Chapter Nine: Reflections of the Past (1)

[manniness]

LJ says this chapter is too large for one post, too.  Ga~ah?? *is flabbergasted*

 

*~*~*~*

“Where are we?”

Tamial Hightopp – master of mirror magic and supplier of stupendous surprises – doesn’t answer his cousin’s dumbstruck question. Obviously, they are in a forest. The leaves have long since turned autumn colors and many carpet the earth. Considering the thick frost on the ground, Tam thinks he ought to feel colder than he does, but he doesn’t feel cold at all. As his mother would say: “Curiouser and curiouser.”

“That’s not an answer,” Win grumps in response to his mumbled observation. “Nor do I believe ’curiouser’ is a word.”

Tam snorts out a laugh. “You know, sometimes you sound just like Uncle Hamish.”

Win scowls. “What are we doing here? Was that Looking Glass Travel?”

“Er... yes. We went through the mirror... I think.”

“You think?”

“How should I know if that was normal Looking Glass Travel or something else? It doesn’t usually feel all windy and swirly. And I’ve never opened a mirror myself before, all right?”

“This is not all right,” Win declares. “We don’t even know where we are!”

Tam backs up a step and raises his brows. “You were the one who wanted to try it! What’s wrong with you?” A day ago, Win would have been over the moon with delight at finally having tried Looking Glass Travel!

Win snipes back, “What’s wrong with me? Not a bloody thing!”

Tam winces at the swear word.

“I’m just fine! Bloody fine! My dad maybe killed my father so he could marry my mum. Everything is FINE!”

Tam flinches as the shout echoes in the forest. Given the frost on the ground, it’s very early morning rather than very late evening and Win is going to wake somebody up if he keeps bellowing like that!

“AND NOW WE’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE AND—AND—!”

Luckily, Win can’t think of an and after that. Tam lets out the breath he’d been holding. After a moment of tense silence, during which Win does not start shouting again, Tam says, “I was thinking about the duel. Your dad and Lord Manchester’s. And... who really killed Lord Manchester. You know, when I looked into the mirror.”

This seems to appease Win. Slightly. “Well, I don’t see any duels taking place right now—”

But even as he announces his complaint, the sound of an approaching carriage click-clack-crunches closer.

“There!” Tam says, pointing to a concealed trail not too far off. Indeed, just there is a carriage rolling along the rarely-used ruts that are meant to be a road through the forest. “C’mon!” Tam urges his cousin. Without looking over his shoulder to see if Win is following, Tam takes off after the coach. He frowns after a few strides when he realizes he can’t hear Win behind him. He stumbles to a halt and turns. Win nearly crashes into him.

Rather than berate him for his clumsiness, Win observes, “You’re not making any noise.”

“Neither are you.” Experimentally, Tam reaches out to the nearest tree trunk and presses his hand against it. Nothing happens to the trunk of the tree, of course. Tam’s hand, however...

“Watch out!” Win shouts, pulling Tam’s arm back. They both stare at Tam’s fingers which had, momentarily, disappeared into the tree.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Tam assures him. “See?” He wiggles his fingers to prove it.

“Let me try that!” Win presses his own hand against the tree. They both watch him sink up to his shoulder and his hand reappears out the other side of the trunk.

“That’s...” Tam says, feeling his eyes widen.

“Brilliant!” Win declares.

Feeling a bit enpuffed, Tam reminds him, “Well, that was what you wanted, right? Something brilliant?”

Win laughs. “I can always count on you.”

Tam smirks.

The carriage, however, has already rolled to a stop in the distance.

“C’mon!” Win orders and takes off through the woods.

They stumble to a halt behind a pair of trees lining a small clearing. In front of them, the carriage sits, its driver dozing and horse huffing.

“You know,” Win whispers. “I heard duels are often fought in places like this. Because they’re not permitted. You can get arrested and fined for fighting in one.”

“Really?” How different things are in Underland where it’s his Mam’s job to fight in duels! Or, at least, it used to be...

Tam turns toward the unmarked carriage. “Who do you suppose is inside?”

Win grins. “Let’s find out!”

They creep forward, mindful of staying out of sight of the driver and horse. But, again, they make no noise as they move so neither turn in their direction. They pause next to the coach and Tam contemplates the curtains covering the windows and the step hanging down under the door. If they can’t touch the step, how are they going to...?

“Of course!” Tam hisses, experiencing a brainwave.

Win shushes him but, again, none one seems to be the wiser.

“Watch this!” Tam demands and presses his own face through the side of the carriage. He opens his eyes once he’s sure he’s through. He grins as Win tries to yank him back, but he doesn’t relent until he’s gotten a good look at the coach’s occupant.

“It looks like a doctor,” he reports after he lets Win pull him back outside.

“A...? Wait, that didn’t hurt?” he squawks, forgetting to keep quiet.

“I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Really?!”

“Try it.”

He does. Tam watches as Win’s entire head disappears through the carriage wall and then reappears when he leans back. “Brilliant!”

“I told you so.”

“The doctor didn’t even see me!”

Tam considers this. “I don’t think anyone can. Or hear us,” he muses, considering all the racket they’d been making with each new discovery of their abilities here.

Before Win can suggest putting either of those speculations to the test, another carriage clatters and clunks up the forest road. Again, it is unmarked, but Win squints at the driver.

“That looks like Grandfather Manchester’s driver...”

“So that must be your father in that carriage,” Tam deduces.

Win nods slowly. He looks rather nervous all of a sudden and Tam realizes that he has no memory of his father. “You’ve only seen him in photographs, right?”

“That I can recall...”

“Then let’s go have a look at him.” Tam jogs across the clearing daringly, right out in the open! No one seems to see him at all. Grinning, he approaches the carriage which stops, rocking gently on its springs. He can hear a muffled voice and a request:

“... wish you would tell me what Ascot did or said to provoke this.”

Tam frowns. That voice sounds oddly familiar...

“That was not part of our agreement,” a second man replies. “You’re here to watch Ascot be humiliated—”

“True. And I’m very much looking forward to it.”

“—and to keep my blasted brother-in-law from getting in the way.”

“Yes. I remember.”

Tam glances at Win and then both boys put their faces through the carriage wall. Tam examines Lowell Manchester’s face first as it looks very much like Win’s. Except Win has never looked that... mean. Not even just now in the forest when he’d been screaming at him over their accidental Looking Glass Travel.

“Ascot will likely choose foils. I hope you still remember which is the pointy end,” the other man muses, turning away from the window to smirk at Manchester. Beside him, Win gasps. Of course, it goes unnoticed by both men in the carriage.

“What is it?” Tam whispers, wary of speaking over an important revelation.

“The man from the pawn shop!” Win replies, reaching his arm through and pointing.

Tam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell us he was at the duel that day?”

“I don’t know...”

“Ah! That sounds like another carriage,” the second man remarks, pushing aside the curtain with his cane. “And here I half expected him to get cold feet.”

Lowell Manchester doesn’t answer. He watches through the window. Tam pulls his head outside for a moment to see the approaching carriage. When the Ascot coach comes to a halt and the door opens, Tam yanks on Win’s sleeve.

“Look! Look!”

Turning, he does. And gapes.

“That’s...!”

“Uncle Hamish,” Tam finishes, still gaping.

They share incredulous stares. Once upon a time, eleven years ago, the man had been rather fit. Finally, Tam finds himself able to imagine his uncle fighting a duel. Luckily, he won’t have to imagine anything! Why very soon now they’ll...

Tam’s thoughts spiral away from him as the Ascot carriage door opens once more... and his own Fa steps out!

“Tam! What is your father doing here?”

He doesn’t know. He’d never heard anything about this! Ever!

No, he has no idea what his Fa is doing at Uncle Hamish’s duel, but he suspects he’s About To Find Out!

 

*~*~*~*

 

Alice sleeps as if this is the last chance she will ever have to enjoy the activity. She is so utterly still that Tarrant has to press his hand against her ribcage just to reassure himself that she’s still breathing. He touches her brow to check for one of those strange, contrary, hot fevers Uplanders are prone to. But she is fine. Simply... exhausted.

She even sleeps through the delivery of tea and the meal, although which meal it is, he can’t say as there are no windows in the room and thus no clues as to the time of day.

Tarrant does not recognize the woman who brings the tray, but she glances at Alice, a fond smile turning the corners of her mouth up.

“Poor dearlin’,” she whispers. “’Ave ’er eat a bit o’ this ginger bread soaked in tea firs’. She needs strength afore she can manage th’ stew.”

Tarrant can’t resist asking, “D’ye happen teh know Alice from when she was here... afore?”

“Och, the lass was summat!” the woman replies. “A righ’ laugh th’ way she carried on, leadin’ them warmongerin’ louts about by their noses!”

Tarrant blinks. That is not what he would have expected to hear at all about the time Alice had been held prisoner here. Why, even now he can remember the constant rolling-burning-aching-SAVE-ME! that had assaulted him during Alice’s every waking moment through the heart line. It appears that Alice had been far more successful at fooling everyone in Causwick than he’d ever imagined possible. But, then again, shame on him for underestimating Alice’s abilities to shape the impossible into Something Possible!

“’Tis a shame teh see ’er again like this, though,” the woman – either a maid or a housekeeper here – continues. “Back when th’ ground a-gyer’d an’ a-gimbled an’ we heard she went Up Thar... well, we was all cheerin’ fer ’er teh take up ’er sword an’ cleave those greizin’ guddler’s shukm – Val’reth an’ Oshtyer.”

Tarrant can’t help the twitch of his lips at her enthusiasm for seeing those two come to harm. “Ye di’nae take a likin’ teh either o’ ’em?”

“Oshtyer!” she spits. “Th’ booly geber was a’ways tryin’ teh get one o’ us girls on ’er one-some! Th’ prince woul’ put tha’ blighter in ’is place but tha’ Val’reth...” She shakes her head. “He ne’er di’ naught teh help us... ’Tis fortunate we aul look afteh each o’her here!” She nods decisively. “Sae, ye ask mae if’n I di’nae take a likin’ teh ’em. Nae, I mos’ certainly di’nae!”

“But... th’ twine o’ them were here on Jaspien’s invitation...” He frowns. “Yet ye d’nae cast blame on Jaspien fer...?”

“A mahn’s o’ly teh blame fer ’is aun faults. An’ considerin’ m’laird’s greatest desire is teh b’free o’ this wretched place, ’is punishment fer ’is err’ in judgmen’twas severe enough.” The woman pauses and looks at Tarrant. “Ye’ll tell th’ White Queen, aye? Tha’ m’laird ’as paid enough fer ’is crimes? ’Twasnae o’ly hisself he was thinkin’ o’ gettin’ better lands fer... Thar’s a fair number o’ us who ’ave nae place else teh go... who serve ’im b’cause he doesnae judge our crimes sae harshly...”

“Yer crimes?” he parrots in disbelief. He cannot imagine this matronly woman guilty of anything more frightening than stealing chicken eggs!

“Aye,” she says sadly. “Murder ’tis still frowned upon in th’ White Realm, las’ I heard.”

Tarrant regards her in stunned silence.

“Murder is murder,” she lectures him, lectures herself. “E’en if’n ’twas an accident. Or e’en if’n ’twas fer th’ best. M’laird’s a kenfull mahn, Laird Hightopp. An’ e’en th’ best o’ men ’ave their foolish moments. He’s nae perfect nor e’en saganstitute.” With a wry grin, she summarizes, “I woul’ ne’er expec’ tha’... None o’ us woul’. We’ve all o’ us ’ere made th’ same mistakes. Our laird, tae.”

Tarrant winces as a deep throb vibrates unevenly through his heart line. His hand, still resting on Alice’s shoulder, stirs, soothes. He knows she’s awake now, that she’d heard this woman’s plea.

“Gingerbread an’ tea,” the woman reminds him. “Then ge’ ’er teh try a bit o’ tha’ stew.”

He nods and waits until their visitor has closed the door behind her before turning toward his wife. “Alice?” he whispers.

“I’ve failed. Failed her and the others here,” she mouths without opening her eyes. He feels the sting of misery over his heart and carefully brushes her tangled hair back away from her eyes. “I should have realized...”

“Hush. Ye cannae save e’eryone,” he murmurs.

“I’m supposed to try,” she argues. “I’m not supposed to run away and leave people like her behind...”

Alice’s exhaustion is a beast he can feel bludgeoning her; he can Feel her unhappiness and malcontent and guilt and self-flagellation resonating in the blood of hers that he carries beneath his skin. “Ye need teh eat sommat, Alice,” he replies.

“Not hungry.”

“Laung pas’ ’ungry, ye mean.” Tarrant pours the tea, soaks the black spice bread and coos, “Open up, nauw, lass. ’Tis th’ Brunch Bandersnatch a-galumphin’ teh ye.”

“Want th’ Bedtime Bandersnatch,” she grouses, but obligingly opens her mouth. It’s awkward feeding her with one hand but the fact that she doesn’t even remember his injuries speaks volumes of her own state. But, just as the housekeeper had predicted, a slice of warm, soggy gingerbread later and Alice is opening her eyes.

At which time, of course, she Remembers.

“Tarrant! Oh, bloody...! Are you all right? Here, lie back and I’ll—”

“Ye’ll do naught. Chessur’s been by.” Despite his command, she pulls herself into a sitting position and fusses with his bandages. “Cleaned an’ stitched it. I’m fine.”

Seeing this for herself, Alice lets out a long sigh as she replaces the bandages. “Chessur’s here?” she confirms. “Did you send him on to Mamoreal?”

“Nae,” he replies, his brogue reasserting itself along with the Upsetting Possibilities the cat had raised regarding Jaspien and Alice and... “He’s looking in on our host... Ye di’nae tell me we were in bloody Causwick Castle!”

She nods, resignation slumping her shoulders. “I know.”

“Ye drugged mae, Alice,” he burrs, his accent thickening.

“Yes, I did.”

“An’ whot gehd woul’ I ’a been teh ye then were Jaspien teh come by expectin’ payment fer ’is hospitality?”

He sees he has surprised her with that. She looks up at him, frowning. The heart line lopsidedly transmits her confusion. “What?”

“Tha’ ’tis precisely my question, Alice,” he replies, struggling not to let his temper gain control of him. “What di’ye promise th’ mahn in exchange fer helpin’ us?”

She reaches out to place a – most likely – comforting hand on his brow, but he remembers when she had done that before and had massaged Sleep Saver into his mind with her fingertips.

He flinches.

She notices.

Alice retracts her hand as if she fears he will bite it. Instantly, he is sorry. So very sorry. He knows she Feels it. Her expression softens but she doesn’t reach for him again. “I needed you to sleep and to stay still. You needed the rest but you would move and reopen the wound and... I was so tired I couldn’t... I’m sorry. I obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Neither was I just now.” He reaches for her and she permits him to draw her close until her arm is around his waist and her breath puffs against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Alice.”

“As am I.” She sighs. “I’m glad Chess came. How did he find us?”

“Mally sent him.”

Alice snorts. “It’s a good thing we have so many friends to lecture him on doing the Right Thing.”

He chuckles his agreement.

“So Mally is safe? At Mamoreal?”

“Not precisely, no,” their erstwhile friend replies, materializing before them with a charming grin. “She’s currently hiding in Princess Tarranya’s cloak hood, keeping an eye on said princess – who seems to be getting along rather swimmingly with the – ahem – rebels.” Tarrant rolls his eyes at Chessur’s sarcasm. “Mally has also charged herself with fretting over the imminent stupidity of the rebels’ two captives. A lion man and a steelsmith I’m sure you’re both acquainted with.”

“Oh, bloody boggletogs,” Alice mutters, closing her eyes on a frustrated sigh.

“All in good time,” Chess does not reassure them. “Apparently this rag-tag rabble seems to think they can force the queen to step down. If I still understand Outlandish correctly, then their rally-cry is the freedom to bear arms.” Chessur rolls his eyes. “Only Outlanders would be proud to call themselves descendants of mercenaries.”

Alice’s brows arc.

Chessur then turns toward Tarrant and comments, “If you were still curious as to what your esteemed host is up to at the moment... Well, he seems to think he’s going somewhere despite the queen’s edict for him to remain inside his castle until the end of Underland. Unless Underland has ended and I am unaware of it... or he amuses himself day in and day out with packing a trunk for the sole purpose of dragging it around the keep for exercise...”

“He’s requested an escort to Mamoreal,” Alice admits with obvious reluctance. “That was what he asked for... and what I’ve promised him.”

“Did he now? That is interesting...” Chessur purrs. “Well, I suppose even I would grow tired of the lovely view from these ramparts were I forced to look upon them for the last nearly-twenty years.”

Tarrant ignores the cat, as usual, and asks a pertinent question: “Why does he want to go to Mamoreal?”

“I wasn’t in any condition to ask at the time,” Alice replies. “So I don’t know. Chess,” she continues, turning toward the cat.

“Yes, Alice?”

“I need a favor or few.”

He sighs. “I thought as much. Well, get on with it.”

“Go to Mamoreal and have a carriage sent for us along with a dozen members of the guard. And a medicinal kit of properly brewed medicines would be useful.”

“That’s one favor... possibly one-and-a-half,” he remarks, counting aloud. “And the next?”

“Reassure the queen that everything is fine and she should not be listening to Sir Fenruffle right now.”

“And what do you imagine he’s saying?”

“Well, if they’ve spoken to Bayto and if they found detailed diagrams of the tunnels, he’ll be wanting to assemble an armed force and attack.”

“Oh, dear. He does have the penchant for being rather... action-oriented, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s my fault. I gave him the taste for dramatic heroics when I had him act as our distraction.” At Tarrant’s inquisitive grunt, she elucidates, “Er, when the queen and I tried to escape Valereth’s mercenaries at the Southern Crossroads Inn.”

Tarrant vaguely recalls something about a battered Fenruffle, a twitchy and hovering Nivens providing wound care and... something about Thackery and scones...?

Chessur observes, “He still wears those Jubjub-gotten scars with pride.”

“He does. Feather-brained pompous...”

“Anything else, Alice?” Chessur purs.

“No... Yes!” She sends Tarrant a sheepish grin before addressing Chessur. “Don’t tell Sir Fenruffle I called him feather-brained or pompous.”

“And I was so looking forward to that!” he bemoans, smiling.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Before I forget,” Chess continues rotating lazily on a swirling cloud of Cheshire essence, “You probably shouldn’t hold Tarrant accountable for insinuating that you might have considered... submitting to Jaspien in exchange for succor... I believe I was the one who suggested it first.”

“I don’t doubt that either,” Alice replies as Tarrant marvels at the effort Chess is making... for him. For Alice. For someone other than his own cat self. Tarrant regards the cat sceptically; less than an hour ago by the feel of the time, they had both agreed not to be friends but, perhaps, this sort of subtlety will be permissible between them from now on...

“You have a gift for stirring up trouble, Cat,” she concludes with a wry grin.

Although cats can smile, they cannot chuckle, which is a shame for Tarrant is sure Chess would be indulging in that very gesture of humor Right Now if only he could. On a whisper and a whoosh, the cat disappears and Tarrant leans over and presses his lips to Alice’s temple.

“Did you honestly think I would... with... with... him?” she asks hesitantly, clearly referring to Jaspien and the demand that would have sent Tarrant into unavoidable and inconsolable madness.

“Chessur,” he replies slowly and with brutal honesty, “knows the identity of each and every one of my Greatest Fears, I’m afraid. And he has always been exceedingly talented at reintroducing me to them.”

“That one,” she answers, reaching for his right hand and grasping it tightly, “will never happen.”

“Another promise, Alice,” he warns her softly.

“Accept it,” she bids him and he is startled to hear the trace of fear in her voice and a sudden uneasiness along the damaged heart line. He imagines himself, dying... What wouldn’t Alice do to save him? He shivers.

“I choose us,” he reminds her, not denying her oath.

“Us,” she agrees and then Silence wraps itself around them, warm and comforting in this strange room, in the dominion of a man who is still their enemy.

It’s quite a while before they get around to eating the stew. It is cold and congealed and not at all appealing, but it fills their stomachs and helps them sleep. Tarrant allows the darkness to take him away from the aching, stinging pain of his wound and the uncertainty in his mind.

If history holds true and the present follows the same pattern as the past, then they will need their strength soon, he knows.

Very soon.

Follow this link for Part 2.

Comments

Re: From: CrazyMarchHare

[manniness.livejournal.com]

Oh, wow, am I late replying to your comments! So sorry!

(No worries about the italics - just remember to do a "<" then a "/" before the "i" and the last ">" when you want the font to go back to normal.)

(^__~)

Re: From: CrazyMarchHare

[(Anonymous)]

Ooooohhhhhhh....okay.
*facepalm*