bottommost steps were lost in
darkness as unremitting as the grave, a darkness that, for
generations, had
attracted lesser beings given to Black Imagination—occultists, drug addicts, outcasts seeking a shelter devoid of society’s judgment, thieves and murderers seeking refuge from the police. “Come,” Redd said. “I’ve found a place for us.” Descending the crumbling stairs, enveloped by the darkness, Redd and The Cat entered a dank catacomb whose size was belied by the echo of their footfalls. Redd conjured a throne for herself, its seat and backrest resembling a splayed-open rose blossom, its legs and armrests thick, petrified rose vines. Her Imperial Viciousness flopped down into the throne like a woman falling into her favorite chair after a hard day’s work.
“You best remember how to return to Wonderland,” she warned The Cat. “I remember, Your Imperial Viciousness. The portals look like ordinary puddles. I’ll know them when I see them.”
“Let’s hope for your health that you will. But it’d be no use returning to Wonderland now, when my army is at best scattered and at worst imprisoned en masse.” Her assassin began to clean himself. “With your strength and power, you could rule as much of this world as you wanted.”
Redd’s nostrils flared with impatience. “I know it’s difficult for you, Cat, but try to use your brain, as small as it is. Why would I want to lord myself over this world when it’s nothing but a weak reflection of my birthplace? Wonderland belongs to me. I intend to get what’s mine.” “Won-der-land!” echoed a voice in the dark. “How long it’s been since I’ve set foot on her soil!” A flickering glow bobbed toward them from the distance of a tunnel: a torch, carried by what appeared to be a dead man, as emaciated as he was and having the complexion of a week-old cadaver. He was dressed entirely in black and wore black gloves. In addition to the torch, he carried a violin case. With him was a tall, bald albino with elongated ears sprouting from his head and a map of veins visible beneath semi-transparent skin: a near twin to Bibwit Harte, identical in every feature except that his nose was more pointed and his cheeks pitted with acne scars. Neither he nor his cadaverous companion showed signs of alarm at the sight of creatures as extraordinary as Redd and The Cat. “Are you from Wonderland?” the albino asked. Redd knew a member of the tutor species when she saw one. She also knew that the tutor before her must be a criminal—someone who had leaped into the Pool of Tears to avoid prosecution in Wonderland courts and make what life he could for himself in this antiquated world. She might have considered such ex-Wonderlanders sooner. She could put them to nasty purpose. “What business is it of yours where we’re from?” “It’s none of my business whatsoever,” the stranger answered. “It’s just that I used to have a few friends in Wonderland. The one I’m most curious about, however, I can no longer with justice call my friend.” “Justice is overrated,” Redd brooded.
“Quite,” the stranger agreed. “But perhaps you know this former friend of mine? He’s a tutor, as am I, and he likely holds a position of eminence in the queendom. His name is Harte.”
attracted lesser beings given to Black Imagination—occultists, drug addicts, outcasts seeking a shelter devoid of society’s judgment, thieves and murderers seeking refuge from the police. “Come,” Redd said. “I’ve found a place for us.” Descending the crumbling stairs, enveloped by the darkness, Redd and The Cat entered a dank catacomb whose size was belied by the echo of their footfalls. Redd conjured a throne for herself, its seat and backrest resembling a splayed-open rose blossom, its legs and armrests thick, petrified rose vines. Her Imperial Viciousness flopped down into the throne like a woman falling into her favorite chair after a hard day’s work.
“You best remember how to return to Wonderland,” she warned The Cat. “I remember, Your Imperial Viciousness. The portals look like ordinary puddles. I’ll know them when I see them.”
“Let’s hope for your health that you will. But it’d be no use returning to Wonderland now, when my army is at best scattered and at worst imprisoned en masse.” Her assassin began to clean himself. “With your strength and power, you could rule as much of this world as you wanted.”
Redd’s nostrils flared with impatience. “I know it’s difficult for you, Cat, but try to use your brain, as small as it is. Why would I want to lord myself over this world when it’s nothing but a weak reflection of my birthplace? Wonderland belongs to me. I intend to get what’s mine.” “Won-der-land!” echoed a voice in the dark. “How long it’s been since I’ve set foot on her soil!” A flickering glow bobbed toward them from the distance of a tunnel: a torch, carried by what appeared to be a dead man, as emaciated as he was and having the complexion of a week-old cadaver. He was dressed entirely in black and wore black gloves. In addition to the torch, he carried a violin case. With him was a tall, bald albino with elongated ears sprouting from his head and a map of veins visible beneath semi-transparent skin: a near twin to Bibwit Harte, identical in every feature except that his nose was more pointed and his cheeks pitted with acne scars. Neither he nor his cadaverous companion showed signs of alarm at the sight of creatures as extraordinary as Redd and The Cat. “Are you from Wonderland?” the albino asked. Redd knew a member of the tutor species when she saw one. She also knew that the tutor before her must be a criminal—someone who had leaped into the Pool of Tears to avoid prosecution in Wonderland courts and make what life he could for himself in this antiquated world. She might have considered such ex-Wonderlanders sooner. She could put them to nasty purpose. “What business is it of yours where we’re from?” “It’s none of my business whatsoever,” the stranger answered. “It’s just that I used to have a few friends in Wonderland. The one I’m most curious about, however, I can no longer with justice call my friend.” “Justice is overrated,” Redd brooded.
“Quite,” the stranger agreed. “But perhaps you know this former friend of mine? He’s a tutor, as am I, and he likely holds a position of eminence in the queendom. His name is Harte.”