CHAPTER SEVEN: IN WHICH I ATTEND SKOOL "Getting stuck," as I’ve once mentioned, was my way of referring to a condition which had happened to me only on a few terrifying occasions. That particular incident, which occurred while I scrubbed the floors for occupational therapy, was the worst incident of getting stuck that I yet had the displeasure of enduring. It went something like this: first, I found I could not keep up with my work. However much effort I put into it, my body moved as though I were treading through water. I felt dizzy, as one does before fainting, which I at first blamed upon the miasma of the bleach we used to clean. Eventually, I felt the need to beg my supervisor for a break, for fear I would pass out and fall face-first into the vile scrubbing water. But before I had the chance, I had already ceased moving altogether. I found myself frozen on hands and knees, unable to move even my eyes. Come on, I commanded myself. Just move, damn it!But, as always, it was of no use. "Alice?" Myrtle waved ber band in front of my face. "You all right?” No!I would bave shouted it aloud, bad I been able to open my mouth. "You there! Back to worl "The supervisor sounded furious. I'm trying! I really am!But I still could neither move nor speak. Already my eyes burnt and watered with the need to blink. "What do you think you're trying to get away with?” he yelled. It was a great mercy when they finally picked me up and dragged me back to my bed. What felt like several hours (although, in all realistic thought, it must have been less than thirty minutes) had passed before somebody figured out that I was stuck rather than stubborn; after so long crouching= in the same position, I burt all over. Even after being put in bed, I was still trapped in the same pose: lying on my back with my limbs sticking out in front of me. The aching in every bone served as the sole distraction from the combination of panic and boredom that came with this utter helplessness. When occupational therapy ended, and my roommates returned, I was still frozen. Though unable to respond, I beard their voices around me: Would she wake up if we poked her? Doubt it. She's not even moving. Poor girl. That must be terrible. Even lunatics pitied me. Perhaps I really ought to bave died. Perbaps I was already dead. I saw sheet covering my face, as though I truly were at rest in a morgue. But I could open my eyes? Then did that mean I could move otherwise? Experimentally, I twitched my fingers. They moved as I commanded. - 1 lifted the sheet from my face and sat upright. At the sight of my surroundings, I wanted to duck back under it. I was back in Wonderland, still in Yur Mine. The bodies on the mine floor still surrounded me, all covered up with their sheets——the same sort of sheets that covered me. \ As far as I could tell, I was not actually dead. Pity. I propped myself up on my elbows to see the Cheshire Cat just a few feet away: "Well-rested. I presume?" he said.“That’s one way of putting it.” I got unsteadily to my feet. “Let’s just find this school of yours. I can’t stand this place.” In the chaos and darkness, we made our way through the mines unnoticed. The deeper we rode in, (I hijacked a mine cart for travelling purposes) the more abandoned the mines appeared to be. At the end of the track, the cart dropped off a cliff of at least a hundred feet and shattered on the ground. Good thing I'd already bailed. I landed on hands and knees, skinning both in the process. My way had been lit by a lantern secured to the mine cart; without that, I was in utter darkness. I may as well have been blind. I bolted to my feet and checked my pocket to ensure that I still had my knife. I wasn’t about to let any hostile cave creatures ambush me in the dark. “Cat?” I called, brushing the gravel from my hands. “Are you all right?” “Well enough.” I heard paws crunching on gravel. “Can you see anything?” “I smei1 something,” he said. “Nasty school lunches, if I’m not mistaken.” “promising.” I rooted around in my pocket and found a book of matches. It was more or less empty, with only three or four matchsticks in it. I struck one, cringing at the sight of the flame. A damp, musty tunnel came into view. It was quite clearly out of use, but I sawthings left bere and there: old pickaxes and shovels, scraps of cloth and piles of rock. “We'd best find a lamp or a candle,” I said. “I’ve only one match.” Cat and I dug around for a bit. All I came up with was worms and bugs, but Cat managed to sniff out a tiny spherical lantern. After checking to ensure that there was still oil, I lit it, to no avail. “What a useless lamp!” I exclaimed. “I swear this tunnel is darker than before.” “It's a black-lamp.” I caught a flash of Cat’s eyes in the darkness. “An ordinary lamp casts a yellowy-whitish glow, right?” “Yes.” “But when one mixes ink into the flame, it casts a glow as black as night. One of the finer inventions of the Outlandish. Professor. Brilliant man. Also invented the Megaloscope to make elephants easier to transport, and a method of making himself perfectly spherical in order to run faster——"* “--A lamp that makes its surroundings darker?” I said. “Nonsense! What’s the use of that?” Cat shrugged. “I can’t know everything. Pretend you’re an orpban-—Ob! That was rude; you are.” He vanished before I had the time to kick him. I extinguished % “Porkass I shadlts’t oars cst bin off That vras prbil the mast Lafrmation SL wer gettes on. fram bie at once, eren if it didv pertain to to situation,the lamp, and, sure enough, the tunnel lightened a bit. Unfortunately, my match went out moments later. The lamp was just small enough to fit in the pocket of my apron, so I decided to hang on to it. Cat implied that it might be good for something. If nothing else, I could hurt my enemies by throwing it at them. With no light, I had no choice but to stumble along, following the sound of Cat’s paw-steps. After a long while, I spotted some lights in the distance. After an even longer while, a building did indeed come into view. It was built of balf—timbering, like an old Medieval pub. Its structure was so jumbled up and crooked that I could hardly tell where one wall began and the next ended. It bore the effect of being twisted, as though some giant had grabbed it and warped the beams that supported it. It sat atop a giant toadstool, which wobbled rather precariously to and fro. The word “SKOOL” was carved over the front door in dignified lettering. More unsettlingly, I heard children screaming. Perhaps, I thought, they were merely playing--children do tend to yell for no good reason——and refused to give the matter any more thought. I made my way towards the door, and bent down to peer through the keyhole. It was a good thing I did, for the entrance hall had numerous card guards milling about, looking bored and eager for blood. Perbaps I could bave taken them on, but I didn't think it wise to cause a fuss so soon.I paced round the building a few times, and finally managed to pry a few boards from a back window and squirm inside. I found myself in a long narrow corridor. It was warped like the rest of the building, but otherwise quite pleasant-looking. The walls were papered in green, and the floor was of wood so polished I could see my reflection in ft Nonetheless, there was a stink of piss and bleach and all manner of foul chemicals strong enough that I bad to cover my mouth with my apron to keep from gagging. I took a few slow steps down the hall. The sound of my boots on the floor seemed much too loud. A grandfather clock swayed from side to side, ticking noisily. I heard voices coming from the doors along the hall; children shouting, mainly, but no coherent words. Upon peering round a corner, 1 encountered a rather odd child. He was barely dressed in ragged trousers, and he walked in a perfect square, over and over, with his hands held stiffly in front of his face. At first, he appeared to be grinning. On closer inspection, I noted that the corners of his mouth were sliced and screwed into place to form a permanent smile.“By God! There’s a bit more to do than you suggested, don’t you think?” I exclaimed. I felt a little nauseated just looking at the pitiable child... “There's more to do than you could possibly imagine, Alice,” Cat said. “Ab, fantastic.” I was, in all honesty, about ready to turn round and run out just then. But I bad to find that sbrinking-drink and get back to chasing the Rabbit. Maybe then be’d explain a few things. I heard the latch of a door jiggling. Cat vanished. I only just had time to duck into a poorly-lit corner—-a useless hiding spot, I knew even then——before the door opened. In walked a young woman in a neat green dress. She herself was quite pretty, with porcelain skin and a tiny waist, but the children who trailed bebind her unsettled me. Like the boy in the hall, they all had permanent grins carved into their faces, and distant, hopeless looks in their eyes. They wore straightjackets, loosened to allow them to bold bird-shaped croquet mallets; they must have been coming in from recess or physical education. Their heads were shaved, and, as they were identically dressed, they all looked eerily similar. But worst of all were the bizarre implants on their heads. Clamps and measuring devices were the most common, but some were far stranger. One little girl had a railroad spike in eye; I saw it swinging +o and fro as she looked about. The boy bebind her played with a drillpositioned on a clamp above his head, spinning it up and down, in and out of his skull. Blood bubbled up from the wound. Another reached up to scratch his brain; half of his skull had been chiseled away to expose its squishy gray mass. I could not stop myself from giving a little gasp of horror. The schoolmistress (or Skoolmistress, in this case) twisted her head and gave me a long, unblinking stare. Her face did not change as she looked at me, but stayed stiff, like that of a doll. I reached into my apron pocket and fingered the handle of my blade, but stood motionless, waiting for her to speak first. And then she opened her mouth, and in an instant my face was fall of scalding hot steam. I leapt back with a shriek of pain, furiously trying to wipe the hot water from my skin. As the heat blinded me, the Skoolmistress easily knocked me over and began to kick and strike me. By the time I regained my senses, I throbbed with pain all over. With a great deal of willpower, I managed to open my eyes and slash at her shin with the knife. It cut through the bottom of ber dress and struck not flesh, but metal. She had not been hurt at all by my attack. T admit that my courage failed me. I scrambled away on hands and knees until I came upon an open door. I crawled in to find anempty classroom. I bad barely gotten to my feet when I heard the heavy footfall of my attacker. In a panic, I dashed into a closet near the back of the room. I slumped back against the wall and tried to assess my condition, but it was useless. I hurt all over, but it was too dark to see any visible bruises or burns. "Good to see the Vorpal Blade used for something other than Rabbit's imaginary cakes." I bad to cover my mouth to keep from shouting at the sudden appearance of the Cheshire Cat. “Fancy name for a kitcben knife,” I gasped, once I collected my nerves. “Tt has its history,” Cat replied. “I do believe there’s a poem on the subject.” “Well, that 'Vorpal Blade! of yours is doing me no good right now.” I heard erratic knocking on the door and the squeals of a child. Surely the teacher would notice him trying to get in. "Your knife is necessary, but not sufficient,” the Cat said. "Reject only your ignorance, and you may survive." Heavy, mechanical footfalls from outside. I cringed, bracing myself for the Skoolmistress’s next attack. “Want to hear a riddle?" The Cheshire Cat muttered at my ear. "Not now," I hissed. "I'm about to be murdered!” He went on, despite my protests. “When is a croquet mallet like a billy club?"I heard the Skoolmistress striking the door, again and again, until it bent and snapped in two. She grabbed the child, who had been knocking on the door, and shoved bim aside. He dropped bis mallet in the process. “Pll tell you,” said the Cat. “Whenever you want it to be.” I snatched up the mallet and swung it at the Skoolmistress’s head. The head flew off, striking the wall with a clank. I let out a sigh of relief, only to find the automaton’s hands wrapping around my neck. Apparently her head was strictly ornamental. With impossible strength, she lifted me right off the ground, and I found myself quite unable to breathe. My head began to spin, and once again, I felt that terrible emptiness of the chest... I swung the croquet mallet blindly. By some miracle it managed to hit the Skoolmistress’s shoulder. Her grip loosened just enough for me to squirm out of her grasp. I fell to the ground, breathless and weak. The Skoolmistress towered over me, preparing a final strike. Gathering my strength, I managed to take up the mallet once more and strike the creature's knee. The joint bent, gave a horrible creak as she tried to continue walking, and then snapped beneath her weight. She fell to the ground with a clank. Stray gears skittered across the floor. She still attempted to crawl, but her pace was so slow that she was clearly no danger to me. Best to get away from the scene before anyone else found me. I crept along with more caution from then on, keeping to the rugs to muffle my footsteps, and peering into every keyhole before entering. I had the idea to light the black—lamp that I found in the mines, whichallowed me to stay hidden in the shadows, It worked quite nicely. I wasn’t invisible, exactly, but if I ducked into a corner and stood still, I could go undetected by any passing guards or automaton teachers, Isaw many roomfuls of hound up and mutilated children, The staggered about the rooms, while automaton teachers scribbled nonsense on the chalkboards. When I heard another door opening, I was prepared enough to duck into a large library. ‘Tt was an enormous room; three stories high, with a moonlit atrium in the middle, Looking up through the vast skylight, I saw numerous lopsided stars, which was odd, as the Skool was underground. I was tempted to simply sit and browse the books for a while, I had loved being read to as a child, but since then the Fire had destroyed my father's beloved library... ‘The memories struck with such force that they caused me physical pain. I trembled and bit my lip. Again, that terrible impulse came to me; the feeling that the only just outcome was for me to join my family in the crypt. And then the library door creaked open. My shaking breath caught in my throat, and my mind jolted back into the present. Nothing distracts from grief and self-pity like having to fear for one’s life. A quick glance round the corner of a bookcase revealed that my pursuer was merely a child. An enormous metal spike had been drilled right through his shaved head; and recently, too, judging by the blood encrusted all round it. One of his eyes was missing. With the lids stitched open, I saw a damp mass of pink flesh where the eyeball ought to have been, Despite his near-decapitation, the poor child simply wanted to read a book. He squirmed in his straightjacket, trying to reach one, and then attempted to grab the book in his teeth, with even less luck. Who could do this to children? Was this the work of the “Queen of Hearts” of whom so many denizens of Wonderland had spoken? Or had someone else turned sinister during my absence?I knew better than to risk being spotted, and continued to creep deeper into the library. About halfway across, I had the misfortune of stepping on a creaky floorboard. Iheard a murmur of curiosity from the child. Before I bad time to dart elsewhere, he appeared a few shelves behind, staring at me with wide-eyed fascination. I pat a finger to my lips and made a quiet sh noise, hoping he would understand. Quite the contrary. He grinned and came clumsily skipping towards me, and fell over noisily several times in the process. I heard the door open again. The footfalls were too heavy and even to be those of a child. In the quiet of the library, I could even discern a few mechanical clanks. Another automaton. I resisted the urge to run, in fear of startling the child. Looking about me, I noted an iron spiral staircase just a few feet behind. If I could creep up quietly enough, maybe I could buy myself a little more time.* Every Little clank of my feet on the iron stairs echoed enough to make my heart pound. Could the skoolmistress hear me? The child, however, was already squealing and muttering as be staggered after me. 0b God; what would I do if he followed me up the stairs and the skoolmistress went after him? Would I be cornered? I was in no state for another fight. Tia hag of bgng tore” I no rake, rad rarer bare eohede Tin i 4 mma who vary mach aha ofiree at bboy.About halfway up my fears were at least partially relieved. The poor child, with his straightjacket, could not keep his balance up the stairs. Repeatedly, he would take about two steps, fall back to the floor, and then try again. I winced, making a mental note to kill. whomever had put so many children in this sorrowful state. I burried up to the balcony and pressed myself to the wall between two shelves. The skoolmistress's clanking grew closer and closer, and then stopped. I beard a squeal from the child, and looked over the balcony railing to see the teacher carrying bim back out of the library. "A fine stroke of luck you had there." The Cheshire Cat appeared in a plush chair nearby. "Speaking of luck, I believe what you're looking for may be nearby.” "And however would you know that?" I asked. He bopped down from the chair, examining the bookcases. "Some of these books smell like science.” “Science has a smell?" I asked. "Oh, I forgot, you're human," the Cat said. "No sense trying to explain smell to a human." "I see." I scanned the shelves until I came across Basic Science for ‘School, by "The Illustrious Mad Hatter.” I removed it from the shelf and curled up in a plush cbair, only +o discover that the dratted thing wouldn't open! "Treat it as you would a Chinese box or a stubborn 1id; a tap in the right spot should do the trick," The Cheshire Cat said.I picked up the book and inspected it. It was quite plain; I doubted there was a hidden lock or anything of the sort on it. After about five minutes of searching and prodding, I--half on a bunch, and balf out of sheer frustration——tossed it over the railing. Much to my surprise, it popped open as it hit the atrium floor. The Cat's grin widened. "You call that a tap? Lucky I didn't suggest force; you might have pulverised it." I ignored bis smart remarks and hopped down from the balcony to the floor. (I wasn't in the mood to bother with stairs, and my Wonderland self was perfectly capable of pulling off such stunts.) I lifted the book from the floor and flipped through it. It was much simpler than I had anticipated. What passed for “science” in Wonderland consisted mostly of colourful illustrations and nonsensical rhymes. I located this on the tenth page or so: Mashrooms, poppies, sugar and spice; all those things are very nice. When combined, the proper mixture makes a getting-small elixir." An odd concoction, to be certain. A pity I wasn't in the mood for sweets. I made it to science section of the Skool easily enough. The contents of the laboratories, as the Cheshire Cat put it, were"fascinating, if you can stand the vile stench." "Fascinating" was indeed a word that might have described them, though not so well as “horrific” or “disgusting” would. Most of the classrooms contained operating tables, many of which were surrounded by the same sorts of fearsome devices I had seen clamped to the heads of the children. One peek through a keyhole even revealed several children gathered round an operating table, standing on stools in order to reach its surface. In between some of them, I saw the bare feet of yet another child, lying still atop the table. Blood dripped steadily from the side, pooling round a drain in the floor. Though nauseated and trembling, I continued onward until I was fortunate enough to encounter a deserted laboratory. It was quite dark, but for fear of being caught, I dared not to light more than one candle. The entire room stank of chloroform, so badly that I had to cover my face with my apron for quite some time before getting used it. Cat, being mostly invisible, stood watch at the door. I took advantage of the moment of privacy to rearrange my clothing; bulky skirts, of course, were of little use in battle. I tied my hair up into a tight bun so it wouldn’t get in my face so often, and loosened my corset. I opted against discarding it altogether—I'd heard stories of women using theirs as makeshift armour in street fights-—although I moved it to the outside of my dress so I could take it off if I feltfaint. After a bit of hesitation, I tailored my skirts up so they fell in puffy layers about my knees. If people in London saw me like this, they’d think I was mad for certain! But there was something so delightfully primal about baring my knees, like the warriors of old who fought stark naked in the jungles. 0£ course, I wasn’t about to be that scandalous any time soon. With my garments arranged, I began the task of sifting through the lab's cabinets and drawers in search of ingredients. For quite some time I found only a wide assortment of rather unnerving medical equipment; aether masks, scalpels, bone saws and the like. But amidst it all my hand landed on a little glass bottle. I grinned at the sight of a label reading “DRINK ME.” “We're in luck, Cat,” I said, peeping out the door. Cat's head appeared, grinning a bit less than normal. “Perhaps you ought to test it first.” I took his advice, and it was a good thing I did, for the moment I placed a drop upon my tongue, my head went shooting up to crash into the ceiling! I glanced down at myself, to see that I had not at all increased in girth, but ratber stretched out like a lump of chewing gum. “Thank goodness you didn’t drink the whole thing” the Cheshire Cat said. Judging by the widening of his eyes, I must have made for a rather nightmarish sight. Continuing my search through the cabinets was a bit more difficultwhen my fingers were each about eight inches long, but I did bave some good fortune, eventually. I found some spices in a jar labeled “preservatives,” musbrooms growing in a particularly musty cabinet, and sugar placed in a bowl with a dainty little tea set. I suppose even mad children performing experiments on each other need their afternoon tea break. I found no poppies, but rather a dirt-filled pot labeled “POPPY SEEDS.” What a bother! Even if the seeds alone would do for the potion, there was no way I could sift through the dirt with such long and clumsy bands. That thought, however, brought me to another idea. I retrieved the DRINK ME bottle that brought me to my elongated height, and poured it it into the pot, from which sprouted an enormous lollypop. Not quite what I was expecting, but it would do. Poppy, lollipop... ‘They shared one syllable, at least. Stewed up over a burner with a little water, the ingredients soon mixed into a sickly-sweet smelling musb. As unsavory as the scent was, I stuck my finger in and tasted a little to test it. Surely enough, I shrank down a few inches. I poured some into a small (and SS hopefully clean) glass bottle, which I WS eS x slipped into my apron pocket, and then made for the door. I stopped andlistened a moment. It seemed quiet enough. “411 clear, Cat?” I whispered. His grin appeared across the hall. “Quiet so far, but take caution.” “Got it.” I drew my blade and crept down the hall. But the moment I turned a corner, I found myself facing no less than a dozen Cards all at once! Cat-and I wasted no time in turning round +o run; they had better weapons, larger numbers, and the element of surprise on their side. They chased us up to a sort of observatory, where I found myself cornered. I ended up on a high tower atop the Skool, certainly too high to survive a fall from the side. Left with no alternative, I readied my blade and prepared myself for a fight. I succeeded in killing one of the guards by flinging my blade at it. My croquet mallet, however, proved to be less effective on the Cards; it merely bent them backwards. I was forced to bend down to retrieve the knife, at the risk of turning my back to the enemy. One of the guards, dishonorable creatures that they were, took the opportunity to jab me in the back with his spear. I cursed and waved my blade at the nearest guard, but missed. A spear poking out of one’s back is terrible for coordination, not to mention it hurts like the dickens. The truth was, I realised, I couldn't fight in such a condition. Desperate, I took the potion from my pocket and gulped it down. Ishrank quickly, while the spear remained its normal size, andDY ee thus it popped out of my back quite neatly. No larger than a middling-size beetle, I scurried about the guards’ feet and took shelter in a little hole in Bee wal