The Collectors' Society 01 (36 page)

Victor taps the card soldier’s bag. “Our weapons?”

Without a beat, the soldier tugs them out of his bottomless bag and passes them over.

“If I may be so informal,” the Nightrider says gruffly, “I’m surprised to find you here today, my lady.”

Not as much as I am. “I’m told His Majesty ought to be here shortly?”

“Yes, my lady. I got word via jubjub bird just half of an hour confirming this. May I offer you and your companion some food or drink?”

I smooth my skirts, hating that my hands are once more shaking. “No, thank you. But that reminds me. Gentlemen and gentleladies, I would like to introduce you to a colleague of mine. This is Dr. Victor Frankenstein.”

It’s then I remember his surname is actually Van Brunt, but Victor takes no offense to my bumbled introduction. While hands are shaken, it’s clear the White King’s military advisors have taken an interest in his title. One of my former lead Sergeants says, “We have a medical tent set up, but our staff is currently limited as most were recalled to the White Queen’s camp a few days prior. There are several soldiers who are in dire condition—perhaps we might have the honor of you taking a look at our patients and facilities?”

For a moment, I worry Victor will refuse them. After all, Mary and Finn are still out there, and we have no idea what shape they’re in. But then my friend graciously agrees to do so, even going as far as asking about supplies and conditions.

While he’s talking with the Sergeant and a few others, the Nightrider pulls me aside. “My lady, this is no place for you right now. While our encampment is fairly safe, the battles around us are brutal. With the bounties still placed upon your being, I urge you to find safer quarters.”

I place my hand on the hard metal covering his chest. It’s dinged in far too many places, rusty in others. “I appreciate your concern, but there are things I must discuss with His Majesty before I depart. How bad is it?”

A hoof runs over his face. “May I be frank?”

“Always.”

“The situation is most dire, my lady. The contentiousness between the three remaining courts is most egregious. As far as I know, communication has broken down entirely. As a last resort, the White Court sent a pair of diplomats out a month back, only to have their . . .” Bleakness carves lines on his worn, half-painted face. “Well, my lady, both the Queen and the King received identical boxes bearing severed heads. I suppose you have heard about your Chief Advisor by now. I’m terribly sorry about that, my lady. The Caterpillar was a force to be reckoned with.”

I cannot help the shudder that overtakes me. Things are bad enough back at ground zero—but to hear that conditions in Wonderland have deteriorated to the point they are? “I am most despondent to hear of such an atrocity. Are the Red and Hearts Courts in collusion?”

The Nightrider is grim when he shrugs. “It is a possibility that cannot be ruled out, but His Majesty does not think this the case.”

I glance around the tent, taking in the maps pinned to the canvas walls and the model battlefield and miniature statues that encompass at least half the space. “What does the Cheshire-Cat have to say about all of this?

“The Cheshire has been captured by the Hearts Court.” He’s uncharacteristically bleak. “His Majesty received an inch of tail a month prior, but there has been no word since. We fear the worst, my lady. Despite our best efforts, we have been unable to find him. First the diplomats, then this?”

“And Her Majesty’s Grand Advisor?”

“Also missing.”

Good God. The Hearts are systematically taking out the Chief Advisors.

The Nightrider turns toward the old knight who first recognized me, now guarding the flap alongside the card soldier. “Sir Halwyn. A moment, please.”

The knight jolts to attention, his armor creaking. “My lord.”

“Go to His Majesty’s pavilion and tell the page to ready a pair of rooms for our esteemed guests.”

Sir Halwyn nods before swiftly exiting.

“Five of Diamonds?”

The card soldier instantly turns toward his commanding officer, his body snapping to attention. “Yes, sir.”

“You will be charged with protecting the Queen of Diamonds and Dr. Frankenstein during their stay in the encampment.”

Across the room, Victor goes silent, his eyes widening significantly in aggrieved disbelief.

I head him off the pass, as I’m fully aware of why the Nightrider is assigning this soldier to us. “That is most generous of you, but surely you remember I am well-equipped to protect myself. Dr. Frankenstein is also quite skilled in weaponry.”

“Your skills are indeed legendary, my lady. But I would be remiss if, in the midst of warfare such as we’re seeing, I do not do everything I can to ensure your safety. His Majesty would not wish it any other way.”

Words of dissension tickle my tongue, but then it strikes me a native Wonderlander—and a pike wielder, no less—might come in handy. “Very well. We would be grateful for his service.”

Hi chin juts in the direction of the youth. “Despite contrary experiences you may have had with him today, the Five of Diamonds is one of our better pikemen. He isn’t much of a talker, though. Chances are, you won’t even know he’s around.”

My eyes follow the Nightrider’s over to where the card soldier is standing at attention. “This one is quite young, isn’t he?”

“You, of all people, can surely attest that youth has nothing to do with natural talent.”

I turn back to find the Nightrider smiling wistfully. “You are incomparably sweet, my lord.”

He looks away, voice gruff. “And you have been greatly missed, my lady.”

I do not say anything further. There isn’t any need to, not when my apologies are best served for another’s ears.

A
N HOUR LATER, AND after a quick intake of rations from our backpacks, Victor and I are safely ensconced inside the sitting room of the White King’s pavilion. Never one for extraneous frivolity like his other half, the walls are bare, the floors covered with simple yet comfortable carpets, and the furniture is functional and practical.

This is not lost on Victor. He glances around as he swallows several pills he’s just taken out of an unmarked bottle in his backpack. “This belongs to a monarch?”

My eyes wander over to where the Five of Diamonds is standing, pike at attention as he guards the entrance in. “It does.”

“Interesting.” His lips curve upward before he takes a swig of water. “Who knew that royalty in Wonderland were so frugal?”

I wonder what type of pills he just took. “Not all.”

“But this one is. I suppose I expected extravagance, or at least whimsy.” He wanders over to a draft table filled with a model battlefield almost identical to the one in the Nightrider’s tent. “Do you know this White King?”

A twinge plucks within my chest. “I do.”

“You’re going to ask him for help, aren’t you?”

Sometimes I don’t think I give Victor enough credit. “I am.”

“You think he can help us find the catalyst and Mary and Finn.”

I keep my voice steady. “Yes.”

Our phones have yet to register either Finn or Mary’s movements. Do these blasted machines even work? The waiting is unbearable.

“Can you trust him? I’m sorry to have to ask, but this is my girlfriend and my brother we’re talking about. For all we know, this king will blow us off since he’s got a multi-front war going on.”

A bit of my old madness tickles the back of my throat, because the urge to laugh is strong. I wonder if Mary would be pleased or annoyed to hear him refer to her as such. “I promise you he will assist us.”

“You can’t promise that.”

And yet I can.

I wander over to where he’s standing, and for several long minutes, we simply stare at the figures and scenes below us. He picks up a small chess piece of the Red Queen. “Were you frightened when you left?”

I take the piece from him and run my fingers over the crown jutting off the top of the miniature queen’s head. “Yes and no. I had hoped a multi-front war could be prevented by my leaving Wonderland, but it appears I was wrong. And that saddens me more than you could possibly know.”

He picks up the King of Hearts figurine and stares at it. There’s a distance to his eyes, though, one I can’t help but guess at.

Even though it’s only a hope, I say, “I have faith that your father has found the suspects in our absence.”

“I hope so.” The figurine is placed back upon the table. “Do you think we will get the catalyst?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“I’m lucky, you know. My original Timeline’s catalyst is already safely catalogued into the Museum.” And then, more softly, “It’s sometimes a hard burden to bear in the Society, when so many other Timelines are not as fortunate.”

I think about what Van Brunt told me about his Timeline, and of how Victor and Finn lost Katrina. “You should never feel guilty that your original Timeline thrives.”

“I always ask myself, each time we lose one, was there something more I could have done? Or any of us?”

I can only imagine what a terrible feeling that must be for an orphaned child. “Your father told me about your mother.”

His smile is fragile, and in this moment, Victor looks more like a young boy than a man of thirty-one. “She was the best. The warmest, sweetest, kindest, loveliest woman to ever walk in any of the Timelines.”

He’s a good son to think this.

“To lose her was unbearable. We were all helpless and confused, and here was Brom—strong, in control Brom, and his—
our
—family was gone in an instant.” He runs a hand through his hair as he stares up at the ceiling. “Katrina and Brom wanted children, but they never could, I suppose. She used to tell me when I was a lad that I made her the luckiest mother in all the Timelines.” His chuckle is soft and sad. “She said, ‘You chose me to be your mother. I am so lucky, Victor. The luckiest.’ And I would argue stupidly, ‘I didn’t choose you.’ She would just laugh and smile and assure me I had. ‘You hugged me and kissed me and called me mum. You chose me.’” He lets out a hard breath. “I was the lucky one, you know. I had her since I was just a tot. Finn didn’t join our family until he was a teen. He was a hellion in the beginning, used to freedom and no one requiring anything remotely like responsibilities from him.” His grin is rueful. “The ironic thing is, Brom was just as bad when he was younger. We always teased Finn that, for being adopted, he sure took after his father. For the first year or so, the NYPD and our parents interacted far too often. But Katrina didn’t care about how many times Finn was in trouble with the law. She would tell him, as he raged about, that she loved him exactly as he was. That there was nothing he could ever do that would make her love him less. He was terrified of family, terrified of what it meant because family and the like could be taken away from him. He was quite a nomad in his youth, you know.”

I didn’t, actually.

“I grew up with the Society. Finn hasn’t had as many years as me, as the last published book in his series had him at fifteen. So he couldn’t join the Society until after that.” He shakes his head. “Even though he came willingly to the Society, he still lashed out a lot back then. It’s funny now to think about, considering.”

I’m fascinated by all of this. Huckleberry Finn Van Brunt, a hellion? The polite, kind man whose gentle deeds toward others has endeared him to me? “When did you join the Society?”

He scratches the back of his neck as he considers my question. “Honestly, I can’t remember. I was young and poor, living on the streets with my biological mum. I remember not wanting to go, but she was sick and knew it was a better life for me, especially as my biological father, who I’d never met, was already dead.” A few seconds of pained silence settle between us. “Later on, when I was at University, I had the A.D. track her down for me. She’d died not two weeks after I moved to New York. I think she knew she was dying, so that’s why she gave me up so easily.”

He’d lost not one, but two mothers. “Oh, Victor,” I murmur. “I am so terribly sorry to hear this.”

“Katrina insisted that I spend all of my summers in England, as that was where my father was from. This England and my Timeline’s England are similar, she reasoned. It would be like me holding onto pieces of my past—or at least learning about them. For most of my childhood, she stayed with me in London. Once Finn arrived . . .” He shrugs. “She stayed in New York to help him out. And I went away to college and medical school in England.”

I stare down at my phone, willing it to beep, to show me Finn’s signal. “If you two were separated by an ocean, how did you and Finn grow so close?”

“Who says we’re close?”

“Me.” I nudge his arm. “You two can’t hide it.”

“It just happened. He needed us,” Victor muses, “as much as we needed him.”

I’m glad for it.

“It’s good to have him on my side. There are those in the Society who worry I’ll take up my biological father’s causes and start raising the dead and wreaking havoc. Sometimes I wish I could just change my last name. Frankenstein.” Another bitter laugh surfaces. “What a bloody joke. But it helps that my brother believes in me.”

Uncomfortable memories surface over how, on my first day in the Society, Brom privately expressed to Finn concern over whether or not Victor’s pen truly malfunctioned during editing. “If it’s any consolation, they most likely worry whether or not I’ll lapse back into madness, too.”