I'm sorry, friends, for the delay,

It slipped my mind I hate to say,

This past week has filled up my mind,

With school exams and grad ball time.

Disclaimer:

'Reader of pure unclouded brow,

And reading eyes now weary,

Though it may suffer you to hear,

My disclaimer so dreary,

I still must say it without fail,

I do not own this fairytale.'

WARNING: This chapter contains references to child abuse, and some violence.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – WHAT ALICE FOUND THERE

Nivens McTwisp, the White Rabbit, bounded through the open doors of the White Castle, down the hall to the throne room and past the startled courtiers, noblemen, and foot servants, skidding to a halt before Queen Mirana.

'Your majesty!'

'McTwisp?' The Queen looked up from her snowy white embroidery.

'Your majesty,' he gasped, trying to get his breath, 'your majesty ...'

'Yes, McTwisp.'

'Your majesty,' he panted, 'it's about Pigmeckun Duke.'

Mirana began to slowly set aside her embroidery, the perfect picture of calm, though something in her dark eyes suggested a certain urgency.

'Have you found him?'

'I'm afraid so,' he replied, hopping from foot to foot.

Mirana dropped her pin cushion; it hit the floor at McTwisp's feet.

'Is he ...?'

'He's alive,' said the Rabbit hastily, 'but, erm ... you see, when I was trying to track him I naturally checked all the possible exits and, well ...'

'Yes, McTwisp?'

'There seems to be some sort of disturbance at the Round Hall.'

Mirana remained as calm as ever.

'A disturbance?' she said, with nothing more than casual interest.

'Yes, and I found Pig,' said McTwisp anxiously. 'Your majesty, he's ... he's gone through one of the other doors.'

'That's impossible,' she said immediately, 'the other doors should be locked.'

'That is what worries me the most. Do you think …? The L-'

'They were trapped centuries ago, McTwisp,' said the Queen rather sharply. 'By my own great grandmother. I'm sure she was capable of setting up the correct wards.'

'Yes, yes, your majesty, but I am worried.' He shifted from foot to foot again, wringing his paws, 'I'm certain the disturbance at the Round Hall cannot be good. And I'm certain I tracked not only young Duke there but Mallymkun Ipswich, Tarrant Hightopp and the niece-child.'

'You are sure they entered the other doors?' said Mirana, leaning forward.

'Yes.'

There was a small silence. McTwisp waited for the Queen to stand, to panic, to start giving orders. She did nothing. She leant back and folded her hands carefully in her lap.

'I see,' she said.

'Shall I gather a party to go and retrieve them?' said McTwisp, barely able to believe her nonchalance.

'A party of what?' said the Queen. 'I find it hard to believe that a group of villagers armed with pitchforks will be able to go up against that particular power, and no doubt if the other doors are opening it will be waiting for them. No, send for a Champion.'

'Your majesty,' said McTwisp slowly, 'there is no Champion. We've seen neither hide nor hair of Alice for ...' he trailed off, and swallowed.

'Send for the Hatter.'

'He's gone through the doors too, and Mallymkun.'

'There are others,' said Mirana, refusing to meet his eye, 'send for them.'

McTwisp twitched his nose, and said, treading carefully, 'If I may be so bold as to suggest ...?'

'Suggest what?' said the Queen, still not looking at him.

'You're the only one who has any kind of power against –'

'It is against my vows to harm any living creature,' said Mirana, as though reciting a mantra, looking down at her lap and admiring how her dark red nails contrasted with her snow white dress.

'But, your majesty,' said McTwisp in disbelief, 'you have to do something.'

'Do what? There is nothing I can do,' she said, her voice sharp as a dagger again. She seemed to check herself then, recovered and said evenly, 'It is unfortunate. We shall have to hope for them.' And with that she picked up her embroidery again and continued from where she left off.

McTwisp stared at her.

'Mirana,' he said, struggling to keep as calm as she was, 'two of your closest friends, not to mention the boy you treat as an adopted son, have just plunged themselves into mortal peril, quite possibly not knowing the extent of the danger they are in. And you are embroidering a snowman.'

'There is nothing I can do,' she repeated, not looking up from her sewing, 'I cannot bring harm to any living creature. It is against my vows.'

'Oh, codswallop!' exploded McTwisp indignantly.

There was a collective gasp from the surrounding courtiers; one lady dropped her spectacles and another clapped her hands over her mouth. The air itself seemed to stiffen in shock. The Queen eyed McTwisp with a steely, frozen stare, but he didn't stop there.

'That's codswallop and you know it is. Can't you even spare a thought for Pig, who is so naive he'd let a crocodile bite his head off if it smiled at him; or even for the girl, Eddie or Emily – whatever her name is, she's Alice Kingsleigh's niece and I think that Alice would have wanted us to at least make sure that she isn't killed by monsters from the dawn of time!'

'Watch yourself, McTwisp,' said Mirana warningly.

'I can't, Mirana,' he said, his voice quivering as he gathered every reserve of courage he had in him, 'not anymore. I let it slide last time, when you pushed a nineteen year old girl into the fray in your name, but I can't –'

'Alice made her own choice –'

'And you're rather good at manipulating people,' he said daringly. 'You were always very fond of chess.'

Mirana finally dropped her sewing, and when she looked up he saw that her eyes were wet.

'Do you think ... Pig is really in danger?'

'I have no doubt.'

An emotion broke through the marble-like facade – helplessness.

'My vows ...' she muttered. 'I don't like getting angry.'

'With all due respect, your majesty,' said McTwisp, 'you cannot always let others fall for you. I assure you that you are doing Pigmeckun much more harm by staying here. Is that not causing harm to a living creature?'

It didn't take Mirana long to reach the Round Hall, portal-hopping through the doors that wound through Underland like a secret labyrinth of shortcuts. McTwisp had offered to come with her, trembling all over like an autumn leaf who has just about had it up to here and is quite ready to fall off the tree, thank you very much, but she insisted on going alone. Now that she stepped into the Hall she wasn't so sure it had been the best idea.

'Mirana, what have I taught you?' tutted the voice of her father from nowhere, making her throat constrict and her breath catch. 'Don't push the King piece into the battle. He's too valuable. The Queen too. Be careful with the Queen. She has the most influence and power.'

'Like Mummy?' chimed her own voice, small and mild.

There was a rumbling chuckle from her father.

Mirana shook herself, shivering. That wasn't normal. That wasn't just a memory. She had heard their voices, echoing around her mind.

She looked around the Hall. Her mother had taken her here once, long ago. She had whispered secrets to her, things she had to know about the history of the doors. Especially the other doors. The Hall was alive. Usually alive and benevolent, but something was lurking behind the doors. Something ... not quite evil, but poisonous. Something deadly.

Mirana turned from door to door as the chandelier overhead chinkled softly.

'Don't listen to their voices, Mirana,' whispered her mother, the words bouncing around her head, 'don't let them trap you. They'll hide in the shadows.'

'What can I do, Mother?' she said, though she knew the memory of the lesson couldn't reply. 'What if I can't control myself?'

'Mirana of Marmoreal...'

She turned as one of the doors called her name.

'Don't listen to their voices,' she repeated to herself. 'Don't listen to them.'

But what was she meant to do? She had to watch over her subjects. She had to save her friends. And her boy wasn't safe. And now all she had for a lead was a whisper from a door.

With a deep breath to centre herself she stepped forward and turned the knob.

And by now the shadows had grown impatient. They had swarmed behind the door, pressing against one another, and now they burst free; engulfing the Queen like a tidal wave of grey and black.

Mirana didn't have time to struggle as even the white of her very self was blocked out by the blackness.

And then she was plunged headfirst into her worst memory.

'Give me that!'

'No!'

'You've been playing with it since breakfast!'

'That's because it's MINE!'

'Aunt Marie gave it to BOTH OF US!'

'She gave it TO ME!'

'NO! I WANT TO PLAY WITH IT!'

'IT'S – NOT – YOURS!'

'It should be!' shrieked Iracebeth, her face purple with fury. 'I'M THE ELDEST!'

'You bring that into everything!' Mirana screamed back, her black curls bouncing around as she tried to tug the stuffed cat out of her sister's determined and honey-covered grasp. 'You're getting it all sticky! You didn't wash your hands properly after lunch,' she added primly.

'I did too!' shouted Iracebeth, releasing the cat and latching on to this new argument.

'I bet your head will explode someday,' snapped Mirana, clutching the cat to her chest and leaning over it to pull a face at Iracebeth. 'You look like a great big eggplant, all angry like that.'

She looked simultaneously outraged and wounded.

'Well,' she spluttered, 'you're ugly and puny and you're mean because you never share your toys!' She crossed her arms with a silent "take that".

Mirana gasped in indignation and grabbed a hank of her sister's bright red hair.

'Take it back!' she screamed.

'No!'

'Take it back, carrot-top!'

'I won't, I won't, I won't!' She grabbed one of Mirana's shiny curls and pulled it straight. 'Now let go of me!'

'Ouch!' Losing her temper, Mirana sent a white hot bolt of energy down her fingertips, shocking Iracebeth's hair.

'OW!' screeched the girl.

'GIRLS!' bellowed their nurse-maid, storming in and standing before them as they froze halfway through scuffling on the floor. She set her hands on her hips and one sturdy-booted foot began to tap ominously, and the sisters knew they were in for it. They both began to gabble in high-pitched voices.

'It's not my fault –'

'She took my toy –'

'I did not! She's a liar!'

'She used her magic to zap me again –'

Nanny grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks at that and forcefully separated them, dumping Iracebeth in a toy baby pram and marching over to the other side of the room to dump Mirana in a toy baby cot. Both girls wailed and attempted to free themselves from their tight seats, flailing their limbs in the air pointlessly.

'Enough,' said Nanny, and the girls fell silent at her look, 'you'll stay there until you can act your own age.'

Neither sister dared say or do anything but glare furtively at each other from across the room.

'For goodness' sake, Miss Mirana,' sighed Nanny, pinching the bridge of her nose. 'Can you not learn to share your toys?'

'She always breaks them,' said Mirana, doe-eyed and woeful.

'Well, at least learn to control your temper. How many times has your mother told you? Your magic is –'

'"Untamed and dangerous",' recited Mirana, casting her big brown eyes down in a show of repentance.

The Nanny sniffed, seemingly satisfied.

'Well ...Just be a little more careful next time. And, you, missy,' she said, turning fiercely on a sniggering Iracebeth, 'will have to learn to be gentle.'

The girl cried out, 'What? I didn't do anything; why do you always take her side?'

The nurse ignored her, continuing, 'I am going to go to the library and fetch myself some books. You are to stay and finish your play hour quietly. Understood?' Nanny looked sternly from one to the other.

Mirana nodded obediently; Iracebeth crossed her arms and sulked. Nanny left the room with one last glance behind her that told them both she would be listening for any further disturbance.

There was a small silence in the room as both girls struggled out of their respective pram and cot.

'I'm sorry, Racie,' said Mirana, crossing the room to extend a slender little hand to her sister.

'I don't need your help,' she sneered, batting the hand away, 'I know you don't mean it.' She wrestled her own way out of the pram, landing ungracefully in a red taffeta heap on the floor before climbing to her feet and straightening her dress haughtily.

Mirana watched her silently, before tentatively suggesting, 'Shall we play make-believe? You can pick the story.'

Iracebeth pursed her lips, still annoyed, but nodded.

Mirana pulled the heavy book of fairytales off the nursery shelf; dropping it with a thud on their play tea table, then stood back submissively to let Iracebeth flip through the pages.

'No, no, no ... no,' muttered the girl as she passed over mermaids, dragons, and soppy-looking princesses in towers. She flipped further, then stopped. 'Hmm ...'

Mirana stood on tiptoe to peer over Racie's shoulder. The illustration in the book depicted a wizard in billowing robes raising a shining silver sword over a boulder.

'This one,' grinned Iracebeth, tapping the page. 'We haven't done the Sword in the Stone yet.'

'Where are we going to find a sword? Mummy made Daddy put all the weapons that the suits of armour had away after my last ... eski – escape –'

'"Escapade", little sister,' corrected Iracebeth dismissively. 'And I think I know where we can find a sword and a stone.' There was a glint in her eye which Mirana recognised as the look which always heralded rule-breaking.

'I don't want to get in trouble,' she began, squirming.

'Who says we're going to get in trouble?' Racie stared her down with dark, glittering eyes. 'Follow me.'

She trotted out of the room, motioning to Mirana to follow her and be silent.

Together the two sisters, snow white and rose red in their matching dresses and slippers, tiptoed through the halls of the castle, ducking behind suits of armour and hanging tapestries as servants passed by. They knew they weren't allowed to roam the castle without their nurse-maid to chaperone them; there were things lurking in the walls and nooks and secret passageways that were best left undisturbed by two screaming children. Just when Mirana began to lose what little nerve she had and was about to suggest going back, Racie stopped at a door of plain, sensible oak. It was not unlike other doors in the castle, but Mirana felt something behind it call to her, tugging at her magic and making her skin tingle.

'I saw Mummy go in here once,' whispered Iracebeth, although the hallway was deserted but for them. 'She came out with a huge sack of crystal balls.'

'Crystal balls?' said Mirana faintly, dizzy with the power of the magic behind the door.

'What's wrong with you?' hissed Iracebeth, shaking her arm. 'Snap out of it; come on.' She went to push the door open. It held fast. 'Locked,' she cursed. Then she whipped around to face Mirana, fixing her with a steely glare, 'Open it.'

'Maybe we shouldn't,' said Mirana, 'it's making me feel funny.'

'What is?' said Racie impatiently, crossing her arms.

'Can't you feel it?'

'Feel what?'

'The magic behind the door.' She couldn't believe her sister, non-magic though she was, wasn't in the least bit affected by the raw power of it, seeping under the door in waves.

Iracebeth glared at her, 'Stop teasing me. You know I can't help not being ...' Her mouth twisted unpleasantly; she looked almost ready to cry, and Mirana felt a surge of guilt.

'I'm sorry,' she said hurriedly, 'I didn't mean to upset you – I didn't mean it that way.'

'I don't believe you,' hissed Racie softly, her bright eyes as hard as two nails driving slowly into Mirana's head.

'No, Racie ... I'm sorry –'

'Then open the door.'

Mirana took a deep breath, then, with the strong feeling that she was doing exactly the wrong thing, she pressed a hand against the door. The frame glowed white. Mirana pushed, but it still didn't give way.

'I can't ...'

'You can,' said Racie forcefully, 'you're not trying hard enough.'

'I am! Help me!'

'Fine.'

Together they pushed as hard as they could against the door. Slowly, heavily, it opened, nearly blinding them both with white light. Mirana was transfixed by the swell of the power within the room. In a trance she stepped forward as her sister flinched beside her, shielding her eyes with her hands.

'Wait for me, titch,' she called, grabbing the back of Mirana's skirt.

Mirana ignored her. The power her sister had over her was swept away by the magic throbbing in this place. As her eyes adjusted to the diamond light, she saw that they were in a golden chamber which seemed to stretch on forever. It was filled from floor to ceiling with piles of things that nearly made her eyes pop out of her head.

Rocking chairs rocking themselves, glass shoe boxes with slippers made of crystal inside, chests of treasure; rubies and diamonds and emeralds, all spilling over onto the gold floor. Windows were set into the walls, and Mirana peered out to see pastures of green grass, sunsets, silver trees and orange skies; and people, so many people: people dancing, people living, people dying, people reading, people running, shouting, kissing. As she walked further she saw more treasures; a blooming rose growing out of a crack between the gold stones, protected by a glass dome; a pea sitting on a velvet cushion. Bubbles floated overhead, and as Mirana felt a whoosh of air above her head she looked up to see a richly embroidered rug flying through the chamber.

'Oh my goodness,' she breathed, soaking up the raw magic, feeling it course through her veins with a rough, uncontrollable beat. It made her heart beat three times as fast.

'Mirana!'

She turned around. Iracebeth had adjusted to the glare, and was bedecked in jewels, glittering all the more.

'Racie! You have to put those back!'

'Oh, shut up.'

Mirana felt a stab of anger, and knew it was annoyance spurred on by the raw magic. She grit her teeth.

'Look what I found.' From behind her back Racie drew a sword, a magnificent sword. It was almost as big as Iracebeth herself and was slender and silver, perfectly polished as though it had never been touched. A large blue stone, surrounded by a scattering of smaller ones, decorated the hilt.

Mirana caught her breath.

'It's beautiful.'

'Don't want me to put it back now, do you?' said her sister smugly.

Mirana reached out for it, only to have it waved out of her grasp as Iracebeth strutted away. Her fingers closed on thin air and clenched.

'I couldn't find a rock,' said Iracebeth's voice from far away, filtering into the world of red that Mirana was seeing. 'I thought we could use this instead.'

Mirana shook herself, making her way unsteadily over to Racie, her fists clenching and unclenching. She was standing by a treasure chest, waiting for her.

'You can be my apprentice,' she said importantly, swinging a necklace of pearls out of the way, as she raised the sword, her small arms wobbling slightly with the weight of it. 'Ready?'

'No,' snapped Mirana. 'I want to be the wizard.'

Iracebeth stiffened. She put down the sword.

'What?' she said through gritted teeth.

'I want to be the wizard.'

'You always get the good parts,' said Iracebeth, her tone blunt and irritable. 'Besides, this is my game.'

'You got to choose the story, that's all,' shouted Mirana, stepping up to her.

Iracebeth rose an eyebrow.

'What's got into you?'

'Nothing!' growled Mirana. 'Give me the sword!'

Iracebeth seemed to savour the word, 'No.'

'GIVE IT TO ME!' screeched the youngest sister, leaping on Iracebeth in a frenzy.

Because this was the last thing her opponent had been expecting, Mirana got a grip on the sword, but she was shaken off before she could win it completely.

'What are you doing, you ugly little freak?'

The words fuelled Mirana's anger, her hurt.

'Don't call me ugly!'

They struggled over the sword, staggering back and forth, kicking and biting and pulling hair. Every time Mirana's foot connected with her sister's shin, or her teeth sunk into her arm, or her hand came away with threads of broken hair, she felt a viscous wave of vengeance.

From somewhere far away she heard a door blasting open and the sound of her parents' voices, coming nearer to them.

'Iracebeth! Mirana! Let go of that this instant!' cried Mummy.

'Girls, listen to your mother!'

Mirana was too far gone to listen. The rage was roaring like a beast inside her, growing and growing like a looming tidal wave. She was ready to explode with it.

'It's my right! I'm the one who inherited the magical talent!' she screamed at Iracebeth.

'I'm a late bloomer, Daddy said so!'

'No, you're not! It all went to me; all of it, all of it, all of it, all of it! ALL OF IT!' As she screamed the last words she felt her own hair crackle with magical energy; a zap like she had never felt before that shot through her from the roots to the ends of the strands. She was unstoppable. The magic was hers, all of it. It was her right.

Iracebeth was blasted back, skidding along the ground with a cry of pain as their parents ran forward. Mirana raised the sword above her head.

'Mirana, no,' screamed her mother, 'it mustn't be used for anything but –'

Mirana plunged the Vorpal Sword deep into the treasure chest, all the force of every ounce of raw, untamed magic she had within her behind it. The energy crackled down the hilt, running through the sword and splitting the chest in two.

And suddenly the fury was gone, and as if all the life had been sucked out of her with it Mirana staggered back, her hands slipping from the sword, which was now shaking, glowing, burning white hot.

Mirana exchanged a horrified glance with Iracebeth, who was frozen in shock on the floor.

'What have you done?' said her sister fearfully.

'Mummy,' said Mirana, feeling the world around her spin, 'I don't feel well.'

The sword shook more and more violently, building up with the pressure of Mirana's hot, burning anger.

Their mother, Queen of Underland, looked from the sword to her children to her husband.

'Uthur ... I'm sorry. I don't have enough in me for all of us.'

Something passed between them, something Mirana couldn't understand; a look that held an entire conversation in its passing.

'Protect them,' said her father.

Both her parents became a blur as they sped into action – the King towards the quivering sword and the Queen towards Mirana and Iracebeth.

'Quickly, Guin!' cried the King, and pulled the sword from the pile of shaking coins and jewels holding it upright.

The world exploded.

In the second before it did, their mother threw herself forward with all she had, casting a shield of pure, white light around the two sisters. Like something from a fairytale, the light kept them safe, unscathed as the sword emitted a blast of red fire and magic, bouncing off the walls of the chamber. All the treasures exploded, burning and shattering; glass broke, the flying carpets fell and the rocking chairs became a shower of deadly wood splinters.

Safe inside the dome of light Mirana and Iracebeth cowered, clinging to one another in terror.

''Rana ...' whimpered Iracebeth.

Everything was a haze of fire that she could barely see in. But she always remembered the heat, burning furiously outside the dome and making it feel like an oven, and her sister gripping her hands tightly. They both watched with wide eyes as Mummy and Daddy ... melted.

When she finally emerged from that hell of liquid fire, and when she saw herself in the mirror, she discovered that the burst of magic had turned her hair white. She clipped a piece of it off. It fell softly into her hand; like snowflakes. She giggled vacantly at the thought.

She twirled the strands between her thumb and forefinger. She liked the colour white, she decided. It was clean. Clean and pure and ice cold. Cold and numbing and soothing.

Her control was amazing, she had also discovered. She just hadn't been trying all these years. All you had to do was reach inside you for the candle labelled "To Feel/Not to Feel", and blow it out with one swift, icy breath. It was easy, she decided, when you didn't feel.

While Iracebeth hated her and cried and sobbed and screamed for her mummy, and the subjects lined up outside the castle all dressed in black, moaning and gripping each for support, Mirana sat in the nursery, in her favourite chair which was just a little bit too tall for her, swinging her feet and staring at her hair clippings.

She hated black, she decided as she watched more grievers arrive through the window. She hated fire and she hated darkness. And she would vow to stay away from it, and it would not touch her again.

Yes, Mirana decided, humming softly to herself, her little white shoes skimming the floor in a steady beat. She liked the colour white.

While the Queen was entrapped, Pig was stuck in his own personal hell.

'Speak roughly to your little boy,' sang a voice he knew too well, 'and beat him when he sneezes, for he can thoroughly enjoy the pepper when he pleases!'

'Stop, Mum, please,' he moaned.

Memories repressed deep inside his mind for years now were being roughly shoved to the surface, bubbling angrily like a pot of over-brewed stew.

Memories of being hit, beaten bloody; with a spoon, with fists and hands, with feet, with words. His mother's huge face, looming over him, twisted in hideous rage. He'd never seen anything as ugly as her anger.

'I speak severely to my boy,' she sang in a coarse voice, every word spat out like a curse, spraying him with flecks of spit, 'I beat him when he sneezes, he only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases!'

'I can't help it, Mum,' he pleaded; a little boy, small and underfed and so thin he felt his bones creak when he moved to shield himself, 'I can't help it, I'm always sick –' He sneezed again, and she shoved him into the wall. Pain shot through his body, and he fell onto the floor, every part of him throbbing.

'It's pepper,' she screamed insanely, grinning and laughing and spinning gleefully, 'it makes you sick and it makes me mad!'

'Pepper makes you angry?'

'Stupid boy!'

He was hit across the face and she turned her back on him.

Everything back then had been like one long nightmare, every day blurring into the next; pain and the song and his mother's angry red face. And then one day he had woken up. There was no song, and his mother was lying face down on the floor, flies buzzing over her and empty bottles scattered around her. The foulest smell imaginable hung in the stale air. Pig had run outside and thrown up. How long had she been lying there, while he recovered from the last beating?

He couldn't go back inside. Perhaps she was asleep. Perhaps she was only waiting to grab his ankle. He was frightened, even though he knew he was free, and he ran. He ran all the way up into the mountains which bordered the land they lived in. There were monsters on the other side, his mother had told him. The world stopped after the mountains and if you fell off the monsters would gobble you up.

But the man and the woman who found him curled up in the bushes didn't look like monsters. She looked like moonlight and sunshine and he looked like a rainbow, and they had both taken him over the edge of the world and into another, where everything was green and alive.

But the nightmares followed him. They lingered on the edge of everything, at the back of his mind, and now they had caught up, and here he was; back in the tiny, cramped little house where he had been born into a childhood from hell.

A blow struck him; long fingernails scratched across his face. Blood was drawn. Tears stung the cuts.

'Stop, please, stop ...'

There was a high cackle, and it wasn't his mother's.

Blonde curls flew into sight, the smell of flowers filling his nostrils as she elbowed him in gut. Delicate hands pushed him back with unbelievable force; he hit something hard and fell once more, down on all fours. She kicked him hard and he choked, coughing.

'Stop ...'

'Speak roughly to your little boy,' Isolda sang brightly as she stood over him, her pink dress splattered with blood. His blood, he realised with a dull shock. 'And beat him when he sneezes, he only does it to annoy, because he knows it teases.' Her perfect face was twisted in wicked delight in his pain.

'What's wrong, kitchen boy? Can't you bring yourself to hit me?' Again she slashed his face, grinning, again she kicked him and beat him. Her voice was strange and warbled, echoing around him. It was too loud, too sweet, it made his head spin.

'I don't understand,' he croaked, 'I thought ...'

'You thought I was real?' she laughed, clasping her hands in delight. 'Really? You really fell for it?'

He must have misheard something. Must have misunderstood. She couldn't be a lie. She was perfect.

'I fell for you. I thought ... you were made for me.'

'I was.' The smile slipped into a grimace, her sharp white teeth bared. 'Stupid, stupid boy,' she said softly. Her blue eyes were empty of anything but a scorching hate – the hate of something that had been cooped up, waiting for revenge while its grudges festered. She kicked him again, square in the stomach. He groaned and coughed up blood, curling up on the floor. She cocked her head, intrigued. 'Why don't you hit back?'

Her voice seemed to split into three, bouncing off the walls, louder and louder.

'Why don't you fight back, you coward?'

'Are you afraid of me?'

'You're too soft,' she spat, sneering down at him.

Slowly, painfully, Pig climbed to his feet. His heart and his chest throbbed painfully, though for different reasons. He wiped his face on the back of his hand. It came away bloody.

'I'm not afraid of you,' he said thickly, through his blood nose, 'and I won't hit you. Not because I love you. I won't hit you because I will never treat anyone the way my mother treated me. No matter how angry, or hurt I am, I'm never going to act like such a piece of slurking urpal slackush scrum.'

Her face contorted in fury, turning bright red, and she raised her hand once more, when suddenly cracks appeared in the world, splintering everything into hundreds of pieces as Isolda and the squalid little room shattered and fell away, leaving behind a thick blackness. And just as he began to wonder exactly what he was standing on, Pig fell, hurtling down and down and down, head over heels and heels over head; spinning wildly.

He landed with a silent finality on both feet. He was in a shadowed room, surrounded on all sides by giant mirrors which distorted his image over and over. Pig stared at his reflection. His nose was unbroken, his face was unscathed and clean of blood. The blood on his hand had disappeared. So had the pain.

He had never been more confused in his life.

'What ...?' He felt his face tentatively, half expecting the mirror to be lying. 'What is going on?'

'Something not good,' said a small voice from his ankle.

Pig looked down in surprise to see Mallymkun. She was sitting by his left foot, looking extremely bored.

'Mally?' he narrowed his eyes. 'Is that really you?'

'I bloody well hope so,' she snorted.

That was enough to satisfy him. He sat down beside her complacently, waiting for her to explain.

'I'm glad that worked,' she said, and didn't explain.

'Glad what worked?'

'Breaking mirrors.'

'Oh.' He looked around at the mirrors surrounding them. None were broken.

'They don't seem to like it much,' said Mally, as though she had just conducted a rather interesting experiment for her own amusement, though he sensed some deeper concern behind her apparent calm. 'Makes them spit you out.'

That reminded him.

'Mally!' he cried, flapping his arms, much distressed. 'Mally, we've got to get out of here; it's Isolda, she's nuts, she's not real, she's a – a thing!'

He expected Mally to jump up shouting and brandishing her sword. Instead she crossed her legs and nodded thoughtfully, looking disturbingly undisturbed by this revelation.

'Mally!'

'Pig!'

He frowned at her, 'Don't you understand the danger we're in?'

'Oh, I understand,' she said, getting to her feet. 'I understand a good deal better than you do, too, so you can shut your gob.'

He rubbed his head in bewilderment.

'So, uh, you know what's going on then?'

Mally frowned into one of the mirrors, her back turned to him.

'Do you know where we are, Pig?'

'The Round Hall?'

'Yes. And it has a reputation for being a bit ... funny. Not viscous, though. And what I saw was particularly ... viscous,' she said, her frown deepening. 'It was made by something that could hate.'

'What did you see?'

He could have sworn she stiffened slightly.

'Doesn't matter. I got out, and then I wondered what it was,' she said, and turned to him, 'which is what usually happens after the panic dies down. And then I remembered that there was something behind the other doors. Something not good.'

Pig stared at her blankly.

'Haven't you ever been to school?'

'Uh, no.'

She sighed and turned back to the glass.

'Well, one of the things they teach at school is history. And this particular piece of history is a bit of a taboo subject, but ...'

'Go on.'

Mally bit her lip.

'Once upon a time,' she recited, 'there was the Bloodshed. War raged across the continent of Underland for an age, until many tribes united and pushed those deemed "evil" across the borders, to live in the deserts of the ruined Outlands, which were once the battlefields. Peace reigned for some years, before the dissatisfied outcasts of the Outlands brought violence back into Underland. Around this time there emerged some ... creatures.'

'Creatures?'

'Things. Some said they were the spirits of those killed in the First Bloodshed, come to seek revenge. Whatever they had been once, now they were nothing but hatred.'

'What did they want?'

'To hate. They wanted to kill and maim and torture. To have power over others and to use their own powers against everything. They simply wanted to destroy. And they did destroy. The Outlanders tried to harness them, use them as weapons, but even they were killed eventually.' Mally lent a hand against the glass of the mirror, tracing patterns. 'Everyone that stood in their way was killed.'

'But a hero stopped them, right? A hero always stops them.'

Mally nodded with a small smile, 'The Queen of Underland stopped them. Used one of their own mirrors against them.'

'And she killed them.'

'No. She trapped them. She tossed them into the In Betweens, behind the other doors of the Round Hall, and set up wards and locked the doors.' Mally turned to him again, and he knew his fear must have registered on his face. 'Turns out she didn't lock them quite properly.'

Pig felt himself pale further.

'Then ... Isolda ... she was?'

'A Looking Glass creature,' said Mally, nodding again, 'sounds about right.'

'A looking what?'

'A Looking Glass creature, it's like a little foot-soldier of the Looking Glass Children,' she said, 'they're shapeshifters. Dangerous shapeshifters; they can manipulate just about anything. They can see into both worlds: Overland and Underland. And they use it against you. They were all supposed to be trapped in the In Betweens for all eternity, but they must have been gathering power for centuries. Lift me up.'

Pig put out a hand for her to hop onto and stood carefully, sitting her on his shoulder.

'See that?' she said, pointing into the mirror before them.

Pig put his hands to the glass and peered in, as though through a window.

'What can you see?'

Pig nearly jumped in surprise.

'A sheep knitting a woollen sweater with a letter 'M' on it.'

'Good, I thought I was going barmy.'

'What's a sheep doing here?' he wondered aloud, then a nasty if slightly ridiculous thought occurred to him, 'It's not a ... looking thingy, is it?'

'What, that thing? No,' laughed Mally.

'How do you know that?'

'Look at it. It's a sheep,' she said plainly. 'Well, it looks like a sheep anyway.'

'What is it really, then?'

'I think it's the White Queen.'

'Aunt Mirana?'

'Yes.'

Pig looked down at her with raised eyebrows.

'But it's a sheep.'

'And you're a Pig.'

He stared at her.

'Sorry. I couldn't resist,' she flashed him a weak smile and then explained, 'like I said; this place can do funny things to your head. It makes you see things.'

'I know.'

'I don't think this is one of the Looking Glass Childrens' things, though. Everything they show you is real. This is just Round Hall being Round Hall.'

'How do we get her out?'

Mally shrugged, 'Same way I got you out, I suppose.'

'And how did you do that?' he said, trying hard to be patient.

'I saw you through a mirror, like this, except you were, well, a pig. And I think you were dancing.'

'I definitely wasn't dancing,' he said darkly and she looked at him in concern.

'You're alright, aren't you? The things I saw weren't my best memories.'

He smiled thinly, 'Mine weren't my best either.'

She looked about to question him further, but stopped herself.

'I broke the mirror you were in and it spat you out and repaired itself.' She stood on his shoulder, and he flinched as her blade flashed out, nearly taking his eye with it.

'Watch it, Mal!' he yelped.

'Sorry,' she grinned, and raised the sword above her head, bringing it down with all her strength on the mirror.

The Hatter felt like he was falling to pieces. Alice was staring blankly at him. Edith was huddled on the floor, sobbing into her nightgown. She sounded as broken as he felt. For a second he wondered numbly how long she had been searching for her aunt, and then he realised with a tiny zap of a shock that Alice was her aunt. She was her family.

All this time he had hated the girl, disliked her because Alice loved her and not him, and had been annoyed at the child's persistence in following him, dogging his footsteps and standing between him and Alice just as she had unknowingly done seven years ago.

Tarrant had once had a family. Full and boisterous and colourful. And they had been taken from him.

And now here he was, trying to take Edith's family away from her. Before, it was hard to believe that a child with eyes that seemed cold and untrusting, who bellowed and shouted and saw nothing but her own point of view, could love and care and give. Now, the same child was crying on the floor like she had lost everything, and the Hatter had to realise that Edith did love. She loved fiercely, with a stubborn determination. She loved just as much as he did, and she'd lost just as much as he had.

'Edith,' he said, trying to be gentle, 'don't cry anymore, please.'

That just made her sob harder; it was the only sound in the semi-darkness.

'I'm dreaming, it's only a nightmare, it's only a nightmare,' muttered Edith between sobs.

Only a nightmare. How wonderful that would be. To wake up and find that this whole thing was nothing more than a dream, that Alice had never gone missing, that the trip into the woods with the Stone; finding it and losing it and finding it again, had all been make-believe. That none of it was real. One of those dreams that didn't make sense. Didn't make sense ...

'Edith,' said the Hatter, as something rather horrible began to occur to him, 'perhaps you remember what I was saying before? About coincidences?'

There was no reply from the girl, who merely continued to cry. He didn't think she had even heard him.

'Edith,' he said again, 'I said something before about coincidences. The coincidences with you finding the Stone and then me. I think … It's important, Edith, I'm sure it is.' He bit his lip, pacing to and fro in agitation. 'There are more coincidences.'

She wasn't listening.

'Edith.' He crouched down beside the girl, gently pulling her hands away from her face, 'Edith, please. Please, don't cry anymore, I need you to help me remember. We have to get out of this place, Edith, and something is … terribly, horribly, badly wrong.'

The girl couldn't seem to stop sobbing; the tears kept coming and Tarrant felt at a complete loss as to what to do – he had to get her to calm down. He had to make her focus.

'Alice,' he said in desperation, turning his head to the woman standing above them.

She stared down at him, her brown eyes dead and blank.

'Alice, please.'

She didn't blink, looking right through him. Then she opened her mouth.

'It's only a dream, nothing can hurt you,' she said, as though reciting from a script, 'but in that sleep of death what dreams may come?'

'I must be dead, I must be dreaming; it can't be real,' Edith muttered with an unfocused gaze.

'No, Edith,' Tarrant said sharply, hunching low to meet her eyes, 'listen to me. You're awake. It's not just a dream. You need to focus and we need to get out of here, wherever "here" is. Concentrate,' he said, gripping her wrists tightly. He looked back at Alice with one last pleading look.

'Alice, help me. There was a time when you could fight off a Jabberwock.'

As she looked at him blankly the inspiration came to him. He remembered Alice stepping forward to fight the Jabberwock all those years ago, so young and so full of muchness, muttering under her breath about impossible things.

'Edith,' he said, turning back to the girl, 'we need to remember the coincidences. There's something wrong, we have to work it out and I'm going to need your help. You watch, Edith, and you remember everything you see, I know you do. Coincidences.'

'Coincidences?' The girl raised her head, eyes and nose streaming and red.

'Count them, Edith,' said the Hatter, releasing her. 'Count them with me. One.'

'… I found the Stone when I wandered off,' said Edith slowly.

'Two.'

'… I found you quickly … when I had no way of tracking you.'

'Three.'

Edith frowned to herself, wiping at her face, thinking back.

'Shifting Lake,' she said eventually, 'it moves around but … when Mally and I were chased out of the forest it just happened to be right in front of us.'

The Hatter nodded.

'Four.'

'Isolda,' said Edith, 'she just happened to have a tower there.'

'You found her at Shifting Lake?' said the Hatter in surprise.

'What?'

'It's not possible to have a house on Shifting Lake,' he said, 'the house would disappear and change and reappear constantly.'

'Five,' continued Edith, her frown deepening, 'the Stone only worked for Isolda.'

'That is rather …'

'Six, Hatter,' said Edith, and her eyes met his, widening, 'Alice was behind the first set of doors we tried.'

Tarrant felt a chill run down his back. He stood up, pulling Edith up with him.

'Where are we going? How do we get out?'

Splendid, the child had gone from weeping to panicking.

'I don't know,' he began, grabbing Alice's hand and pulling them all close together just as a fierce wind blew up, swirling around them.

Beside him Edith shielded her eyes from the gale and Alice just stood with her eyes shut. Tarrant, too, shut his eyes against the wind, feeling his clothes flapping wildly. Just as they were nearly blown over the wind stopped, and Tarrant looked up to see that they were back in the first room; in the Round Hall.

'What happened?' cried Edith.

The doors were gone. Now, lining the room in their stead, were seven full length looking glasses.

'Where's the little door?'

'Shush,' he said, not knowing what else to say.

Edith glared at him and he was almost glad to see it. It had been slightly disturbing, seeing her submit to such a humble thing as crying.

'Nice coincidences,' said a voice in his ear, and he jumped.

Three voices giggled in unison, the noise reverberating throughout the Hall.

'So far you've proven that you can count to six,' said another voice, or perhaps it was the same one, 'we're all very impressed.'

Three shadows appeared against the wall and mirrors, casting themselves from Edith, the Hatter, and Alice, but they looked shapeless and pitch black, as if one could fall into them.

'But you only spotted one of our creatures,' teased one of the voices, 'we planted two.'

'Isolda's the most annoying person I've ever met,' said Edith, her voice shaking, 'but calling her a creature is a little harsh, don't you think?'

'Isolda was a Looking Glass creature, and we are the Looking Glass Children,' said the voice impatiently. 'That should mean something to the Hatter, at least.'

It did mean something to him. The names stirred memories of childhood horror, and he suddenly felt sick.

'You ... you're ...'

'Finally. You're rather slow; the Dormouse got it straight away.'

'Mally is here, then?'

The voices giggled again.

'Perhaps.'

He felt something tug at his sleeve, and looked down to see Edith frowning up at him.

'What's going on?'

How to explain this quickly...?

'They,' he said, pointing to the shadows, 'are going to kill us.'

'Oh,' she said, and looked rather disheartened.

'They're going to try to kill us,' he amended hastily.

'Not wishing to interrupt or anything,' one of the shadows cut in, 'but you haven't guessed yet.'

'What?' said Tarrant rudely, past the point of caring that the Looking Glass Children held all the cards at the present moment, while he held not even a small burnt corner of a card.

'We planted two creatures.'

That, however, got his attention.

'Isolda ... and ...?' He thought back, remembering their former company. There had been himself and Mally, who couldn't be spies. There was Pig, whom he had known for many years. And there was –

'Edith?' he said aloud, and he looked at her with horror.

She looked ready to slap him, and he took a step back, shepherding Alice with him.

'Are you daft?' she cried, looking genuinely hurt. 'They're talking about the Evisceraker.'

'Oh, yes, of course,' he said, stepping back into place. 'I knew that,' he added unconvincingly.

Edith sniffed and wiped her nose on the back of her hand, and he cringed, hoping she wasn't about to burst into tears again.

'The niece-child has guessed correctly,' said one of the Children, sounding terribly amused, 'pity it's the only thing she can do right.'

Edith glared at them, though it was a rather weak, wet glare.

'We needed to get at least one of you out of the forest,' continued the Children. 'Our powers could only stretch so far outside the Hall and planting something as complicated as Isolda was tricky. Shifting Lake we found easiest to manipulate, so we had to get you to Shifting Lake to meet Isolda.'

'But if that thing wasn't real,' puzzled Edith, 'why does my leg have a scar on it?'

'Have you ever had a dream you could feel pain in?' said the Hatter. 'Or thought you could feel pain?'

Edith looked quite ready to sit down and start crying again.

'That doesn't make any sense.'

'None of it did, really,' he said, 'remember? All those coincidences? They've been controlling things all this time to lead us right into their trap. With things like the Stone being re-found and Isolda being able to work it the whole thing became almost ridiculously easy, didn't it?'

Edith sighed.

'I don't care. I want to go home,' she said, the dreaded tears welling in her eyes again.

'Aw, poor itty-bitty baby Edith wants to go home,' sneered the Children. 'There's no home to go to, baby Edith. Mummy's all dead.'

Edith's face crumpled.

'Edith,' said the Hatter, closing one hand around her wrist, 'we're leaving. Now. We're going home, so don't cry. Gentlemen, ladies, Children,' he said, addressing the shadows, 'I'm afraid my ward here is getting tired. Thank you for the tea and biscuits, but I think we'll just take Alice and be going.'

'You can't take Alice.' The voices had gone from maliciously playful to threatening. 'We want her.'

'You can't have her,' he growled, gripping her hand tightly. 'You won't harm a hair on her head.'

'We don't want to hurt her. We have made her queen. She shall never grow old, as those Above shall grow old. Time shall not weary her; nor shall the years condemn. She shall be pure. The dream-child, ours, forever.'

'Why do you need a queen? You're the Looking Glass Children, you need nothing but your own hatred.'

'We need a body,' sang the voices in a chilling chorus that made the hairs of the back his neck stand up.

He stared at them, sickened. He pulled Alice closer, nearly supporting her weight; she was still limp and blank. He thought frantically, trying to come up with some escape plan, some form of attack or defence, anything. Then Edith spoke, her voice small.

'Why Aunt Alice? Why did you take her?'

The voices laughed, screeching like nails on a chalkboard.

'She was so easy to take. So easy to lead astray. Make the sound of a small child crying as she passes through the Hall and she'll come running. Besides. She was all-purpose bait. Anyone would go to the ends of the earth for Alice.'

'Every threat, every person who could be a danger, all drawn so perfectly into the web by their own weak hearts,' said another voice.

'They'd follow her to the ends of the earth,' said another.

'The Mad Hatter would.'

'And the Dormouse would follow the Hatter.'

'And the little niece would lead a fuse line straight to the Queen.'

'Straight to the White Queen of Underland!'

'The niece would follow her aunt, and the kitchen boy would follow the niece, and the Queen would follow the kitchen boy like one of her own kin.'

'"The kitchen boy follow the niece"?' Edith looked ready to laugh through her tears. 'Are you talking about me and Pig? Pig? Follow me?'

There was a small silence.

'Yes. We thought … we relied on you being more like dear Alice. So charming and pretty and easy to love. You weren't quite the cherub we expected.'

Edith's fists balled, shaking at her sides with white knuckles.

'A minor mistake on our part. We saw he wouldn't love you so we created someone he would. A missing link to fill the gap.'

'That's why you needed Isolda to follow us,' he said faintly, 'to get Pig to follow us. To manipulate the Stone to work for us.'

'And to get the White Queen to follow Pig.'

'And we've won.'

'No, you haven't.' The Hatter turned to look at Edith as she spoke. The girl was trembling with fear, the tears tracks still on her cheeks, her eyes red from crying. Still she stepped forward, her anger growing. 'It's not over yet.'

'There's no one left to save you!' The Children laughed wildly, echoing from all directions. 'You're going to die. Just like your grandmother, and your dear mother. And with the Queen's crown in our hands, we will control all of Underland. Don't you know anything? Once you capture the queen, the game is over.'

'No, it's not over!' Edith shouted.

'You're just the little girl who ran away when her mother needed her the most,' taunted the voices, 'you ran away because she scared you and you'll run away when we scare you.'

'I'm not running away, I'm standing and fighting!'

'We both are,' said the Hatter, finding his voice. He stood straighter; still half-supporting Alice, one arm wrapped around her. 'We found Alice and we're not letting her go.'

Edith joined him, wrapping her own arm around Alice.

'And you'll have to kill us to get her,' he said, raising his head as they stood together, supporting Alice between them.

'You won't be going anywhere,' said the voice almost lazily, 'not without this.'

A shadow sprung forth, producing a sphere of golden light. Pictures, hazy and shining, moved within the sphere, flashing every now and then. Tarrant caught sight of his own face within the ball, smiling widely as he lifted his hat.

'What's that?' said Edith, but Tarrant already knew what it was.

'Alice's memories,' he said, watching transfixed as more and more pictures moved within the sphere; images of teacups and sunsets, an ocean stretching into the horizon, a marketplace bustling with people, a large-nosed redhead going down on one knee, a woman with dark blonde hair laughing, a man kissing another girl behind a hedgerow, the Jabberwock roaring, the Hatter talking, the Hatter looking up from the table, his eyes shifting colours, rushes heaped in a row boat, his face distraught and then surprised as she leaned in to kiss his cheek …

Before he knew it his free hand had reached out, stretching into the air for the glowing sphere.

'She hasn't forgotten me.' The words were breathed like a prayer.

'What are you doing?' he heard Edith yelp, but it didn't quite register. Just as his fingertips were nearing the sphere, fire erupted between him and the ball of memories.

He snapped out of it instantly, shaking his head, and was just in time to force both Edith and Alice down as every mirror in the Hall exploded into a million shards.

'Keep your head down,' he shouted as glass rained down on them.

'I wasn't intending to do otherwise,' Edith shouted back, and he was relieved to hear that she was good and cross.

The Looking Glass Children were screaming. The sound filled Tarrant's ears until they felt ready to explode. The tinkle of falling glass quietened and something whooshed over their heads, scorching the back of his neck.

He lifted his head. A ball of fire was dancing around the three shadows, who were batting at it, enraged and shrieking. It was one very cocky ball of fire. It flitted to and fro, right past the Children's noses.

'Get it! Get it!' With a high-pitched scream the shadows suddenly merged into one huge shadow, which stretched up, higher and higher on the wall over the fire. Finally it came crashing down; foamy sea water, deep blue and in one thick wave. The fire barely darted out of the way, taken by surprise. The water hit the floor and washed around Tarrant, Edith and Alice, standing in the centre of the room. Edith cried out and Tarrant shifted uneasily, but the water had other things to think about besides them.

The fireball was doing a little dance over the top of the water. The water licked up at it in annoyance, only to find its opponent had suddenly, (and rather cheekily, Tarrant thought), become a large sponge. The water recoiled from it, slithering away into a corner and forming into a very solid and giant pair of silver scissors, which went chomping towards the sponge. Tarrant pulled Edith and Alice out of the way as the scissors went to chop the sponge clean in half. Just as the scissors neared the sponge however, the sponge became grey and hard and distinctly rock-shaped. It slammed down on the floor, creating cracks where the scissors had just dodged the blow, darting into the air above the rock.

The scissors hovered there for a second, then turned red-hot. Slowly they melted into lava, dripping onto the rock, which quivered and shrank. It shrank from the size of a boulder to the size of a pebble rapidly, then seemed to pop out of being all together.

There was a dreadful silence. Edith was clutching the Hatter's arm, cutting off his circulation. He could hear Alice breathing quietly beside him, even and completely unaffected by the whole display.

The lava had pooled smugly on the floor. Suddenly, it twitched. The Hatter leaned forward, watching eagerly. It twitched again. Soon it was squirming about and the Hatter squinted to see a tiny, miniscule bug jumping about on it, seemingly impervious to the heat. The lava bubbled angrily, whirlpooling, and formed back together as a hairy, fat spider; crawling as fast as lightening over the floor towards the bug.

The bug grew in size, growing fur and a tail, and was soon a grey mouse, charging towards the spider with an open mouth. The spider immediately veered off course and keeled over, twitching and convulsing as it too transformed into a mouse.

No, not a mouse. A rat; twice the size of the mouse, black and oily. It advanced on the cowering mouse, casting an ominous shadow over it.

'Run!' shouted Edith, but the mouse seemed frozen to the spot in fear, unmoving.

As the rat opened its mouth gobble down its victim, the mouse looked straight past the rat to Tarrant, sprawled on the floor between Edith and Alice. Its eyes were glowing turquoise.

Tarrant felt a grin tug at his mouth. The mouse grinned back with pointed teeth, and the grin stretched and stretched. The rat backed away, uncertain, and the brief moment of hesitation proved fatal.

The mouse became nothing more than wispy gas and a widening grin which darted up above the rat, and the next second the grin was fleshed out by a familiar grey and blue striped face which became a blur as it dived at the rat and swallowed it whole.

Just as Tarrant let out the breath he had been holding, he heard a cracking sound.

Cracks were appearing in the walls around the Hall. Where the mirrors had stood was a yawning blackness, and that too was morphing like a distorted painting. There was a yell and two figures in white leapt from one of the closing gaps.

Tarrant had never seen the Queen look like this before. Her white hair was frazzled and she looked like someone bigger had picked her up and shaken her like a rag doll. Pig was running ahead of her, shouting encouragement.

Edith stood unsteadily as the ground shook, staggering over to Pig, shouting something unintelligible over the growing din of the breaking walls.

'I know what I want ...' mumbled a voice into his shoulder.

Alice was stirring next to him. Her face was slumped into his shoulder, and now she looked up him, blinking her eyes as if waking from a deep sleep.

'Hatter?' she said sleepily. 'Where's your hat?'

He stared at her, and all he could do was grin.

'Alice. It's you.'

He heard a familiar voosh noise behind him and turned.

'Really, Tarrant,' said the Cheshire Cat, 'you're making a habit of needing to be saved by me.'

Tarrant grinned at him and stood, pulling Alice with him.

'I'll take it that means I'm forgiven then?' said the Cat. 'And we can stop all this nonsense about taking little jokes – malicious little pranks,' he backtracked hastily at the look of warning on the Hatter's face, 'more seriously than they're meant to be taken?'

'I suppose that's a fair agreement,' he began, but was cut off by the sound of the chandelier crashing to the ground. 'Oh dear.'

'Indeed,' said Chessur. 'You'll be wanting to run.'

With that he vanished into a thin smoke and disappeared.

'Are we in the Round Hall?' said Alice, still drowsy and confused, clinging to his hand like it was a plank of wood in a storm at sea. 'How did I get here?'

Tarrant opened his mouth to explain, then closed it and decided he would let Edith do the job for him instead. She was family, after all.

He and Alice crossed the room as it shook. A giant rumble split the wall in two and a huge crack appeared, large enough for them to slip through; white light was shining through it.

'I think that's the exit,' he said, and motioned to Pig, who seemed to be deep in an argument with Edith.

Alice frowned at the girl, 'Who is that? Is that ...?'

'Alice, you have to get out now, the Hall wants to repair itself –'

'And the Queen? Why is the Queen here?'

Mirana looked up and hurried over to them, taking Alice by the arm.

'I'll take her, Tarrant,' she said, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation.

Pig was pulling Edith towards the white crack, and the girl seemed to be fighting tooth and nail to get back through one of the black gaps.

'Tarrant, what's going on?' said Alice, looking from the Queen to Edith and Pig and back to him.

Tarrant pulled Pig up to them so that they all stood at the door.

'Where's Mally?' he said urgently. 'We have to go.'

'He left her behind!' shouted Edith furiously. 'He left her in one of the doors!'

'She's coming back, Edith,' said Pig, struggling with her, 'she went to trap the other creatures in one of the mirrors –'

'She's five inches tall, you idiot!'

Tarrant turned to the Queen.

'Take Alice,' he said, 'I'll take care of this.'

The Queen nodded and ushered the protesting Alice through the white gap, disappearing with a flash.

Edith had broken away from Pig and was running across the room towards the last open gap, slipping broken pieces of chandelier.

'Go,' said the Hatter to Pig, 'I'll get her.'

'But –'

The Hatter pushed him out of the crack and ran after Edith.

'Edith!'

She stopped and glared fiercely at him, standing by the last door.

'Wait for me,' he said, 'I'm coming too.'

Her expression softened and she nodded.

They jumped into the gap.

They were standing at the end of a corridor, which was shrinking rapidly even as they ran down it to the tiny door at the end. It was too small for either of them.

Edith let out a cry of despair.

'Mally!'

'Mally, we have to get out, the Hall is collapsing!'

Both of them struggled with the doorknob but the door held fast. They banged on the wood desperately.

'Mally!'

'Alright,' said Edith determinedly, pushing him out of the way, 'I'm going to try and lunge at it.'

Another unseen door opened with a creak behind them.

'Oh, anything but that,' said the Dormouse, slamming the door behind her.

They stared at her.

'You would not believe how many bloody sodding doors I've been through,' she complained.

'Where are the creatures?' spluttered Edith.

Mally shrugged.

'Stick them in a mirror and break the mirror, it's really not that complicated – Oi! What are you doing?' she yelped as the Hatter grabbed her and sprinted back up the corridor, Edith right behind him.

'Hall – collapsing – everyone out now,' she gasped as they ran. 'Had to – come back – you – being stupid.'

'Glad to hear you had faith in my abilities,' she retorted, then stopped. 'Wait - what; you came back for me?'

'No – we did it for fun,' Edith snapped.

They reached the end of the corridor and leapt out of the door just as it warped and shut behind them, and saw that the white gap, also, was closing.

'Faster!' Edith yelled, and the Hatter felt her shove him roughly through the gap.

There was a blinding flash of light, and he hung suspended in mid air for a second. The next thing he knew he was hitting the ground, the hand holding Mally flying out in front of him.

There was a chorus of shouts, and the sound of Edith crashing to the forest path somewhere near him.

'Ouch,' groaned Mally from his fist.

'Sorry,' he gasped, and released her. She tottered dizzily out of his palm before toppling over and sitting on the ground.

'I take back what I said about wanting to be saved. Give me some warning next time, alright, Hatter?' she said with a smile.

He sat up, feeling his own head spin.

'Tarrant!'

'Are you alright?'

'Hatter?'

He was surrounded by concerned-but-distinctly-happy-to-see-him faces. The tree the door had been set into was now nothing more than a blackened stump, and Edith was sitting up in front of it, slightly cross-eyed and green.

Pig helped him to his feet, but before he could even open his mouth to speak, his view of the world was obscured by flying blonde curls as Alice threw herself at him in a hug.

'Hatter, you won't believe how glad I am to see you.'

A happy little sigh escaped him as he wrapped his arms around her.

'Alice, I do believe I'm just as glad to see you; in fact, I've never been gladder to see you, though I was always glad to see you; especially now I haven't seen you in quite some time, and now you're you with all your memories back of course so I really am glad, quite happy to –'

'Hatter.'

'Find ...'

Edith sat by the stump as everyone crowded around the embracing Hatter and Alice, full of questions and answers and conversation. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her worn coat was pulled tight around her shoulders.

If I can find Wonderland, I can find Aunt Alice.

If I can find Aunt Alice, I can bring her back home.

If I can bring her back home, she can fix Mother.

She had found Wonderland, and she had found Aunt Alice. But there was no point bringing her home, because there was no Mother to fix anymore.

She felt a crushing wave of despair. How would she go back now, to a father who didn't want her? She watched Alice from afar, laughing and talking animatedly.

Alice didn't know that her mother and sister were dead.

Edith felt like crying again.

'What? No scowl?'

She jumped as the Cheshire Cat appeared beside her.

She tried to smile at him.

'Thanks ... for what you did there.'

'I did it for my own amusement,' he said, floating lazily before her. 'Let it be known that I was not playing the hero.' He disappeared and reappeared at her feet, tail curling on the ground. 'Why the long face? You found Alice, everyone has a group hug, we all go home happy.'

Edith sighed heavily.

'Really, Eliza – Edwina –'

'It's Edith,' she snapped crossly.

'There we are,' he grinned.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

'I've been watching, you know,' he said, his body vanishing and his head rolling to hover above her shoulder, 'it's been quite interesting. And by now, well, I'd be disappointed in you if you were anything but bad-tempered, tactless, and downright rude.'

'You ...' she glared at him, clenching her fists.

'That's more like it,' he said and disappeared again. She started as he popped back into being on her other side. 'Go say hello to your aunt.'

'What am I supposed to say? I haven't seen her in seven years, I don't think "so how have you been" is going to do.'

'Better than sitting here and moping,' he said, somehow managing to shrug without shoulders. 'No time for tears today, Edith. Snap out of it.'

He disappeared with a final pop.

Edith looked over at the crowd. Pig was handing the Stone back to the Queen, and the Hatter was putting his hat back on his head. Mally was tugging on the end of Alice's skirt, and pointing to Edith. Alice looked surprised, then slowly made her way over to Edith.

'Edith?' she said, uncertain as Edith herself felt. 'Edith Manchester?'

'Yes?' she said. She didn't really know what else to say.

Alice saved her by rushing at her with a hug. Something long buried deep inside Edith emerged, and she gripped her aunt tightly, swallowing a lump in her throat as she breathed in her familiar smell. It was the scent of many afternoons spent sitting in Aunt Alice's lap, her voice weaving stories of wonder. It was the scent of her childhood; when Mother still smiled and Grandmother still laughed and her father was a far off and distant problem that she didn't have to worry about. Even as she breathed it in Aunt Alice pulled back and the smell was gone as quickly as it came, and all that was left lingering was the dread of the moment when she would have to tell Alice everything that had happened to their family. But for now her aunt smiled at her and held her by the shoulders, looking over her as they knelt on the ground.

'Let me look at you.' Her smile faltered briefly, and though Edith thought she must have imagined it, Aunt Alice's voice quavered as she said with bright eyes, 'Goodness, how you've grown.'