“As docile as any child could be, wearing a drug-delivery system as she is,” said one of the ministers. “She constantly demands to see her mother,” said another, “and somewhat less constantly demands that
we return her homburg to her.”
Arch nodded. “Has she recorded the confession to her queen?”
“She has. But only because we promised to let her see her mother again.” The minister handed the diary to his king.
“Let her see her mother,” Arch said, “but from a distance. They’re not to speak to each other. What of the Diamonds? Are they still…occupied?”
The ministers grinned. “The Lady of Diamonds is relaxing at one of our imagination retreats. The father and son have as much wine, food, and music as they can desire, and they are surrounded by company. The pair are insatiable. Some have complained that, in addition to making everyone around him wear wigs of dried grass, the son is somewhat gross.”
“Just make sure they’re encouraged in their debauchery. I want everything ready for the time when they will wake to find themselves in circumstances much altered for the worse.”
“Everything is ready, Your Majesty. We wait only for your word.”
“Fine. Now leave me. Send in Ripkins and Blister.”
The bodyguards stationed outside the tent entered to find Arch dressing in the formal robe and mantle he wore to summits with tribal leaders.
“The mission I have for you requires that you journey to Boarderton,” the king said. “The last I was informed, it was in the plains somewhere between the Bookie River and Duneraria. Don’t concern yourselves too much with secrecy. The ministers will inform you whom you are to meet and what you’re to do once you arrive. Go.”
The bodyguards took their leave. Arch surveyed his reflection in a looking glass one last time, then readied himself for the dispatch he was about to make, pacing the length of the tent as he rehearsed what he would say in his role of the concerned king calling on a besieged neighbor.
CHAPTER 22
T HE WALRUS-BUTLER toddled in and out of the palace’s briefing room with winglefruit juice, flugelberry wine, wondercrumpets, and every refreshment he could think of to show his joy at Alyss’ safe return from the battle at Wondronia Grounds.
“Have you seen Homburg Molly yet?” she whispered as he set a plate of mostly toasted oaties on the table.
“Oh no, my queen. No, still no sign of her.”
She stared, frowning, at the food. She should have gotten over her sulking by now. If she’s trying to worry me by her absence…
“Don’t you like mostly toasted oaties?” the walrus asked with concern.
“I do.” She crunched one between her teeth. “Please send for the ranking families, walrus. We need to speak with them.”
The creature bowed and waddled out of the room.
Hatter, Bibwit, Dodge, and General Doppelganger were watching a skirmish play out on one of the holo-screens: Glass Eyes forcing Wonderland pawns to retreat under a barrage of razor-cards and crystal shot. Alyss raised a hand and caressed the air, as if gently feeling the contours of an invisible face. On the holo-screen, a construct of herself, a decoy, stepped out from behind a tarty tart vendor’s cart.
The Glass Eyes sensed it at once, abandoned their pursuit of the pawns, and trained their weapons on the decoy. Taking advantage of the opening, the pawns let rip with a slew of orb generators and-
Karooosh! Blooooomm!
Fireballs rolled over the Glass Eyes.
“I hope, Hatter,” Alyss said, wiping her decoy from existence with a wave of her hand, “that the personal issues for which you left us have been resolved?”
Hatter nodded-once.
“You’ll be pleased to know that the Millinery has been reestablished,” Bibwit said.
But Hatter did not seem pleased or even curious as to how this had been accomplished.
“Well now,” the scholar went on, “I’m just an old fuddyduddy who could use a tan, so you needn’t grant my opinion any authority, but I consider the queendom lucky that a handful of Milliners and their children lived incognito among the population during Redd’s tyranny. With their ID chips removed, they established themselves as civilians and revealed their true identities only after Alyss became queen.”
“They didn’t join the Alyssian resistance?” Hatter asked.
“A few of them aided us in their way,” said General Doppelganger, “subtly sabotaging a number of Redd’s directives from the inside, as it were. But their standing as civilians was too valuable to jeopardize. We considered it too much of a risk to have them join us openly, both because of the destruction Redd would have brought down upon us, but also for the future of the Millinery.”
“No offense, Hatter,” said Dodge, “I’m as glad as anyone to have you back, but isn’t it time we start dealing with Redd?”
“She isn’t responsible for the attacks,” Hatter said. Dodge and the general were speechless with surprise.
Bibwit caught Alyss’ eye. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
“I’ll show you. Queen Alyss, if you’ll please construct a decoy of yourself on Tyman Way…I’ll return shortly.”
Within three wags of a spirit-dane’s tail, the Milliner appeared on the holographic screen displaying a deserted expanse of Tyman Way. A construct of Alyss formed next to him. Barely a moment passed before a squad of Glass Eyes signaled their arrival on the scene with a volley of orb generators launched from arm cannons.
eeeeeEEEBRKCHRKKCH!
Amidst the smoke and flames and falling debris, Hatter positioned himself between the Alyss decoy and his attackers. There were five in all, though more were undoubtedly on their way. He activated his
wrist-blades and sent incoming razor-cards clattering to the pavement as fast as the Glass Eyes could shoot them. He let the assassins approach to within a quarter of a block, then-fwap!-flicked his top hat into a flat pinwheel of blades and sent it zinging into them. He chased after the weapon, tumbled in a series of no-handed cartwheels, his arms held out straight to either side, wrist-blades spinning.
Thunk! Thunk!
The top hat blades sliced through two Glass Eyes and passed on, and the three remaining Glass Eyes succumbed to the deadly fans on his wrists. Clicking his bracelets shut, the Milliner caught his top hat blades as they boomeranged back to him and, with a deft flap of the hand, returned them to their more formal incarnation as headware. He dusted the hat’s brim with his coat sleeve and plopped it on his head, found what he wanted among the lifeless Glass Eye parts that littered the ground, and returned to the palace’s briefing room. He held up the severed arm of a Glass Eye for all to see.
“This is why I don’t believe Redd is responsible.”
After a long silence, Dodge cleared his throat. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, ‘Huh?’”
Hatter showed them the maelstrom of its inner wires, its lab-grown muscle and tendons. He showed them the words printed clearly on the polymer composite bone, Manufactured in Duneraria, Boarderland.
“Redd would never have left such evidence,” General Doppelganger observed.
Hatter nodded. “I noticed it while helping one of our outposts defend itself against an attack.” “It just means Redd’s probably cooperating with Arch,” Dodge complained.
“Since when has she cooperated with anyone?” Alyss said. “Bibwit, what are your thoughts?”
“Alyss, my thoughts are many and, for the most part, unfathomable. But I do agree with Hatter and the general. During the time I spent with your uncouth aunt, I found her to be extremely proprietary, forever fretting and worrying beyond reason that one of her diabolical inventions would be duplicated by the Alyssians. She took tremendous pains to eliminate all evidence of the manufacturing process in her finished products, be they Glass Eyes or anything else, in order to prevent our scientists from gaining too fine an understanding of their inner work-”