Disclaimer:

While Josephine is nagging me,

To finish off the story,

I'm far too busy learning Welsh:

Y stori yw mo 'm stori.

Fy Cymraeg yn ofnadwy.

CHAPTER NINE – STONE TROUBLES AND THE PIG IN THE KITCHEN

Earlier that day, deep in a forest some distance from Marmoreal, the Hatter had been experiencing some troubles with his guidance system.

When he had taken the blue stone from the hilt of the Vorpal Sword he had expected that it would glow to direct him, or perhaps grow warm when he faced the right direction. Instead he had discovered that it preferred a far less subtle means of communication.

'Not that way!' it barked at him for the tenth time. 'Are you an idiot, man? You'll never find her if you go that way!'

The voices it spoke with changed regularly, along with, or so it seemed, its personality. It appeared to be speaking with the ghosts of its Bearers, and either the previous Bearers were not half as agreeable as Alice or the Stone had simply taken the worst aspects of each Bearer's personality; the harsher sides that took over in battle. These voices had so far ranged from that of a frail old man, to a young, cocksure lad, to a bossy lady and even that of two very young girls – one of whom was very prone to tantrums. The one thing all the voices seemed to have in common was their dislike of him, (or perhaps that was the Stone talking), and their habit of telling him where not to go instead of where to go.

'FOOL!' it screeched at him as he steeped sideways to avoid walking straight into a tree. 'BLUNDERING OAF! We have lost the scent again, thanks to your tomfoolery!'

'You must walk in a straight line,' said another voice imperiously, 'or we can't keep track of where we're headed; it shifts around so.'

Tarrant could have sworn he had passed that bush earlier in the day.

'If I may say so, you don't seem to be leading me in a straight –'

'Don't speak,' ordered the voice of the bossy lady, 'every time your mouth opens some of your mental retardation leaks out.'

'And you mayn't say so, so there!' added one of the little girls.

Not for the first time that day Tarrant wished that Alice was the one directing him instead.

'You're dreaming again!'

'Stop that!' snapped a girl.

'And don't turn left!'

'What do you mean, "don't turn left"?' shouted the cocksure man. 'He has to turn left sometime. I'd say once he reaches that bush.'

'What bush, you dunce?'

'That bush there, you blind old biddy!'

'Don't you call me a biddy, young man, I've been fighting in the Underland Wars before you were even a twinkle in your Tad's eye!'

'Doesn't surprise me, granny!'

'GRANNY? Why, you insolent –'

'Granny, Granny, Granny, Granny …' sung the two little girls.

Another downside to the multiple voices, Tarrant thought to himself as he trudged steadily onwards, was that they frequently argued. They usually only stopped bickering to pelt him with insults and tell him he was going the wrong way entirely and had been for hours. At times they would even descend into utter chaos, spewing out nonsense words and phrases until his head ached.

'A boat beneath a sunny sky,' he murmured to himself, blocking out the screams and the shouts and retreating inside himself.

'Lingering onward dreamily,

'In a winter of July;

'Children three that nestle near,

'Eager eye and willing ear …'

Tarrant could still feel the guilt of the past days churning inside him; guilt at deserting Mallymkun. When he had emerged from the forest to see Shifting Lake stretched out before him his heart had twisted painfully. Far away on the other side of the vast Lake he could spy the small rowboat bobbing at the water's edge, and his heart twisted tighter.

'Long has paled that sunny sky,

'Echoes fade and memories die,

'Autumn frosts have slain July.'

A small, ever idle part of him wondered if the reeds he had helped her pick still lay forgotten in the rowboat.

He had seen the creature follow Mally and the girl, had spotted the commotion around the tower on the island just as the tower collapsed onto the monster. For one terrifying moment he thought Mally too had been buried underneath the rubble, until he spotted her scurrying over it, shifting debris around. After that had come a long moment of hesitation.

Tarrant wanted to find Alice by himself. He needed to talk to her before anyone else did. He needed to put things right between them. Having her niece there demanding that she returned to the Overland immediately wouldn't do at all. He wanted Alice to himself, just once.

That was where things started last time, now, wasn't it?

He could stay and make sure Mallymkun and the niece were alright, or he could continue on to Marmoreal without them. On feet so much larger than theirs he would easily reach the White Castle before them; he could explain to the Queen, take the Bearer's Stone and be gone long before they even arrived.

Mallymkun was uninjured, he had told himself as he turned away. The girl was likely to be just as fine. They would both be fine, just fine.

And so he had gone on ahead, taken the Stone and continued the rest of his journey alone.

'Dreaming again!'

'Stupid man!'

'Stupid, foolish man!'

'Stupid, foolish man always dreaming! It'll get him killed!'

'Foolish man, foolish man, foolish man …'

The voices whirled around him, dizzying and noisy.

'Has his head in the clouds instead of looking where he's going!'

'He'll never even see that rhino coming!'

'What rhino?'

'There is no rhino!'

'What gate? There is no gate, we have no gate!'

'PIES! PIES! PIRELLI'S PIES!'

Around and around and around they went; gaining in volume and intensity and brutality.

'There's no knowing where we're going.'

'Where we're rowing, wasn't it?'

'Oh, do forgive me.'

'You play piano terribly!'

'It was only the second time this week –'

'Three times!'

'The widow was with child!'

'You do faint so, Johnny.'

'The point still stands: One cannot buy a carriage with cookies!'

'Well, one cannot pay for cookies with ham!'

'Why was there ham in my pocket?'

'Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeu–'

'SILENCE!' he roared.

The voices ceased immediately. The surrounding wood seemed to ring with the bellowed word in the tense hush that followed. It lasted only for a second. The next moment all the voices broke out again.

'Thinks he has the right to shout at us!'

'Don't even know why I bother!'

'What terrible manners!'

'In my day –'

'He shouted!' sobbed one of the girls. 'He shouted at us!'

'I WANT HIM GONE!' shrieked the other girl. 'I REFUSE TO TELL HIM WHICH WAY! I REFUSE!'

Tarrant was forcibly reminded of Edith. Then an idea occurred to him. He dug in his pockets, pulling out a large wad of spare scrap calico. He wrapped this tightly around the blue Stone, muffling its cries and protests and shoving it in his pocket before continuing in a straight line, a small smile on his face.

Later that day Tarrant could feel the prickling sensation of being watched. He could hear something slithering along the ground behind him, invisible each time he turned to look. The noises continued for some time as he picked his way through the forest, far from any path or trail; pulling the Stone from his pocket occasionally to ask for directions. Just as he was climbing over a fallen tree a lisping voice whispered into his ear.

'You are heading thriaght for dithathter, you know.'

Tarrant tumbled off the log in surprise, stumbling onto the ground and scuffing his knees. They stung as he got to his feet, coming eye to eye with a narrow, reptilian face. It was a Tree Serpent, striped brown and mottled green; dropping its head down from a branch above.

'Thraight for dithathter,' it lisped, nodding sagely.

The Hatter was confused.

'Pardon me, I don't …'

'A cliff,' said the Tree Serpent, 'you're about to walk off a cliff.'

'Oh, I see!'

'No, you don't,' said the Tree Serpent gloomily, 'if you'd walked a yard further you would have truly theen.'

'Yes,' said Tarrant, 'well. I suppose it's a good thing I didn't.'

'I thuppose tho, yeth,' sighed the Tree Serpent. 'But perhapth I thould have let you after all. It would have exthiting.'

Tarrant gave a tense titter, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable standing so near the Serpent. He stepped away. That was better.

Keeping one eye on the Tree Serpent, he pulled the Bearer's Stone out of his pocket, unravelling its tight bundle of cloth.

'Which way?'

'YOU'RE GOING OFF A CLIFF, YOU EEJIT!'

Tarrant winced.

'Yes, I have been. Which way now, if you please?'

'Left,' said a sulky man.

'Many thanks,' said the Hatter, bundling the Stone up again before it could protest and stuffing it back into his pocket. 'And many thanks to you, my friend,' he added to the Tree Serpent, which he noticed was suddenly watching him with keen interest.

'Batibat,' it hissed.

'I beg your pardon?'

'That'th my name.'

'Ah.' He tipped his hat. 'Tarrant Hightopp. And now I must be going. I'm in rather a hurry, you know. Fairfarren.'

And he turned to leave, walking away without seeing the Tree Serpent merge back into the shadows, greed in its beady yellow eyes.

As the Hatter continued onwards smoothly the sun fell in the sky, and the shadows, too, fell, dimming the forest into a nightworld of dark green foliage and turquoise light. If it weren't for the scent of the olken trees around him Tarrant would have thought himself underwater. Soon it became apparent from his weary, weighed-down limbs that he would have to rest.

'And I mustn't drive myself until I faint right in front of Alice,' he said to himself as he settled down to sleep between two tree roots. 'Just think of it. It wouldn't do at all.'

After the days of travel and the headache he had gotten from the Stone, the Hatter was exhausted, and was soon fast asleep; hat pulled down over his eyes.

That night while Tarrant slept something slithered through the shadows around him. It slid over his stomach, and he felt a chill in his sleep and shivered, dreaming of burnt out, blackened villages and cold water on his skin; of a woman who would never look at him the way he looked at her, and of shouting and screaming.

When he jolted awake the next morning it was because of the cold, like a frozen hand slipping down the back of his neck. He climbed to his feet and hurried in the last direction the Stone had pointed him, wishing to send some warmth back into his toes and drive the remnants of the nightmare from his mind. He had travelled for quite a while before he remembered to check his bearings with the Stone.

Even as he unwrapped it he felt a sense of foreboding in his stomach – the feeling that something was quite definitely not right. The Stone was completely silent, not even mumbling defiantly as he unwound each layer of fabric, getting faster as he went, dread growing. Finally the last bit of fabric came away and in his hand lay a bland, grey rock.

The Hatter's yell rang through the forest once again, startling birds from the trees.

That same morning Edith woke to find herself tucked neatly under several layers of white down blankets, a huge soft bed and pillow beneath her, a second cream nightgown over her tattered dress; gloriously warm and comfortable beyond belief. It was a long while before she could convince herself to move, but when she did she realised that her leg was no longer painful. She sat up eagerly, wriggling out from under the blankets and sitting atop the enormous pillow to examine her leg. There was a white bandage around it, the fragrance of the cloth not quite hiding the fact that whatever ointment had been applied to the wound smelt strongly of peas and ham.

'Don't take it off just yet.'

Edith looked up to see Mally sitting on the small glass table at the bedside, leaning back comfortably.

'Morning,' she said with a grin.

'Morning,' Edith replied somewhat distractedly, picking at the bandage.

'Leave it alone.'

'It feels fine; can't I take it off?'

'The Queen said to let it heal for a bit longer,' said Mally firmly, 'but I've got a surprise for you.'

'The Queen? We're at the White Castle?'

Mally gestured around them, and Edith saw that the answer was obvious.

The glass table Mally sat on had a leg shaped like a chess pawn, and Edith could see more chess pieces dotted through out the room; on the headboard of her bed, around the edge of the mirror of the dressing table, the legs of which were also pawns. The handles of the white and silver brushes on the dressing table were bishops, and the bottle of perfume beside them was a fat knight. The whole room was in bedecked in white, so much that Edith wondered how on earth they kept the place clean. White, gauzy curtains fluttered at the wide, open window, through which light streamed into the room. The same gauzy, bead-edged material hung over the bed, and a soft, fluffy rug spread over the white marble floor beneath. It was the kind of bedroom she had dreamed of as a child.

The awe must have been visible on her face because Mally laughed, and Edith's attention was drawn back to her.

'Surprise?' she said. 'There's more?'

'Here you go,' Mally chuckled, and offered her a tiny plate through a gap in the bed curtains. Upon the plate was tiny sliver of cake.

'Ulpel – upple – up – The thingy …'

'Ulpelkuchun,' said Mally, with an eye roll. 'Take it.'

Edith looked at it, sitting enticingly on the plate, but didn't take it.

'What's the matter?' Mally seemed confused.

'I … I won't be the same size as you anymore.'

'No, you won't,' she said bemusedly. 'Isn't that the point?'

Still she hesitated, looking from the cake to Mally and back again.

'But you're my only friend here.'

Mally's eyes widened in surprise. After a moment her mouth quirked into a smile.

'Just take it, you fool,' she said. 'You'll be better off your own size.'

She dropped off the glass table and scurried across the room, stopping as she reached the door.

'I'll be outside. There'll be fresh clothes in the wardrobe,' she said. 'Get washed and dressed and we can go down for breakfast.' She paused in pushing the door open. 'And size makes no difference to a friendship. I should know. All my friends are bigger than me.' With another fleeting smile she slipped out, the door shutting behind her.

Edith turned her gaze to the plate of ulpelkuchun on the table. After a moment of staring blankly at it, she climbed awkwardly to her feet, slipping and sliding on the fat pillow, and made her way over to the edge of the bed. She leapt over the gap, landing with a slight scuffle on the glass tabletop.

'Perhaps it will be good to go back to being my right size,' she thought aloud as she reached for the ulpelkuchun.

Edith stopped just as she was about to take a bite, and jumped off the table onto the floor. She was glad she had considered this before eating, as the moment she swallowed the nibble of cake whole she grew at an alarming rate, ripping right out of her clothes and shooting upwards – rather like a telescope, she thought. Just as she became worried she would overshoot her actual size she slowed and stopped, noting with interest that the bandage around her leg had grown with her without ripping.

The room seemed much smaller now, no longer the cavernous chamber it was before, rather a small and charming bedroom. Remembering Mally's instructions Edith approached a second door which she found led to a small, white, and spotless bathroom containing a bathtub, a wide mirror, and a large amount of soaps and bath salts.

Edith hurried to clean herself, remembering that Mally was waiting for her outside, but even so it took her quite some time to shift the layers of grime she had accumulated over the past month or so of non-stop travel. Her usually tangled hair gave her particular grief; the leaves and twigs that had entwined themselves in it took some persuading to relinquish their hold. By the time she had emerged from the steaming bathroom and pulled on the various undergarments and the white dress she had found in the wardrobe, she felt scrubbed raw but wonderfully clean. Peering into the mirror, brush in hand, to attempt to tame her hair, she jumped in surprise at her reflection.

The girl in the mirror didn't look like her at all. Her face, though much thinner than she remembered, had colour in it; her eyes seemed to have some sort of spark to them. But it was more than that, Edith thought to herself as she struggled to brush the rattails of knotted hair, still damp from the bath. It was something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

When she finally gave up her hair as a lost cause and twisted it into a jumbled rope of a plait which she secured with string pulled off the remnants of her old ripped dress, Edith stood back, studying herself. Aside from the ridiculously long, trailing sleeves of the embroidered dress, she almost looked … not pretty, not nice, it was another word, a word she couldn't find. Alive? Different?

'You done yet?' called Mally impatiently through the door.

'You can come in,' said Edith absently, still puzzling over her reflection.

She heard the door open.

'Yeah, that's what this place does to you.'

Edith turned to look at her. She was watching Edith stare at herself in the looking glass. She seemed so far away down on the floor. Edith couldn't help but chuckle.

'What?'

'This is so strange.'

Mally shot her an exasperated look, then shrugged.

'Come on,' she said, 'you can give me a lift downstairs.'

When she had lifted Mally onto her shoulder the Dormouse directed her through the twisting, maze-like corridors; all white and airy and almost identical. Flights of stairs would suddenly appear without warning, doors would open in their faces as courtiers and servants bustled to and fro. The whole Castle seemed to be a hive of a bizarre mixture of frenzied and dreamy activity.

By the time they reached the kitchens Edith's stomach was grumbling loudly, and Mally climbed down and ran ahead. Still Edith trailed, half lost in thought, feeling so different. So new.

'That's what this place does to you.'

'If you want people to be nice to you, don't scream at them.'

'If you can't control it then you don't deserve to have it.'

'Wants and needs are entirely different things.'

It was as if she had been walking down a long, long road, for so long that she had forgotten where she was going, and suddenly she had spotted a flicker of light glimmering on the horizon that she had never seen before.

Perhaps if I was nicer, she thought, and perhaps if I didn't scream at people, and controlled my temper, and didn't demand things all the time, perhaps people would like me.

I shall be nice, she vowed, determined. I shall be nice like Aunt Alice was nice to me.

With this in mind she breathed deeply, and, with a smile she hoped was calm and confident, pushed open the doors into the kitchens.

The first thing that hit her senses was the rich, mouth-watering scent of soup. Exactly what kind of soup she couldn't tell, but whatever it was it smelt delicious. The next thing was laughter and chatter, and underneath it a song, weaving steadily between the sounds of breakfast talk.

'Beautiful soup, so rich and green, waiting in a hot tureen … Who for such dainties would not stoop? Soup of the evening, beautiful soup … pennyworth only of beautiful soup …'

The kitchen, (predictably, white), was filled with late breakfasters like herself, all dressed in white. It took Edith some time to spot Mallymkun, camouflaged as she was wearing a fresh white tunic, with her white fur. She scanned the crowd of white for a crown, wondering if the Queen was among them. She didn't seem to be.

The breakfasters were seated at a table, which, though long, did not seem to be large enough for all of the courtiers she had seen in the corridors this morning – no doubt breakfast was not a formal meal at the Castle. The room was expansive and white, and cleaner than any kitchen she had ever seen. The stoves and ovens were situated at the back of it, before her there was another table upon which sat a great many jars of strange, rather gruesome things – including what appeared to be a large collection of eyeballs, Edith noticed – and several doors led off the main room, perhaps into pantries and the like. It was from one of these doors, an open one not far from her, that the dreamy tune was drifting from; and as Edith stood at the door, transfixed by the hustle and bustle and whiteness of it all, someone backed out of the door, his arms full of onions and turnips.

He moved awkwardly, with gangly limbs, like someone who had just had a very sudden growth spurt and had not yet quite adjusted to it, and when he turned and spied Edith over the onions and turnips he held he froze completely. He stared at her, his mouth falling open, his eyes shining with pure, ardent adoration.

Edith had never received such a look from a boy in all her life, and was understandably shocked. She teetered on her feet, staring right back at him in bewilderment. It was then that she realised that he wasn't looking at her at all.

Isolda was standing behind her. She was even lovelier now that she was clean and fresh; her golden hair looked impossibly soft and glossy and her cheeks were flushed a faint pink. Unlike Mally and Edith, she hadn't traded her garments for the uniform white of the palace, and it seemed that her rose pink dress had been cleaned overnight. She was looking the kitchen boy over like a buyer casting a well-trained eye over a piece of meat, and she didn't appear to like what she saw. He seemed far from the dream prince Isolda had spoken of earlier; his face was neither strong nor angular, neither was his hair dark or perfectly messy – it was a wild shock of white which, frankly, gave him the look of someone recently struck by lightening. As for his eyes, they were far from brooding and melancholy – bright, young, and extremely naïve.

As he saw Isolda return his gaze he gulped and seemed to lose control of his arms; the onions and turnips went flying in all directions and he stumbled and fumbled around trying to catch them, failing spectacularly. He managed to catch one on the very tips of his fingers and clutched it to his chest, gazing at Isolda with absolutely mortified eyes. Then he started forward, making his way towards the girl. Unfortunately he found that Edith was in the way. It appeared that he hadn't spotted her in his path, being preoccupied with the vision of pure beauty behind her and all.

'Ouch!'

'Oh, I-I'm so sorry!' he cried, cringing away from her as if afraid she would strike him, although this was probably a reasonable fear in Edith's case. 'I didn't see you there. You probably should be more careful where you stand,' he added.

In that moment all of Edith's previous good thoughts about being nice to people from now on flew straight out the window, along with the calm she had felt earlier. She crossed her arms, assuming a battle stance.

'Well, I'm sorry I got your way,' she snapped, her face burning, 'next time I'll be careful to stand where even an utter twit will be able to see me. It's only a pity I'm not less solid otherwise you could have walked straight through me and I wouldn't have bothered you at all!'

'Edith!' said a voice sharply.

Edith looked down to see Mally at her feet, shooting her a rather reproving look.

'Being rude again, are we?'

Edith scowled at her, turning on her heel and storming out of the kitchens, not caring that the doors banged loudly behind her.

Mally found her on one of the top floors, huddled into a bay window that overlooked the gardens spread out far below; a crumpled bundle of white dress and silly sleeves and messy hair. Her plait had come undone it seemed, and she had drawn her legs up to her chest, leaning her chin on her knees as she frowned fiercely at the beautiful gardens as if they had done her a great personal wrong, all the while looking strangely fragile.

'What's wrong with you?'

The girl jumped, looking around, then saw who it was and returned to glaring out at the midday sunshine.

Mally climbed up to sit at her feet, looking down out of the window, and then, feeling awash with vertigo, looking away hurriedly.

They sat for a moment in silence before Edith spoke in a quiet voice.

'Do you ever wish you looked different?'

Mally met her gaze. She nodded silently.

'I do,' sighed Edith. 'Sometimes … sometimes I think …' she fumbled with the words, as if they were stuck in her throat and hard to spit out, 'Sometimes I think that if I'd been … well … If I'd been what everyone had wanted … Things – things would have been …'

She frowned more heavily, pushing unruly hair behind her ear roughly. Mally remained silent, not quite knowing what to say.

'The way you look shouldn't matter,' she began, but Edith cut her off.

'Not to me,' she said fiercely, 'but to other people. Even if you can tell yourself you don't care, you still know other people do. Even though everyone says "looks don't matter" and even though it should be about – about …' she gestured wildly, 'about being … Being a good person – being yourself even if no one likes you – being alive!' she said passionately, her eyes shining. She fell silent then, fists clenched around bunches of white skirt. A tiny part of Mally wondered with amusement how long that skirt would remain spotlessly white.

After another moment with the only sounds being the distant snatches of life from the floors below them, Edith seemed to calm down, leaning back against the side of the bay window.

'So tell me how this connects with you shouting at Pig?' asked Mally.

'Pig?' Edith snickered. 'Is that his name? I thought his nose looked a bit funny.'

'Pigmeckun Duke. We found him in the Outlands years ago. Took ages to convince him to speak. Still doesn't seem to like talking about his past; either he won't tell us where he came from or he can't remember.' Mally could remember that day, when Alice and Tarrant had returned from their game of Find Shifting Lake with a starved, mute boy in tow. 'Mirana took a shine to him, treats him like one of her own kin. After a while she set him to work in the kitchens 'cause he can't stand so many courtiers at once – flinches at the slightest thing he does. Don't know what he could've done to upset even you.'

Edith shrugged sulkily.

'He walked straight into me. Only had eyes for that girl.'

'Ah.'

Another stretch of silence, though more comfortable this time.

'Mally?'

'Hmm?'

'Can you teach to fight?'

Mally blinked.

'Where did this come from?'

Edith shrugged again.

'Can you? What with the size difference and everything?'

'Probably, if you look carefully enough.' She raised an eyebrow at the girl. 'You're not going to turn a sword on Pig are you? The Queen won't love you for that. More protective of him than any mother hen, she is.'

'Pig, no. Isolda I can't yet answer for.'

'Well, Isolda. I don't have any problem with that,' Mally grinned. 'Why the sudden urge to learn to fight, though?'

She half expected her to shrug the question off again, or scowl at her and turn away, or snap at her, or any one of the various things she had come to expect from this short-tempered child. But what she did was the one thing the Dormouse hadn't expected at all.

She looked at her hopefully, a sheepish half-smile on her face.

'Please?' she said.

A/N:

Perhaps you may have noticed it,

Perhaps you may have not,

The references that I have strewn throughout the text above,

A little nod to Burton films,

Or maybe several nods,

It's a weakness with me, I admit; a habit I have formed.

But tell me if you pick them out,

The references I leave,

For every time they're pointed out it makes me grin with glee.

So thanks again for reading,

'Cause that makes me happy too,

And the one thing to increase my joy would be a small review. :)