Red Queen (5 page)

Hatcher's odor, she noticed as he climbed out of the stream and flopped on the bank, had not improved by the dunking of his whole self in the water. Steam rose from his clothes and carried with it a sour stink that reminded Alice of a dog that just rolled in the streams of refuse that ran along the curbs in the Old City.

They lay in the sun for a time, content to let the breeze touch their faces and hair, to breathe in warm green smells and, underneath, the hominess of black earth, an earth that let things grow instead of killing them. Then Hatcher sat up, his nostrils flared, and a moment later Alice smelled it too.

“Bread,” she said, breathing the word out like a prayer.

She could already taste it on her tongue, slathered in fresh sweet butter and berry jam, filling up all the aching, gnawing places under her ribs. Perhaps there would also be tea, or milk, or soft creamy cheese. Perhaps there would even be cake.

Without awareness of her actions she rose and followed the wafting smell of baking bread. Hatcher was a few paces ahead of her, his nose in the air like a hunting animal sniffing out prey. They found a little worn track from the riverbank and followed it to the edge of town.

All of the houses were small and well kept, porches swept, pretty little flowers in boxes at the windows, blue and pink and yellow. Two rows of homes faced one another over the main road, which led to a small village square and a fountain spouting the same beautifully clear water as the spring. Each building in the square could be identified, not by a written sign indicating ownership or the type of business, but by a small picture painted on a board. A hat for the milliner, a horseshoe for the farrier, a loaf of bread for the baker.

These little icons only emphasized the sense of a doll's village instead of a real one, and that sensation was reinforced by the lack of people. Hatcher paused as he reached the fountain and Alice
noted his stance had changed. He'd lost the aspect of a sniffing dog. His axe was in his hand, the knuckles tight around the handle.

The scent of bread was stronger here, as the baker was directly opposite. Alice reached for her own little knife, resolutely ignoring her rumbling stomach.

“It's not right,” Hatcher said. “Where are they?”

“What if we look inside?” Alice asked. “Maybe they are only wary of strangers. They
are
alone here in a valley on the edge of a desert. New folk likely don't pass this way often.”

“I suppose,” Hatcher said, and he sounded very grumbly, “this means you want me to put away my axe again.”

Alice laughed, a short laugh that surprised the tension out of her. She tucked her knife away. “Wouldn't you prefer to meet some slightly suspicious but otherwise kindhearted villagers rather than be forced to hack your way through a population of enemies?”

Hatcher only grunted at this, which Alice took to mean that either option would be welcome. She wondered how he'd subdued his impulses when in the hospital, then realized with a shock that he had not suppressed them at all. Many a night Alice fell asleep to the sound of Hatcher punching the padded wall, punching so steadily and determinedly that she'd been certain one day his hand would emerge on her side like a sprouted fungus.

Alice's first inclination was to explore the bakery, where she
hoped to both meet a friendly baker and fill her stomach. She and Hatcher climbed the steps and peered through the window. Rows of cakes and breads were arrayed on shelves, but no one was visible through the glass. By silent and mutual consent they tried the door. It gave easily under Alice's hand. Hatcher had put his axe away but he had a tense, coiled look, ready to spring.

“Hello?” Alice called.

There was no movement to be heard from the room beyond, no indication whatever that anyone was present. Yet the goods all appeared freshly baked, and they certainly smelled that way. Alice staggered a little, her hunger overwhelming her.

“Hello?” she called again.

She had a strange thought, that perhaps the people of this village didn't speak her language and couldn't understand what she was saying.
But they still should have responded to my call,
she thought.
They would hardly cower under a table simply because they did not understand “hello.”

Alice and Hatcher looked at each other, the same thought in their eyes.

“I suppose it would be all right to take some food if we left money,” Alice said hopefully.

“I still have some of the trader's gold,” Hatcher said.

Alice spotted an enormous slice of yellow cake with a thick layer of lavender frosting atop it. A little moan escaped her lips. Yellow cake and colored frosting, her favorite.

The cake was crammed in her mouth before she even realized
she'd crossed the room. Sweetness exploded on her tongue—the soft moist crumble of cake, the thick, melty butteriness of frosting. A moment later the entire slice was gone and Alice's head was rushing, swimming in sugar and ecstasy. She sank to the floor and waited for the dizzy spell to pass.

She soon felt herself again, and glanced at Hatcher, embarrassed at her behavior. She needn't have bothered worrying, as Hatcher was on the floor opposite her, surrounded by things he'd pulled from the shelves. He was busy stuffing his face and took no notice of her whatsoever.

Alice stood slowly and chose two loaves of bread and some paper to cover them. She wrapped one loaf in its entirety, then broke the other in two, saving half for later. She ate the other half carefully, chewing and savoring.

No person appeared in all the time Hatcher and Alice were in the baker's—not the shopkeeper nor any customer from the village. When Hatcher finally had eaten his fill they swept out the crumbs (
evidence of guilt,
Alice thought), left a generous quantity of gold in exchange for the goods they'd eaten, tucked some extra supplies in Hatcher's bag and left the shop.

Outside in the square everything was just as it had been before, silent and still, though the silence seemed less ominous somehow. A full belly, Alice reflected, went a long way toward improving one's outlook.

The sun was almost at its zenith, but the little valley felt cool and shaded. Hatcher and Alice went around the square, entering every shop, calling out for any resident.

In each case they discovered the same scene—goods laid out, everything fresh and clean and dustless, but no people. It was as if all the village had woken that day and walked away, leaving everything behind.

Given the state of their clothes and their meager supplies Alice and Hatcher took the time to collect things they needed—cheese and fruit to accompany the bread, an extra sack for Alice to carry, ropes and blankets.

Alice swapped her ill-fitting trousers for a new pair and a clean shirt, though there were pretty dress patterns on display, just like in a City shop. She fingered one, a light cotton patterned all over with blue flowers.

“You would look very fine in that,” Hatcher said.

Alice dropped her hand from the cloth, color rising in her cheeks. “It's not practical,” she said. “Anyway, I'm too tall to fit in it, and I've grown used to trousers in any case.”

It's much easier to run in trousers,
she thought. She hadn't forgotten all peril behind them, nor what might be ahead.

She chose two of each item, carefully rolling up her old trousers and placing them in the bottom of her sack, mindful of the presence of the bottle in her pocket, the one she had not yet disposed of.

Alice dressed in a clean shirt and pants, wishing now that she'd bathed in the river with Hatcher. The crispness of her new clothes only seemed to emphasize the layers of grit on her skin.

In all the empty shops they left behind what they thought was fair payment for their goods. “After all,” Alice reasoned,
“what if they are all simply away for a festival or some such thing? How would they feel upon returning to find they'd been looted?”

“What if someone comes along after us and takes our gold and their goods?” Hatcher countered.

“At least we'll know we did the proper thing,” Alice said. “And besides, who would come along after us? We never saw another soul crossing that blight.”

Besides the men from the City,
Alice thought, though she did not say it.

“There is more than one way to approach the village,” Hatcher said, pointing toward the mountains. But he left the money, because Alice wished it.

Once they'd purchased everything they needed, Alice and Hatcher returned to the fountain at the center of town. Hatcher peered up at the sky.

“The sun is going down. We may as well stay here tonight instead of taking our chance with the mountains.”

“I hate to sleep inside someone's house uninvited,” Alice said. “What if the owner returned and found you sleeping in his bed?”

She remembered a story one of her governesses told her, about a little girl who went into a house that wasn't hers. She sat in three chairs and tasted three bowls of porridge and rolled in three beds. And for being too curious (and, Alice thought, very rude) the little girl was eaten up by the bears who lived there. She repeated this story to Hatcher, who gave her a curious look.

“Are you worried about bears?” he asked.

“Well, no,” Alice admitted. “But the moral remains. Considering the type of person we've encountered since we escaped, I wouldn't want to make assumptions about the owner of any of these houses. We might go to sleep and wake up to discover a madman with a knife leaning over us.”

“
I'm
the madman with the knife,” Hatcher said. “And you are not exactly scrupulous with a blade yourself.”

Alice rather resented this remark, as she felt she had killed only in defense or out of necessity. She wasn't like Hatcher, who if left unchecked would instigate a bloodbath for the fun of it.

“Still, we can sleep here in the square if you prefer,” Hatcher said.

“I do,” Alice said. “But first I want a bath.”

They returned to the stream. Hatcher watched in open frankness as Alice undressed. She knew she ought not allow him to do so, that it wasn't a proper thing for an unmarried girl. But he'd already seen her whole body, had embraced her while she stood naked in Bess' spare room. And while Hatcher had never pressed his attentions on her, there was an intimacy between them much stronger than any man and wife. That was what happened when you killed for each other, to keep the other person safe.

Alice waded into the clear, cold stream and scrubbed the days of grit and sweat from her skin and hair. Hatcher never took his eyes from her. Then she climbed out and shook off the water and put her new clothes on again.

Hatcher stayed her hands as they moved toward the buttons of her shirt, performing the task himself. His fingers brushed against her damp skin. When he finished she was breathless. Then he smiled, and turned away toward the village. Alice followed, feeling out of sorts and not certain why.

The sun disappeared behind the desert. They rolled their blankets close together beneath the fountain in the village, Alice nestled in the curve of Hatcher's body. She was certain she would not be able to sleep, that the strange atmosphere of the village would make her restless. But there was something to be said for a full belly and clean clothes, and if the ground was hard it was at least better than sand, which had a perverse way of getting between one's clothes and skin and itching you awake.

Alice dropped off immediately, her breath and Hatcher's rising and falling in the same rhythm. As she slept, she dreamed.

She dreamed of a giant shadow looming over her, and as she looked on, one shadow split into three. There was a sound of something heavy scraping across the ground, like it was being dragged behind the shadow. Then the darkness began to speak in three voices.

“We can't,” said number one.

“What do you mean, we can't? They're right here,” said number two.

“We can't; they haven't broken the rules,” a third cut in.

“Not a single one,” the first voice said mournfully, and Alice could see the shadow shaking “no” from side to side.

“There's gold in every shop,” said number three. “They didn't even drink from the fountain.”

“But I'm hungry,” number two said. “There haven't been any travelers for ages.”

Number one grunted. “Well, that's
his
doing, isn't it? Burning up everything in sight.”

“There isn't much to them anyway,” number three said. “Hardly worth the effort it would take to chew and swallow them.”

“Well, that one is scrawny,” number two said, and Alice had the strangest feeling he was pointing at her. “But the other looks right healthy, lots of good meat on him.”

“We can't,” said number one, and this time there was a finality to his voice that brooked no disagreement. “There are rules, and we must follow them. Unless you want her to get angry.”

“No,” said number two, and his voice was both sullen and slightly afraid.

The shadows moved away then, only to be replaced by another, a gigantic black specter with wings that covered the sky. The night was colder than it had ever been, and then it was abruptly filled with flames, flames that lit the sky so that the moon was brighter than the sun. The fire seemed to have a voice of its own, a growl and hiss that opened into a howl of delight as it burned and burned and burned.

Underneath that howl was something else, full of dark and dangerous glee. “Alice. Don't forget me now.”

Her eyes flew open. The sun streamed over the mountains,
and all was quiet. There was no one about except Hatcher and her, and the echo of the Jabberwocky inside her head.

“I'm going to forget you,” Alice said, her voice low and fierce. “I will.”

There might have been a small dark chuckle from deep inside her pack, where the bottle was inside her old trousers and her old trousers were rolled tight and buried beneath all their new supplies. But then, there might have been no noise at all, only the clinging edges of a nightmare burned away by the dawn.