shone down on the stairs from
above. Redd led the way up to the street. It took several moments
for her
eyes to adjust to the harshness of the morning sun, but even then— “What’s this?”
Everywhere she looked: Parisians enveloped in hazy nimbuses, some gray, others as purple-dark as bruises, while still others were more or less radiant with a whitish glow. “To some Wonderland eyes,” Vollrath said, “those gifted in White Imagination glow brightly while those given to Black Imagination glow darkly. It’s more difficult to notice the dark glow at night time. It’s an excellent thing to be able to discern friends and enemies at a distance. The dark glow will make it easier for us to find the soldiers you desire. You should see the cloud that hovers around you, Your Imperial Viciousness. It’s a wonder you’re visible at all.” Redd examined herself—her arms, her feet. Everything appeared as it had since she’d stepped from the painter’s canvas. No bruise-dark aura.
“Wonderlanders can’t see their own glow,” Vollrath explained, “for the same reason that they’re usually not good judges of their own behavior. They do not see how they actually are, only how they perceive themselves.”
Redd stared out at the passing clouds of people. The Cat, his tail swishing, nimbly crossed from her right shoulder to her left.
“You needn’t tramp about the city with us, Your Imperial Viciousness,” said Sacrenoir. “Let Vollrath and me gather our acquaintances so that you can review them as a group. This will save you labor and give you time to plot a search for your Looking Glass Maze.” “An idea worthy of my tutelage,” agreed Vollrath. “Mistress Heart, you will, I think, be intrigued by the Hall of Mirrors in the Versailles Palace. Why not take in the sights Paris has to offer?” “Because, tutor,” Redd snorted, “I’d sooner kill you.” CHAPTER 24
D ODGE, NOT usually one to linger over tokens of the past, was in his guardsman’s quarters picking over the few items he had salvaged from the former palace: a portrait of his father he’d drawn when he was eight years old, a dented broach that had belonged to his long-dead mother, and a packet of letters he’d written during Redd’s reign but never sent. He set the portrait prominently on the mantel and moved the dining table in front of the glowing hearth, laying out two place settings and a pitcher of winglefruit juice. There was nothing left to do but wait. “No talent for waiting,” he said to himself. He had volunteered to go after the Diamonds and Alyss had ignored him. In front of everybody. He thought it important for her to understand a couple of things. He surveyed the room again, hoping to find some final preparation that needed doing, but all was in order. Bleep, bleep bleep bleep, bleep.
His crystal communicator sounded with the agreed-upon signal. Any moment Alyss would be passing down the hall to the sovereign suite. He pulled smooth the sleeves of his guardsman’s coat and squared his shoulders, to appear as official as possible. He stepped to the door and out into the hall.
eyes to adjust to the harshness of the morning sun, but even then— “What’s this?”
Everywhere she looked: Parisians enveloped in hazy nimbuses, some gray, others as purple-dark as bruises, while still others were more or less radiant with a whitish glow. “To some Wonderland eyes,” Vollrath said, “those gifted in White Imagination glow brightly while those given to Black Imagination glow darkly. It’s more difficult to notice the dark glow at night time. It’s an excellent thing to be able to discern friends and enemies at a distance. The dark glow will make it easier for us to find the soldiers you desire. You should see the cloud that hovers around you, Your Imperial Viciousness. It’s a wonder you’re visible at all.” Redd examined herself—her arms, her feet. Everything appeared as it had since she’d stepped from the painter’s canvas. No bruise-dark aura.
“Wonderlanders can’t see their own glow,” Vollrath explained, “for the same reason that they’re usually not good judges of their own behavior. They do not see how they actually are, only how they perceive themselves.”
Redd stared out at the passing clouds of people. The Cat, his tail swishing, nimbly crossed from her right shoulder to her left.
“You needn’t tramp about the city with us, Your Imperial Viciousness,” said Sacrenoir. “Let Vollrath and me gather our acquaintances so that you can review them as a group. This will save you labor and give you time to plot a search for your Looking Glass Maze.” “An idea worthy of my tutelage,” agreed Vollrath. “Mistress Heart, you will, I think, be intrigued by the Hall of Mirrors in the Versailles Palace. Why not take in the sights Paris has to offer?” “Because, tutor,” Redd snorted, “I’d sooner kill you.” CHAPTER 24
D ODGE, NOT usually one to linger over tokens of the past, was in his guardsman’s quarters picking over the few items he had salvaged from the former palace: a portrait of his father he’d drawn when he was eight years old, a dented broach that had belonged to his long-dead mother, and a packet of letters he’d written during Redd’s reign but never sent. He set the portrait prominently on the mantel and moved the dining table in front of the glowing hearth, laying out two place settings and a pitcher of winglefruit juice. There was nothing left to do but wait. “No talent for waiting,” he said to himself. He had volunteered to go after the Diamonds and Alyss had ignored him. In front of everybody. He thought it important for her to understand a couple of things. He surveyed the room again, hoping to find some final preparation that needed doing, but all was in order. Bleep, bleep bleep bleep, bleep.
His crystal communicator sounded with the agreed-upon signal. Any moment Alyss would be passing down the hall to the sovereign suite. He pulled smooth the sleeves of his guardsman’s coat and squared his shoulders, to appear as official as possible. He stepped to the door and out into the hall.