CHAPTER
32
R EDD WAS in the Medieval Court at the Crystal Palace, reclining on a stone bench and flipping idly through the pages of Alice in Wonderland while she exercised her imagination; all around her translucent Redd Hearts performed knee bends, toe touches and hamstring stretches, but they were shooed into nonexistence when The Cat bounded in with a large burlap sack over his shoulder. Without so much as a meow, the feline assassin untied the sack and dumped its contents at his mistress’s feet. A man tumbled out, glancing wildly every which way and cowering as if he expected to be hit. At the sight of Redd, he hugged his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible, and began mumbling in constant prayer.
“Are you Lewis Carroll?” Redd asked him. “I-I-I am Charles D-D-Dodgson.”
Redd’s eye twitched—a precursor to violence, as The Cat well knew. He pawed Dodgson in the back of the head. “Explain,” he ordered.
The Don of Mathematics at Christ Church college rubbed his head and spoke in a pout. “I am Ch-Charles D-Dodgson, also known as L-L-L-Lewis C-Carroll, author of the volume y-you hold…in your hand.”
“So you can’t tell the truth even when it comes to your own name?” Redd said. “How perfect.” Circling him, studying him as if to be certain the timid creature before her could really be responsible for immortalizing her niece on Earth, she asked, “Do you know who I am?” “A somewhat blurry woman w-wearing a desp-p-picable costume?” Taking this as a compliment, Redd trounced about like a dame at her ball. “Yes, it’s horrendous, isn’t it?” Several roses snaked out from the thicket of the dress and directed their mouthy blooms at Dodgson. “I am Redd Heart. Did my niece ever mention me?” “I have never met your n-niece.”
Redd laughed. “Mr. Dodgson, I think we have established that you are a gifted liar, both in person and…” she thumped Alice in Wonderland, “…in print. Your talent is the reason I brought you here. Your talent and your ill-advised decision to write a book about Alyss Heart, which, doubly unfortunate for you, became popular in this bland world. But do not lie to me, you inconsequential man. You have met my niece and I will not allow myself to be eclipsed by her in Wonderland, on Earth, or anywhere else. You are going to write a book about me, Mr. Dodgson. You will immortalize me, just as you have immortalized Alyss. And my book had better sell more copies than that drivel you scribbled about her.” “B-B-B-But I know nothing about you.”
“You will start by writing down anything my niece told you about her dear old aunt Redd. As for the rest…make it up.” Redd then turned to her lieutenants, who were lined up against a wall, waiting for when she might find them useful. “Mr. Van de Skülle, take my biographer here to the Greek Court, where he is to live until his manuscript meets with my approval. You’ll find the necessary writing instruments waiting for you,” she said to Dodgson. “You might notice that once you enter the court, thick bars will form on the doors and windows. But don’t worry yourself. They’re only there to prevent you from escaping.”
Shortly after Van de Skülle shoved Reverend Dodgson from the room—
R EDD WAS in the Medieval Court at the Crystal Palace, reclining on a stone bench and flipping idly through the pages of Alice in Wonderland while she exercised her imagination; all around her translucent Redd Hearts performed knee bends, toe touches and hamstring stretches, but they were shooed into nonexistence when The Cat bounded in with a large burlap sack over his shoulder. Without so much as a meow, the feline assassin untied the sack and dumped its contents at his mistress’s feet. A man tumbled out, glancing wildly every which way and cowering as if he expected to be hit. At the sight of Redd, he hugged his knees to his chest, making himself as small as possible, and began mumbling in constant prayer.
“Are you Lewis Carroll?” Redd asked him. “I-I-I am Charles D-D-Dodgson.”
Redd’s eye twitched—a precursor to violence, as The Cat well knew. He pawed Dodgson in the back of the head. “Explain,” he ordered.
The Don of Mathematics at Christ Church college rubbed his head and spoke in a pout. “I am Ch-Charles D-Dodgson, also known as L-L-L-Lewis C-Carroll, author of the volume y-you hold…in your hand.”
“So you can’t tell the truth even when it comes to your own name?” Redd said. “How perfect.” Circling him, studying him as if to be certain the timid creature before her could really be responsible for immortalizing her niece on Earth, she asked, “Do you know who I am?” “A somewhat blurry woman w-wearing a desp-p-picable costume?” Taking this as a compliment, Redd trounced about like a dame at her ball. “Yes, it’s horrendous, isn’t it?” Several roses snaked out from the thicket of the dress and directed their mouthy blooms at Dodgson. “I am Redd Heart. Did my niece ever mention me?” “I have never met your n-niece.”
Redd laughed. “Mr. Dodgson, I think we have established that you are a gifted liar, both in person and…” she thumped Alice in Wonderland, “…in print. Your talent is the reason I brought you here. Your talent and your ill-advised decision to write a book about Alyss Heart, which, doubly unfortunate for you, became popular in this bland world. But do not lie to me, you inconsequential man. You have met my niece and I will not allow myself to be eclipsed by her in Wonderland, on Earth, or anywhere else. You are going to write a book about me, Mr. Dodgson. You will immortalize me, just as you have immortalized Alyss. And my book had better sell more copies than that drivel you scribbled about her.” “B-B-B-But I know nothing about you.”
“You will start by writing down anything my niece told you about her dear old aunt Redd. As for the rest…make it up.” Redd then turned to her lieutenants, who were lined up against a wall, waiting for when she might find them useful. “Mr. Van de Skülle, take my biographer here to the Greek Court, where he is to live until his manuscript meets with my approval. You’ll find the necessary writing instruments waiting for you,” she said to Dodgson. “You might notice that once you enter the court, thick bars will form on the doors and windows. But don’t worry yourself. They’re only there to prevent you from escaping.”
Shortly after Van de Skülle shoved Reverend Dodgson from the room—