Secrets of the looking g.., p.13
Secrets of the Looking Glass, page 13
Celia was grateful that, even without his imagination, he still had his vocabulary. “Gain control,” she murmured. “Maybe we could use the weapon to force Ty and Lia to rejoin with us.”
“Or cross the board like we originally planned.”
“A clue within a clue.” That made sense. The poem told them what to do, and the acrostic showed them how to do it. With a weapon that powerful, fighting their way through the Red Army’s forces didn’t seem out of the question. “Do you think the vorpal sword is real?” she asked. “A lot of the poem sounds made up.”
Tyrus thought for a moment. “The Bandersnatch and Jubjubs are real. Plus, Ty and Lia seem to know about the sword.”
They both looked at Lia, who appeared ready to explode.
“They’d never let us near the weapon if they found it,” Tyrus said.
Celia nodded. “Which is why you need to use your logic to figure out a way for us to get it first.”
Tyrus’s smile drooped. “My logic hasn’t done us much good so far.”
“That’s not true,” Celia said. “You figured out that we needed to cross the Looking-Glass World, and if you hadn’t stopped us from joining the unicorn, we’d probably be locked in the dungeon with the rest of the Red Army’s prisoners.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I trust you. But do it fast. We don’t have a lot of time.”
They returned Hatta’s hushpuppies and faced Lia and Ty.
“All right,” Celia said. “We’ll tell you what we know.”
Lia rolled her eyes. “Finally.”
“But first you tell us about the vorpal sword,” Tyrus said, holding up a hand when Lia started to complain. “That’s our offer. You tell us what you know, and we’ll tell you what we know.”
Ty looked at Lia.
“Go ahead.” She snorted. “They’re our prisoners, so there’s nothing they can do with the information anyway.”
Ty pushed his glasses up on his nose and cleared his throat. “Vorpal means ‘ravenous blade.’ Vor—from the Latin ‘to eat.’”
“And pal, meaning ‘to impale,’” Tyrus finished. He and his twin nodded approvingly at each other before Ty continued.
“We learned about it in a book of ancient weapons. The sword was nearly four feet long and required two hands to wield. The blade alone was a mirror so perfect, enemy soldiers ran from battle when they saw the morning sun reflected in its surface.”
“But that wasn’t what made it so amazing,” Lia said, her eyes gleaming. “According to the book, the blade was so sharp it could cut an opponent’s head clean off in one stroke. And even if it didn’t, the moment you removed the sword, the weapon would devour not only that person but every enemy around them. If the soldiers were close enough together, it could swallow an entire army.”
Celia felt sick inside. “Where is it now?” she asked, hoping it was somewhere impossible to reach. Charles Dodgson would never want anyone to use a weapon that awful. Not even if it was the only way to get their mirror images back. Not even on the Bandersnatch.
“No one knows,” Ty said. “According to the book, it hasn’t been seen since the War of the Queens started.”
“The man who left you the diary page must have given you a clue,” Lia said. “Now it’s your turn. Tell us what you know.”
Celia didn’t want anyone to find the vorpal sword. But maybe it could be used in a different way, or maybe the information about the sword was wrong. “He mentioned it in a poem.”
Tyrus took Lewis Carroll’s book from his pack and opened it to the right page before giving it to Lia.
Lia looked at the open book, twisted her lips, and handed it to Ty. “You read it.”
“‘Jabberwocky’?” Ty frowned. “What’s that?”
“A monster of some kind,” Tyrus said. “You haven’t heard of it?”
“Never.” Ty shrugged and read the poem out loud.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Celia knew the words were made up, and yet they fit together so well, rolling so smoothly off Ty’s tongue, that they felt real. A faraway world with plants and animals she hadn’t discovered yet.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
Ty paused, looking from the book to Lia, but she waved a hand for him to continue.
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood awhile in thought.
At the mention of the vorpal sword, Lia’s eyes lit up, and she leaned closer.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
Listening to the words again, Celia sensed the strange power she’d felt the first time she read them in the library, as though the words were flying straight off the page and into her brain. She found herself swaying back and forth to the rhythm. Was all poetry like this? If so, why hadn’t she listened to more of it?
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
By the time he finished, Lia had crossed the room and pulled out an enormous backpack. She began filling it with food, blankets, jackets, coils of rope, and other supplies.
“What are you doing?” Ty asked, looking longingly at the book as if he didn’t want to stop reading.
“Whoever killed the Jabberwock—whatever that is—used the vorpal sword to do it,” Lia said. She added a compass, a small canvas tent, and a lantern to the pack. “If we find the Jabberwock, or the person who killed it, we find the sword.”
“We can’t just leave. We have to join Bandy by noon the day after—” Ty began, before looking sharply at Celia and Tyrus as though realizing he shouldn’t have said that in front of them.
Lia clenched her jaw. “Think how much easier it will be to win that battle if we have an unstoppable sword.”
“Or you could use it to take control of the Red Army yourself,” Hatta said, tipping his chair back against the wall. “According to the poem, you might not want to put too much trust in the Bandersnatch.”
“Did someone mention my name?” the Bandersnatch asked from the end of the table.
Celia gaped. Where had she come from? One second the chair was empty, and the next the Bandersnatch was sitting in it, studying the diary page in her hand.
The Bandersnatch pinned Lia in place with a cold gaze. “Going somewhere?”
Lia’s face paled, one hand still in the pack. “I, um, we think we might know where the vorpal sword is, and we were going to get it. For you. To use in the war. But we wouldn’t have left without asking first.”
The Bandersnatch narrowed her eyes. “The vorpal sword is a powerful weapon. You wouldn’t have been thinking about keeping it for yourself, would you? Betraying me?”
Celia snorted. “Because you’re so trustworthy?”
The Bandersnatch glared at her. “Watch your mouth, prisoner.”
“We’d n-never betray you,” Ty said, his voice shaking.
The terrible creature pursed her lips. “So, when I said to either throw your mirror images in prison or kill them, you didn’t offer to help them escape?”
Tyrus whispered into Celia’s ear. “How did she know about that?”
Celia remembered one of the huge black birds taking flight in the courtyard. Was the Bandersnatch using the Jubjubs as spies?
Lia dropped her backpack on the floor. “We only said that so they would tell us what they knew. I’ll take them to the executioner, and then we’ll join you in attacking the White Queen’s castle.”
“I don’t think so,” the Bandersnatch said. “I’ll finish the White Kingdom myself.”
Ty jumped to his feet. “But we’re your generals. You need us.”
The Bandersnatch turned slowly to stare at him, her neck stretching, fangs slipping out from between her lips, as bony wings unfurled from her back. The room grew dim as though she were absorbing the light. “Are you saying I’m not powerful enough to win the war on my own?”
“No,” Ty said, collapsing back into his chair.
He and Lia could call the Bandersnatch by a nickname and talk about how wonderful she was all they wanted, but it was clear they were both terrified of her.
Hatta dropped the front legs of his chair to the floor and stood in one motion. “Respect earned by fear is a crumbling foundation to build a kingdom on.”
“Be quiet, coward!” Lia shouted, her face turning red. “We will be by the Bandersnatch’s side when she turns the White Castle to rubble. People will sing songs of her bravery.”
The Bandersnatch relaxed, her fangs and wings disappearing. “Then prove to me you’re worthy. Fetch me this sword. And take the three of them with you. They might have some use down the road, and I want them watching when the White Queen and King kneel before me.”
“Don’t you mean when they kneel before the Red Queen?” Hatta asked. “Isn’t this her war?”
“That’s none of your concern,” the Bandersnatch said, getting up from the table. “The only thing you’ll see after my victory will be an executioner’s blade.” She stepped through the door but stopped to look back at Ty and Lia. “Don’t make me regret bringing you through the mirror.”
The moment she was gone, Ty wiped a palm across his forehead. “I don’t even know where to start looking for the vorpal sword or the Jabberwock.”
“No,” Lia said. “But I know someone who might. We’re going to talk to . . .”
Chapter 21
The Poets
Celia had seen some odd houses in Wonderland, but compared to the one she was looking at now, they were practically normal.
Set in the middle of a grassy field, a single cobblestone wall no more than a foot or two thick rose thirty feet into the air. There was nothing on either side of the wall to protect, no gate or doorway to get through, but perched on the top was a small cottage with a thatched roof, brick walls, and a chimney with smoke curling from it.
While the front of the house was balanced on top of the wall, Celia peeked around the other side to see that the rest of it hung into empty space, supported by only a scaffolding of crisscrossed wooden beams with rusty nails sticking out everywhere—as though the builder had abandoned the project halfway through.
Tyrus stared up at the rickety-looking structure and gulped. “The poets live here?”
“It gets weirder,” Celia said, pointing to a crooked sign hanging on the base of the wall.
Messrs. Humpty & Dumpty
Poet Laureates of the Looking-Glass World,
Purveyors of insight, Fonts of wisdom, and
Protectors of verisimilitude
“Humpty Dumpty—the egg?” Tyrus asked.
“Eggs,” Lia corrected. “There are two of them. But don’t call them that. Messrs. Humpty and Dumpty prefer to be referred to as ‘organic vessels.’ They spend all day in their house, writing and reading. If anyone knows about the ‘Jabberwocky’ poem, it’s them.”
“I can’t believe we’re going to ask for help from a pair of eggs,” Tyrus said.
“That’s because you have no imagination,” Ty added helpfully.
Celia scowled at Ty. “You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
“He’s not being a jerk,” Lia said. “He’s stating the obvious. Not that the two are mutually exclusive.”
Celia wondered if she had sounded like such a know-it-all to everyone else when she had her logic. “How do we get up?”
Hatta pointed to a wooden ladder hanging from the side of the wall. “With great caution, I should think. And, quite likely, a few splinters.”
Tyrus waved his mirror image forward. “You can go first.”
Ty smirked. “I didn’t know losing your imagination would make you such a wimp.”
“I like to think of it as continuing my education,” Tyrus said. “If you make it to the top, I’ll know the ladder is safe, and I’ll go too. If you fall . . .”
“Whatever.” Ty tossed his pack on the ground, grabbed the third rung of the ladder, and easily pulled himself up.
Hatta sat on the ground, leaning against the wall. “I believe I’ll wait here. I have a terrible phobia.”
“Of heights?” Celia asked.
“Of eggs. I had an unfortunate incident with a frittata.”
As Lia dropped her pack by Ty’s and followed him up the ladder, Tyrus pulled Celia aside. “Ever since we left the castle, I’ve been trying to think like you used to—like Lia does now.”
“Are you saying I was like her?” Celia asked, his words stinging.
“Not the mean, heartless, bossy part. The strategic part. You cut out the fluff and focus on getting results. That’s what makes you so good at math and chess.”
Celia laughed uncertainly. “Thanks, I guess.”
“I mean it as a compliment. Now that I don’t have you to do the planning for us, I’m thinking I could use a little more of that.” He glanced up; Ty and Lia were standing on the narrow front porch of the house. “I don’t think they’re going to take us with them.”
“But the Bandersnatch told them to.”
“As long as we’re useful,” Tyrus said. “But once they can find the sword on their own, how useful will we be?”
Celia drew in a long breath. “Not very.”
“Coming?” Lia called down. “You’ll never find your way back to the White Castle if you’re thinking of running.”
“It’s not that,” Celia said. “Tyrus is trying to work up his courage.”
Lia shook her head dismissively before disappearing into the house with Ty.
“Wow,” Tyrus said. “You’re getting better at lying.”
“I know. And I don’t like it. So, what’s your plan?”
Tyrus dug his notebook out of his backpack and opened it. “According to all the chess books, when facing a stronger opponent with limited options, the best strategy is to strike first.” He quickly pulled open Lia’s pack and took out two coils of rope.
“You want to tie them up?” Celia asked. They’d been in the Looking-Glass World less than a week, and already they were becoming more like their mirror images. Would she and Tyrus be any different than Ty and Lia if the Bandersnatch had erased their memories and kidnapped them six months earlier?
“I don’t want to, but we might have to. Why do you think Lia brought it?” Tyrus asked, hiding the coils under a bush. “It’s not like we’ve done a lot of repelling.”
Celia knew he was probably right, but she hated seeing her friend so serious and calculating. “What happens when they attack us with a pun or a riddle? They’re not going to stand there and let us tie them up.”
“I know.” Tyrus pulled two wadded-up pieces of cloth out of his pocket. “I thought about trying to push these in their mouths, but I don’t think I could do it. Even if I’m pretty sure they’d do it to us. I was hoping you might be able to come up with a better idea.”
Celia could see Tyrus didn’t like this option any more than she did. And wasn’t she the one who’d asked him to come up with a plan? She hoped they’d still like themselves once they managed to combine with their mirror images.
Remembering the White Queen’s advice, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Ty and Lia have your imagination and my logic. They’re better fighters, and they’ve been training for six months. Trying to outwit them should be impossible. But I believe in the impossible.”
“We have to hurry,” Tyrus interrupted. “They’re probably already suspicious of us.”
“I know,” Celia said more harshly than she meant to. “But it’s not like we can tie their voices up the same way—”
She stopped as an image appeared in her head as if it had been there all along. Was this what it was like when Tyrus used his imagination?
She turned to Hatta. “Do you still have those hushpuppies?”
Tyrus broke into a huge grin. “That’s brilliant. If they can only talk to each other, they can’t attack anyone else with their words.”
Hatta reached into his sack and took out the caps. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“No,” Tyrus said. “But if they leave us behind, we’ll never get them to join us.”
“We don’t have any choice,” Celia added.
Hatta shook his head as he gave her the caps. “Choice is the last possession of the pauper who has lost everything else, and yet it is often the first thing the powerful and corrupt choose to sell.”
• • •
Celia climbed onto the front porch of the poets’ house just in time to hear a loud sneeze. A chorus of meows and occasional hisses drifted out the partly opened front door. Her eyes began to itch.
“Are you allergic to cats?” Tyrus asked as she sniffed and rubbed her nose.
“Not that I know of.”
Celia pushed the door open to find a pair of large-bellied men sitting across from each other at a desk littered with stacks of books, ink-smeared paper, and quill pens. Both men wore brightly colored berets on their pointy heads and velvet jackets with high collars. With their jowly chins and sloping shoulders, it was hard to tell if they were actual eggs or only shaped like them.
