On the shore of the Crimson Sea stood the castle of Iracebeth, the Red Queen. From the top of its tall, twisting spires flew her flag, a heart in flames fluttering as if it were truly on fire. The craggy walls were too steep to scale, and vultures wheeled over the sharp rocks below, testifying to the victims of the Queen’s wrath who had been tossed off the battlements.
Surrounding the castle on one side were the barren red sands of Crims, and the fierce waters of the Crimson Sea battered the other. It was a fortress, and the dangerous aura around it matched the darkness at the heart of its ruler.
Inside, the Red Queen was screaming.
The frog footmen who lined the grand hall winced and gulped. Their pale legs trembled as they heard her footsteps stomping closer. The tall doors at one end of the hall suddenly banged open, revealing the Queen herself.
The first thing one noticed about the Red Queen was her positively gigantic head. That was also the second and third thing one noticed, and possibly all one might ever notice about her, as it really was extraordinarily huge. One might wonder why she never toppled over, as it looked extremely unbalanced to have a head so out of proportion. Her extremely large features protruded under a shock of bright red hair.
And right now—as it often was—her enormous face was contorted with anger.
“Someone has stolen three of my tarts!” she roared. She seized the lapel of the nearest frog footman and leaned into his face. “Did you steal them?”
“No, Your Majesty,” the frog stammered.
The Red Queen stalked down the long line of frogs, studying each of their faces through narrow eyes. At the end, she whirled on one particularly terrified frog.
“Did you?” she snarled.
“No, Your Majesty!” he cried.
Her black eyes gleamed with anger and triumph. One long finger reached out and wiped a telltale bit of jam from the side of the frog’s mouth. His whole body shook as she held up her finger and sniffed the jam with her gigantic nose.
“Squimberry juice,” she hissed.
“I was so hungry! I didn’t mean to!” the frog wailed, nearly collapsing to the ground.
“OFF WITH HIS HEAD!” screamed the Red Queen.
Red Knights hurried into the hall and converged on the guilty frog.
“My family!” the frog pleaded. “Oh please, don’t. No! I have little ones to look after!” His cries of despair faded as the Knights dragged him out the door.
The Queen turned to her Fish Butler, licking her lips with her hideous fat tongue. “Go to his house and collect the little ones. I love tadpoles on toast almost as much as I love caviar.”
As she turned away, the Fish Butler suppressed a shudder of revulsion and anger. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Drink!” the Red Queen barked. Almost immediately, the Fish Butler produced a drink with a straw and the Red Queen took a sip.
“Majesty?” said a new voice.
The Red Queen whirled, her face lighting up. Her whole manner became flirty and simpering as the man with the birthmark strode down the hall toward her. “Ilosovic Stayne,” she purred. “You knave, where have you been lurking?”
The Knave of Hearts bowed low and took her extended hand. He kissed it, but barely, only brushing it briefly with his lips. The Red Queen sighed.
“Majesty, I found the Oraculum,” he said, taking a step back. The Red Queen led the way into the throne room and watched him unroll the scroll on a table.
“That?” she said skeptically. “It looks so ordinary for an oracle.”
“Look here,” he said, his face serious. “On the Frabjous Day.” He pointed to the illustration that had startled Alice earlier, of the blond knight battling the Jabberwocky.
The Queen squinted at it, and her face reddened with anger again. “I’d know that tangled mess of hair anywhere,” she sneered. “Is it Alice?”
“I believe it is,” said the Knave.
The Queen peered closer. She gnashed her teeth. “What is she doing with my darling Jabberwocky?”
The Knave cleared his throat and took a sideways step out of the Queen’s reach. “She appears to be slaying it.”
The Queen’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “She killed my Jabberbabywocky!” she shrieked.
“Not yet,” the Knave said hurriedly. “But it will happen if we don’t stop her.”
“Find Alice, Stayne,” said the Queen, her voice rising. “Find her!”
He gave another bow. “I will bring her head and lay it at your feet.”
“No!” The Queen glared darkly at the scroll. “Bring the whole girl. I want to do it myself.”
Stayne mounted his horse in the stableyard and looked coldly down at the bloodhound groveling on the paving stones. Bayard was a large, growling, brown dog with drooping ears and sad eyes, but it was said he had the sharpest nose in all the land. Three knights held him at bay with heavy ropes attached to the spiked collar around his neck. Bayard winced as the spikes pressed into his loose skin.
The Knave of Hearts had no pity in his gaze. “Find the scent of human girl and earn your freedom,” he said to the dog.
“For my wife and pups as well?” asked Bayard, lifting his head. A spark of hope flared in his eyes.
“Everyone goes home,” agreed the Knave.
The bloodhound lowered his nose to the ground and inhaled deeply. With a low growl, he bounded out through the castle gates with the Knights close behind him. Stayne leaned down to stroke his horse’s neck.
“Hrrrrrrrmph,” muttered the horse. “Dogs will believe anything.”
* * *
Alice finally stopped running. She leaned against a tree, gasping for air. She had no idea where she was, but that had been true ever since she fell down the rabbit hole, so she was trying not to worry about it. She was surrounded by odd-looking trees, so it was some kind of wood, but a more normal one than the mushroom forest.
She pushed back her long golden hair and looked at the gashes on her arm. Blood welled up from the deep scratches and she flinched as she touched them. How could a dream-injury hurt so much?
“Ahem,” said a voice above her. “It looks like you ran afoul of something with wicked claws.”
“Yes, and I’m still dreaming!” Alice said indignantly. She looked up and realized she was talking to . . . part of a cat. The cat’s disembodied head floated in the air above a nearby branch. Alice blinked at it, trying not to show her surprise.
“What did that to you?” asked the cat head.
Alice tried to remember the word Tweedledee had used. “Banner or Bander . . .”
“The Bandersnatch?” said the cat. His head disappeared suddenly, making Alice jump. And then, just as suddenly, the entire cat reappeared beside her on the ground. He sauntered closer to her with a seductive grin, all calm, casual sensuality. Something tugged at Alice’s memory. She didn’t know how she knew, but a name slipped into her mind: the Cheshire Cat. “I’d better have a look.”
He inspected the wound for a moment. His pink tongue slid out and he reached to lick the gashes. Alice jerked away.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He blinked slowly at her, looking amused. “It needs to be purified by someone with evaporating skills, or it will fester and putrefy.”
That sounded quite horrible. But Alice didn’t want to be licked by a strange, giant cat whose various parts kept disappearing. “I rather you didn’t. I’ll be fine as soon as I wake up,” she insisted.
“At least let me bind it for you,” offered the Cheshire Cat, pulling out a white silk handkerchief. Alice let him tie the handkerchief firmly around her wound.
“What do you call yourself?” the cat asked as he worked.
“Alice.”
He looked up sharply. “The Alice?”
“There’s been some debate about that,” Alice said.
The Cheshire Cat sidled away from her. “I never get involved in politics.” He glanced around, as if making sure they were not being watched. “You’d best be on your way.”
“Which way?” Alice asked. “All I want to do is wake up from this dream!”
The Cheshire Cat sighed heavily. “Fine. I’ll take you to the Hare and the Hatter. But that’s the end of it!” And with that, he vanished into thin air. Alice whirled around, then checked the branches again. There was no sign of the cat.
Finally he reappeared a short way away through the trees and gave her a curious look. “Coming?” he asked.
There was nothing she could do but follow him.