What Goes Up

♠♥♣♦

 

In the large, tiled kitchen at Castle Marmoreal, the sound of a fork clattering onto a plate signaled the end to what had been a ravenous consumption of Thackery's finest for dinner.



Alice Kingsleigh pushed back from her now nearly-gleaming plate and laid an appreciative hand over her a very full belly, a smile on her lips, and eyes closed in absolute contentment.



Beside her, the Royal Hatter, Tarrant Hightopp, smiled fondly at the young woman and dabbed at his mouth with a handsomely embroidered linen napkin.



"I take i' was acceptable ta yehr likin'?" Thackery Earwicket, the March Hare, twitched opposite the Hatter.  If he seemed smug no one could blame him for it.  He'd really outdone himself.



"It hit the spot well enough," Mallymkun the Dormouse replied coolly from atop the stack of books at Thackery’s side.



The White Queen daintily dabbed at her own crimson lips and nodded.  "It was perfectly perfect, thank you."



The Hare twitched with pleasure, humbly waving her praise away.



Evenings like this had been spent in a similar fashion most nights, for the better part of seven months.  The Hatter and his friends had taken a reluctant residency back at the castle, mostly due to the Queen’s insistence, after having been absent for several years during the war.  Tarrant had grown re-accustomed to life outside its shimmering walls, but could not deny missing the calm peace of normalcy and regulation a Royal Hatter enjoyed as a member of Court.  Admittedly, for one like him, whose nickname was ‘mad,’ schedules did wonders for controlling random bouts of mania.

Once established at the castle, his days had been spent fulfilling orders, both Royal and otherwise, viewing and selecting the most fashionable fabrics, bits and baubles, and taking tea with friends on sunny days, or tea alone on rainy ones.  Before seven months ago, on lonely evenings when he’d stand at his small, but graciously accepted balcony, he’d looked out at the dark landscape or dotted stars in a velvety sky, reminiscing about uncertain adventures, and in particular, a fair face with golden curls and chestnut eyes, whose complexion was uniquely suited to flatter the colour blue. 

Then, of course, once their long-missed friend from Above had been thrown into the mix of Marmoreal’s latest residents, he’d had little to no resistance in complying with his sovereign’s wish to stay at the castle.  For once She had returned, to Tarrant, there was nothing better in all of Creation outside its walls while she was within.



"Feeling better?"  the Hatter ventured, looking at the now peaceful Alice to his right.  He’d observed that she could be downright grumpy on an empty belly.



Marmoreal’s lately returned Champion nodded silently, while her hand continued to rub lazy circles over a slightly distended stomach; a movement not unnoticed by the attentive Hatter.

"I could sleep for days now," Mally said.



Queen Mirana sighed with envy at the thought of days filled with nothing but slumber.

Outside, the sun’s light was dimming as it began it's descent into the horizon, and a wall of threatening, purpled clouds had begun creeping across the skies from the East.



"A wind'll be bringin' rain an' all mischief soon, yeh mark."  Thackery said casually, picking at his teeth with a bent butter knife.



At this Alice opened her eyes.  "A walk then before."  She directed her oft-dreamt of chestnut eyes to the Hatter, who had been straightening his cravat.  "Would you like to accompany me?"



His aforementioned article of clothing fairly fluffed with excitement, as any self-respecting Hightopp cravat would do.  Any excuse to do anything with Alice was always a splendid suggestion.  Particularly, if she were the one suggesting it.

"That is an excellent idea," he lisped enthusiastically, leaning forward.

His emerald gaze was absolutely locked upon hers and, shy of a herd of elephants, not much could have distracted the pair from each other.  Therefore, taking their cues, the fellow dinner guests made their excuses, exited the kitchen (Mirana sighing enviously) and left the pair alone to themselves.  The Hatter's blood itself was fairly singing with joy as Alice extended her hand to his proffered arm with a beamish smile, and escorted her onto the cooling lawn.



"It's been a perfect day," he sighed as they rounded a stone corner.  In the distance, a pair of turtledoves softly serenaded unseen.  It struck Tarrant as terribly charming and thoughtful of them.



While they walked, Alice nestled closer.  "It has."  Her fingers absently kneaded the stiff fabric of his velvet jacket, causing him no small amount of delicious torture, and his mind to wander off towards thoughts of Very Pleasant Things.  Things like her lovely Alice hands.  How he admired them.  Unblemished, soft and talented they were.  Those hands had the power to do things as many and varied as slaying a frumious beast, calm an anxious Hare… bewitch a mad Hatter.  He swallowed a sigh.  The things she had yet to understand that she could even do when singularly applied to tasks most unladyli – he shook his head to clear the thought.   How deplorable of him to Wander there.  He snuck a secret glance at her under his white lashes.



The two friends, the Hatter and the Champion, had recently, fantastically! entered into a sort of mutual 'awareness' of the other, one might say, and more than a few people had taken an interest in their developing association.  Least wise themselves, of course.  Increasingly, they had been finding excuses to be near the another.  Alice had taken to spending hours in his workshop every day, listening to him spinning yarns and then wool, laughing and puzzling over his riddles.  He, for his part, positively delighted in her presence and asked dozens upon dozens of questions about Upland, her childhood and adventures on the high seas during her apprenticeship with her father’s company.  It was positively Heaven to be allowed such time together at a pace each could enjoy.  There were no lingering threats or fated goals that needed to be met.  For once, Time was in no rush to hurry them along.  It was, well, simply simple bliss.



Tarrant had been particularly keen on the stories about her time spent aboard the Wonder and the fascinating life of a sailor.  He’d personally never really had much access to neither sea nor ships, and his curiosity was naturally piqued.  Alice, it had seemed, had loved every minute of her time abroad and would happily recount her fondest memories.  Fortunately, (or, at least for him) while she had truly loved those times, she’d eventually recognised that the sea was not where her heart lay, and had ultimately returned to where she was happiest.  Home to Underland.



"Tell me again about the cyclone," Tarrant said as they crossed a field of wildflowers, while above the sky darkened in contrast to his excellent mood.



Alice grinned and patted his arm.  "Well, it was not quite midnight, just off the coast of Sri Lanka, and the waves were battering us quite fearfully.  Taller than even a jabberwocky.  The winds had come up and were such that now and again I’d get blown across the upper deck, even though I’d been securely holding on to secure masts and taffrails.”



Tarrant frowned.  “Why did the captain allow you to remain above?  Surely he knew it wasn’t safe.”



Alice shrugged.  “We were short on crew at the time.  Every hand was needed.  Anyway, I got it into my head that I was quite tired of being blown about like a leaf in autumn, so I tied a rope around my waist and fastened it to the mizzen mast.”



Tarrant giggled at the vivid imagery.  “And how did that allow you to help out as part of the crew?”



The blonde woman smiled.  “It ensured that I would be around to help the following day!”



As they laughed, a large, cold raindrop splashed onto Alice’s nose.  She looked cross-eyed at it, causing another fit of giggles to erupt from the Hatter, and then looked up to see swirling thunderheads above.



“Oh my,” Tarrant said, having followed her gaze.  Two more raindrops fell.  “We had better return to the castle lest our garments get quite offended.”



Before either one of them could turn and do exactly that, however, a low, rumbling sound caught their attention from the other side of the field, and they each stared with fascination.  An invisible wall of wind rushed towards them, blowing and twisting a line of frantic air through the grass as a line of soldiers might advance an enemy.



Alice’s eyes grew wide with excitement, and Tarrant’s narrowed against the impending onslaught.  He leaned forward ever so slightly.  Unconsciously, she gripped his fingers within her own, and when the windstorm hit, squealed with delight as a veritable sea of water rained down upon them from above.  It was as if some giant, unseen hand had pulled the stop from an enormous bathtub draining it right down upon their heads.



Loud claps of thunder followed, echoing across the valley, and Alice jumped in surprise and huddled into him, laughing wildly.



Tarrant looked all around, hardly able to discern which direction was which through the blinding rain, and chuckled helplessly at their conundrum.  Ahead, through a curtain of water, the darkened shape of what appeared to be some sort of service shed beckoned to him, and he raised his voice to be heard above the maelstrom.



“Alice, follow me!”  He led her by the hand, running and jumping over burgeoning puddle seas, giggling with mirth, towards the shed.



Another peal of thunder boomed above when they reached the rickety shack, and they both shouted and ducked inside the presumed safety it offered.  Droplets ran down in rivulets from their skin where they stood together in the relative darkness.  A few gashes of dim light shone between old holes and slats in the wooden walls and weathered beams.  The rushy panting sound of the pair catching their breath, smiles still firmly attached, mingled with the tiny pings of rain against the tin metal roof above, filling the space with sound.



Tarrant removed his top hat to dump out the water that had collected in the brim.  His peacock feathers, and furthermore his clothing, were soaked completely through.  Alice began squeezing water from her limp tresses, still occasionally chuckling, and watched as her friend shook himself like a wet dog.



“That was fun.”



He tutted and glanced upwards to the roof.  “Let us hope it keeps or else we’re likely to shrivel up like dried thrambleberries.”



They took a moment to assess their emergency shelter and let their eyes adjust to the change in light.  Dark silhouettes emerged beneath musty shrouds that must have at one point been white.  A broken manger lay against one wall, a couple of rusted pitchforks leaned against it.  In one corner sat a stack of wooden crates with a large coil of twine atop.



“Is this a tool shed?” she wondered aloud.



“It’s possible,” he nodded.  “Probable.  Likely.”



He bent to retrieve two of the crates, offering one to Alice as a makeshift chair, and they settled in while the rain beat a steady rhythm against the shelter.



“How long do you suppose it will last?”



Tarrant crossed his arms in an effort to warm himself, as it was quite chilly being stuck in sodden clothing without the benefit of sunshine, and sighed.  “That storm looked very serious.  I’m afraid we may be in for a bit of a wait.”



Quiet seconds ticked by until the sound of Alice’s teeth chattering interrupted.  Tarrant’s wild, wet brows furrow.  “We’re both going to catch cold.”



To his mind, their only options were to shuck their clothes or build a fire, and neither seemed like reasonable alternatives.  Although the former sounded awfully intrig–  no, no!  He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.



“Something the matter?”



“Absolutely not,” he said quickly.  Then, “The chill aside.”



She rubbed her arms and clamped her jaw shut as another round of chattering started up.



“Maybe we should play a game?” Tarrant offered.  Perhaps it would take their minds off their present sufferings with a nice, platonic alternative, he reasoned.



Alice looked up.  “What sort?”



He glanced about the shed for inspiration.  “I Spot” seemed too easy given the too few objects in which to spot.



“Perhaps a three word game in which we tell a story?”



She nodded.  “You start.”



He cleared his throat and began with something simple.  “There once was.”



“A dormouse who.”



Tarrant smiled.  “Was the most.”



“Irritating little thing.”



He giggled. “Alice.  Irritating but kind.”



“Usually.  Although not.”



“On even numbered.”



“Evenings in March.”



Together they thusly went, and outside the rain rained and the wind blew.  After half an hour’s worth of giggle-filled stories, to Tarrant’s alarm, he felt sure that Alice’s lips were turning blue.  She stamped her feet, appearing no longer content to ignore the chill.



“Hatter, if I can’t get warm soon, you’ll have to forgive me, but I’m going to strip down and wrap myself up in one of those old sheets.”  She was only partly jesting, he knew, but the idea of her doing such a thing, and so closely-quartered, resulted in the most unpleasant occurrence of him choking and stuttering.



She scooted forward on her knees and slapped him on the back in his distress.  “Are you all right?”



“Yes, of course,” he wheezed, grateful for the cover of shadows in which to hide his blush.  “Dust.  Motes.”



“They are everywhere,” she offered with sympathy.  Her left hand lay upon his knee, and after a mere few seconds she marvelled at the warmth the two of them created.  Her eyes widened and she looked to her hand, and for a brief moment he held his breath when he saw something like an Idea creep into her mind.



“Tarrant,” she said thoughtfully.



He blanched at her use of his first name.  So rarely did he get to hear it from her lips.  “Y-yes?”



“I’ve had an idea.”



Again, he cleared his throat and closed his eyes.  He knew it.  And of course she would entertain it!  Ideas were rather pesky and he couldn’t count the number of them he’d had since their little adventure had begun, much less the numerous and inappropriate little ones that had popped up in the space of a half minute!



“I congratulate you,” he said lightly, feeling faint.



She cocked her head.  “Forgive me if it seems a bit forward, but, desperate times, you know...”



He was certain he was going to pass out no matter the direction.  “I could never not forgive you, Alice.”



She smiled.  “Observe my hand.”



Yes.  She was trying to kill him.  He understood now, for how could he not have observed her hand?  It was still precisely on his person!



“As you wish,” he choked.



“Doesn’t it feel much warmer?”



Lights were popping in front of his eyes.  Hands.  Her hands... “Aye,” he said, lapsing into his native Outlandish burr.



She pressed on.  “I would assume that were we to... nestle... perhaps just a bit, our combined body heat would be more than sufficient to help warm us up, would it not?  It only makes sense, and suffering while sodden seems silly when we’re perfectly able to somewhat remedy the situation.”



“Alice!  Those are many S’s!”  For a moment her fantastic use of alliteration cleared his fevered brain.  Then, of course, he put thought behind the words and swallowed a groan.  There was another ‘S’ word that also jumped-danced-SOARED to the front of his mind altogether.



She leaned forward.  Her round eyes widened in innocence, while his mouth worked silently like a sort of fish.  Which, if he thought about it was appropriate as he was certainly as wet as one.  What were they talking about again?

“What do you think?” she whispered.



‘Ah.’ He found a tiny shred of vocal power and squeaked for clarification, “Nestle?”



Alice smiled and nodded even as she began maneuvering herself closer.



His heartbeat tripled in number and, he was certain, loudness.  Surely she would say something about it.  ‘Tarrant, is that you?’  Or, perhaps, ‘Do you hear drums?’ or even, ‘My God, Tarrant, are you having an apoplexy?!’



“Tarrant?”



He shuddered and snapped back to the present.



“Yes!”  What had she said?



“Good,” she murmured, seemingly satisfied with his answer, and tugged him off his crate.  



He landed on his bottom with a thud, thoroughly surprised.



“Alice, what in Underland are yo–” he instantly silenced when she squirmed her way into his lap, pressing his thighs apart - oh dear Fates his thighs! - and leaned against his chest, sighing with contentment.



Her soggy arms wrapped around his waist, slithering beneath the damp morning coat, and locked hands around him.



She was... and her arms were... which mean that...but why and...Tarrant’s chest was heaving and, funnily enough, he simply could NOT take in enough air.



Deeply, he inhaled, and instantly he regretted it as the very concentrated Scent of Alice enveloped him from nose to brain to heart to... he gulped... groin.



“Alice!” he squeaked again and scooted back away from her.



“What?” she asked in alarm.  “Am I hurting you?”



Again his mouth worked silently while his eyes boggled and shifted from a cheerful bright green to a muted bluish-purple.



“Not in the str- well, yes, I suppose in the strictest sense of the word, but in, perhaps, so many other words, you see, of which there are many, and then sometimes not enough-” and on he rambled.



A sly smirk flashed across Alice’s lips and her eyelids lowered.



“Hatta.  Tarrant?” she whispered, sliding towards him again, a hand very boldly resting upon his thigh, “Are you frightened?”



He could swallow his tongue.  Should, even!  He should just swallow his tongue and that way he wouldn’t have to say another single, damnable thing, and also it might have the lucky effect of killing him so that all of this maddening torture would finally cease deargodsherhandswereslidingupwards!



“Alice!” he gasped, stopping her groping paws from reaching any further.



A moment of uncertainty flared in her lovely brown eyes, and she bit her lip.  Ohhh, what he would give to bite her lip for her NO.



“This is h-h-highly objectionable,” he stuttered.



“To whom?” she murmured and pressed her chest against his suggestively, her resolve having returned.  She dipped her head, and for the sweetest of moments he felt her breath whisper across his lips, and nearly everything within him screamed to grab her and give the girl what she so clearly was after, but!  It was that incorrigible sense of Decency!  He, lone of all the impulses currently residing inside the shell called Tarrant Hightopp, yelled the loudest, and the Hatter turned his cheek at the last second, resting his forehead on her rapidly warming shoulder.



“Alice,” he whispered, voice strained with pent up passion, “you m-mustn’t tempt me.”



She slid a hand up his chest and he hissed at the sudden feel of her warm, no, hot, no, searing lips against his neck.



“It’s just a kiss,” she said against his skin, lips continuing their unexpected exploration.  This time he audibly moaned.



‘That was two,’ he thought.  Didn’t everyone get three chances before the final action, or reaction, or consequence resulted in whatever it may be?



“Nae lass,” he spoke again from deep within his throat, letting his natural brogue run away with him.  At his side his mercury-stained fingers twitched with the need to feel her underneath.  “Yeh canno’ ken wha’ I would do were ya ta give me free rein o’er wha’ yeh ask.”



Alice shivered and panted as his voice did the most delicious things to her inside-y parts.



“Such as?” she whispered hotly against his ear.



Decency was rapidly being beaten to a bloody pulp, and Tarrant growled as her nimble little fingers slipped several buttons of his waistcoat and dress shirt open.



“One more time, Alice,” he croaked in warning.  A hand nevertheless swept up to caress the gentle curve of her waist and her arching back.



She mewled in response, drugging his scrambled wits even more, and wiggled further into his lap.  “Oh, for goodness sake,” she hissed, and forcibly turned his head to press her lips against his.



The Hatter’s last coherent thought was something along the lines of, ‘Well, lad, yeh tried.’ before he descended on her mouth like a man starved.  His rough milliner's hands slid up her back and down before gripping her hips and slamming her bottom into the space between his legs.  Alice gasped, providing the perfect opportunity for Tarrant to invade, to taste her velvety tongue and drink from her as he’d been craving to do for weeks, no, months.



His Alice, his precious, perfect, positively radiant Alice was writhing in his lap, had even been the one to entice him first!  Never in his wildest dreams had he supposed she would take such glorious initiative, and ohhh the feeling of her fingers raking through his hair and across his scalp!



Her breath was sweet and tasted of wine from dinner.  Her warm tongue slid over his and along the roof of his mouth, eliciting a moan that he had absolutely no control over whatsoever.  Interesting, that.  Legs encircled his hips, and he found himself leaning back from her weight as much as he was pressing her ever closer.  The crate at his back had been knocked aside and, in an effort to keep them sitting, he flung an arm out and winced when he hit a very solid object he hadn’t previously taken into account.



“Hatter,” she sighed against his mouth.



“Alice,” he answered breathily.  Heavens but he was drowning in her, but as much as he was enjoying the myriad feelings, sensations, pleasure she was giving him, the Madness within was gaining ground with each passing second.  It didn’t take much for him to lose control, and Alice was being about as Muchy as a thing could get!



One of those clever hands he’d oft fantasised about was working its way back down along his stomach, which tightened in response, and if he’d had a mind to pay attention, could have stopped it’s descent before ultimately reaching that most delicious of locations before -



“Ah!” he gasped and flung Alice aside, more out of habitual response and fear for her safety rather than anything painful or alarming on her part.  The Hatter quickly scurried away from her, panting a symphony, while Alice dazedly blinked across at him from under a tangle of dusty sheets and rubbing the back of her head.



“What on earth?” she breathed, cheeks flushed, slightly annoyed by his reaction.



He choked with embarrassment while struggling to regain control.  The moment her mischievous hand had brushed across his, well, him, thoroughly ambushing him by the way, the Madness had been .02 seconds away from conquering his half-senses completely.  Alice would have stood no chance at all of maintaining her virtue then.



“I-I’m so terribly sorry, Alice, I... it couldn’t be helped,” he stammered weakly.  He twisted and hunched over in order to more comfortably accommodate the fabric straining painfully at his crotch.  Ye gods what had she done to him?  Where was his self-control?  For shame!



She cast a wry grin at him then and rolled her eyes.  “I do hope I don’t have to battle you for a kiss each time I like.”



His heart dropped to his stomach.  Each time???  He blinked rapidly while processing this information.  If she had said what he thought she had, and supposing he were understanding her correctly, Alice had not only forgiven him his most ungentlemanly conduct, and bodily assault, but she... she... he swallowed.  There would be a next time?



She softly giggled at his eyes, which blinked separately, shading back to green from the unsightly yellowish tint they’d just sported, and his silently flapping lips.  Her elbow struck the surface of the object she’d been propelled into, and she glanced up.  After a moment, she cocked her head.



“Hatter?” she asked in that ever-present tone of Curiosity.  “Is that...?”



Detecting a change in topic, he jumped at the chance for distraction.  Much too much to think about too quickly, and if he didn’t find something else to occupy his thoughts he was afraid he’d be tempted to grab her once more and place her back in his lap and at his lips.  No, no.  That wouldn’t do.  Couldn’t do...  With a shake, he jerked his gaze up and stared at the object that had fascinated his Alice.  His long brows arched.  He stared some more.



Eventually, when he found his speaking voice again, he hesitantly replied.  “I believe it is.”



She rose up on shaky legs then and smoothed her skirts.  He followed suit and, despite thinking it a Not Wise decision to move closer to her, felt vaguely compelled to examine the object they’d inadvertently uncovered.



Alice bent forward and ran what Tarrant now knew to be a devious hand along the thing’s smooth surface, surprisingly jealous of the inanimate object and its Alice attentions.



“But what is it doing here?” she asked.  “And could it be one of those types?”



Tarrant circled around the tall object, a hand to his chin in contemplation, and likewise examined the wood.  He pressed an ear to its back and knocked twice.



“Hm.  Well, in reply to the first question, I haven’t the slightest idea.  As to the second, I believe so.”  He looked at it thoughtfully.  “Curious,” he whispered, intrigued.



Alice first looked at him, and then back to the Mirror standing harmlessly in the center of the old shed. He shifted his gaze back to her.  As he watched, he could see at least fifteen more Ideas flitting around behind her eyes while she contemplated its existence and in this odd location.

“Do you suppose it leads back to the castle?”



Tarrant eyed it cautiously.  “Not likely.  It would be a gigantic breach of security.  The guard would not allow it.”  Warily, he glanced back at Alice.  She would, of course, find something as ominous as an unknown Mirror in the middle of nowhere.  Honestly, it was wholly unnerving at just how quickly Alices could find Trouble.  “Perhaps you should step back a bit.  Who knows where it leads to?”  He regretted saying those words the moment they left his mouth, for Alice’s eyes lit up immediately at the prospect.



Anxiously, his fingers fiddled with the limp, barely clinging cravat around his neck (which she had loosened only moments before) and he sighed.  “I must advise against it, Alice.”  He knew full well what she would soon be asking.



“It could be terribly exciting,” she argued.



Oh yes, Mirrors to Anywhere sounded grand at first, but what if that Anywhere turned out to be Somewhere Bad?  And, what if it locked after they’d passed through?  How would they get back?  Not every mirror was meant for travelling by after all, and it was a well-known fact that they were very temperamental.



“If it does lead to the castle we could bypass the storm,” she added.



He shook his head until his hair flopped in his eyes.  “I highly doubt this leads to the castle, Alice.  Let’s cover it back up, shall we?”



Seemingly in response to this suggestion, the shack shook as a mighty gust of wind caused dust to fall from the beams above, and nails to loosen in their beds.



Alice startled, and looked around as the storm appeared to have intensified outside, momentarily forgetting the mirror.  “There aren’t any cyclones in Underland, are there?”



Beyond their precarious shelter, the wind howled something fierce, and they both swore the little shed was rocking back and forth around them.



“I’ve never seen one personally,” he replied and took another step closer to her, Worry forming wrinkles in his brows.  He pulled a damp, embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his forehead.



A tremendous clap of thunder hammered overhead and to Tarrant, it sounded as if the winds had at least doubled in ferocity.  Almost as if... as if it wanted... but no, no.  How preposterous.  The Winds could be fickle, but even They had to concede the wisdom behind not entering mirrors whose destinations were uncharted.



The shed creaked and, for an terrifying instant, raised off on one end, while the sound of what could only be described as a gurgling train grew louder and louder.



“Hatter?”  Alice whimpered, leaning against him in alarm.



Tarrant’s heart thudded with the fear of being swallowed up by something much less enjoyable than Desire, and he wrapped a protective arm around Alice.  He looked back to the mirror.  Perhaps they should if only to escape the storm...



The whooshing train sound grew louder, and objects began thudding against the walls from outside.



They both jumped, the handkerchief went flying, as the branch of a tree collided with the rickety door, knocking it off its rusty hinges, and instantly making up Tarrant’s mind.



He had to shout as the winds roared and threatened to deafen all other sound entirely.  “Alice, let’s indulge your curiosity, shall we?  Take my hand!”

She nodded, while around them the creaking shack shook, the rain pounded, thunder clapped, and the very earth rumbled in terror.



Tarrant tapped the glass and bit his lip as his hand was suddenly swallowed up through the silver.  Next, a foot entered, carefully, and he tapped it around hoping to feel something solid on which to stand on the other side.



“Hatter!” Alice screeched as the whooshing sound grew to a terrible pitch and yet another limb crashed into the side of the little building.



Throwing any remaining caution to the rushing winds, he pushed through, and pulled Alice along with him.  The not-quite-there resistance pressed around him like pressurised wisps of smoke, and for a blissful moment there was only silence.



The next moment, however, he collapsed onto a hard, wooden floor, and yelped as an unexpected spray of freezing water splashed all around him.  Whatever had happened, it was pitch black and, blindly, he grasped for Alice, who was, thankfully, still within his grip.



When he registered that he was still getting wet, he realised that their journey through the looking glass hadn’t worked.  The roar of the wind had also persisted.  Had the roof been pulled away in the second it took for them to pass?



In the dark, Alice slipped and landed atop him, and before he could get his bearings, another spray of water seemed to rain down upon them, while underfoot the wooden ground beneath them rolled back and forth, and unseen objects battered him from all sides.  Tarrant spluttered and coughed, grasping for anything on which to hold still, but the wood below was slippery and he couldn’t gain enough purchase even to stand.



Without warning, the swaying floor suddenly jarred violently, and with another yelp, he and Alice slid forwards, knocking against something hard, and then spilled out with a wash of water into what felt like a much vaster, open space.  No sooner had they realised this when they were instantly assailed by a veritable wall of powerful, freezing water, and more deafening winds and there was a roaring of … something else.



“Hatter!” he heard Alice cry, and he pushed his auburn locks from his eyes and desperately reached for her.  Panic gripped his entire being and he choked when water found its way into his nose and throat.  The ground suddenly pitched forward again, and they tumbled over and over, limbs thrashing, until finally coming to an uncomfortable thud against a wall of sorts.  Alice gasped in pain and he tried in vain to remove his heavy weight from her as yet another wave of frigid water washed over them.  Confusion numbed his limbs and made coordination very difficult though.



“Heave to, ya gutless jellyfish an’ hold that line!”  A voice from far off, or possibly two feet away, one simply couldn’t tell in this weather, cried out.



“Watch the main topsail!” bellowed yet another voice from somewhere else, and in a flash of lightening, the outline of a man at the wheel of - Tarrant blinked - a ship pointed ahead before reaching down to stop the violently spinning, wooden steerage wheel, and groaned with effort to correct its course.



“Alice!” Tarrant cried in shock and confusion.  “Where... what?”



She wrapped an arm around his neck and the other around a column cut out of the railings they had fallen against.  “Just hold onto me!” she said, and braced as a spray of salted water rained down upon them with force.



Tarrant wriggled an arm underneath her and twisted his head around to glimpse their apparent company.  With another flash of lightening, the man at the wheel was shown to be yelling something neither could hear as the wind pulled his words up and away.  A wicked grin exposed a gleam of gold across his teeth, and if Tarrant hadn’t known any better he would have thought this cretin was enjoying himself!



“Hold on, Hatter,” Alice said again, squeezing tightly when the ship pitched yet another terrifying angle.  Tarrant’s stomach flopped in each and every direction ever created, and the surprise at the situation they’d found themselves in (which was quite a bit worse than before) stunned him into silence, but he did as was told.  Ferociously, he clung to Alice, holding his breath as needed, and tried to imagine that they were back at Tulgey Wood enjoying a nice, dry tea time.



Unbidden, the words he’d uttered to Alice not even an hour ago floated back to him.  ‘It’s been a perfect day.’



He’d quite changed his mind about that.



The ship rocked to and fro, and icy, cold water splashed like knives against their thoroughly drenched clothes and skin.  They hung onto one another, literally riding the storm.  In the back of his mind Tarrant wondered if they were somehow near Sri Lanka.



It wasn’t until an eternity later that the worst finally abated, and the ship felt less tossed about like a toddler hurling his favorite toy in the bath.  The deafening sound of waves and wind lessened to a mere dull roar, and in the flashes of distant lightening, Tarrant noticed the figure at the helm had disappeared from view.



As if in response to this realisation, he was shocked to feel the not-quite-crushing weight of a boot suddenly pressed to his neck.  He barely had a moment to cover Alice from danger when, from above, a face hidden in shadow by numerous hanging locks dripping small torrents of water onto the Hatter’s face below, and a voice dark with threat yelled out.



“Mr Gibbs!  Please explain to me why there are two stowaways currently on my ship.”



 

♠♥♣♦

 

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