Page 30 of Knave

“Looks like the Red Queen was rather popular,” Ferris said sarcastically and slipped inside the bathing chamber.

Mouse crept beside him, peering down at the bathtub filled with black sludgy muck and two dingy skulls at the edge. A rib cage rested on the floor in the corner, dried blood beneath it. The mirror was broken with shattered pieces on the cracked marble.

Imogen was known as the Queen of Hearts for her passion of taking hearts while the Red Queen was known not only for hanging body parts in the forest, but for basking in blood.

“If you didn’t know already, the Red Queen liked to bathe in blood like Elizabeth Báthory,” Mouse said.

“So, Elizabeth wasn’t the first to actually do that then?” Ferris arched a brow.

Mouse sent him a sly look. “No, the queen would’ve easily bathed in Elizabeth’s blood.”

He smirked. “Check the floors in the other room for loose secret compartments while I go through them in here.”

Mouse nodded and went to the desk in the bedroom. Even though the drawers were on the floor, she pressed her hands inside the open slots of the desk, patting around for anything unusual. Besides a few quills that had fallen to the bottom, it was empty.

The wardrobe was empty as well, but she stepped into the large space, feeling over the ornate wood, looking for a sign of uneven texture. Yet she found only smooth surfaces.

Mouse lifted a decaying rug from the floor, but no secret compartment rested there. She shoved the bed to the side, searching beneath. It would have been rather cliché for the queen to have kept anything there, but it was commonplace.

A gut feeling coursed through her as though she was missing something. Mouse glanced at the wardrobe again, frowning, then she pushed it to the side and knelt on the floor. Biting the inside of her cheek, she knocked along the marble until a different, hollower, sound answered.

Eyes wide, she dug her nails into the thin edges of the tile and lifted it. Inside rested an old black book and a velvet crimson bag. “Jackpot!” Mouse yelled.

“You found something?” Ferris asked, rushing into the room.

“We’ll see.” Mouse handed Ferris the velvet bag while she flipped through the yellowed pages of the book. A musky odor invaded her nostrils while she read over the pages, discovering it did indeed belong to the Red Queen. There weren’t many entries inside as if the queen had gotten bored with writing in it.

No longer tired, but wide awake, Mouse settled in, poring over the pages. Most of the entries were about how the Red Queen hated her king and how he’d fucked females behind her back. Her jealousy of the White King and White Queen grew because of their genuine love for one another. She found a way to kill her king and make it look like an accident by feeding him to the Jabberwocky. Her last entry was how she’d plotted to kill the White Royals and had succeeded.

“Well, now we know the queen had a secret about her king,” Ferris said.

“There’s nothing else about the Jabberwocky in here besides the one mention.” Mouse shut the book and sighed.

“You’ll be really intrigued by what’s in the bag,” Ferris purred.

“What is it?” She perked up, finding a small yellow scroll in Ferris’s palm.

He cleared his throat and straightened, then changed his voice to a proper accent as he read it aloud. “I cut off pieces of my king before feeding him to the Jabberwocky so he couldn’t touch another properly, even in death.”

Mouse blinked, waiting for more. “That’s it?”

“No. Wait for it.” Ferris smirked, then emptied the bag on the floor. Ten bone fingers clacked against the marble.

“And still”—Mouse pursed her lips—“she didn’t seem as awful as Rav and Imogen.”

“Definitely second place for Wonderland’s psychopaths.”

Mouse opened her mouth to speak when a boisterous rumbling filled the palace.

Chapter Thirteen

Ferris

The palace shook, the king’s finger bones rattling against the floor. Glass clinking against glass followed by a shattering in the distance. Booms echoed in a steady rhythm—a drum beat, slow and even. Then a guttural roar ripped through the air, too loud for a werewolf. It sounded more like …the Jabberwocky.

“It’s the fucking Jabberwocky,” Ferris whispered.

Mouse tossed her plait over her shoulder and tiptoed to the window. “It certainly sounds like it.”

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