Chapter Four
A/N: I know it's been a while since I've posted the last chapter, life's caught up with me and forced my writing to the side but I'm back. So a lot has happened in this chapter but to me I feel as though this is a short chapter even though words wise this is one of the more lengthy of the four chapters. I know this is probably getting tedious waiting for the action, but bear with me I swear it's worth it. I've already thought up the ending and not to toot my own horn, but it is one of my favorite endings, thought you guys may not think the same. Give me some feed back, I'm excited to hear what you guys think of all of my progress so far. Thanks for reading, following, and adding this story to your favorites.
XXX - TB
Fresh air, clean and crisp air, was what stirred Ambrose back into a groggy sense of awareness. He couldn't quite grasp what had happened, his memory fragmented within his own mind, the pieces scattering at his advances to reconnect them. What in the bloody hell happened to me? He thought, but even that small action sent tremors of pain pin balling across the inside of his head. Ambrose tried to push himself up, he felt as though the bones in his arms turned into rubber, it was like he had been thrown from a galloping horse. Ambrose only just managed to get to his feet when he felt his knees begin to buckle from underneath; he staggered backward falling against a tree. He leaned heavily on it's rough back, relying on the trees strength to keep him standing. Stars burst behind Ambrose's eyes, his brain throbbing, beating itself against the confines of his own skull. Ambrose pressed the palms of his hands against either side of his head in an attempt to alleviate where the pain was at its peak, fighting pressure with pressure. His vision blurred and he pulled his hands away only to find them dripping scarlet.
"Well that can't be good." He murmured feeling his stomach rise to his throat, he felt like he was going to be sick, no he was definitely going to be sick. He shuddered violently, hunched over the acid in his gut began to rise to the surface, he convulsed violently as he retched. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Ambrose tried to focus his unsteady eyes on something other than the pile of his own vomit on the ground below him. Looking up Ambrose was finally able to take a good look at where he had finally ended up, he was definitely not in Jones and Burkes, that much was evident, but the question remained, where then was he? It was bright, blindingly bright which only made the pain in Ambrose's head thicken. And the colors were so vibrant Ambrose had never seen anything like it. Everything was fuzzy and colorful; it was dazzling as his eyes fought to focus again. Pinching the bridge of his nose Ambrose shook his head, and immediately wished he hadn't. Fighting another surge of nausea, "Where the bloody hell am I?" He whispered, his eyes the size of saucers.
"You're in wanderland of course." A voice called out from behind Ambrose, the words moved through the air like silk. Ambrose yelped, startled and tried to bolt, but the injury to his head made it feel as thought the earth beneath his feet was slanting and he stumbled, burying himself into the ground. Groaning he turned onto his back, his eyes burning in the sunlight, but he was too week to lift his arms to block it out.
"Oh dear, this isn't good, this isn't good at all." The disembodied voice said and a black figure blotted out the sun as they stood over him. Ambrose tried to open his mouth to speak, he tried to tell them to leave him alone, tried to get himself away, but he was helpless; all his strength sapped by his injury, Ambrose was acutely aware of just how vulnerable he really was. He tried to keep his eyes open but the world was like the waves of the ocean and his lids were heavy like anchor's trying to keep him tethered to reality. Slowly, very slowly, Ambrose was drifting off into a sea stillness with the stranger's voice lingering in his ears. Welcome to wanderland.
"Why is it always you bringing home the strays Ches, sooner or later the King will have your head for it." The sound of new voices is what brought Ambrose back into the conscious world with cotton in his mouth and a splitting headache. His body felt heavy, and unless, lead in his veins anchoring him to the bed; all he could do was listen and wait for the control to come back to him.
"Not likely, the king is much to fond of me to cut this pretty neck, you're not getting rid of me that easily Cap, but a commendable attempt all the same." A voice answered who, Ambrose could only assume, was the one called 'Ches'. There was the sound of a chair being scrapped across the wooden floor, and glass clinking together as they were being moved. Ambrose felt the panic begin to rise in his chest, spurring his heart to gallop faster in his chest; he took a deep breath as discreetly as he could in order to calm himself. Panicking in a strange place would undoubtedly only make the situation worse off for him, he had to keep his head; he had to think of a way out just as he always did in situations like these.
"Well there's always tomorrow." The first voice, Cap, replied with an ominous undertone; Ambrose imagined a sly grin spreading across the strangers face the thought was chilling. Ambrose could see that he was in a room separated only by an open door way to where the others were. The light in the other room flickered as the elongated shadows moved across the room almost phantom like. Ambrose was reminded of marionettes, their strings hoisted high, wooden arms flailing in choreographed grace, wooden joints bending and creaking. He tried to lift his head, to help him get a better view of the speakers and that was when he realized the heaviness he had felt was because of the bandages wrapped tightly around his skull. They were stiff and heavy, keeping his head moored on the pillow, leaving him immobile. At that moment he saw movement close to the door and quickly shut his eyes, feigning unconsciousness, he wasn't sure where he was, or who he was with, Ambrose wasn't about to get caught off guard again.
"Would the two of you kindly cease this incessant bickering, your constant attempts eradicate each other are exceptionally tiring to deal with. Please go try to kill one and other elsewhere and leave me to my work in peace." A deep voice suddenly boomed giving Ambrose a jolt of surprise, he opened his eyes just a slit, looking at the room he was in through his eyelashes, able to really take in his surroundings. The room felt small, the walls were made from rock but the floor was wood. It was illuminated by numerous candles placed in the empty crevasses of the walls that served as shelves, they were filled with tightly rolled scrolls and leather bound books. Against the wall was a large wooden desk draped with charts and scrolls, quills and ink jars cultivated in the corners and along the top and illegible scrawled writing clutter the pages that Ambrose could see. A rich velvet curtain was draped over the entrance of the room and was held back by a thick golden rope; that was Ambrose's ticket to freedom, now all he had to do was get to it.
"As you wish Great One." Whispered Ches and Ambrose turned his head slightly once more in hopes to catch a glimpse of the people who had brought him here and almost screamed in surprise. The man named Ches had the build of a runner, he was tall with a strong, a fluid body with muscular shoulders and thin waist, but his face was a frightening mixture of feline and man. With a mane of hair that was the color of the darkest grape and eyebrows to match which hung over large slanted eyes the color of liquid gold. His nose was half formed into a cats, but still looked reminiscent of a humans, he had thin wire like whiskers sprouting from puffed up feline cheeks that had been molded from his flesh. He opened his mouth wide and grinned; displaying large pointed teeth in a smile that seemed to stretch itself twice as large as his actual face, it was cartoonish, almost grotesque. The cat named 'Ches' looked down to his left; Ambrose followed his gaze.
Plumes of colored smoke rose in growing rings as the man on his left, Cap, step forward; he wore a monocle and top hat, his pipe gripped in his long fingered blue hand and was a full head shorter than Ches. Cap had at least three chins dangling from his wide set, sea colored, oval face; they jiggled with each drag from his pipe. The man was enormous and oddly proportioned, having a large middle section, it bulged, bubbling out from underneath his tiny velvet waste coat and jacket. The slug like creature had incredibly small legs in comparison to his large girth, so small that they seemed to teeter under his weight like toothpick. Ambrose was astounded that he could stand, let alone walk on them. The two creatures left, leaving only Ambrose and the "Great One", as he had been referred to, in the cave room. He stepped out of the shadows and into the middle of the room, his face illuminated but the light of a hundred candles. He was an old man, with a long pointed beard of snow, and bushy eyebrows. A robe and hood the color of the forest, with hues of greens, browns, and gold flowing in the folds of the fabric, breathing with him. The hood covered his head but his white hair gleamed through. His face was long and thing, with a long wide nose hooked over his thin pink lips, it looked like his features had been carved from the bark of a tree, his skin taking on the natural cracks found in the trees skin. He had an ancient, powerful air about him and as he folded long spider legged fingers into the vast spaces of his sagging sleeves he looked straight at Ambrose. The old mans eyes were terrifying and beautiful, they shined silver in the gloom and skewered Ambrose where he lay, he couldn't move, it felt like he were being taken apart piece by piece with a mere look. Who was this old man?
"You can get up now, there's no point in feigning sleep when we both know you are wide awake my friend." The old man said, a wry smile spreading across his thin lips, cracking his skin deeper. Ambrose opened his eyes fully now, the man was right, he thought, there was no point in pretending, better to put it out in the open, that may give him a better chance to run. Slowly he rose until he was sitting at the edge of the bed with his feet firmly planted on the ground, ready to bolt for that curtain.
"There no need to contemplate an escape Ambrose, you are not a prisoner here, but I do advise you to stay, your injuries have yet to fully heal and I fear worse to come if you push yourself too soon and too fast." The old man said in a kindly voice, his words sincere. It felt like Ambrose has been thrown into a pool of ice water, the chills sent down his spine were enough to set his teeth chattering.
"How do you know my name?" he asked levelly but his breath was beginning to quicken, his instincts were screaming at him to run but his curiosity kept him seated. The old man gave him another small smile and made his way over to one of the cave holes, reaching in he pulled out a bottle and two long stemmed stone goblets. Coming over to the bed he held one of the them out to Ambrose who took it warily with a nod of thanks. The old man wrapped his thin fingers around the cork and pulled it from the bottles lip with a loud pop.
"I always feel that a good story deserves a good drink and a bad one deserves an even better drink." The man laughed at his own joke and Ambrose offered his own smile at the wit of the elder. The stranger poured the wine from the bottle, it shimmered a rich red color in the mouth of the goblet but Ambrose waited until the man took a drink from his own glass before he followed suit. The old man watched him with careful eyes, studying him thoughtfully.
"You are a very cautious man Ambrose, suspicious by nature, that's good. I can see that's what has kept you alive all these years. It helped you thrive didn't it?" The acuteness of the old man's observations were unnerving for Ambrose and he set his cup down quickly, some of the bitter wine spilling onto the floor.
"Who are you, how do you know all of this and why did you bring me to this place?" Ambrose demanded angrily, he jumped to his feet suddenly and his vision darkened instantly, swaying he felt himself fall towards the ground. Ambrose felt the old mans hands on his chest, pushing him back onto his feet with a strength that he didn't expect to come such an ancient looking man.
"Careful there, you don't want to make yourself feel any worse. Here, please lay down." The old man insisted gesturing to the bed. Ambrose fell heavily back on to the mattress but kept his eyes trained untrustingly on the old man until he sighed.
"Well it's a long story…" the old man answered vaguely but Ambrose was not deterred.
"Well considering I have no where else to be it seems." Ambrose replied with a raised eyebrow and waited. With a consenting nod the old man began.
"Well as you have already heard Ches say, I'm am known as the Great One, but you may call me by my name, Valdus. I know you're name because I know your thoughts, or at least some of them. Before I say anymore, I have a few questions of my own, do you remember anything about how you got here?" Ambrose was struck dumbfounded as he tried to conjure up the last image he could recall before he had wound up here. Scratching his head gently his fingers grazing the thick bandages reminding Ambrose of another kindness this stranger, no, Valdus had shown him without even knowing who Ambrose was; it made Ambrose feel guilty for is instant mistrust of the old man, if he had been shown the same courtesy Ambrose was sure he would be dead by now. Or maybe he had known…considering he could read minds and all. Just thinking about that made Ambrose's head throb painfully he steered himself away from those thoughts, he wasn't feeling well as it was, no need to make it worse. As he focused he could recall flashes of memory, sitting on a rooftop at night, breaking through a door, jewelry, a knife and his reflection as he touched the mirror.
"The mirror." Ambrose whispered opening his eyes in shock. "It was that mirror that I had touched, the old one in Jones and Burkes, with those weird words on it. That's the last thing that I remember." Ambrose said, looking at Valdus he saw the old man's eyes widen in shock.
"A traveling mirror hm?" he said and tugged at his beard as he thought for a moment. Getting up with more agility that a teenager, the old man went to his wall of scrolls again and began shifting through them. The sound of rustling paper filled the room only interrupted with the occasional "hm" from Valdus as he inspected one scroll after another.
"Ah," Valdus smiled and turned back to Ambrose, a thick ancient looking scroll that was weathered at the ends, looking as if it had been through a few natural disasters before it had been retired to the shelf of scrolls in Valdus's cave room. Carrying it over to the bed Valdus unrolled the scroll across Ambrose's lap showing him a detailed charcoal drawing of the same mirror that Ambrose had discovered in Jones and Burkes back room, the same mirror that had brought Ambrose here. "I've haven't seen one in years, not since I was just a young sorcerer in the service of the Kings great grandfather, maybe longer than what I care to admit" Valdus said with a small self preserving chuckle. Ambrose was stunned as he tried to comprehend what Valdus had just told him, he had been alive to work for the King three generations ago, but more importantly Valdus hasn't seen another mirror like the one that had brought him here in three generations. How am I supposed to get home?
"But that is nothing to despair over my new friend, I am sure that there are still some traveling mirrors existing in our world." Valdus covered quickly, trying to alleviate Ambrose sudden onslaught of despair, but Ambrose remained stunned in disbelief. He would never get back to London, funnily enough London had been the one place that Ambrose wished to escape more so than anywhere else and now that it seemed like he would never be going back, all he wanted was to return. "Be careful what you wish for." Smith's warning haunted Ambrose's memory, hanging like clouds overhead in his mind. He had been right, Smith had been so right, all along. Why hadn't Ambrose listened to him when he had had the chance? Now he would never see his old friend, or his home ever again! Distraught and overcome with emotion Ambrose buried his face in his hands, feeling the tears threatening to spill over, beyond his control. Breathe he told himself, repeating the word over and over, until he felt the overflow of emotion subside and he was once again back in control of his own frame of mind. Valdus waited patiently and when Ambrose finally looked up he saw only sad understanding in the old mans transfixing eyes.
"Valdus, where am I." Ambrose asked trying to sound normal, but his voice was rough. He coughed quickly to cover it and looked at Valdus expectantly. Valdus smiled and put his hand on the young man's shoulder. There was a sense of kindness, of warmth that the old man exuded, something that Ambrose could not remember ever experiencing. It was as if he were standing next to the sun, the warmth of Valdus' personality was palpable.
"Come, I can show you better than I could ever explain. Let me show you my home, let me show you Wanderland."