interrogation. Twice a week, Redd
enlisted new recruits from this mass of hopefuls, passing before
each
of them while Vollrath related his or her particular talents. “As you know, Your Imperial Viciousness,” the tutor explained one night, “most imaginationists are good at a single thing only, as an ordinary Wonderlander might be gifted in math but not poetry. Take this one here.” Redd and the tutor were standing before a sunken-chested man whose tattered clothes and unruly beard made him look as if he’d just been rescued from a deserted isle. “This former Wonderlander can do nothing but shoot pellets from his elbows.” “His elbows?” Redd frowned. “Show me.”
The man bent his arms and, after a moment of concentration, tiny disks zipped out from his bony elbows and plunked against the wall.
“Tsst,” Redd said, unmoved. She made her choices. The perimeter of the room was suddenly lined with soldiers and, with Vollrath and her commanders at her heels, she started for the exit, calling out, “As for the rest of you…good-bye!” By the time she convened with The Cat in the hall, the rejects—including the elbow shooter—had been summarily dispatched. Redd’s feline assassin had just returned from one of his late-night forays into the city. Where he went on these excursions, or what he did, not even Her Imperial Viciousness knew. But he inevitably returned with a load of bird carcasses, which he would drop at his mistress’s feet. Amid the carcasses tonight, however, there was also a book.
“Think you’re posh, do you?” Redd fumed when she saw it. “Want to improve yourself with reading?” “Look at the title,” said The Cat.
The book flew up to her hand. Alice in Wonderland. “A-L-I-C-E?” Redd said.
“It’s about your niece,” said The Cat. “It’s filled with idiotic lies about Wonderland, but it’s famous here.”
“Someone wrote a book about my niece?” Redd turned on her tutor. “Did you know about this?” “I swear I didn’t,” Vollrath lied.
She let the book fall open in her hand. She riffled through its pages from first to last with her imagination. To think that Alyss had been immortalized by some Earth scribbler! She slammed the book shut. She tapped a long finger against its cover, under the author’s name. “Find this Lewis Carroll and bring him here!”
The Cat hurried off. Sacrenoir and the rest of the commanders loped away to discipline their troops. Redd scowled in the direction of the palace’s Renaissance Court, where her rejected recruits lay dead on the cold hard floor. “At this rate, it will take a lifetime to amass even half the soldiers I’ll need.” “Perhaps,” suggested Vollrath, his ears genuflecting, “a few of us should return to Wonderland to search for your maze while Sacrenoir and others continue to gather an army here?” Redd knew, despite her many displays of imaginative strength, that her powers had weakened. She would never have admitted it—she was still a hundred times stronger than anyone around—but she was
of them while Vollrath related his or her particular talents. “As you know, Your Imperial Viciousness,” the tutor explained one night, “most imaginationists are good at a single thing only, as an ordinary Wonderlander might be gifted in math but not poetry. Take this one here.” Redd and the tutor were standing before a sunken-chested man whose tattered clothes and unruly beard made him look as if he’d just been rescued from a deserted isle. “This former Wonderlander can do nothing but shoot pellets from his elbows.” “His elbows?” Redd frowned. “Show me.”
The man bent his arms and, after a moment of concentration, tiny disks zipped out from his bony elbows and plunked against the wall.
“Tsst,” Redd said, unmoved. She made her choices. The perimeter of the room was suddenly lined with soldiers and, with Vollrath and her commanders at her heels, she started for the exit, calling out, “As for the rest of you…good-bye!” By the time she convened with The Cat in the hall, the rejects—including the elbow shooter—had been summarily dispatched. Redd’s feline assassin had just returned from one of his late-night forays into the city. Where he went on these excursions, or what he did, not even Her Imperial Viciousness knew. But he inevitably returned with a load of bird carcasses, which he would drop at his mistress’s feet. Amid the carcasses tonight, however, there was also a book.
“Think you’re posh, do you?” Redd fumed when she saw it. “Want to improve yourself with reading?” “Look at the title,” said The Cat.
The book flew up to her hand. Alice in Wonderland. “A-L-I-C-E?” Redd said.
“It’s about your niece,” said The Cat. “It’s filled with idiotic lies about Wonderland, but it’s famous here.”
“Someone wrote a book about my niece?” Redd turned on her tutor. “Did you know about this?” “I swear I didn’t,” Vollrath lied.
She let the book fall open in her hand. She riffled through its pages from first to last with her imagination. To think that Alyss had been immortalized by some Earth scribbler! She slammed the book shut. She tapped a long finger against its cover, under the author’s name. “Find this Lewis Carroll and bring him here!”
The Cat hurried off. Sacrenoir and the rest of the commanders loped away to discipline their troops. Redd scowled in the direction of the palace’s Renaissance Court, where her rejected recruits lay dead on the cold hard floor. “At this rate, it will take a lifetime to amass even half the soldiers I’ll need.” “Perhaps,” suggested Vollrath, his ears genuflecting, “a few of us should return to Wonderland to search for your maze while Sacrenoir and others continue to gather an army here?” Redd knew, despite her many displays of imaginative strength, that her powers had weakened. She would never have admitted it—she was still a hundred times stronger than anyone around—but she was