The Lost Codex Page 23
Two goddamn hours of this torture goes by, with Doen continuing to inject who-the-hell knows what into Victor’s IV as Biche rams another electrode into his skull. The assholes and their assistants have clipboards out, taking notes like they aren’t brainwashing or doing whatever the hell they’re doing to him. They’re utterly impassive, even stopping to joke with one another a few times.
I’m going to let them do this to me, aren’t I? I’m going to sit in that damn chair, let them pump me full of enough drugs that it’s a miracle I don’t overdose, and then I’m going to let them ram rods right into my skull and spine. And then I’m going to sit back, convulse, and listen to and watch . . . well, I don’t know what.
I stare at the moving pictures, desperate to figure out what they’re inserting into my brother’s brain.
And it’s then that . . . that. . .
I see a flash in the colored blurs of Katrina.
Of me, of our dad.
Of Mary.
Of London, of the Institute in New York.
Of his graduation day from medical school.
They’re showing him his life.
“How did they get them?” My voice is hoarse. “Our family’s history?”
Brom slides an arm around my shoulders. “The Librarian sent most of them, upon my request, but I also emailed some from my private collection during the flights.”
“What is he listening to?”
“Himself.” Brom’s voice is hoarse, too. “Audio from home movies. Katrina reading him stories. Messages from Mary on his cell phone. You two in that ridiculous Abbott and Costello reenactment back when you were still in high school. A lecture he gave at NYU. He’s listening to memories that the mania has obscured.”
“Will I be going through the same thing?”
He briefly closes his eyes. “I don’t know. I expect so. While we don’t have as much information, considering the bulk of your childhood was in your original Timeline, the Librarian and I sent what we could.”
“That’s all well and good, but how do they plan to counter whatever magic has been used against us?”
“Who says they aren’t using magic?”
It’s enough to shift my attention away from my brother. “Are you serious?”
“Science, in some Timelines, walks hand in hand with magic. I doubt these doctors would have agreed to your cases if they did not think they could combat magic in some way.”
“Magic doesn’t work here.”
“You’re too emotional right now to think straight. Magic is not inherently found within this world. But that does not stop magic from other Timelines from working here. How else could the Piper’s music affect us?”
Fine. So they’re probably using magic down there. Magic, a shitton of drugs, and rods jammed into one’s skull.
I take a deep breath. It’s worth it. Magic or no, I refuse to be compromised. Victor didn’t get a choice, and neither do I.
The movies stop. Lights once more illuminate the room. Doen and Biche hover around my brother as the assistants clean him up. Blood streaks his face. A click sounds, and then the thick metal door separating us creaks open.
“Finn?” It’s one of the nameless assistants. “Are you ready for prep?”
I squeeze my dad’s hand and then follow the woman out the door.
LIFE HAS DESERTED NOBBYTOWN. No laughter or shouting streams from the pubs. Lights fail to illuminate windows. Carriages do not trundle to and fro. No one has lit the street lamps.
The White King described the village’s citizens as becoming most unlike themselves, and while I do not doubt his assessment, I cannot help but wonder where exactly these changed souls are.
Are they with Hearts? The Piper? The mere idea of these innocent citizens turned against their wills to become puppets for the Chosen leaves me itching for blades and justice. Nobbytown is under joint Diamonds and White protection, as it straddles both lands. Hearts will pay for daring to subjugate citizens she does not oversee.
Jack smacks his hands against his trousers, desperate to remove all traces of spider webs from our travel through the rabbit hole. Despite his acquaintance with Grymsdyke, he was most alarmed at the presence of thousands of Arachnid guardians swarming the portal between Wonderland and Wales. When we arrived, and the tiny soldiers surrounded us, I wondered if he was close to losing consciousness, his breath heaved so quickly.
Calmer now, he carefully sets one of the heavier bags upon the ground and waves a flashlight about. “No offense, Your Majesty, but your homeland is creepy as all hell.”
Even Marianne fails to chide him for such an assessment. Wonderland can be unsettling, true, but daily life in villages such as Nobbytown does not normally fall under such purviews. But now, as early-morning fog rolls across the cobblestone streets, if specters garbed in shrouded, murky robes of despair and memory were to seep through doors, lamenting days of yore, I would not be surprised.
And still, I yearn to comb through each edifice, to uncover the fates of this village’s citizens.
A cool hand settles upon my shoulder, startling me away from the eeriness before us. “There’s nothing you can do for them here,” the Librarian murmurs.
My breath crystalizes in the heavy air. “These are my people.”
Or they once were, before I was exiled. Now, in my stead, the White King oversees all of Nobbytown as well as the rest of the Diamonds’ region.
“Hope is never entirely lost, not if there are those willing to hold on to it during the darkest times.”
A snap of boots upon stone shatters the morning’s fragility. Our party whirls toward the disturbance, hands upon weapons. Jack shifts in front of Marianne, one arm protectively blocking her. “Don’t worry,” he whispers to our technology expert. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Oi!” Mary hisses. “What about me?”
Mary may not be talented with swords or revolvers, but she is wickedly clever with poisons. The Caterpillar would have grudgingly approved of her.
Jack winks. “Only got one hand.”
Cursing beneath her breath, Mary snatches a dagger from her bag and darts behind me. I hush the squabbling children and direct Marianne and Jack to angle their flashlights in the direction of the emerging footfalls. In their dust-speckled beams, shadows coagulate into a looming figure. Have the Chosen found us so soon?
The Librarian’s shoulder brushes against me. A split-second before I hurl my dagger, the long shadow of a pike emerges, followed by the Five of Diamonds.
I nearly throw the dagger anyway.
The White King’s pikeman snaps a tight bow before slamming his pike onto the ground. “I am at your service, Your Majesty.”
I snatch Jack’s flashlight and wave the beam in the soldier’s eyes. Despite the bright, artificial light, he does not blink.
The orbs are pink, not black.
I pass the flashlight back before sheathing my dagger. “I believe I clearly informed His Majesty there was no need to send an escort.”
He lowers his chin. “As I have sworn a lifelong vow to protect the Queen of Diamonds, I volunteered.”
“Bloody hell!” Jack snaps. “You gave us all a heart attack. You might want to not lurk in the shadows like a vampire quite so much, eh?”
“So says the thief,” Mary mutters.
“I am a pickpocket, thank you very much.” Jack polishes his nails on his coat. “I did my business in broad daylight, I did.”
A talented young pikeman sworn to both the White and Diamonds Courts, I became acquainted with the Five of Diamonds during my first return to Wonderland from exile. Hearts card soldiers had raided The Land That Time Forgot, and in our escape, the Five of Diamonds captured both Victor and myself. After a blistering reprimand from the White Nightrider, the lethal soldier became a valuable ally to have around during skirmishes. He even accompanied the White King and Cheshire-Cat to New York City to aid Finn in removing the boojum in my spine.
Annoyed as I may be, I am also n
ot egotistical enough to turn away an excellent pike during wartime, especially whilst Chosen are scampering about. “Report.”
He snaps to attention, his massive pike reverberating upon the ground. “During the last four hours, during which I have been stationed at this location, I encountered two degenerate children terrorizing a Sheep family with their pipes. As they bore Hearts, rather than White or Diamonds, insignias, I dispatched the tots.”
“Dispatched,” Jack repeats.
The Five of Diamonds’ pink eyes swivel toward the thief. Rather than narrow, they bug out as the soldier grins all too maniacally.
Jack nudges his revolver in the soldier’s direction. “How do we know this lumbering ox ain’t one of them now?”
Upon my shoulder, Grymsdyke scoffs. “A pikeman fall prey to the Chosen? How utterly ridiculous. They are much too quick for music.”
I motion toward the soldier’s pike, which even I, as a queen, dare not touch. “Precious few live to tell the tale against Wonderlandian pikes. I imagine the same can be said for the Chosen. Although, I do wish you might have left one alive for questioning.”
The Five of Diamonds bows once more. “I will endeavor to merely maim next time, Your Majesty.”
Mary laughs. Marianne chokes a bit. She will need a bit of a tougher hide if she wishes to last more than the day in Wonderland.
Not too far from the rabbit hole, on the outskirts of town, is The Land that Time Forgot. Owned by the Hatter, Hare, and Dormouse, and considered by many to be Wonderland’s premier den of sin, indulgences, and raves, I will admit to spending more than one delirious night within the club’s walls. Upon my exile, the Hatter stored many of my prized possessions within his network of secretive tunnels beneath the village.
I press up against the sturdy walls of this familiar building, searching for the thrum of music and voices, but The Land That Time Forgot finally lives up to its name.
“The fate of the proprietors?” I ask the Five of Diamonds.
The soldier’s attention darts to and fro. “All three luxuriate with the haven of His Majesty’s encampment.”
“I hope they are not indulging in,” Mary’s voice drops, “orgies.”
Grymsdyke shifts upon my shoulder. “Of course they are. That is what they do.”
“Well.” Mary’s sniff is far too loud as she jabs Jack with her flashlight. “I suppose you’ll have a grand time with them, won’t you?”
If I did not know him better, I might believe the innocence he attempts to convey. “Me?”
“With the amount this one enjoys copulation,” Grymsdyke says, “they will be fast friends, if not lovers, within a single day.”
Mary clamps a hand across her mouth to contain her howling. I, myself, cough discreetly.
Marianne has the grace to convey bewilderment.
The Five of Diamonds leads our party away from The Land That Time Forgot, angling us toward White lands. The White King’s encampment is not far, but as we travel by foot and not horse, and are bogged down by several bags apiece, the journey will require a few hours of travel through blackened woods and meadows. Our sole luxury comes in the form of a goat-drawn cart borrowed from an abandoned Nobbytown house, used to haul Marianne’s technological equipment.
Our journey clings to silence. Jack stays close to Marianne whilst Mary strides by me. The Librarian keeps her own pace, the Five of Diamonds scouting ahead. Though I know I ought to be ruminating on places the Hearts may hide, my thoughts are steeped in ice and snow and of doctors who best take care lest I come for vengeance against them, too.
“Where is the snoring?” Grymsdyke scuttles back and forth across my shoulders to survey our surroundings. “Where are the bats? The pigeons scouting for serpents? The spiders dining upon early-morning’s offerings?”
I dig myself out of the snow banks and peer more closely at the areas beneath nearby trees where Flowers ought to be dozing. Mary angles her flashlight’s beam into the distance and a sickening thud drops within the bit of my belly.
The ground, the Flowers . . . It all has been scorched. Burned alive.
I confiscate the flashlight and rush toward the grove. All along the road, right where the Flowers ought to reside, are ashy patches. Across the road presents the same scene. Backtracking, the same. Forward, the same.
Why?
Why murder these beautiful, harmless Flowers who did nothing but bring joy to countless lives with their songs and beauty?
I round on the Five of Diamonds, now waiting close by. “Does the White King know of these atrocities?”
“His Majesty is aware.”
The Librarian brushes past us to step off the road, into the dirt beneath a tree. She squats, intent as she peers down at unknown Flowers’ cremated remains. She takes a small bit of the ashes and rubs it between her fingers, head cocked, and then sniffs it.
“If she puts that in her mouth, I will vomit,” Mary hisses. “Just you watch.”
The Librarian does no such thing. Instead, she rises. “They tried to warn the others.”
I block her from stepping back onto the path. “Did the ashes tell you this?”
Her smile is cold. “Get your sharp blades out, Alice. Someone is coming.”
Sure enough, the faint snapping of twigs and branches stands out against the dense silence behind the Librarian.
I motion for the rest to get behind me as the Five of Diamonds whirls his pike. The Librarian grabs his arm; amazingly, when his pike whips toward her, she catches it. The pikeman growls.
She growls in return. “I want him alive. Is that clear?”
There is no possible way she could see whomever is in the woods, let alone determine their sex. The thicket is too dense, the light too poor.
Who is she?
The Five of Diamond’s looks to me. I nod my assent, and the Librarian releases him. She takes her place by my side.
“This isn’t a library,” I whisper between clenched teeth, “and there are no books to tangle with. Stay behind me.”
Her laugh is quiet and menacing all at once. “I take care of myself.”
She tugs something out of her pocket, and when I peer closer, I realize it’s a pestle. Frabjous. She thinks to fight with kitchen instruments?
She is madder than I thought.
I lift an eyebrow, but the Librarian fails to acknowledge my concern. Instead, she waves an expectant hand, as if to chide me for dallying.
Very well, then.
As the Five of Diamonds stations himself and his pike beyond the tree line, the rest hold still until another crackle floats between the leaves. And then–
The first few notes of a dissonant melody.
I bark at the Five of Diamonds, “Go!” at the same time the others clamp their hands over their ears. Marianne brought earplugs for all, but they are stashed within one of her bags. It is no matter, though, for within seconds, three at the very most, a bloodcurdling scream replaces the music.
Wielding her pestle, the Librarian darts into the tree grove after the Five of Diamonds. I charge after her, my blade at the ready. Not too far away, the Five of Diamonds towers over a gasping, bloody youth.
“You fool! I told you I wanted him alive!”
The Five of Diamonds pokes at one of the gashes inflicted by his whirling pike. He tells the Librarian, “He’s alive.”
“Not for long.” She drops to her knees before the youth, slamming a palm against his chest. “Dammit, I did not want to waste any effort on saving one of these bastards! Alice, go get Mary. We’re going to have to stabilize him until we get to the White King’s camp.”
The Five of Diamonds shoves his pike toward the Librarian. “How dare you speak to the Queen of Diamonds in such a way!”
She swats the weapon away as if it were a Rocking-horse-fly rather than a deadly pike. “I will speak to whomever I like any damn well way I please. Get that thing out of my face before I snap it in half.”
Bubbles of blood froth down the youth’s chin.
Precious amounts of healing spray are used to tip the youth’s scales from dire to stable. As the Five of Diamonds uses his pair of wrist cuffs to secure the youth’s hands behind his back, I seethe over the bloody heart stitched into his tunic.
“Think this is one of the Nobbytowners?” Mary asks.
I tear a bit of the youth’s tunic off. Luckily, he is still too dazed from his prior injuries to offer much fuss. “Soldier, open his mouth for me.”
The Five of Diamonds does so. Within we find blackened, rotting teeth.
“Well, that answers my question,” Mary says as I gag our prisoner.
Blessedly, the next hour passes without incident. Apricot rays gleam through the trees just as we reach the crest of the hill overlooking the White King of Wonderland’s encampment.
A horn blares as soon as we are spotted. Soldiers peer out of their tents and turn away from their campfires. A cheer lifts to herald the rising of the sun and the official return of the Queen of Diamonds.
FERZ EPONA AND FERZ Eponi, two of the White King’s most loyal advisors, greet me as soon as I reach camp. Epona curtsies. “May we just say how wonderful it is to see you, my lady.”
“We have ensured that everything is in order for you and,” Eponi notes those standing with me, “your party.” He bows awkwardly. “Excuse me, my lady.” He waddles away, shouting for additional cots to be brought to the main pavilion.
Epona waves an arm toward the large white pavilion holding court in the middle of the encampment. “His Majesty is waiting for you within.”
“There is no need to announce us,” I assure her, but Epona is nothing if not a creature of decorum. She toddles ahead, desperate to inform the guards of our presence.
Around us, soldiers drop to their knees. Many sing my name. The Diamonds banner flutters alongside the White, and my pride aches fiercely at the familiar sight. “Our queen!” they call. “Our queen has returned to us!”
A Goat breaks ranks and trots forward. Upon his left lapel is a bird, a diamond in its beak. I know this Goat. I know this uniform. “Please, Your Majesty. Allow me to carry your bags.”