Page 69 of Wondrous

“I haven’t, but nobody listens to me,” the White Queen huffed. “Apparently you are all content to allow the tapestry of time to unravel. Well, don’t come crying to me when you are all murdered by your own grandchildren.”

The Queen of Hearts opened her mouth as if to argue with the White Queen, then closed it again. “Impossible woman! I will not be sending you any more invitations, that’s certain.”

I wasn’t sure I believed this. I had the strange sense that the Queen of Hearts longed for the White Queen’s approval, despite her scorn, and I could understand why. Beneath the White Queen’s chaotic presence lay a cold self-certainty, as if she had seen more of the world, both its evils and its goodness, than any person I had ever known.

“Well, that’s settled, then,” the King of Hearts said with a vapid smile, but behind this, his eyes were shrewd. “Wonderland is safe, this girl is the Alice, and we can all move on with our day. What shall we call you? Queen of Mock Dragons? The Blue Queen?”

It was a moment before I realized he was speaking to me. “Oh! Ah—Alice. Just Alice.”

“Queen Alice,” he said, and I felt a surge of giddiness. I hadn’t wanted to say it myself, because it seemed terribly arrogant, particularly with all the other Alices there.

“What do you say, my love?” the King said to the Queen. “Shall we turn the page on this tedious business?”

“Yes,” the Queen of Hearts said emphatically. She motioned to the soldiers. “Get these children out of my sight.”

The other Alices began to protest again. But an idea had struck me. I gathered every scrap of courage I had and spoke.

“Wait,” I said. The Alices quieted, and the Queen of Hearts turned slowly to look at me, her face like a storm.

I cleared my throat, trying to stop my voice from wavering. “If I’m now a Queen of Wonderland, then I can issue decrees.”

I had no basis for saying this, beyond the fact that kings and queens in my world could issue decrees. But I had noticed that, in Wonderland, if you did something with enough confidence, particularly a ridiculous something, people went along with it, either because they assumed you knew what you were doing or because they couldn’t be bothered arguing about it.

“And so my decree is this: that all of these Alices be allowed to remain in Wonderland, if they choose,” I said, catching Maria’s eye and then Alex’s. Alex had her hand over her mouth, and Maria had tears in her eyes. “If they don’t, then they must be permitted to return here whenever they wish. The rabbit holes must remain open for them, and for other children to find them, particularly those who want to escape their world or are in need of an adventure.”

My words were met with small gasps and stifled cries from the other Alices. Then, one by one, they began to applaud.

Alex and Maria started it. They were the first to stand, too, but the others quickly followed. Doubt filled several faces, but the bulk were hopeful. They had all had adventures here, perhaps some even stranger than mine, and they had all fought to save the realm. It didn’t make sense that they would be cast out.

But this did.

The Queen of Hearts leaned forward. For a moment, I thought she wasn’t angry. Then I realized her anger was so great it had been distilled into an eerie calm.

“No,” she said.

My stomach lurched. “No? But I’m—you said I’m a queen—”

“As am I,” the Queen of Hearts said almost pleasantly, while I could actually see her murdering me in a dozen gruesome ways in her head. “And I say—no.”

“I believe this is a matter for the jury,” came a small timid voice.

We all turned, astonished, to the Hatter. He flinched, as if the attention of so many people had physical weight, and spluttered on, “It simply isn’t a proper trial without a jury, and—I mean, if there is time, we could—well, there is always Time; Time is a very interfering sort and must always be sticking his nose into every situation—”

“We agree with the Alice,” Jack said, and these simple words silenced the titters that had broken out at the Hatter’s embarrassment, replacing the audience’s amusement with a fascinated sort of dread.

“Hear! Hear!” the Hare said, elbowing the Dormouse. The Dormouse, who had been napping against the Hare, muttered, “Present,” without opening his eyes. Nobody asked the sheep, who couldn’t talk.

“Verdicts must be written down,” the general intoned.

“Ah—I see,” the Hatter said, rubbing his hands over his knees as a soldier brought over a scroll and pen, and I had a sinking feeling. The Hatter glanced at the others desperately, but the March Hare, who could read but couldn’t hold a pen with his paws, only shook his head. Jack, I knew, couldn’t read or write, at least not in any human languages.

The Hatter swallowed audibly and took the pen with shaking hands. He scratched something onto the scroll and then handed it back to the soldier, looking a little dazed. The soldier took the scroll to the Queen of Hearts, who had begun gesturing for it impatiently before the Hatter had even finished writing.

As the Queen of Hearts read the scroll, there was a painful silence, broken only by the Hatter’s anxious fidgeting.

“This is a recipe for lemon scones, you idiot,” the Queen said.

The Hatter turned a vibrant red. “Is it? Oh, dear. I’m so sorry—I’ve been preoccupied with the matter recently, and going through so many versions to find the perfect balance of flavors—if I could only correct the record—”