The moment Alyss had been located,
the knowledge of it spread to every Glass Eye in the city—or so
it
seemed to Bibwit Harte, who, with the walrus-butler, was watching the invasion on the holographic viewing screens in the palace’s briefing room. Wonderland’s queen had been sighted, there followed the slightest hesitation in the Glass Eyes’ movements, and they all began to fight their way toward her. “Oh, oh, I can’t watch,” grieved the walrus. He tried to cover his eyes, but his flippers were too short to reach and he waddled around the room in even greater consternation. “I’m not watching, I’m not watching!” He turned his eyes anywhere but at the holo-screens. “What’s happening, Mr. Bibwit? No, don’t tell me! Oh, why can’t Queen Alyss simply defeat those horrid things with the strength of her imagination? Please tell me that something good is—” Clicketyclacketyclicketyclicket! Clacketyclicketyclack! “What. Are. Thooooooose?” the walrus moaned. On the holo-screen airing the happenings in Genevieve Square, a swarm of scorpspitters released by the Glass Eyes was scuttling toward Alyss and the others. Never before had a Wonderlander seen these scorpion-like contraptions that could shoot bullets of deadly poison from their “tails”—not even Bibwit, who assumed they were the latest in a long line of armaments invented by Redd. But before a single scorpspitter curled its tail into a C to take aim at the queen, she imagined into existence a horde of disembodied boots with steel-plated soles, which hovered momentarily in the air, then— With a slight nod, she brought them down hard, stomping the scorpspitters flat, squishing their armor-carapaces and making abstract art of their wiry guts. “Ooh, now why can’t Queen Alyss do that to the Glass Eyes?” the walrus-butler cried. “Because Alyss cannot, even in her imagination, be in all places at once,” Bibwit explained, “not with the intensity required to defeat a scattered enemy. Whether she produces a construct with enough reality to deceive the eyes or she brings into existence an actual weapon or boot, imaginings require tremendous precision of thought and attention to detail. She could perhaps mount a successful defense in two locations simultaneously; she has the strength for that. But to imagine herself in every Wondertropolis neighborhood, battling all the invading packs of Glass Eyes simultaneously, would spread her gift too thin and she would fail.”
Waddling laps around the room, alternately looking at the ceiling and the floor—anywhere but at the holo-screens—the walrus-butler heard none of this. Bibwit himself was hardly aware of what he’d said. In times of great stress, the pale scholar became more verbose than usual. “At least the palace has been locked down,” he observed, hoping to calm the walrus as, on the walls around them, the uncontrollable nightmare of battle raged in Wondertropolis’ streets. “So we are safe.” But even the walrus-butler wasn’t naïve enough to believe this. They were safe only so long as Queen Alyss Heart remained so, and right now—the animal cast a fretful eye at the nearest holo-screen—things looked very bad indeed.
seemed to Bibwit Harte, who, with the walrus-butler, was watching the invasion on the holographic viewing screens in the palace’s briefing room. Wonderland’s queen had been sighted, there followed the slightest hesitation in the Glass Eyes’ movements, and they all began to fight their way toward her. “Oh, oh, I can’t watch,” grieved the walrus. He tried to cover his eyes, but his flippers were too short to reach and he waddled around the room in even greater consternation. “I’m not watching, I’m not watching!” He turned his eyes anywhere but at the holo-screens. “What’s happening, Mr. Bibwit? No, don’t tell me! Oh, why can’t Queen Alyss simply defeat those horrid things with the strength of her imagination? Please tell me that something good is—” Clicketyclacketyclicketyclicket! Clacketyclicketyclack! “What. Are. Thooooooose?” the walrus moaned. On the holo-screen airing the happenings in Genevieve Square, a swarm of scorpspitters released by the Glass Eyes was scuttling toward Alyss and the others. Never before had a Wonderlander seen these scorpion-like contraptions that could shoot bullets of deadly poison from their “tails”—not even Bibwit, who assumed they were the latest in a long line of armaments invented by Redd. But before a single scorpspitter curled its tail into a C to take aim at the queen, she imagined into existence a horde of disembodied boots with steel-plated soles, which hovered momentarily in the air, then— With a slight nod, she brought them down hard, stomping the scorpspitters flat, squishing their armor-carapaces and making abstract art of their wiry guts. “Ooh, now why can’t Queen Alyss do that to the Glass Eyes?” the walrus-butler cried. “Because Alyss cannot, even in her imagination, be in all places at once,” Bibwit explained, “not with the intensity required to defeat a scattered enemy. Whether she produces a construct with enough reality to deceive the eyes or she brings into existence an actual weapon or boot, imaginings require tremendous precision of thought and attention to detail. She could perhaps mount a successful defense in two locations simultaneously; she has the strength for that. But to imagine herself in every Wondertropolis neighborhood, battling all the invading packs of Glass Eyes simultaneously, would spread her gift too thin and she would fail.”
Waddling laps around the room, alternately looking at the ceiling and the floor—anywhere but at the holo-screens—the walrus-butler heard none of this. Bibwit himself was hardly aware of what he’d said. In times of great stress, the pale scholar became more verbose than usual. “At least the palace has been locked down,” he observed, hoping to calm the walrus as, on the walls around them, the uncontrollable nightmare of battle raged in Wondertropolis’ streets. “So we are safe.” But even the walrus-butler wasn’t naïve enough to believe this. They were safe only so long as Queen Alyss Heart remained so, and right now—the animal cast a fretful eye at the nearest holo-screen—things looked very bad indeed.
They were surrounded. Directly ahead,
cannonball spiders rocketed closer and closer while, on their left,
a cannonade of orb generators eclipsed all but death. On their
right, umpteen decks of razor-cards cut through the distance toward
them and, at their backs, spikejack tumblers churned air in prelude
to churning their flesh.