Frank Beddor - Seeing Redd

“To attack the queendom from here would be suicide,” muttered the Two Card.

Funny, but what the Two Card most despised about life on this post was precisely what the Four Card appreciated. It was the least likely ever to be attacked. He had seen enough of battle and death.

“I wish you’d stop that humming,” said the Two Card.

The Four Card was about to explain that he wasn’t humming when all at once the forest trees began to whisper-troubled, hoarse whispering. Then he heard it too, a steady hum, approaching fast and growing into a great swell of-

“Incoming!”

He dove to the ground as a cannonball spider smashed into the wall behind him.

The Two Card fumbled with his weapon, unable to get off a single shot before the giant arachnid pricked him with its pincers and he crumpled to the ground, dead.

Not about to become food for some artificial spider, the Four Card scrabbled to his feet and ran, spraying razor-cards from his AD52 in the direction of incoming fire. Whoever his attackers were, they had begun to launch whipsnake grenades; electric coils crackled, hissed, slithered all around him. In the frenzy of the eye-burning explosions and ear-stabbing squeaks of cannonball spiders, he saw the enemy rise up out of the gorge with amazing agility-ordinary-looking Wonderlanders except for the colorless crystal embedded in their eye sockets.

“How’s it possible?”

The Glass Eyes, a breed of fighters manufactured by the maliciously inventive Redd Heart, were supposed to have been destroyed. Their return could mean only one thing: Redd had survived the Heart Crystal and was back in Wonderland.

“I fought her armies once and survived. I’ll do it again,” the Four Card vowed.

He emptied his AD52 at the Glass Eyes. Thwip thwip thwip, thwip thwip thwip thwip. Razor-cards shot

out into the fireworks of battle, slicing through the enemy, dealing death. He dropped behind a bulwark

to reload, was slamming home his last projectile deck into the AD52’s ammo bay, about to take aim, his finger on the trigger, when-

The Glass Eyes swarmed him.

H EART PALACE’S inaugural gala had drawn to a close and the verdict was unanimous: The event had been a success, a sparkling gemstone in the crown of a queen still new to the complexities of party planning. Alyss herself, however, was not pleased, too prickled by her meeting with King Arch to have enjoyed the festivities as thoroughly as her guests.

Why did he have to mention my father?

Indeed, she had never heard her father mention him. But then, why would Nolan have troubled a seven-year-old with matters of state involving an unlikable neighbor-king?

The sudden loss of her father was like living with a wound that would never heal, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day. She’d been so young when she last saw him-in person, that is, because she had seen him twice since his death: once in the Looking Glass Maze, and once in a glass at Mount Isolation’s Observation Dome shortly after Redd’s defeat. But it wasn’t only on Nolan’s account that she was agitated. She had recently realized that any mention of a father caused her to think not only

of him, but also of her other father, the one from her thirteen years on Earth-Reverend Liddell of Christ Church College, Oxford University. Her memories of the Liddells were so much more vivid than anything she remembered of Nolan and Genevieve. But then, she had spent more time with the Liddells than she had with the king and queen whose blood throbbed in her veins.

More than half my life.

Alone in one of the palace’s seven state rooms, Alyss tried to recollect times spent with her beloved parents. But she was unable to concentrate. In her imagination’s eye she watched the walrus-butler supervise the sweeping and hosing of garden paths, the spritzing of sunflowers that had sung their voices ragged, the distribution of leftover wondercrumpets, tarty tarts, and other treats throughout the capital city. She gazed at these things, thinking not of her mother or father, nor of the Liddells, her loving adoptive parents; she thought of Bibwit.

Why didn’t he tell me Morgavia is stockpiling weapons? Or of Unterlan’s troubles with the Ganmede province?

She had felt like an idiot lying to King Arch and feared her ignorance of these matters had showed on her face. Bibwit’s keeping intelligence from her-he wasn’t up to anything diabolical, she knew; only trying

to prevent her from being overwhelmed by the responsibilities that fell to her as queen. The politicking within the queendom was enough to deal with without being burdened by inter-realm squabbles, but…

From now on Bibwit must inform me of everything, every scrap of intelligence, no matter how small or apparently meaningless.

Her imagination’s eye fell on what had once been the Five Spires of Redd construction site. The monstrous edifice had been torn down before its completion, its mottled crystal recycled in the urban renewal projects of the neighborhoods most blighted by Redd’s tyranny. The grime and soot of Wondertropolis had been scraped off a layer at a time until the once radiant surfaces emerged and could be buffed to a sheen. Spangles of luminescent blues again mingled with vibrant reds and dusky golds on

office towers; spires of sunburst hues rose gleaming and incandescent above the rooftops of various government buildings and hotels. The city’s landscape designers had removed all weeds and dead vegetation from the curbside gardens, replanting the same assortment of amaryllis, daisies, and aromatic, blossoming shrubs that had thrived before Redd had sprayed them with Naturcide.

What if Arch is right? What if the entire world should be under the command of a single, absolute ruler and the only way to establish a lasting peace among nations is to make them one nation?

Because there were limits to what she could accomplish with her gift, though who had set these limits even Bibwit couldn’t say. Imaginationwise, she was still learning what she could and couldn’t do.

And probably will be forever.

Alyss’ imaginative eye focused on the new urban resort, Wondronia Grounds, formerly known as Redd’s Hotel amp; Casino. Wondronia offered families a vacation destination without their having to leave the city. For adults there were spa treatments, massages, elegant restaurants, nature hikes through indoor parks

so vast and lush you never would’ve known you were indoors. For children there were smooth quartz water slides, treasure hunts, and Total ImmEX game-play, where boys and girls could inhabit the persona of Hatter Madigan and perform an impressive repertoire of his acrobatic, blade-spinning maneuvers.

Think of mother and father…

But her imagination’s eye, as if independent of her, skipped over Wondertropolis’ holographic billboards, which in Redd’s time had announced nothing but crackdowns on suspected Alyssians and White Imagination practitioners, punishments of avowed dissenters, and incentives for turning in a neighbor or relative as a traitor to government. These same billboards now streamed the latest traffic reports, aired advertisements for White Imagination starter kits and safaris in Outerwilderbeastia. Gone from the streets were the Reddisms that had emanated from overhead speakers. In Redd we trust. The Redd way is the right way. Better Redd than dead. Gone were the speakers themselves. Gone from street corners were the gwormmy-kabob carts and crystal smugglers hawking contraband. Gone were most of the pawn shops and money lenders.

Think of mother. And father. Mother and father…

“Have I really found you alone,” asked a voice behind her, “without faithful Molly attached at your hip?” It was Dodge. He stepped up beside her.