Furthermore (21 page)

Alice heard the foxes scamper off into the distance, the four of them no longer brave enough to fight blindly. When she was finally sure they were gone for good, Alice closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and—with the simple twitch of her mind—reset the colors she'd so fully distorted.

She spotted Oliver instantly.

He was on his back, his arms and legs splayed, his lip bloody—but, thank heavens, he was still breathing. Alice ran to her friend, tossed her ruler to the ground, and pulled him up against her.

She shook him, but he wouldn't wake. She slapped him, but he wouldn't speak. “Oliver, please!” she cried. But he wouldn't stir.

Tears were streaking fast down her face and though she fought valiantly to hold on to hope, she wasn't sure how to fight
this
.

Panic had overtaken her.

Alice was just in the middle of giving Oliver another good shake when her eyes hit upon the ruler she'd dropped so carelessly onto the ground. The inscription in the blond wood was staring up at her.

SNAP IN THREE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

If this wasn't an emergency, Alice was a dill pickle.

She didn't hesitate—desperation had left her no options. She grabbed the ruler, held it in place with her foot, snapped it twice—leaving her with three broken pieces—and cried, “Help! Help! This is an emergency!”

And everything slowed.

The scene before her went soft and blurry, and a moment later, all things froze. The bees went still in midair; sitting birds went silent mid-chirp. Only Alice was free to move, and when she did, she stood up.

A crack, a zip, and an exclamation point later, three extremely thin, ludicrously tall, bright orange doors were set before her. Hung on each door was a different sign:

STEP THROUGH TO FIX YOUR ARM

ENTER HERE TO SAVE YOUR FRIEND

OPEN ME TO FIND YOUR FATHER

And then, in small print under each sign,

CHOOSE ONLY ONE DOOR OR DIE A PAINFUL DEATH

It's a great testament
to the tender heart of our dear Alice that she did not agonize over this decision. Alice Alexis Queensmeadow knew right away what she would do.

(She'd decided to save Oliver, of course.)

Alice would no longer be bullied by the tricks and games of Furthermore. She didn't care what the doors said. She would have her friend
and
her father. (And maybe her arm, too.)

She would find a way.

So she marched right up to the door she'd chosen, turned the knob with great conviction, and tripped—in the most unflattering way—straight over the threshold. With a sudden twist in her stomach and the uncomfortable displacement of her heart to her throat, Alice fell forward, screaming, into a strange sky. She flipped upside down only to tumble right side up only to plummet horribly to her death, and it was only the sound of someone else's blistering screams that so swiftly silenced her own.

Oliver came barreling through the sky like a bullet,
slamming into Alice so hard she nearly knocked her head against his nose. She righted him as best she could and then took hold of his hand, squeezing it tightly, relief and joy flooding through her. She had no idea how much she'd come to care for Oliver until she'd nearly lost him.

“Don't worry,” was the first thing she said to him. “Everything will be alright.”

And Oliver beamed at her.

After ascertaining that he was indeed in one piece and not two, Alice quickly explained everything that'd happened with the fox and her ruler and the emergency doors, careful to leave out the part about things changing colors. (Alice wasn't ready to talk about that yet.) Oliver's head was spinning with the weight of all this frightening new information, but somehow, despite the horrors they'd seen, a huge smile had hinged itself to his cheeks. (Alice had chosen
him
, you see. Alice had chosen to save
him
, and Oliver was euphoric. It was all rather sweet.)

But Alice was thinking of other things now.

The thing was they'd been falling through the sky for quite a long while now, and they still hadn't reached the bottom of anything—and it was beginning to make Alice anxious. To make matters worse, it was taking a great deal of effort to keep her skirts out of her face (and with only one arm, my goodness), and she was growing tired.

“Oliver,” she said.

“Yes?” he said.

“When do you think we'll reach the bottom?”

“Of what?”

“Of . . .” Alice looked around at the emptiness surrounding them. The bluest skies, a couple of clouds, and no sun she could see from where she sank. “Of this,” she said, nodding at nothing in particular. “When do we get to the bottom of this?”

“I haven't any idea,” he said simply. And right then they hit the ground.

Alice and Oliver landed with two great
thumps
, one after the other, the impact rattling their teeth and bruising their knees.

“Right,” said Alice, as she picked herself up off the ground, dizzy and light-headed. She squinted at the scene set before them. “I take it you've never been here before, have you?”

Oliver shook his head.

They were standing in a narrow lane walled in by hedges three times taller than Oliver and packed so densely with roses and lilies and peonies and lilacs (and gardenias and freesia and hyacinth) that the two of them could hardly breathe. The flowers were stunning, but the sweet scent was so intoxicating as to be sickening, and the farther they walked, the more difficult it was to tolerate.

“Well,” said Alice. “I suppose we're about to die, aren't we?”

“You jest,” said Oliver, raising an eyebrow. “But it's entirely possible.”

Alice shot him a halfhearted grin. “Well then, should we down-exit?”

Oliver laughed. “You can't just down-exit your way through Furthermore, Alice. You're only allowed to do it once every five villages.”

“See—how do you even know that?” Alice said, throwing her only hand up in defeat. “I haven't any idea how to go about unearthing information like that.” She sighed, then mumbled, “And anyway I was wondering why it hadn't worked for me earlier.”

Oliver offered her a sympathetic look. “To be fair,” he said, “I've had your father's journals to guide me. I'd have been lost without them.”

Alice sighed, kicked at a patch of dirt, and trudged on. Quietly, she said, “I suppose I've now thrown us entirely off course, haven't I?” She looked up. “I've made a great mess of things.”

“Not at all,” Oliver said brightly. “I know it might not seem like it, but you're doing exceptionally well in Furthermore. Most people don't make it this far.”

“Oliver,” she said, visibly embarrassed, “I tried to make it on my own for five minutes and I had my arm ripped off! The result of which forced us to take an unknown path that ended with our being attacked by a skulk of foxes who nearly bit off your head and forced me to snap my ruler in three.” She put her hand on her hip. “I don't think that makes me any good at this.”

“Well”—he hesitated—“no, maybe you're not an expert, but—”

“Oh, don't bother, Oliver. I'm terrible on my own and we both know it.”

Oliver bit his lip. His mouth twitched.

And Alice couldn't help it: She started laughing.

So Oliver did, too.

The two of them laughed and laughed until tears streamed down their faces, and for just a moment, neither child was bothered by the strange floral lane they walked through or the dangers they'd survived or the ones they'd soon encounter. This was a time of ease and release, and while it was possible they'd sniffed one too many sweet blooms and were unnaturally moved to silliness, it was far more likely that they'd just discovered one of life's greatest tricks: Laughter was a silk that would soften even the roughest moments.

“You're right,” Oliver was saying. “We should probably stick together from now on.”

“Yes, please,” said Alice, still giggling. “I've no interest at all in doing this on my own anymore. And I hope you will at least
try
to stop me if I attempt to abandon you again.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” said Oliver, eyes shining. “I'm so glad.”

Alice smiled.

Oliver smiled back.

Alice was missing an arm, and somehow it didn't matter;
she was much happier now than when she had a spare.

“Alice,” said Oliver, once the laughter had subsided. He was looking at her only hand.

“Yes?” she said.

“Did you really snap your ruler in three parts?”

Alice nodded and, after tugging them out of her pocket, held up the broken pieces for him to see.

Oliver looked suddenly anxious. “You know,” he said, “snapping your ruler like that—that is, I'm terribly grateful—but—”

“What is it?” Alice narrowed her eyes. “What's wrong?”

“It's just—your ruler is a container. If you snap it open, its contents scatter—and you lose all the time you've been allotted. And . . . if you lose all the time you've been allotted, you'll have to live on borrowed time; and if you're caught borrowing time, you'll be arrested for stealing.”

Alice's mouth had fallen open. “Then why does it say to snap my ruler in case of
emergency
?”

“For its own selfish reasons, I suppose. You'd get your emergency sorted out just in time to be carted off for Time Thievery.”

“So I'm going to be arrested?”

Oliver said nothing.

“Oliver!”

“Probably?” He looked anguished. “Maybe? I don't know, Alice, I have no real experience in this matter. Only theories.”

Alice groaned.

“I'm truly sorry. And I could be wrong, you know.”

Alice sighed, defeated, and looked off into the distance. Time had turned against her, and she didn't know how much she had left. “Maybe,” she said, trying not to sound too hopeful, “maybe if I get arrested, you could use your emergency option to help me?”

Oliver shook his head. “I wish I could. But all
Tibbins
are different. Mine isn't the same as yours.”

“Tibbin?” Alice said. “Is that what it's called?”

“Yes. Furthermore likes to pretend its rulings are fair and forgiving, so every visitor is offered one bit of help on their journey through the land. But the help is different for everyone, and it's always decided at Border Control. Once it's been issued, it's inscribed on the back of your ruler. It's called a Tibbin.”

Alice frowned. “How could they know what bit of help I'd need on my journey before I'd even begun?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “How do you think?”

“But, Oliver,” she said, confounded, “using magic to tell the future—they couldn't possibly—”

“Couldn't they? Furthermore does what it wishes.”

“But
happenstance
is the most unstable, imprecise kind of magic—surely even Furthermore would know better than to rely on magic that grants only flickers of the future.”

“You think too highly of this land if you think it wouldn't resort to lowly tactics,” said Oliver. “Remember: Furthermore has no interest in playing fair. They could snatch us up at any moment, Alice. They could kill us right now if they wanted to. Don't you see? We're alive only because they want us to be.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense. Furthermore doesn't want to kill and conquer its meals with no fuss or fanfare. It's far too easy that way—too boring.” Oliver shook his head. “No, this is a land that likes to play with its food.”

“But Oliver,” said Alice slowly, carefully. “Do you think it's possible they're torturing us a bit more than they do most people?”

Oliver's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“Something the fox said to me.” Alice looked away. “He said that Father was charged with suspected espionage. They think he's a Ferenwood spy come to meddle in their magic.”

“
Wow
.” Oliver let out a low whistle. “This is entirely new information to me. But goodness, it would explain a lot.”

Alice looked up. “You think so?”

Oliver nodded. “Your father's early journals never expressed such fear as I've felt on my journeys. It would make sense that your father had done something to anger them; that we were on some kind of hateful watch list as a result—and that our
path would be more intentionally treacherous.” He hesitated. “Which is why I'm now even more concerned that you've used your Tibbin.”

Alice bit her lip. “Is it really that awful to spend it? Have you never used one before?”

“Not ever. I had one the last time I was here, too, but I never trusted it. I don't like accepting offers of help from Furthermore.”

Alice bit her knuckles. She was growing more anxious by the moment. “Well, I had no choice, did I? Anyway what does your Tibbin say this time?”

Oliver didn't even have to look. He'd already memorized it. “
Trust a friend who looks like one
. And I haven't any idea what it means. Gibberish, most likely.”

But Alice had just remembered something.

“Oliver,” she said, “the fox—”

“Yes?”

“The fox said that
very
thing to me. Just before he walked away. First he said
Snap in three in case of emergency
, and then he said
Trust a friend who looks like one.
” Alice frowned. “At first I thought it was nonsense, but now I think he was—”

“Telling you our Tibbins?” Oliver's mouth had popped open. “They're supposed to be private information!”

Alice shook her head. “All the fox said was
We know. We all know
. He also said he knew I was here to find Father.”

Now Oliver looked convinced. “They're definitely watching us. They know our Tibbins
and
they know I lied to them at Border Control. Goodness . . . he was a very helpful fox, wasn't he? I might've even liked him if he hadn't tried to eat me.”

“Me too,” said Alice softly. “He was very kind otherwise. It was all very strange. He was a strange fox.” And then, more thoughtfully, “I do wonder . . . what
do
you think Father was doing here?”

It was a very good question, though perhaps one Alice should've asked sooner. The thing was, Alice hadn't really wanted to think about why Father was here, because she hadn't wanted to believe that Father had left home on purpose. (Alice, you will note, had a bad habit of ignoring matters of unpleasantness in her life [
see also
Alice's fervent denial of her true magical ability], no matter the consequences.) Alice still hoped Father had been trapped or tricked or had been forced to come to Furthermore; she couldn't understand why he would leave her voluntarily nor what he'd hoped to do here, in a land so far from Ferenwood.

“Well,” said Oliver, clasping and unclasping his hands. “It—it could've been for any number reasons, couldn't it?”

“But why was he meddling in Furthermore magic? You don't think he was really a spy, do you?”

“No,” Oliver said firmly. “I definitely don't think he was a
spy. I will say, however, that I think Furthermore is more than a little paranoid.”

“But then why would he come here? Why do visitors
ever
come to Futhermore?” Alice prodded. “What's the draw?”

“Vacation?” Oliver said too loudly. “Perhaps a bit of travel—”

“Oliver, please,” said Alice. “You mustn't hide things from me anymore. I can handle the truth, whatever it is.” She stared at him. “Really, I can.”

“Honestly, Alice.” He sighed. “Your father's motives, I don't truly know. I have only my assumptions.”

“And they are?”