Chapter Eight: The Partnership

[manniness]

 

Despite the canopy of the trees which successfully dapple the sunlight, the brightness of midday blinds her when she Arrives.

“Tarrant?”

“Here,” he assures her, one gloved hand curling around her upper arm, steadying her.

She sighs. “I can’t see a thing.”

“Close your eyes,” he suggests in a gentle tone. The advice is so contrariwise, it must be effective. She complies.

“Where are we?”

“Not far from the village.”

She tilts her head to the side. “I don’t hear anything.”

“A good sign, in this case.”

Alice has to agree. There are no sounds of battle, no cries of woe or grief. Could it be that no injuries or fatalities occurred? That no swords had been drawn at all? Dare she hope that’s the case?

“What happened? Did you see? Is Mr. Mutsu and Mr. Phillips...?”

“Both are fine,” he assures her. His thumb moves over her arm in firm, comforting motions. “Mr. Mutsu interceded. It seems a meeting of two Prides requires an level head to end well.”

Ah, yes. She had gotten that sense: more than once since their arrival she has seen a brewing argument circumvented by the mediating efforts of a third party. “Have they gone?”

“Perhaps they have gone,” he speculates. “Or perhaps the villagers have more guests for lunch.”

“It’s lucky we brought the gifts we did.”

“Very fortuitous,” he agrees. “Or an act of foresight on Mr. Mutsu’s part. He’s very wise, you know.”

“Saganistute,” she gently corrects him and his thumb moves again over her sleeve.

“Yes.”

She blinks open her eyes once, twice, three times.

“Don’t rush. We’re safe here.”

But it annoys her to not be able to see!

Finally, despite a tear or two, she manages to keep them open. “What will we do now?” she asks as he releases her arm.

“We wait.” He takes a seat and leans against a tree trunk. With a bright smile, he pats the ground beside him. With a brief puff of laughter-shaped breath, she takes the offered seat. “This is the way you came before,” he tells her, pointing to a few snags of thread on a nearby bush that match her jacket. “Mr. Mutsu will find us. I fear we may have panicked earlier. It was most likely he we... disappeared from. However, I am confident he will rescue us here.”

Yes, he undoubtedly will. And soon. Surprisingly, she does not feel nervous at the thought of the impending deadline. Nor is she comforted by the thought of things returning to normal. She remains... calm.

This is the right choice, she thinks, believes, knows.

Alice leans her head back against the tree trunk and looks up through the boughs still laden with foreign-shaped leaves. She sighs. “After we manage to get ourselves rescued,” she begins, “I think I would like to get married.”

Beside her, Tarrant seems to stop breathing. Yes, that announcement had been a bit... sudden. But that makes it no less true. She rolls her head to the side and regards him. He stares at her, his eyes Seeking, his brows twitching with Questions.

“But,” she continues blithely, “I don’t want to be a mother, or at least not yet. Nor do I want to settle down. I want... travel and new lands and strange eating utensils and funny-shaped hats and adventure. I want adventure, Tarrant.”

Yes, he is holding his breath. A bad habit, that. Suppose he passes out and then she’d have to repeat herself when he comes back around! “I want all those things, but, more than that, I’d like a companion to share them with.”

“That... is an admirable goal,” he rasps. “And, there are ways to... manage the time one chooses to start a family.” She can tell he’s trying to remain neutral, calm, collected. His efforts are not quite managing it, however. He clears his throat. Despite that his voice remains hoarse, strained. “Have you a... particular companion in mind for this life of adventure?”

“I do,” she informs him. She smiles. “And I’m sitting next to him at the moment.”

There’s a long moment of contemplative silence that winds tighter and tighter with tension by the second. Finally, Tarrant cannot seem to stop himself from pointing out, “Alice... I’m sitting next to you at the moment.”

“Yes, I know.”

The breeze rustles through the drying, dying leaves above their heads.

She keeps her gaze trained on his face so that when the slow, hopeful grin curving his dark lips begins to form, she sees it from inception to fruition. His green eyes don’t so much focus on her as unfocus with delight.

He says, “... oh.”

She holds still as his gloved left hand reaches out toward her. He pauses, uncertainty making a brief visit on his features. His hand is close enough that Alice separates a lock of hair from the remaining tangled mass and gently winds the end around the base of his ring finger.

“Something that must not be used, nor used up, nor ever thrown away,” she tells him. “Do you accept, Tarrant Hightopp?”

“I do,” he whispers wonderingly, molding his trembling, gloved hand gently to her cheek. “I do.”

And, one day soon, she hopes he will. Do many things, that is. But for now, that must wait. For now they must wait to be found, to be rescued and cleaned up and taken back to Nagasaki. And then...

And then they will make their own path.

And thus the rest of their adventure will begin.

 

*~*~*~*

 

In the end, Alice does not choose a kinship with Tarrant Hightopp. Nor does she choose a courtship. That he understands this is clear in every gesture he makes.

When they hear the sound of someone approaching – not from the direction of the village, but from further up the mountain – he stands, placing himself between Alice and the newcomer. Aching and weary, she lets him. Mr. Mutsu appears a few moments later, holding Tarrant’s top hat – the one she’d knocked off his head earlier – and explains the situation in the village. All is fine; everyone will eat the afternoon meal together; they are waiting for him to return with Alice and Tarrant. Tarrant returns his hat to his head and then offers his gloved hands to Alice. Leaning heavily on him, she hobbles through the woods and back to their hosts.

When they arrive, Tarrant asks Mr. Mutsu to arrange for some boiled water.

“Give me your stockings, Alice. I will see what I can do with them.”

“They’re utterly ruined,” she warns him, carefully peeling them off.

“No doubt,” Tarrant replies, his gaze resting briefly on her bared feet and ankles. “But there may be a half day of use in them yet.” She watches him collect his small sewing kit from his no-longer-abandoned jacket pocket and, moments later, she has a neatly darned pair of half-stockings. They do not have a heel and they will no doubt bunch within her boots if she walks too far in them, but they will serve their purpose and protect her battered feet from the leather of her boots.

A small pot of steaming water is delivered and Tarrant unhappily hands Alice his handkerchief. “I’m afraid it’s not possible for me to assist you with your wounds at the present time.”

She smiles reassuringly and, using a pair of chopsticks as tongs, dips the square of cotton into the water. “It’s fine.” After letting the excess water drain from the handkerchief, she tends to her face, following Tarrant’s directions. Sometimes they get their lefts and rights confused and Tarrant giggles and she laughs and before too long she’s clean and her feet are stockinged. Tarrant picks debris from her hair and declares her ready for lunch.

She manages not to embarrass herself when she’s presented with a second pair of chopsticks and a bowl of rice topped with vegetables and salted fish. Tarrant clicks his chopsticks at her in acknowledgment of her new skill and grins his congratulations.

Tarrant finishes his practical demonstration of the dye technique they had come to see. The swordsmen linger in the village and, although the atmosphere surrounding them is one of wary acceptance and unconcealed suspicion, there are no further arguments.

They leave shortly thereafter.

In the cart, Alice daringly holds his hand. One of the children had been sent after her gloves and she’d donned them once more. She brushes her thumb back and forth over the base of his ring finger.

“There is one thing I... we must do first,” she tells him.

He doesn’t ask what it is. Perhaps because it doesn’t matter: whatever it is, he will do; they will do. Together.

But he is still hesitant. After so many months of waiting, to be at long last presented with her decision, her choice, her answer... He must be wondering if this is all dream.

“Are you sure?” he asks on a whisper.

“Yes,” she replies and, smiling, he does not ask again.

 

*~*~*~*

 

Mamoreal, it seems, runs on London time.

Alice squints against the glare of the afternoon sun and raises a hand to shield her eyes. “Blast it all,” she grumbles and Tarrant runs a gloved hand soothingly down her spine to the curve of her lower back. Rather a forward gesture in London. Luckily they aren’t in London at the moment. In fact, as far as everyone else Up There is concerned, Tarrant is in his room at the inn in Nagasaki and Alice is in hers and they are settled for the night following their very eventful day trip.

“What are you smirking at?” Tarrant demands in a delighted tone. “You haven’t even seen what the queen is wearing yet!”

“Oh, and you have?”

He giggles. “Care to place a wager on it? Will she be wearing more white or less white?”

Alice cautiously lowers her hand. Before she can name her terms, a breathy, melodic voice calls out, “Alice! Tarrant!”

Alice blinks as rather large and indistinct Whiteness floats toward them. Her eyes adjust enough for her to identify not only the White Queen but her contingent of courtiers traversing the castle drive toward them.

“Your Majesty,” Tarrant greets, his hand still resting on Alice’s waist. Alice doesn’t doubt that the queen – and each and every one of the courtiers! – notice. She discovers that, interestingly enough, she rather likes the fact that they know. Yes, Tarrant is hers and she is his and she has never felt so strong or so complete in her entire life.

“You have returned!” the queen enthuses, her fingers waggling in the air.

“But we’re late,” Alice apologizes. “It took... longer than I expected.”

The queen smiles knowingly. There’s even the hint of a tease in her expression. “But not longer than necessary!” She turns toward Tarrant and observes, “So, you finally permitted Alice to find you?”

He nods.

The queen smiles. Her gaze is drawn upward and a small puzzled frown pulls at her brow for a moment before it clears, morphs into hopeful speculation. “And your hat?”

Alice answers this question. “Has been offered and accepted.”

At this point, the queen glances at the lack of distance between them, the arm that spans Alice’s back and muses, “Then... are congratulations in order?”

“Yes,” Tarrant lisps confidently. Apparently, he has decided that this is not a dream, and that reality is very much to his liking.

“Wonderful!” she enthuses and the crowd behind her murmurs with sycophantic approval. Turning toward a seemingly randomly chosen courtier, the queen wonders aloud, “How long has it be since we’ve enjoyed a evening of music and dancing?”

“Too long, Your Majesty.”

Tarrant clears his throat. “I beg your pardon, but...”

The queen turns back to them, meets first Tarrant’s gaze and then Alice’s. Her smile fades into a look that is both wistful and understanding. “But you have no plans to stay.”

Alice nods.

“Ah. In that case, please follow me!” The White Queen excuses herself and her guests from the cluster of curious onlookers and leads them up the drive and into the castle. “I understand, Alice, Tarrant,” she says before they can start in on their excuses and reasons. “There is much to see and do in Upland, is there not?”

“Yes,” Alice agrees, feeling wretchedly selfish despite the queen’s generous acceptance.

“Hm...” the queen murmurs in agreement, leading them into the castle kitchens. Alice nearly ducks reflexively as she enters, but Thackery is not present today, either. “Well, at least stay for tea.”

“That sounds lovely,” Alice replies, glancing at Tarrant. He nods: yes, he would like to see his friends before they return to the inn in Nagasaki. And so the queen summons the fish butlers and frog footmen and sends them out with invitations for tea. The queen waves Alice and Tarrant toward the table which is being set by a pair of flamingos in very smart tuxedo jackets.

Many things are discussed: Alice’s business and Tarrant’s, the health of Underland and the de-construction of the castle at Crims, their future Above and the proposal Alice plans to deliver to her boss in London...

“There are many delightful things in Upland,” Alice says, “and I’d like to discover them. We’ll sail the world and establish trade agreements with places other Londoners have never even dreamed of! We’ll be the first to go, to see, to do...” She trails off with a smile at Tarrant.

“What a crazy, mad, wonderful idea,” he replies, just as he had when she’d mentioned it during the trip down the mountain, back to the city.

Yes, it is a crazy, mad, and perhaps wondrous idea. To live in the equivalent of a bathing tub on the streets... Yes, utterly crazy, simply mad... A wondrously irresistible idea!

“But that will wait,” she continues. “There are other things we must do first.”

Alice must follow through with her proposal, investigate this niche market Lord Ascot is so interested in developing. Tarrant must finish his contract, select quality goods to be brought back to England and the rest of Europe. And then after that... there is one more trip she would like to take before facing the Unknown...

Her musings and the smile she shares with Tarrant are interrupted by Bayard and his family bursting into the room. They are followed, at irregular intervals, by the arrivals of Mally and Thackery and Chessur and McTwisp and Tweedledee and Tweedledum...

Tea is served and drunk. Scones are tossed and nibbled. Tales are stretched and told. And when it is time to go, the queen makes a detour toward her potions cabinet and returns with a small, familiar-looking vial.

“Should you both ever decide to return...” she explains, presenting the small container of Jabberwocky blood. This time, Tarrant accepts it.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He glances at Alice, his brows angled in inquiry. She grins. Nods. Tarrant smiles and slides the vial into his pocket. “I’m sure, one day, we shall.”

“Then we will look forward to that!” the queen declares. There are rounds of farewells that last nearly as long as the tea party itself had and when it seems there is nothing more that ought to be said, Tarrant reaches for Alice’s hand.

She glances down at the sight of their fingers intertwined, hesitates, and turning toward the queen, says, “Well, there is one more thing, Your Majesty...”

“Yes?”

Alice gives Tarrant a wink and then, addressing the queen, asks, “I was wondering if we might impose on you for a couple bottles of Witzend wine.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

That night, when Tarrant arrives in her room to sleep across the threshold, he does not wear gloves.

Neither does Alice.

She does not ask him if it will hurt, this first touch, the neutralizing of the Jabberwocky blood in their bodies. He does not reassure her with words, but with a smile: he does not know what will happen, either, but it will be fine.

And it is. She grasps his bare hands in hers... There is a moment of numbing lightheaded-ness... And then everything is as it should be.

“Alice?” he breathes, mindful of the late hour, the sleeping patrons on the other side of the thin walls.

“Tarrant,” she answers and, leaning forward, presses her lips to his. It is a chaste kiss, for that is all it must be here, now. Tarrant nudges gently at her lips with his own, releases a long, longing breath. Their hands remain clasped.

It only lasts for a moment and then Tarrant pulls away and nuzzles her hair. “Thank you, Alice.”

She closes her eyes and answers, “Thank you for waiting, Tarrant.”

And although he still refuses to move more than a step beyond the threshold of her room, he wraps his arms around her and murmurs, “But of course I would.”

She stands in her most favorite place of all the places in both worlds she’s ever known: in Tarrant’s arms. Alice lingers for a time that will never be properly quantified because the use of clocks and other time pieces is not common here... and then, reluctantly, she steps away.

“Tomorrow, I’d like to talk to the captain.”

The significance of her declaration does not register, she sees; Tarrant merely gives her a nod and an agreeable smile. “Certainly.”

Alice steps away and climbs into bed. Just before she blows out the lantern flame, she comments in an offhanded tone, “Here in Upland, weddings can be performed by clergymen, civil judges, and sea captains.”

Even though she’s across the room, she hears his breath catch in mid-gasp. “Sea captains?” he confirms, completely overlooking the oddness of there existing such a profession as a civil judge; Alice had nearly expected him to inquire if there are any uncivil judges.

Alice rolls over and smiles at him across the tatami floor that separates them. “Yes. Sea captains. Would you like to speak to Captain James with me tomorrow?”

His answering smile is utterly mad, his eyes frightfully luminous; she fears he’ll burst his seams at any moment.

“Yes, Alice, I would.”

And, the next morning, they do.

 

Comments

[manniness.livejournal.com]

The art is on the chapter list entry for this story. There's just the one, but I LOVE it.

Originally, this was the ending. But then I decided to throw in a wedding night... And then when that didn't lead to, erm, loverliness, I added the honeymoon. (^__~)