Forgetting You
Chapter 7: The Iciest of Receptions
September 13th, 1875 Billingsgate, London's East End, England 7:32 A.M. (Again) "I'll get what you and your floozies owe me, Miss Ladybird! See if I don't!" "Maybe ya noticed I'm not pissing me drawers at the prospect!" Alice smirked as she wandered into the space Jack Splatter had recently vacated. Nan Sharpe, former nanny to the Liddell family and current madam of the Mangled Mermaid, was as feisty as ever it seemed – then again, she'd always been one to never give a pound more than she owed, nor take a pound less than was owed her. Sharp as a tack, with more pride than any "fallen woman" should have and the muscle to back it up, Alice found Nanny's (as she still thought of her) company as pleasurable now as she did when she was a child (except around lesson time). Unfortunately, her visits to the Mermaid were necessarily few and far between, thanks to therapy, chores, and the desire not to have to interact with lusty sailors. But she was here now, and she was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up now that Splatter had finally buggered off. She gave the window Nanny was currently occupying a couple of quick waves, hoping to grab the woman's attention without attracting other, unwanted eyes. She'd already had quite enough of those in her short time back on London's streets. Ten minutes – at the absolute most – and already I've been propositioned twice and threatened with a beating once, she thought, rolling her eyes. Oh Billingsgate, don't ever change. Nanny, spotting the motion, stopped glaring at Splatter's back and looked down. Her eyes immediately brightened. "Alice Liddell!" she said, now all warmth and good spirits. "You'll make a nice change. Bring your disheveled self up here!" "I'd intended to," Alice called back, rubbing the chill out of her arms. Ugh – she'd hoped to have a chance to dry off after escaping the Thames, not get wetter. Bloody rain. "But there's some rather insulting types standing guard over your front door." Much like the one who pulled me from the river, she added to herself, wrinkling her nose as she thought of those leering eyes stuffed into that beefy face. Though I suppose it's a little ironic that, after I rejected his "offer" to drag me off to the Mermaid, I ended up going there of my own free will. Closest "safe" place I know of, though – I can't walk back to Houndsditch like this. Ugh, I'm soaked right to the bone – this must be how rats feel when they're being drowned by angry housewives. "Eh, there always is," Nanny said, leaning on the windowsill. "Probably 'cause they can't get it up without making someone's life harder. You just run around the back. Long Tim will let you through, no questions asked. I'll meet you up here. Up to you to get around the lot inside, though." She winked. "Just remember, I'll be putting any bottles you break on your tab." With that, she withdrew her head and disappeared back inside her room. Alice couldn't help a smile. Good old Nanny. I'm so glad she was off visiting her sister when the fire happened, she thought, continuing up the alley toward the back entrance. I don't know how I would have managed my first few weeks here without her guidance. Rather depressing that she's been reduced from teaching French and music to upper-middle-class young ladies to selling companionship to laborers and thieves, but she seems happy enough with her new position. When Jack Splatter's not bothering her, that is. She rolled her eyes again. "Get what you owe me" – you're owed nothing but a punch in the face, you ugly leech. But I suppose you and she will be back on speaking terms soon enough. Why she puts up with your abuse I will never understand. Either you're an incredible lover or Nanny's hoping she'll crush you underneath one day. Rounding the corner, she spotted Long Tim, Nanny's loyal bodyguard, leaning against the wall. The normally suspiciously-attentive man was facing away from her, bent nearly double and groaning. Alice lifted an eyebrow, faintly concerned. She and Tim weren't precisely friends, but they did talk on occasion. That was probably enough to warrant an inquiry about his health. Though I'm sure it's nothing more than a bad bottle of beer. "Long Tim? Are you all right?" The guard moaned pitifully, then dragged himself around to face her, gasping with every stumbling step. Alice's eyes went wide. Buried in Tim's guts was a cleaver, soaked with blood and gore. "Tim! What–" Tim lifted a shaky finger, pointing through the open back door. "Splat," he choked out. "Splat–" The second syllable never came. With a final groan, Long Tim collapsed by the back step. Alice ran to his side, but it was far too late. Only a miracle could have saved him, and those were in short supply in the East End. She stared as his blood began to seep into the cracks between the cobbles, hardly daring to believe her eyes. This just couldn't be. Nanny's personal nobbler, whom she'd seen smash chairs into splinters and knock men out with a single punch, out and out murdered?! It stretched the bounds of even her imagination. He'd always said he'd die of a social disease, her mind whispered, recalling old conversations. Poor fellow never dreamed that disease would be named Jack Splatter. Splatter! Alice bolted into the Mangled Mermaid, her stomach roiling with fear. Splatter had threatened to brain her nanny not three minutes ago, and now – she skidded into the front room. The usual raucous crowd was in attendance – men tossing back watered-down beer and rotgut gin at the bar, women putting themselves on display in the hopes of a few coins, the player piano tinkling out an absurdly merry tune in the corner, and the first of many brawls being fought near the stairwell. But above the sound of men cussing, bottles thumping, and fists punching, Alice could swear she heard the wails of a woman in pain. Dodging around the drunkards in her way, she raced up the stairs, ignoring all of her legs' complaints. Oh Nanny, please be all right! The second level of the Mermaid, where the girls plied their ancient trade, appeared to be deserted – the busiest hours of the night were over, leaving the remaining stragglers to toss back a few drinks downstairs before staggering off to their jobs. But Nanny's door, right across from the landing, was open – and inside, Alice saw a scene that chilled her heart. Her nanny, a woman built like a brick privy, who never took guff from anyone, was lying on the floor, one eye blackened and hands held up in terrified supplication. Jack Splatter loomed over her, fists clenched. "You won't give me what I want, I'll burn this dump of yours down to the ground!" he snarled, kicking her in the ribs. Sheer terror for the one person she had left from her life before the fire caused Alice to do the very thing she'd always warned Victor against – get involved in one of Splatter's altercations. "Go away!" she demanded as she stalked into the room, although her voice wasn't nearly as strong or steady as she'd have liked. She decided to blame her recent dip into freezing sewage-filled water rather than the fear coursing through her. "She's done no harm!" Splatter turned around, eyes glinting with cold malice. He regarded Alice for a moment as if she was nothing more than an insect, to be squashed beneath his boot and then forgotten. Then he smirked. "She hurt me feelings," he said causally, as if he and Nanny had had the merest friendly disagreement. Then, with a single swipe of his arm, he knocked the lamp off Nanny's makeup table. The light bounced across the room, glass shattering as it smacked against the far wall. Alice threw up her hands to guard against any flying shards. No – no no NO! her mind screamed as the flames began licking across the floor. She had to stop this, had to get over there and smother them before – She saw the punch coming, but by then it was too late to block or dodge. Splatter's fist connected solidly with her temple, and pain exploded across her skull. Combined with her recent near-death experience, it was too much for her body to take. She hit the floor with a dull thud, the world fading to black as the smell of burning wood filled her nose and old familiar voices echoed in her ears: "Out like a snuffed candle. Sleeps the sleep of the just." "Help us, Alice!" "Fire, Alice! Fire!" Fire. . . . The heat from the growing conflagration increased, wrapping her tight in its grip like a python with a luckless mouse. But now there was also motion – a blazingly fast fall that whipped her skirts up against her waist and filled her head with whistles. Even behind her eyelids, she could see the orange glow that streaked with her across the sky. A human meteor, that's what she had become. Tumbling to who knew where while the Mangled Mermaid burned. . . . Her speed slackened abruptly, an invisible hand halting her in midair before lowering her gently to the ground. Her boots sizzled against the earth as a bitingly cold wind blew her hair against her face. Wobbling slightly, Alice put up a hand to brush the strands back – Wait. Cold? Alice blinked open her eyes as the last of the warmth surrounding her trickled away. She was standing near the edge of a vast glacier, with towering walls and vicious spikes of blue-green ice jutting out from the densely-packed snow. Below her, dark ocean waves lapped at humongous icebergs in the shape of never-to-crash breakers. Above her, the night sky twinkled with millions of glittering stars. There was also a crescent moon, brilliantly white, with a face carved into its curve. A cigarette dangled from its rocky lips, and from that trailed long glowing stripes of green smoke, which lit up the sky in jagged lines. And there was still the breeze, nipping at her exposed arms and face as it sent her hair streaming out behind her, her beloved blue dress little help against its chill. It was like she'd suddenly been flung into the highest reaches of the Arctic. She loved it. She spread her arms to encompass the ice and snow, relishing in the freezing temperatures so unlike the blazing inferno she'd left. Deep inside, she still feared for Nanny's safety, and even spared a worried thought for the customers down in the Mermaid's bar. But she couldn't help but be glad to be out of all that. To be as far from fire as one could possibly be. "Wonderful," she whispered, watching her breath turn to white fog as it passed her lips. Then she smirked. "No – Tundraful." Tundraful "Oh, poor thing – running the caucus race didn't do much to save you from the cold, did it?" The lory didn't reply – not that it could, being frozen solid. And even if that barrier could be overcome, the fact that it was missing a good chunk of its innards thanks to the gnawing of passing predators would probably discourage any conversation. Alice grimaced as she continued past the unfortunate bird. Tundraful was proving to be rather more vicious than she'd originally thought. True, all the running around she was doing made the cold bearable (though part of her longed for the long-sleeved dress she'd sported in Hatter's Domain), and the ice was fortunately not so slippery as to nearly send her careening over the cliffs whenever she tried to move. But that didn't change the fact that the only living creatures she'd seen so far – as opposed to those sad individuals who'd been turned into meaty iceboxes – were a handful of Ruin and a hulking Yeti who had seemed determined to send her sailing into the sea with a blast of hot, fish-stinking breath. She'd managed to dispatch the Ruin with her trusty Blade and Grinder, and avoiding the Yeti had simply been a matter of carefully timing her jump past his cave, but it was still rather discouraging. Not ten minutes in, and I've already had my life threatened twice. Not that I wanted to end up back in the Land of Fire and Brimstone when I left the Mermaid, but really, she thought grumpily. Why can't I ever fall into a place where there's nothing to fight and no hazards to worry about? Oh, yes, my mind hates me and wants me to die. She entered another of the little round-faced caves that dotted the landscape, wondering if it would contain a memory, or perhaps a stiff-armed starfish she could smash for its health. Instead, she found herself facing an ice slide down into a deeper hole. All right then. . . . She plopped herself down, hissing as the chill penetrated her stockings and skirt like a thousand needles. Damn, it was like the bathing room at Rutledge all over again, with the nurses assuring her that the cold would clear her head as they repeatedly dumped buckets of water over her shivering form. They must have meant after I'd died from frostbite or pneumonia. It's well-documented that the dead can't think. . .unless you listen to Victor, in which case that 'treatment' would have been of absolutely no benefit at all. Fortunately, the slipperiness of the slope made for a short ride down to the lower chamber, where, of all things, what looked like a chunk of Looking-Glass Land awaited her. The floor was checked red and white under a clear layer of ice, and directly before her were a pair of Knight statues carved out of the frozen wall. They stood straight and proud over a little stage of sorts, the loyal guards to – "Is that my old hobby horse?" Alice jogged up the incline, quietly amazed. It was indeed her childhood toy, complete with braided yellow rope mane, a faded coat of white paint, and the little blue wheels at the end of the stick. A snatch of memory filled her ears as her fingers curled around it: "Yah! You won't terrorize this village any longer, you wicked giantess! Take THIS!" POW! ". . .Oops." "What on earth was – ALICE! What in BLAZES did you do to the wall?!" Alice giggled at the image of her father's horrified face. "Oh, Papa, I didn't mean to put a huge hole in the plaster," she murmured, stroking the toy's muzzle lovingly. She could practically hear a whinny of delight in response. "How was I to know my simple wooden horse was stronger than your fabled brick?" Her lips twisted in a thoughtful smile. "Hmm. . .I wonder if this'd be just as effective against those barriers I use Hatter's bomb on. . . ." She didn't have long to ponder the question, however. The sound of shattering tile and ice caught her ear, and she turned to see – Oh, hell. It didn't look much like the slippery blue-green monsters that swam in the fast-flowing rivers of the Wonderland Woods, nor the burning red ones that frequented the boiling lava streams of the Land of Fire and Brimstone. This creature had a stockier body in deep ocean blue, blind white eyes, a glowing lure dangling from its nose (like the anglerfish she'd seen in Papa's encyclopedia of sea life), and a huge mouth full of teeth the size of railroad spikes. But it was a fish, and it had legs, and it looked ready to eat her, which meant it could only be one thing. "Snark," Alice growled, blood running hot and fast. The Ice Snark hissed at her, frost streaming from its jaws. Alice hefted her new weapon, the familiar weight straining her arms. "I nearly knocked my nanny senseless with this," she snarled. "I can take you!" The Snark wasn't impressed, judging by the way it immediately tried to leap on her. Alice dodged out of the way and swung the muzzle of the Horse straight into its face. The fish squealed in pain, then retaliated by spraying her with a lungful of cold mist. Alice gasped as it froze around her in a icy shell. "Oh, that's not fair!" she yelled. "I don't even have the Ice Wand this go-round to return the favor!" Fortunately, pulling her little butterfly trick seemed sufficient to free her from her prison (Emily, have I thanked you for being a part of Victor's life lately?). She dodged another snap from the Snark's jaws, then slammed the Horse into the top of its skull. The Snark toppled over onto its side as blood sprayed from its wounds. Raising the toy as high above her head as she possibly could, Alice brought it down with a mighty smash, rocking the cave and reducing her foe into nothing more than the main ingredient in fish and chips. But why have one enemy when you can have four? she thought bitterly, watching as more Ice Snarks broke through the floor to avenge their fallen brother-in-arms. "I'm not afraid of you!" she yelled, swinging the Horse in front of her like a particularly odd mace. "I'll smash you all into patties and drag your frozen corpses to Van Dort Fish! I promised Victor I'd let his father see if you look good in cans!" To her surprise and delight, the mention of the cannery seemed to put the monsters on edge – they backed away from her advance, hissing and squealing. Alice took full advantage of their fear to launch a devastating attack, beating them down with the Hobby Horse before fileting them with the Vorpal Blade. A couple tried to fight back, nipping and chomping at her elbows and knees between strikes, but a thorough peppering left them dazed and ripe for having their heads cracked open. After just three minutes, there was nothing left of the Snarks beyond a few blood splatters and some scattered chunks of fins and scales. Alice grinned as she stroked her Horse's muzzle, now tinted a rich crimson. "Oh, we're going to have all sorts of fun together," she whispered as three icicles, shaken loose from their moorings by the fearsome battle, toppled from the ceiling, providing her with a convenient path back to the open air. "I can just feel it." "Now, where are those – oh! Well then – seems this detour of mine is more profitable than I'd thought." Alice grinned up at the glittering butterfly resting on the ledge just above her head. She hadn't expected another moment with Victor when she'd come this way along the teetering, hopscotch path of icebergs and floating bits of crayon. All she'd been after was the treasure trove of golden teeth she'd spotted floating off this particular island's far shore. Hollow Yves valued those at five times the rate of the usual pearly whites, so even a group of three or so was worth going after. Who would have thought part of my dress would be alive? she thought, glancing as far as she could in the direction of the little skull that held her apron bow in place. Much less have the ability to magically upgrade my weaponry? Still, he's useful and no mistake. She summoned her Hobby Horse and admired its new look. A few handfuls of Wonderland's unusual currency had done quite the number on her old toy. Now her friendly little pony was a raging charger, its face made of sturdy red metal and its mane alternating thick red and white blunted spikes. Its pole was striped like a barber's, and weighted at the end with a studded white ball. The change from wood to steel meant it was rather heavier now too – but that just meant it packed more of a wallop. The Pepper Grinder changed its face too when I paid him last, and I swear the Vorpal Blade feels lighter in my hand. . .I wonder what all these deadly implements of mine will look like once I've finally satisfied Yves's passion for dentistry? She ran a finger along the curves of the Horse. Hopefully I'll get a chance to find out before this trip is over. Hissing alerted her to the presence of a Snark, apparently standing guard over the memory. Alice's smile took on a vicious edge as she promptly began beating the wretched fish to death. Oh, it felt so good to be able to just hit it over and over again until it stopped moving! Its cousins in the water of the Wonderland Woods had been particular pains in her arse the last time. "At least I get to fight these on my preferred battleground, not theirs," she muttered, remembering all the times she'd been dragged into a river and had to fumble for her blade as sharp teeth nipped at her skin. "Of course, if we did take this fight to the sea, it's more likely we'd both end up as ice cubes rather than combatants." Finally, the fish deigned to die. Alice gave it another wallop just for good measure, then put away the Horse and jumped onto the ledge. Safety secured, she gave the memory a tap. "All right, lads, dump it out!" The sailors heaved the net over the side, and with a series of wet little splats, the fish flopped onto the docks. Alice wrinkled her nose as she and Victor watched the pile grow before them, wriggling bodies sliding down the sides to slap their tails weakly against the water-stained wood. "And to think that these ugly little creatures will be headed for someone's dinner table," she commented as the dockmen started scooping up the catch and loading it into a waiting cart. "I wonder how long it'll take them to get those to the markets and canneries?" "If they're good at their job, not long at all," Victor told her. Indeed, the cart was already full, squeaking away to the nearest icehouse while another rolled up to take its place. A second net disgorged its contents onto the dock in response, splattering slime and loose scales everywhere. Alice scowled as a glob landed on her apron. "Even packed in ice, fish goes bad quickly – at least, that's what Father tells me," Victor continued, noticing the mess and offering his handkerchief. "That's why he wanted to get into the canning business – the longer fish keeps, the more chance you have of actually making a profit. He's fond of reminding me that it'll all be mine one day." He frowned at the slowly-disintegrating mountain of smelt, trout, and bass, twiddling his fingers as she wiped off her dress. "I'm n-not eager for that day to come, to be honest." And with that, the docks faded, as if pushed out of existence by Victor's reluctance to take up the mantle of cannery king. In their place sat a round wall of ice, marked with the head of a horse. Alice shattered it with the Hobby Horse as it implicitly bid and headed outside, musing on the memory. That was our first visit to Billingsgate, wasn't it? Yes – the one where we didn't talk much about Nanny and her chosen profession. It was all about Van Dort Fish that time – the whys and wherefores of cannery operations and high expectations. She sighed. Poor Victor – for all your talk about maybe finding some of your father's workers and getting a little taste of home, I think you were secretly pleased not to see that logo on any of the crates. It meant not thinking more than you had to about what your father insisted you do with your life. It was funny how much people she'd barely shared two words with could irritate her. The Van Dort's dissatisfaction with their son was like a mosquito bite that wouldn't stop itching. She reserved her especial hatred for Nell – that awful, cold-hearted lickspittle – but William was not immune to her ill feelings either. Perhaps he didn't force Victor to attend crowded, noisy balls, or complain overmuch about his son's inability to impress the elite, but – well, the man was obviously blinder than the proverbial bat if he thought Victor was going to be a good businessman. Her friend was artistic, shy, and prone to letting others make decisions for him – hardly qualities valued by men of industry. And while he had more of a temper than he let on, he lacked that necessary ruthlessness needed to deal with incompetent workers and dangerous competitors alike. Yes, he'd picked up some all-too-necessary cynicism living in Whitechapel, but Alice could see that, at heart, Victor was still a sweet boy who just wanted to please people. Not the sort of person you wanted going up against those who would like to see your business fall under their control, or just fail entirely. Maybe he'd make a decent accountant – Victor had mentioned he knew quite a bit about balancing ledgers thanks to lots of practice in the family fish shop – but an owner? No. And that's not even getting into the fact that Victor utterly despises fish in all its forms, Alice added to herself with a snort. She'd found that out in a rather hilarious way the first time Bumby had served fish for dinner. Victor had looked at his plate, poked at it with his fork, then, with extreme politeness, asked if he could be excused. What had followed was a full minute of staring from everyone else at the table, followed by at least three variations on "Are you sure?" from Bumby and an additional one from herself. Nobody had been able to believe that Victor (who, despite his skinny frame, had a very healthy appetite) was actually refusing food. The children had eventually taken advantage of the situation to devour his portion along with their own, but the shock had lasted throughout the rest of the meal. Alice had tracked him down afterward and asked what on earth he'd been thinking (slightly hurt because she'd been the one who'd cooked the damn thing). "I'm sorry, Alice – I don't mean to insult your culinary skills," he'd apologized. "But – the fact is, growing up, my family ate some form of seafood – usually the freshest examples of whatever had come to the cannery – every day. Supper was a constant parade of fish – and often lunch and tea involved the leftovers of the previous day. Father considered it good advertisement for the business. I don't know why – perhaps he thought people were looking through the windows watching us eat." He'd made a face then, chewing on his lower lip. "If the idea was to get me used to running a cannery, I'm afraid it's backfired on him – I've grown to hate the taste of fish. I'll eat it if I have no other choice, and I still enjoy things like lobster and shrimp, but – honestly, between the meal tonight and going hungry, I'd rather go hungry." Alice had been able to accept that as a legitimate excuse – and afterwards, whenever Bumby had sent her out to purchase fish for a meal, she'd warned Victor in advance so he could buy his own lunch or dinner. No sense in making her friend suffer if he had the money to avoid it. Speaking of money. . .after taking a moment to shrink and reveal the path hovering above the water's surface, Alice carefully navigated her way over to the trio of glittering golden teeth. She gathered them up with a scoop of her hand, dropping them into whatever other-dimensional pocket also kept her weapons safe. Excellent – that should just about pay for whatever upgrade is due next on the grinder, she thought, patting her apron. Would have appreciated you opening your yap when I first arrived in the Village of the Doomed, Yves – then again, I had more variety in my weapons on that journey, so your services weren't as badly needed. Still, the very idea of an upgraded Jackbomb intrigues me. . . . Thoughts straying from the deadly possibilities contained in less-than-innocent toys, Alice found her gaze going back up to the sky. The moon was still there, still smoking away, creating more bright sinuous blue-green ribbons to light the night sky. Between them, the distant stars glinted like diamonds wrapped in dark velvet. At the very edge of the horizon rested a streak of lighter blue, heralding a dawn that might never actually come. If only I had paint, canvas, and some time to spare, Alice thought wistfully. This would make the most beautiful picture. . .of course, I bet Victor could capture it better than I ever could. He's quite the artist. She smiled. I bet he'd love it here. Maybe not the cold, and the poor frozen animals, but the stars and the moon? He'd be awestruck, I'm sure of it. If only I could bring him here. . . . Is that the second or third time I've wished that? Alice frowned to herself. She'd been thinking of Victor a lot lately on her travels, hadn't she? Yes, he had his fair share of the memories tucked away around the varying landscapes, but so did Radcliffe and Nanny and even Bumby, and she generally didn't spare them a second thought after the flashback was over. Victor just stuck in her head, like gum on a shoe. And yes, to be fair, he was her best friend, but. . .it amazed her just how much she wanted him to be here. To show him her Wonderland – or, rather, Wonderland as it should be. She didn't want him to see the wrecked parts, the bits reflecting the way her mind was falling to pieces around her. But the quiet places, like the unspoiled islands of the Vale or the quiet icebergs of Tundraful. . .that would be a treat. She reached out a hand and pretended his fingers were wrapped around hers as they gazed up at the magnificent panorama spread out before them. It would be so nice to be able to while away a few hours here, wrapped in a snuggly blanket, talking and looking. . . . Except that's not like me at all, she thought, dropping her arm back to her side. Wonderland was supposed to be her private retreat, her home away from home. The place she went when she wanted to escape the real world and everyone in it. The only other person she had ever really wanted to bring here was Lizzie. And she'd never thought of Victor like a brother, no matter how close they'd gotten. He was a – a friend. A kind, understanding, gentle. . . . She shook her head rapidly. Wasting time again, she scolded herself. That Infernal Train is still out there, still spreading Ruin, and you're stuck on Northern Lights and pale young men who belong solely to reality. Your job isn't to muck about with what-ifs and could-have-beens – it's to learn more about the train, track it down, and stop it dumping more of that vile gunk across your mind! Unless you want to keep fighting legions of sludge monsters. . . . The shudder that went down her spine was proof that she didn't. Nodding firmly to herself, she looked out across the water. The ship in a bottle she'd spotted while reducing the Snark population of the tundra to nil was almost within reach now, and she could see a familiar figure waving to her from its upper deck. The head of a young cow, bedecked with a rather ridiculous admiral's hat, was perched upon a turtle's shell and flippers, and while Alice was too far away to tell for sure, she was almost certain there were tears leaking from its beady eyes. "Rather hard to be lost at sea if you can't go anywhere," she mumbled, examining his glass prison. "But still, you're the only one with a boat to take me across this frigid ocean, so. . . ." She turned and ran back to the iceberg, preparing to circle around again and see if there weren't any more direct paths to her goal than the impossible jump waiting for her here. Hopefully the Mock Turtle was doing more this time than just wailing. "Hmm. A fine vessel, if I do say so. If you ignore the fact that I know next to nothing about sailing." Alice stood just outside the oversized bottle, hands on her hips, regarding the ship inside with a critical eye. While her experience with seafaring had been limited to pleasure cruises in rowboats on the Isis, she felt that even a landlubber like her could appreciate this ship. It was a bit small, granted, and its long stint trapped in the chill had covered it with frost and icicles. But it looked sturdy enough, with wide sails and plenty of canon. And besides, any boat that had her friend Gryphon's head and claws carved into its prow probably had luck on its side. On the other hand, being captained by the Mock Turtle might cancel that out, she thought, her gaze shifting upward to the ship's apparent owner. Mock returned her look with anxious impatience, drumming his flippers on the port side rail. He's a decent enough sort, I suppose, but I wouldn't put him in charge of anything that floats, not even a leaf. I've seen what happens when you do. She shuddered as it all came back to her – navigating fearsome rapids, plunging over steep drops, just barely avoiding being exploded or shot at or bitten or falling to her doom with every twisty turn. . . . It was almost enough to convince her that she should greet him with a whack of the Hobby Horse against his precious shell. The whole reason I put you in that train conductor's position is because you weren't any good at being a turtle, mock or otherwise. So why did you abandon your post? "Turtle?" she called. He shook his head and pointed at the glass, mouthing soundless words. Ah – he couldn't hear her through it. Inconvenient – but she had to seek passage on his boat anyway to continue across the ocean, so. . . . Fortunately, she didn't need to bother with figuring out how to uncork his glass prison – the bottle already sported a huge crack stretching across the side, with a hole just big enough to climb through right above her head. Hauling herself through broken glass was hardly her favorite activity, but she didn't have much of a choice. She jumped and caught the bottom edge of the gap, then pulled herself up and through – And bit back a scream as something leapt from the water and slammed its snout into the hole after her, nearly taking her rump off. Whipping around, she was confronted with what looked like an enormous shark constructed of chunks of ruined ships, floating in midair as it gnawed furiously at the glass. So that's what kept skirting the water around me, she thought, recognizing the dark pirate flag that served as the creature's dorsal fin from glimpses caught as she traveled across the glacier. But why try to attack me now? You never even looked in my direction before! And who told you it was acceptable for a sea creature to fly? Urgh, bloody nonsense. . . . "You'd better come aboard, Alice," Mock said gloomily, attracting her attention. "We're doomed, of course." "What? There's no hope then?" Alice asked, although even as she said it she wondered why she was bothering. Of course the answer would be no. The Mock Turtle never had any hope for anything. If he'd been the one to cry the Pool of Tears, it would have been an ocean – and still growing today. "Oh, there's an infinite amount of hope," Mock returned to her mild surprise, shaking his head as the shark – a Shipwreck Shark, Alice decided – rammed into the bottle again, a low growl rising from whatever passed for its throat as it again failed to reach its prey. A second one appeared close to its cousin, scraping its teeth along the side and trying to wedge them into the crack. "But none for us. Now get up here!" With a steadily growing number of Sharks throwing themselves from the water and crashing into the glass, Alice didn't need a second invitation. She raced to the boat and scrambled up the ladder Mock dropped over the side. "The friend you patterned this vessel on would be most welcome in the flesh right now," she commented as she clambered onto the deck. Mock sniffled. "Gryphon's dead. I made this ship in his memory." Alice froze, eyes wide. "Dead?" No, that couldn't be right! She'd brought him back last time, she knew she had! She'd seen him flying over the restored Caterpillar's Plot, looking – looking. . . . She couldn't remember. The image was there, but – it was all faded and fuzzy, like she was peering at it through a layer of gauze. She couldn't recall the color of his eyes, nor the feel of his feathers, nor the sound of his voice. Their first meeting was nothing but a vague picture of a curled, sleeping figure that could just as easily be Dinah, or perhaps Fury, the terrier that farmer who'd lived a few streets over had owned. The Lobster Quadrille was clear – she'd sung it to herself regularly to ensure its being so – but while she knew Gryphon had danced to it, she was damned if she could recall the steps. Worst of all, his fight against the Jabberwock – his bravest, proudest moment – was little more than an indistinct blur in her mind. Only the memory of him taking his last, gasping breath had any clarity to it. But why? He was one of my dearest friends, why can't I – "Gryphons aren't real, Alice. They're good for nothing more than heraldry. Do you want to always be the damsel in distress?" Alice bit her lip. That she remembered – one of her least-annoying sessions, where she'd thought they'd actually made a little progress. Dr. Bumby had put the question to her after a trip through the Land of Fire and Brimstone, and of course she'd said no – she was perfectly capable of saving herself, thank you very much. She didn't need to lean on anyone. But just because she didn't need to didn't mean she didn't want to sometimes – Another crash and a disturbing cracking sound distracted her from that line of thought. She whipped her head left and right to see a whole school of Shipwreck Sharks now slamming their noses against the bottle, covering its surface with fine-lined webs as they attempted to break through. One had even successfully wedged itself into the hole she'd climbed through and was now stretching its mighty jaws toward the side of the boat, snapping like it wanted to devour the very air. "Confounded beasts!" Mock cried, turning in terrified circles. "They want my ship!" "I think you're more to their taste," Alice said, eying the one in the hole with an anxious swallow. The question is, am I as well? "What? Never!" Mock declared, pressing his flippers against his cheek. "We're almost relatives!" Despite her fear, Alice smirked. She had to call him out on that one. "You're related to soup, 'Admiral.'" Mock glared at her. "You don't need to rub it in." "My apologies, but it does lend credence to the idea that these creatures want a taste of you rather than your vessel." "Not at all! These Sharks devour ships faster than a Snark can eat a baker! It's how they add onto themselves, you see. And I don't want any of them getting Gryphon's head!" he added, shaking a flipper at a Shark who seemed quite intent on getting its teeth into the prow. "Oh!" Well, she supposed that made more sense for creatures so clearly made out of wood. "Still, do you think they'll particularly care if they chew us up along with the deck and masts?" "No, they wouldn't," Mock admitted miserably as another Shark smashed into the bottle, creating a distinct shattered dent near the back. "It's curtains for us, and no mistake." Then, out of nowhere, he brightened. "Wait – I've an idea! We'll leave this mayhem and go to Carpenter's show!" he said, pointing at the sea. "It's better than a gaff. Carpenter promises that which we don't take seriously can't harm us. And if the HMS Gryphon can't get us down to the Deluded Depths, I don't know what ship can!" The webs continued to spread across the sides of the bottle with every crash, covering the glass with a series of small cricks and creaks. Alice followed their path to a rapidly-widening crack positioned just above their heads. Uh-oh. . . . "You're sure going below the water is the best thing to do in this case?" she asked. "Oh yes. The Sharks don't go near Carpenter's. He used too many of them to help build the Dreary Lane Theater." Crick. . .crack. . .crunch. . . . "Fine then. Best dive now, Admiral," she encouraged her friend. "Or the Sharks will have us for lunch." As if to underscore her words, the bottle chose exactly that moment to give up the ghost and split in two. The Sharks let out roars of triumph as the shattered halves sunk beneath the midnight blue waves and leapt immediately for the feast before them. Alice yanked out her Blade, figuring it was better than nothing if she need to fight – Whoosh! The sails spread and puffed proudly as they caught the ever-present breeze, sending the HMS Gryphon speeding across the sea. Most of the Sharks fell back to the water gnashing their teeth, and the one that landed hit the stern with its side instead of its mouth, snapping a few ribs before dropping away again. Alice gave them her best rude hand gesture as the ship raced away from them. "Not today, you woodworm-eaten beasts!" she cried as the school gave chase, nipping ineffectually at their heels. "Hah! Turtle, how long before we reach Carpenter's domain?" "Not long at all! We're almost to the drop-off point!" Mock called, pointing ahead with a flipper. Alice ran to the bow to get a better look – And felt her stomach drop straight into her feet. Directly in front of them was the biggest, steepest bloody waterfall she'd ever seen, the sea churning and growling like a shark itself. She whipped her head around as the ship rocked from side to side. "You have got to be kidding me! There is no way–" She yelped as they ricocheted off a stone. "Can't you steer this thing?!" "Steering was an advanced class at our school! I never got a chance to learn!" the Mock Turtle yelled as they flew toward the edge, still pursued by the Sharks. "Would you rather be chewed to bits? Just take a breath and hold on!" Alice clamped her hands onto the starboard railing, bile rising in her throat as the freezing spray lashed her face. Perfect, she thought angrily. I should have guessed. Just how many times is this bastard going to try to drown meee– "EEEEEEAAAAHHHH!"