The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor Page B

ground.
    ―Mother! Mo-ther, wait!‖
    She weaved her way through the parading soldiers toward the queen‘s carriage. The soldiers bumped and elbowed her.
    ―Get lost, brat.‖
    ―Away with you, dirty urchin.‖
    She hardly noticed. She was gaining on the carriage. Her mother would see her, order her lifted up onto the equipage‘s plush cushion, and they would be reunited. It had been a test, Genevieve would say, Alyss‘ first test as future queen and nothing more.
    She was within a hundred feet of the carriage when, having reached the end of the parade route, it abruptly turned into a side street and picked up speed, the entrance to the street blocked by a line of soldiers to prevent anyone from following. With as much pride as she could muster, armed with a firm belief in her own entitlement (she was a princess), Alyss approached the soldiers standing guard.
    ―Where is that carriage going?‖
    No answer. Maybe they hadn‘t heard her? She was about to ask again when one of the soldiers deigned to look in her direction and, judging by the look on his face (as if someone had shoved a smelly radish under his nose), he was not impressed by Alyss‘ rough-and-tumble appearance.
    Alyss glanced down at her dress, torn by The Cat and wet from the Pool of Tears. She looked far from regal.
    ―To Buckingham Palace. Where d‘ya think?‖ he said.
    But Alyss wasn‘t thinking, events still following too closely and too quickly one after another for her to make much sense of them. Buckingham Palace was simply the place where her mother had gone.
    ―And where is the palace?‖ she asked.
    ―You don‘t know where Buckingham Palace is?‖
    ―If you don‘t tell me, I can make life difficult for you.‖
    This amused the soldier. ―That right? And why should I tell you where the palace is? Like as not, you‘re after doing the queen some harm.‖
    ―I am Princess Alyss Heart. The queen is my mother and—‖
    ―Your—? Well, well.‖ The soldier turned to the fellow standing next to him, who had overheard everything. ―Heh, George. This girl here says her mother‘s the queen.‖
    ―You don‘t say?‖ said George, turning to the soldier next to him. ―Timothy, you hear that? This little girl‘s mother‘s the queen. You and me‘d have to die protecting her, I suppose.‖
    ―All hail the royal lady,‖ Timothy said, bowing.
    The soldiers laughed.
    Nothing was worse than imagination used in the service of anger, Alyss knew, but these soldiers were too disrespectful. It may have been the distorting properties of her anger, or the muck of this alien city, but when she imagined the soldiers‘ mouths sewn shut, their coats and breeches tore at the seams instead.
    Thinking they had split their uniforms from laughing so hard, the soldiers laughed even harder.
    Alyss‘ anger drained out of her, leaving her sad and doubtful. Could it be that her mother hadn‘t been in the carriage? Hadn‘t she seen her mother burst into a thousand fragments, leaving only blackness, nothingness in her place? And why had her imagination failed her?
    Without realizing it, she walked away from the soldiers. ―Hatter?‖ she called.
    But there were only strangers, clots of them conversing on the pavements, others hurrying on their way to who knew where. There was only the grime and soot and horse-dung stink of the streets.
    ―Hatter!‖
    She had to get back to the puddle that had landed her in this world. It could reunite her with Hatter, maybe even return her to Wonderland. She retraced her steps. But the street was mottled with so many puddles. What if she‘d gone too far and passed it? Everything appeared equally unfamiliar. Could she have covered so much distance while chasing the carriage? What if she never found the puddle? What would happen when the sun broke through the clouds?
    If she stopped to think about what she was going through…No, don‘t. Her father murdered. Her mother most likely dead. Sir Justice Anders‘ throat torn