The Collectors' Society 01 (35 page)

The Caterpillar had six hours. I just need to find them within that time period.

I stuff the phone into my backpack. “Then let us depart immediately.”

Victor watches in mute fascination as the card solider collects our weapons and stores them in a small, seemingly bottomless satchel. But the fascination soon turns to anger when the card soldier searches the rest of our bags and then claps all-too-familiar thick, silver bracelets around all four of our wrists. “What in the bloody hell are these contraptions?”

“They’re called wrist cuffs.” I keep my voice calm, lest the card soldier gets spooked. “And if they are removed without the proper card or stray too far from the owner, they will detonate in a rather large, nasty affair.”

He’s horrified—and justifiably furious. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but you better start talking.”

The pikeman snaps, “Follow me.”

His pace through the town, keeping to side streets, doesn’t falter despite ear-deafening roars of what sounds like cannon fire. When we turn a corner into a dark alley, I lift my arms and brandish my wrists to Victor. “These are used to ensure we keep our word.” I lower my voice. “If all goes as planned, they’ll be off shortly. Just bear with them a bit more—better wrist cuffs than death.”

Fading shouts filter through the smoky trees surrounding the town. I’m impressed that Victor isn’t rattled the least by what’s going on. “Would he kill us, though?”

“Oh, without a doubt. Pikemen are notorious for being unyielding in the field.”

“It was the word you said,” Victor murmurs thoughtfully as we jog to keep up with our captor. “That’s what changed his mind. What does it mean?”

“Roughly:
safe passage.
Each monarch in Wonderland has a different one that is subconsciously programmed into card soldiers when they join the military.” My smile is thin. “Had I issued the wrong word, though, one attached to a different monarch, we would have been killed on the spot.”

“I think the two of us could have deflected a single pike. I’ve been in worse situations.”

The card soldier twists his head to look at us. I elbow Victor in the ribs and hush him.

Once the soldier’s attention is back on the route before us, I murmur, “Those pikes are undoubtedly like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Outside of being constructed of a poisonous metal, at the press of a button, the blade open ups, elongates, and whirls like a cross between a whip and a saw. I’ve seen a single pike take down close to ten soldiers in a matter of minutes. If this one has a pike,” I jerk my head in our captor’s location, “it means he’s terribly strong. Pikes don’t go to the weak.”

Victor’s silent as he digests this.

The farther we push into the silvery woods, the dimmer the screams from terrified citizens become. Soon, nothing but the hum of insects and night flowers and the mournful wail of birds press against us. Our only sights are the colorful red and purple toadstools dancing in between the trees and the riots of dozing pansies and lupine littering the floor There is no chattering to be heard.

At least a quarter of an hour goes by before Victor speaks again. “Do you think they’re all right?”

I desperately wish I had that answer. Too many scenarios race around my mind, some abhorrently frightening. If they were captured, if they were to admit knowing me . . .

“They’re resourceful.” I nearly stumble on the angry brambles below my feet; a nearby violet pulls its head up and warns me to watch where I’m going. “If anybody can survive, it’ll be them.” And I pray I am right.

I am not ready to lose sight of my north star.

Victor’s sigh floats up, echoing through the darkened trees and their velvety gray and blue leaves illuminated only by the sliver of moonlight, but he does not press the issue in the company of the card soldier. But I think about his question the rest of our hushed march, all those insidious scenarios taunting me until the panic in my chest is tight and heated.

If they were captured, if they were brought to one of the ruling encampments, all they would have to do is say my name. Just one word. Just two syllables. And then their heads would be forfeit.

Fear tastes so very bitter upon a tongue.

Stay the course, I insist to myself with each step. This is the best hope to find them. We can track one another. I just need to get us to a safe place and with the supplies to do it.

I think back to those last moments with Finn, of how it felt to know I held his confidence and trust. How he believed in me, and was willing to help me defend a land that banished me. Of how he didn’t judge me over the past few months, of how we accepted one another for who we are now rather than who we’re seen to be. I think about all of our conversations, and how we gradually gave each other tiny shards of one another but still have many more that need to be passed over. I think about how, as I stumble through these woods toward my past, it felt to have my mouth on his and his body in mine.

I think about how I’m not ready to let that go yet.

I think about Mary, and of her acceptance and her friendship. I think about how much she and Victor truly love one another, and of how this latest hiccup is just that—a hiccup. They deserve the time to make things right between each other.

I think about how these people took me in, of how quickly I was folded into the Collectors’ Society. Of how these people are tireless in their efforts to protect those who don’t even know of their existences. And of how many lives they’ve saved with no thought toward their own.

I won’t fail them.

I can’t.

T
HE CARD SOLDIER HAD told us it would take two hours to reach the encampment, but by my estimations of the greenish-golden lights of daybreak filtering through the trees, it’s taken much longer than that. So when we finally break through into a large clearing filled with small white tents ringing a larger circle of tents ringing a pavilion, it’s all I can do to stay on my feet.

Dirty, tired soldiers both human and animal mill about, sharpening their weapons around campfires. Eyes trail us everywhere we go, as do murmured words I do not try to pick apart. I’ve got my hood up, but too many have keen eyesight. Let them gossip. It’s not as if I’ll be able to hide myself much longer.

“Blimey,” Victor whispers. “Where are we?”

“This is the current base for the White King.”

Both Victor and I jerk our heads up in surprise. These are the first words the soldier has uttered in hours.

“The White King,” Victor says thoughtfully. “He was a bit of a bumbling oaf, wasn’t he?”

The card soldier whips around, his pike pointed in our direction. I throw myself in between them, my hands held out. “My companion does not know of the White King. His words should not be taken as gospel.”

Muscles around the card soldier’s eyes and mouth spasm. He does not put his pike away.

I repeat slowly, carefully, “Gangan.“

As if he knows his life is suddenly on the line, Victor repeats what he hears from me.

A full five seconds, during which the soldiers surrounding us watch while murmuring furiously, pass before our captor retracts his weapon. “Do not let it happen again. The next time, word or no, I will slay you.”

I believe him.

As we weave our way through the camp, the smell of crisped swallows burns my nostrils and sends my salivary glands into overproduction. I can’t remember the last time I ate. Drank. It was early in the morning, back at the Institute, and even then, all I could manage was a piece of dried toast. Pikemen are incredibly durable, and he provided no relief or rest the entire walk.

We’re led to one of the tents just outside the pavilion. Before the flap is folded back, goose pimples break out up and down alongside my arms. My heart trips over itself; my fingers tremble.

“Wait here,” the card soldier tells us before entering the tent.

Victor is uncharacteristically quiet as he takes in his surroundings. I estimate there are at least four or five hundred soldiers in the encampment, which is a surprisingly low and worrisome number. A thought comes to me, one I never remotely entertained before.

What if things are different? The uncertainties plaguing my chest morph into an iron band.

A pair of old, decorated soldiers walk by, deep in discussion, but the moment they catch sight of me, they halt.

I recognize one of them. More importantly, he recognizes me, having been one of my own. “Son of a jabberwocky,” he whispers. “Can it be?” He drops to a knee, his head bowed. “Today is the most miraculous of days. Welcome home, Your Majesty. May the bells ring in your honor.”

I cut him off immediately. “Thank you, Sir Halwyn. But I must insist you do not announce my arrival.”

“Of course, my lady. Please tell this old knight what he can do for you, though. An item? News? Ask it and it’s yours.”

“I ask that you rise, good sir. I require no prostrations.”

Once more upon his feet, his genial concern is torn away by a snarl. “Who dares to place you in wrist cuffs?” The sword from his scabbard is in his hands in the blink of an eye. “Which scoundrel has done this to you?”

Victor pokes at the tent flap. “The chap you’re looking for is in there.”

“The least I can do is rectify this situation in lieu of the King’s absence.” The knight knocks the flap aside, but I reach out and grab his arm, alarm coursing through me. The flap closes as he steps closer.

“The King isn’t here in the camp?”

He softens at my question. “My lady, he is merely in the field and is expected back shortly. We’ve had word that this night has been a most successful one for His Majesty.”

I ask quietly, “And Her Majesty?” What if the Hatter had been mistaken?

“They have separated across the battlefield in order to utilize the army in the most efficient manner.” He points into the distance, toward the East. “Seventy kilometers yonder lies an identical encampment.”

I bite my lip and peer in the direction indicated. Seventy kilometers is not far at all, unfortunately. “And the Red Queen and King?”

“They have also separated.” He motions first to the North and then to the South. “The Red Queen’s encampment is closest; it has edged about twenty kilometers closer to us these last few days.”

Bloody hell, this has gotten out of control. “And the Heart Court?”

“My lady, we have yet to successfully locate any of their encampments. They are tricky, deceitful buggers, and have splintered into many small pockets to hide within.”

As I process this, he folds the flap of the tent back once more. And then, before I can say anything, the knight bellows, “Who is the bloody imbecile who put wrist cuffs on the Queen of Diamonds?”

I quickly step through the flap, dragging Victor with me. “That’s enough, kind sir.”

Inside the tent is a handful of men and women I am very familiar with, and when their eyes find me, confusion, elation, and terror fill their brightly colored orbs.

Nightrider Quigley, a tall yet aged and distinguished Unicorn, starts in surprise. The rest of the suit does the same. And then, as if on cue, they all drop to a knee (or the equivalent of a knee for those who are animals) before me—all except the card soldier who brought us here. He’s bewildered, his focus flitting quickly back and forth between me and his commanding officers.

The officer next to him yanks him to the ground.

Victor nudges me. “I rather like this. Why couldn’t this other fellow have fallen to his knees before you rather than threaten to slay us?”

The tents occupants rise up when Nightrider lurches upright. “SLAY THE QUEEN OF DIAMONDS?!” Spittle flies from his thick lips. “Five of Diamonds! On your feet, private!”

Five of Diamonds, I muse. How deliciously ironic. “This isn’t necessary,” I say, but a sharp jab from Victor quickly hushes me. He’s taking too much pleasure in seeing our captor get dressed down.

The pikeman quickly scrambles to his feet. His lead officer, a burly Griphon whose feathers have begun to gray, barks, “Explain yourself immediately.”

“These are the prisoners I was telling you about.” The card soldier’s lean body goes taut. “The ones I found in the midst of Queen of Heart’s assault on Nobbytown. They were carrying weapons, sir. None of the ordinary citizens did so.”

The Nightrider’s face turns a mottled shade of red and purple beneath his graying, coarse hair. “Do you have any idea who you have insulted, private? Do you know that your life is forfeit now?”

This has gone on long enough. “I must insist that this soldier was only doing his job, and ceased any attempts on our lives once I provided him with the safe word. I beg of you to release him of any accusations of wrongdoing. I am here, in this encampment, which is exactly where I wanted him to bring me.”

The Nightrider grunts but concedes to my request. “Get those cuffs off immediately.”

I’ll give it to him—the card soldier is stoic the entire time he extracts his card. “Yes, sir.”

Victor’s winsome smile as he thrusts his arms out makes me want to roll my eyes. I bite back a comment about ladies first, and allow him this bit of early freedom. Four quick swipes, though, and the cuffs are off our wrists and back into the soldier’s pack.