Past: Wonderland
“M arch, wake up,” the voice said.
Pricking his ears, the March Hare stumbled out of his bed. His house was small. It smelled of carrots and six o’clock tea — for the six o’clock tea felt exquisitely different from a five o’clock tea.
“Don’t panic, it’s me,” the voice said.
The March’s house was dark. It was a rabbit hole he had dug for himself in the soils of Wonderland. The Hatter had offered him a teacup as a house once — a large teacup the size of a tree house — but the March preferred his own hole in the ground. He’d always wondered if he should have called it the Hare Hole instead of a rabbit hole, but he didn’t want anyone to know where he lived.
“I’m Carroll,” the voice whispered. “Lewis Carroll.”
“How can I know that for sure?” the March put his glasses on as if they would help him see in the dark.
“You can put the light’s on, March.” The voice said.
“I don’t have lights in here. It’s a hole,” the March said. “Besides, I have a light bulb in my head.”
“Stop that,” the voice kept whispering. It sounded impatient. “I’m Lewis Carroll. Charles Dodgson. I gave you your name: March Hare.”
“Okay?” the March leaned toward the opening of his house, a small window looking outside. In the dark, he could barely see Lewis’ face. “Holy carrots,” the March said. “It’s really you.”
Lewis looked worried, borderline scared. He wore his priest outfit again. “I need your help.”
“My help?” the March said. “No one ever needs me.”
“Listen. You’re wasting my time! I need to be able to trust you, March.”
“Trust?” the March’s ears pricked again. They hurt when he was excited. “You are going to tell me a secret?”
“A big one, March.”
“How big?”
“Big enough that I’m afraid your head is too small for it. I’m afraid you will end up telling someone else.”
“I can’t keep a secret, but I really want to know.”
Lewis seemed disappointed. The March acted like a child most of the time, but he couldn’t help it. He liked being a child, full of hope and imaginary friends.
“I’ll tell you part of it, then,” Lewis said.
“Part of a secret is still a secret.”
“I guess so.”
“Why me, Lewis? I’m the stupidest person in Wonderland.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re kind — and naive.”
“Naive?” the March grabbed for a teacup. “Let’s have some tea then. You seem stressed.”
“There is no time for tea,” Lewis snatched the cup away. Usually, Lewis was never this tense. “Listen to me!”
“Of course, Lewis. Calm down. What do you want to talk to me about?”
“The Six Keys.”
“Six keys?” the March scratched his temples. “Ah, you mean the Six Impossible Things. I’ve never figured that out—“
“The Six Impossible Things is a metaphor I made up for the Six Keys.”
“Oh, impossible keys. I like that.”
“It’s all a metaphor,” Lewis insisted. “They aren’t really six keys.”
“They aren’t?”
“They are, and they aren’t.”
The March got dizzy.
“I know it’s puzzling. The Six Keys are the most important things in the world, March.”
“If you say so, Lewis. But why?”
“They protect a most precious thing.”
“Precious?”
“Precious beyond imagination.”
“Protects it from whom?”
“Black Chess.”
“And you have them?”
“I have them, and I don’t have them.”
“Hmm… this is so hard to understand. But also why tell me about the most important thing in the world? I’m just a Hare. I’m useless.”
“You’re not. You’re going to play a huge role in saving the world.”
“The world? You mean Wonderland.”
“No, the world. The whole world with all its hidden dimensions and realms.”
“Oh,” the March scratch his temple. “So they are really keys? I mean like normal.”
Lewis smiled. The March had had a genuine concern. “March,” Lewis said. “This is the trick.”
“What trick?”
“As I said, the Keys are keys, but they’re also not keys.”