The Dead Man's Hand

The Chronicles of Charlie Morning and Mr. Night [1]

Jason Vey

Self-Published (2012)

Tags:
Young Adult, Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass, Fantasy, Lewis Carroll, Charlie Morning and Mr. Night, Jason Vey

Copyright ©2012 by Jason Vey. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.  Cover design by Jason Vey from previously existing public domain artwork and a photograph by Tage Olsin. Photograph used under terms of the Creative Commons ShareAlike Generic 2.0 License. Text of this license may be found at http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en. Under terms of this license, the cover art (excluding the author’s name and title) are released under the same license.

Hewlett-Packard

The Chronicles of Charlie Morning and Mr. Night:

The Dead Man’s Hand

It was not the driving rain that led the Queen of Diamonds to draw her ash-colored hooded cloak tight. Rather, she wished to hide her blood-red hair, amber eyes, and noble countenance. Even in this weather, when most would seek shelter, one couldn’t be too cautious. After all, the spies of the Widow were everywhere these days, a fact to which the long scar cutting down the left side of her companion’s face, over his eye, well attested.

Her companion, too, was hooded and cloaked. The Jack of Diamonds, who basked in the title, “the Knave,” shared his mother’s concern. It was deadly for royalty from the Four Kingdoms to be caught outside of their courts these days. His sword was keen, sharp and fast, but even he could face only so many at once, and an assassin’s blade was also keen, and invisible.

“We need to stop soon,” he observed. “The rain grows thick. Soon I won’t see my hand before my face.”

“You’re right, I know,” the Queen replied. “Part of me wonders if this isn’t the work of the Widow, to slow us down.”

The Knave shivered. “Do you really believe she has eyes within our court, to have caught us leaving?”

“Our court is decadent and lavish,” the Queen replied, “as I love it. But it does leave gaps, and the Widow is clever. They say even the shadows are alive under her necromancy. By Alice, even the rain drops might have eyes that report back to her!”

“You shouldn’t blaspheme, Mother,” the Knave said. “Calling upon the Devil-Bitch Alice can only make things worse.”

The Queen nodded and pointed. “Lights ahead. Mayhap an inn awaits.”

“I hope so,” the Knave said. “Curse this incessant rain! Can it never stop?”

“Not as long as the Widow has control,” the Queen said. “But should our mission prove successful, the sun may yet shine upon The Four Kingdoms again.”

Around the next bend the two did find an inn, constructed from a homely two-story cottage; its sign swung to and fro in wide arcs with a fwap, fwap, fwapping sound, and it looked as though the rusty chains holding it aloft may give at any moment. Painted in fading green tones upon its face was a lizard, with the words “Bill’s Place,” barely readable through the driving rain and chipped paint. The two exchanged glances and entered.

Behind the bar was a giant lizard, who bore a passing resemblance to the one on the sign outside. The Queen approached the bar, but the Knave halted her with a hand on her arm.

“Be careful,” he said. “Methinks I know this place.”

The Queen shot him a glance, but he said, “Trust me, Mother. If you would, take a seat in the corner. I will join you presently.”

The Queen made for a table in the shadows, away from the fire, though she wanted to take up the warmth of the hearth. She kept her cloak about her and took stock of the room. Only six other cloaked figures sat across the room, long pipes emerging from their shadowy cowls. They appeared at a glance to be nursing flagons of mushroom ale, but not a single one took a drink. One of them lifted a gray, bony hand to its pipe and held the bowl for a moment, just long enough for the Queen to catch a glimpse of a golden ring on its forefinger with an onyx inset. She shuddered; these men were somehow wrong.

For his part, the Knave approached the bar. The lizard looked up and gave as bright a smile as one can expect from a lizard. “Welcome!” it said. “I’m Bill, and this is my place. What can I do for you, Traveler?”

The Knave bowed his head and said, “My companion and I seek shelter from the rain, and some hot food and drink.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” the lizard said. “We’ve the best around.”

“I’m grateful. We’ll be at that table,” the Knave said. “Please have a barmaid attend us?”

Bill nodded, and shouted over his shoulder towards the kitchen, “Mary Ann! Customers!”

The Knave strode to his mother’s table and sat with a flourish. “I do know this place,” he said. “We must be cautious. Did you note the mailbox outside?”

The Queen shook her head.

“It said, ‘w. rabbit.’”

The Queen’s amber eyes nbolted. “You don’t think…!”

The Knave nodded. “I think this is—or was—his house. That means the Queen of Hearts may have presence here.”

A young blonde girl emerged from the back and approached, wiping her hands on her apron. Her blue eyes sparkled in the flickering firelight.

“Evening,” she said. “I’m Mary Ann. What can I get you?”

“Stew,” the Queen said, “and wine.”

“I’ll have stew as well, and mushroom ale,” the Knave added. “If I may, Mary Ann, I wondered why the sign above the door declared this Bill’s place, yet the name on the mailbox was for a Mr. W. Rabbit?”

Mary Ann nodded. “The White Rabbit lived here, long ago,” she said. “He up and left when he got a permanent place in the Court of Hearts. Left his housekeeping staff—that’s us—high and dry, he did. So we did the only thing we could, didn’t we? Turned the place into an inn. Homey, ain’t it?”

“Mmm,” the Knave agreed. “It’s fortunate for us you were here.”

“Glad to help,” Mary Ann said. “Anything else I can do, let me know.”

The Queen smiled and whispered an incantation under her breath, then said, “You’ve been very helpful, Mary Ann. You can best help us by forgetting we were here after we leave.”

“Sure thing,” Mary Ann said, her voice now monotone. “I’ll be back with your food.”

She turned on her heels and left.

“I hate when you do that,” the Knave said. “It’s not natural.”

“Few things are these days,” The Queen said. “Fear not; she’ll get her reward for the memory alteration when she’s alone in her bed, later.”

“That’s more than I needed to know!”

The Queen laughed, the sound as crystal chimes in the breeze. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “The six across the room are watching us.”

“I noted,” the Knave said.

“They may not be alive,” the Queen said. “We should go.”

The Knave shook his head. “Too obvious if we get up and leave, now. Be calm; we’ll deal with them if we must. That’s why I’m here, after all.”

“Also because you’re to lead this squad.”

“If we succeed,” the Knave added. “There’s no telling whether the Clubs will join us, nor whether your agents amongst the Spades will keep their word.”

“The Spades are loyal,” the Queen said. “I have it in hand. And do you doubt I can convince the clubs?”

The Knave shook his head. “I’m merely saying it’s a dangerous game. The Spades are necromancers, untrustworthy and prone to betrayal. The Clubs are all mad, and you’ve not even met them yet. We’re playing with fire.”

“What other choice do we have?” The Queen asked. “Trust me. All will proceed as planned.”

The Knave gazed at the fire. “And if it doesn’t?”

The Queen smirked and tweaked her son’s chin with a slender finger capped with a bright red nail. “In that case,” she said, “we do as always—improvise.”

* * *

Eventually, the Six left. The Queen and Knave ate and drank after the Queen’s divination revealed the food neither poisoned nor magical. They allowed their cloaks to dry somewhat and waited for the rain to let up a bit, which it did after a few hours, when they resumed their journey east. Before long they entered the Black Forest, which encircled the center of the realm and marked the borders of each of the Four Kingdoms. All about them rose skeletal trees, their branches forming an impenetrable canopy through which not even light penetrated. The queen produced her scepter and blew gently upon the diamond in its tip. The stone glowed as she breathed over it, and shed a reddish, flame-like light by which the travelers could pick their way. Both would’ve liked it a bit brighter, but both knew the dangers of drawing attention, so the Queen kept the light at just barely the level of a child’s night light.

The Queen was the first to voice her sense of foreboding. “It’s far too still in here,” she said. “Even for the Black Forest.”

“I agree,” the Knave said. “Something’s amiss. We should’ve taken the Maze of Portals.”

“Too risky,” the Queen said. “One wrong door and we’d have ended up before the Widow herself. At least this way is direct.”

The Knave held up his hand. The two froze for an instant before the Knave spun. His hands moved without moving; his rapier and main gauche sang free of their scabbards and swiped across in a scissor-like motion. The ring of steel upon steel echoed through the black trees, and then the attacker lay twitching on the ground, its withered lump of a heart laying a few feet away. Within seconds, the twitching stopped and it lay still.

The Queen gasped and pointed at its hand, upon which shone a golden ring with an onyx stone.

“It’s them,” she said. “From the inn!”

“Assassins!” the Knave hissed, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his mother. Together they edged on their way, their eyes darted back and forth to scan every shadow.

“Did you see its face?” she whispered.

The Knave nodded. “Desiccated, mummified. They’re undead.”

“The Widow’s agents. Do you think she knows?”

The Knave shrugged. “It’s possible. I’d guess she knows someone left our kingdom and is headed for the Clubs. Does she know who? I’ve no idea.”

Another assassin leapt from the shadows at the Queen. The Knave couldn’t get his sword up fast enough, but the Queen was not defenseless. She whispered a spell, her voice unearthly, reptilian, and her scepter shone blood-red. She thrust it forward and it touched the creature, which screeched and convulsed, then shriveled to dust.

The spell took a lot out of the Queen and she swooned. Her son caught her and steadied her in time to spin on a third assassin. This one, less reckless, stopped its charge when it realized it was caught, and circled the pair. The Knave kept himself between his mother and the creature, but knew there were still three more unseen.

“What do we do?” the Queen said.

The Knave smirked and raised his blades. “Run. I’ll catch up.”

He charged the assassin, whose long, jagged blade met the Knave’s with an ear-piercing ring. The Queen hesitated for a moment, then barreled headlong through the trees. Behind she heard the clash of battle, but around her the trees cracked and groaned with pursuit as at least two unseen assassins gave chase. If she shone her light behind she might find them, but it was better to keep moving; she was still weak from that last spell and didn’t know if she could face two of the monsters alone.

A black-fletched bolt thudded into a tree trunk inches from her head as she ran. She zigzagged through the trees to avoid presenting too easy a target. Claw-like branches raked her hands and face, the wounds superficial at best, but painful.

Another bolt flew from the darkness; this one punched clean through her shoulder. The Queen yelped and clutched at the wound. Blood flowed from the gaping hole. She stumbled, fell to one knee, rose, and ran on.

The assassin, bolstered by the hit, leapt from the shadows, but the Queen saw it coming. She raised her scepter to block its clumsy sword-thrust. Pain shot up her arm as she did and her hand went numb. The scepter flew free, but she managed to deflect the blow. She drew a long poniard from her belt and buried it to the hilt in the creature’s chest. It screeched as she tore the blade free, its prune-like heart impaled on the tip, and fell twitching. She flicked the heart free and retrieved her scepter. These assassins were fools to believe she and her son such easy marks. She was now confident the Widow didn’t know who they were. Otherwise she would’ve sent more seasoned servants to terminate them.

The Queen’s heart sank when she turned a bend to find a solid barrier of intertwined branches. She turned to reverse direction, and the final assassin stepped forth, crossbow aimed at her heart. Perhaps the Widow would succeed. She closed her eyes and waited for the end, when there was a great cracking and snapping, and the Knave leapt from the tangle. His blades made short work of the creature, and before long all that remained was a collection of dried body parts severed from the now-heartless torso.

“Sorry I’m late,” the Knave said. “I’m out of practice, and they teamed up on me.” He looked at her shoulder wound. “How do you fare?”

The Queen shook her head and touched the wound in her shoulder. She had gone pale, and the Knave’s face twisted as he looked it over.

“You were shot?” he asked.

She nodded in response. He drew a fresh quarrel from the quiver on the ground, touched his fingers to the tip, and tasted them. “There’s no poison on it. We should be glad you didn’t take one in a vital area.”

The Queen nodded and winced. “What I wouldn’t give for a Goodberry draught right now.”

The Knave cut a long strip from his cloak and tied it about his mother’s wound. “Sadly,” he said, “We don’t have any of that since relations with the Hearts broke down. That’s not too loose, is it?”

She shook her head. “A bit snug, actually.”

“Has to be, to stop the bleeding. Can you continue?”

She nodded. “I’ll live, I think. When I’m restored a bit I can work a spell to speed up the healing.”

He winked at her. “Handy thing, that sorcery. Come on, Mother; let’s get out of these cursed woods.”

The Queen picked up the discarded crossbow and bolts, and they moved on.

* * *

It took two days of slow travel before the travelers emerged from the Black Forest onto a crag overlooking the gates of the Club Kingdom. Beneath them, what was not black and gray was pallid yellow, and the shrieks of the inhabitants even at this distance, formed an almost musical cacophony. The Queen undid the bandage on her shoulder and pressed her hand to the wound. She whispered a spell and sighed as healing energy swept through her. She trembled in ecstasy, then smiled.

The Knave cocked an eyebrow. “Better?”

She shook her head. “Not remotely, and it’s going to leave a terrible scar. But it’s healing well. A few days and I’ll be right as rain.”

“It’s not appropriate for a son to see these things in his mother, you know that?”

“What, the ecstasy?” She gave a wicked grin. “I’m educating you. How else will you choose a proper Queen to succeed me one day?”

“Perhaps a Queen will choose him.” A new voice, dripping with sensuality, purred from high above.

They turned and cast their eyes to the trees, where perched a huge tabby cat, all skin and bones. It bared its teeth in a wide grin that nearly bisected its face.

“The Cheshire Cat,” the Queen said.

“At your service,” the cat purred. “And if I may ask, what brings the Queen and Knave of Diamonds to the gates of the Club Kingdom?”

“Afraid, good Cat,” the Knave said, “You’ve mistaken us for someone else. We are but humble travelers, cloaked against the rain.”

“And I’m the White Rabbit,” the Cat said. “Don’t forget, Sire, it’s a talent of mine to see through the masks worn by all.”

The Queen raised the crossbow and sighted on the Cat. “By divining our identities, you may have signed your death warrant. So tell me, cat, why should I not end your existence now?”

“Tut, tut,” the cat scolded. “If you think you can shoot me before I disappear, by all means let fly. There’s a reason I’ve survived this long as a free agent, Majesty.”

The Knave eased his mother’s arm down. “What do you want?”

“That’s better,” the cat grinned. “I want the same thing I always want: Amusement! Chaos! So now, Majesties, you tell me: why have you come, and why should I not leap to the Widow and tell her you’re here?”

“That would be bad for us,” the Knave said. “What can we offer you to keep your tongue?”

The Cat tilted its head and studied them for a moment. “Do you know, I’m not sure there’s anything you could offer me,” it said.

“You’re all skin and bones, Cat,” the Queen said. “It appears you haven’t eaten in quite some time.”

The cat disappeared, then appeared at the Queen’s legs, where it threaded its way through in a figure-eight, rubbing against her skin.

“No,” it whimpered. “That’s true. Food is scarce these days. What do you offer, Majesty?”

The Queen exchanged a look with the Knave and considered for a moment, then said, “It’s true, is it not, that the Mad Hatter and March Hare are a part of the Club Court?”

The Cat sat down and looked up at the pair. Its green eyes sparkled. “It’s true,” it said. “But the Hare is human-sized. Far too large for me to feast upon.”

“I wasn’t thinking of the Hare,” the Queen said. “The two of them have a diminutive friend, don’t they? One more suited to your tastes?”

“The Dormouse!” The Knave said.

The Cat’s grin split its face again. “It’s been long since I’ve had a mouse,” it said. “And nobody’s ever caught the Dormouse.”

“Nobody’s ever really tried,” the Knave said.

“Good point, Sire,” the Cat agreed. “Very well; I give you my word—and the word of a Cheshire is binding, you know—that should you bring me the Dormouse, I’ll speak naught to a soul of your journey to the Club Kingdom, nor your journey home. It shall be, so far as I’m concerned, as though you never left the Diamond Court.”

“Done,” the Queen agreed.

“I shall wait here for your return,” the Cat said, and faded away until all that was left was its grin, hanging disembodied in the air. “But I should warn you: most who enter the Club Kingdom go mad and join them, never to emerge again.”

“Either way,” the Knave said, “You win.”

“Indeed!” the Cat exclaimed, and then was gone.

“This whole trip,” the Knave said, “grows curiouser and curiouser.”

“My son,” the Queen said, “I couldn’t agree more.”

The two picked their way down the rocky paths to the gates of the kingdom, where the cries of the mad were nearly deafening. Something, though she couldn’t begin to explain what, struck the Queen as immensely humorous about the whole situation and she giggled as the two passed unchallenged through the gates. The kingdom was enclosed in a high, wrought-iron fence. The grounds seemed vast, but were flat and there was just enough gray light to see the top of the fence, either yards or miles away on all sides. It was hard to gauge distance in The Four Kingdoms, and even more difficult in a realm of sheer madness such as this.

The Queen’s giggles grew louder as they moved towards the center of the kingdom, where the palace lay. Finally, the Knave gave her an irritable shove.

“Quit your laughing, woman! There’s nothing funny about this!”

The Queen broke into a series of guffaws that resembled the braying of a donkey. “I know!” she said between gasps of breath, “I can’t help it! There’s no reason for you to be mean, though!”

The Knave clenched his jaw, and with it his fists, which he opened and closed a few times. He took a breath, closed his eyes, and composed himself. “It’s this place. The madness is infectious, like the Cat said.”

The Queen chortled, then snickered, and covered her mouth with her hand. She made a valiant effort to compose herself, and at last seemed almost normal.

All around them, people and beasts roamed free and laughed, screamed, tore hair from their heads in great fistfuls. Some carried on conversations with invisible companions. Others rocked back and forth and muttered gibberish. Still others stared into space.

A flash of lightning illuminated the multi-storey mansion at the center of the kingdom. This was the Asylum, the palace of the Club Court, and the pair shuddered as they made their way towards it. As they approached the structure, a gnarled old man charged forth and jabbed an accusing finger at them.

“Interlopers!” he cried:

“Clubs they’re not, the jewels I spot!

The prism in the night!

They creep in dark, ‘tis but a lark!

They come to bring our doom!

This light they bring, to wake the King!

Stop them, end their quick!”

“Alice’s apron, can’t anything go smoothly?” the Knave swore, and drew his sword.

His mother’s outstretched hand gave him pause, though, and she said, “Be still, my son. Wasn’t it you who warned me of blasphemy?”

She then turned to the old man and whispered another reptilian charm. As she did so, she stretched forth her scepter and the pitiful man cowered before its blood-red tip. She came to him and he covered his head in his arms, whimpering. Instead of striking him down, however, she merely touched the tip of her staff to his head and said, “May your madness leave you, now.”

The old man’s breathing slowed, and he raised his eyes, wet with tears. He was rational and said, “Mistress…my Queen…how can I repay you?”

She smiled and said, “Make your way to my court if you can, and find a home there. But let none see you, and talk not of what befell you here. You owe me your mind, and as I restored it, I can and will take it again should you betray us.”

“Never, Mistress! Never!” He bowed deeply, then ran for the gates.

The Queen turned to her son and gestured towards the Asylum gate. “Shall we?”

“If we must,” the Knave said, and strode through the front doors.

Inside, the pair found themselves in a waiting room with a reception window. The room was barren of furniture. The Knave approached the window, hand on the hilt of his sword, when a high-pitched, cracking voice resounded from the other side.

“Who goes there? Or comes here? Or goes here and there?”

“We seek an audience with the Queen of Clubs,” the Knave announced.

At this, a head popped into view, bobbing up and down. Upon the head was perched an oversized, rumpled, weather-beaten and tattered blue top hat, beneath which showed the brims of three other hats whose varieties couldn’t be discerned from the brims alone. Beneath the hats, tufts of wispy white hair stuck out in all directions, shading a pair of wild eyes that seemed to look in every direction at once, these perched too close together above a bulbous red nose. He wore a straight jacket with which he constantly struggled.

“An audience with the Queen of Clubs?” the strange attendant parroted.

“This, then,” the Queen said, “would be the Hatter.”

The Knave pressed on. “Yes. We have a proposal for Her Majesty that might be to our mutual benefit.”

Another head popped up next to the Hatter, this one distinctly rabbit-like, with one ear standing straight up and the other flopping, a tuft of white hair between the two ears. The rest of the rabbit, save under his chin, which was white, was a downy gray color, and his pink nose twitched spasmodically as his giant front teeth chattered up and down. He was as tall as the Hatter, who in truth was only a shade shorter than the Knave, and like the Hatter, wore a straight jacket. The Queen and Knave understood, however, why the Cheshire Cat felt he couldn’t feast upon this particular hare.

“Nobody sees the Queen!” the hare said. “Nobody, for no reason!”

“Except that one gent last Tuesday,” the Hatter corrected.

“Right! I’d forgotten. And the other lady next Wednesday,” the Hare said.

“Oh! And don’t forget the Gentlemanwoman right now, but in another fashion.”

“Excuse me,” the Queen of Diamonds said, and stepped forward.

“Very well, Madam,” the Hatter said. “We hereby excuse you. You may leave, now.”

“And a very happy un-birthday to you!” the Hare replied.

The Knave grumbled to himself and toyed with the idea of simply running the two of them through. “Some things,” he muttered, “Never change, no matter who runs the show.”

“Oh!” the Hatter said. “There’s a show? When? I love tea and a show. Only we haven’t had tea in so long.”

“Difficult with our hands trussed up like this,” the Hare said.

“How do we get through here?” the Queen of Diamonds asked.

“Through here?” the Hatter asked.

“Why would you want to?” the Hare said.

“To speak with…oh, this isn’t getting us anywhere!” the Knave said, and drew his sword, which he placed to the throat of the Hatter. “Let us in and tell us how to get to your Queen.”

“Touchy, isn’t he?” the Hare said, and hopped up and down a few times.

“Indeed,” the Hatter agreed, and wobbled his head back and forth. Once, he punctured his neck on the blade just enough to draw a bit of blood. “Ouch!” he cried. “How rude!”

“Rude indeed!” the Hare said. “If the Dormouse hadn’t seen us trussed up like this, I swear…”

“Wait!” The Diamond Queen said. “Did you say the Dormouse?”

The Hatter’s head bobbled back and forth (though this time he remembered to step back so as not to pierce himself). “A regular pest, he’s become! Always playing pranks on us and them, and everyone else, and making it look like we did it!”

“Once,” the Hare said, “He even tricked us into thinking we did it!”

“Well, there was only that one-fourth of a time,” the Hatter corrected.

“One-fourth plus ten, if you’ll recall, because—”

“We will remove the Dormouse from here forever!” the Diamond Queen announced, and the two shut up at once. They squinted at the newcomers.

“You look very sane,” the Hatter said.

“We are,” the Knave responded, and sheathed his sword.

“And you’ll see the Dormouse killed?”

“Direct us to the Queen of Clubs, and we shall see the Dormouse out of your hair and home,” the Queen corrected.

The door next to the reception window swung open.

The Mad Hatter’s straight jacket made jerky movements which gave the impression he endeavored to gesticulate to help explain. “Down the stairs, to the right, then to the left, third-and-a-half door to your diagonal, round the bend, halfway to a fourth door, down the shaft, around the corner, past six and…one-third cells, and when it comes to your next un-birthday, you’ll find Her Majesty in there. Happy hunting!”

And the Hatter and Hare vanished beneath the window. The Knave shot an annoyed look at the Queen, who let out a barely controlled giggle, and the two crossed the threshold, where they stared down a stairway that resembled more a pit into a dungeon than an actual set of hewn stairs. A weight descended on their minds. They looked at each other again and took hands; each was hanging on by a thread at this point. With a deep breath, they started into the pit.

At the bottom of the stairs they found themselves faced with what appeared an interminably long and unbroken hallway. The stone walls and floor were damp, and there was a chill. From somewhere off in the distance came the screams of the hopelessly insane, and giving each other’s hand a squeeze for moral support, they started off.

To their relief and gratitude, the path to the Queen’s court proved less perilous than they’d expected, and quite a bit more straightforward than the Hatter had indicated. There were large signs painted in white on the walls which read, “throne room – this way,” complete with bolts. When one dealt with a kingdom of madness, they supposed, it was helpful to have clear directions to wherever one might wish to go. Thus, it wasn’t long before the Knave pushed on two huge, cushioned doors which swung open to reveal a cavernous white room with padded walls. Directly before them sat the Queen and King of Clubs, with their son, the sinister yet handsome Jack of Clubs just behind and to the right of the Queen. The three resembled a Gothic portrait of psychosis, all clad in black from head to toe, save their collars and cuffs, which were stark white with the club symbol embroidered on the ends, and gray embroidery threaded throughout the garments.

The Queen of Clubs was short and fat, and resembled her sister, the Queen of Hearts, more than a little, save that her hair and eyes were coal black instead of orange-red, and rather than the cruel look favored by the Hearts, she looked paranoid. Her eyes darted back and forth, fixed on the newcomers for a moment, then scanned the room’s other occupants. Once or twice she even looked up and down, so as to make sure nothing was sneaking up on her from those directions. Often, her eyes went to her son as though she expected him to stab her in the back at any given moment, and considering her son’s ill-favored look, this didn’t seem impossible. Her sweaty hands wrung her ebony scepter in a state of constant worry.

The King of Clubs, for his part, sat catatonic. There was very little behind his eyes—it was as though someone else was steering the carriage, if indeed it was being steered at all. The man himself was lanky and frail, his brows black but his long beard a shade somewhere between gray and white.

Of the three, the Jack seemed the most alert and stable, but the look in his eyes was that of a barely-restrained, stone cold killer. The Diamond Queen and the Knave both pegged him immediately as a sociopath. He smiled and nodded at them when they entered, but his eyes bespoke a desire to see their guts spilled upon the floor.

The Knave, ever attentive, took stock of the room’s other inhabitants as they entered. Besides the expected numbered soldiers (he detected the distinct absence of the Ace and Eight, the two to whom they’d come to speak), he noted the following luminaries:

To their right sat an enormous walrus and carpenter, the latter smashing rancid oysters with a gigantic hammer while the former devoured the insides en masse, spitting out pearls like seeds. The two were so engrossed in their work they resembled little more than a strange assembly line of rotting seafood death.

To their left sat a giant egg with legs and a face, his shattered shell crisscrossed with cracks and holes, very poorly glued back together. He studied a large chunk of shell that didn’t seem to have a place. “Oh, dear and bother,” he said, turning the shell over in his hands, “It doesn’t fit. It just…doesn’t…fit!”

In a sudden rage, the egg hurled the shell against the wall, where it exploded into a dozen smaller pieces. His rage turned to horror, then hope, and he dashed across the floor to where the fragments lay, then began jamming them willy-nilly into holes. “Fits? No. Yes, there! Fits! How did I get so broken? How can it not fit! It doesn’t fit! It doesn’t fit!”

A white rabbit clad in a black and white ruffled suit stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the royal family’s dais. He blew a trumpet as they entered. The Knave knew immediately that this rabbit did not belong here, and whispered to his mother, “That rabbit. That’s him. The White Rabbit.”

“The one from the Hearts court?”

“Indeed. Watch him closely.”

The Club Queen leveled an accusing finger at the two newcomers. “Who are these people who infiltrate my court? Speak your purpose or be spitted like swine! Quickly! Speak!”

The Diamond Queen stepped forward and dropped her cloak to the floor, revealing a brilliant red and white dress with diamond-cut rubies sewn into its embroidery. She was tall, lithe, and sensuous, and her body swayed as she strode forward, such that even Humpty Dumpty and the Carpenter ceased rambling and smashing to gasp at her beauty. As the Club Queen resembled the Queen of Hearts, the Diamond Queen appeared the near-twin of the Widow, only crimson, not black. Still, everyone knew the Diamond Queen to be a mistress of intrigue and sought to avoid the webs she wove in her decadent schemes, so she was never an entirely welcome face in any court.

The Knave also dropped his cloak and stood beside his mother, and a silent challenge issued between the two Jacks in that moment, each eager to see who could best the other in battle. But now was neither the time nor the place.

The Club Queen gasped. “Diamonds, in my court! Why do you come?”

“First things first, Majesty,” the Diamond Queen said, and gave a deep, elegant, sweeping bow. “I bid you honor, and request the asylum of parlay while I remain in your court.”

The Club Queen looked about to bubble over, until her son leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear, at which point she calmed and said, “You will not be killed by my order unless you violate the sanctity of my court. Speak! Why have you come?”

“I seek audience with two of your agents, to mount a resistance against the Widow, who threatens us all.”

A collective gasp went up in the court. No one had dared speak against the Widow since she rose to power following the fall of the Court of Hearts! Everyone, especially the Club Queen, cast their eyes to the shadows, seeking unwarranted movement therein, or any sign that the Widow spied upon them.

“You mustn’t say such things!” the Club Queen said.

“And why not, cousin?” the Diamond Queen retorted. She circled the room, making eye contact with each inhabitant. “Fear not to speak freely in this room,” she announced, “for my spells of detection have revealed not a single spy present.” This last was a lie, for she had no such spells of detection to use, but she figured a gamble was in order, and the denizens relaxed at the proclamation.

She turned back to the Club Queen. “The Widow has turned our beloved Four Kingdoms into a single realm of decay and eternal rain. People fear to travel the roads, not just at night, but during the daytime, for when the sun never shines, the dead walk at all hours. Madness spreads like a disease across our land!”

“Wrong thing to say, Mother,” the Knave muttered, and indeed, a chorus of approval went up in the room.

“In this,” the Club Queen said, “She has been a great help to my court. Why would I wish this to stop? It only extends my own power!”

The Club Queen laughed, bent over and convulsing with the force of her guffaws, then abruptly stopped, her eyes scanning the room again in case anyone snuck up on her while her attention was diverted. When she determined nobody had, she seemed almost disappointed, and sunk back into her chair, a depressive pall coloring her features.

“Ah, but the madness is not natural!” the Diamond Queen said. She made a sweeping gesture across the room. “What happens to those who come here that die of their madness? They rise again, as servants of the Widow, and are already entrenched within your own court!”

The giggles turned to grumbling. It was true: lately more and more spies appeared amongst the ranks of the Club Kingdom.

“And why,” the Club Queen mumbled, “Should we turn to you? What can you offer against one whose power and influence is so absolute?” She sighed. “It’s hopeless.”

“Be careful how you tread, Mother,” the Knave whispered.

The Jack of Clubs said something in his mother’s ear, and the Club Queen pointed at the Knave. “What does he keep saying, and why does he not share it with us all?”

“Be still, my son,” the Diamond Queen said. “He means no disrespect, cousin. He merely expresses concern for my diplomatic skills,” she glared at the Knave, “which I assure him are well in hand.”

Apparently satisfied, the club Queen sat back and waved her hand. “Continue, then.”

“What can I offer? Anonymity, of course. Why is it, do you think, that we Diamonds are the best schemers of the suits? It’s because we have no notability. We are the forgotten suit, my dear Queen of Clubs. We are neither the highest, as the Spades and Hearts have constantly vied, nor the lowest—”

The Diamond Queen stopped in mid-sentence, realizing her error too late. The jowls of the Club Queen shook with rage, and she pulled her doughy girth to a standing position, folds of fat obscuring her ankles and pouring over her onyx-encrusted shoes. She extended a trembling finger at the Diamond Queen and spoke, her voice barely containing the rage inside.

“The lowest?” she said. “The lowest? Like the Clubs are always the lowest? Like we are the throwaway kingdom? Is that what you have come here to declare? That you are better than us?”

“No, cousin, I…!”

“Guards! Take them! Put them in a cell where they can ponder their insult while I decide what to do with them! And know this, cousin,” her words seethed with contempt, “your asylum here is revoked.”

The Knave’s hand went to his sword and main gauche, as did the Jack of Clubs’ hands, but the Diamond Queen touched her son’s arm.

“Not now,” she said. “It’s not the time. We’ll figure something out.”

Giggling numbered guards closed in, waving war clubs wildly in the air. Without resistance, the Diamonds allowed themselves to be led from the room and placed into a padded cell.

Fortunately, in their lunacy, the guards neglected to strip the two of their belongings, a situation both Diamonds found amicable to their designs.

The Queen punched and kicked the wall again and again, and before long was in a full-fledged tantrum rage, screaming herself hoarse and clawing at the prison, sobbing through uncontrolled emotion. Her son had never seen her like this, and wasn’t sure whether to let it play itself out or try to stop her.

Everyone who comes here goes mad, the Knave thought.

He went to the Queen and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, then gave a squeeze. “Mother,” he said. “Mother, please, you’ve got to get a grip, lest the lunacy of this place take you forever!”

“It’s my fault,” the Queen sobbed. “All my fault. You tried to tell me, but I was so confident, so cocky. I’ve ruined us all!”

“You have not, Mother,” the Knave said, and pulled her close. “You made an error in speech. We all do. Certainly it was exacerbated by the fact that the Club Queen is a complete lunatic, but we’ll find a way to fix it.”

The Queen sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “You’re sure?” she said.

“I’m certain of it,” he lied.

She straightened up and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I should be stronger than this.”

“It’s not you, Mother,” he said. “It’s affecting me as well. I wanted the walls of that room to run red with the blood of everyone in there, just for my own foul pleasure. I fear if I stay much longer, I’ll turn into him—the Jack of Clubs.”

The two sat down against the wall, deep in thought and trying to hold on to their fracturing minds, for an interminable span of minutes, before the Knave’s eyes fell upon a possible solution. He nudged his mother and pointed. There, just in the corner at floor level, was a small, round hole, not four inches in diameter.

“What of it?” the Queen asked. “It’s a mouse hole, nothing more.”

“Indeed. But a mouse hole leads to a network of mouse holes, does it not?”

“It does, but how do you intend to get in there?”

The Knave fished in his pocket and drew forth a small vial with a mere few drops of liquid in it. Upon the vial was a label reading, “drink me.”

“It’s my last vial,” he said. “I was saving it for emergencies. There’s just about one dose left.”

“You’re a genius!” she cried. “But how will you resume your normal height?”

“I’ve a few ‘Eat Me’ crumbs in my pockets. One is all it takes.”

The Queen nodded and said, “Do it.”

The Knave said, “Wish me luck,” and downed the potion. His mother smiled as he shrunk down, slowly, then faster, until he was no longer visible, buried beneath the pile of clothing on the floor. She looked on, scanning the clothes for movement in case he needed her help, but after a minute he emerged from his own pocket, barely the size of three matchsticks stood end-to-end, and wearing miniscule versions of his clothing. In his hands he held a needle and the tip of a pin which had been fashioned into a tiny pair of dueling swords. She smiled at his cleverness, and gave him a wave.

But rather than entering the mouse hole, he climbed her dress to sit upon her shoulder, and held out his needle-and-pin set.

“I had them made at the palace, just in case,” he said. “I’d like it if you would drop some of your special draught on them. Take care not to hit me, mind.”

“Of course,” she said, and fished in her own pockets for a vial of her own concoction, filled with a greenish liquid. She pulled the stopper from the bottle, which contained a dropper, and placed a drop of the liquid on each of his blades. He then scampered down her gown and clambered back into the pockets of his full-size coat, only to come out with a coil of thread, which he slung over his shoulder. He then made for the hole. She blew him a kiss as he entered and wished him luck.

The Queen sat down to think about what to do next, when a flash of movement through the tiny slit in the door caught her attention. She looked up and forced herself calm as the door swung open. There, standing before her, was the Jack of Clubs. He strode into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Can I help you?” the Queen said.

The Jack ran his eyes from her feet all the way up to her head, lingering at certain places hinted at by the cut of her supple gown. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I think you can, Your Highness.”

“I see,” the Queen said. She whispered an incantation to increase her charms. A dangerous move when dealing with one so uncaring about morals or respect, but she needed every advantage. She hung her head, ever so slightly, not making eye contact. “Please,” she whispered, “just don’t kill me.”

“Kill you?” the Jack laughed and sounded like a raven. “Not a bad idea, to see if your blood is as sparkling as the rubies in your gown, but no. My desires require you living, at least for now.”

He grabbed her by the hair and forced her head back. “And you’re going to give me what I want,” he breathed, “whether you like it or not.”

“I never said I wouldn’t,” the Queen said. She ran her hand up his chest, beneath his shirt. “You don’t need to force me. I bet you forget that sometimes, that some women might actually want what you have to offer.”

The Jack was put off-guard, but gave over to her touch. “It has been a long time,” he whispered. “To have a woman like you, willingly…”

“Oh, and you can,” the Queen said, “And more.”

She pulled him to her and kissed him deeply, breathing her magic deep inside of him, molding him to her wishes. She felt him give, just a little, before he pulled back. He was strong, but she was sure she could have him.

He broke the kiss. “What more?”

She smiled and traced his face with her finger. “My husband is weak,” she said, “as are all the kings of The Four Kingdoms. What if he were to fall to a new, strong man who could, by my side, bring all of The Four Kingdoms under one rule?”

“An intriguing proposition,” he said.

His hands wandered over her body and she half closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and allowed herself a moment’s pleasure. Then she kissed him again, long and deep.

“It’s you,” she whispered. “You could be the new King of Diamonds, and before long, the Emperor of The Four Kingdoms, ruling at my side, as my partner.”

“Yes,” he said. “I like that idea.”

“And all you have to do,” she said, “is help me out of this cell, take me to the Ace and Eight, and kill my son when the time is right.”

“I can do that,” he said. “Where is your son, anyway?”

She smirked. “I’ve trapped him in a mouse hole for the time being. He won’t be back to bother us for some time.” She grabbed his shirt and pulled him to the floor on top of her. “Now stop worrying and come here, my King…”

* * *

The Knave never realized while at full-size just how badly mice smelled. Inside the network of tunnels, surrounded by the stench, his eyes watered and his nose stung. He wrapped a kerchief around his face to help keep it out and pressed on. He could spend hours, even days in these tunnels without finding his way to another room; there seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason to their construction.

He rounded a corner and the stench increased. A short way down the hall, he found himself in an open room, from which several mouse holes opened, and there in the middle, sleeping in a pile of shredded paper, was the biggest dormouse he’d ever seen. In the Knave’s current stature, the mouse looked to be the size of a lion, and the Knave stopped dead.

The mouse slept soundly, and the Knave debated his next move. It would be easy enough to creep out of here without being disturbed, but that wouldn’t serve any purpose. This was his chance to get the mouse for the Cheshire Cat; if they ever did get out of this, at least they could accomplish that much.

He crept forward, wondering if he could manage to truss the creature up while it slept. Just as he reached the mouse, however, it stirred, and a pink eye blinked at him. The mouse didn’t miss a beat; it sprang up with a squeal, and hissed at the Knave.

“What business have you in my home?” the mouse cried. “For this, I shall kill you!”

“Good,” the Knave said, and drew his weapons. “I’ve been dying for a fight, anyway.”

“You may as well say,” the mouse corrected, “you’re fighting to die!”

It hurled its bulk with incredible speed through the air, and the Knave hit the ground rolling, only barely clearing the mouse’s suddenly very wicked looking claws and teeth. The irony of being in a life-and-death struggle with a dormouse was not lost on the Knave, and he couldn’t suppress a chuckle as he rolled to his feet and readied himself for the beast’s next attack.

“You laugh at me?” the Dormouse hissed.

“I laugh at the fact I’m actually battling with a mouse,” the Knave said.

The mouse circled the Knave, looking for an opening. The Knave matched the mouse’s movements, determined not to give any quarter, and looking for an opening of his own. Just one prick of his sword, that’s all it would take. One tiny prick of the blade…

The mouse lunged in a faint, and the Knave nearly bit, throwing his sword up to defend, but as the mouse went low, the Knave’s lightning reflexes kicked in, and he jabbed upwards with his dagger, while at the same time turning his sword down and striking from above. The mouse saw the counter too late, and attempted to twist its body to avoid the strokes, but managed only to avoid the longer of the two blades. The dagger bit into its shoulder, and it squealed as it withdrew. The Knave let go of the dagger and stepped back. The mouse’s rage was evident.

“You are going to die painfully,” it said.

“Very violent for a mouse, aren’t you?” the Knave responded, and circled the mouse with cross-footed steps.

“Haven’t you heard?” the Dormouse said. “I’m mad! We’re all ma…ma…madheeeerrr,” and slumped over.

“Huh,” the Knave mused. “Usually takes a bit longer than that.”

He pulled free his dagger and sheathed it, then with the coil of thread tied the beast’s legs together, bound them to its neck, and dragged his prize back to his mother. Then, perhaps, he could continue his search for a way out.

His mother still sat in the room, a bit disheveled and looking faraway and content. He tugged on her skirts to get her attention.

“Oh,” she smiled. “Welcome back. I see you’ve brought a gift.”

“The Dormouse. And you have been up to mischief.”

“Mmm,” she said. “We’ll be out of here, soon.”

He gave her a sharp look, but pulled out an “Eat Me” crumb. His mother held up a hand to stall him.

He put his hands on hips and looked up at her. “Explain.”

The Queen placed the Dormouse into the pocket of her son’s full-size jerkin. “The Jack of Clubs is going to help. I promised him he could take your father’s place.”

“You what?”

She stood. “I lied, of course. But the rewards were worth it.”

“He’s a psychopath, Mother! He’ll betray us.”

“Of course he will, given the chance. That’s why you need to be on your guard. Now get into my purse and keep that crumb handy.”

* * *

True to his word, the Jack of Clubs returned shortly and opened the cell. “Quick!” he said. “Everyone’s asleep. If we’re to go, it must be now.”

The Queen smoothed her gown and followed. As she left, she toed her son’s clothes and dragged them into the hall behind her, using the train of her skirts to hide the act. The Jack, who was focused on the conspiracy, did not notice the Knave scamper from his mother’s purse, down to the floor, and consume the “Eat Me” crumb.

A few minutes later, they came to a door and the Jack knocked, then entered. Within sat two stunning young women dressed in black and white, form-fitting Domino costumes, the Club symbol upon their breasts. One bore an “8” upon her shoulder while the other bore an “A”. Their faces were nearly identical, though the Ace was a head taller with black hair and porcelain skin, while the Eight had night-black skin and silver hair. They lounged on a divan.

“We were wondering…” the Ace began.

“…when you would arrive,” the Eight finished.

“A mis-speech on my part led to our delay. You know who I am, and why I’ve come?”

“We do, Your Majesty,” they said in unison.

“The mission,” the Eight said.

“…is near-suicidal,” the Ace completed.

“Why should we agree?” they said together.

The Ace nuzzled the Eight’s neck, and the Queen had the impression of cats grooming one another.

“All I can offer is freedom from oppression,” the Queen said.

“To replace the Widow with her sister, one kind of sorcery with another,” the Eight purred. “May not be any better.”

The Queen waved her hand. “I’ve no desire for power,” she said. “At least, not the kind that comes from ruling the Four Kingdoms. I simply want the balance restored.”

“That’s not what you told him,” the two giggled and pointed at the Jack.

“Indeed,” he said. “You promised we would rule together!”

“Did I?” the Queen quirked an eyebrow. “Why would I promise that?”

“Bitch!” the Jack lunged for the Queen. At the last moment, however, his stroke was blocked, and he turned to find the Knave grinning at him.

With a flick of his wrist, the Knave sent the Jack’s dagger stroke wide. A kick to the stomach drove the Jack backwards. The Knave stood ready.

“You could’ve come sooner,” the Queen said.

“Yes, but this was so dramatic!” the Knave hefted his blades.

“You betrayed me!” the Jack said.

The Queen waved a hand. “It’s no less than you’d have done in time. You’re like a scorpion. It’s what you do—you would kill me in my sleep and have the throne for yourself.”

“Indeed,” the Knave said. “And I stand between you and the door. No way out, so come on, Jack! Let’s see if I can’t crush this scorpion under my boot!”

The Jack struck like a cobra, but the Knave was a mongoose. The two danced in a whirlwind of deadly steel, while the others looked on with vested interest.

The two were evenly matched, each thrust countered with a perfect parry, and the grace of the Knave’s play offset by the straightforward brutality of the Jack’s assault. Soon, however, the difference in their styles became evident. The Jack threw all his rage and energy into every attack, trying to burst through the Knave’s defenses with power and fury, while the Knave studied each attack the Jack made, countering on reflex and memorizing the move. Deadly as the Jack was, he was a force of nature against a scholar of nature’s laws. Eventually, a pattern must reveal itself, even in nature’s chaos.

Then the Knave turned his body, overcompensating on a parry, and the Jack howled and struck hard.

The Knave grunted and a few drops of blood spattered on the wall, and only then did the ruse reveal itself. He struck upward-right with his dagger while he brought his sword down and right. The Jack, who had been lured into overextending his thrust, was bent forward and the Knave’s blades cut a clean, if shallow, “X” across the Jack’s face.

The Jack screamed. His face was a mask of gore, while the Knave had given up only a superficial cut along his ribs. The Knave moved in. The Jack held fought on instinct, blinded by blood and pain. He couldn’t last long, however, and at last the Knave thrust high, and when the Jack’s blades crossed above his head to drive the thrust up, he Knave swung low and swept his main gauche across the Jack’s legs, just below the knees. The Jack fell and writhed in agony.

The Knave placed his blade to the Jack’s throat, when a delicate hand fell on his arm. It was the Ace of Clubs, one hand on his wrist and the other with a dagger to his throat. At his other side he felt another dagger point, and another slender arm around his waist: the Eight.

“We can’t let you do him in,” the Ace said.

“After all,” the Eight nibbled at his ear, “The Jack is our cousin, however predictably dull he may be sometimes.”

“It would be a shame to kill you,” they said together.

The Knave withdrew his blades. The Ace and Eight’s blades vanished in unseen pockets. They knelt beside the Jack and whispered together, “Do not challenge us. If you speak of this, we will kill you in your sleep. Now go tell Auntie the Diamonds escaped.”

The Jack dragged himself off down the hallway. His wails mixed with those that echoed throughout the asylum. The Ace and Eight watched him go.

“A bit of entertainment,” the Ace said.

“…that’s all we ask,” the Eight finished.

“We will join you,” they said, together.

“Thank you,” the Queen said, then held up a hand. “Wait! We’re not alone.”

“Oh, dear,” came a voice from the door. “I’m late! I’ve lingered too long!”

The Knave leaped and slashed down with his sword, but missed. The other three ran to his side, just in time to see a white rabbit duck into a small hole in the wall.

“I’m out of potion,” the Knave said. “We’ll never catch him.”

The Queen looked to the Ace and Eight. “The rabbit is a spy for the Hearts.”

“Then we must hurry,” the two said. “Follow us!”

The Ace moved a book from a shelf, which swung inward to reveal a passageway. “This way out!” the Eight said.

As the party moved through a maze of tunnels, the mad cacophony of the asylum faded until it was a dim echo. Over an hour later they emerged from beneath a tree near the main gate. The Ace and Eight stopped there, and the Ace pressed a small figurine of a raven into the Queen’s hand.

“When you are ready,” the Eight said, “Whisper, ‘it is time,’ and throw it into the air.”

“It will return to us,” the Ace said.

“…and we will come to you,” they said in unison.

“What of your cousin?” the Knave said.

“He is no threat,” the Ace said. “It is not in his best interests to reveal this—he would be executed for aiding your escape to begin with…”

“…which we would reveal,” the Eight said.

A crunching sound reached their ears. They edged to the gate, where they found the Cheshire Cat feasting on the remains of a very dead white rabbit. He spit out a silver pocket watch and grinned at the four.

“I found him running for his life,” the Cat said, “and I couldn’t resist. I see you’ve made contact.”

“Indeed,” the Knave said. “We’ve brought you the Dormouse.”

He drew forth the Dormouse, now awake and struggling, and laid him on the ground. The Cat grinned with glee. “My lord, a Dormouse and a White Rabbit! You’ve given more than you’ve asked. Wait, what’s this?”

The mouse trembled, and rolled, and then grew to twice the size of the Cat! It gave a squeal, which now sounded more like a roar, and pounced. The Cat panicked, having never seen a mouse this size, and couldn’t summon the presence of mind to vanish. It yowled and fled, the mouse close on its tail.

“What just happened?” the Ace and Eight said.

The Knave held up his hand for all to see. There, on his palm, were a few crumbs from an Eat Me cake. He grinned. “Oops,” he said.

The four had a good laugh, before the Ace and Eight offered hands of friendship, promised the Knave many hours of “less violent” games in the future, and withdrew into the Club Kingdom once more.

“Well, Mother,” the Knave said, “Not as planned, but then things rarely are.”

“Indeed,” the Queen said, “but successful. Methinks the Four Kingdoms will brighten once again. And I shall dub the five of you, ‘the Dead Man’s Hand.’”

“I like it,” the Knave said.

“Come,” the Queen said. “Let’s be off, home.”

The two linked arms and set off into the darkness, their cloaks once again pulled tight.