Seeing Redd

CHAPTER 34

T HE ENCAMPMENT was as rowdy as ever when it happened: the air rent by a scream of such pitch and intensity that every Doomsine fell to the ground in pain and slapped hands, paws, or hoofs over their ears. Wives, soldiers, servants, animals, tailors and tavern keepers, everyone devoted to serving Boarderland’s king collapsed as if punched. And no matter how desperately they tried to stop up their ears, still the unending scream penetrated their skulls.

Having conjured earplugs of appropriate density, Redd Heart walked unperturbed along the encampment’s temporary streets, accompanied by the equally unperturbed Vollrath, Cat, Alistaire Poole, and Siren Hecht. The group might have passed for a wicked ex-queen and friends out for a bit of sightseeing if not for Siren, whose mouth was open to twice its normal size, her vocal cords issuing forth their life-paralyzing vibrations.

Redd sighted Arch’s tent in her imagination and paraded her troops to it. Outside of the tent, two figures were bent to the ground in wincing agony, one of them in elbow-length gloves.

“Knock, knock,” Redd said at the entrance.

Inside, Arch and his intel ministers were foundering on the floor, holding anything within reach to their ears-pillows, decorative crystals, coats. Redd flashed Siren a look; the assassin shut her mouth and the hideous shrieking stopped. Slowly, the intel ministers raised their heads. Arch was squinty-eyed with doubt when he saw his visitor.

“Redd?”

“I realize it’s been a while, Arch, but did I mean so little to you that you don’t even recognize me?” The king reached a hand out to touch her. “No. But you seem…out of focus.”

She was about to slap his ring-laden hand away when Ripkins and Blister stormed in, Ripkins with sword drawn and Blister stretching his bare hands toward The Cat and Alistaire Poole. Without turning from Arch, Redd imagined the handle of Ripkins’ weapon too hot to touch-“Ah!” he cried, and dropped it-and she hurtled both bodyguards backward, out of the tent and across the street, through a wives’ tent, across a second street, through a shoemaker’s tent, across a third street and into a glassblower’s hutch. They crashed through the hutch’s back wall, the whole structure collapsed, and they landed hard

in the rubble of an alley, prevented from getting up by the heavy, iron-like slabs Redd had conjured on top of their limbs and torsos.

Back in Arch’s tent, Her Imperial Viciousness pushed out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “The way you avoided me after mother thought she’d stop me from being queen,” she whined to Arch, “it makes an heiress suspect you’d only been interested in her power and influence.”

“You know that’s not true, Redd,” Arch said, struggling to his feet. “I was as unimpressed with your parents and their government as you were. While you were in line to succeed your mother, they assumed our gallivanting was not-altogether-harmless fun you would outgrow, and I could be as rowdy with you

as I liked. But for me to have contact with you after they removed you from succession…” He shook his head. “They were my most powerful neighbors. For reasons of diplomacy and national stability, I couldn’t do it.”

“And what of my hateful time on Mount Isolation and the thirteen years I ruled Wonderland? What are your excuses for not seeing me then?”

“I should ask about your excuse for not seeing me. I think we’ve been equally guilty in neglecting our relationship-or equally innocent, whichever you prefer.”

Redd grunted, unconvinced. Arch’s intel ministers were still recovering from Siren’s screams, fingers at their ears to try and clear the ringing out of them, but the king himself had taken on his usual aplomb, acting as if he’d never suffered at all.

“You’ve returned at an opportune time,” he smirked. “Alyss has been facing difficulties, Wonderland having recently defended itself against an attack of…Glass Eyes.”

Redd looked painfully gaseous all of a sudden, her face taut in an expression of pleasure. “If anyone else had dared to copy my inventions…” she said. “I see you’ve taken advantage of my absence.”

“Would you care for me if I didn’t? Don’t think I presumed to tamper much with your creations, Redd. Of the Glass Eyes produced here, the only difference was in whose voice they recognized as their authority. But in honor of seeing you again, and in lieu of a fruit basket, allow me to offer you what is left of the manufacturing facility that Lord and Lady Diamond were overseeing in Boarderland.”

Redd cackled. “Arch, it’s impossible to stay angry at you when you’re so devious. But what makes you think I need my old Glass Eyes? I have a formidable army on Earth already assembled-you’re acquainted with the talents of some of my soldiers.” She indicated Siren Hecht. “And I shortly intend to navigate my Looking Glass Maze, which I should have done long ago. It will make me the strongest

Heart in history, and I will then reduce my young niece to an irksome memory. So you and I will again be neighbors. I trust your masculinity isn’t too offended?”

“Wherever a female must be in power, Redd,” Arch smiled, “you are, and have always been, my only choice. For how long can I expect to have the current displeasure of your company?”

Again, Redd laughed. “Not another minute. I’m off to the Valley of Mushrooms.”

“Well then,” Arch said, “let me provide you with an escort to the border, both military and pleasurable, consisting as it will of soldiers and chefs. You don’t need the military help, I know, but it pleases me to offer it.”

One of the intel ministers hurried from the tent to assemble the escort.

Adopting a more intimate tone, Arch stepped closer to Redd and said, “I have Boarderland more thoroughly under control than I once did. After you are again ruling your nation, I hope we can see more of each other.”

“Oh, Archy warchy,” Redd said in a grotesque approximation of tenderness, “we will see more of each other, I swear it.”

Redd and her assassins had been escorted out of the Doomsine encampment, and though Ripkins and Blister were still several blocks away, trying to wrestle out from under Redd’s iron weights, the intel ministers had reconvened in Arch’s tent.

“Is it really wise,” a minister asked, “to try and befriend such a one as Redd?”

“I lose nothing by pretending it,” Arch said, “whereas I risk everything if I don’t. As long as she lives, Redd will cause serious trouble for whoever possesses the Heart Crystal.”

Unseen by the king or his ministers, a shadow flitted past the tent’s entrance, a shadow belonging to someone about to enter but who stopped suddenly when Arch asked, “Homburg Molly is secure?”

“As ever, my liege.”

Moments ticked away as Arch schemed in silence. Then-

“If I had to bet,” he said, “I’d bet that Redd may yet turn out to be stronger than her niece.” “But even her strength,” one of the ministers offered, “maze or no maze, is nothing compared to

WILMA.”

Arch nodded. “It’s sooner than I’d like to put Hatter to my purpose. I wanted to string him along awhile, make him desperate for Molly’s life and weaken whatever rebellious resolves he has in his head. But Redd makes it necessary to take action now.”

The shadow at the tent’s entrance disappeared, the eavesdropper secreting away. “Bring Hatter Madigan to me,” Arch ordered. “It’s time he met WILMA.”