Part 14 (1/2)

”I don't know,” Lizzie said. ”It just seemed right.”

She flipped through, finding a chapter describing the Tumtum Grove of Wonderland.

”We should get this to Cedar,” Maddie said. ”I'm worried we've been gone too long.”

Lizzie waved her hand at the comment. ”Oh, Kitty isn't that irritating. I'm sure she and Cedar have gotten along just fine.”

”I meant the Jabberwock,” Maddie said. ”And it wanting to get us and... and my...”

Lizzie became aware that Maddie's voice was quavering in the unsettling way that often meant someone was either about to weep or lash out like an army of sharp-toothed and singularly grumpy fairies. Both outcomes were equally unwanted, so Lizzie put a hand on Maddie's shoulder and squeezed softly. She had a speech prepared about the dangers of ill-timed weeping and the awkwardness of fairy violence, but Maddie surprised her by giving her a sudden hug.

”Thanks, Lizzie,” Maddie said.

”You're welcome,” Lizzie said, that warm gooeyness filling her core. What was happening to her? She let go of Maddie and lifted her chin in the air. ”Let's go save the day.”

CEDAR WOOD WAS STILL SMOOs.h.i.+NG BERRIES and mixing them with oil she'd found in Lizzie's shed. Everything she did was boring.

Kitty Ches.h.i.+re was still narrating. What was the point? Maddie wasn't missing anything interesting.

Kitty Ches.h.i.+re decided to make it interesting.

”The paint mixed and ready,” Kitty said out loud, ”Cedar Wood begins to snuffle around on the ground like a pig looking for truffles.”

”I do not!” said Cedar.

”Kitty Ches.h.i.+re disappears.” That part happened. Sometimes this emergency Narrator enjoyed disappearing without reappearing. The in-between-ness felt like bathwater. Like floating. Like being full of soup. ”Clearly, Kitty Ches.h.i.+re had been eaten by the Wonderland Grove Ghost that Cedar Wood knew nothing about. Surely Cedar Wood will be eaten next.”

”I can still hear you talking, Kitty.”

”Alas, the only thing left of people after having been eaten by the Grove Ghost is their voice, howling with sadness.”

”Or howling with madness, in this case.”

This game was hexcellent. And distracting. And helped Kitty Ches.h.i.+re forget the Jabberwock for a few seconds and how even its name stood every hair on her head straight up, and sent tremble-wobbles into her knees, and scared her smile stiff, and how, even though she was far too big now, she longed to curl up on her mother's lap and cry.

Kitty Ches.h.i.+re regretted thinking those thoughts aloud.

Please come back, Maddie.

Lizzie and Maddie burst through the door, slamming it shut on what looked to Cedar like thousands of uncomfortably friendly pencils.

”I didn't think-aloud about the pencils,” said Kitty. ”So that means Maddie is narrating again.”

”You're safe!” said Cedar.

”What did I miss?” asked Maddie.

”Boredom,” said Kitty. ”Talking. Cedar snuffling like a pig.”

”I didn't do that!” said Cedar. ”Kitty just said I did.”

”That's dangerous, Kitty,” said Maddie. ”I read a story about it in the narration book. Once upon a time there was a Narrator who narrated things that he didn't observe, but he was such a powerful and skilled Narrator, the characters actually had to do whatever he said. It was horrible!”

”Like being forced to live out a destiny you don't want?” Cedar muttered under her breath.

”We should get to work,” said Maddie. She clasped her gloved hands together. ”Hold the spoon, did Madeline Hatter just say, aWe should get to work'?”

”That's nothing,” said Kitty. ”I was involved. I volunteered to help.” She shuddered again.

”Maddie is correct,” said Lizzie. ”We don't know how time is moving. We must retrieve the sword and carry it to someone who can wield it, perhaps Headmaster Grimm or Madam Baba Yaga. Surely the White Queen could wield it with panache once she returns.”

”So... where's the book?” said Cedar.

Everyone looked at Lizzie. Lizzie sniffed.

”A large crab ate it.”

”What?” said Maddie.

”I didn't want to alarm you,” said Lizzie, ”but one of the flattish stone slabs in the floor of that last hallway was apparently a flattish stone crab. It seized the book from my hand with one of its pinchers and devoured it.”

”But... but... but...” Maddie couldn't quite seem to talk. The thought of going back through that door made her so nervous the Narrator had difficulty thinking of an appropriate simile. Like she was made of syrup, maybe?

”No matter,” said Lizzie. ”I read the relevant pa.s.sage while we were in the library and now have it memorized.”

She cleared her throat and recited.

An afternoon in the Tumtum Grove is as warm as a tea party. Tufts of white sillyrose seeds float on the breeze. The spicy scent of primposeys mix with the musky purple odor of the resin dripping from the boles of the Tumtum trees.

Flowers are fond of the Tumtum resin and carpet the ground thicker than gra.s.s, drinking it in. The yellow sillyrose on its single, thin stems. The bright blue primposeys with five petals turning up like faces toward the sun. The tiny dots of white snowslips.

The Tumtum trunks are thick and gray, the bark creating long black stripes. Beneath the black soil, roots intertwine. Their canopies touch, branches crissing and crossing so no Tumtum tree stands alone. Their leaves are the size of your palm and perfectly round, and the kind of green that almost sings its color.

In the center of the grove, in the middlemost Tumtum tree, the vorpal sword awaits. Its blade is hidden, thrust into the bole of the tree. Only its crystal hilt sticks out, reflecting the colors of the flowers and waiting to be grasped.

Lizzie continued to recite while Cedar painted on the side of the garden shed, trying to match what Lizzie was describing.

”It's looking almost right,” said Lizzie. ”But it doesn't feel quite right.”

”I'm sorry, I'm doing my best,” said Cedar.

”To make this painting come alive,” said Maddie, ”we might need even more than words.”

From the shed Lizzie fetched a musical instrument. It was cut from rosewood, shaped like a heart, and strung with thin silver strings.

”I didn't know you played the dulcimer,” said Cedar.

Lizzie sniffed. ”I don't. Not in public. So I advise you all to keep this performance to yourselves.”

Sitting cross-legged on the gra.s.s, she placed the dulcimer on her lap. Touching the strings with her left hand and tapping them with a small hammer she held in her right hand, she played a melody that to Cedar's ears sounded strange, somewhat off-key, and yet thickly sweet and oddly beautiful. Maddie felt the song go down her throat like a warm cup of tea and tingle out into her fingers and toes. She didn't mean to cry, but she did. That song was the sound of homesickness.