Wakeboarding is much easier when you’re small enough to have nearly no mass to speak of. On the other hand, it made the Ladybugs, who were all eager to grab at any chance to bomb me off my ride, very irritating indeed.
“ARGH! Stupid Ladybugs! I’m killing every last one of you if that’s what it takes!” I screamed and tottered on the rather unstable leaf, as yet another Acorn Bomb nearly struck me off balance. “Tell yourself: I’ve seen worse at Rutledge’s. Prevarication in this instance may help,” “On the contrary, your equivocation really isn’t aiding my nerves.”
Somewhere between shooting down bugs and exchanging barbs with Chessur, I noticed the mock Turtle waving from the nearby bank before loping off again. Giving up the battle to stay standing upon the leaf amid a renewed assault of the bugs, I swam to the shore, which was dotted with a couple of vibrant mushrooms, large roses and…Ant Soldiers. “O…K. Slowly does it…” I cautioned myself, edging behind the mushrooms, which shimmered beautifully under the bright noonday sun.
“No, Alice, not a good idea,” warned Chessur. Then, when I passed by the first Mushroom, everything seemed to happen at once: Two beady eyes opened up in the mushroom cap, and with an unpleasant sucking sound, started to draw me in. The other `shroom, seeing that I was too far away from it to suck, threw back its cap as if to sneeze, and expelled a cloud of dirty green spores in my face, burning my eyes and searing my throat. The Pink Roses, unwilling to miss out on the fun, unfurled to reveal mouths of gleaming sharp teeth, sitting half a dozen thorns my way. At the same time, Chessur unsheathed his claws to deal with the Soldiers before I was faced with a three-pronged assault.
Their acid bursts useless at such short range, the Ants tried to swing the bayonets mounted on their rifles to fend off the dangerous feline, but he was too fast for them. Thrusting his hips backwards to avoid the blades’ deadly arc, his outstretched arms gripped the heads of the Soldiers and twisted sharply, separating head from thorax in one swift movement. Yet though the cruel Soldiers had been taken care of, I was still receiving a heavy beating. Driving my Staff into the ground, I inched my way forward painfully, spores and thorns stinging my back all the while. Finally escaping the Mushroom’s forceful pull, I released volley upon volley of shards at the Mushrooms and Roses till they shrieked, shriveled and died.
“I enjoy the taste of mushrooms, nut not the ones that bite back!” I gasped. “When the remarkable turns bizarre, reason turns rancid. But that, I would say, is the least of your troubles. Behold that large mansion yonder, upon the torch-lined hill.” I…beheld. It was evidently large and evidently beautiful…once, for it had also evidently fallen into a state of severe disrepair. All these, however, weren’t of paramount importance compared to the last observation: The hill itself was overgrown with carnivorous Roses and Mushrooms. “And how do you propose I pick my way past that minefield?” “Hey, you’re the one looking for the Duchess, not me,” replied my companion, shrugging noncommittally. “Psst! Oiver heyuh’!” Startled by the hiss, I turned around to see a scaly, stocky lizard, peeking out of a clump of bushes.
Hmm. Things were getting interesting.
“Don’t I know you?” I said, walking over to him, grasping the knife behind my back in case the turned out to be a nasty trap. “Bill McGill, at yer service. Call me Larry…er not. Got any branday?” “No. I’ve only my wits.” “Then yah have nuffin’. Wits a’ useless ‘ere. Oivrytoing is downsoide up!” “I must see the Duchess.” “She only sees those who don’ wish ta see ‘er.” Frowning in partial confusion, both at the comment and interpreting his mashed-up pronunciation, I remarked, “That’s not right.” “S’ perfect. She’s s’posed ta be hidin’ from the Red Quoin who wants her dead.” “…her head?” “That, too. Roins moi home, and lets her own become this monstrosity. She’s as mad as monkey mash! And just as tas’less. Well, never moind, we’ll all perish soon enuff’. Sure yer got no branday?” “I’m here to retrieve the Turtle’s shell. I won’t leave without it.” “Won’t, eh? What’cha gonna do, stick yer thumb in her oi or something? Oi’m yer devoted servant. Owe her a bad turn meself. Follow moi,” proclaimed Bill, starting to ascend the hill.
I looked at him, astonished. “Not to dampen your enthusiasm or anything, but how are you get us those plants? Unless you have wings concealed in that rough back of yours.” “Hmm? Oh yea. Neyurlay forgot. Not too long ago there was this roibbit who passed by—“ “Dammit! To think I just missed the feller…Sorry, didn’t quite catch you.” “As Oi was sayin’, he came along, took one look at the Duchess’s garden and desoided he doin’ loike the look of oit. So he hands me this, saying it should help clear the weeds,” drawled Bill, clutching a…Jack-in-the-Box.
“This is a Jack-in-a-Box, not a lawnmower. That won’t help us clear out the plants,” I commented dryly. “That’s what Oi said. And he tells me some rubbish about oit being a foinal product of fusin’ a phoenix’s—can you believe that?—essence with a toi. So Oi tells’im ter stuff oit, but he says ‘the girl who’ll be coimin’ by later will know how ter use oit’…Oi believe that means yah,” Bill explained, licking his eyeballs. “Let me see,” I said, grabbing the toy. Not seeing how else to work it, I wound up the toy—and it immediately began to tremble. Violently. “Darn! That thing’s dangerous!” I yelled, throwing the Box towards the hill. It continued to shake for some time, before the Jack popped out of the cover, and with a roar, began spewing a continuous jet of intense flames, deciminating every Rose and Mushroom upon the hill as it turned in a slow circle. Completing one revolution, it then exploded, sending out a thunderous shockwave that scattered the ashes of the charred herbs to the winds, clearing a path for us. Then the flames seemed to collapse into themselves, incongruously coalescing back into the innocuous Jack-in-the-Box.
“That’s one powerful toi.” “I’ll say.” “Jack’s a friend, but his temperament is explosive; perhaps best to let him play by himself,” advised Chessur, smirking at our impressed looks. “And now it’s high time you met our dear Duchess,” croaked Bill, prodding me up the hill. “And I’ll have that,” I said, picking up the Jackbomb as we neared the door of the fine establishment, or what was left of it, for giant cards had been taped in place to cover the gaping holes in the woodwork. As I walked right up to the ruined door, it abruptly split into two, and sucked me in, while the yellow-bellied coward Bill ran away screaming at the top of his lungs for no apparent reason.
Sometimes, life sucks, and then you die. But I’m usually not that lucky.
Propelled along the dark, forbidding corridors of the manor, the unknown force finally let up before a locked door. Ramming my staff into the rotting wood once, twice and thrice, I finally broke down the stubborn barrier and emerged into an enormous living room—well, enormous because I was so tiny. Then the floor rocked, and the…fireplace expanded, revealing an equally large, fiendish-looking woman. The Duchess, presumably. Wearing a blotted, filthy cook’s smock, holding a pepper spray in one hand, she sniffed the air greedily with her misshapen nose, nostrils opening and closing repulsively. And when she…caught my scent, her lips stretched wide, revealing a row of dirty yellow, jagged teeth in a nasty leer.
I wasn’t going to enjoy this.
****************************
Later in his room, while his right paw wrapped half his face in a homemade bandage, he was setting up the chess pieces with his equally dexterous left. It is by her Imperial Viciousness’s decree that all citizens are to engage in the sacred game that is Chess at least thrice a day, to hone their strategic skills and ensure the sharpness of mind. Failure to do so will result in especially undesirable circumstances. Such as being sent to the Crystal Mines to slog out the rest of your life excavating crystals from stubborn bedrock, under pitiless wardens who dished out daily whippings and other harsh punishments at whim until oppressed prisoners either took their own life to escape their bleak existence, or had them taken by the Pawns who patrolled the mining camps. These, though, were the lucky ones. More brazen rule-breakers could have their body torn apart by galloping Knights, or turned into a flat mash of flesh and bones by the heavy Rooks who would jump up and down gleefully upon the condemned man’s body.
He shuddered at the new torture methods the Queen thought up. Daily, whenever she was not calling a meeting of the Ruling Houses for her amusement, or engaging the Hatter (who had truly gone deliciously mad, judging from the rumours about the “great and honourable” man he was once) to present to her new inventions, contraptions, or improvements to the Aces, her replacement army for the Heart Decks, massacred in a mini-Holocaust when they refused to pledge allegiance to Her Imperial Viciousness after she herself had blasted the King and Queen of Hearts’ head into oblivion in a bloody coup. He remembered that night well. He remembered that night well. He remembered the fear in the pupils of the Hearts’ eyes when they realized that the increasingly desperate swings and stabs of their electro-halberds had no effect whatsoever on this satanic being who had been spawned into this world with the skills of Chessur, the most deadly assassin-for-hire in Wonderland? Momentarily forgetting the searing ache in his cheek, he reveled in every single killing he made in the happiest night of his life, savouring every slash, delighting in every smashed skull.
Then his wounds throbbed, jerking him back to reality painfully. Fortunately, the soothing herbs that made up the paste in the bandages alleviated the sore somewhat. He dreaded for his face, and life, if the Queen ever found out about his source of healing plants. Fortunately his prowess in battle never led the Queen to be inclined to look too deeply into his swift recoveries after every slap. Shunting these gloomy thoughts from his mind, he turned to the board, and tried to remember Her Imperial Viciousness’s teachings on the hallowed game. “In chess, the pawns go first,” he murmured, moving the relevant piece.
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