Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland by T.T. Sutherland Page A

the shoulder. “The Knave!” The March Hare gasped.
    â€œUh-oh!” cried the Cheshire Cat.
    â€œUrg. The Knave!” the Dormouse added.
    The March Hare shouted. “Hide her! Hide her!”
    â€œGood-bye,” said the Cheshire Cat, then he immediately vanished into thin air. The Hatter grabbed a small bottle off the table and shoved it into Alice’s hands. It looked ominously familiar. “Drink this quickly,” he commanded.
    â€œOh, no,” Alice said, remembering the room with the locked doors and the little glass bottle she’d found there. She tried to resist, but the March Hare and the Mad Hatter forced the liquid down her throat. Before she could even shriek in protest, she was six inches tall.
    And the indignity wasn’t over. The Mad Hatter picked her up and dropped her in the nearest teapot, which luckily was empty of tea. Alice stumbled to her knees on the cold porcelain floor. Her hands scrabbled at the smooth walls curving up on either side of her. The Hatter peeked in the top, and she saw his enormous hand descending with the teapot lid.
    â€œMind your head,” he said, and then the sky disappeared. Alice sat down huffily and crossed her arms. It was dim except for a stream of light from the spout. She could hear their voices outside quite clearly.
    Soon Stayne arrived with his two Red Knights, following the bloodhound’s nose. The bloodhound headed straight for the table and began sniffing furiously.
    â€œWell,” sneered the Knave of Hearts, “if it’s not my favorite trio of lunatics.”
    â€œWould you like to join us?” asked the Dormouse.
    â€œYou’re all late for tea!” shouted the March Hare, flinging a teapot at them (fortunately, not the one with Alice in it).
    The Knave didn’t bother to dodge. The teapot clattered harmlessly onto the path beside him as he surveyed the table with disdain. “We’re looking for the girl called Alice.”
    Inside the teapot, Alice shuddered. She couldn’t see Stayne, but she didn’t like the sound of him. Why was everyone here so interested in her? And why wouldn’t this dream simply end?
    â€œSpeaking of the Queen,” said the Hatter as if the Knave had said something else, “here’s a little song we used to sing in her honor.”
    All three of them burst into song at the same time, although their tunefulness left a bit to be desired. “Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!” they blared. “How I wonder where you’re at!”
    Alice buried her head in her hands. These were the people protecting her? What was she supposed to do if the Knave killed them or took them all prisoner? She’d be stuck in a teapot, six inches tall, and no one would ever think to look for her there.
    One day someone would buy the teapot from a stall in Portobello Road, and wouldn’t they be surprised to find her dusty bones inside. Alice felt quite sorry for herself for a moment.
    It’s just a dream, she remembered. There’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just a dream.
    Back outside, the song abruptly broke off as Stayne grabbed the Hatter around the neck. One Red Knight cracked the March Hare with his weapon, while the other seized a teapot (again, luckily not Alice’s) and poured hot tea over the Dormouse’s head. The Hare and the Dormouse yelped in pain.
    â€œIf you’re hiding her, you’ll lose your heads,” growled the Knave.
    â€œAlready lost them,” the Hatter said cheerfully, ignoring the thick hands around his neck. “All together now!”
    The other two joined in for the rest of the song.
    â€œUp above the world you fly, like a tea tray in the sky!” They all started laughing crazily. “Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle!”
    The Knave let go of the Hatter’s neck and stalked around the table, looking disgusted.
    Peering up the spout, Alice saw a large black nose appear. The bloodhound