Chapter One

Into the Abyss

It had been many years since Alice’s last adventure, and she was rather surprised to be having another at all—doubly so when she discovered she was a child again, no older than on the day she had first tumbled into Wonderland and slipped through that curious Looking Glass.

“How curious,” she murmured, trying to recall what sort of child she had been.

“You took your time getting here,” said the White Rabbit, who appeared in front of her as suddenly as a sneeze.

“I beg your pardon?” Alice replied, remembering just how very rude he could be when the mood took him.

“I said you took your time. You should have arrived fourteen years ago.” He huffed, already hopping away.

“But—” Alice spluttered, running after him. “I’ve no idea how I arrived, let alone why I’m late!”

“We accept no ifs or buts here—you should know that by now,” the Rabbit sniffed, opening a door that had popped into existence between one blink and the next. “Hurry up, don’t dawdle.”

Alice followed, wondering why he was in such a foul temper on such a beautiful day—for the sun was shining, and the path ahead was lined with pink forget-me-nots that bobbed as if they knew a secret.

“I wonder where I am,” she said aloud. “Is this Wonderland?”

“Of course not,” said the Rabbit, giving her a look as though she had asked whether tea came from teapots. He opened another door, identical to the first. “We’re on the top of the world.” And off he hopped again.

“The top of the world?” Alice exclaimed. “That’s impossible!”

The Rabbit stopped. “Then how are you here, if it’s impossible?”

Alice opened her mouth, but no sensible answer emerged. “I think you’re mad!” she declared.

“That all depends,” he said blandly.

“On what?”

“On whether you mean mad… or mad.”

“That’s silly. They mean the same thing.”

“Not at all. If you were mad number one, and someone called you mad number two, you might be very mad indeed at such a dreadful mistake.”

“I’m not mad!” Alice stamped her foot.

“How do you know,” he asked sweetly, “if you can’t tell the difference between the two?”

Before Alice could argue, another door appeared. When the Rabbit tugged at the handle, it refused to open.

“Might I try?” she offered.

The Rabbit stepped back, pink eyes glittering. Alice turned the handle—and the door swung open at once.

“Could a mad person have done that?” she asked triumphantly, stepping through… and straight into a gaping hole.

“No, perhaps not,” the Rabbit chuckled as she vanished. “But would they have fallen down there?” And in he hopped after her.

The fall was long and dark, like her very first descent into Wonderland. Her speed slowed… then reversed. She began drifting upwards again.

“Oh no, I’m not going back!” she cried, glaring at the shrinking circle of light far above.

Something rushed past in the darkness. Without thinking, Alice jumped onto its back and clung tightly. To her astonishment, she emerged into the light riding a baby hippopotamus, whose skin was smoother than silk.

She barely had time to wonder how she stayed on before she slid off, landing with a dusty thump.

“You don’t like this place?” squeaked the hippopotamus, in a voice far too high-pitched for such a round creature. “There’s not a drop of water here—and we hippos need oceans of it!”

“Mr Hippopotamus,” Alice said, brushing herself down, “thank you for rescuing me from… wherever that was. It was the most comfortable hippopotamus ride I’ve ever had.” (She didn’t mention it was also the only one.)

“My dear child,” he said, “you’re so light I hardly noticed you. If you ever need a lift out of the dark again, just hop on as I pass.”

She thanked him warmly, but before he could continue his search for water, there was another bump—and out came the White Rabbit, riding the hippo backwards.

After a rather less gracious thank-you, he scolded Alice. “If there’s any hole-falling to be done, we must vote on who goes first. Is that clear?”

Alice nodded, suspecting he was quite possibly mad number one, or failing that, definitely mad number two.

A new path appeared—not so welcoming as the others. Instead of forget-me-nots, it was lined with towering aspidistras, each crowned with a snapping green beak.

“Come along!” called the Rabbit, hurrying ahead as the first plant bit a chunk of fur from his back.

Refusing to admit she was afraid, Alice set her jaw and stepped forward—only for a beak to nip at her ear, another to yank her hair, and a third to aim for her nose.

“Stop that!” she cried. “Or I’ll dig you all up and plant rhubarb instead!”

Instantly, the snapping ceased. Alice checked her head was still in one piece, then frowned. “Plants are supposed to be nice. What’s got into you?”

A faint cry came from deep within the greenery. “Who’s crying?” Alice asked.

The plants swayed miserably. “She is,” said one, pointing with a long leaf. “My wife’s little offshoot.”

“You’re married?” Alice blinked.

“Of course. Now, do you see her?”

“I might, if you’d stop swaying.”

“We can’t,” the plant said. “We sway when we’re upset. That’s why we hate the wind—it makes us miserable.”

Alice softened. “Can I help?”

“Promise you won’t dig us up,” sobbed a small voice.

“Of course I won’t. I only said it because you were so horrid to me.”

The swaying ceased, revealing a tiny aspidistra nestled beneath her mother’s leaves. Alice stepped closer without fear.

“We’re sorry we frightened you,” said the baby plant. “We’re just so hungry. We’ve had no fertilizer in ages—I’ve never had any at all!”

Alice gasped. “But surely your roots—”

“Roots aren’t enough,” the baby interrupted. “Without proper feeding, our beaks cannot smile.”

“This is dreadful,” said Alice. “Can I fetch some for you?”

Every beak along the path curved into a grin. The chatter became so loud that Alice had to cover her ears.

At last, the mother plant said, “Go to the fertilizer mine. There you’ll find all we need.”

“And where is this mine?”

“We don’t know,” she admitted sadly. “Only that it exists.”

Alice straightened her shoulders. “Then I’ll find it—and I’ll bring back enough to feed you all. That is my promise.”

Every plant bowed its beak in thanks, and the path ahead opened wider, brighter, and just a little less frightening. Alice marched on, knowing her new adventure had begun.

Chapter Two

The Fertilizer Mine

Although it pained her to leave the aspidistras behind, Alice had given them her word — and Alice never broke her word, especially not to plants with beaks.

“All I have to do,” she told herself, “is find the mine and bring back a bag of fertilizer. That can’t be so hard, can it?” She paused, looking left, right, and straight ahead. “I suppose I’ll just follow my nose. It’s never let me down yet.”

Stepping off the path onto a neat green lawn, she found the grass soon gave way to wilder land, hill after hill rolling away into the distance. Alice trudged up one, down another, up again, down again — until she lost count after ten hills (or perhaps twenty). By then she was so tired she could hardly stand.

“They must go on forever,” she groaned, sitting down to remove her shoes and socks and give her feet some fresh air.

It was while staring bleakly at the next hill that she noticed something halfway up it: a dark, gaping archway that looked suspiciously like the entrance to a mine.

“That must be it!” she cried, leaping up. With her shoes and socks tucked under her arms, she ran as fast as she could towards it.

What had seemed close from a distance turned out to be much farther away, but at last she reached the ramshackle gates. “If it had taken me one minute longer,” she told them, “I might never have made it at all.”

Putting her shoes and socks back on, she noticed a square, yellow metal sign hanging on one gate. She read aloud:

This is a mine, of that you well know,
But what kind of mine — be it tin, be it coal?
If you dares to pass through and goes down for a see,
Can you hope to return and be free?

“What an odd thing to put on a mine,” she said, reading it again in case it made more sense the second time. It didn’t.

Tugging hard on the rusty gates, Alice forced them open. The darkness inside was so deep she looked about for something to use as a torch — but finding nothing, she decided to let her eyes adjust and pressed on.

The tunnel sloped gently downward, so the light from the entrance spilled farther in than she expected. She searched every nook and cranny where the light reached — and found not a single speck of fertilizer.

Sitting on a rock with a sigh, she muttered, “It’s useless. I’ll never find anything in this silly old mine.”

“You’ll never find anything if you don’t look for it,” said a voice from a particularly dark corner.

Alice jumped. “Who said that?”

“I might be asking you the same question,” the voice replied, “considering you’ve invaded my home.”

“Invaded?” Alice protested. “I’m only looking for some fertilizer!”

“That depends on how you see it,” the voice said.

“On how you see it,” Alice corrected automatically.

“Let me explain,” the voice continued. “If I were to break into your home—”

“I didn’t break into anything!” Alice objected.

“If you’ll allow me to finish?”

She sighed. “Oh, very well.”

“As I was saying,” the voice went on, “if I were to break into your home, I might end up before a gistrate.”

“A what?”

“A gistrate — who could easily send me to jail.”

“Oh, you mean a magistrate.”

“That’s what I said. But you stroll in here willy-nilly, as if you own the place, and get upset when I point it out.”

“I might understand if this were a house,” Alice said, “but it’s just an old mine.”

“It might be an old mine to you, but it’s a home to me,” the voice replied — now sounding much closer.

Alice peered into the gloom. “If you were an elf, or a troll, or even a goblin, I might believe that, but—”

“And what makes you think I’m not?” the voice asked, as its owner stepped into the light.

Alice gasped. “You are an elf! And an incredibly old one!”

“There’s no need to be rude,” said the little man, his big ears twitching. He perched on a rock opposite her.

His clothes were of the coarsest hessian, and his boots looked as though they’d been mended a hundred times. Alice reached out, curious to touch one of his long ears.

“Less of that, m’dear,” he said. “Don’t you know elf ears are very sensitive?”

“They are?”

“Of course. Always have been.”

Just then Alice remembered the aspidistras and began to cry. “They’ve gone without fertilizer for years and years. I promised to help them, but now I don’t know how.”

“Let’s have none of that,” said the elf, feeling smaller than his meagre two foot six inches. “You did say fertilizer, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Alice sniffed. “Not for me — for them.”

The elf grinned. “Name’s Fle. Spelt F-L-E — that’s Elf backwards. My old mum thought it would be easier to remember.”

“I shan’t laugh,” Alice promised.

“Good. Now come along.”

He led her through a narrow passage into a hidden cavern piled to the ceiling with white sacks. Pulling a rope, he opened a skylight so daylight poured in.

“Is all this… fertilizer?” Alice asked.

“Every bit of it,” Fle said proudly. “How many sacks do you need?”

“Only one,” Alice replied. “That’s all I can carry.”

Fle frowned. “Only one? How many of them oispidistries did you say there were?”

“They’re called aspidistras,” Alice corrected gently, counting on her fingers. She counted, and recounted, and started over twice when she forgot where she was. At last she whispered, “One hundred… maybe two hundred on a good day. Oh, Fle — one bag will never be enough!”

“Don’t you fret,” Fle said. “I’ll see you right.”

He sent Alice back to the surface while he worked. Half an hour later he emerged, pulling a rickety cart with two sacks — one small, one large.

“All for those oispidistries,” he said.

“You’re the nicest elf I’ve ever met,” said Alice.

She glanced again at the yellow sign. “Why put that up?”

“To stop folks coming in and stealing,” Fle said with a wink.

“But you’ve got more than enough!”

He tapped the side of his nose. “Keeps ’em guessing, m’dear. Keeps ’em guessing.”

Chapter Three

A Series of Confusing Directions

When Alice and Fle — the elf pulling his little cart and its precious cargo — returned to the aspidistra-bordered path, they wasted no time feeding the hungry plants. Fle sprinkled generous handfuls of fertilizer around each one, while Alice followed behind with a watering can.

“Heavens above,” sighed the mother aspidistra as the water sank in, “I feel better already.”

“So do I!” cried the baby, tasting fertilizer for the very first time.

“My!” said Alice, stepping back in astonishment. “I can see you growing before my very eyes!”

“They all are,” Fle agreed, tipping in the last of the water. And indeed, every plant was putting on such a burst of new growth that the path was soon buried under a dense green tangle.

“Oh dear,” Alice said. “How shall I find my way along it now?”

The nearest plant — the father aspidistra — began to sway, and soon all the others joined in, their great leaves lurching until Alice felt quite dizzy. She clutched Fle’s little cart for balance.

“Please stop!” she begged.

“We can’t,” said the father plant.

“But why? Haven’t I fertilised every one of you?”

“You have,” the plant admitted. “But we’re upset that we’ve overgrown the path and ruined your chances of finding the White Rabbit.” The swaying grew worse.

Alice tugged at the leaves, trying to see a way through, but there was nothing but layer after layer of green. “I see your point,” she said. Then she turned to Fle. “Any idea how I can find him now?”

“Ah, the White Rabbit,” Fle said, grinning. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

Alice thought she had told him — but in this topsy-turvy place she knew anything was possible, even forgetting the most important parts of her own adventure. “Do you know where he might be, Fle? He said we must return to the top of the world, and I’m afraid I’ll never find my way.”

“That I might,” Fle replied, pulling a battered notebook from his pocket and flicking through its dog-eared pages. “Would that be under R for Rabbit or W for White?”

“W, I should think,” Alice said at once.

Fle ran a grubby finger down the W section. “Nope. Nothing.”

“Then it must be under R,” Alice insisted.

He flipped to R. “Nope, not there either.”

Alice sighed, about to give up, when a thought struck her. “Fle — look under B for Bunny!”

Fle raised an eyebrow, thumbed through the pages, and beamed. “Well, I’ll be… you’re right! Here he is.”

“How do I find him, Fle?” Alice begged.

Fle studied the page with maddening slowness.

“Well?” she prompted, stamping her foot.

“It’s never worth hurrying too much,” he mused. “The more you rush, the slower you go…”

“Oh, please, Mr Fle,” she said, hoping the title might speed him up.

“That’s easy,” he said at last. “He lives in his house.”

“In his house?” Alice repeated. “What sort of address is that?”

“It’s his address,” Fle said simply. “Says so right here. All you have to do is follow your nose, and you’ll see it — a neat little house with a shiny brass plate on the door that says W. Rabbit. Easy!”

“Thank you, Fle,” Alice said, stepping off the path. She waved to the aspidistras. “Goodbye, plants!” Then she vanished behind a fat castor-oil plant.

The view beyond made her stop and stare. Waterfalls were everywhere — not thundering ones, but gentle cascades splashing into clear pools, each just the right size for soaking tired feet.

“What a lovely idea,” Alice said. She slipped off her shoes and socks and sank her feet into a particularly inviting pool.

The cool water was so soothing that her eyelids began to droop. “No, I mustn’t fall asleep,” she told herself… and promptly leaned back on the grass and did just that.

“Excuse me! I said, excuse me!” barked a voice.

Alice stirred.

“Little girl, can you hear me?”

“Pardon?” she murmured.

“If you’d been paying attention, you might have heard me the first time!”

Alice sat up, rubbing her eyes — and froze. Standing before her on four sturdy flippers was a magnificent white sea lion, a red spinning ball balanced perfectly on the tip of his shiny black nose.

“Mind you don’t drop that on me,” she warned, edging back.

“You do me an injustice!” the sea lion replied, frowning.

Realising she’d been abrupt, Alice apologised. “It’s just… I’m not used to waking up with spinning balls quite so close to my face.”

“Oh, everyone says that,” he admitted. “Ball-spinning comes so naturally I hardly notice I’m doing it.”

“Now that we’ve settled that,” Alice said, “please allow me to introduce myself—”

“You didn’t,” the sea lion interrupted.

“I didn’t what?”

“Introduce yourself.”

Alice blinked. “I am getting frightfully forgetful since arriving here. I might wonder if I’d remembered to bring my head, if it weren’t still attached.”

The sea lion took pity. “I am King Tut, king of the white sea lions.”

Alice suppressed a laugh — she’d only ever heard of a King Tut who lived in ancient Egypt — and curtsied. “I’m Alice, if it please your royal highness.”

It seemed to please him, for he flicked the spinning ball towards her. She caught it (just) and nearly dropped it again.

“That’s for you,” said the King.

“Thank you, your royal highness.”

“It’s Tut. I’ve never been one for formalities.”

“Thank you, Tut,” she said, returning the ball, which he caught neatly and resumed spinning.

Remembering her quest, Alice said, “I’m off to find the White Rabbit, but… I’m having some difficulty.”

“What sort?”

“The directions I was given were to ‘follow my nose’ — but I don’t know whether to follow the left side or the right!”

Tut laughed so hard she stamped her foot.

“Forgive me,” he said, wiping a flipper across his eye. “But don’t you know that left is right and right is left at the top of the world?”

“How can that be?” Alice asked, touching her nose to see if it had swapped sides.

“Everything’s different here,” Tut said, producing a compass from goodness knows where. The needle spun wildly. “Didn’t the White Rabbit tell you?”

“I see,” Alice said slowly, trying to reason it out. “Looking down my nose means I must go up… and if that’s right, then I must go over to the left!”

Tut clapped his flippers in approval, spinning his ball so fast it blurred.

“But how do I get up and over to the left?” Alice wondered.

Tut tossed the ball onto a rock, where it continued spinning on its own, then dived into the pool. When he resurfaced, he held a kipper in his mouth.

“A kipper?” Alice said. “You can’t catch kippers in there! They’re made in smoky sheds.”

Tut grinned.

“You wished it, didn’t you?” Alice cried. “That’s the answer! I must wish for help!”

The King swallowed the kipper, burped, and swam away without another word.

“It took me a while,” Alice said to herself, “but I’ve worked it out.” Closing her eyes, she declared, “I wish… I wish… I wish for an escalator to take me all the way to the top of the world!”

In an instant, a tall, gleaming escalator appeared before her, twisting left, right, and left again until it vanished into the clouds.

“This must lead to the top,” Alice said. “Perhaps I shall catch the White Rabbit yet…”

Chapter Four

An Unexpected Encounter

Alice set one foot on the first step of the escalator, clutched the swift-moving banister, and began to rise.

“This is certainly a fast escalator,” she said, watching the ground sink away beneath her. “A pity it’s so quick — I might have enjoyed the view if I’d been given a moment to breathe.”

The countryside shrank below, a patchwork of greens and blues, while the wind grew fiercer. Birds in brilliant colours wheeled about her, delighted by the blustery air. Alice was less delighted. She clutched her hair to keep it from whipping her eyes and, as a result, never saw the top until she tumbled off the last step in a most undignified heap.

Pushing herself onto hands and knees, she peered about in search of the White Rabbit’s neat little house. But there was nothing — nothing except snow.

“It’s so cold,” she shivered, teeth clattering. “I must have wished myself straight to the North Pole!”

The first flakes drifting down were lovely, and Alice danced among them. But beauty quickly turned to discomfort as the snowfall thickened, coating her in a white blanket.

“I need a fur coat, and a hat, and gloves… and fur boots,” she declared, slapping her arms about. “Before I freeze solid!”

She wished, and wished again, that someone — anyone — might appear to save her.

Far off, bells jingled.

“Where are they?” she cried, squinting into the storm. The sound drew nearer, then a booming voice cut through the wind:

“Whoa! Whoa there!”

A shadow emerged — a sleigh, pulled not by reindeer but by a team of eager dogs. A fur-clad man halted them and strode toward her, holding out armfuls of warm clothes.

“Here you are,” he said. “When you’re ready, I’ll take you somewhere warmer.”

Alice, having no better option (and hoping he wasn’t the sort to invite little girls into sleighs for nefarious purposes), pulled on the fur coat, hat, gloves, and boots, then burrowed deep into the blankets piled on the sleigh.

“Rarr!” the man cried to his dogs, and off they plunged into the swirling white.

When they stopped at last, the man’s voice came again, genial and close: “Here you are, safe and sound.” His large, timeworn hands rooted gently through the blankets until Alice peeked out.

“Where are we?” she asked hopefully.

“In Santa’s workshop, of course,” he said with a chuckle.

Alice blinked. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” he laughed, “considering I am Santa Claus.”

“You’re Father Christmas,” Alice breathed, remembering the perfect present he’d left her last year, the one she’d asked for so carefully.

“That’s my preferred title,” he said, smiling. “Santa Claus always sounded too… colonial. Once I wore green and white — I might go back to it. What do you think?”

“I think that would be splendid,” Alice replied solemnly.

With a click of his fingers, Father Christmas summoned two elves carrying trays: one piled with golden biscuits, the other holding a mug of steaming hot chocolate so large Alice needed both hands to steady it.

“Eat, drink,” he said warmly. “If you need sugar, just wish for it.”

She didn’t. The chocolate was perfect.

When she’d finished, Father Christmas offered her a tour of the workshop — and Alice, suddenly remembering she ought to be looking for the White Rabbit, hesitated. But her curiosity won out.

“Come along,” he said, leading her through a green-painted door.

On the other side stretched a vast workshop where elves bustled over toy-making benches, stacking wonders high to the rafters.

“It must take all year to make these,” Alice said, picking up a plain black cube. “What sort of toy is this?”

“That,” Father Christmas said proudly, “is a wishing cube. You make a secret wish, and it may come true.”

Alice closed her eyes and wished — hard — for the White Rabbit’s house.

The cube glowed, filling with pinpricks of light that swelled into a whirling galaxy. Stars spun faster and faster until she grew dizzy. Just as she was about to protest, the spinning stopped.

The lights blurred into a white fog. “Oh no,” she fretted, “how can I find the Rabbit’s house in this?” She waved her arms — and the cube slipped from her hands, smashing to the floor. The fog vanished, taking her chance with it.

“May I try another?” she begged.

“I’m sorry,” Father Christmas said gently. “The magic works only once for each person.”

To cheer her, he resumed the tour, showing her fantastical toys beyond anything she’d imagined. Then he called the elves together for a song.

The smallest elf stepped forward and, after a whispered conference, announced they would sing Oh, Why Wait for Christmas?

They sang with such bright sincerity that Alice clapped until her hands hurt.

Outside, in the loading bay, a sleigh waited — this time pulled by reindeer.

“May I say hello?” Alice asked eagerly.

Father Christmas led her to the front. “This is Rudolf,” he said, as the reindeer reared.

“He’s frisky,” Alice laughed.

“He had oats this morning,” Father Christmas chuckled. “They all did.”

Rudolf lowered his head for a pat. “He’s lovely,” Alice murmured.

She met Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blixen, giving each a pat before Father Christmas beckoned her to the sleigh.

The step was far too high, but two elves appeared with a little staircase. Soon she was nestled on the bench, wrapped in a thick blanket.

“Rarr!” Father Christmas cried, and the reindeer leapt forward, carrying them up into the glittering night.

---

 

Chapter Five

The Trip of a Lifetime, and the Fright of Her Life

The sleigh jolted and bounced across the frozen ground, racing through drifts of snow beneath a lazy quarter moon. Alice clutched the sides, her cheeks stung red by the icy wind. The wintry world seemed alive with strange shapes: igloos huddled in the frost, beavers busily damming a stream, kittens pawing at snowflakes, even babies toddling after hatters. Most astonishing of all, a walrus reclined beside a coat stand as though waiting for an omnibus.

“Oh, I do hope that isn’t Dinah,” Alice murmured when she noticed a lone shivering cat. “And if it is, she’ll surely catch her death of cold out there…”

The sleigh rattled on faster and faster. Though fascinated by these dreamlike sights, Alice began to wonder why the magical sleigh still clung stubbornly to the ground. Surely it should have lifted into the air by now? But Father Christmas was wholly absorbed in driving, so she held her tongue.

“Ho there! Onward, my darlings!” he boomed, his voice ringing with cheer and command.

Alice followed his gaze—and her heart lurched. Looming ahead was the largest, darkest forest she had ever seen, its trees packed so thickly that even moonlight could not creep through. They were hurtling straight toward it.

“Lift now—fly, my friends!” cried Father Christmas, tugging hard at the reins. The reindeer thundered forward with a speed that stole Alice’s breath.

‘We shall be smashed to pieces!’ she thought, ducking under the blanket in terror.

At the very last instant, Father Christmas gave a roar that seemed to shake the sky itself. “Up, Rudolf! Up, all of you—into the air!”

And up they went. The sleigh soared like a bird, skimming above the treetops by inches.

Suddenly, silence. They were in the black of the sky, where only the stars glittered cold and sharp. The reindeer galloped as though across invisible ice, but not a single hoofbeat sounded.

Alice peeped out from under the blanket, her mouth falling open. “Are we really flying?”

“As sure as there is a Father Christmas,” the old man said, eyes twinkling.

Alice liked that very much. She liked everything about this laughing, booming man. Yet when she leaned over the side, her stomach quivered at the dizzying drop below. “It’s so quiet up here… How high are we?”

“Not quite at cruising altitude,” Father Christmas replied, tugging his beard. “Once we are, it will be nine hundred feet, give or take.”

“Nine hundred feet!” Alice gasped. “Is that as high as the moon?”

“Not nearly.” He chuckled again, glancing upwards. “The moon is over a quarter of a million miles away. Not even my reindeer can gallop so far.”

They both laughed, their mirth carrying bright and warm in the stillness.

Presently the sleigh steadied. “There,” Father Christmas said, “we are at our height now. As smooth as a hippopotamus’ hide.” And indeed it was—Alice felt scarcely a tremor, as though they still glided over snowy fields.

Her thoughts turned to the Rabbit. “Where do you think he is?” she asked anxiously.

The old man stroked his beard. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On where you believe he might be,” he said simply. “You’ve seen already how in this land left may be right, and up quite easily down. That is the way of the North. For you, Alice, seeking what must be sought—that is the most important advice I can give.”

Alice puzzled over this, but he spoke no further. And so they flew for hour upon hour, criss-crossing the wastes of ice and snow.

At last the dawn began nibbling at the horizon, the blackness paling to grey. Father Christmas sighed and tugged at the reins. “Easy now, my faithful ones. We must turn home—Christmas draws near, and there is work waiting.”

“NO!” Alice cried, startling even herself. “No—I must go on!”

And just then she saw movement far below: a solitary figure trudging through the snow. “Look!” she shouted, seizing Father Christmas’ sleeve. “Look down there!”

Reluctantly, the old man guided the sleigh down. “Are you sure, Alice? You have no idea who he might be. You would be welcome at my workshop instead.”

But Alice only shook her head. “Yes, I am certain.”

With a firm, musical “Steady now—land gently,” Father Christmas brought the sleigh down upon the snow. He handed Alice a small black cube. “Take this. Should you need me, call, and I will come.”

Alice thanked him warmly as the sleigh leapt skyward once more, the nine reindeer vanishing into morning.

She turned toward the figure. Wrapped in tattered rags, head bowed, it stood motionless.

“Good morning,” Alice said bravely. “My name is Alice, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

No reply.

“Good morning,” she tried again, stepping closer—then froze. For the figure raised its head, revealing a skull, hollow-eyed and terrible.

Alice staggered back with a cry, fumbling desperately for the cube in her pocket. Her fingers closed around it just as the bony thing lifted one arm and rasped, in a whisper that seemed colder than the snow itself:

“Wait…”

Alice’s heart hammered. “Wait?” she whispered back.

“Wait,” it breathed again, pointing into the falling snow.

Her voice quavered. “What… what are you?”

“I am Death,” it whispered. Then, after a pause that made the snow itself seem to still, “But also Life.”

Alice shuddered. Could this be another figment of her imagination? Yet the figure glided onward, its arm still raised.

“Do you mean me to follow?” she asked timidly. “I thought I was to wait!”

But the creature gave no answer. It simply moved, silent and unrelenting.

So Alice followed.

The contrast struck her at once: gone was Father Christmas’ booming laughter, his warm voice like bells in the night. Here was only silence, broken by the faint hiss of snow and the figure’s laboured, rattling breath.

On they went for hours. Alice’s foot blistered, burst, and left her limping in agony. At last she collapsed. “I can’t go on another step!” she cried.

At that instant the figure stopped. And when Alice raised her eyes, she saw they had arrived at a great building: stone walls, leaded windows, a massive carved door adorned with a holly wreath. Strangely, her foot no longer hurt at all.

She pulled off her shoe—no blister. It had vanished. “Well, that’s curious,” she muttered. “But then, hasn’t everything here been curious?”

Pulling her sock back on, she straightened, gazing at the building. Taking the brass knocker in hand, she gave the door a firm rap.

“If anyone is inside,” she announced, shivering, “they will know they have a visitor. And perhaps they’ll let me in to warm myself by their fire.”

The snow fell harder. Alice drew her coat tighter. She shivered at the very thought of it.

Chapter Six

Off With Her Head!

“OFF WITH HER HEAD!”

Alice awoke with a start. “What—what was that? Did someone say something?”

“I said off with your head!” the Queen of Hearts roared. She swept her eyes about the room. “Where is that executioner when one has need of him? Off with his head as well!”

Although quailing beneath the Queen’s icy glare, Alice tried to remain as polite as possible under such alarming circumstances. “Excuse me, please,” she said, “but is it really you? And if so, is this your seat?”

The Queen glowered in silence, studying Alice most suspiciously. Alice pressed on nervously: “If you truly are the Queen of Hearts—your majesty—then I am frightfully delighted to meet you again, and I am terribly sorry for falling asleep in your chair. It is your chair, isn’t it? You see, ever since arriving here at the Top of the World (if that really is where I am) I’ve been overtaken by these dreadful spells of tiredness…” She stopped only to draw breath.

“Where is the King?” the Queen demanded suddenly, quite ignoring the matter of the chair.

Backing quickly away from it, Alice said, “I have only just arrived in this house, but if it pleases you, ma’am, I shall help you find him.”

“If it pleases me?” the Queen snapped. “It would please me if you stopped presuming what pleases me before I have even decided!”

“I was only trying to—”

“OFF WITH HER HEAD!” the Queen bellowed again, bustling between wardrobes and presses as though an executioner might be hiding among them.

“Please stop saying that!” Alice cried, in as firm a tone as she dared.

The Queen froze, jaw dropping in sheer astonishment that anyone might address her so saucily. She drew in a breath to shriek the order again when—

Out from one of the wardrobes stepped the King of Hearts.

“Ah! My husband!” cried the Queen, instantly mollified. She turned to Alice. “Thank you, child, for finding my King.”

“But—I didn’t—” Alice began.

“I will hear no more!” the Queen cut across, snapping back to her usual gruffness. Seating herself regally upon her throne (for so the chair proved to be), she bade her husband sit beside her.

Alice thought it most peculiar for a king to be lurking inside a wardrobe, but as the Queen showed no surprise, she held her tongue.

“The Top of the World,” said the Queen, her voice flat and deliberate.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?” Alice asked, anxious to keep her politeness polished.

“You said you were not convinced you were truly here.”

“That is most true, your majesty,” Alice admitted. “I dearly wish to believe it, but whenever I take something for granted—why, it changes! One moment I am here with you and the King, the next I am sure it is all a dream. It is all so terribly confusing.”

The Queen scrutinised her closely, then leaned over to whisper in the King’s ear. At last she said, “We have discussed it and decided your trouble is simple. You are taking far too many things for granted.”

The King nodded solemnly. “Yes, far too many. Tonight especially.”

“But it isn’t night!” Alice protested. “And why are you speaking in rhyme?”

He ignored her questions and continued merrily:

“How do you suppose Wonderland would be,
If the executioner assumed too readily?
If orders were taken for granted—can’t you see?
Chaos for her, and confusion for me!”

Alice blinked at him, half-confused, half-annoyed. “I don’t know…”

“I can help you understand—yes, I can,” said the King, rising and strolling to a wardrobe. He opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it firmly behind him.

Alice gaped, but the Queen, apparently unfazed, began to sing. Running her hands along the golden armrests, she sang in a voice like a rusty trumpet:

“If you take things for granted, be they right or be wrong,
You’ll be in a pickle before very long.
So listen intently, and follow my song,
And we’ll all get by swimmingly—right or wrong?”

Alice, though quite exasperated, decided to hold her ground. She tapped at the wardrobe door.

“Yes?” came the King’s voice from within, no longer rhyming.

“It’s me,” said Alice impatiently. “You wanted to show me something.”

“Me? Who is me?”

“Alice!”

The door creaked open. “Ah, young Alice! What an unexpected surprise. Do step inside.”

Peering past him for lurking dangers and seeing nothing worse than shadows, Alice slipped off her shoes at his scolding, placed them neatly aside, and stepped into the wardrobe.

To her astonishment, the interior stretched vast and splendid, hung with paintings, gilded lamps, and velvet furnishings.

“This is so nice!” she exclaimed.

“I designed it myself,” said the King proudly, gesturing to a chaise longue of red and gold. Alice tried it and sank deep into its cushions.

“This wardrobe is as good as a palace,” she sighed.

“It is a palace,” the King replied matter-of-factly. “And so are all the others you saw. They are our Travelling Palaces.”

“Travelling Palaces?”

“Yes. You never know when you might misplace one. So we keep spares.”

“Spares—for palaces?” Alice echoed, quite bewildered.

“Of course. Only last week two of mine were stolen—perhaps by that dreadful Knave of Hearts.”

Unwilling to endure another trial, Alice steered the subject quickly away.

“Well, thank you very much,” she said, “but I don’t think I quite understand.”

“Then let me help you,” said the King cheerfully. “Here—have this one.”

And before she could refuse, he pressed a brass key into her hand.

“Mine?” Alice gasped.

“All yours. You’ll find it useful. Just remember to lock it—palaces are very stealable.”

Not wishing to argue, Alice dropped the key into her apron pocket.

“I must be off,” said the King suddenly.

“Oh, must you? I had taken for granted you would stay for tea…”

At that he smiled knowingly, and Alice understood. “Yes—I have been taking far too much for granted.”

Together they stepped back through the wardrobe. Alice slipped her shoes on, laughing. “I shan’t lock it,” she declared. “If I did, I should be taking for granted that someone meant to steal it. And I think instead I mustn’t take anything for granted—not even my search for the White Rabbit. Oh, King, you are clever indeed!”

The King blushed scarlet.

Meanwhile, the Queen was still singing, now on the twenty-third verse of her lecture-song:

“So don’t take for granted the smallest thing you see,
And your life will run smoother, your mind will feel free.
So hark to my wisdom, and sing along with me—
We’ll all get by swimmingly, don’t you agree?”

Alice and the King clapped politely. The Queen, though flattered, at once reverted to form.

“You missed most of my song! OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!” she shrieked.

“See?” murmured the King. “We can’t take for granted that she really means it, can we?”

“I hope not,” said Alice fervently.

But the Queen was already bellowing again: “Off with their heads! Where is that executioner when one has need of him?”

Chapter Seven

Bells, Again

“Where are you going, child?” asked the Queen of Hearts as Alice gave her a neat little curtsy.

“I really have no idea,” Alice admitted, curtsying again and glancing anxiously between two identical doors, wondering which might lead her out the easiest.

Seeing her hesitation, the King said,
“It matters not which way you take,
For either door the same will make.”

(And once again Alice found herself wondering why the King insisted on speaking in rhyme.)

“Both doors will lead me out?” she asked.

“Yes,” said the King gravely. “You’ll find your way, never fear—only tread softly, lest Life and Death be near.”

“Life and Death?” Alice whispered, her voice trembling. “You mean that frightful, skeletal thing?”

The King gave no reply. He simply strolled over to a wardrobe, opened the door, stepped inside, and was gone.

Alice turned to the Queen, hoping for guidance, but found her fast asleep on her throne, snoring loudly.

“I shan’t risk waking her,” Alice decided. “If she’s so fierce awake, I dread to think what she’d be like disturbed before she’s ready.”

Just then, a small movement caught her eye—a little mouse scampering along the skirting board.

“Perhaps it can tell me where the White Rabbit lives,” Alice thought. “Surely I must be close by now, after all this travelling.”

Dropping to her hands and knees, she peered toward the mouse hole in the corner. “Excuse me! I said excuse me—”

She turned, startled. It was the Cheshire Cat, materialising with a grin as wide as ever—this time dressed in a neat white coat and trousers.

“Hello, Cat,” Alice said brightly. “What are you doing here?”

The Cat sniffed disdainfully. “Chasing that mouse, if you must know. He would have been my supper—but thanks to you, he’s long gone.” He hissed in annoyance.

“I am terribly sorry,” Alice apologised. “I haven’t eaten myself since… oh, since I met Father Christmas. That must have been last October.”

The Cat’s grin stretched wider. “Last October? My dear, it is now December.”

Alice blinked. “December? How can that be?” She wrestled with her memory for several minutes, but no answer came. Sighing, she pulled out the brass key the King had given her. “If it pleases you, Cat, perhaps I might find you something in my Travelling Palace?”

The Cat recoiled. “I prefer to find food on my own—and I detest travel sickness.” He flicked his tail at the wardrobes and began to fade.

“I’ve no time for that game now!” Alice cried. “Please come back.”

Reappearing with a scrawny tail dangling from his mouth, the Cat purred, “Why not? I am a cat, after all.”

Alice gasped. “Oh no—you haven’t! You can’t have!”

“Why not?” the Cat said through clenched teeth.

“Because that poor mouse may be the very same one I met in Wonderland!”

The Cat’s grin faltered a little. “The same one?”

“Yes! He told me a story—a Mouse’s Tail. I know him quite well, and he has a dreadful fear of cats.”

At that, any trace of remorse vanished. “That’s exactly how we like it,” the Cat smirked, as the mouse’s tail wriggled furiously.

Alice grew desperate. “Please let him go! I’ll find you a Grand Supper—something far better than a scrawny old mouse.”

The Cat narrowed his eyes. “A Grand Supper, you say?”

“Yes, yes—anything you like!”

“Fish?”

“Yes, fish—plenty of fish,” Alice promised recklessly.

With a twitch of his jaw, the Cat spat the mouse free. It darted to Alice, trembling, then climbed gratefully into her apron pocket.

“Hello again,” Alice whispered. “I’m so glad you’re still in one piece.”

The Mouse shuddered. “And I intend to stay that way.”

“My supper?” the Cat interrupted pointedly.

“Oh—of course…” Alice faltered. She had already forgotten.

The Cat’s yellow eyes narrowed. “I brought you this far. Now it is your turn.”

Fearing for the Mouse, Alice wished fervently for a feast to appear. She wished and wished, until at last another sound rose through the snow-filled air—bells. Joyous bells, ringing high above.

“Look!” cried the Cat, pointing with his paw. “Is that who I think it is?”

Alice’s heart leapt. “Father Christmas! I’m sure of it!” She waved her hat wildly, though she saw nothing but swirling snow.

“Cats see better than little girls,” the Cheshire Cat purred. “He’s up there, believe me.”

The bells grew louder, her heart faster, until she thought it might leap right out of her chest.

“Can you see him now?” the Cat teased.

“No, not a thing!” Alice admitted, squinting desperately.

“Get back!” the Cat suddenly yowled, striking her across the cheek.

Alice toppled into the snow, stunned. “Why did you do that?” she cried—just as a great rush of bells, laughter, and galloping hooves thundered overhead. Father Christmas’ sleigh swooped down, passing inches above them.

Clambering up, bruised and bewildered, Alice demanded, “You must stop doing that! I shall be battered all over!”

The Cat only narrowed his eyes and remained silent.

At that moment the sleigh drew near, the storm parting just enough to reveal the familiar figure of Father Christmas, reins in hand, his laughter rolling like thunder.

“Well, what have we here?” he boomed cheerfully, as Alice and the Cat stumbled toward him through the snow.

“Is it truly you?” Alice cried. “This storm is so thick I can see nothing, and if not for the Cat, I should be lost!”

Father Christmas swung her up into the sleigh, then nodded as the Cat leapt in after her. Tucking them snug beneath a fur rug, he grasped the reins.

“Rarr, my dears—rarr!” he cried. The reindeer surged forward, and with a sweep of hooves the sleigh rose once more, vanishing into the snowy sky.

Chapter Eight

A Song, a Plot, Some Merriment – or Not?

A Song

The sleigh climbed higher and higher into the winter sky, bursting through the cloud tops into a sea of stars. Suddenly Alice’s vision cleared, and she cried, “I can see again! I knew it was only that dreadful snow in my eyes.”

The Cat gave a single, smug meow.

“Oh—thank you, Cat,” Alice said.

The Cat meowed again.

“Yes, yes—thank you for saving both of us, the Mouse and me,” Alice added, stroking her apron pocket. The Cat grinned and said nothing.

Turning to Father Christmas, she asked, “But how did you know where we were, and that we needed your help?”

The old man smiled. “Your hand.”

“My hand?”

“What are you holding?” he asked, rubbing his beard until sparks of rainbow light drifted like snowflakes across the sleigh.

Alice looked down. She was still clutching the little cube he had given her earlier. “Oh, Father Christmas—you are clever!” She laughed, and his booming “ho, ho, ho” joined hers.

Looking up at the glittering stars, Alice sighed. “Why, it’s night again! How Christmassy it all feels.”

“And so it should,” Father Christmas chuckled. “Only two days to go.”

“Two days?” Alice gasped. “I do hope I’m home in time to hang my stocking!”

With another laugh, the sleigh dipped into its final approach, landing neatly outside the great workshop.

Inside, the place was alive with elves scurrying to and fro, hammering, wrapping, tying, testing, packing—every corner buzzed with the last-minute preparations for Christmas Eve.

“Sit down, Alice,” Father Christmas said, clicking his fingers. “You and that cat of yours need some refreshment.”

Three little elves hurried over at once. “Food for Alice and her Cat,” he ordered kindly.

The Cat purred at the thought and licked his whiskers. Within moments the elves returned, trays piled high with steaming dishes and sparkling drinks.

Alice stared in delight. “It all looks wonderful—but where do I begin?”

The Cat had no such difficulty; he devoured his tray at once, purring between mouthfuls.

Then Alice remembered the Mouse, still asleep in her pocket. Gently withdrawing him, she tickled his whiskers. “Little Mouse, wake up—we’ve arrived.”

The Mouse only rolled over and began to snore.

“MOUSE!” hissed the Cat. “IT’S FEEDING TIME!”

The Mouse bolted awake and darted up Alice’s sleeve to her shoulder, trembling.

Alice soothed him. “Don’t mind that rude Cat—we’re safe in Father Christmas’ workshop, and there’s plenty of food.”

The Mouse peeked out. “Might there be… cheese?”

“Of course,” Alice laughed, placing a wedge before him. The Mouse tucked in gratefully, keeping one wary eye on the Cat.

While they ate, Alice turned to Father Christmas. “I know I’m being presumptuous, but—do you think your little helpers might sing me a song?”

“Ask them yourself,” the old man said with a twinkle.

Clapping her hands shyly, Alice requested: “Christmastime Is Nowhere at All.”

The elves beamed, gathered together, and sang the carol in sweet, piping voices. Their chorus filled the workshop with warmth. Alice applauded furiously at the end, thanking each one in turn.

A Plot

When the feasting was over, Father Christmas grew thoughtful. “That loss of eyesight you suffered in the snow—it troubles me.”

“It was just the storm,” Alice insisted. “I wasn’t really blind.”

“Are you sure?” His voice dropped. “Could it have been… that figure you met?”

Alice’s heart fluttered. “Life and Death?” she whispered.

The old man nodded gravely.

“I… I don’t know,” Alice admitted, her voice barely audible.

But before she could say more, Father Christmas clapped his hands and declared cheerfully, “Come now—we’ve work yet to do!” And the dark subject was set aside.

Far away, unseen, the bony figure of Life and Death drifted silently over the snow, preparing his designs, whispering of purging yet to come.

Some Merriment

Two days passed in a blur of cheerful labour. Alice helped wrap, pack, and stack, never minding her lack of sleep, for time here felt quite unlike time at home. The Cat lent a paw now and then, though more often he vanished mid-task, until Alice laughingly gave him a cushion to nap upon. He curled up, faded out, leaving only the tip of his tail visible. The Mouse, meanwhile, snoozed soundly in her apron pocket.

At last, the final toy was packed, the final sweet wrapped, the last sack tied and stacked high.

“Well,” said Father Christmas, rubbing his hands across his belly, “we’ve done it—and in record time!”

The elves erupted in cheers, flinging their colourful hats into the air.

“And let us not forget Alice,” Father Christmas declared. “She has been a joy to us all.”

The elves cheered louder still, and Alice beamed.

“And since we are ahead of schedule,” he added, “let us have a party!”

The cheers shook the rafters.

Tables were pushed aside, music struck up, and the workshop rang with fiddles, pipes, and drums. Father Christmas clapped to the rhythm and beckoned Alice. “Sing for us, child!”

Embarrassed, Alice tried to protest, but the old man coaxed her to the floor. “I shall sing with you,” he promised.

Together, they sang a carol of Christmas Eve—its stillness, its magic, its call to friendship and forgiveness. By the end Alice’s voice rang clear and strong. The elves applauded thunderously, stamping their little boots.

Parched, Alice asked for water.

“Water?” Father Christmas laughed. “We can do better.”

He whispered to a small elf, who soon returned bearing a pitcher and silver goblets. The drink inside looked pale and cloudy, but its scent—rich with fruit and spice—was heavenly.

Alice sipped, and her eyes widened. It fizzed and sparkled with flavours of chocolate, mango, vanilla. “This is the best drink I’ve ever tasted!”

“Fizzing Fruit Juice,” Father Christmas said proudly.

Alice drained her goblet and held it out for more.

Or Not

When the party wound down, Father Christmas clapped his hands once more. “One hour’s rest, then meet me by the sleigh. Tonight begins our great journey.”

The elves scurried away to their tiny doors. Father Christmas himself retired to bed.

Alice, left alone, wandered among the stacked sacks of gifts. Then something on the floor caught her eye: a scrap of paper.

She bent to pick it up—and froze. The handwriting was spidery, the signature cruelly familiar.

It read:

Everything’s ready for Christmas, you see,
Every last parcel and present.
But don’t forget—your purging is not done,
And until it comes, the Rabbit stays missing.

Signed: L + D

Alice’s hands trembled. “Have I not suffered enough?” she whispered.

But after a moment she folded the note, slipped it into her apron, and shook her head. “No. It’s too close to Christmas to trouble Father Christmas with this. I’ll say nothing.”

And she turned away, though her heart beat faster at the thought of what might yet come.

Chapter Nine

The Off

The hour passed quickly. Soon the patter of tiny boots returned as the elves filed back into the workshop, now bundled in their coats and hats. Remembering that the work ahead was outdoors, Alice fetched her own coat and fur hat, buttoning herself tightly before following them into the loading bay.

The icy wind bit sharply. Alice shivered. Father Christmas has such a long, hard night ahead of him…

“Hello again—my name is Miranda,” said a female elf, the very same who had carried the heavy tray earlier.

“Miranda!” Alice smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you properly. Do you need help?”

“I’m in charge of the sacks,” Miranda explained, showing a neat tag. “Each one must be labelled and loaded in the right order. It’s hectic—I’d welcome a hand.”

“I’d love to help.”

Alice followed her to the towering line of sacks. “They’re enormous! However will they all fit?”

Miranda laughed. “They don’t. Father Christmas takes them one at a time.”

“Oh,” Alice whispered, blushing.

Suddenly the bay erupted with activity—elves darting about, carrying hessian bags stuffed with oat flakes. Alice blinked. “What’s all that?”

“Last-minute fuel,” Miranda replied calmly. “The old man swears by oats for stamina. Though…” she lowered her voice, “…he has another trick.”

Alice’s eyes widened. “Another trick?”

“Did you notice the colours in his beard?”

“I might have…”

“Magic,” Miranda said simply. “Every year, just before he sets off, he sprinkles those rainbow flecks into the reindeer’s nosebags.”

Alice giggled. “Whiz-popping!”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said quickly.

At that moment Father Christmas appeared at the far end of the bay. Miranda tugged Alice down behind a sack. “Watch.”

They peeked as the old man patted Rudolf, glanced slyly about, then slipped a glittering handful into the nosebag. He repeated this for each reindeer before strolling out again—only to re-enter seconds later, booming “Ho, ho, ho!” as though he’d just arrived.

Alice and Miranda stifled their laughter as he clambered into the sleigh.

“Miranda,” he said cheerfully, “I see you have a new helper.” He nodded toward Alice. “Is the first sack ready?”

“All set,” Miranda confirmed.

Checking the huge bundle, Father Christmas read the tag carefully. Then, with a clap of his hands: “Nosebags away!”

The elves whipped the bags off. With reins gathered, Father Christmas called, “Rarr, rarr, rarr!”

The reindeer thundered forward, hooves sparking against the icy stone. With a rush of wind the sleigh soared up, vanishing into the night.

Alice’s eyes followed until the bells faded. “How does he find his way, Miranda? No lamps, no lanterns…”

“Magic,” Miranda said again, tugging her back inside. “He’ll return before you know it. We must ready the next sack.”

And indeed, moments later the familiar bells rang out. The sleigh swept into the bay, the elves swarming to unload and reload.

“Everything went perfectly,” Father Christmas said, wiping his brow. “Though I could use a drink…”

At once Miranda presented a silver goblet of Fizzing Fruit Juice. He drained it with a booming burp. “Ah! That hits the spot!”

So the night went on. He returned again and again—twenty-three times in all—each trip as swift as the last. Alice watched, marvelling.

At last, weary but twinkling, Father Christmas wiped his brow. “One final run remains.”

“I could help!” Alice blurted eagerly.

“You?” He studied her closely.

“Yes—me, the Cat, and the Mouse. We never travel alone.”

She produced the Mouse from her pocket; he twitched in sleepy protest. “The Cat’s here too,” she added, returning the Mouse. “Sleeping, as usual.”

The old man chuckled. “Why not? It is Christmas, after all.”

Alice hurried to fetch the Cat’s cushion. Miranda steadied the little ladder as she climbed aboard, nestling the cushion safely beside the sack.

“Ready?” asked Father Christmas.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Alice giggled.

“Then off we go!” He cracked the reins. “Rarr, rarr, rarr!”

The reindeer surged. Wind bit her cheeks, but Alice only smiled. This—this was the trip of a lifetime.

High they soared, silent at last.

“It’s so peaceful,” Alice whispered.

“Yes,” said Father Christmas softly. “Up here, you see how small man’s quarrels really are.”

“If only everyone might see it that way,” Alice murmured.

“If only,” he agreed.

They travelled on, the Mouse asleep in Alice’s pocket, the Cat curled invisible beside her, and the stars glittering cold and bright.

Father Christmas pulled gently on the reins, pointing down. “This is my first stop, Alice.”

She leaned over. Below lay a rambling roof of weathered slate.

“It’s an orphanage,” he said quietly. “One hundred and five children this year.”

“All without parents?” Alice whispered.

He nodded. “They’d all have homes if only people kept Christmas in their hearts year-round.”

They landed softly. Slinging the sack over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing, Father Christmas vanished down the chimney in a swirl of rainbow sparks. Within minutes he was back, beaming.

“How did you manage that so quickly?” Alice gasped.

He only grinned. “You know the answer, Alice. Magic. Just as you are beginning to know where your Rabbit lies.”

Her heart fluttered with questions she could not frame.

Stop after stop followed—roofs, barns, cottages, valleys—until she lost count. At last the sleigh held only two presents.

“The final delivery,” said Father Christmas, handing her one.

Alice nearly tumbled in her excitement. “Thank you!”

They landed on a snowy roof. “Go first,” he urged.

She trembled, peered into the chimney—and gasped as rainbow light swirled around her, lifting her gently down. She landed in the hearth as softly as a feather.

Moments later he appeared behind her, smiling. “Where shall we put them?”

Alice pointed at the stockings.

“Not there,” he said. “Under the tree.”

Together they placed the gifts beneath the glowing Norway Spruce. Alice breathed deeply. “Mum says they shed needles, but oh—they smell divine.”

“They are my favourite too,” said Father Christmas.

Footsteps stirred upstairs. Quickly he swept her back to the hearth. A burst of rainbow light, and they were gone—just as two yawning children entered the room. They saw the last sparks drifting in the air and smiled, knowing.

Back on the roof, the sleigh rose once more into the brightening sky. Alice nestled against the cushions, her heart brimming. She and the old man rode on, bound by a kindred joy few ever know.

Chapter Ten

A Calamity!

The journey home began smoothly, the sleigh gliding as gently as a baby hippopotamus’s skin. It was so peaceful that Alice, the Cat, and the Mouse all drifted into sleep.

“Easy now, Rudolf,” Father Christmas murmured when a sudden bump of turbulence caught the sleigh. He tugged the reins, calming the reindeer. The air steadied, and he glanced at Alice. She was still asleep, her head tipped against her fur hat.

Then—lurch! The sleigh bucked violently, throwing Father Christmas forward. He gritted his teeth, wrestling the reins. “Easy, easy!”

Alice awoke with a start. “What’s happening?”

“Just turbulence,” Father Christmas said, forcing a smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

“But you said the air up here was always still!”

“It usually is…” he admitted—just as another jolt hurled them sideways. Alice clutched the rail in fright.

“Here, take this,” Father Christmas ordered, handing her one of his gloves.

Not knowing why, she pulled off her own and slid her hand inside. To her astonishment the glove shrank to fit her perfectly. She saw a flicker of rainbow light in his beard and realised—it was magic.

“Hold on with that hand,” he said gravely.

Another shudder shook the sleigh. Alice gripped the rail with her gloved hand and found she could hold fast with ease.

“Meow…” came a groan from behind. The Cat had woken. “I am quite unwell, if you call air sickness acceptable.” He narrowed his yellow eyes. “How did I get up here anyway?”

Father Christmas shot Alice a disapproving glance. She coughed politely. “Your cushion is strapped in, Cat. Hold on with those claws of yours.”

Before the Cat could reply, the sleigh dropped like a stone. Wind roared past. Alice’s heart leapt to her throat.

“Hold on, Alice!” Father Christmas bellowed. “Don’t let go!”

The sleigh tumbled, spinning wildly. The reindeer strained, their harnesses clattering. Father Christmas called on them desperately: “Come on Rudolf, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen—come on, all of you! RARR, RARR, RARR!”

The sleigh pitched harder. Alice squeezed her eyes shut—then, suddenly, all was calm again. They were back at their height, sailing steadily, as though nothing had happened.

“Is it over?” Alice whispered.

“It seems so,” Father Christmas said, scratching his head. “Strange… very strange.”

Relieved, Alice slipped off the glove. “You’ll want this back.”

“Keep it until—”

“No, thank you. The storm has passed,” she insisted, returning it.

Father Christmas frowned, but said no more.

WHOOSH! Something streaked past.

Alice spun around. “What was that?”

WHOOSH—again, faster this time.

“Father Christmas?”

He followed the blur with his eyes, silent.

“Father Christmas, answer me!” Alice cried.

“Yes, I hear you,” he said slowly.

“Then what is it?”

WHOOSH! The shape swept by again, closer now. Alice caught a glimpse of bones gleaming in the night.

“Someone,” Father Christmas murmured.

“Someone?”

He hesitated, then whispered: “Life and Death.”

Alice froze. Her hand flew to her apron pocket, to the note she had hidden. Your purging is not done…

WHOOSH. The figure swooped nearer still. This time Alice saw its hollow eyes, its bony hands, its cloak whipping like shadow.

“Can we get away?” she begged.

“I’m afraid not,” said Father Christmas, his voice heavy. “Alice—this is part of your purging. You must go with him.”

“But I don’t want to go!”

WHOOSH, WHOOSH—Life and Death came at them with terrible speed, and with a final strike he tipped the sleigh. Alice screamed as she tumbled into the night.

The Cat clung to his cushion, claws dug deep, yowling in terror. Father Christmas held firm, his face grave, his eyes watching.

And then—before she could crash to earth—the bony figure swept beneath her, catching her in its arms.

Alice landed softly on the snow. The skeletal being set her down and, wordless, pointed into the distance.

Her fear ebbed, replaced by defiance. “I might have known you would do that,” she said, finding her voice. “But if I must follow your instructions, tell me first—are the White Rabbit and Father Christmas safe?”

The figure raised one bony arm toward the horizon, where a glowing trail of light stretched across the brightening sky.

“Father Christmas…” Alice whispered. “And the Rabbit? Where is he?”

The figure said nothing. Its hand remained outstretched, pointing the way forward.

Chapter Eleven

A Nice Surprise

Once again Alice found herself outside in the cold. Once again her only companion was the brooding figure of Life and Death. And once again she wished, more than anything, that she had already found the White Rabbit’s neat little house.

Pulling her coat tight, she followed. This time, the journey was mercifully short. Within minutes Life and Death stopped and pointed silently at the snowy ground.

Alice frowned. “What can you mean? There’s nothing but snow!”

Still he pointed.

“All right then,” she huffed. “If it makes you any happier, I’ll dig a hole to prove it.”

On her hands and knees she scooped up handfuls of snow, her gloves soon discarded so she could dig deeper. Before long she had made quite a pit. “There, you see? Nothing!”

But the figure remained, pointing.

Frustration flared. “One more minute. If I find nothing, you can stand here pointing forever, for all I care.”

Grumbling, Alice climbed into the hole and dug faster. Then—her fingers struck something hard. “I think… yes, there’s something here!” Excited now, she cleared the snow feverishly until a wooden trapdoor emerged.

“Why, it’s a trapdoor!” she gasped. Looking up—Life and Death had vanished.

“How peculiar,” she whispered.

She slipped the Mouse from her pocket. “What do you think?”

“Cheese,” mumbled the Mouse sleepily.

“I’m sorry, but cheese must wait.” She tucked him back, sighed, and said, “I wish the Cat were here. At least he listens.”

Left to decide on her own, Alice tugged at the trapdoor. It was frozen solid. She pulled harder. “It’s no use!”

A faint whisper drifted: “Try again.”

She tried—and with a sudden creak the trapdoor swung open, sending her toppling backwards into the snow.

Brushing herself off, Alice peered down. Light blazed from within. “It’s so bright… shall I go down?”

There was no answer. Alone now, Alice descended the short steps and found herself in warmth. She pulled the trapdoor closed against the falling snow.

“And I should think so!” said a voice.

Alice spun round. A tiny man in tartan stood there, bowed under the weight of an enormous set of bagpipes.

Alice stifled a laugh—unsuccessfully.

“So,” said the little man crossly, “we meet, and already you laugh at me.”

“I beg your pardon,” Alice giggled, “but it’s your bagpipes—they look so very big!”

“They are the same size as any bagpipes,” he snapped. “It’s me who is small.”

Realising her rudeness, Alice apologised. “You’re right—I was too hasty. My name is Alice. I’m pleased to meet you, no matter how big or small you may be, and no matter how large your… er… wonderful bagpipes.”

“Hmm,” he said, softening. “My name is Mortar. And I am pleased to meet you, no matter how fat or thin you happen to be—or how hungry your Mouse is.”

Alice blinked. “How did you know about the Mouse?”

“I know many things,” he replied airily.

They spoke a while, Alice questioning, Mortar answering in riddles. Finally she asked, “But how did you get your name?”

“You gave it to me,” Mortar said matter-of-factly.

“Me?”

“Yes. You named me the moment you entered. But you haven’t decided what the name should mean.”

Alice frowned. “Well… it might mean a gun.”

“No.”

“Or plaster, the sort that holds bricks together?”

“Closer. But still no.”

She thought and thought until at last she whispered, “Light?”

Mortar’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” He spun in a circle, clapping his hands.

Alice laughed. “But why did you need me to tell you, if you already knew?”

Mortar’s smile faded. “Purging.”

“Purging again?” Alice sighed. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“To help you find your way,” Mortar replied softly.

Something stirred inside her, a sudden clarity. “To the White Rabbit—and his neat little house!”

“Yes,” said Mortar. “If that is what you truly want. If not—then wherever your destiny waits.”

And at that, Alice knew. The veil lifted. She hugged Mortar—and his bagpipes so hard they squawked dreadfully.

“Sorry!” she laughed.

“No matter,” he said, examining them. “Would you like a tune? Any request?”

Alice hesitated. “Perhaps… better not.”

“Then I shall play one of my own.”

He blew. The bagpipes wailed like a pig in distress. Yet as he played, Alice found herself humming. Words rose unbidden to her lips:

A life I have, but here for a day…
The time I spend is soon gone away…

She sang the whole strange song, not knowing where it came from. Mortar clapped in delight. “No one has ever sung with such conviction!”

“Thank you,” Alice said, still bewildered. “I don’t know what came over me. But I enjoyed it.”

At last she asked, “Mortar—please. Where am I?”

“You are,” he said, eyes twinkling, “wherever you want to be.”

Exasperated, Alice stamped her foot. “Of all the people I’ve met here, even Life and Death himself—you are the most annoying!”

Mortar only shrugged, hoisting his pipes. “We all carry our weights,” he said gently. “Worries, fears, confusions. That’s why we don’t always know where we are.”

Alice stared at him—and something clicked. “If I stop looking, I can start seeing. I know where the Rabbit’s house is now!”

“Yes,” Mortar nodded.

Her heart lightened. “Then I want to be home. I want to be myself, at ease with the world.”

Mortar smiled. “Then you are.”

And as suddenly as he had appeared, Mortar faded. The furnishings vanished too. Alice stood alone in the hole, wondering if he had been there at all.

Chapter Twelve

“How Can You Possibly Be Me?”

When the trapdoor world vanished, Alice did not find herself outside in the cold snow, as she half expected. Instead, she stood at the start of a narrow, winding path.

“Hmm,” she said. “Mortar was right after all—you are wherever you want to be.”

The path stretched both ways. Alice frowned, unsure. “To be sure, I’ve no idea which way to go.” Forgetting Mortar’s warning not to take things for granted, she resorted to rhyme:

Eany, meany, miny, mo,
Which way to follow, which way to go?
Left or right, up or down,
It makes no difference as time turns round.

With that, she turned right, then left, then right again, and marched on.

Strange sights greeted her along the way: a beautiful brown handbag that sprouted arms and legs and bolted the moment she reached for it; an old thruppeny bit, which she pocketed, saying, “I’ll keep this for our Christmas pudding”; and a hedgehog, curled tight as if waiting for a flamingo and croquet match. But the strangest thing of all came when she turned a sharp bend and found herself face-to-face with—herself.

The two Alices stared. Both were identical in face and form, yet not in clothes. Alice number one wore boots, fur hat, and winter coat. Alice number two wore only her blue dress and apron.

“How can this be?” Alice number one murmured.

“How can this be?” echoed Alice number two, though her timing was a fraction off.

Alice number one raised her hand, curious if the other would copy. She did, but slower, and with a different tilt. Alice gasped and jumped back.

“I do wish you’d stop that,” complained Alice number two. “It’s making me frightfully dizzy.”

“Are you really me?” asked Alice number one.

“I am me,” said Alice number two. “Does that make you me as well?”

“I am Alice,” said Alice number one firmly.

“And so am I.”

They circled one another like mirrors gone awry. Finally Alice number one tested her double. “Are you on your way to find fertilizer?”

“I am,” said Alice number two, eyeing her warmly-clad twin, “though you don’t look dressed for the task.”

“You might assume so,” Alice number one said, “but you’d be mistaken. I already secured the fertilizer, spread it, and moved far beyond.”

“You did?” her double faltered. “Then where does that leave me?”

“Don’t you see? It’s Mortar.”

“Mortar? What has a gun got to do with it?”

“Not a gun, nor plaster either,” Alice snapped.

“I never said plaster,” Alice number two huffed. “Have you cut yourself?”

Frustrated, Alice number one stamped her foot. “Listen! Not long ago I met a tiny man named Mortar—”

“An elf?”

“No. Why say that?”

“I don’t know,” said Alice number two slowly. “It’s as though words drift into my head… Fle is one of them. Does that mean anything?”

But Alice number one, sensing she had taken the wrong turn entirely, decided she must retrace her steps. She bid her double good-bye.

“But you never explained about Fle!” protested Alice number two.

“You’ll find out for yourself,” Alice said, and turned back along the path.

This time, no strange handbags or hedgehogs appeared. The way was dull, and Alice longed for company.

“Oh, how I wish someone were here to talk to,” she sighed, plucking a daisy.

“Hello!” called a tiny voice.

Alice spun about. “Who said that?”

“Me.”

“What sort of name is Me?”

“That’s not my name, silly—it’s who I am!”

Puzzled, Alice looked down. “If you are me, does that make me you?”

A pause. Then: “I am me, you are you, I think. It’s all terribly confusing. You don’t happen to have a pinch of fertilizer, do you? It always settles me when I’m flustered.”

Alice laughed, spotting the speaker at last. “You’re not invisible at all—you’re a flower!”

Indeed, a large Feverfew plant stood before her, its yellow blossoms bobbing.

“I am. And mind you don’t tread on me,” it sniffed.

“I won’t. And judging by your size you hardly need fertilizer.”

The Feverfew ignored that. “Now, what shall we talk about? Ah, I know—the topic shall be you.”

“Me again?” Alice groaned. “I only just had this conversation with another me.”

“Then it’s settled,” the plant said briskly. “First question: who do you think you are?”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “You don’t happen to know Alice number two, do you?”

The Feverfew chuckled without answering. “Second question: where are you?”

“I am here!” Alice cried. “And so are you! Honestly, I’ve had enough half-answers in this place already.”

“Very well,” the plant said. “Ask me a question, about yourself.”

“All right,” Alice said, sitting cross-legged on the path. “Will I have another adventure after this one?”

The Feverfew’s roots seemed to rustle underground before it spoke again. “No fertilizer, then?”

Alice threw up her hands. “Why are you all obsessed with fertilizer?”

“We can never have enough of a good thing,” it replied smugly. “Now, do you want another adventure?”

“No!” Alice cried. “One is quite enough at a time.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because you told me to!”

“Because I told you to, or because you wanted to?”

Alice thought. “Because I wanted to.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

Alice sighed. “You’re as bad as Mortar.”

The Feverfew whispered one last time, “Still no fertilizer?”

“No,” Alice laughed, realising suddenly why she had met her double: she had wandered from Mortar’s wisdom. “You are wherever you want to be.” She stood, brushing off her skirts. “I must dash.”

And with that, Alice skipped away down the path, forgetting the double, the Feverfew, and all its riddles—thinking only of her next step.

Chapter Thirteen

An Old Friend Revisited

Alice felt lighter now. She was heading the right way, and though she still had far to go before finding the White Rabbit’s neat little house, she walked with a happy certainty: she knew who she was, and where she stood.

“I hope it’s not far,” she sighed. “It must be getting quite late, and I’m dreadfully hungry.”

The path wound on. No flowers or trees bordered it now—only orange-painted curbs and the occasional bench. The sun shone far too brightly for such a late hour, making her thirsty as well. She removed her fur coat, wiped her brow, and muttered, “This is terrible. Hungry, thirsty, and nothing to be had.”

She sat on a bench. The view was fine—hill after hill rolling away—but it was not the view that caught her. Halfway up a distant slope she saw something familiar.

“Why—that’s the entrance to the fertilizer mine!” she cried. “Fle must surely have something to eat and drink.”

Abandoning her hat and coat, Alice hurried across the hills. It was hard travelling, but her heart was glad.

When she reached the gates she called, “Fle, it’s me—Alice!”

Silence. Only the yellow sign clattered in the wind.

Alice squeezed through the gates and down into the mine. Her voice echoed: “Fle? Are you there?”

Nothing.

Her heart quickened. She hurried to the secret cavern, tugged the rope, and let sunlight pour in. But though she searched between the stacks, even climbing to the top of a pile, Fle was not there.

At last she admitted he was gone. Back outside, she fretted. “What can I do to find him?” Then she knew. Delving into her apron pocket, she brought out the Mouse.

“Mouse,” she whispered, stroking his fur. “I need your help.”

“Cheese?” the Mouse asked hopefully.

“No cheese—yet. But if you help me find Fle, he will give you all the cheese you can eat.”

The Mouse twitched his whiskers. “I still owe you for saving me from that Cat. Very well—though I’d prefer some cheddar to settle the nerves.”

“Later,” Alice insisted.

After listening to Alice’s tale, the Mouse hatched a plan. Alice had doubts, but she had no other choice.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“As ready as a mouse can be,” he squeaked.

And Alice hurled him through the air.

The Mouse vanished into the grasses. Alice held her breath until she heard his high-pitched squeaks from afar. “I can hear him—in those tall grasses, to the right!”

The plan worked. A rustling came, and then—pushing through the blades—appeared the wrinkled, familiar face of Fle.

“Alice!” he exclaimed.

“Fle!” Alice ran to him, almost toppling into his arms. “We were so worried.”

Fle scratched his head. “Yous sent this Mouse flying through the air? What a squeak he made! Thought a cat had got him.”

Alice laughed, hugging Fle tight. “We found your cavern empty and feared the worst. The Mouse sniffed the sacks—he said there was something else in them, something you must fetch from outside.”

The old elf raised his brows. “Clever little beggar. Found out about my secret ingredient, did he?”

“Please don’t be angry,” Alice begged.

“Mad at yous?” Fle chuckled. “That’s like the Queen of Hearts scolding the King for offering her a ride in his Travelling Palace.”

Alice laughed.

Fle leaned close, his eyes twinkling. “I suppose yous’ll be wanting to see how I gets my secret ingredient?”

Alice hesitated. “It’s your secret, Fle. We needn’t intrude.”

But Fle shook his head, grinning. “Come on. I’ve been waiting years to show someone—and who better than my bestest friend Alice, and her little Mouse too?”

He led them to a dip in the land, where the grasses grew taller. There he hushed them. “This is the place. I comes here when I’m short of my ingredient. I hides in the grass. And then—I waits.”

“Waits for what?”

“For the approach.”

“The approach?”

“The approach of the bats,” Fle whispered.

Alice looked up at the sky. It was empty.

“There aren’t any,” she said.

“Not yet.”

So they crouched. Slowly, faint sounds grew on the wind: the flapping of many wings. Louder, louder, until Alice’s heart beat fast with fear.

“Don’t fret,” said Fle. “They won’t be harmed.”

Then the bats came, shrieking and swooping.

Fle sprang up. From nowhere he drew a huge net and spun it above his head until it blurred. “I’ll be getting my secret ingredient—NOW!” he roared, and flung it.

Alice gasped as the net whammed into the swarm—but the bats passed through unharmed, settling to roost in the grasses. Yet when Fle caught the net again, it bulged with something unseen, writhing as if alive.

“What is it?” Alice whispered.

“Arcanum,” Fle said proudly. “Pure Arcanum. The life-force itself. I whammy it out with a touch of magic. The bats don’t feel a thing.”

Alice reached and touched the net. It quivered beneath her fingers. She pulled back quickly.

“It moves!”

“That’s the power,” Fle explained. “It’s an elixir. And elixirs are always liquid. Magic keeps it from slipping through.”

Alice stared in awe. “And you add this… to fertilizer?”

Fle nodded. “Makes the best in all the world.”

He slung the net onto a battered old cart hidden nearby. The cart groaned, a spoke snapping with a crack.

“Will it hold?” Alice asked nervously.

“Long enough,” Fle chuckled.

Together they wheeled the cart toward the mine. The Mouse poked his head from Alice’s pocket. “And cheese?” he asked hopefully.

“As much as yous like,” Fle laughed.

And Alice laughed too—hungry, thirsty, but glad beyond measure to have found her old friend again.

Chapter Fourteen

A Magical Combination

At the mine gates Fle unhooked the padlock with ease.

“You never locked it?” Alice asked.

“Nope,” Fle winked. “A padlock’s enough. Peoples make assumptions on looks. Whether it’s locked or not, they don’t try. That’s how I sees it.”

“You are a funny man,” Alice said, hugging him. Fle turned crimson.

Inside the secret cavern, Fle bustled about. “Would yous like it formal, or informal?”

“Informal will do,” Alice said, setting the Mouse upon the table.

“Then sit yous down,” said Fle. “I’ll just fetch the recipe.”

“The recipe?” Alice asked.

“Not for cooking. Too long. This is a magical recipe—for vittals.”

Alice barely had time to blink before Fle returned with a tray piled with fine foods.

“Food for the weary traveller,” he beamed.

Alice thanked him gratefully, then heard a pitiful squeak.

“You haven’t forgotten the Mouse, have you?”

“Oh my gorsh!” Fle spun in little circles, forgetting to actually fetch anything.

“A bit of pie crust will do,” Alice soothed, offering the Mouse a crumb. The Mouse nibbled happily. Fle calmed at once, though soon produced a second tray groaning with cheeses. The Mouse was very happy indeed.

After the meal Fle pushed back his chair. “Now, Alice, I’ll show you how I mixes the secret ingredient.”

At the far end of the cavern stood a large machine that Alice was sure had not been there before. Fle patted it affectionately.

“This be where I mixes the fertilizer. This door”—he opened a hatch—“is for the raw stuff. And this one”—he tapped a smaller door—“is for the Arcanum.”

Alice felt a twinge of unease. “Is it… dangerous?”

Fle lowered his voice. “Depends what you calls danger.” Then, brightening, he handed her a shiny copper ladle.

Alice admired her distorted reflection.

Fle opened the net. Inside shimmered the Arcanum, alive with colour and movement. Alice gasped.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Beautiful maybe. But careful—we don’t want to wake it.” He dipped a finger, placed it to his lips, then beckoned. “Now, you try.”

Alice lowered the ladle. At once the Arcanum writhed, clinging as if alive. Startled, she withdrew.

“Back in, Alice! Arcanum don’t like hesitation.”

Trembling, she scooped a portion and tipped it into the machine. The liquid gurgled and slid inside.

They worked together: ten ladlefuls in all.

“Now we mix,” Fle said, grasping a stout metal handle at the side. Slowly he turned it. A hum began—low at first, then rising in tone until it sounded like music. Fle’s grin grew wide.

“Can yous hear it? It makes me want to sing!”

Alice thought the whole contraption might blow up, but Fle was already singing:

Oh I do love my job mixing these things,
Fertilizer first, then Arcanum sings.
If it’s done rightly, it won’t go boom—
Just hums along sweetly and brightens the room.

Round and round he turned the handle, singing verse after verse until at last he cried, “Done!”

From the base he drained yellow granules into a cart. He lifted a handful, letting them sift through his fingers. “And there it is—the finest fertilizer at the top of the world.”

Alice helped bag the mixture, tying each sack and stacking it neatly with the rest. Together, she and Fle worked until every last drop of Arcanum had been blended, while the Mouse remained in bliss with his Gorgonzola.

At last Fle handed Alice a glass of ice-cold water. She drank deeply.

He watched her.

“What is it?” Alice asked.

“I was wondering,” Fle said shyly, “if yous’d like to hear my Fertilizer Song.”

Alice laughed. “Didn’t I already hear it?”

“Nar—that was only the Mixing Song. This one’s better.” He cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling.

Fertilizer is a thing we don’t always see,
Though it’s under our feet, and it works quietly.
Spread on the ground, all around and around,
It wakens the plants with a joy that is sound.

Fle sang on with gusto, his words tumbling like grain from a sack. Alice clapped along, and soon the Mouse squeaked his own accompaniment.

“Come on, Alice—join in!” Fle urged, starting again.

And so Alice, Fle, and the Mouse sang the Fertilizer Song not once but four times over, until the cavern rang with laughter and cheer.

At last Fle raised a hand. “Enough merriment. Alice, it’s time yous were on your way—home, and to that White Rabbit of yours.”

Alice’s heart leapt. The road to the Rabbit still lay ahead. But for now, she was content: she had worked, sung, and laughed with a true friend, and felt stronger for it.

Chapter Fifteen

Rabbit Bound

Bidding the kind, loveable old elf a fond farewell, Alice began her journey once more, crossing hill after hill and valley after valley. She was heading home—or so she hoped—but first she longed to reach the White Rabbit’s neat little house.

“I know where his house is,” she said aloud, “but not the way to it. This top of the world is the strangest place—paths go nowhere, or anywhere, and sometimes both at once!”

Without Fle for company, Alice had only the Mouse in her apron pocket for comfort. But he had eaten his fill of Gorgonzola and fallen into a deep and squeaky sleep. Peeking in at him, Alice whispered, “No, I shan’t wake him. He looks so peaceful.”

After what felt like an hour—or perhaps two, for she had no watch and no way to keep track—Alice came to a path unlike any she had seen before. It was shrouded in gloom: great trees bent and tangled above her, their branches blotting out nearly all the light.

“Oh dear,” Alice said nervously. “This does not look inviting.”

Still, she stepped onto the path. To steady her nerves she began whistling, though it sounded thin and lonely among the shadows. For a few moments she almost convinced herself it was safe—until a scream split the silence.

Alice froze. “Who’s that?” she whispered, afraid to speak too loudly. She thought she saw a figure darting between the trees.

Summoning her courage, she called, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

No reply.

She opened her pocket and looked at the slumbering Mouse. “Oh, Mouse,” she whispered, “if only you were the Cat—I should at least have someone awake to talk to.” She closed the pocket again.

There—the figure moved once more, flitting between the trunks. Alice crept forward, her heart hammering. Another scream rang out, nearer this time, and Alice nearly jumped out of her boots.

Then a timid voice called, “Who’s there?”

Alice held her breath.

“I said, who’s there?” the voice insisted.

“I shan’t reply,” Alice said firmly, “until you first tell me who you are.”

“You did.”

“I did what?”

“Replied. In fact, you’ve replied twice,” the voice said with smug satisfaction.

“Grr,” Alice muttered.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Who are you?”

Alice decided to play the game. “Me.”

“Me?”

“Yes, me.”

“Don’t you mean I?”

That was too much. “How can I be you? That’s just silly,” she said, laughing despite herself.

After a pause, the voice suggested, “Shall we start again?”

“Very well,” said Alice. “But only if you promise to be honest this time.”

“I promise,” said the voice softly.

Alice waited. And waited. Finally she grew impatient. “Well? Aren’t you going to begin?”

“I thought I’d let you start,” the voice said meekly.

“This is ridiculous,” Alice snapped. “Come out of the shadows so I can see you properly!”

There was a rustling, the snap of twigs, the crackle of leaves. An owl hooted in protest. And then, from the gloom, a familiar figure emerged.

“The White Rabbit!” Alice gasped. She ran to him and threw her arms around his furry neck. “I’d have thought it was anyone but you!”

The Rabbit straightened his dusty jacket, looking guilty.

“And why,” Alice demanded, “were you playing tricks on me?”

“Tricks? Oh—well—one gets rather defensive in the Forest of Doubts and Fears,” he explained, brushing leaves from his trousers. “It makes you say things you don’t always mean.”

“The Forest of Doubts and Fears?” Alice repeated, glancing uneasily at the looming trees.

“Yes. Not the cheeriest of places, but here we are. Now then—where have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Alice blinked. “You’ve been looking for me? Why, I’ve been looking for you!”

They stared at one another. Then Alice asked suspiciously, “And what else have you been doing, besides looking for me?”

The Rabbit shuffled. “Well… a Rabbit can’t be expected to look forever. I was also—ah—collecting earthnuts.”

“Earthnuts?”

“Some call them truffles,” he admitted.

Alice’s eyes widened. “Truffles? But the Queen of Hearts declared she’d chop off anyone’s head who dug them up without her permission!” She eyed the Rabbit’s bulging pockets.

He swallowed hard. “You won’t tell her, will you?”

“That depends,” said Alice slyly, “on whether you mean to share them with me.”

Moments later, they were sitting by a small fire the Rabbit had kindled, cooking the earthnuts in a shell of water. Soon the air was rich with their savoury fragrance.

“Oh, they smell delicious!” Alice exclaimed.

“Told you,” said the Rabbit smugly, fishing one out and handing it to her.

Alice took a bite. Her eyes grew wide. “Mmm! They’re fantastic. May I have another?”

“Of course.”

One by one they ate them—three each—until only one remained. They stared at it in silence.

“Why don’t we share the last one?” Alice suggested.

“Toasting the Queen’s health?” said the Rabbit, brightening.

“To the Queen!” they both cried, munching happily.

When the last crumb was gone, Alice gazed at her companion. “Rabbit,” she said slowly, “I’ve been thinking about your neat little house…”

The Rabbit’s ears twitched.

“I think I’ve worked it out,” Alice went on. “Your house isn’t like anyone else’s. It isn’t fixed. It can be anywhere—Wonderland, or here, at the top of the world. That’s why I couldn’t find it. Your house is… is a congeniality home—it appears only when it’s needed.”

The Rabbit tugged his whiskers. “I’ve heard it called many things down the years,” he said, “but never that. Still—you’re right. My house is there for whoever needs it, whenever it’s needed. And if that means it’s a congeniality home, then so it shall be.”

At that very moment, as if conjured by the words, the Rabbit’s house appeared before them: a charming little dwelling with a white picket fence, a neat vegetable patch, cucumber frames glinting in the sun, and a brass plate on the door gleaming:

W. Rabbit.

Alice clapped her hands in delight and hugged the Rabbit once more.

Chapter Sixteen

Goodnight, My Child

Standing at the door of his neat little house, the White Rabbit gave a theatrical sweep of his paw.
“Would you like to come in, Alice?”

“I would love to,” she replied, stepping inside.

The Rabbit darted about, fussing, eager to make her feel welcome. He offered her a chair, and Alice sank gratefully into a wonderfully soft armchair.

“We shall have tea in less than a jiff,” he mumbled, disappearing into the tiny kitchen.

“Tea for two,” Alice giggled.

But after ten minutes of clattering and banging, no tea appeared.

“Do you need a hand?” she called.

The Rabbit popped his head round the door, holding a jar of coffee. “No, no, stay seated. The coffee will be ready in half a jiff.”

“Tea,” Alice corrected him, laughing. “It was tea you promised.”

“Tea? Oh yes, of course, tea,” the Rabbit said quickly, trying to hide the jar behind his back. “Now—where was I?”

“The tea!” Alice cried.

“Oh yes, the tea,” he nodded, disappearing again.

The clatter resumed. Alice, smiling at the Rabbit’s nonsense, laid her head back on the chair. The cushions were so very comfortable. Before long, she drifted into a deep sleep.

And in that sleep she dreamed—of a Cat and a Mouse, of King Tut, of talking plants that begged for fertilizer, of a kindly elf named Fle, and a merry old man called Father Christmas. It was a good dream, a wonderful dream—until a dark figure loomed. Life and Death.

Alice cried out in fear. She shouted for it to go away, again and again.

Then another voice broke through, soft and familiar.

“Mummy… wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

Alice opened her eyes. For a moment she was lost—unsure who she was or where. Then she saw her daughter. Little Alison lay in bed, her head resting on the pillow, gazing up with innocent eyes.

Alice understood at once. She was home. She was Alice no longer the child, but Alice the mother, sitting beside her daughter’s bed, reading her favourite bedtime story—about a girl named Alice.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, leaning to kiss her forehead. “You’re right, Alison. It was just a dream. But it wasn’t all bad—most of it was truly, truly good.”

“Will you finish the story tomorrow?” Alison asked hopefully.

“I will,” Alice promised, her eyes shining with tears of happiness.

“Mummy, are you all right?”

“I am, Alison,” she said softly. “In fact, I’ve never felt happier.”

She tucked her daughter in and kissed her goodnight. “Now go to sleep, my child. Tomorrow is Christmas—and you wouldn’t want to be awake when Santa comes, would you?”

She closed the bedroom door gently. On the landing, a movement outside caught her eye. She drew back the curtain. Snowflakes drifted down.

“That’s nice,” she whispered. “Just like at the top of the world…”

Then she heard it—the jingling of bells. Her heart pounding, she flung back the curtain.

There, just beyond the glass, soared nine reindeer, their breath steaming in the winter night. Behind them glowed a sleigh resplendent in rainbow-coloured sparks.

In the sleigh sat Father Christmas himself, dressed in green and white, his face alight with joy.

“Ho, ho, ho! A Merry Christmas to you, Alice!” he called.

From his pocket he drew a little Mouse and held it up for her to see. It twitched its whiskers and smiled at her. Alice smiled back, her heart swelling.

Then Father Christmas tucked the Mouse away, took up the reins, and cried, “Rarr, rarr, rarr!”

The reindeer clawed the night air, and the sleigh shot skyward, vanishing into the snowy dark on its once-a-year journey of wonder.

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THE END

Epilogue — Alice’s Whisper

So hush, my child, the dream is through,
The Rabbit’s gone, the Cat is too;
Yet in the dark, if you but peek,
You’ll find them waiting, mild or meek.

The Mouse is safe, the bells still ring,
And Father Christmas laughs to sing;
While Fle keeps watch beneath the hill,
With sacks of magic, waiting still.

So close your eyes, the world is wide,
With wonder waiting just outside;
And when you dream, remember this—
The world is stranger than it is.

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