The forest eventually gave way to a rocky landscape, the towering trees gradually thinning out until only jagged rocks and sparse shrubs remained. The group slowed their pace, each of them panting from the frantic escape. The air here felt cooler, the wind carrying a sharpness that stung Alice's cheeks as she tried to catch her breath.
They finally stopped, gathering on a flat, rocky ledge overlooking a sprawling valley below. Alice leaned on her knees, her heart still racing from both the run and the intensity of their recent encounter. The Bandersnatch and Jubjub bird were far behind them now, but the tension still clung to her like a shadow.
She glanced over at the Knave of Hearts, who stood tall despite their exhausting journey, scanning the horizon with sharp, calculating eyes. "So," Alice began, her voice still breathless, "where to next?"
The Knave turned to her, wiping the sweat from his brow. "There's a village not far from here," he replied in a steady tone. "We need to recover our strength before we can move on."
Alice nodded, grateful for the brief respite. The White Rabbit leaned heavily against a boulder, clutching his pocket watch as if to reassure himself of the time. The Mad Hatter and March Hare were sprawled on the ground, still catching their breath, while the Dormouse continued its peaceful slumber in the March Hare's arms, seemingly unbothered by the chaos they had just left behind.
After a few moments of rest, the party stood up and resumed their journey.
As they rounded a bend in the rocky path, Alice squinted into the distance and saw something that made her pause—a quaint cottage, nestled precariously at the edge of the cliffs. It was an odd sight, considering the barren landscape surrounding it. The house itself was small but well-kept, with a thatched roof and bright red shutters. A garden of vibrant, but strangely-shaped flowers, twisted and curled in unusual directions, surrounded the house. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, rising into the gray sky above.
Alice blinked, confused. The contrast between the cottage and the harsh, rocky terrain was stark. It seemed like something pulled straight out of a dream—or a nightmare. "Who lives here?" she wondered aloud.
"Oh dear," the White Rabbit gasped suddenly, his eyes wide with alarm. His fur seemed to bristle as he stared at the house. "That's where the Duchess lives!"
The Mad Hatter perked up. "Ah, the Duchess!" he exclaimed, with an odd mix of delight and dread. "Her tea parties are unforgettable, though mostly for the wrong reasons. Let's hope we're not on the guest list this time!"
"Should we be worried?" Alice asked, her eyes flicking nervously from the house to the Knave.
The Knave of Hearts' expression remained neutral, though his brow furrowed slightly. "The Duchess… she's unpredictable, to say the least. But we may not have much of a choice. If we're to rest and gather supplies, this could be the only place for miles."
The Knave of Hearts approached the door with caution, his hand raised to knock, but before his knuckles could touch the wood, the door creaked open with an eerie slowness. From the dimly lit interior, a figure emerged—a footman, tall and lanky, with a round face and bulging eyes that blinked slowly, like a frog observing its prey. His skin had a slight sheen, giving him an amphibian-like quality that made Alice shift uncomfortably where she stood.
The footman tilted his head slightly, his large eyes sweeping over the group with a curious yet indifferent expression, as though this were the most mundane of circumstances. His lips parted lazily, and he spoke in a slow, almost disinterested drawl. "Are we expecting visitors today, Duchess?"
His voice echoed into the house behind him, as though he hadn't really expected a reply. The question seemed more for show than anything, the words dripping with nonchalance.
Alice exchanged a nervous glance with the White Rabbit, who was fidgeting at her side, clutching his pocket watch as if it might offer some kind of protection from the strange encounter.
The footman didn't seem to be in any rush to acknowledge their presence further. Instead, he stood there, gazing blankly at the Knave as though time itself had slowed down. His frog-like eyes blinked once, then twice, in an almost exaggerated motion.
The Knave, ever composed, didn't let the awkward silence faze him. He straightened his posture, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We need an audience with the Duchess," he said firmly, his voice authoritative but polite.
The footman blinked again, processing the request with the same languid manner. He then turned his head slightly, as if listening for something within the house. A faint, distant clatter of dishes could be heard, followed by a sharp, high-pitched laugh that seemed to echo from deeper inside. The footman's gaze slowly drifted back to the group, but there was no response.
"Is she in?" Alice asked tentatively, trying to break the stillness that was beginning to feel oppressive.
Without answering her directly, the footman took a step back, swinging the door open a bit wider. The creaking of the hinges seemed unnaturally loud, as though the house itself groaned at the arrival of unexpected guests. He gestured lazily inside with one long, thin arm. "You may enter… if you dare," he said, his voice barely changing in tone, but the words hung ominously in the air. His bulging eyes blinked slowly again as if he were making sure they understood the gravity of what they were stepping into.
Alice swallowed, her nerves tightening. The White Rabbit's ears twitched wildly, and even the Mad Hatter's usual whimsical grin faltered just slightly.
"Well, that's… welcoming," Alice muttered under her breath, hesitating at the threshold. Something about the atmosphere around the cottage unsettled her deeply.
The Knave of Hearts entered the cottage without a moment's hesitation. Alice followed more cautiously, wrinkling her nose as she crossed the threshold. The air inside the cottage was thick with something sharp and overpowering. She couldn't quite place the smell at first, but as soon as it hit the back of her throat, she let out an involuntary sneeze.
"Is that… pepper?" she asked, her voice nasally and slightly muffled as she brought a hand to her face, trying to fend off another sneeze.
Before anyone could answer, Alice's eyes fell on the figure sitting in the center of the room, and her words died in her throat. Sitting on a small, rickety three-legged stool was the Duchess, a rather stout and peculiar-looking woman. She wore an odd mix of ruffled, outdated garments, her dress patched and stained in places. Her sharp features seemed exaggerated, with high, pronounced cheekbones, and her beady eyes narrowed with a glint of something that was both suspicious and amused. A long, pointed nose stuck out from under the massive bonnet perched on her head. In her arms, she cradled a squirming, red-faced baby who appeared to be crying noiselessly, its small limbs flailing in the air.
The scene felt surreal, almost grotesque, as if pulled from a strange dream. Alice instinctively took a step back, unsure of how to react. There was something unnerving about the Duchess's casual, almost detached way of holding the child, as though the act of caring for it was more of a chore than an expression of love or affection.
But it wasn't just the Duchess who added to the bizarre atmosphere. At the far end of the cottage, standing over a large, bubbling cauldron, was the cook—a plump woman with a crooked back and a face that seemed permanently locked in a grimace. She leaned over the fire, stirring the contents of the cauldron with slow, deliberate motions, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The room was filled with thick clouds of steam, and the smell of pepper was now almost unbearable. Every so often, the cook would toss something into the cauldron—a pinch of salt here, a handful of herbs there—and stir vigorously, sending even more clouds of peppery vapor into the air.
Alice, fighting the urge to sneeze again, cast a glance at the Knave, who remained unfazed by the strange scene unfolding before them. He stood calmly at the center of the room, watching the Duchess and her peculiar household with a detached air, as if this was nothing more than a routine visit.
The Duchess, however, seemed to sense the new arrivals. She glanced up from the baby, her lips curling into a crooked smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ah, visitors," she crooned in a voice that was both harsh and mocking. "What brings you to my humble abode, dear Alice? And what business does the Knave have with me today?"
Alice opened her mouth to speak but found herself momentarily at a loss for words. There was something about the Duchess's intense gaze and the unsettling quiet of the baby in her arms that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
The cook, meanwhile, continued to stir the cauldron without so much as acknowledging their presence, her heavy, rhythmic stirring filling the room with an almost hypnotic sound.
The Knave of Hearts stepped forward, his expression calm and composed. "We're in need of shelter for a short time—just until we regain our strength. And perhaps... a little information."
The Duchess tilted her head, her gaze flickering with mild interest as she rocked the baby absentmindedly. "Information, you say?" she mused, her voice dripping with amusement. "You think I've just been sitting here, feeding this little thing and stirring the pot, waiting for the likes of you to come asking for favors?"
The Knave didn't flinch. "You've always had your ear to the ground in Wonderland, Duchess. You hear things—things that could be useful. I imagine that hasn't changed."
The Duchess cackled softly, a sound that sent shivers down Alice's spine. "Oh, dear Knave, you do flatter me," she crooned, eyes glinting. "Always so astute. But you must know that information in Wonderland is not given freely. There's always a price."
Alice felt the tension in the room thicken, the air heavy not just with pepper, but with the weight of unspoken negotiations. She glanced nervously at the Knave, who seemed unbothered by the Duchess's words.
"What do you want in return?" the Knave asked, cutting straight to the point.
The Duchess leaned forward, her grip tightening slightly on the baby, who squirmed in her arms. "Oh, nothing you can't afford," she said with a sly smile. "Perhaps... a favor. Something small, to be called upon at a later time."
Alice's unease deepened. The thought of owing the Duchess a favor in Wonderland—a place where favors rarely came without a twist—was unsettling.
The Knave, however, simply nodded. "If that's what it takes."
Alice's heart skipped a beat, but she trusted the Knave knew what he was doing. The Duchess leaned back on her stool, clearly pleased with the exchange. "Very well," she said, stroking the baby's head absentmindedly. "You can rest here for as long as you need. And as for your information... ask away, Knave."