Chapter 22
By afternoon, to Alice’s relief, Blinkem was already at the carriages assisting Tinkerton, who was in an unlaced tunic and rolled trousers with boots, at the front of a wheeled cart.
Blinkem, wearing woolen trousers with attached suspenders and a deep red buttoned shirt, pulled a thick rope around the canvas-covered object that sat atop it.
Alice wished to chastise him for his disappearing act last night, but as she approached, the filtered light through the trees caught his eyes, which met hers.
There was a gleam, his deep eyes briefly flashing to ruby before returning to their cranberry-tinted hazel hue.
He smiled with closed lips. Magic, she thought, as she waited a moment longer.
Then she gave him a curt nod to tell him she was miffed for his having missed meeting her at the greenhouse. Blinkem’s smile faded as he nodded back, in confusion, and resumed his work with the ropes. That didn’t go as planned, Alice thought, feeling a bit embarrassed.
Alice didn’t greet Tinkerton, as he was in a fuss over something having to do with securing the cart and axle, and she didn’t want to linger around Blinkem while she felt out of sorts.
A weariness came over her with the thought of another journey, when she had so recently traveled such a long way through the mirror, and she wondered briefly how long it would take to get the port of Oz, and why Blinkem had been so eager to get there rather than spend any time collecting their wits at Roseland.
She placed her hand on the waistbelt pouch where the gold watch now rested, anticipating the moment when she could press Blinkem for answers.
Bernard helped Alice into the first carriage, smiling warmly as she thanked him.
The queen sat at the back of the velvet interior, pillows surrounding her.
She briefly smiled at Alice, then returned to the task of writing something upon dyed pink vellum.
Alice looked over Bernard’s shoulder to Blinkem, who milled about outside the second carriage.
Would they have no time to discuss the events that had unfolded? Was he in fact purposely avoiding her?
“You’ll see him soon enough,” Rosemarie said, drawing Alice from her thoughts.
“Oh, it isn’t…” Alice began, but Rosemarie let out an exhausted breath and motioned Alice to take the seat beside her on the bench.
“Princess Languidere will be joining us at the port,” Rosemarie said with a downward tilt of her head, then peered out the window.
Alice glanced out, too, to see the princess being escorted by two scarlet guards.
She wore a deep purple satin gown, its waist tightly corseted with rouged silk to highlight her tiny waist. Her bust was pushed prominently into a heart-shaped cut and accentuated by a beaded fringe that swayed in time with her hips.
Alice could not see the princess’ face well, but her skin was impossibly fair, and her rouge, even at this distance, was heavy.
One guard held her hand as she delicately strolled across the stones of the drive, while the other held a parasol covered in silk bows and gems over her head, as a third carriage rumbled over cobbles from the gate toward where they were parked.
“Will she not be riding with us?” Alice asked. Surely there was plenty of room in the queen’s carriage.
“The princess prefers her own carriage, and it’s just as well. You don’t want to be confined in a small space with her,” Rosemarie said, without a hint of jest. Alice observed the young woman, wondering the reason for Rosemarie’s distaste, but did not pry.
“She is quite beautiful,” Alice said.
“So is the lily of the valley, but its bloom will stop your heart,” Rosemarie said, this time with a smirk. Alice smiled to be polite, but wondered again what the princess may have done to have earned such a reputation with the queen.
The journey from the shore was long. The carriage was pulled by two animals that looked not quite like horses, yet not quite like mules, either.
Their legs were notably longer than a mule’s would have been, but their bodies were stout and squat, and moved surprisingly quickly.
As Queen Rosemarie dozed off, Alice looked out the window at the long stretches of rolling hills and strange stone houses that seemed oddly plopped on a hill here or there, doing her best not to let her mind spin over where she was.
Alice took the well-worn leather book Rosemarie had given her and opened it on her lap, where the ruby-tipped pin marked the passage on dreaming.
The script on the page was painted in black ink, with blocks of text detailing the ‘Dreaming Witch Archetype.’ These sections were framed by intricate laurel designs that wove across the page, connecting various archetypes together—almost like an illustrated family tree, much like the one Mother had gifted Father one Christmas.
At the center of the diagram sat the ‘Grand Archetypes: The Oracles she was back in the cold therapy tank in Dr. Lewis’ office.
Alice could not move, and her body began to sink, her face dangerously close to going beneath the water.
Guinevere leaned down to Alice, and Alice’s heart began to pound.
“When it drops out, do not fight it. Be not afraid,” Guinevere said softly—sweetly, even.
“When what drops out?” Alice said, trying to exhale the water away from her mouth.
“The bottom,” Guinevere said, and Alice was abruptly ripped below the water, and then she fell in blackness, and fell and fell until, with a jolt, the carriage woke her.
Alice felt the terrible fear that remained after a nightmare.
When she was younger, it was always Miss Molloy at Pastoria House who would comfort her.
Her chest felt heavy. Miss Molloy must be so worried by now.