Vollrath hadn’t graduated from the
Tutor Corps for nothing. “I don’t like it when sound
reasoning
counters my wishes,” Redd hissed.
“I apologize, Your Imperial Viciousness, and will try not to let it happen too often. But you might also want to camouflage this rather intimidating feline creature with whom you travel.” “The Cat is his own camouflage,” said Redd. And to The Cat: “Show them.” The Cat shrunk down into a kitten, meowed, then morphed back into an imposing humanoid. “Ingenious!” enthused Sacrenoir. “Your Imperial Viciousness, I will find you something suitable to wear from the clothes of my recent audience. Something not too ravaged and bloody.” “I don’t mind blood so long as it isn’t mine.” The magician returned with a gown that bore the marks of its previous owner’s demise: the lace was torn in parts, the once shimmering silk stained with dirt and worse. “We will leave you while you dress,” Vollrath said, and pulled the alcove’s curtain shut to give Redd privacy.
At the foot of the stage, The Cat indulged a sudden urge to bathe himself. The waiters paused in their work to watch him, risking little now that Marcel was busy reviewing the night’s receipts with Sacrenoir. And though Vollrath too was staring at The Cat, he hardly saw the creature. He was recalling everything Redd had divulged of her history, mining the narrative for tidbits he could exploit to make himself ever more necessary to Mistress Heart, and thus, ever more deserving of reward. A vital piece of information seemed missing from all he’d heard. He approached the alcove and addressed Redd through the curtain: “Your Imperial Viciousness, for my own edification, would you mind telling me when your mother removed you from succession? Was it before or after you had navigated your Looking Glass Maze?” “Before,” Redd answered in a clenched voice. “But I would have navigated it if I’d had any underlings worth even a tenth of Bibwit Harte’s intellect. The key to the maze was in my hands, but no one could get it to work.”
Vollrath’s ears took on the aspect of little beings huddled against the cold. “Where did you find this key?”
“My seekers snatched it directly out of Alyss’ hands. She’d entered the maze. It’s the only reason I’m here. If I had entered it too, she wouldn’t have gotten the better of me at Mount Isolation. We would have both gained in strength from passing through it, instead of her alone.” Redd’s lack of knowledge astounded the tutor. Did she really understand so little about how a Wonderland princess became queen?
“She doesn’t even know what she doesn’t know,” he mumbled, and then: “Your Imperial Viciousness, perhaps we should speak face-to-face, without this velvet barrier between us. Are you decent?” “I’m never decent!”
The curtain was flung open and there she stood, a clash of opposites—the hate-infused pallor of her blemished skin and her spaghetti-wire hair at odds with a dress that was meant to be seen in lavish parlors, and which, despite its rips and bloodstains, still retained an aura of delicate creaminess.
counters my wishes,” Redd hissed.
“I apologize, Your Imperial Viciousness, and will try not to let it happen too often. But you might also want to camouflage this rather intimidating feline creature with whom you travel.” “The Cat is his own camouflage,” said Redd. And to The Cat: “Show them.” The Cat shrunk down into a kitten, meowed, then morphed back into an imposing humanoid. “Ingenious!” enthused Sacrenoir. “Your Imperial Viciousness, I will find you something suitable to wear from the clothes of my recent audience. Something not too ravaged and bloody.” “I don’t mind blood so long as it isn’t mine.” The magician returned with a gown that bore the marks of its previous owner’s demise: the lace was torn in parts, the once shimmering silk stained with dirt and worse. “We will leave you while you dress,” Vollrath said, and pulled the alcove’s curtain shut to give Redd privacy.
At the foot of the stage, The Cat indulged a sudden urge to bathe himself. The waiters paused in their work to watch him, risking little now that Marcel was busy reviewing the night’s receipts with Sacrenoir. And though Vollrath too was staring at The Cat, he hardly saw the creature. He was recalling everything Redd had divulged of her history, mining the narrative for tidbits he could exploit to make himself ever more necessary to Mistress Heart, and thus, ever more deserving of reward. A vital piece of information seemed missing from all he’d heard. He approached the alcove and addressed Redd through the curtain: “Your Imperial Viciousness, for my own edification, would you mind telling me when your mother removed you from succession? Was it before or after you had navigated your Looking Glass Maze?” “Before,” Redd answered in a clenched voice. “But I would have navigated it if I’d had any underlings worth even a tenth of Bibwit Harte’s intellect. The key to the maze was in my hands, but no one could get it to work.”
Vollrath’s ears took on the aspect of little beings huddled against the cold. “Where did you find this key?”
“My seekers snatched it directly out of Alyss’ hands. She’d entered the maze. It’s the only reason I’m here. If I had entered it too, she wouldn’t have gotten the better of me at Mount Isolation. We would have both gained in strength from passing through it, instead of her alone.” Redd’s lack of knowledge astounded the tutor. Did she really understand so little about how a Wonderland princess became queen?
“She doesn’t even know what she doesn’t know,” he mumbled, and then: “Your Imperial Viciousness, perhaps we should speak face-to-face, without this velvet barrier between us. Are you decent?” “I’m never decent!”
The curtain was flung open and there she stood, a clash of opposites—the hate-infused pallor of her blemished skin and her spaghetti-wire hair at odds with a dress that was meant to be seen in lavish parlors, and which, despite its rips and bloodstains, still retained an aura of delicate creaminess.