Chapter Fourteen

Alice burst out into the courtyard with Stayne and the Knights right behind her. She pounded across the cobblestones, but before she could reach the front gate, another squadron of Knights galloped out in front of her.

She skidded to a stop, surrounded by Red Knights on all sides. Alice swung the sword in a circle, keeping them all at a distance. Her hair was tumbling into her face and her makeshift curtain dress kept tripping her as she spun.

Stayne’s malevolent chuckle sent a chill down her spine. Alice turned to face him, holding the sword as threateningly as she could.

“Alice,” the Knave sneered. “Of course! Why didn’t I see it? Well, it has been a long time.” He looked her over from her toes to her large head towering over him. “And you were such a little tyke then.” His expression became cold as he held out his hand. “Give me the sword.”

“Stay back!” Alice cried, slashing at him. But with her attention focused on Stayne, she didn’t see the Knights coming up behind her until two of them had grabbed her arms. She fought and kicked and struggled, never letting go of the sword hilt.

“The Queen will be so pleased,” said the Knave. “She’ll take great pleasure in taking off your head. I believe she wants to do the deed herself.”

One of the Knights wrenched Alice’s right arm toward him and reached for the sword.

“RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.”

A thunderous growl rolled out of the stable door, and suddenly the Bandersnatch leaped out, as bloodthirsty and menacing as ever. Alice flinched and threw herself to the ground, but the monster soared right over her, biting and snapping at the Knights who had held her. Instantly the Knights scattered, yelling in fear.

The Bandersnatch circled back and lowered his head to Alice. It took her a moment to realize what was happening, but as soon as she did, she jumped to her feet and climbed onto his back. His fur was as warm as the bloodhound’s, but spikier, as if tiny needles were embedded in it. She clung to his collar with one hand and held the sword aloft with the other as Stayne and the Knights stared, astonished.

The Bandersnatch bolted across the drawbridge and out of the castle. Any Knights standing in their way abandoned their posts with screams of terror. Alice held on tight as they galloped out into the red desert, to freedom.

On a nearby hill, she saw a familiar friend waiting for them.

“Ho, Alice!” he cried, his long ears flapping and his sad face lighting up with startled delight.

“Bayard!” she called. “To Marmoreal!”

The Knave of Hearts breathlessly entered the Red Queen’s throne room. He knew this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

The Red Queen was waiting at the base of her throne, pacing angrily. Her face was fiery red and her fists were clenched. She whirled to glare at the Knave as he walked up to her and bowed.

“Majesty,” he said, “Alice has escaped.”

In a fury, the Queen slapped him.

“On the Bandersnatch,” he added.

She slapped him again. He steeled himself for more.

“With the Vorpal Sword.”

The Red Queen slapped him harder than she’d ever slapped him before. He gritted his teeth. The indignities he had to put up with! If only he could be king with no queen anywhere in sight . . .

“How could you let this happen?” she bellowed.

“I may have underestimated her,” he admitted, although it pained him to confess such a thing. “But we have her conspirators: the Hatter and the Dormouse.”

The Queen’s rage seemed to fill the entire great hall.

“OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!”

The White Queen’s castle was nothing like her sister’s. Where the Red Queen’s castle was dark and oppressive, the White Queen’s was light and airy.

Sunshine spilled through the open windows, and sweet breezes carried the sound of birds’ chattering from outside. A flood of relief coursed through her as she entered the beautiful throne room and saw the Queen sitting on her throne. Everything about her kind face made Alice feel that perhaps this dreadful nightmare would turn out all right in the end.

“Welcome to Marmoreal,” said the White Queen, smiling down at Alice and the Vorpal Sword.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Alice said. She bowed and held the weapon up for her. The Queen took it with a nod of thanks and strolled gracefully over to the White Knight’s shining silver suit of armor, which was set up prominently near the throne. She placed the sword in the suit’s hand and turned back to Alice, beaming.

“The Vorpal Sword is home again,” she said softly. “The armor is complete. Now all we need is a champion.”

The Queen gave Alice a significant look. Alice dropped her eyes and didn’t respond. Finally, the Queen went on. “You’re a little taller than I thought you’d be.”

This Alice did have an answer for. “Blame it on too much Upelkuchen,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, come with me,” said the White Queen, sweeping her long silver robes behind her. Alice followed her down to the kitchen, where delicious smells mingled with the sounds of pots and pans and people singing as they worked.

As they entered, an entire pot of soup was thrown at the door. Alice blinked at the wreckage of the mill. “Is the March Hare here?” she asked, guessing.

“You’re late for soup, you wee besom!” bellowed the Hare from across the room. He picked up another pot of soup, and the White Queen ducked. The soup splattered on the door behind Alice. She touched one finger to the wall for a taste.

“It could use salt,” she offered.

A saltshaker came flying at her, and Alice ducked to avoid it.

Alice followed the White Queen over to a large cast-iron stove, where a heavy pot full of a curious-smelling liquid was bubbling. The Queen took ingredients from a nearby cupboard, murmuring to herself.

Alice wrinkled her nose, wondering if it might be better if she didn’t hear this. She could see a lot of strange-looking things inside the cupboard— ordinary herbs and spices were lined up alongside glass jars of eyeballs and bottles full of shredded insect parts.

The White Queen glanced up at Alice with a smile. “Ah, pishalver. Let me think. A pinch of wormfat, urine of the horsefly, buttered fingers . . .” Her face turned thoughtful again as she reached back into the cupboard. “My sister preferred to study Dominion Over Living Things. Tell me, how does she seem to you?”

“Perfectly horrid,” Alice answered truthfully.

“And her head?”

“Bulbous,” said Alice.

“I think she may have some kind of growth in there . . . something pressing on her brain,” the White Queen said, shaking her head sadly. “Three coins from a dead man’s pocket, two tablespoons of wishful thinking . . .”

“You can’t imagine the things that go on in that place,” Alice blurted. She couldn’t understand how the White Queen could sit here, calmly making potions and discussing theories, while her subjects suffered so much under the Red Queen.

“Oh, yes, I can,” the Queen assured her. “But when a champion steps forth to slay the Jabberwocky, the people will rise against her.” She leaned over and sniffed the nasty concoction in the pot, then spit into it. “That should do it.”

The White Queen fished a spoon out of a drawer, dipped it in the potion, and offered it to Alice. “Blow,” she cautioned her.

Alice blew on the potion to cool it off, then took a sip. She knew better than to drink too much this time. Within a moment, she had shrunk to her normal size—or at least, she felt normal next to the White Queen, so she seemed right to herself. She wondered how she would measure up out in the real world, if she ever got back there.

“Feel better?” asked the Queen.

“Much,” said Alice.

The Queen replaced the spoon in the pot and dusted her hands off, looking suddenly official and businesslike. “There’s someone here who would like to speak with you.”