Page 58 of Madness Becomes Her
“This is where I leave you. I need to get back to the caves,” Acacius announces. “The guards will know you’ve been given safe passage through the palace gates because I’ve allowed you through.”
“Thank you, Acacius,” I say when no one else speaks. “I’m sorry about earlier. About the swatting,” I add the last bit softer, not wanting to incite more laughter from the group.
He grins, fluttering his tiny wings hard to stay in my line of sight. “Don’t worry about it, Eleanor. We all need to be reminded how to be kind now and again.”
I grin, still feeling ashamed of how I acted. “It won’t happen again, friend.”
He beams at me before buzzing away.
Finlo takes my hand. “Which inn will we stay in tonight?”
I open my mouth to speak before realizing he’s not talking to me. He’s talking to Lewis.
Winston still isn’t anywhere to be seen, making me curious.
“The Drunken Dragon? Oh, maybe The Jolly Jester, we haven’t gone there in a while. The ale is divine.”
“Shouldn’t we hurry to speak to the queen? It’s time sensitive, getting you back to the Red Queen.”
Fin smirks. “Yes, but time is funny in the White Queen’s Realm. It’s very… illogical?” Fin eyes Lewis.
“Irrelevant is more like.”
I don’t know what they’re spouting about, but follow along with their antics anyhow.
After all, I don’t remember this part of Wonderland. Curiously, my mind has remembered the more harrowing portions while choosing to hide the good ones.
“To the Jolly Jester!” Finlo shouts gleefully.
“The Jester of Jolly!” Lewis jokes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CONSEQUENCES OF ALE
Dawnkep is beautiful. Magical. Where Erotsy had an air about it, there’s always this gray, dark blanket hovering over all the cities the Red Queen lords over. This part of Wonderland is bright, and the air feels thin and easy to breathe.
We’ve made it into the city, and Finlo and I are still trailing being Lewis, who’s speaking in hushed tones to himself, something I’m getting used to: their muttering.
Shops line either side of the road, each a differing litany of colors. A boutique to my left is teal on its upper level, whereas the store’s base is a bright pink.
Finlo leads me into The Jolly Jester, which sits at the very end of the main street. A sign told me the street’s name was Middle Street, and the very left-of-center name made me smile.
The Jolly Jester is tall, at least five stories, and looms brightly, casting barely a shadow as I look up at its crooked edges and curved windows.
Smoke billows out of the stack at the very top, and the scent of cooking meat and the sound of patrons far in their cups steal my attention as Finlo opens the door.
“I’ll get us a room and some food. You find a table. Mind your head, don’t knock into anyone with it,” he says, grinning.
Rolling my eyes, I find the only table unoccupied in a far corner nearest a large window that looks out over where Middle Street becomes Cherry Avenue.
I watch each passerby, feeling more out of place by the second, as memories of my life in London clash with what I see before me.
A cat walks upright on two feet, moving down Cherry Avenue with a cane. Its dress is formal and screams aristocrat. The very idea of such a thing confuses my brain.
“Alright. We were just in time for stew and ale,” Fin says, dropping two bowls onto the table.
“Where’s Lewis?” I ask, pulling my bowl over and shoving the strange feeling of homesickness to the back of my mind.
