Chapter One
Into the Abyss

It was many years later when Alice found herself on another adventure—though, to her surprise, she was once again a child, no older than when she first tumbled into Wonderland and slipped through that curious Looking Glass.

“How curious,” she whispered, trying to recall the girl she had once been.

Suddenly, the White Rabbit appeared before her, looking impatient. “Took your time getting here,” he quipped.

“I beg your pardon?” Alice replied, recalling how rude he could be—particularly when he felt so inclined.

“I said you took your time. You should have been here fourteen years ago,” he huffed indignantly, hopping briskly away.

“But,” Alice stuttered, running after him, “I have no idea how I arrived, let alone why I’m so late!”

“We accept no ifs or buts here—by now, you should know that,” the Rabbit said, as a door suddenly materialized beside him. Without hesitation, he pushed it open. “Hurry up—please don’t dawdle.”

Alice hurried through the doorway, struggling to keep pace with the rapid-hopping Rabbit. She wondered if he’d got out of bed on the wrong side that morning, for he seemed quite grumpy on such a lovely day. The sun shone brightly, warming everything around them.

“I wonder where I might be,” she mused, admiring the pink forget-me-nots that lined a winding path before her. “Am I in Wonderland?” she asked, just as another door—similar to the first—appeared.

The Rabbit gave her a peculiar look. “Of course we’re not in Wonderland,” he said, opening the door with a flourish. “We’re on top of the world.” Then, with a wink, he scurried down another winding path, bordered by more pink forget-me-nots.

“The top of the world?” Alice gasped, surprised. “That’s impossible!”

The Rabbit stopped and turned to face her. “Then how can you be here if it’s impossible?”

Alice hesitated, flummoxed by his question. The only reply she managed was, “I bet you’re mad!”

“Mad? Oh, that all depends,” the Rabbit said, with a sly grin. “Depends on whether you mean mad or mad.”

“That’s silly,” Alice insisted. “They both mean the same thing.”

“Not quite,” replied the Rabbit, his eyes gleaming. “If you’re mad number one—and someone calls you mad number two—you might just be very mad indeed about such a fundamental mistake.”

“I’m not mad!” Alice declared, stamping her foot in frustration. She changed the subject, noticing another door had appeared. “Look—another door. Shall I try opening it?”

The White Rabbit reached for the handle, but the door stubbornly refused to budge.

“May I try?” Alice asked, feeling quite un-mad.

Standing back, the Rabbit said nothing. Instead, his tiny, beady eyes watched her intently.

Alice grasped the handle and pushed. The door swung open easily, revealing a dark, yawning hole. She stepped through without hesitation and tumbled into a vast, gaping abyss.

“No, I don’t want to go back up there—no matter how tempting the top of the world might be,” she muttered, staring at the tiny speck of light far above her. “It’s much too far!”

Before she could grasp what was happening, something passed her by in the darkness—she couldn’t see what, only hear its rushing sound. Clinging tightly, she rode it out of the well.

Surprisingly, she found herself on the back of a baby hippopotamus, its skin as smooth as silk. She wondered how she’d managed to stay on long enough to escape that shadowy place. But before she could think further, she slipped and slid off the hippopotamus, landing heavily on the dusty ground.

“I don’t like this place,” she moaned. “I don’t like it at all.”

“You don’t like it?” squawked the baby hippopotamus, its voice high-pitched and surprisingly cheerful for such a hefty creature. “How do you think I feel? There’s not a drop of water in sight—none! And we hippos need water—lots of it!”

Alice brushed dust off her dress and nodded politely. “Mr. Hippopotamus, thank you for the ride—truly the most comfortable hippopotamus ride I’ve ever had.” (Though she omitted to mention she’d never actually ridden one before.) “Thank you again.”

“My dear child,” he replied, “you’re so light I hardly felt you at all. Feel free to jump on my back anytime I pass by, if you need another ride out of that dark place.”

“Thank you,” Alice said with a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind—and treasure your kind offer.”

With that, the hippopotamus sank back into the darkness, searching for water. But before he could begin, another soft landing echoed nearby—though it was nowhere near as gentle as Alice’s.

Before she could say “Jack Robinson,” the White Rabbit reappeared—this time riding backwards on the baby hippopotamus’s back, heading toward the bright light ahead.

He scolded Alice for falling down the hole, then paused. “If there’s going to be any hole-falling around here, we’ll need a vote—decide who’s first and who’s second,” he declared. Alice nodded, though she suspected he might be quite mad—or maybe both.

Suddenly, a new winding path appeared before them. But this one was different—less inviting. Instead of pink forget-me-nots, enormous, green aspidistras with snapping beaks awaited, their mouths wide and hungry.

“Come on, Alice,” urged the Rabbit, rushing past the threatening plants. “We need to get to the top of the world!”

Alice gasped as the first aspidistra snatched at his thick fur, tearing a large wad from his back. “We must return to the top of the world,” he insisted, seemingly unbothered by the danger.

Not wanting to admit she was a little frightened of the strange, snapping plants—and not eager to ask for help—Alice prepared to step down that perilous path.

But the Rabbit was already far ahead. Alice hesitated, closing her eyes and taking a tentative step. She hoped—just hoped—to catch up with him before the plants could reach her.

No sooner had she begun than one of the beaks lunged for her left ear, another yanked her hair, and a third tried to nip her nose.

“Stop that!” Alice shouted. “Stop it this instant, or I’ll dig you all up and replant you with rhubarb!”

The beaks froze midattack, and Alice inspected her head. Everything was intact. She heaved a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she said. “I can’t imagine what’s gotten into you—plants aren’t supposed to be terrible, awful things.”

As she gazed at the towering, beak-mouthed plants, she thought she heard a faint cry. “Who’s crying?” she asked.

Despite listening carefully, she heard no reply—only the swaying of the plants’ stalks. Then they began to shake, their beak mouths moving high above her.

“Stop that,” Alice commanded. “Tell me—who’s crying?”

One of the plants, swaying more than the others, began to speak. “She’s crying,” it said softly, “the little offshoot near my wife—see?” A long, leafy arm pointed across to the right.

“Your wife?” Alice asked in surprise. “Plants can get married?”

“Yes,” the plant replied, swaying gently. “Can you see them?”

“I might, if you’d stop swaying,” Alice said, feeling a little dizzy. “You’re making me feel sick.”

“I can’t help it,” the plant admitted. “When we’re upset, we sway. It’s our way of expressing how we feel—like when the wind blows through us, and we don’t like it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Alice said kindly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You could promise not to dig us up,” the plant whispered, voice trembling.

“Of course I won’t,” Alice promised, “not after how rudely I was treated. I only said that because I was frightened.”

The plants stopped swaying, allowing Alice to see the tiny aspidistra nestled under its mother’s broad leaves. Without fear, she moved closer, reaching out to the little one.

“I’m truly sorry,” she said softly. “If I upset you, please forgive me.”

“Yes,” the baby plant replied, trying not to sob. “And we’re sorry for frightening you. We’re just so hungry… normally we’re happy, with smiling beaks to greet travelers.”

Confused, Alice asked, “Hungry? How can you be hungry when your roots find all the food you need?”

“Fertilizer,” the mother explained. “All plants need it at some point. But none of us have had any for ages. I’ve never even seen it!”

“This is terrible,” Alice muttered, scratching her head. “I’ll find you some—enough to feed you all.”

The beaks seemed to smile—if they could—and began chattering excitedly about the fertilizer mine. Alice listened as they described a place she’d never seen, where the precious stuff was stored.

“Where is this mine?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” the mother admitted. “We don’t know exactly. But we believe it exists.”

Determined to help, Alice promised, “I’ll find you fertilizer. I’ll make sure you have enough to grow strong and happy.”

CONTD