shoulders slouch – but she can't help but be cheered by the spark of hope in his once-again green eyes.
"I'll have Algernon make up one of the guestrooms on the ground floor. It'll be easier to manage the baths she'll need."
He merely nods again and, slumping down to the floor, curls his arm right arm across the back of the tub and gently cradles her flushed face in his left. Brushing his thumb over a the nearly-healed bruise that had been the first of many Alice had had to endure, he rasps, "Could we apply a bit of lotion to these bruises?"
"Not for a few days," Mirana replies regretfully. "It may interfere with her body's efforts to push out the poison."
"I don't want her to see these. Be reminded," he explains.
Mirana considers that. "I think she'll want them. She'll want to watch her body defeat those memories. After all, we did have the hardest time convincing Alice Underland and all of us were, in fact, real." Mirana considers her Champion and the man utterly devoted to her and her happiness. "It'd be cruel of us to take that hard-won reality away from her and replace it with shadowy nightmares that she cannot fight."
Tarrant lowers his forehead until it rests against the side of the tub and sighs.
"Your room will be ready soon," she promises.
Within the hour, Mirana helps Tarrant tuck Alice into bed before ordering him to lie down with her. As he sits on the edge of the bed and begins removing his shoes, the queen moves to the door, closing it only when she hears both boots hit the floor and the soft sigh of the mattress as he lies down on it.
"No one is to disturb them, Propinton," she instructs the lock.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
With a satisfied nod, Mirana heads for the stairs and her own room and a bit of rest before lunch... however, the clamor and clanking of dozens upon dozens of footsteps draws her back to the main entrance.
Seeing her, the Bandersnatch rouses and she pats him. "Alice will be fine; you did well getting her back home so quickly."
The beast sighs and closes his eyes, immediately falling into a light doze. Mirana wishes she were that lucky. But she waits on the front steps and, smiling, welcomes her army home and announces their success. The celebration will have to wait for another day, but that's no reason to withhold a well-deserved congratulations for a job well done.
[End of Chapter 8: Scene 1 of 4]
