Chapter 32
“Neverland? Never heard o’ it, but Oz records only cover Oz marked territory.
With th’ sea bein’ so enormous and plenty o’ islands, it must be out there, if ye say that’s how she went.
” Nimmie was so rapt with Alice’s tale that she’d barely touched her food or the sweet wine that Tinkerton generously kept refilling, nearly toppling off his small bench more than once.
“You said your friend was called Wendolyn?” Tinkerton asked, with wine dripping from his face scruff.
“Aye, that she did. She wore shoes tha’ made her up’n disappear. Boots, was it?” Nimmie continued for Alice as Alice patted her mouth.
“Silver slippers covered in gemstones,” Alice clarified.
“Doesn’t seem very practical fer any kind o’ trip ta me, but hey, I’m a Munchkin,” Nimmie said. Tinkerton laughed heartily.
“What gemstones exactly?” Tinkerton asked, after a swig of berry wine.
Alice was never one to forget details—she could nearly recite any book she had read—but the name of one stone escaped her.
“Moonstone, grey diamond, in a bed of lurlis… What was that word?” Alice knew it was the very same as the captain’s brain and the cave glitter, but she couldn’t recall the name.
“Lurlicite?” Tinkerton asked, turning his head to her from his mutton with a sly grin.
“That’s it!”
“Bah! Now yer pullin’ me wee leg.” Nimmie laughed, pounding a fist on the table and pointing at Alice with a shifty grin.
“I assure you that I am not. But, what is it, lurlicite, exactly?”
“An invention o’ conspiracy theorists and scavengers,” Nimmie went on, sure of the subject. “Goddess gems, Goddess dust, pixie this and that, all sorts’ o’ names for the stuff.”
“Otherwise known as the first element of magic,” Tinkerton challenged.
“A rare mineral said to have been created when Her divine power created the lands. It’s not a myth.
A century ago, propaganda was seeded, and false reports designed to throw off those that tried to search for it. It’s very real, Nim.”
“What can it do?” Alice asked.
“Its limits are unknown. Its powers are unique to the witch who uses it,” Tinkerton replied.
“A witch?” Alice asked, the topic of witchcraft having been brought up now more times than she could count.
“Yep. Only a witch can see its brilliant silver glow.” Tinkerton winked at her, an obvious allusion to the cave that had illuminated at her touch. Was he a witch? Was she? Alice still found the notion quite absurd, though the truth of it could not help but seem more and more likely.
“Yer lucky we met. I personally know a witch! The great witch of the North, Tattypoo,” Nimmie said.
Alice looked at Blinkem, who sat quietly observing, but his eyes avoided Nimmie’s. The woman with all of Alice’s answers was a witch?
“Tattypoo! Great luck indeed. She is my cousin Queen Rosemarie’s dear friend!” Tinkerton said.
“Ya’ don’na say!” Nimmie asked excitedly.
It seemed that everyone except Alice knew of Tattypoo.
“She’s th’ one who brought our people here.
I was just a sprout. In our land, we were hunted and enslaved.
She’s just and wise, Tattypoo is. She rid the North of tha’ wicked witch Mombi, who slain our good King and Queen.
Rest ’em,” Nimmie said, bowing her head before taking a long sip of her wine.
“What happened?” Alice asked.
“It is not known that they were slain. They were never found,” Blinkem said, looking down before clearing his throat, then looking up to meet Nimmie’s eyes with a new urgency. “We need to see her as soon as possible. Could you help us through the forest?”
Nimmie’s eyes narrowed, and she studied him for a long while. “Me pops had a thumb on ya. Ye’ve been stitch-lipped this entire time until it came to that of me Tattypoo. Ye know I have a Munchkin’s hunch about ya.” Blinkem’s face turned bright red, and splotches appeared under his eyes.
Nimmie gasped, and her eyes began to blink rapidly.
“Well, begorrah, Your Majesty, I didn’t recognize ya!
Yer grown!” she exclaimed, the realization dawning upon her she stood to bow.
Alice’s jaw dropped. Tinkerton clanked his ale onto the table.
Alice watched the exchange in complete disbelief as Blinkem tried to downplay the situation.
“Sit, please,” he said, looking around as Nimmie knelt like a knight at his end of the table.
“No need to worry, Nimmie. We were just passing through the forest. Your discretion is of utmost priority,” he said with a friendly smile.
She nodded and mimed locking her lips with a key.
Alice’s curiosity got the best of her. “What do you mean, Your Majesty? Are you a king?”
Blinkem hesitated for a moment, looking down at his ale again before finally admitting, “Prince.” Alice felt embarrassment for having been stomping through caves with a prince, and ready irritation by yet another omission from his majesty.
“You been scarce for years,” Nimmie said, almost accusingly.
“Last I saw ya’, you were a wee thing like me.
Still as white as can be.” Tinkerton cracked with laughter.
“Bein’ honest, folk thought you were dead or dim, on account yer not…
” Nimmie looked sheepish. “Yer not the king. Do you not wanna be? I beg yer forgivenss, that wasn’t fitting.
” Nimmie quickly realized her curiosity had likely overstepped what was proper.
Blinkem nodded understandingly. “It’s quite all right, Nimmie. It was a loss to the entire North. My sympathies to you and the fine folk of Munchkin Country. I was very young, and we, Tattypoo and myself, thought it best to enact counsel regency.”
Nimmie nodded, as did Tinkerton. “And what is that, your majesty?” Alice wished she could just keep her mouth shut, for once. Blinkem shifted his eyes to her. He was either embarrassed or annoyed.
“Thas’ when the King er’ Queen’s witch advisor steps in to fill’a duties of them monarchs,” Nimmie said, eyeing Blinkem.
So, he had chosen to remain prince and give the witch Tattypoo the power? Alice looked only at him, hoping her burning gaze would prompt him to confess what this all meant, but his eyes avoided hers.
“I’ll tak’ ye North!” Nimmie abruptly said.
“We leave in the mornin’!” Nimmie stood as she drank her full cup of wine in one long gulp.
“I’m goin’ ta get ya some sleepin’ accommodations.
Miss Alice, you’ll come with me. Gents, go ahead and finish up yer pies and wine.
It’s an early start tomorrow.” Alice nodded, finally catching Blinkem’s gaze.
He looked defeated and quickly looked away from her.
Now she felt awful, as she had clearly offended him.
Good rest would do her some good; she was not in control of her feelings in this moment.
Nimmie’s cottage was tidy and warm, and not surprisingly, very small.
It sat directly next to her father, the mayor’s, cottage.
Inside, there was a table, a chair, and a very small stove with a chimney that peeked through the ceiling.
Alice had to duck down slightly to stand inside.
There was no wall space to be seen; Nimmie had books that lined shelves in the circular hut from floor to ceiling.
Her cot pulled down from an alcove, but as Alice was too large for it, it remained retracted.
Nimmie spread quilts and colorful pillows on the floor for Alice to sleep on and left a skylight open for her.
When Alice stood on her tiptoes, she could poke her head right out of it and look across the dirt road to the stable where the men slept.
She tried not to be too curious about that, but looking out of the skylight was irresistible, so she saw the lanterns were out, and she spotted Tinkerton’s feet propped up on the stable gate, and Blinkem curled into a ball near the opposite side of the mini-barn, only the back of his white hair visible, poking up from a blanket over hay.
Nimmie was out patrolling the quiet street. Alice began snuffing out the candles on the bookshelves and the one in the tiny port window of the cottage. Nimmie passed and gave a slight wave to Alice through the colorful glass. Alice adored Nimmie, for she was made of nothing but goodness.
Alice sat down on the nest of blankets. Everything that had previously been impossible seemed real as of tonight. Travel through mirrors. Wonderland. Even the notion that she could be a witch herself.
She drew the watch from its pouch and traced the etching of clovers before pressing the release mechanism.
The cover clicked open, revealing its strange, intricate face.
Beyond the standard hands for time, there were smaller dials with symbols—moons, stars, and an hourglass carved in the same glowing silver lurlicite stone—each surrounded by tiny knobs along the edge.
One of the knobs, slightly tarnished, seemed to have been handled more than the others.
Alice turned it gently, watching as the smaller dials shifted in tandem, the symbols aligning in new ways with each rotation.
Alice frowned, tilting the watch closer to the candlelight.
The second hand didn’t move steadily, instead twitching and jumping unpredictably, then spinning quickly to keep returning to point in the same direction, as if a magnet pulled it to one spot.
A faint hum, barely audible, seemed to vibrate through her fingertips as she turned the knobs further, aligning a crescent moon with a tiny sun.
Her thoughts swirled with questions, but as exhaustion crept over her, her hands stilled.
She closed the watch carefully, returning it to the pouch as her mind grew weary.
Her eyes fought to stay open as the watch quietly hummed.
“What secrets are you hiding?” she asked softly, before drifting off to sleep.