Playing Hearts (15 page)

A year passed: a year of quietness and
freedom from Underland and its people. And if life and reality felt a little
flat, well, that was only to be expected. Australia just wasn’t as colourful or
as full of life as Underland. I was careful, but the feeling of danger can’t be
sustained over the course of a year when there’s nothing to feed it, and perhaps
I wasn’t careful enough.

It started the way it
usually starts: with a card. It was on my pillow that morning when I woke, its
red pips showing up clearly against the whiteness of the pillow-slip. The Jack
of Hearts. I knew exactly who’d left it, and what would be on the back of it;
but I turned it over anyway. It had been such a long time since I’d seen one.
It said:
You’re invited. It’s a very important date. Don’t be late.
I
gave a soft sniff of laughter: as if I’d go anywhere Jack invited me! I had a
date tonight, anyway. I’d even bought a new dress for it; a green, airy thing
that almost looked like a flapper-dress but was too short to really be one. It
wasn’t warm enough for the night, but I wore stockings by way of compromise,
and a warm little hat that made the ’20s effect even more pronounced. I even
wore high-heels, plain black mary-janes that strapped across my foot and ankle,
and I lightly swung a long, slender-handled parasol between my fingers. The
parasol wasn’t new: I’d found it in the streets by someone’s rubbish. It was
small and purposely raggedy, in faded butterfly colours that delighted me, and
I’d exulted in my find for a full week afterwards. It was no practical use, of
course, but at a pinch it
might
keep off a few snowflakes. I probably
shouldn’t have twitched aside the towel I kept over the bathroom mirror, but it
had been so long, and I wanted to see how I looked. It was my first real date,
and I was nervous. Besides, I hadn’t seen a sight or reflection of the Queen
since last year. I hoped, somewhat worriedly, that she’d given up.

Considering the card, it
might have been wiser to wear flat shoes. Or to think about moving apartments
again, if it came to that. I didn’t do either: I set out at 6.30 exactly, my
hat set at a jaunty angle, and carefully pranced down the street in my heels. I
didn’t have far to walk, and although there was still snow on the ground and
puddles in the street, it seemed safe enough. I was only halfway down Harris
Street by the time I realised my mistake. One card shark segued from beside the
usual homeless man as I passed, and another broke free from the darkened
doorway of the library. I saw them both in the window reflections, and caught
the suggestion of another two or three behind
them
. I knew better than
to look around, but I did begin to walk a little faster. There was no safety in
lights and company: card sharks would push through the crowd and drag me off by
force without thinking twice.

I found myself all but
running down Harris Street, trying to avoid the worst of the slurry and not
quite sure of where I was going except that I needed to shake the card sharks
before I could sneak back home. I entered Harris Park at a good trot, throwing
a swift look around. There were two policemen at the far end, where the park
dipped into a few walking trails that were convoluted enough to hide me from
the sharks while I found my way safely home. They were talking to a woman in a
red business suit who seemed to be pointing in my direction—silly to think
that, but it really did look like it—and they would be absolutely no help. If anything,
they would only provide a few moments’ distraction for the card sharks. That the
distraction would consist of two policemen being eaten alive and kicking was a
fact of which I was very much aware. I desperately wanted to get away, but I
didn’t think I could face the idea of sacrificing two policemen in my escape.

I began to edge slightly
to my left, making for a gap in the trees, and came up against a series of deep
puddles straight ahead that made me veer even more sharply to the left. There
was no way I was going to step through a puddle. Someone was trying to make
very sure I ended up in Underland, and that could only mean something very bad
was about to happen. The policemen had begun a gentle sort of a trot uphill
toward me, and I resigned myself to the path I’d taken. There were too many
puddles behind me to run that way, anyway. I could see a road up ahead: if I
was lucky, there would also be a street in which to lose myself once I was out
of the soft grass.

The soles of my shoes
slapped against wet grass in a frantic, soggy series of squishes. The road was
in my sight, and I hurried to reach it, conscious of the card sharks quickly
gaining on me. I came upon it too suddenly, a sudden drop from grass to curb,
and from curb to water-logged road, and for a moment I teetered on the edge of
the grassy curb with frantically windmilling arms. Cold panic came to my
rescue: I fiercely stabbed at the grass with the point of my parasol and caught
myself just in time. My reflection in the shallow water below was open-mouthed
and wide-eyed. I’d almost fallen in. Back into Underland. Back into madness.
Back into danger.

And if I wasn’t very careful
I could still end up in Underland: the puddle was
massive.
Icy at the
edges, snowy all around, and impinging on the road to fully half way. I’d
jumped bigger, but never in heeled shoes, and
never
in the snow. There
was a good chance I’d break my ankle—or worse, my neck—if I made it across. On
the other hand, broken ankle or not, at least I wouldn’t be in Underland.

A wild look over my
shoulder showed only danger: card sharks to my left; massive, impassable sheets
of water behind me; police sprinting up the hill from the right. I had to jump.
The puddle in the gutter was big, but it was smaller than the shallow oceans
behind me. I threw another look around, my breath misting the air, and leaped.

I saw the pale golden
flash of winter sun on slurried water, felt the bite of the wind on my cheeks.
My parasol snatched at the air behind me, slowing me, but I saw my right foot
splash down safely in snowy slurry. I slipped, and someone caught me tightly around
the waist, warm and strong. I grabbed desperately for his waist with my free
hand, sequins scratching against red velvet.

Red velvet. A splashing
of slurry. A
splashing
.

Oh no.

“Got you!” said Jack.

“Hope I stood on your
toe,” I panted, conscious that my skirt was less than decent and that I was
showing at least one row of lace from my lace undershorts.

“You did,” Jack said. “I
didn’t think heels were your style, Mab. I must say, I really approve.
What
a
delightful dress!”

“What do you want?”

“Far too nice to wear out
for a casual stroll, and those stockings— you’re on a date!”

“What do you want, Jack?”

“I want to know who
you’re dating, for starters! You’re engaged to me!”

“I’m
not
engaged
to you,” I said. “I was kidnapped by your mad-as-a-loon mother when I was three
and she made us trade drops of blood. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I see you liked the
birthday present I sent you,” he said, shrugging off the question for later.
And it
would
come up later. It always did, with Jack. He just liked to
make sure that he held all the aces when he brought it back up.

“What birthday– oh.” The
parasol. I should have realised. It was far too beautiful for someone to simply
leave in the street. And it had matched the dress so perfectly. Suspiciously, I
added: “Did you know what I was going to wear today?”

“I don’t know what you’re
talking about. Why didn’t you come when I sent you the card?”

“I didn’t want to be
stuck in Underland again. You sent card sharks after me!”

Jack’s brows snapped
together. “
Card sharks?
No.”

“Then who–” I remembered
the woman in the red suit, pointing the policemen in my direction. I said
grimly: “Oh.”

“Mother Dearest, I
presume,” said Jack, nodding. He still looked worried. “I was hoping she
wouldn’t find out.”

I stared at him even more
suspiciously. “Find out what? What have you done?”

Was it my imagination, or
did he look guilty? “I may or may not have incited rebellion.”

“You
what
?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he
said, looking away.

“What do you mean you
didn’t mean to?”

“It all happened so suddenly!
There were vigilantes, and people dying, and–”

My mouth must have
dropped open at some stage, because he looked at me and away again quickly, and
added: “Do shut your mouth, Mab. You’ll catch flies.”

“There aren’t any flies
in Underland. Do you mean to say that you’ve done something noble for the first
time in your spoiled little life?”

“I wouldn’t call it noble
exactly. It was more of an accident.”

“Leaving a bloody
handprint on the door?”

“You still remember that,
do you? No, that was in the rules. This is against the rules.”

“Is Hatter safe? What
about Hare?”

“Who do you think
suggested I send for you? They think you might be able to help, and I get the
impression they think you’ll be safer here.”

I couldn’t help the glad
smile that warmed my face, but I also couldn’t help asking: “Is that why the Queen
wants me as well?”

“I imagine so,” said
Jack. He looked actually tired– aristocratically, nobly tired, of course, but
tired just the same. “The timing is simply too coincidental. It could have
something to do with our blood bond, though, for all I know. She’s tricky like
that.”

“You said that was just
an old ceremony!”

Jack pinched the bridge
of his nose. “Obviously I need sleep. I’m beginning to lose track of my lies.”

“You could just try
not
lying,” I said flatly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,
Mab. There’s nothing more dangerous than the truth. I’m not going to go
bandying it about, willy-nilly.”

“This is why you don’t
have any friends.”

“I don’t have any friends
because my mother likes playing with little warm things, particularly the male
ones. It has nothing to do with my veracity.”

“Or your habit of
speaking like you just swallowed a dictionary, I suppose?”

“
Darling
Mab,”
said Jack, smiling coldly. “Always so spiky and morose. Tell me again why your
foster homes never kept you for longer than a few months? Ow!
Must
you
always resort to violence?”

“It’s part of my rules,”
I said. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. Being engaged and everything
.
Wait, how did you know I’d come ho– back exactly
here
, anyway?”

“I didn’t,” said Jack.
“That was also one of your mad little friends: the Hatter sent me a message
yesterday. I didn’t even know you were coming back until then. And if it comes
to that, I’d like to know why you’ve been ignoring my card again. It’s horribly
rude of you.”

“You break into my flats
and leave things on my pillow. That’s creepy.”

“I prefer to think of it
as polite attention. In case you’ve forgotten, we're to be married this year.”

“Oh yes! That reminds
me!” I said, firmly. “Don’t change the subject again: you’ve been lying to me!”

“That injures me, Mab.”

“And so will my fist, if
you don’t start talking. The blooding ceremony when I was a kid– that really
does mean something, doesn’t it? More than just your mad mother deciding that
we’re to be married.”

“I didn’t exactly lie,”
said Jack. “It
is
an old ceremony. It’s just a bit more ah, official
than I may have led you to believe. And a lot more binding when we’re in the
same world.”

“What if I go back to my
own world?”

“That would be a pity,”
said Jack. “You’d miss all the action. Oh, and your knightly friend could die.”

“Sir Blanc! What’s wrong
with Sir Blanc?”

“He’s a lot cleverer than
he used to be, but not quite as wise,” said Jack. “Anyone with any sense would
have hidden himself away after he got his wits back. Instead, it seems that Sir
Blanc has been working with your other friends for the last few years,
travelling all over Underland to meddle with reflections he really shouldn't have
been meddling with. Mother Dearest didn’t realise in time that they’d been
tampered with and before she knew it there was an attack on the Heart
Castle...which I may or may not have assisted.”