Chapter Eighteen

The next morning, everyone gathered in the White Queen’s courtyard at dawn. A sense of fear and exhilaration filled the air. This was the Frabjous Day. Today everything would change . . . but whether for better or for worse, no one could say.

The White Rabbit drew out a gleaming gold trumpet and sounded a summoning call that hushed the milling crowd.

“Who will step forth to be champion for the White Queen?” he cried.

“That would be I!” said the Mad Hatter, stepping forward valiantly.

The Cheshire Cat snorted. “You have very poor evaporating skills. I should be the one.”

“No, me!” cried Tweedledum.

“No, me!” shouted Tweedledee, pushing his brother behind him.

The White Rabbit held up the Oraculum and the illustration of Alice slaying the Jabberwocky. Everyone fell quiet.

“No other slayer, no-how,” murmured Tweedledum.

“If it ain’t Alice, it ain’t dead,” agreed Tweedledee.

All the eyes in the courtyard turned to Alice. The weight of their gazes, all their expectations, reminded her of the pressure she felt under the gazebo as Hamish proposed marriage to her with the entire garden party looking on.

“Alice,” said the White Queen, “you cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours because when you step out to face that creature, you will step out alone.”

Alice stared at the picture of the horrible monster that was winging its way toward them. She saw her golden hair flying as she wielded the Vorpal Sword, but she still couldn’t imagine how it would feel—the thunk of the blade slicing into flesh, the scrape of its long sharp claws against her pale skin. She was not a killer. How could she kill anything . . . let alone Underland’s most dreaded creature?

Overwhelmed, Alice turned and ran out of the courtyard. She bolted through the castle and out into the gardens until she found the hedge maze, where she threw herself onto a garden bench and wept.

“Nothing was ever accomplished with tears,” observed a voice. Alice lifted her tear-streaked face and looked around.

“Absolem?”

She peered at the nearest hedge and saw him hanging upside down on a leaf, spinning a silvery green web around himself.

“Why are you upside down?” she asked.

“I’ve come to the end of this life,” he explained calmly.

Alice didn’t know why she felt so upset; she barely knew him. “You’re going to die?” she said.

“Transform,” he answered, although it wasn’t much of an answer. The web already covered half of his body.

“Don’t go,” Alice pleaded. “I need your help. I don’t know what to do!”

“I can’t help you if you don’t even know who you are, stupid girl.”

Now Alice was angry. “I’m not stupid! My name is Alice. I live in London. I have a mother named Helen and a sister named Margaret. My father was Charles Kingsleigh. He had a vision that stretched halfway around the world, and nothing ever stopped him. He probably would have liked it here.” She paused, realizing what she was saying. It felt like an epiphany dawning upon her. All she needed was her father’s strength and vision and faith in himself. Slowly she said, “I’m his daughter. I’m Alice Kingsleigh.”

“Alice at last!” cried the Caterpillar. “You were just as dim-witted the first time you were here. You called it ‘Wonderland,’ as I recall.”

“Wonderland . . .” Alice echoed. Her dream came flooding back with all of its details. Young Alice in Wonderland . . . Alice in the room of doors, Alice with the Cheshire Cat, Alice at the mad tea party . . . Alice with the Red Queen and Playing Cards, painting the roses red . . . young Alice with the Caterpillar . . .

“It wasn’t a dream at all!” Alice burst out. “It was a memory! This place is real! And so are you.” Her heart leaped. “And so is the Hatter.”

“And the Jabberwocky,” the Caterpillar reminded her. “Remember, the Vorpal Sword knows what it wants. All you have to do is hold on to it. Fairfarren, Alice. Perhaps I will see you in another life.”

He disappeared inside the green chrysalis, swallowed up even more thoroughly than he’d vanished into his clouds of smoke.

Alice sat for a moment, thinking. Finally she got to her feet and wiped away the last traces of her tears.

She knew what she had to do.

The Red Queen’s army marched steadily across the Crimson Desert, red banners fluttering high over their heads. The Queen rode in the lead on a black charger, the Knave of Hearts at her side. The JubJub Bird flew ahead, and far above them, a monstrous winged shadow soared.

On they came, unstoppable, formidable, and terrifying.

The mood in the White Queen’s courtyard was somber. Without Alice, how could they have any chance of winning the coming battle? The Tweedles stood with their arms around each other, heads bowed in despair. The March Hare wrung his paws and ears, his eyes darting nervously from side to side.

The Mad Hatter leaned against the wall, waiting. He knew Alice. He believed in her. He refused to give up hope.

Suddenly there was a resounding clatter from inside the castle. The Bandersnatch loped out into the courtyard, drool dripping from its squashed bulldog face. A White Knight rode on his back, and for a moment the eyes of the crowd were dazzled by the sun gleaming off the shiny silver armor.

Then they saw the blond hair hanging down from the helmet, and the Vorpal Sword raised high in Alice’s hand. A rousing cheer rose from the crowd . . . their champion had arrived.