Kitabı oku: «Alice in Zombieland / Алиса в Стране зомби», sayfa 6

The Cat stretched, yawning with exaggerated ease. “Mean? Oh, it means everything and nothing, naturally. That's the charm of riddles, Alice. They tell you everything while saying nothing at all.”

“I want to go home,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she stared at the tarnished cap in her trembling hands. The sickly-sweet stench still clung to her fingers, and the memory of the Red King's crumbling flesh made her stomach turn. She gagged, dropping the cap to the ground and wiping her hands frantically on her skirt. Her eyes darted to the King's sunken face, and she froze as his chest rose with a wet, rattling snore.

“Pity,” came a languid voice above her. “You've only just arrived.”

“Who – who are you anyway?” Alice stammered.

“Who, indeed?” said the Cheshire Cat, its grin widening. “Some call me Cheshire. Some call me clever. But most call me when they're lost.”

“I'm not lost,” Alice snapped, her fear giving way to irritation. “I just – ”

“ – don't know where you are,” the Cat finished for her. Its body faded entirely, leaving only the grin behind. “The whole castle is looking for you, you know. Quite the commotion.”

Alice's stomach twisted. “Why?”

The Cat reappeared, lounging on the branch. “Why, indeed? Perhaps because you're important. Perhaps because they need you. Or perhaps… because your Rabbit is in terrible trouble.”

Alice's heart sank. “The Rabbit? What's happened to him?”

The Cat tilted its head, its grin never faltering. “Oh, I shouldn't say. It's far more fun if you find out for yourself.”

Alice clenched her fists. “That's not helpful at all!”

“Isn't it?” The Cat's body faded again, only its eyes and grin remaining. “Follow the path, Alice. Or don't. Either way, they'll find you.”

Alice jumped to her feet, her fists clenched. “Wait! You can't just disappear like that! Come back and answer my questions properly!” she shouted into the darkness.

The Cat's grin reappeared first, hanging in the air like a crescent moon. Its body followed lazily, materializing atop the branch once more. “What's the point of asking questions if you don't like the answers?” it purred.

Alice glared up at it. “I'll like them if they actually make sense! What did you mean about the Rabbit being in trouble? And why is the castle looking for me?”

The Cat's grin widened. “Oh, those are suchbig questions, Alice. Much too big for one sitting.”

Alice stomped her foot. “You're impossible!”

“And you're delightful,” the Cat replied with a mock bow. “So fiery. So full of life. I might have misjudged you,” the Cat added, its tone thoughtful. “You might yet surprise us all. But don't let that get you in trouble and don't linger, Alice. You wouldn't want to end up like him. Just follow the path.”

Alice crossed her arms. “You all keep saying that, but where does it lead?”

The Cat's eyes gleamed. “To tea, of course. And maybe a few answers, if you ask the right questions.”

“And what about this place?” Alice demanded. “What is it?”

The Cat stretched, its tail flicking lazily. “It's home to some. A trap for others. Call it Wonderland, if it pleases you. Or call it something else. It won't mind.”

Before Alice could retort, the Cat's body began to fade again. “Enjoy the tea, Alice,” it said, its voice lilting with amusement. “Just mind what you drink.”

And then it was gone, leaving Alice standing in the shadows, her thoughts more tangled than ever.

THREE
Never Quite Tea Party

Alice stood motionless for a while, staring at the Red King slumped against the tree. His slow, shallow breaths were barely audible, accompanied by the occasional wet, rattling snore. Her stomach twisted at the sight of his sunken face and decayed, brittle hands, yet she couldn't tear her gaze away.

“Dreaming of me,” she muttered, recalling the Cheshire Cat's cryptic words. “How absurd. And how exactly would I be a thing in anyone's dream? Nonsense! But then again,” she paused, her brow furrowing, “if this is all his dream, does that mean he's dreaming himself?” She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Ridiculous.”

Her eyes fell on the tarnished cap lying among the moss and mushrooms. Curiosity warred with revulsion as she leaned down, hesitating only a moment before picking it up from the moss. The tarnished cap felt ihnospitably cold and damp in her hand, its surface etched with rusted engravings. As she slipped it into her pocket, her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the watch she had taken earlier. She had forgotten it was there. Curious, she pulled it out, holding it for a moment. The watch's hands moved smoothly now, ticking forward like any ordinary clock. Mesmerized, Alice traced its cracked face with her thumb, the faint ticking an unsettling counterpoint to the silence of the forest. “This place,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, “isn't right at all.” She straightened and looked at the king, her nerves still on edge, the sickly-sweet stench clinging to her senses. A pang of regret struck her suddenly, sharp and unfamiliar. It felt wrong – stealing something from him, approaching him at all. She shuddered.

“Right, then,” she muttered, brushing the dirt from her dress. “The path. Whatever that means.”

She glanced around, frowning. There was no clear path, just the tangled roots and the bioluminescent fungi glowing faintly in the shadows. She scanned the woods carefully, recalling the direction she'd come from – and the slow, rotting figures that had nearly surrounded her. Her chest tightened at the memory. With a deep breath, she turned away from that direction. If nothing else, she knew she didn't want to go backthere. Her feet crunched lightly over moss and dirt as she moved forward with cautious purpose. “Right,” she muttered. “Anywhere but back. That's a start.”

As she walked, the scenery began to change. The towering, gnarled trees thinned, their twisted shapes giving way to bushes and clusters of wildflowers. The flowers were unnaturally vivid – blues that shimmered like water, purples so deep they seemed to drink the light. Small, red berries hung in clusters, glistening as though freshly washed by invisible rain. The forest gave way to a meadow that should have been idyllic, but the colors were wrong – too bright, too saturated, as if the world itself was trying too hard to convince her it was safe. At the center of the meadow was a long table, piled high with teapots, cups, and plates of pastries that looked suspiciously fresh. Around it sat three figures: a man in a battered top hat, a hare with wild, glassy eyes, and a dormouse slumped over a teacup.