“A mouse drinking tea,” I whispered, thinking of my uncle's stories. “The stories really are true.”
“I'm sure they are,” Nick said. “whatever you're speaking of. There's usually a grain of truth in every word uttered. It's just that sometimes you have to search harder to find it. Once you do, however, you can make some lovely bread.”
“You cannot make bread from grains of truth,” I said.
“Of course you can.” Nick smoothed his whiskers sagely. “Truth bread is the tastiest, but it can be hard to swallow.”
“Then you should eat cake!” The man at the table declared. “Where's the cake?”
“It's right in front of you, Hatter.” Nick rolled his eyes and himself, taking me along for the ride. “I prefer bread and butter.”
“Is that she?” The man asked as he stood so violently that his chair crashed back onto the Persian carpet that had been laid over the grass.
Hatter; well, he did have a large hat on, so his name seemed appropriate. It was a garish green hat, with a paisley band about it and a flat brim. A card tucked into the band read: In this style 10/6. Whatever the hell that meant.
“Yes, this is Queen Alice,” Nick said as he floated down to the table.
“You're awfully small for a wild queen,” Hatter noted. “I seem to remember the Wilds as being much more magnificent in stature. Much more muchier. Have you lost your muchness?”
“She took some of Theodore's potion so that she could come through the gate,” Warren panted as he hopped into the clearing. Then he shifted into his human form, regaining his lost clothing, and smoothed out the wrinkled fabric. “I will rectify her size immediately.”
Warren strode over to me as I slid off of Nick's neck. He took a petite four out of his pocket and placed it on the table beside me. I stared at it in consternation.
“I don't think–” I started to say, but was cut off by Hatter.
“Then you shouldn't speak!”
I rolled my eyes and began again, “Please tell me that you don't expect me to eat all of this.”
“Of course not,” Warren cried. “You're not a pig, are you?”
“Pig!” The brown rabbit exclaimed, spilling his tea as he jerked in fright. “I hate pigs! They have a disturbing tendency of turning into babies.”
“Shut up, March Hare!” The mouse squeaked as it jolted out of its teacup. It had fallen asleep over the rim. “There aren't any pigs or babies here.”
“Oh, yes, quite right, Dormouse.” Hare settled down.
“Just take a little nibble, dear,” Dormouse said to me. “The more you eat, the bigger you get, and we don't want you squishing us.”
I followed her instruction and took a bite. Tingling spread through my body, and I fell over the edge of the table as my form grew. My feet touched the ground before my butt could hit, and I stood to my normal height.
“That's better.” I sighed. “I've imagined being little before, but that was so much worse than I'd thought it would be.”
“Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were, or might have been, was not otherwise than what you had been, would have appeared to them to be otherwise,” Hatter said sagely.
I gaped at him.
“Ah, yes, I see the resemblance now.” Hatter peered at me with dark eyes as he settled his jacket more firmly about him. “You look like your mother.”
“She does, actually,” Nick said with some surprise. “Striking resemblance.”
“Why is that shocking?” I asked the floating cat, who was paddling through the air currents on his back.
“It's not.” Nick smirked. “What's surprising is that the Mad Hatter noticed it.”
Then Nick's form shimmered like a heatwave on a highway, and the blur of his body grew. When he came into focus again, he was a sleekly muscled young man with short, dark hair stripped horizontally with gray. He wore a soldier's uniform; leather boots, cotton pants, a sword belted at his waist, and a tunic emblazoned with a small gold jester's cap on its breast.
“Your Majesty.” Nick gave me a more formal bow.
“A wild card,” I said as I noted the emblem, which was positioned inside the outline of a playing card, like a coat of arms.
“Your family's heraldic device.” Nick waved a hand to the emblem.
“A Jester?” I chuckled. “How fitting. This feels like a joke.”
“Do you mean that it feels like a laugh?” Hatter asked. “Because a joke has no feeling.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.” I shrugged.
“Then you should say what you mean,” the Hare chided me.
“I do.” I scowled at the rabbit. “At least, I mean what I say–that's the same thing.”
Dear God, now they had me talking like them.
“Not the same thing a bit!” Said the Hatter. “You might as well say that 'I see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what I see!'”
“You might just as well say that 'I like what I get' is the same thing as 'I get what I like,'” added the March Hare.
“You might as well say,” Dormouse added as she drifted back to sleep, “that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing as 'I sleep when I breathe!'”
“Yes,” I agreed. “The jester is fitting because I'm surrounded by fools.”
“The fool can do anything,” Hatter said sagely, “because he doesn't know that he can't.”
“Okay, zen master,” I muttered.
“I am
