Malice in Wonderland Prequel (2 page)

His shoulders slumped. “Yes, well the vorpal blade that was to be passed on to me was stolen.”

“Stolen? Oh my! Did you ever find out who took it?”

“Yes I did. And I killed him, but I was unable to recover the sword.”

“Oh wow! You killed him! But he was a human. Humans can usually only fight a jabberwock with a vorpal blade. It’s the only material able to pierce their hide, right?”

He nodded. “Yes, but we didn’t battle because I found out he had used deception to gain the sword, and he killed my father dishonourably as well.” Something nagged at his mind. “Wait, did I ever tell you he was a human?” he asked, referring to the man who’d killed his father.

Her smile lessened. “Do you have any idea where your father’s vorpal blade might be?” She kneeled beside the case.

“Wait, you’re not telling me…” He watched her trembling fingers unlatch the case. She brought out the sword and took it in her hand, held it beside her face as she fixed him with a mockingly sweet smile.

“I recognize it,” he said quietly.

Her voice took on a sinister tone. “Yes, this is your father’s sword right here. You see, that man who slayed your father, who you then cowardly killed in cold blood when he was unarmed—that man was
my
father. My name is Laricia, daughter of Herbert the Jabberwock Slayer. I have been training for years with this vorpal blade and I am here to avenge my father. Prepare to die.”

The Jabberwock’s eyes pinged side to side as his mind desperately searched for a lie. He had to tug at Alice’s heartstrings somehow, and immediately. Ah, he knew something guaranteed to make the waterworks flow: “She said she had to see you, even if it was her last act. Alice, she is your sister…”

Her chain clattered as she jerked, then her eyes were desperately roving the dead girl’s face. “But she is the wrong age! She’s not my older sister, for sure, but she’s too old to be my younger sister.”

She looked to the Jabberwock with pleading, desperate eyes that were already growing moist.

Excellent,
he thought.
Now I need only push her…and those tears…over the edge. It shouldn’t be too hard—the girl is so pathetically gullible.

He said, “Yes, well the flow of time works differently between this world and the outside. Perhaps she’s not completely gone and can yet be saved. Perhaps if you spoke to her, she might still hear?”

“Sister?” she said it as a whisper and her whole body was shaking. “My little sis?” She looked down at the corpse’s face. “Why, the last time I saw her…saw you, she was just a baby. I don’t even recognize her…I mean you. Sister, can you hear me? Oh, my little sis! Please say you’re okay!” She awkwardly caressed the corpse’s bloody cheek with her unchained hand, and here it happened. Alice burst into tears!

A huge grin stretched the Jabberwock’s face before he remembered himself and struggled to suppress it.

She was sobbing and hyperventilating. “Please, my little sis! You can’t be dead! Can you hear me?! Talk to me!” she shrieked. Many of her tears dropped into the red blood, mixing into pinkened dribbles.

Alice in her misery pressed her face down against the corpse’s, their noses pressed together while she held her chained arm out to the side. “Please! Did you come here to meet me?! Well, then speak! As your big sister, I demand it!”

I mustn’t let her know the power of her tears.
He began to move toward the body.

Alice rose up on her knees. “Quit acting! Wake up. I command you!”

The Jabberwock gently clasped the dead girl’s wrist. “I’m sorry. It’s too late. She’s gone.” He began pulling the body away.

“No, don’t take her!” Alice shouted in her anguish. “Where are you taking her?!”

And the Jabberwock felt that pesky emotion of guilt come over him again. He felt burdened by the things he couldn’t tell her. He gave her his lame excuse—“I’m sorry, but it’s too late. It’s not good for her to stay here. I must take her away.”

He looked to the corpse’s face for any sign of movement, the chest for any rising. If her eyes opened before he dragged her out of the room, it would be a disaster, because the Queen would surely have his head for letting Alice find out the power of her tears.

Alice strained at her chain like a rabid dog. “No, you can’t take her! I must say my goodbye! She must have a funeral!”

But the Jabberwock didn’t reply or meet her eyes, merely kept dragging that body. As he pulled it through the door, Alice screeched, “Where are you taking her?! No!”

He pulled the body away from the hut and into a nearby forest. None of the windows of the hut faced this direction, so Alice wouldn’t be able to see any of this.

Partway into the forest, it began to happen. He felt the pulse begin in her wrist. Then she took a few shallow breaths.

He dropped her wrist. He’d carried her far enough.

From the girl’s pocket, he brought out the scrawny human-sized quill pen and notepad he’d stolen from Alice’s desk and began writing his note—he had no ink, so he used blood.

He saw her eyelids begin to flutter, and felt relief. Here was the secret revealing itself—Alice’s tears could revive the dead.

The girl named Laricia swayed the vorpal sword back and forth.

He raised his hands. “Please, there was no wrong in the way I killed your father. You don’t know all the circumstances.”
And in fact he deserved to die like a dog,
he wanted to add.

“I know all I need to know. You killed him in cold blood when he wasn’t even armed.”

She swung at him and the blade swooshed through the air. He had to jerk backward to avoid being hit.

He said, “Please, according to the rules of honour, I was obligated to avenge my father in that manner.” He couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to fight her. Shouldn’t he be happy for the opportunity?

She swung again and he just barely avoided being hit. “By striking down an unarmed human?!” she snarled.

“Yes, because he stole the vorpal blade by dishonest means.”

She unleashed a savage flurry of attacks. It took extreme effort and luck to avoid her blows—she was highly skilled.

“I heard of the coin toss!” she said while she paused to catch her breath. The blade lowered slightly in her hands. “He won this sword that way, fair and square!” She raised her sword back up.

He shook his head. “No, he cheated. He used a double-headed coin.”

“Liar!” she shouted, then began attacking again.

He wasn’t entirely successful avoiding the swings this time—one blow stuck hard against his right arm, cutting deep, rendering it useless.

The blood ran down his arm as they stood staring at each other. “It’s true. And he killed my father dishonourably, when his eyes were closed.”

“What kind of idiot closes his eyes on an armed foe?”

“It was when my father handed the sword over to him. My father was bound by my dishonourable bet. I had lost the coin toss, and so he was obligated to honour the terms—he handed over the sword, but he was so overwhelmed with sorrow and shame, that he lowered his head and closed his eyes. While he was lost in his shame at my behavior, your father took advantage and beheaded him.”

Her stance wavered. “No, he killed him in a great battle.”

The Jabberwock huffed. “Because he said so? Because they made a poem about it that said it was so? But I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”

She made a half-hearted jab that he easily dodged. “I should believe a filthy lying jabberwock? If you saw it, why didn’t you stop it?”

“I was chained to a pole because I couldn’t be trusted to watch without doing anything. I was very impulsive in those days.”

She stood watching him, her face showed confusion as she tried to process her thoughts. She smirked. “So you watched your father lose the fight, watched him get beheaded?” She gave another half-hearted swing at him that he dodged, but then he stumbled—his arm was still bleeding profusely and he felt dizzy from the blood loss.

He said, “They didn’t fight. I guess your father went back to his village and said he fought a heroic battle, which is why they wrote that poem about him.”

“My father wouldn’t do that. You’re the liar.”

No, everything the Jabberwock said was true, but could he convince
her?

“Please believe me—it’s why I killed him the way I did, because he dishonourably murdered my father, and he cheated in order to attain the vorpal blade.”

“Ha! Cheated how?”

“When he made the bet with me.”

“Yes, tell me more about the bet.” She took a step back, momentarily halting the battle. “I don’t know much about it.”

So the Jabberwock began to tell the tale, despite how ashamed he was of it. “Back then, as I said, I was impulsive. I had a gambling…problem that he took advantage of. He had a coin with his own portrait on it. He said if he flipped it and it landed on heads, he’d win the vorpal blade, which still belonged to my father, but I was almost to the age when he would give it to me.”

“Oh, what was
your
prize?” she asked still holding her sword up, but it looked as if it was growing heavy in her arms despite how light vorpal blades were.

“Hmmm?”

“I’ve never known what you might have won in the coin toss…”

“Oh, a magical lute that could be played without having to practice on it.”

“Okay, so you wanted to be a musician without having to work for it and he took advantage of your gambling problem, and you lost your bet. So what?”

“He cheated.”

“According to you.”

“I have proof.”

She looked on blankly and lowered the sword tip onto the ground, resting her arms. “What proof?”

“I still have the coin.”

“Ha! You have a coin. So what?”

“I’ll bring out the coin.” He slowly bent toward a chest on the ground and she tensed. “Don’t worry. Let’s say that we are on a temporary truce, okay? It would be dishonourable for me to attack you now. Jabberwock’s honour, I just want to get the coin.”

“Yes, you jabberwocks and your honour.” She rolled her eyes, but she kept her arms down in an undefended position.

After some rummaging, he brought out the coin—it was a novelty coin, with the head of Herbert the so-called Jabberwock Slayer etched in it and it even had a date, of five years earlier, the year that it had all occurred.

He offered to toss it to her, but she shook her head, so all he could do was explain, once more telling the truth. “I’ll tell you how I got it. See, after he beheaded my father, he walked up to me. I wanted to attack him right then, but the chains prevented me. He brought out this coin. He said he would flip it and if it landed on tails, he would cut the chains and we would have an honourable battle.”

“And if it landed heads?”

“He would leave me there.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone make such a wager?”

“You’ll see… He told me it was the same coin he’d used when he won the sword. He flipped it and it came up heads. He left the coin on the ground to mock me, then with my father’s head, he went galumphing back.”

“Did you ever escape?” she said with a sneer.

“Yes, I was found a few hours later and freed. And that’s when I picked up the coin and discovered he had cheated.”

“Oh?” she said with a smirk, but she seemed less certain now.

“Yes, because the coin is double-headed. He cheated to gain that sword you hold.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It is the truth. I swear to it.”

“Toss it to the ground here.” She pointed down with the sword and he tossed it down.

She bent to look at it. “It is my father’s face, and that year, is the year of his death.” She flipped the coin over with the tip of her sword. “No, no, this is a fake.”

“Why would I go through the trouble of that? No, it is the coin he used. That’s why, according to our code, he did not deserve an honourable death. I hunted him down and killed him, though he was unarmed, but I was unable to recover my vorpal blade. He didn’t have it upon his person.”

She chuckled morosely. “That’s because he had it stored away. I, as his only child, inherited it. I have been training all these years, studying the art of sword wielding, studying the ways of you…jabberwocks…and your code of honour.”

The Jabberwock didn’t like the sound of where this was going. “Please, I believe you are an honourable warrior seeking to preserve the reputation of your father. But all I have told you is the truth. You have fulfilled your duties as a daughter. Let us go our separate ways.”

“And what about the sword?”

“I respectfully ask that you return it to me, its rightful owner, for it was stolen from me by trickery.”

“Well it seems we have a bit of a problem. Are you willing to let me walk out of here, taking your precious vorpal blade with me?”

For several moments, the Jabberwock thought upon it. He sighed. “If you choose to. I tell you again, all I’ve said has been true, and I’d like you to return my blade to me, but I respect your decision, and I truly don’t wish to fight you. I…respect you.” The Jabberwock was surprised himself to hear himself say that.