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“Hey, watch this,” he smirks, pushing a hand through his hair. Hunching his shoulders, a scowl falls over his face and he stares upon me with the same reserved hunger Tweed does. It’s freaky really, but I hold back my laughter. Slinking from the locker room, Cash leads me down a hallway of checked flooring and heart shaped wallpaper. The open archways are framed with gold, flourishes of roses in each corner.
Pocket watch clutched in my hand; the hour hand is yet to move. Cash remains close to the wall, blocking my view as we enter a main lobby. A few playing cards reaching up to ten-feet tall shuffle by, paying us no mind. Their expressions are sunken, their movements so sluggish, I imagine they don’t care either way.
Passing through the entrance, I peer around the varnished double doors on one side, an open exit to the gardens on the opposite and grand staircase against the right wall. Cash grabs my wrist, hurrying me along the next hallway to a door unlike any others. Steel and bolted, secured with a thick chain around the handle. Cash lifts a petite glass bottle on a nearby table, exposing the key underneath and pushes it into the lock.
“S-sir?” the same voice I heard address Tweed drifts down the hallway. A clip-clop of hooves trot closer, the tall piglet on hind legs blushing at the sight of me. Yeah, I’m sure he saw my naked body shoved between Tweed’s and the lockers. Ducking his head into the butler suit he’s wearing; a series of small snorts and a sneeze tickles his snout. “I th-thought”
“Can it PB, or I’ll can you, in pieces with gravy,” Cash snarls. PB flinches, falling back on his curled tail with a squeal. I cringe at the pitch, thankful when Cash pops the door and I enter into the darkness. The hand at my wrist travels down to interlink with my fingers once we’re concealed from view, Cash leading me in the dark.
“Watch your step,” he warns. I slowly feel my way down a stone staircase until Cash grows bored of my hesitation. Whipping me into the cradle of his arms, he jumps the rest of the way. Wind sails through my hair, my lips clamping together to conceal my scream. Landing on the ground gracefully, Cash lowers me and strikes a match against the wall. Lighting a flame torch, a dungeon is displayed before me. Thick bars glint in the flames, the captors not bothering to look our way. I frown, stepping closer to peer into the six cells creating a U around me.
“They’re…” I whisper, unsure if they’re asleep or have just given up on living. Slipping his hand into mine, Cash rescues the pocket watch from my tightened grip before I smash it.
“Playing cards,” Cash answers for me. “Every suit except hearts. Only the hearts are allowed topside.” Piled high, the cards lay on top of one another in stacks to the ceiling high above. Their heads, hands and feet hang floppy, but it’s the last cell I’m drawn to. I approach the mini playing cards. These are vertical, slotting together like vinyl records in a box.
“I don’t understand. Why are the other suits being kept prisoner?”
“They’re not playing cards, not really,” Cash lowers a hand onto my shoulder. “These are all the men missing from the realm.” I gasp, covering my mouth when a few of the mini card’s heads turn my way. Their eyes are bleak, a spark of life returning when they spot me. I crouch low, reaching through the bars to the nearest one. A white gloved hand reaches out, brushing my hand with a silent plea on his lips.
Help me.
“They’re children,” a shudder rolls through me. “I still don’t get why they are here. Just spell it out for me, Cash. No riddles.”
“As you wish,” his hand draws me up and over to a wooden bench facing the cell in the centre. This one houses the animals, hints of tails and pointed ears poking out of the stacks. The bottom card is the biggest, almost the size of the entire cell floor with a thick, scaled tail and head of the missing Jabbercocky.
“I’m sure you’ve wondered why you were ejected from Wonderland all those years ago,” Cash starts, his hand trailing over the thigh of my leggings. My heart thunders in my chest.
“To some, magic is power. To others, it causes jealously. While you were running free in our land, a war was breaking out for which suit should claim you to join their ranks. But someone was smarter. They knew hiding you in the human world would remove you from the clutches of those who would be unstoppable with the magic you demonstrated.”
“But…I don’t have magic,” I shake my head. Sure, I can conjure a cheeseburger or dick in my hand at will, but magic? Give me a break. Cash continues as if my world isn’t tilting on its already precarious axis.
“When you left, the magic of Wonderland began to seep away. Color drained, happiness was a distant memory. And then, something unexpected happened. The men began to grow restless, obsessive. They all sought to find and return you as theirs. They left their wives, abandoned their children. Many fled to the human world to find you, none returned. Hence, Wonderland became Wonderlust.” Cash shifts to brush my hair behind my ear where Stan should be.
“Riddled with those seeking pleasure they couldn’t find. I believe where you come from, it’s called sex addiction. We call it ‘every male on the realm forcing women and creatures to dress as you, wear blonde wigs and fuck them to death. Literally. It was a massacre.” My eyes widen and I look upon the cards in horror. Sadistic assholes with their brains in their ball bags. Yeah, that sounds just like my world too.
“So, the Queen of Hearts placed a curse on all males left, turning them into playing cards and locked them down here to be forgotten. In a bid to have her elected as the single ruler of Wonderlust, she has promised the realm, once she has your head, to return them back to their families. But it’s a lie. She seeks to turn them into her personal army instead, and Tweed will be by her side every step of the way.”
“But the hearts are roaming freely upstairs. They aren’t subjected to…this,” I wave my hand at the cells. Cash nods his blonde hair in the light of the flames.
“The curse worked to declare the suits of those who supported each kingdom. The queen of hearts saw her opportunity to capture those who would refuse to bow to her and contain them indefinitely. Even if your death happens to break the curse, the men will still be trapped and forced to follow her. If not, she already has the people on her side and appears to be the loving queen her mother was not.”
That’s my next question in a long string of curiosity answered. This Red Queen doesn’t appear to be the one I once knew, because she isn’t. She’s the devil’s spawn instead. A long exhale seeps through my parted lips. My brain is scrambled, like eggs in a pan and I shake it in search for some sense. There is none. I don’t have magic, and the one place I was seeking to fit in has just proven that I will never be able to settle down, like the homeless bus-stop bum I am. Those out for my head outweigh the ones that want me. Which right now are Cash, Tweed on a good day and the Hatter I can’t find.
“You said in the hot tub you might know where I can find my next clue. Is it here - is Hatter amongst the cards?”
“I’m afraid not, Crazy one. Follow me, I’ll show you the way.” Cash stands and this time, I don’t need to wait for his hand to be offered. Taking it, we climb the stairs with heavier steps. I peer over my shoulder at the small seven of clubs that held my hand, his eyes seeking mine.
It feels wrong to leave them behind, but what use is freeing them? They would just be re-captured, or worse. Another issue I have to contend with - how to free the cards, return them to men without becoming sex-trafficked along the way and keep my head while doing so. Simple, right?
When we reappear in the hallway, there’s no one around as Cash locks the door and replaces the key beneath the bottle. We slip around the corner of the lobby and jog up the grand staircase, turning right twice and becoming lost to the maze of hallways. Cash’s strides are confident, his steps never faltering as I rush to keep up. The wallpaper bleeds from striped prints to bland, dulled crimson. Cobwebs grow thicker, dust coating the surfaces and I reckon, even without the residents at the festival, this part of the castle is mostly forgotten.
“How do you know the way so well?” I whisper-shout but Cash doesn’t respond. Halting, I crash into his back, peering around at the wooden door he opens with ease. Sunshine streams in from a large, semi-circular window, casting light over the workshop before me.
Much like the Hattery, it’s a mess of disorganized materials. A desk and sewing machine are hidden beneath streams of ribbon, a row of mannequins standing off to the side. Matching jackets have donned the fabric bodies to the hats upon their non-existent heads. Glitter catches the light like disco balls, batting back and forth against the sequins scattered across the floor.
Cash enters first, pushing the fabrics aside with his foot until a metallic sound joins. Closing the door behind me, I investigate. A shackle on a length of chain snakes across the ground and beneath the material Cash has shifted, blood smears the ground. My lungs constrict.No.
“He was here,” I say mostly to myself. Crouching to lift the shackle, I hold it to my chest. It’s pointless to have hoped he escaped any form of torture all this time, but the evidence is still hard to accept. Never has there been a kinder man, so open to offering a little lost soul to join him for tea. The Hatter found me during my first travels to Wonderland, he took me in and made me feel safe. Now Cash has told me of the war, my memories start to make sense and I take that journey, I so often hate, back down memory lane.
