The books in the library are hopelessly disorganized and of a very random selection, but reading them doesn't require holding them up to a mirror, or asking a talking egg to explain what the nonsensical words mean, and the curios don't seem to be deliberately chosen for their capacity to fuel nightmares. Furthermore, things don't just randomly pop up because you think about them the right way, or idly suggest the idea to the universe and it happens to be in a cooperative mood at the moment (or suggest the opposite, and, in the fashion of the Greek Fates, the universe tries to humble the mere mortals with the bruising power of EXTREME IRONY).

In other words, the house of this mad rabbit seems almost an oasis of sanity in Wonderland.

Despite initial misgivings about the trustworthiness of the crazy (other) rabbit, Haigha proves a capable and gentlemanly host, though not especially informative in any sense that matters to the guests' immediate goals. The house has no more sanity to its floorplan than to the furnishings within, but it has many rooms to accommodate guests -- and, perhaps best of all, it accomplishes this without falling into what by now seems like the Wonderland cliche of "bigger on the inside than on the outside."

March is still plagued with the unsettling feeling that even though everything seems so solid and real here, it might be settled upon a precipice of Wonderland madness; if only he tried and believed hard enough, he might pull some sort of crazy stunt such as convincing Wonderland that this is his house, March Manor, and that they're all really in the Monarchy of Hearts, far, far away from the Looking-Glass Lands -- not that doing so would serve any purpose, but he just has the nagging feeling that he COULD.

Rather than tugging at the frayed edges of Wonderland's reality, however, and discovering what consequences there might be when Wonderland tries to weave itself back together again, March decides to leave things be, opting for a good night's sleep. The bed is very comfortable, and even though it clearly is not his very own bed, it seems like something he might buy, if he were shopping around pawn shops in Wonderland and were more concerned with thrift and function than fashion.

The night passes uneventfully for the most part, although it storms frequently, and the sun comes out briefly at midnight. The only real scare came when Integra tearfully woke up her Uncle Griffin to complain that there was a chorus of meows and barks outside. The loud thumps on the roof didn't help, but even if it were raining cats and dogs, fortunately come morning there's no sign of any such carnage -- just fresh puddles of water here and there. (And somehow the garden table is none the worse for the wear, mismatched tea service and all, though it does look a bit dewy.)

Breakfast is held outside, and Miss Lucky's cooking helps to make up for Haigha's offering of stale, weather-exposed biscuits and unwashed raw carrots freshly ripped up from the garden as his idea of hearty fare.

All is going sportingly well, and it looks like good time might be made to head for the Pawn Gate while it's still early morning, but then comes a whispering from a grapevine clinging to the outer wall. Haigha's ears shoot straight up. March catches it too. "Psst! Red guards coming to Haigha's House! Psst!"

"Red Guards? Not good, not good at all," March frets and wrings his hands together. He glances towards the rather unlucky Miss Lucky, then chews on his lower lip. "Haigha, dear fellow, would you happen to have a root cellar? Or better, warren tunnels that lead away from here? I daresay I do not want the dear Lady here to fall into the hands of the Red Queen."

"Dear host," Griffin asks Haigha, "Do the guards do this without warrant, as part of their usual duties, or would they need a reason?"

The cardboard reporter, now much better smelling after a thorough soaking and drying out (with the application of Dr. Anordium's Fine Body Revitalizing Powder), picks his travel bag back up and hefts his recently improved umbrella. "A capital idea," he says to March. "Even a backdoor to this garden might suit."

Haigha looks flustered. "Oh! Oh ... well! I dare say! They DO often come by, but the IMPLICATION is that I should be worried, or else the Grapevine...." He licks his lips. "Say, I could go for a spot of grape juice to wash down my carrot. Dear Grapevine, would you mind terribly?"

The animate Grapevine, which seems to curl around the entirety of the garden, extends a long tendril, and fills up a cup held out by the Anglo-Saxon Hare. As the vine withdraws, the Hare takes a sip of juice, then holds his ear close to the cup. "Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm. Oh! Oh dear. Mmm-hmm? Mmm! Hmm."

"We are distantly related, I promise," March says for probably the tenth time to Miss Lucky after that bit of randomness.

"Aha!" Haigha declares. He leans forward and, in a conspiratorial tone, stage-whispers, "They're on the march ... for the March! Hare, that is."

Griffin has to wonder a bit at getting ones news with breakfast via juice instead of newspaper, but isn't about to try it himself. "Integra, are you ready to travel?" he asks his niece.

"Yes, Uncle Paisley!" Integra says, stopping from pretending to offer a cup of tea to her rocking horse.

"Well, there's some juicy gossip for you," Achilles says. He goes to check around for the backdoor. "That or perhaps they want to question you about the recent demise (redux) of Humpty Dumpty."

"I fear," Haigha says, "that it's just all the gossip. Too sharp an increase in the number of hares here on the hill. Someone must have said something." He eyes the Grapevine suspiciously. The Grapevine ... looks like a grapevine, really. There's no expression to be read.

"Whatever their reasons, we can't let them find Integra, and I daresay it would be unwise for them to find Harrison as well," Griffin says. "We need to move on, and if possible misdirect pursuit."

Achilles retorts, "Do you want to ask them that or do you want to make good your escape while we've still a head start?"

"I'd rather not be interrogated, or worse," March remarks. "Will Miss Lucky be safe if they come here?" he asks of Haigha, "But I am gone?"

Haigh confers with his cup of juice, alternately sipping at it, then listening to it, then declares, "Oh! This has nothing to do with Miss Lucky, I'm certain of that, aside from the unfortunate extra straw provided by another lapine that broke the -- oh dear! I shouldn't use that phrase. Miss Camel will be sorely offended if she hears. And her back is in SUCH bad condition these days. But ... aha." He spends more time sipping and listening, and then getting a little mixed up, dipping his ear in the cup and making a sipping noise, and putting his mouth and ... well, not really making much of a listening noise at all, since listening isn't usually noisy. But all the same, he says, "Well! There's nothing more for it. It's a royal decree. The March Hare is to be found. Then I'll just have to let them find one." Without warning, he starts disrobing.

Miss Lucky gasps. Integra blinks, not quite sure what to make of it. (It's just a rabbit, after all.)

"Wait, wait, you can't sacrifice yourself for us!" March blurts out at their host. "That's not right, not right at all!"

"Sacrifice, nothing! Now let me borrow your clothes!" Haigha insists. "Once Hatta vouches for me, it'll be clear I'm me, and not you. Just a simple case of mistaken identity. But it should buy some time -- and that's the best bargain of all!"

"Er..." Achilles looks briefly at a loss for words, then manages, "Which king sent the decree though? I have it on good authority the White King is in durance vile. Obeying the Red King would be treason, wouldn't it?"

The Grapevine tendril creeps its way over the card, then fills up an empty cup with ... well ... grape juice. It then recoils, leaving a little whispering cup of violet-red juice glittering and gleaming in front of Achilles.

"But what if they hurt you?" March asks and tugs at his ears and frets. "I can't ... it wouldn't ..." He looks at the others, asking, "Should we allow this? Go through with it?"

The reporter blinks... Then lifts the glass and listens to it. When in Wonderland...

"I must agree with the March Hare," Miss Lucky says, keeping her eyes covered (her first instinct was to use her hook, but that didn't do much good, so now she's using a fan). "They shouldn't harm the White King's messenger, but then, surely they shouldn't be looking for the March Hare here in the Looking-Glass Lands, either."

"Haigha trusts in this plan," Griffin notes, sounding a bit uncertain. "I've no idea though if the word has spread further, perhaps to the Gate. If we're going to get past it, we need to hurry."

"Rather liberal with someone elses life there, Griffin," March remarks a bit dryly.

"It does suggest, however, that coming close to one's counterpart in these lands sends out some sort of signal or disturbance," Griffin notes. "Of course, we could all flee, and thus only need the deception as a last resort."

By words from the grapevine's squeeze, we tell you just what we please. To find the March Hare, and take him to her there, it is what Queen Alice decrees. "It's Queen Alice that sent the decree," blurts Ace.

Achilles points out, "Did you swear allegiance to Queen Alice, Haigha? Or do you still owe fealty to the White King?"

"It just doesn't seem right. While it would likely save me, it shouldn't cost the life of another," March continues, "So if he wants to impersonate me, then ... he has to flee with all of us. Lead them on a chase, and try to not get caught. And if he gets caught, well ... then we'll have to rescue him, somehow."

"It is to the White King I owe my fealty," Haigha declares, shivering a bit. "And I assure you, I'm not volunteering myself for the Queen's stew. Er ... but all the same, does this mean I really should put my authentic Anglo-Saxon garb back on, then?"

"Shall we get going then?" Griffin notes, helping to shield Miss Lucky from the bucks. "You could always just swap coats or something.."

Achilles looks thoughtful. Then grabs the vine and roars into it, "Extra! Extra! Read all about it! March Hare springs forward, becomes April Rabbit! Last seen fleeing to Riverside to become exotic dancer!"

"We should be going, yes, and quickly," March agrees as he rises from the table. To Miss Lucky he even does a short bow. "Fate, it seems, always seeks to bring a storm into the silence. While it was short, it was an honor and a joy to see you again. I wish you only safety and peace, Milady," he says, "And I thank you for helping remind me there are still good souls in this land." The comment about a perfect disguise then causes the saner lapine to tilt an ear.

The Grapevine shivers from the onslaught, twitching all around the garden. Then, whispering noises begin to pass along its length. It withdraws, looking chastened.

(Or, at least, one might IMAGINE it to look chastened. It is, after all, just a vine.)

Haigha, mostly dressed again in his tights, needing only to reappoint his cowl (the hardest part, on account of those ears), snaps his fing-- er -- paws. Or whatever. "Brilliant! I mean ... oh, horrors! You terrible, terrible Card! You've gone and given them all the lead they need! Now they'll realize that there were FOUR rabbits here at my house and not merely THREE! Oh the scandal!"

The reporter follows the vine, while shooting Haigha and Harrison a look that suggests he can't keep up his barrage of tabloid headlines forever. "The world must know! The March Hare has always struggled with his inner doe! And up next, the Four Rabbits of the Apocalypse! Is doom coming to Wonderland, or merely spring?!"

"Four?" Miss Lucky makes a cautious peek to verify that it's all right to look again, then withdraws the fan with a sigh of relief. She looks at Achilles with even more perplexity.

"Thank you ever so much for gracing my house with your presence, royal messenger of the Queen of Hearts," Haigha says, executing a deep bow. "I assure you, I won't tell a soul!"

Griffin finishes gathering up his camera and other gear. "The Lapine kind is often credited with mighty mathematical prowess," he comments. "Let's be off then, shall we?"

"Remember, don't tell anyone, this is an exclusive story," Achilles says, lowering his voice to a stage whisper to the grapevine. He sneaks back furtively, then whispers to the others, "Let's get moving, and hope the Red Guard likes their gossip served fresh."

"I believe ... ah yes! Your white gloves and fan are on the foyer dresser," Haigha says, looking pensive. "Do you happen to have your pocket watch with you, or did you leave it back inside?"

March snaps his fingers! "Of course! I'm a fool. Dear Haigha is suggesting that I impersonate the White Rabbit! Quick, do we have any whitewash at hand to make me less ... well, colorful? With that and the watch, I should be well disguised!"

March digs in his pocket and even produces the watch for emphasis. "I knew it was a good idea to keep this," March says, grinning like a mad bunny.

"Flour is white, isn't it?" suggests Achilles. He looks over at Griffin. "Maybe some pancake makeup?"

"Oh!" Miss Lucky Rabbit digs through her carpet bag. "Actually, I still have a tabard from the Monarchy of Hearts. It's a bit small, but I think it might do." She pulls out a tabard of white and red, bearing symbols of the royal houses of cards, and offers it to the March Hare.

"Milady, I owe you my life," March says, bowing deeply while he accepts the tabbard form Miss Lucky.

Haigha says, "Hmm. Ah yes. We have plenty of flour in the garden, of course. Or, we could find a ghost for you to see."

"Bleach works, but we haven't the time," Griffin notes. Miss Lucky, you wouldn't happen too have any talcum powder would you?"

"Ah, the garden!" Griffin realizes, and goes to forage for any useful Magic Foodstuffs that might work towards a disguise..

"I somehow suspect flour is better for my sanity," March says, "Quick, to the garden! Ah, the irony, from the Flower lands to be floured." The hare pauses, then mutters to himself, "But better than being deflowered, I suppose."

Griffin soon produces a bouquet of flours! With a simple shake, it will make anyone pancake-powder-white. A perfect disguise! That is, if you want to pass yourself off as a Pawn or a certain shade of rabbit, or a different shade of Knight.

"Oh, excellent!" says Achilles. He pauses. "Are you calling Harrison a posie-r?"

March disrobes mostly, but leaves his pants in place out of concern for the Lady present. "Quick, Let us follow in the proverb of all things in life turning to dust. So ... dust me," the hare quips as he bounds over to Griffin.

Integra comes rushing back out of the foyer. "I don't know why there's a dresser in the foyer, but I found them!" She carries a little set of white gloves and a little white fan.

Holding his nostrils closed with one claw, Griffin dusts down March with the bouquet as if it were some reverse feather duster.

**PAF!** White powder goes everywhere. Perhaps March has found his inner DOUGH after all, as he for a moment looks like an unbaked pastry. Then, with a shake, there's a cloud that quickly disperses, leaving a convincingly White Rabbit in its place.

Achilles peers thoughtfully at the front of the garden. "Say... Do you happen to have any of those nuts?" he asks of Harrison and Griffin. "We might delay them a bit by, well... Blocking their path."

"Puffing poises in a patter of powder," March thinks as he desperately tries to not sneeze as every expozed part of him is puffed to pearly white. Once he's sure he isn't going to sneeze, one goes the tabbard ... then with a bound over to Integra, on goes the gloves, and he takes up the fan.

Evidently gourmantic magic is at work, as March seems to be convincingly bleached, and he isn't leaving patches of white everywhere he goes. (The white cloud has miraculously dissipated.) In short order, he's ready to go, with all of the appropriate White Rabbit props.

The reporter points out, "It will buy us time to make good our escape... By that time, hopefully our trail will be cold enough they'll be asking the Grapevine, and receiving some rather confusing reports."

Griffin offers the spent bouquet to Miss Lucky, in case she wants to make muffins or anything.

Miss Lucky lights up. "How sweet! No one's ever given me flowers before!" She nibbles on them daintily.

"Well, I suppose one can't expect an Anglo-Saxon Hare to be.. Roman-tic as well," Griffin notes.

"Well, everyone ones we're late, right? Time's of the essence. Tut tut and hop to it, lets go!" White-March claims as he hops around frantically. "And I'm certain we have an important date."

Achilles glances back at the open gate worriedly, but decides not to press the point. He follows after the others, his umbrella at the ready in case he has to fend off any sudden attack. "You're looking rather dapper, Mr. White Rabbit," he comments. "Treacle, everyone? It's looking like it could be a rather long day."

"I don't think my dear sister would approve of Integra having treacle for breakfast," Griffin notes, "but in this case I think she would forgive us."

After bidding farewell and well wishes to Haigha and to Miss Lucky, the visitors to Wonderland carry on, passing through town, and briefly admiring the fountain monument to the Lion and Unicorn in the middle of the town square. The March Hare does a fine job of pretending to be the White Rabbit, visiting from across the mountains, and it certainly gives him an excellent excuse if he's not particularly familiar with the surroundings.

Achilles runs his finger around the inside of the jar and then licks it clean. It's bizarre how his finger first appears to be coated in actual sugary syrup, then as he pops it into his mouth, it flattens abruptly into a splotch of amber printed color, then fades back into the customary black and white of his normal printed form. He remains dressed as a somewhat anachronistic Victorian newspaper reporter in bowler hat, though there's a false mustache and monocle perched somewhat awkwardly on his face, and his umbrella is tucked over one arm as the weather is fine enough not to require it open.

Integra seems to fit in well enough, since she's still wearing her Honorary Pawn dress -- which to the point of view of Chessmen seems to make her just as good as if she was carved out of wood and with a knobby round head. The apron isn't an unusual option at all. Similarly, that a Gryphon and a Card are accompanying the White Rabbit seems to fit in just fine, and the Rocking Horse seems like just a pony -- as wooden horses are fairly common here (though not usually so small).

As they leave town, they are treated to the phenomenon of a chorus of LOUD AND ANNOYING DRUMMING ... and then they're out.

"I do believe we've just been drummed out of town," the reporter says to the others. "Altogether, less unpleasant an experience than I've been led to believe 'drumming out' generally involves."

Despite a fleeting fear in Griffin's mind that the drumming might herald a firing squad, it's nothing of the sort. They find themselves heading along a road toward the gigantic red wall forming the final defensive line on the definitively Red side of the Chessboard Fields. A great Pawn-shaped tower is ahead, with a road and portcullis gate at its base; the gate is open, letting horses (wooden or flesh, and some not really horses at all) on through, with carts and wagons and the occasional carriage. A couple of Watchmen (or, more precisely, Pocket-Watchmen) stand flanking the near side of the gate, with a small contingent of Red Chessmen -- two of them manning Gatling guns that have evidently been imported from the Monarchy of Hearts, given the styling.

"It's better than being made into stew, yes," White-March quips as they walk along the road. As he spots the gate ahead, he has to ask the others, "Are we going around, or through. I daresay I don't like the looks of those guns."

There's a crossing frontage road that appears to run the length of the wall, intersecting just up ahead. At the crossroads, a merchant has set up a booth, offering various goods with a vague air of disrespectability and "get it while you still can." He does seem to have just about everything for sale, including the kitchen sink.

"We ought to get our stories straight should they question us separately," whispers Achilles to the others. "Visiting the Eighth Square to... Pay our respects to the dead? Or passing through to Settled to visit Tvinkle?"

"They're clearly not made by our own White Knight, or they'd be rather more ungulate," Achliles replies to Griffin.

"Simpler is going to Settled ti see Tvinkle about arranging quick-passage paths for the Queen, of course. Very important; time sensitive. We can't be delayed, nope. Important," White-March claims.

At opposing corners, there seems to be a war of words and song going on between a long-eared rabbit jester who has a perpetual grin firmly plastered on his face, and a parrot bard who appears to be eternally caught in the "echo game." Meanwhile, there's a humble rat beggar with two eye patches, two hooks, two peg legs, two crutches, and a splinted tail, sitting at the corner, quietly crying for "Almonds! Almonds for the poor!" while holding a tin cup aloft with one suspiciously bulky hook.

"Ah, the White Knight.. should we say we are investigating the ballistic delivery of monkeys to the Kingdom of Hearts?" Griffin suggests. "Although March's suggestion seems less outlandish."

Achilles bows to the White Rabbit. "In that case, would you like me to clear a path through the riffraff for you? We should proceed with all deliberate haste."

"White Knight, you say?" cries out a weasel merchant. "Forget the White Knight! If it's quality you want, it's quality you'll get -- RIGHT HERE! There's hardly a need to take a few paces more, when you could sit down right now and rest your tired feet and rockers!"

"Simple is better," March insists. "Or we could find some chains and claim you are a bandit wanted in Settled," he whispers to the others, then nods towards Griffin.

"Possible, but putting you in chains would be more fun," White-March quips quietly and grins.

"So, verifying the path for the Queen of Heart's royal procession, which will pass through Settled then?" questions Achilles.

It looks as if White Chessmen are just as capable as Red to pass through the gate (along with other creatures less identifiably aligned with one side or the other), but the guards take far more care in interrogating the White Pawn peasants before letting them pass on through.

White-March nods, "Indeed my flat-footed friend of the paper persuasion. Let us not dally, for you know how the Red queen deals with those that displease her. A haircut down to the neck and all that rot."

"Not at all. She is a pawn, and therefore our livery manager. She even has a horse," White-March suggests.

The card nods to Harrison. "As milord says." He strides forward. "Make way! One side, coming through! The White Rabbit is on an important errand and must not be delayed! Make way! Or it'll be free decapitations for all, and none of us wants that!"

"Oh! Visiting ROYALTY!" the Weasel says, as at last he seems to place the "White Rabbit." His eyes seem to positively light up with gold and you can HEAR the cash-register "ka-ching" as he grins widely. "During your visit, you must sample of the finest of the Looking-Glass Lands' offerings! Why, there's Looking-Glass Cake! You serve it and THEN cut it!"

The rat-beggar lifts up one of his eyepatches and squeaks in alarm, scrabbling away and dropping a peg and hook, revealing perfectly-good (if short and ratty) limbs underneath the "caps." "Free decapitations for all!" the parrot bard squawk-sings, prompting a chorus of screams from ordinary peasant folk.

"Quite right, quite right! We 're late you know. Yes, yes, very late. We have to reach Settled by yesterday. Very important missive to be delivered. Very important! Wuch importance that failure to deliver it involves some rather unpleasant haircutting, I must say. So please, let us pass with haste!" White-March adds to Ace's claims.

Alongside the road, there is a white merchant-cart parked past the intersection. A white, somewhat mechanical-looking horse fused to the front turns its head, munching on a mixture of hay and gear-springs as it regards the entourage coming along.

"I'm afraid we must pass on such a fine confection," Griffin apologizes to the Weasel. "Our Queen of Hearts has not decreed to let us eat cake yet."

"I say, you with the wagon, one side, one side, the White Rabbit is coming through!" says Achilles pointedly to the merchant-cart pulling horse. "If he's late, the Queen will have all our heads! And then she might mount yours on a stick for the children to play with! The horrors!"

The white cart-steed looks perplexed and then annoyed, but nonetheless complies and trot-rolls off of the road, navigating around some trees and boulders to a clearer spot.

As the reporter regales the horse with the stories of what could happen if the White Rabbit is somehow made later than he already is, the white line crossing his eye catches the light, somehow even whiter than the normal off-white pasteboard of his skin.

White-March is even darting here and there, like a rabbit that has had far, far, too much coffee this morning. He also makes a show of constantly checking his pocket watch.

"Hold it there!" a Red Knight cries out, waving the white cart-horse off to one side. "No closer with that! All right then. What's all this, then?" He looks past the cart, scanning the road, but doesn't seem to have settled upon Achilles yet, with as much bustle as there is among the regular traffic.

The white cart-horse, looking a bit disgruntled, patiently rolls forward, turns slightly, then back, forward, turn slightly, then back, et cetera, in a painstaking process, until its side-board is parallel to the road once more. Once re-settled, it clops its hoof, and then the wagon cart begins to transform. This isn't the White Knight's Steed, but could it be a distant relative?

The card reporter looks back nervously to the others to make sure they're keeping up and not strolling along leisurely, giving the lie to his statements.

Trumpet fanfare -- very mechanical and slightly off-key -- plays from the white horse's cart, as the side board rolls up and swivels out, and a canopy extends and flops down. The board creaks, the cloth snags in a few places, and nothing goes perfectly into place, but the sheer complexity of the mechanism is a bold construction at the very least. Clockwork and steam contrive to rearrange the wagon into a roadside merchant's stall, and then a chair ratchets out with a counter. A snoozing White Knight (of the wooden Chessman sort -- not THE White Knight) is then picked up with a mechanical hand and unceremoniously dumped into the chair -- still dozing the whole while.

"Delays, delays, always delays. Escort, lets keep moving! Pawn, bring our house and that feathery slowpoke, too!" White-Harrison complains as he hurries after Ace. "Lets get out of here before they finish with that wagon," he frets.

"Hold it right there!" the Red Knight declares, as the White Cart-Steed is looking very embarrassed and perhaps a bit frantic. The horse begins clipping here, clopping there, prompting a few gizmos to crank and whistles to toot, but not quite right, it seems. "No merchants allowed to set up shop this close to the gate! Pack it up! Pack it up!" The White Knight snores right through it, slowly rolling over in his seat.

Achilles, about to hold forth with another stentorian "Make way!", stifles it as the White Rabbit clarifies his plans. He points forward at the large number of Red pieces guarding the gate. "If we want to get past that lot, we're going to have to announce ourselves," he hisses.

"Do it and get them to stand aside. I have faith in that face of your scaring them," White-March quips quietly.

"Or at least hurry past while they're occupied with the merchant," Griffin notes, picking up the pace.

A Red Pawn scurries off the path at the sight of the entourage approaching from one direction, and the Red Guards visibly agitated in the other.

Achilles grumbles at March's crack, but moves forward and turns his nose up to the bishop. "Your Venerability, I request that you stand aside for the White Rabbit! The White Rabbit is on an important errand for the Queen of Hearts and must not be delayed, or it'll be all our heads! And I for one do not wish to spend the rest of my life lightened by the weight of nearly eighty percent of my body."

The Bishop looks as if he was readying his book of prayers, but then jerks his head in alarm at the warning from the herald. With a shuffling of (wooden?) robes, he begins to move back, clacking his shepherd's crook with one hand as he goes.

The card reporter, aside to the pawn standing near him, "And you sir, were you to be decapitated, might wind up being used in a croquet game! Where your head would be pelted hither and thither, struck by flamingos!"

The hapless Pawn shrinks back, clutching onto its polished round head protectively!

Achilles shudders delicately. "Of course none of us want that. Your Rabbityness, let us press on, lest the hour grow too late by far, and spare these chessmen that grisly fate."

"Yes, yes, we're getting later by the second! It is most disconcerting," White-March says in a huff.

The White Cart-Horse is practically doing a soft-shoe (soft-hoof?) number, tapping and stamping around, as trumpets honk, panels open and close, mechanical hands pop out with various elixirs and doohickeys and other products, then zip back in again, but it doesn't seem to have properly hit the "close up shop and get moving, and in haste!" stamp. This horse just can't hold a candle to the White Knight's Steed. (Although, there MIGHT be a lever for that.)

Griffin eyes the slumbering white Knight as they pass, but makes sure he and Integra don't fall behind.

The two Pawns manning the gatling guns scamper back around, checking the hoppers and swiveling them into place. They seem positively giddly at the prospect of target practice, should the cart-horse fail to vacate the premises in timely fashion.

"And no shooting please when I pass through! I am hardly a common rabbit, only fit for stew. It would be very frowned upon if Her Royal Red Queen's massager is fired upon," White-March quips towards the pawns manning the guns.

Griffin tries to keep up with the rabbit (and is glad Integra has the rocking horse to carry her).

"Oh, there goes the White Rabbit again," says Achilles as he sees Harrison take off at full speed. "Excuse me, one side, coming through! Don't shoot, card coming through! We're very late, we don't want to be late too!"

The (Pocket) Watchmen are particularly perplexed as first there's a white furry blur that rushes past, then a rapidly-rocking little horse with a little Pawn on it. ("Wait! Hold! Uh ... what was that?") And then, the Gryphon and the intimidating Card (they don't bother interfering with that nasty Card!) jog past.

Achilles scowls after the White Rabbit. "One side! Very late!" he gasps, trying to keep up. "Important gate-- er, date! Must not be delayed! Or it's the stockade! And then head choppage! The Queen'll be in a rage!"

"She'll be glad to know you're putting her arms to good use though," Griffin offers as he passes.

The way is clear. There's a road up ahead. There's a bridge leading over a little brook. On the other side, a road winds up a hill, toward the distant great city of the Red Chessmen. To the east, visible over trees, are great towering buildings that look much like the pieces of a great chess game in their starting positions. To the west, there are more of the same. Up ahead, there is a tower that suggests the piece of a Queen, but it is ruinous and poorly maintained, looking as if it has withstood a terrible attack and has not yet been repaired, whereas the other monstrosities are in nearly perfect condition.

"Do you suppose Alice did that?" Griffin asks the others when the extent of damage to the tower is clear.

Trumpet fanfare sounds out -- and this time, it's not the tinny, mechanical, slightly-off-kilter sort.

Achilles presses closer to the others. "Are you blowing your own horn?" he whispers to Griffin insistantly.

"No, it's still dangling from my bandolier," Griffin says, but readies his rifle.

The card reporter puts his umbrella up, just in the offchance that it's going to suddenly start raining.

"Awwwrk, you don't think this is part of the Pawn becoming a Queen thing do you?" Griffin asks the others.

The light begins to slowly come back, filtered through overhanging leaves. A breeze blows through -- yet another garden -- and a spot of light shines down on a patch where Integra is seated, dressed in white, with a couple of dozing Kittens leaning their heads on her lap. All three are dressed in the regalia of Queens.

Achilles says to the others, "Stay close, link hands." He pauses. "Wasn't Integra behind you?" he asks of Griffin.

A wind whispers, "Hush-a-by lady, Integra's lap! 'Til the feast's ready, we've time for a nap. When the feast's over, we'll go to the ball-- Red Kitten, White Kitten, Integra and all!"

"I'm feeling nervous. This is ... well, normal for Wonderland, but still strange," White-March admits.

To the north side of the clearing, there is a sound of shuffling, bumping around in the shadows, scurrying and some muffled complaints, accompanied by some hammering and chipping away of stone. Then, another conveniently-placed sunbeam falls upon a doorway that has been carved to read "Queen Integra" above the arch. Or, at least, it would read Queen Integra, but there's a bit missing off that last "a," so it MIGHT be misread as "Queen Integro" or "Integr-something," depending upon just how ignorant one is about the proper context here.

"A banquet and a ball?" Griffin squawks. "We probably don't want to stay for those! Integra isn't ready to be a Queen yet."

"Are you sure? Maybe this is how she becomes a queen?" White-March frets, "What is going on?"

The reporter looks around puzzledly. "Something seems off about this scene," he puzzles.

Integra can hardly hold herself back. Try as she might to be quiet, she can't help at last but to squeak out an "Awwwwwwww!" -- if a bit quietly -- at the sight of the two Kitten-Queens snoozing on her lap, flanking her on each side. It's all she can do not to tickle their whiskers or touch their ears to see if they're real.

"Try and waken the kittens," Achilles suggests to Griffin. "They might be able to answer what this is all about. Perhaps offer them a bit of food to tempt their appetites?"

The Kittens, for their part, do seem to be sound asleep. With some help, it might be possible to extract Integra without waking them, if they could be gently set down so their fuzzy heads don't abruptly hit the grassy floor.

"I suggest we leave the kittens sleeping. Remember who they serve," White-March points out.

The reporter points out to March, "The black kitten at least might be contrariwise willing to help us." He frowns at the door. "That incomplete a might mean if we pass Integra through these doors before she's ready, she'll become an incomplete queen... Perhaps she might be missing her feet or a hand? Or it might be because Eighth Square itself is damaged, and needs to be repaired." He moves closer to examine it and the surrounding wall for clues.

"I think we should leave, and continue on as planned," Griffin says. "She can become a queen later, when she's ready, so long as she doesn't become one now - the sign over her arch seems to bolster the 'incomplete queen' notion after all."

March decides in the meantime to see if he can extract Integra from the kittens without waking them. "This world is too weird," he mutters.

A careful perusal of the door reveals that the stone of the archway is fairly new, although the construction of the building itself actually appears to be much older, and choked with a mass of vines -- some living, and many layers of dead and dry ones caked on. Certainly the carved name is new enough (and slightly incomplete). The vines are thorny, discouraging much poking around, although with sufficiently sturdy gloves and boots, one might take advantage of them to find purchase and go for a bit of climbing ... but then, it seems suspiciously difficult to see very high up, despite the presumed presence of SUNLIGHT shining down through the leaves above.

Meanwhile, Griffin and March, working in concert, gently reposition the two snoozing Kittens so they are no longer resting upon Integra, but rather upon the soft mossy and grassy clearing floor instead. Integra, thus freed, quietly and gingerly gets up, then smooths out her skirts. She blinks in surprise, and whispers, "My costume is different!" It certainly is.

"Huh, that's odd. This arch is new, but the rest of the tower is pretty old," observes Achilles. "I think I can climb up these vines... If I had something for chiseling, I could give finishing up the carving a try, but I'm not much of an artist."

"Ssshh," March suggests to Integra, "We are not safe here. This might be a trap."

"I don't see the kitten's names on any arches," Griffin notes. "So either they're already queens, or it's not their turn yet."

There's a sound of tiny little rockers in the surrounding, shadowed wood. Rocking-horseflies somewhere, perhaps? The Rocking Horse right here rocks back and forth, however, making a creaking noise of its own.

"So, which way do we go? Into the tower?" March suggests. "It might be safer than the woods."

"Woods that appeared out of a fog, at that," Griffin concurs, and looks up at the canopy, trying to judge if it's safe for him to fly up and get a look around.

The reporter checks the door itself next, seeing if the handle will turn or if it's locked. Or perhaps if there's a knocker on the door.

There might be a few snatching branches, but there's no honestly good reason that they should keep a determined Gryphon from breaking the tree-line.

On each side of the arch is a bell-handle. One is marked "Visitors' Bell," and another is marked "Servants' Bell."

Suddenly, the door opens just a little way, and a creature with a long beak sticks its head out for a moment. "No admittance 'til the week after next!" And then it closes the door with a bang.

"Hmm. It appears we could ring and apply to be let in as visitors or servants," says Achilles. He listens at the door to see if there's anyone nearby-- ah. It appears there is.

"Well, that was different," March has to admit at the appearance of such a long beak. "I guess we have to go into the woods. Unless folks want to wait a week."

"We can't wait here for two weeks," Griffin notes, and flies up to try peeking above the canopy.

Just as the Gryphon launches off, a Frog ambles out of the shadows and branches and wanders over next to Achilles. The frog is dressed in a bright yellow suit, and wears oversized boots. "What is it now?" he croaks.

"Aha! Perhaps you can help me," the reporter says, turning his frustrated journalistic instincts on the frog. "This arch appears new, but not quite ready yet, as you can tell by the incomplete 'a'. Furthermore there seems to be a quite rude fellow inside who insists that we cannot go in yet until week after next. What's the story? What are they really hiding in the Eighth Square?!"

Meanwhile, the Gryphon flies up and up through the branches. It seems to take a bit longer to top these trees than is strictly reasonable but -- eh -- Wonderland. What can you do? At last, the Gryphon breaks the treeline, and he is ... above the trees. Somewhere. Somewhere mightily vague. The tower here seems to look suspiciously like a giant Rook, rather than the Queen tower that might have been expected. Also, details when looking outward very quickly vanish into an atmospheric haze. It's as if this ... is sort of somewhere specific in Wonderland, if one tried very, VERY hard to put it there, but maybe not. No, there's just no "as if" about it. The exact location of this place is just very vague.

There follows a back-and-forth exchange between Achilles and the Frog. The Frog seems particularly dense, with such responses as "Arch? An arch-wot? Incomplete a-wot? And if'n this fellow is inside an' you can't go in, how's you know he says you can't go in?" The Frog seems to be trying very, VERY hard to misunderstand even the simplest and clearest thing Achilles has to say, but the reporter is more than equipped to deal with this sort of obfuscation.

"Oh, aw-right," the Frog says, at last, and goes up and kicks at the door. "No knocking at the door. That just vexes it." Suddenly, the door pops open, and a shrill voice is singing a song. There's some nonsense about Integra, White Queens, Red Queens, crowns, and all that, but it's really not the least bit more informative than the whispered song from before. The basic gist of it is more-or-less, "Huzzah for Queen Integra! Let us have a banquet!"

March scratches his head. "Surely it can't be this easy," the disguised hare notes. "We didn't do anything..."

Upon landing, Griffin reports, "Not sure where we are. Tower here looks like vaguely like a Rook, so we could be at the eastern end, near Queen's Retreat - but all I could see was forest. Well, vaguely forest. I don't know if we're anywhere, or if it won't be somewhere until it's ready to be."

The chorus is particularly odd (if anything by this point can be called that): "Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can, And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran: Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea-- And welcome Queen Integra with thirty-times-three!"

"I wish I had a flask of whiskey," March remarks after Griffin's none-too-useful description.

The reporter turns to March. "Well, he kicked it open. Sometimes all you need is the forceful approach, with these natives what like to play dumb. Good man. Amphibian." He nods to the frog, then asks of the others, "Should we go in? Integra's certainly dressed the part."

The music continues. It must be quite a party, and there's clearly a banquet table, but it's hard to make out the guests, and it is terribly dark in there. Then: "Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink, Or anything else that is pleasant to drink: Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine-- And welcome Queen Integra with ninety-times-nine!"

"I don't care for any of our choices at the moment," Griffin notes. "The forest seems like it would just get us lost though."

"I think going in is a trap, but I don't have a better suggestion," March admits.

The Frog nods back to the reporter, then ambles on into the room while the others discuss the varied and not-particularly-encouraging options available to them.

Ace points out, "We could simply shut the door and move on... But if we're tracing Alice's route, this is where she went, if I'm recalling properly."

"A vague sense of direction would not be as useful as a sense of vague direction right now," Griffin says, and takes a breath. "So, I suppose go to the banquet hall and see if our options improve?"

"That said, we might need to bring in the kittens if we're going in," the reporter adds thoughtfully. "Otherwise we might find ourselves subjected to the actual Queens."

"Not to suggest they aren't queens, but I'm referring to the Hierarchical Queens as it might be," the card elaborates.

"Well, er, I guess. Come on, beaky, let us each carry a kitten into the banquet," March agrees, shrugs, and goes to pick up the black kitten, because, well, contrast!

"Sounds vaguely plausible, which is appropriate," Griffin notes, cradling the white kitten.

The Kittens squeak and fuss slightly, but continue to slumber while carried. The White Kitten begins to purr loudly. The Black Kitten idly chews on the fringe of March's tabard in her sleep.

With the other two fully occupied with their kittens, Achilles looks about but sees no one else to escort, save for Integra herself. He leans down and offers her the crook of his elbow. "Your Majesty, shall we proceed?"

So, with Kittens and Queens in hand, the group makes its way through the archway. It slams shut, and immediately on the other side, March can pick out the sounds of a small crew of small creatures bumping into each other and hammering and chiseling away.

"Lots of small creatures. Chisels, hammers," March whispers to the other. "They really are preparing for something..."

It's hard to make out in the shadows exactly how many people or who are here, but there are certainly Animals and Flowers represented at the very least, though Chessmen seem a bit under-represented at the moment.

Snorting and snuffling rudely through a tureen of soup, there's a large pig who seems to be made of iron. Barely visible in the shadows, except when one of the shadowy waiters slips by carrying something metal that reflects enough of the lantern light, there's a rather dark horse seated at another chair. In a couple of other chairs, there are two identical birds who cheep to each other. They seem to be a pair. They keep referring to each other as "Keet."

A ferocious tiger lily devours a plate of mutton, while a cake on a platter is scuttling around the table, animating and using a knife to cut itself into sections and serving itself out as it goes, until a tiny little crumb scuttles off, giggling maniacally to itself as it steals off with some of the silverware.

Achilles escorts Integra carefully, making sure to loom over anyone who looks like they might mean her harm. "Those seats over there," he whispers to Griffin and the others. "I'm seeing quite a few flowers-- make sure we have our pins on, the ones from Lady Vielchenblau."

"Right, good suggestion," March agrees, following behind Ace with the back kitten in his arms still. Once there, the kitten will be deposited on the right.

Another Grapevine is making its way around, whispering into the ears of anyone who will listen, and occasionally refilling cups of grape juice. This Grapevine, however, looks rather more ancient than the one at Haigha's house. The Dark Horse seems a little tipsy after imbibing her grape juice.

Once the two kitten queens are seated, Ace himself escorts Integra to the place of honor, then retires to a nearby side seat, looking officious and bodyguard-intimidating.

One of the Hyacinths politely offers to move over to make room for the new Queen's entourage. Meanwhile, the Kittens begin to groggily stir, sniffing at the smells of food and drink.

With Integra seated, the Gryphon takes up a position right behind her seat - which gives him a nice field of fire if needed.

Integra's Rocking Horse creakily rocks back and forth right next to the Gryphon, taking the other side to "guard."

The somewhat-tipsy-looking Dark Horse--dressed in an equally dark dress and jacket, with a dark bonnet with a dark arrangement--turns to Achilles. "Oh! You're just in time. It's a mystery course. My favorite kind."

Achilles nods to the dark horse next to whom he is seated. "Pleasure. Oh, is it? What's the mystery about?" His umbrella on one arm, he takes out a pad of paper and pencil with a reporter's reflex and prepares to take notes.

Speaking so that the others might hear, Griffin notes, "The food is magic foodstuffs.. same for the drinks. They may have random, unknowable effects." He then leans in to try and get a better idea what has been placed before Integra.

"That would be telling!" the Dark Horse says, giggling, and batting her lashes at the Card. At least, she's supposed to be a Horse. She's rather un-horse-like in many ways, but she does have a long face. One of the vaguely-defined servants brings her a refill for her cup, and sets down some ... food on her plate. It smells great. But what is it?

"Do we dare risk trying some food?" March asks the others as he eyes the food being brought.

The card stammers a bit. This is possibly the first time he's ever had eyelashes batted at him since the scarring incident in the Wars. "I... Ah... Of course, you're right, no proper mystery should be spoiled right away by revealing the answer," he agrees. "But clues are customary, are they not?"

At that VERY moment, the food in front of Integra, if one focuses very closely, is chilled salmon, emphasis on the CHILLED part. But she hesitates, letting her uncle examine it ... and it turns into something else entirely.

"Well," the Dark Horse insists, "at least this is the good sort of mystery. Oh, it might have a little bite to it, but that just makes it all the more interesting."

"Hmmm, that dish would turn you frosty, Integra," Griffin whispers. "You could hurt people if you touched them, and fire would be very bad for you.."

Achilles beams. "Well, that's good then, one wouldn't want to suffer through the awful kind!" While trying to keep her entertained with a rather lame sequence of small talk (one can tell he doesn't get to talk to pretty girls too often), he absent-mindedly reaches out to a random dish, then pauses looking down at what he's taken.

As the other guests dig in, strange effects ripple along the table. The two Keets begin squabbling with each other. A random flower suddenly sports a Queen's crown, and looks very regal for a moment ... and then it goes away. A mouse begins slowly growing larger, while the tiger lily not far from it begins to shrink slightly.

"We need to do something to see what exactly is going on here," March finally says to the others, then tugs at his ear. "Since I seem to be the hare to abuse, I'll volunteer," he offers. The hare then goes to eat whatever is placed before him unless stopped by the others.

Achilles, covering to give himself some time to examine his food, comments, "Ah, it's the Mouse that Roared and the Shrinking Violet."

One trend seems to be constant with the other eaters, however -- once someone eats a nibble of the food and undergoes a strange effect ... whatever it is, good or ill, the NEXT nibble negates it, replacing it with something ELSE strange.

"Well, I daresay that was not a bad drink. A bit bitter, probably kept in the cask too long. But, I cannot fault the brewer too much, they are, after all, simple folk," March tells the other after his experimental drink. His tone is a bit different, perhaps. Perhaps his enunciation is a bit better, or perhaps it is how he holds himself. It's both impressive and mildly annoying.

Arching a feathery eyebrow, Griffin watches the hare for any ill reactions besides pomposity.

"And th cooks seem to do quite well with just a heel of bread. Cooked just right. If I had to guess, the wheat was sun-dried, then ground with a polished marble wheel into fine flower," the hare continues on, exposing in relative snobbery about how well the food was cooked.

After March shows no obvious ill effects, Achilles digs into his own food, which doesn't look immediately harmful.

Integra brightens up, chewing on something that is VERY chewy, and quickly swallowing. Her eyes widen, and she seems far more attentive to her surroundings than before -- but perhaps also a little more curious than before as well.

At the exact instant Achilles digs into his food, it has become a sliced meat open-faced sandwich on marbled bread. Suddenly, his form becomes a bit darker and harder-looking. At a glance, it seems that he has turned completely to stone! The thing is, this hasn't stopped him from moving about and chewing or much of anything else in the least.

"I daresay old chap, you're looking decidedly darker today. Too much sun?" March asks Ace.

Griffin watches but resists temptation, keeping to his role as Designated Dullard.

The reporter chews thoughtfully. "The texture's a bit pebbly," he comments in a gravely tone. "One really mustn't take good cooking like Griffin's for granite."

"Indeed it is, old chap," March remarks as he goes for another bit of food. "But compared to trail rations, this is heavenly."

The Kittens, meanwhile, have fully awakened, and are thoroughly absorbed in nibbling and lapping, going through an array of changes: shifting colors, turning into different materials, changing sizes, changing apparent species, but tending to go back to normal or something approximating it every other change or so.

The March Hare begins to grow and grow as he tastes his meal. Fortunately, his garb shifts with him. He's no longer a little bunny at all -- not by a long shot.

"Everyone knows Hare Growth tonics are all snake-oil, March," Griffin points out.

"You sound like the proverbial fox claiming grapes are sour just because he couldn't get any," Mark counters.

"Oh, you're pretending your intellect is larger than life-size now?" quips Achilles. "Well, my lovely companion here, the Dark Horse, says that there's some sort of mystery in the offing tonight. I didn't catch it, has the mystery begun already or has it yet to be introduced?" he asks.

Integra sneaks a sampling of dessert. It turns out to be ... Queen's Cake! Suddenly, a crown appears on top of her head! Oh wait, there was already one there. A crown appears on TOP of her crown! A scepter appears in her hand. Taran-tara! She suddenly sits up straight. "My first royal decree is that ... Uncle Paisley is the most wonderful uncle ever!" Trumpet fanfare!

"Hjckrrh!" Griffin responds to Ace. "You are eating the mystery, old man. You really have gone dense."

Feeling a sudden urge from the decree, Griffin eyes the various platters and decides to see what he might be able to come with using them as ingredients..

"Oh," the Dark Horse says, passing a fresh glass to Achilles, "well, you see, there's a test of ascension. Someone special has reached the Eighth Square! Three guesses as to whom, and the first two don't count!"

"Amazing!" says Achilles, drinking to Uncle Paisley's health. "Queen Integra, then?" He seems prepared to sit back and drink the dark fizzy stuff all day... It's as if he's rooted to the spot!

Achilles begins to change again. He sprouts branches. Well ... stone branches, anyway. Or would those be coat hooks? Somehow, he becomes distinctly more tree-like ... yet still seemingly made out of stone, and not all that much less animated than before. And he's still recognizable as himself, and the Dark Horse doesn't seem the least bit surprised.

"Hear hear!" March says, "To Queen Integra, and we did not even have to turn her into a bee." He raises his glass, then takes a drink.

The Dark Horse, meanwhile, sips a bubbling glass. Somehow, she looks prettier, much less horse-like. It's as if she's drinking, but everyone ELSE is getting beer goggles.

March's next drink is a fine glass of chilled champagne. The results, however, are a little less pleasing (other than the champagne buzz). Suddenly, March feels far less insightful (and certainly less smarter-than-thou). He turns a deep shade of blue, and is soon covered in a thin sheen of frost. He seems to take on a cold, subdued demeanor.

Achilles leans toward the Dark Horse. "So tell me about yourself," he slurs a bit. "Such a pretty mare, surely you must be mayor of a beautiful town?" He reaches out for another drink, meaning to drink her health.

The Dark Horse continues on, "... but of course, the new decrees and all. Queen Alice doesn't like the idea of it being so easy for someone else to be a Queen. I suppose I can't blame her. Queens are inherently jealous of their power, after all. So she's instituted a new test, demanding that only a true inhabitant of Wonderland may ever become a Queen."

Setting up his camp stove and other tools, Griffin begins collecting bit of this and that from the table.. and attempts to make cookies.

"Is that so? That sounds like someone who just wants to protect herself," March remarks rather icily.

Hearing that, the reporter blinks. "So what makesh shomeone a true inhabitant of Wonderland?" he wonders. "To your very good health, milady!" He sips from the new glass.

Achilles suddenly bursts into flame. That was one hot toddy! It doesn't seem to harm him at all. The Dark Horse seems too tipsy to immediately care.

The card, on the other hand, is rather dismayed. "Aaaahh!" he yelps, batting at himself to try and put out the flames, until he realizes the paper isn't actually burning.

Ignoring the chaos at the table, Griffin cooks up two gingerbread cookies. Instead of looking like the typical human figure, however, they're done as chesspieces: a knight and a rook.

March is suddenly very glad to be on the other side of the table from Achilles. "Dear sir, you are looking a bit temperamental today. Maybe you should slow your drinking," the ice-hare suggests.

At the far side of the table, a shadow approaches, holding a glass and a silver spoon.

"Now.. what's this about a test of ascension?" Griffin asks the white kitten once the cookies are set aside to cool. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Ahem!" Achilles straightens himself up and does his best to ignore the fact that he's now on fire. He leans toward the Dark Horse. "So what are you doing tonight after the banquet?" he asks, trying to sound suave. Unfortunately for him, what little native charisma he has is probably impacted by the fact his eye-scar has come alight, a yellow spark crossing his stone face.

ting ting ting ting ting! goes the spoon against the glass. At once, there is a hush upon the proceedings. "Behold! The one who seeks the mantle of Queenship. A final test faces her! Let the test begin, and let none interfere!"

The Dark Horse opens her mouth as if to answer Achilles, but then closes it again, attentive to the "host."

Out of the shadows, a shadowy shadow comes forth ... uhm ... shadowily. It's all SO very shadowy and mysterious. In the shadows. In a deep and shadowy voice, it shadowily intones, "Name ... Alice's cat." At once, a bright light shines down on Integra. Apparently she's the one to answer. For a moment, there's a susurrus of murmurs around the table.

Integra is wide-eyed and caught entirely off guard. She works her jaw, her eyes flicking about, unable to focus on anything in the darkness while the light is shining down upon her.

The sloshed reporter looks up curiously. Oh yes... Test. There was something about that. He whispers to the Dark Horse, "Do we get prizesh if we anshwer the queshtion?"

The Dark Horse suddenly looks far less flirty and a little bit afraid. She quietly puts a finger (she has hands?) up to her mouth to shush the flaming Card.

"I'm feeling a bit peckish for ladyfingers," the card says flirtatiously, nibbling on the Dark Horse's hand. "It musht be Dinner Time."

The Dark Horse looks aghast at a flaming Card nibbling her fingers, then stifles a giggle, and playfully swats at him.

The shadowy figure vanishes in a poof! A bell rings. Another oh-so-shadowy figure glides up toward Integra. "Why couldn't Alice read the Jabberwocky?"

Achilles takes it in good spirit (but his spirits are running rather hot tonight). "Well done," he toasts. It appears he's rather well done himself, given his dark coloration, perhaps someone's left their roast on the fire too long.

"Dear sir, you have had to much to drink. why, if you saw yourself in a mirror, you would he ashamed," March reprimands the hot-headed card in rather an icy tone.

Integra blinks again. She listens intently to March, as she seems to have gotten the idea from Achilles earlier. The works it over, then says, "It was printed backwards!"

The reporter gives Harrison a stony look. "You're jusht jealoush you're not sitting next to the lovely lady." He winks to the Dark Horse.

There's another poof, another ringing bell, another shadowy figure shadowily shadowing from the shadowy shadows. Integra intently listens to Achilles's slurred comment, trying to pry it for clues. Then, "Name one creature that was in the train carriage with Alice."

Integra brightens up with an "I know this one!" look. "A goat!" she quickly blurts out. Another ding, another poof, another changing of the shadow guard.

It looks like there are several shadowy shadows still lurking in the shadows -- and no indication given as to just what happens if any of these questions are answered incorrectly! Integra looks nervously back and forth between March and Achilles. She doesn't dare turn to try to look at her uncle.

"This is serious, Achilles," Griffin notes. "Must you fawn over your companion now?"

The card winces as he tries to come up with the answer to the last question, then rubs his temple as the next question follows. "Oh Dear me, my head is aching," he says, then shoots Griffin a look.

"A fawn!" Integra blurts out, almost over her uncle. One can almost sense some grumbling among the shadows, but the latest one goes "poof!" and there's a "ding!" and the next one glides up.

"Who told Alice the poem of the Walrus and the Carpenter?" the next shadow says. Was that a tone of smugness this time?

Integra looks particularly perplexed, as she works that one over. She rubs idly at her nose, looking thoughtful.

The card shakes his head silently at Griffin, as he's evidently drawing a blank. He takes another drink.

"Try to ignore Achilles' mockery of proper manners, Integra," Griffin finally notes. "Proper gentlemen are not so forward."

Achilles's latest drink is a chilled champagne (which makes him frosty COLD as well), while March's is a ginger ale (which cures what ALES him).

The flames whoosh out instantly as the card sips from the delicately fluted glass, replaced by an icy sheen on his marble features! "Whoof! That cooled me down pretty quickly. Er. I apologize, ma'am, if I've been overly forward," Achilles says to the Dark Horse. "Heat of the moment and all that."

Integra works it over. One can almost see the gears turning. Rude? A sneeze? "The Duchess's Cook!"

"WRONG," a voice intones, with a loud BONG. Suddenly, the shadowy shadow becomes less shadowy, as a flurry of utensils and tureens and plates fly up from the table (but still leaving quite a few there), until in the place of the shadow is now a CREATURE that looks something like ... well ... some kind of bird-person-thing but with claws made of forks and knives. It does not look very friendly at all.

Integra's lower lip quivers, but she soon recovers. "Sorry," she says quietly. Meanwhile, another shadow glides into place, while the creature with the sharp pointy claws quietly clicks and clacks just behind and to one side of Integra and Griffin.

"What item of apparel did Alice help the White Queen with?" the next shadow asks.

Integra has a look on her face as if she MIGHT have an idea. But who can tell if it's right?

"Her shawl!" Integra blurts out, rather than waiting any longer. In a lower, more conspiratorial tone, she whispers, "I helped her with it, too!"

The reporter frowns thoughtfully at the question. He shifts his grip on the umbrella, preparing to interpose, should the creatures seem to be about to attack.

Poof! Ding! Next shadow. "What was the Sheep doing in its shop when Alice met it?"

Poof! Ding! Yes, everyone here probably knew that one. Next shadow. "Name the Egg encountered by Ali--"

Integra looks like she might have a clue on at least part of that answer, as she glances over to March. But she also looks a bit uncertain.

"Well answered," approves Achilles a bit distantly. He looks toward Harrison pointedly. "Let's Hope That there's an end to all these questions, I for one am beginning to think Alice herself might start shaking people if she were subjected to such a barrage of questioning, indeed, she might go mad as a Hatter."

March claps his hands together. "Why, that question brings me back to the cottage this morning where we were having tea with a gracious host, my cousin. Remember him? He talked so much about how his friend could identify him too," the hare waxes. "Charming fellow," he adds, even reaching up to doff an imaginary hat in emphasis.

Ding! Poof. Next shadow. "What were the Lion and the Unicorn fighting over?" Again, Integra looks like she MIGHT have a clue, but isn't certain.

"Why, what a charming poem that was," March says as he rubs the top of his head. "And I'm sure it was a much nicer one than the one Jack broke when he fell down on the hill in that other rhyme."

The reporter sighs and leans back. "This one's a real head scratcher," he mutters over the last question, giving Integra a pointed look, and then staring fixedly a little over her own head.

"A crown!" Integra exclaims, blushingly faintly with an "I should've known that one!" look.

Poof! Ding! Next shadow. "Who rescued Alice from the Red Knight?" Integra has a flash of recognition like she might already know, but she still glances between Achilles and March as if for confirmation.

MArch lifts his now smaller customized cane and scratches under his chin. "What's it quite an inventive fellow?" the hare muses?

Achilles shakes his head to Integra, not recalling this one. He glances over at the shadows, wondering how many there are. He's used to being the one to ask the questions.

Poof! Ding. Why, it looks like it's the LAST of the shadows gliding into place -- if one doesn't count that monster of dishware hovering nearby. "What was Alice introduced to first at her crowning banquet?"

Integra furrows her brow, biting her lip. She then gives a pleading look to Achilles and March.

Achilles frowns. "Frankly, I'm finding this whole line of questioning rather off-PUTTING. This should be a time of celebration!"

But despite that, the reporter maintains his icy demeanor, making his line rather less heated than it could have been.

"WRONG," the voice intones. Suddenly, there's a cry of alarm and dismay as more tableware goes flying over toward the shadow. In short order, it is another conglomerate of sharp and pointy or POTENTIALLY sharp and pointy objects.

The reporter looks chagrined. "I feel sheepish," he mutters to the rabbit. "But when last I remembered the scene, it was the pudding that stood out more, protesting itself." He gets a good grip on his umbrella and braces, prepared to intervene bodily should mayhem commence.

"You have done well," the Frog intones, "and normally this would be quite good enough, but Queen Alice has insisted that we tighten our criteria. You shall indeed be Queen, but the title shall be delivered..." He suddenly takes on a much darker expression. "... POSTHUMOUSLY."

With a "shing!" the blades come out. Several of the animals and plants scatter, crying out. Some of them cackle maniacally, and start throwing things. In the midst of it all, pepper shakers fly into the air and explode like fireworks.

"Over my lapine body," March retorts to the frog, rising from the table and preparing to give these naerdowells a right thumping. Or shooting, or both!

"Awwrk!" Griffin squawks, turning his bayonet towards the first tableware terror.

"Since you did not state a choice of dead bodies," says Achilles icily as he stands and draws his umbrella, brandishing it in the air. "Let's make it yours. Death to all who would oppose Queen Integra!"

At one end of the table, a pompous-looking Frog stands, clutching a weathered old book in one webbed hand, and holding a garden rake with sharpened teeth in the other. At the other, far side, a couple of Kittens -- one White, one Black -- are dressed in regalia as Queens (White and Red, respectively), and they scramble to move aside, as a couple of giant conglomerate monsters -- the Plate Things -- menacingly click and clack with their fingers made of sharpened knives and forks (and the occasional spoon, which could hurt as well if enough force is applied).

Queen Integra struggles out of her own chair as well, as her animated wooden Rocking Nightmare wobbles over to serve as her diminutive mount. Her Uncle Paisley -- for the time being in the form of a mighty Gryphon in gentleman's attire -- readies a rifle and bayonet, warning off the monsters.

GM Note: Lingering Foodstuff effect for Griffin: Integra has used Queen's Cake to grant him +10 Power Points, which he used to make Disguise Cookies (5 PP each, Knight, Rook). Effect ends (cookies vanish, along with their effect) if Integra eats another random banquet Foodstuff. She doesn't currently have a drink in effect.

The March Hare doesn't look quite like himself at all. He's bleach-white, dressed in a card-symbol-spangled red-and-white tabard from the Monarchy of Hearts, looking the part of a resurrected White Rabbit ... but one who is a few sizes larger than normal, towering even over the Gryphon.

GM Note: Lingering Foodstuff effect for Harrison: Stuffed Mushroom -- +2 die types to Vigor and Strength; +4 Size (including +4 Toughness); enemies gain +2 to hit you, and you suffer -2 to hit them as everything seems smaller to you now.

Achilles, the Ace of Spaces, also looks strangely transformed, as if his form had been carved into stone, and then covered in frosty ice. His cold demeanor might take some of the bite out of his bark, but he still conveys the sense of one cool under fire.

GM Note: Achilles Drink: Chilled Champagne: +4 to resist fire/cold attacks or damage; not flammable; -2 to "emotion" skill checks such as Streetwise, Persuasion, Intimidation. Marbled Bread: +4 Armor; Pace drops to 4, run d4.

Harrison observes the Plate Things, and thinks back to the odd "mythology" that the kids had developed when playing in Alice's games. They weren't really part of standard Wonderland lore at all, as they weren't true creatures so much as things -- and somehow he'd always conveyed a certain amount of authority when it came to that topic.

March warns the others that these creatures are constructs of a sort: They have no internal organs to be targeted, and the only hope to defeat them permanently is to smash apart the objects they've drawn together to form their bodies. Magical dispelling such as Griffin's cakes might momentarily deprive them of physical forms -- but only for a time.

It looks like that Frog is going to join in the fight as well. But what of the others? There's the slightly tipsy Dark Horse (who looks frustratingly almost human in that dark dress and dark hat) who had been flirting with Achilles earlier; at least she doesn't seem to be joining in on the free-for-all throwing plates and sharp pointy things.

Perhaps some of the Flowers could be impressed by March's pin he received from Lady Veilchenblau ... but on the other hand, right now he looks like a certain Rabbit servant of the Queen of Hearts (and she has a twisty reputation when it comes to Flowers; off with their heads, and all that). It's anyone's guess on the rest.

Integra, however, seems to have a burst of insight as she looks out upon those gathered. "Knight to Queen's Rook 5," and a few other chess-move-sounding things she mutters under her breath, and then, "Oh do be careful! I think just about anything in this room could come to life and cause trouble for you! But those plate-things -- oh, I think they only care about ME, and no one else!"

Achilles presses forward to insert himself between Integra and the Red-side pile of forks, knives, and other silverware. He challenges, "Hah! You think yourselves silverware fit to serve royalty? You're so obviously tin-plated a bum would think twice before eating off of you! But allow me to introduce myself, I'm the Ace of Spades, a friend to the rightful Queen Integra, and for today, I'll be the bad luck to any who would raise hands against her." The dark marble-colored card sweeps a mocking bow before raising his umbrella, en garde style.

At once, the Plate Things spring into action. With a squawk, the Gryphon whips out a couple of coins that explode in a shower of sparks -- Round Tuits! One of them showers Gryphon himself in glitter, but the other shoots over toward Harrison. Gryphon and Harrison each spring into action more quickly than would normally be possible, but Harrison seems to be the faster one. One of the Plate-Things zooms in toward Integra, cutlery-hands snipping against each other menacingly....

Thunderous thumps of mighty feet almost shake the room as Harrison bounds from the floor, to the table, then over Griffin to intercept the oncoming storm of dastardly cutlery. His sword of thorns (almost the dagger of thorns in his hands now) comes to bear.

Achilles curses under his breath as he sees the far-side plate thing dashing toward Integra too quickly for him to be able to slide into place, then yells as he sees the rabbit dashing forward. "Harrison! May God guide your arm to save our Queen!"

SMASH! Pieces of cutlery and dishware go flying every which way as the giant bunny and its little sword blast through the monster, interrupting its beeline toward little Integra. A shadowy fog follows the pieces as they start to rearrange themselves into a cohesive form again....

The mad-eyed frog leaps and bounces down the length of the table, sending tableware and cakes and drinks flying every which way. "All loyal subjects of Alice! To arms! To flippers! To claws! To various appendages! Attack the false queen!"

Griffin moves to put himself in the second creature's path, a swing of his bayonet interrupting it.. before he throws a Wall-Nut down in front of it!

The walnut begins to crackle and expand, and then POPS up into a huge wall that spreads wide out in each direction, and launches upward toward wherever the ceiling should be in the darkness above. On the other side of the wall comes a crash of dishware and a clatter of cutlery. This seems to have at least temporarily frustrated the homicidal dishware's attack on Integra.

However, after a matter of moments, there's a glint visible over the top of the wall. That plate thing apparently can fly!

Achilles curses again, seeing the Frog launch himself down the table, and the plates creature appearing at the top -- shortly they're going to be beset on both sides! "I'm no great general but I can see we're going to have our hands full. We need help!"

"Fret not, we have many allies and they know we are the true champions of Wonderland; not this false Alice! Join us, fight for the true Kingdom, not false idols!" March cries out as the hare launches on a rampage! Or at least he is mightily miffed at the diabolical dinnerware of doom, because he doesn't let it try and recover, oh no. He continues to pound on it with his sword and rather oversized body! Perhaps legends far from now will describe things as a Hare in a China shop instead.

Taran-TARA! "For the Queen!" shout a chorus of Pawns, as they rush out of the shadows. Are these new enemies? No! It seems that they are on the side of the heroes!

Plateware shatters, and utensils are horribly bent under the mega-bunny's onslaught, but the Plate-Thing just will NOT yet give up the ghost (so to speak).

A Pawn pokes at the Plate-Thing near Harrison, but although the fellow is quite enthusiastic, he seems to be only further smashing the bits of plateware that were already effectively DEAD.

"Good to have you, fellow soldiers of justice!" exclaims Achilles to the two Pawns that have appeared to his sides. "Brace yourselves! God is on our side, for we serve the rightful Queen!"

The two Pawns cheer and hoot, raising their weapons and then readying them to hold off the onslaught of the Plate-Things.

Griffin hands Integra a cookie with a chess Knight design frosted on top. "Eat this, and ride for the throne. If that's Alice's scepter you might be able to use it!" He grabs the near Pawn and instructs, "Smash the dishes that aren't already broken with me!" He then attacks the remaining scattered dishware with his bayonet!

Integra obediently chows down on the cookie, then raises her eyebrows in appreciation (that's a good cookie!) -- but then she raises them a little MORE in surprise, as her form begins to change. In short order, she looks like a short white Knight, with horse head/helmet (it's hard to tell which it is) and all. All of her gear is caught up in the disguise as well, and that seems to include her Rocking-Nightmare, for it now looks like a rocking white-horse-steed.

The Gryphon successfully shoves his way through the crowd at the base of the wall, stabbing at fallen plateware and crockery. Pieces shatter, and utensils are trampled underfoot, but the thing just doesn't seem to be DEAD QUITE YET.

"AWAY!" Integra commands her rocking-steed, and despite its short legs/rockers, it wobbles across the banquet hall floor with remarkable speed. In short order, it rocks right up to the brighter-lit area of Alice's throne of ages past.

"For the QUEEN!" the Pawn next to Griffin cries, following his lead. The blunt, wooden sword the little Chessman wields proves to be surprisingly effective at smashing plateware and bending cutlery left and right. Between Griffin and the Pawn, the Plate-Thing finally shudders and falls still. The shadowy miasma clinging to the fragments and bent silverware lets out a final gasp, and fades away into the shadowy gloom surrounding the hall.

Taking advantage of the rather grisly smashing that his companions have given the plate construct, Achilles turns his one-eyed gaze toward the rest of the diners, then fixes the running frog with it. "Thus to those who would attack an innocent Little Girl!" He flourishes his umbrella, then lunges onto the table toward the frog! "And you, you mouthpiece of the Evil Queen, who slays young children to fatten her armies, surrender or die!"

"To my side, pummel this one if he resists!" calls Achilles to his little helper pawn.

"N-n-n-NEVER!" the frog croaks, belatedly showing defiance -- but it's obvious that the Card has rattled the amphibian.

SPLAT. The wooden sword proves capable of pummeling the frog. It seems not nearly as ferocious an opponent as the plate-things proved to be. Could this battle be nearly over before it has begun?

BURBLE "I say! How rude! I do believe you STEPPED in me," comes a sludgy, watery voice from a serving bowl on the table. Could that be the PUDDING that is protesting? It wobbles and blorps as it spills from its container, and keeps right on spilling.

"Well struck, my loyal friend! We'll--" Achilles looks with a bit of surprise at the pudding. "Don't be so hasty, pudding! We haven't even been introduced yet!"

The Violet looks very, very angry, and begins to shift between various shades of purple. "You ... you RUINED my bowl of fresh DIRT! Oh! Oh I feel so very ... so very ... VIOLENT!" Across the table a very Deranged Hydrangea just giggles in fits, but then a Hyacinth, with a cry of "Hiiiiiii-yaaaaaaa!" leaps up and goes right for Achilles! Meanwhile, the Dark Horse sniffs at the pudding, then declares, "Oh! Perhaps it's not so bad after all...." She tucks in a napkin, picks up her fork and spoon, and begins to dig in.

Despite all their bluster, the crazed plants manage to do no more than just to pelt Achilles's umbrella with a few flinging petals and vines. Granted, they COULD hurt if they managed to get in a good blow, but not for the moment. Meanwhile, the Dark Horse just munches away, over the protests of the animated pudding ("Hey! How RUDE! How'd you like it if someone took a bite out of y-- Ow! HEY!").

The reporter turns to fend them off with his umbrella, half-standing over the frog. "I say, I do apologize for spoiling your dining, my good flowers, but I have no quarrel with you! Why, I quite like flowers!"

The Black Kitten, meanwhile, oofs, as her chair is knocked and rocked this way and that. The White Kitten similarly just cowers in her chair, trying to shield herself with a platter against all the flying debris.

On the far side of the table, the other diners are variously throwing things, gobbling down their food (or playing with it, or swimming in it, or dancing with it, or any number of other strange things), hitting each other with things, or hitting THEMSELVES with things. It's perhaps just as well that their attention is elsewhere.

The Violet and the Hyacinth look perplexed. "But ... but ... you did not yield underneath my irresistibly violent onslaught! It's just NOT FAIR!" the Violet whines. "And ... you defended against me with an UMBRELLA? How ... how COULD you?" the Hyacinth protests. They do little more than that for the moment.

"Ooo! I have an idea!" the Hydrangea declares. "How about we fight? Oh, it'll be such fun!" And then, the flower grabs a knife and tries to skewer the Pawn next to Achilles. The Pawn, however, seems to have none of it, and quickly dodges out of the way.

The reporter does all he can to fend the flowers off without slicing them, having a soft spot for the ladies. "Madame, you may account me struck by your beauty, if that will help." He sidesteps as the Dark Horse seems to have taken offense at his brief flirtation. "Ack! I assure you, my words for you were quite sincere, my lady Dark Horse!"

"Oh, I'm sure they WERE sincere!" the Dark Horse whinnies, as she giggles and makes another grab for him. "Oh, do stop playing hard to get!"

"Perhaps we should team up and cut the pudding down to bite size first?" suggests Achilles cooly, turning toward the monstrous reddish blob.

"Grab th scepter, Integra!" Griffin calls out, and flies up along the wall while fetching.. a cake.. from his pocket as he heads for the Plate creature at the top of the wall.

Lady Integra (if that's what she might be called, being momentarily a knight and all), makes her way up to the throne, and looks in wonder upon the scepter. Then, she snatches it up. Taran-tara! A bright light shines down on her.

"Grab th scepter, Integra!" Griffin calls out, and takes aim at the plate monster atop the wall with his rifle.

GM Note: Sceptre of Alice. Usable as melee weapon (magical) Str+d6 (min Str d4); has 6 inherent Power Points that may be used by the wielder to cast bolt, using Spirit as spellcasting skill (or user's Belief, whichever is higher). Power Points regenerate at the rate of 2 per day.

"I've got it!" Integra cries out, waving the sceptre. Out of nowhere, a little white Pawn rushes up with a scroll and unrolls it. At the top it reads, "Instructions for Wielding the Sceptre of Alice," followed by a bunch of instructions ... with diagrams. The little girl-knight-queen quickly scans the instructions. "Oh! This says I can smite disobedient subjects with it, from far away, so I needn't get my gloves soiled!"

After barely knicking a shiny platter on the creature, Griffin tells the attending Pawn, "Defend the Knight!"

"At once, sir!" the little Pawn says, snapping off a salute, and then charging off toward the throne.

All the attention toward the throne and the scepter seems to have given the remaining Plate-Thing all the clue it needs, as it flies off in the direction of the throne.

"Stop!" the Pawn cries, leaping and swinging vainly up in the air as the Plate-Thing flies overhead. "Come down here first, where I can SMITE you!"

Achilles, turning his head over his shoulder, yells, his icy demeanor cracking a bit, "I can't get there in time! Integra, run! You can outpace that cursed monster!" He drops back behind the table from the temporarily confused flowers and starts running nevertheless, hoping that he can get there in time. "Abandon the table, the dinnerware are revolting!"

"Pawn, with me! We must protect Integra!" yells Achilles as he leaps over the Dark Horse. "Sorry, milady, I'll have to take a rain check."

"Right away!" the other Pawn responds, extracting himself from the hostile fronds of the Hydrangea, and rushing after the chilly Card.

Achilles calls back, "I'm sure there's cold shoulder on the dining table, milady Dark Horse!"

"Harrison! Get over here, double-time!" yells Achilles as he sprints toward the throne, trying to throw himself in between Integra who seems to have been temporarily frozen by the horror swarming toward her.

"I cannot stand any dinnerware that thinks it can dish it out," Harrsion rumbles as the large lapine bounds towards the other construct. In his left hand he's clicking the winding wheel of this watch... It's also about then that many might find an overly large rabbit ginning like a maniac a bit unnerving.

Maybe the sword is making Harrison feel a bit thorny, because with a small hop, the rabbit tries to thrash the dishes into oblivion! "Revenge for the scullery maids everywhere!" he crows.

SWAT! The plate-thing is batted out of the air by the oversized bunny, and smashes into the tiled floor in a clatter of dishes and silverware. Some of the dishes shatter on impact, and won't be rejoining the collective ... but the swirling black miasma begins to gather up the silverware again, bringing it together once more.

"Wait for meeeeee!" cries out the other Pawn, rushing after the surprisingly fast giant bunny.

"Well struck, Harrison with a Very Capital H! But Integra, you should move! You don't want to be too close if it manages to put its wits back together soon." yells Achilles.

The pudding burbles from the table. "See how you like it!" It begins to coalesce back into a more uniform shape, and even forms something resembling a face -- a very, very angry face.

The Hydrangea menacingly shuffles after the retreating Pawns. "You can't get awayyyyy!" it says. Yes, it's deranged, all right ... but fortunately, it's also quite SLOW.

"March!" Griffin calls out, and throws a round token towards the oversized hare.

The other plants, meanwhile, resume squabbling. The Dark Horse just watches all the people running by with great interest. She cheers and waves her handkerchief like a flag. Why, it's as if she's at the races! Only, in the stands, rather than being the one doing the racing.

The wild hare has gone mad! He's whomping like mad on the menagerie of plates, knives, and worse; the dreaded salad forks.

The dishware doesn't have a hare of a chance. It is duly stomped and shattered and rendered into so many broken little bits, and the silverware is mashed and bent horribly.

The black miasma clinging to the dishware at last lets go with a gasp, and vanishes into the surrounding shadows. It would seem that the dark forces bent upon annihilating Integra specifically have been defeated. Now all that's left are the assorted mad rabble (and the pudding).

Achilles breathes hard, his glaze of ice cracking as he races forward... And then he slows to a stop, seeing Harrison bound into action. "You've served him right!" he calls out. "Perhaps you might let the table know we've won this trial by right of might and now are ready to put things in order... Or else, I'm afraid that we're rather going to be served a heaping slice of chaos."

The table erupts in mayhem as the plateware itself, no doubt inspired by the example of the vanquished Plate-Things, springs to life and begins flinging itself suicidally at all and sundry. Oh, this is getting ugly indeed!

"Gentlemen," exclaims Achilles turning to the table, raising his voice to try and be heard over the hub-bub. "I propose that we adjourn for a spot of tea and see if we can't calmly resolve our differences. My friend, the March Hare, would like to address you all."

The dishware pauses in mid-throw, just ABOUT to fling itself into oblivion ... but ... TEA TIME! That's just so sacred, that the animate plateware couldn't DARE to dash itself and miss such an occasion.

The stone-faced card whispers to Harrison as he heads back to the temporarily pacified table, "Now perhaps, is the time to play on the flowers' natural sympathy toward a friend of theirs?" After all that exertion, the Chilled Champagne effect seems to have faded.

GM Note: Tea Time Adventure card played. Chilled Champagne has expired, but Achilles keeps munching Foodstuffs until he gets another Marbled Rye.

Still at the table, Griffin ponders sitting down this time.. but would rather stay standing.

The Dark Horse pulls a chair for Achilles. "That was such a LOVELY race! And a totally unexpected finish!"

"Thank you, my lady! Count myself inspired by your own example," the card reporter says a bit more warmly now that he's not so icy.

"Oh, DO accept my apologies for the earlier hostilities, good Card," says the Not-So-Violent-For-The-Moment Violet. "It's just in my nature, you know."

Harrison snaps the watch closed as the call for tea time echoes throughout the room. The overly-large lapine then has to eye Ace for a few seconds before clearing his throat. "Citizens of Wonderland, this little girl has met the challenges laid before her. She has answered the lore and faced the trials of plate and spoon. And even with that, that scoundrel of a frog demanded her death! Where is the honor in that? Where is the nobility of such an order? Those who recognized the true nature of the current 'Queen Alice'; she is a false queen. We now stand as the guards of a true little girl. If you have doubt of our sincerity to these lands and its people I only have to present the legendary Sword of Thorns, and this pendant given to us by the Lady of the Flowers for defending her lands from desecration. So I stand here now and ask you to calm your anger and rejoice with us. A True Queen has returned to us, to show us all the way back to the True Alice's path. I ask you to stand with all o

Across the table, the Tiger Lily is similarly cordial and apologetic toward the Mouse that it was in the process of gobbling up. The Mouse is quite the gentleman about it -- no hard feelings!

f us now," the hare pronounces to the menagerie gathered. The hare tilts his head as it looks across those gathered at the table, "Will you?"

"Oh, absolutely not!" the Black Kitten squeals, clapping happily and bouncing up and down.

"We should definitely preserve this momentous occasion for posterity," Griffin says, and begins to set up his camera - including the flash bar.

The White Kitten casts a dubious glance at the other kitten, sighs briefly, then stands and puts on her best sugar-sweet smile as well.

"Oh," says the pudding, "I shall have to decline from standing. No hard feelings at all. I SHALL have to gobble up and smother whomever I can reach, once tea-time is over. It's just, you see, now that I've been improperly introduced and all -- well, it's just the thing to do. No hard feelings?"

The plateware bounces up and down, "Oh, and we DO so want to smash ourselves to bits! We've been waiting for JUST the right moment! It just isn't a proper party without it! But you are such a NICE bunny, we wouldn't DREAM of smashing into you! Not unless you really like that sort of thing."

Achilles considers this. "None taken... If you don't mind that you could get eaten up entirely by hungry diners such as myself and my lovely companion," he says, fixing the pudding with his one good eye. "Or, you could be a good little pudding and rest quietly in your dish. Your choice."

"What a pretty pin!" remarks the Rambling Rose, idly, pushing away a plate that was mere inches from smashing into her face before freezing there at the declaration of tea time. "You must be friends of the Garden!"

"Oh! I don't mind at all," the pudding says jovially. "I just fuss at folks taking a bite of me. People eat pudding, and pudding eats people. It's all good fun!"

The Dark Horse fans herself, looking all aflutter. "My. What a well-spoken Rabbit!"

The Iron Pig just grunts, but at last stands as well. The pair of Keets stand up as well, staring blankly into space and twisting their heads this way and that to look stupidly at whatever mote in space seems to catch their attention at the moment. "Hear hear!" cries the Anonymous Mouse. The Lady Tart (whose skin seems to be made of cream, and whose dress is made of all sorts of slices of fruit) keeps her face hidden with a fan, but she stands as well.

"He's much cuter in his proper size," attests Achilles as he stands up next to Harrison to show his support. "And he speaks on behalf of Queen Integra, who commands a force vastly outnumbered by the evil Queen Alice's twisted minions. What better candidate for a Dark Horse could you ask for?"

The Frog twitches for a moment, as if even HE might have been persuaded to stand by such a moving speech, but alas, it seems that he has remembered that he has been Clobbered, Pummeled, and Thoroughly Vanquished, and as such, as quite probably dead, so he doesn't move more than that.

While setting up the camera, Griffin whispers to Harrison, "Maybe the tableware could have a little contest, to see who can crash themselves the highest up on the wall.."

"Oh!" gasps the Dark Horse. "A challenger to the THRONE! How positively mysterious!"

The card reporter, noticing the twitch, comments to Harrison, "That was quite an electrifying speech, sir."

"I do believe you would have galvanized that frog, if he were still possessed of his senses," Achilles finishes his remark.

"Don't be absurd, sir," Harrsion notes to Griffin, "That is hardly a challenge. why, a real challenge would be to have them sell themselves to pawn shops, then try to ingratiate themselves to the customers and try to fetch the highest price possible, then donate all the funds to Queen Integra, of course." Old habits die hard, even for oversized rabbits.

"Well, finding a Pawn shop should be simple enough, certainly," Griffin agrees. "They are rather numerous."

The plateware suddenly begins hopping up and down and cheering, clapping their silverware together, clinking glasses (spilling some drink in the process), and generally making a ruckus. "Oh! Hear HEAR! What a delightful idea!" "I say! Yes! I should be worth a fortune, I dare say!" "Oh! Pawn ME! Pawn ME!"

The pudding warbles, "Why, he's positively gifted, he is. Why, that Rabbit is so well-spoken, I shouldn't mind if he had a bite of me at all!"

The Gryphon aims his camera this way and that, and makes framing shapes with his talons to look through. "Hmmm. Haww.. Hjckrrh.." he mutters.

"A kinder offer was never made, my dear sir," March claims. "You truly have a soft heart."

The reporter, about to speak up, closes his mouth with surprise as the silverware and plates actually seem to be going for the notion. Incredible! "Perhaps you should point out they'll be worthless if they smash themselves, so they might wish to stack themselves neatly to the side so they can be transported for Valuing and Selling."

"Tsk, this table is just too long," Griffin notes. "I don't suppose you'd all mind terribly forming up behind Integra so I could get you all in the photo?"

The Keets bob and nod to each other. "Yes, yes, never a better Rabbit in all the land!" "Why, it's a pity he's an herbivore! It'd be an HONOR to be devoured by such a noble Animal as he!"

Harrision listens to the reporter, then smirks buck-toothed. "And my dear friend here just mentioned something, dear dinnerware. If you go and break yourselves, why how could you be pawned? Who would buy? And worse how would anyone ever be able to admire your beauty? Surely you don't want to take more beauty away from this world?" the hare asks of the homicidal plates.

"Oh! Yes yes yes!" The dinnerware starts stacking itself up, and the silverware begins rolling itself up in table linens.

Meanwhile, the flowers are all a-gasp at the Gryphon. "Oh! A PHOTOGRAPH! Our beauty preserved for the ages!" "Even better than being pressed!" "Oh yes, let us line up at once!"

In all the hustle of the dishes to line themselves and stack up, the body of the Frog is ferried along as well, and unceremoniously dumped off the edge of the table in the mayhem.

The cat-bird uses gestures to bunch the flowers together into a passable bouquet around Integra's chair. "Very good! Now, this is a group portrait, and it is customary for one person to have their eyes closed. Since Integra is the girl of the hour, that honor should fall to her. Close your eyes and smile.. beatifically.. Integra," Griffin instructs.

Integra tries to look as "beatific" as possible, eyes closed and hands clasped around the sceptre for the picture.

"Everyone smile!" Griffin says, and notes to Harrison and Ace, "You may want to turn away, lest the loveliness of it all sway your hearts.."

The Flowers and assorted Creatures are all posed, ready to be immortalized in photograph.

Achilles beams. "Of course, sir. I'll be waiting to escort the lovely ladies back to the table."

One by one, the photographic subjects stagger and stumble back to their appointed places, thoroughly blinded.

Griffin begins packing things up. He'll worrying about developing the photo when things are less hectic.

The card reporter makes sure to escort the Dark Horse to her place before returning to his own. "I wish you a hearty appetite when it comes to the matter of dealing with hasty puddings. One must be swift, lest one be eaten!"

"I say," the pudding blorps. "I do believe tea time is over now, isn't it? Why, yes it is! Ah well! No hard feelings. Back to my previously-interrupted homicidal rage! Now then, where were we? Oh yes. Ahem. BLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!"

The pudding glorps slowly in Griffin's direction. If Griffin sits very, very still, he might very well be engulfed.

"Now then!" the Dark Horse protests. "I wasn't done with my dish yet!" She begins hungrily digging into what remains on her plate, even as it begins to puddle away after the main pudding mass.

The Dark Horse eats like ... well ... she eats like a HORSE! She takes a large chunk out of the pudding, until all that's left are a couple of puddles of the stuff staining the tablecloth (since most of the dishware has finished stacking itself up at the far side). However, the puddles reanimate, and form distorted faces. "Now then!" "Yes! Oh! There you are!" "Here I am!" "Here we are! And there he is!" The pudding continues sludging its way over toward the Griffin, despite being momentarily interrupted.

Gathering his gear together, Griffin spreads his wings and flies off before the pudding.. does whatever pudding might do to a gryphon. He heads towards the others, and calls out, "Integra, check around the throne for exits! Surely a queen isn't expected to have to use the same door as everyone else!"

Integra is momentarily dazed. Perhaps her eyes weren't closed quite tightly enough. "Uhm ... just a moment, Uncle!"

With a battle cry of, "There's always room for PUDDING!" one of the Pawns rushes forward, drawing forth a SPOON to do battle against the creeping gourmantic horror.

"Looks like red pudding to me," comments Achilles to the Griffin as the latter flies past him. "Something of an acquired taste, but I don't think you've acquired it, despite it trying to acquire you."

The giant bunny lumbers towards the pudding, upon whence it grabs a jar and tries to just capture the homicidal dessert.

The other Pawn rushes up behind Harrison, and clambers up on the table, shrieking a battle cry of "SPOOOOOOOOON!" It then digs in, battle-spoon in hand, versus the other pudding cluster.

"With me! We must contain the other pudding before it eats someone's face!" Achilles calls to his pawn companion. He charges forward, but his stony weight hinders him enough that he can't do more than get onto the table, ready to protect the Dark Horse should the free pudding choose to attack her.

The last Pawn huffs and puffs (even if it's not immediately clear whether it has a mouth, let alone lungs), as it rushes back toward the table to join the fight against the dastardly pudding.

"The only proper place for a pudding is the stomach or a jar. Since we ate recently, a jar it is," the hare quips, then stuffs the unruly dessert into a container and closes the lid.

"Noooooooo!--" The pudding's wail is sealed off along with the jar. But one unruly pudding still remains!

The Dark Horse abandons propriety by scrambling up onto the table, fork and spoon and napkin-bib at the ready. With much cry of "Nom nom nom!" she helps herself to pudding! The remains, however, form themselves into (yet smaller) mini-puddings, still animated.

As a blob of pudding springs his way, Achilles reflexively swings at it! "Allow me to cut that down to size for you, my lady," he says.

The pudding splits into even TINIER portions, each one looking like it's not so much something that could actually engulf someone ... as it is just a snack on the run.

A Pawn scrambles underneath the table, then pops up on the other side, eating utensils at the ready. HOW it shall eat it, with no visible mouth? Well, that remains to be seen.

The reporter looks surprised as the smaller chunks continue to move! Thinking better of slicing it up into even smaller pieces, he lunges forward to grab the nearest tiny pudding up so that he can offer it to the Dark Horse as a bite-sized snack.

Achilles yelps as the pudding continues to squirm in his grip! "It looked easier when you were doing this," he complains to Harrison.

Griffin looks on in shock at the sight of.. fighting with a pudding. It goes against his notions of propriety: a gentleman simply does not play with his food. Still, something needs to be done, so he flies back to the table, dispel cake in hand.

"I hope you're not full because this pudding is turning out to be quite the handful," says the card to the Dark Horse. "But please don't bite too hard, I'd hate to be the Fingerless Ace!"

Landing near the fleeing blobs, Griffin tries to stick the cake inside the pudding next to him.

Griffin's Pawn ally rushes up to help, using his battle-spoon to try to pin in the pudding, to keep it from shuffling all over the place.

Integra, meanwhile, tries sitting in the throne. She looks around, and finds a holder for the scepter that it fits into nicely. Then, just to experiment, she tries twisting it. There's a rumbling noise. "Oh my!" Integra ... has vanished!

The plateware bounces lightly, cheering on the combat, but kindly NOT smashing themselves to bits. The pudding, however, is not quite so gracious.

The puddings thrash about violently, squeakily issuing threats. One lunges at a Pawn and tries to force-feed itself violently down the poor fellow's throat, but it just can't quite seem to find the mouth.

The reporter one-handedly cages the diminutive pudding as it blobs about ineffectually. He yelps as the remaining uncaptured pudding leaps for the pawn!

There's a rumbling noise from the direction of the throne. Suddenly, Integra is back again, sceptre in hand. "Oh! How curious!"

The reporter perks his ears up (or at least they would be if he were an Animal). This bears investigation!

The Pawn next to Griffin, in a fit of desperation as he tries to hold onto the pudding, fusses with it, and then just SQUEEEEEEEEZES it so hard that it shoots like a spray through the air, arcing right into the open mouth of the Dark Horse!

March offers his jar to Achilles. "Pudding, guv'nah?" the hare says in a rather plantive, street-urchin, sort of way.

The reporter struggles with his handful of pudding. "It's being quite a handful!" he yelps.

The Dark Horse snuffles at Achilles's hands. "I could help you with that, dear."

"What a Card!" the Pawn next to Achilles proudly declares, clapping him on the back. "Why, he has the ladies eating right out of his hands!"

Achilles beams. "Who knew Dark Horses had such a fondness for pudding?" He throws Harrison an apologetic look, then casts his glance over to Griffin, still struggling with his own bite-sized morsel.

The other Pawn casts about, trying to find a suitable tureen or similar item to hold the remaining pudding, but it seems all the dishware has shuffled to the wrong side of the table!

"Ugh," Griffin says, and offers the pudding to the horse. "I wouldn't want to deprive you of your just dessert, madam.."

In short order, the remainder of the pudding has been devoured (mostly by the Dark Horse), or jarred up (by Harrison -- who puts the lid back on it before the pudding inside figures out it can get free).

There are, thankfully, plenty of handkerchiefs to go around to clean up what little bits of pudding are still clinging to hands and talons.

"As wonderful as the company has been, I daresay we should join Integra at the throne and take our leave," Griffin notes.

The card licks his fingers clean, then blushes brightly red realizing that it's an indirect kiss. His stony exterior seems to be cracking, reverting to ordinary paper! He sweeps a bow to the Dark Horse. "Thank you for your assistance, that pudding would have been far greater a handful without your gusto to help!"

The Flowers are all aflutter about Harrison. The Pawns pay their respects to the "new Queen," but then insist that they must return to a quest they are upon.

Once Harrison ends up back to his more or less normal-sized self, he says, "Well, you know what they say. Hare today, gone tomorrow."

The Dark Horse flutters her lashes at Achilles, and somewhat poutily says, "I suppose this it the part where you say that you simply MUST be going, isn't it?"

Griffin decides to bite back a remark about Achilles having kissed horse-faced women before.

"If ever you're at the Caucus Race Grounds," the Dark Horse says with a sigh to the Card, "promise you will stop by and pay your respects, won't you?"

Achilles bows over the Dark Horse's hand and kisses it. "Absolutely! And I shall certainly wager on you to win." He blushes at Harrison's suggestion.

The Anonymous Mouse gushes, "This is simply the BEST Coronation Party I have ever been to!"

"Oh, most assuredly!" the Mouse agrees. It's perfect Wonderland logic, of course.

"Everyone should take a commemorative plate from the stack, I suggest," Griffin notes. "I'm sure they are quite valuable now."

LOOT (cont'd): Jar of Animated Pudding: Dunno, but it's probably worth SOMETHING! Or, give it to someone as a surprise! 1 lb weight. Doesn't count as a Magic Foodstuff, because it's a creature in its present form. Sceptre of Alice: Stats as noted earlier.

"Pardon me, madame," Griffin says to the Dark Horse, "but how are you getting back to the Monarchy of Hearts, if I may ask? We were hoping to visit there ourselves."

"Oh!" the Dark Horse offers, "Why, I'm going That Way." She makes a gesture as if she's pointing, but it's frustratingly vague. Or maybe it's not.

The card packs the silverware up into the travel bag for transport, assuring them that they're bound to fetch a High Price and be a Family Heirloom Well Worth Keeping For One's Children when they are received by the Pawn Shop of which Harrison has spoken.

Realizing something, Griffin whispers to Ace and Harrison, "I think we have a chance here to exit into Settled, via 'Castling', or perhaps follow the Dark Horse to the Caucus Race Grounds in the Monarchy of Hearts. We need to decide which option we want most. Think it over while I talk to Integra about what she has discovered."

GM Note: Integra now has Honorary Queen status. She is a Queen for purposes of meeting prerequisites for Edges, using Items of Wonder (such as the Scepter of Alice), etc. This does NOT grant her the special abilities of the Queen Edge.

"I don't know where the best place is to go next," MArch admits. "I'm just a dumb bunny."

"We do need to find the Hatter," Griffin reminds, before heading for the throne to talk to Integra.

Achilles looks curious, asking Integra and Griffin, "I did overhear a rather ominous rumbling noise. Did you uncover something interesting?"

Integra says, "The throne has a secret escape exit! But I don't quite know where it goes. It felt very ..." She scrunches her brow, looking deep in thought, then said, "It was very grey and hazy there. I couldn't make out anything clearly."

At the throne, Griffin falls to one knee and bows his head to Integra while grinning. "You've found a vague exit, Your Majesty. I think we need to be of one mind as to where it will take us."

The reporter looks thoughtful. "Well, now that we've reached the Eighth Square... It seems well worth considering to pay a visit to Hatter House, perhaps from March Manor," he murmurs to the others in a hushed voice.

One by one, the guests appear to be heading out. Just HOW is, well, a bit vague. In purely sensible terms, it's just that every now and again, the travelers look about and notice that there are fewer people about.

Achilles explains, "If we defeat him though, it should release him from his bondage to Queen Alice's spell." He blushes again, "I wouldn't want to bring trouble on Lady Dark Horse, though. We're almost certain to run into some powerful enemies, if only Queen Alice's forces sweeping all of Wonderland in search of us. After all, we didn't bring Miss Rabbit along..."

"That is true, I suppose. If you wish, we can go with your charming Lady. I'm sure you wouldn't mind another hour or so with her, after all," March teases, "And we just part ways when she is home and we go back into danger."

The reporter gives up and laughs. "All right, I think a sure thing may be better than an uncertainty. Why don't you go and ask her if we might accompany her partway? I'm afraid I'd say something quite inappropriate to the company of a well-brought-up lady, and as we all know, you are Charm Itself."

"Looks like we're off to the races then!" Griffin says, and offers Integra a hand up from the throne.

"Well, sounds like we're in for a bit more horsing around," March quips. "Better than death by puddings and angry cutlery, at least. Onward!"

Integra, meanwhile, finishes another get-together time with the two Kitten Queens (they've been sampling tea, changing colors and sizes, and giggling at each other to no end), and rushes up to join her uncle. "Oh! Can my rocking-horse compete?"

The journey across Wonderland was eventful and yet strangely not. Time passed in a peculiar way, with several days seeming to whip by in but a few moments, while a single day might seem to stretch on nearly forever until passing into the next zone. Along the way, the Dark Horse's energy would similarly vary; one time, she'd be rushing on ahead, and another she'd be lagging behind, but somewhere in between she would invariably draw close to Achilles to banter with him, alternately flattering him or teasing him, her mood and interest shifting wildly from one moment to the next.

The weather has been similarly erratic. While it's impossible to tell what is truly "normal" for a journey in a place where the sun sometimes shines at midnight, and the moon's phases might sometimes involve showing up in multiple places in the sky at once, the mood has often been somber. At times, the group has had to seek hasty shelter as the clouds have drenched the land in red rain, or living creatures falling from the sky (and not staying that way for very long). Puns are often involved, but the humor is somewhat lost when one is actually THERE to witness its morbid execution.

At some point, the Looking-Glass Lands have given way to the Monarchy of Hearts. Were the mountains crossed, or was the Guarded Way taken? Many details of the journey are fuzzy and dream-like, defying close examination (and threatening to fall apart if one persists). What ultimately matters is where they were and who they were with, and that it took a while, and that now they are HERE.

And HERE would be the Caucus Race Grounds, at the southernmost portion (if indeed compass directions have much meaning here) of the Monarchy of Hearts.

The Caucus Race Grounds
Upon the site where Alice first entered Wonderland Proper and met with the Animals swimming in her own Pool of Tears, a great race track was built to commemorate the very first Caucus Race used to dry off the Animals from their ordeal. A great race track has been set up for Animals to test their speed, with bleachers to each side, roasted peanut wagons and vendors with booths set up, and pennants waving in the breeze.

The mood here is festive, and for now the skies are bright and clear, without so much as a threat from those few puffy little clouds in the sky. Flags flap in the breeze, vendors hawk their wares, and various creatures maneuver for positions in the stands on either side of the field.

There is considerable excited chatter, and it takes Achilles little time with his investigatorial skills to find out that there's a prize to be offered at the races that our heroes have the fortune to arrive just in time for: The winner and his team shall have the honor of seeing the Queen! But, as it is politely said, EVERYONE shall be a winner here, and the Queen shall see all the contestants: honors all around!

An official loudly announces the rules, while another announcer repeats the same on the other side, for the benefit of spectators in the other stands. Among them, such critical details as, "None shall leave the track during the race, under penalty of forfeiture," and expected basics such as "The winner shall be he who first crosses the finish line. In the case of close calls, our panel of judges shall be the final arbiter." And then there are more Wonderlandish things such as, "Flight shall only be permitted so long as one remains on the track," and "At no time shall shortcuts through the Hall of Doors or through Haberdashery or Burrows or other such Curiosities be permitted; they shall be considered as leaving the track."

Of course, in addition to all the amusements of Wonderland, there are the more morbid angles as well. The peanut vendor is helped by a small troupe of animated peanuts who happily crack themselves open to leap into the roaster wagon. Down at the track, for some reason there is a horse vendor who is hawking his amazing new glue, right next to a marvelous glue-making machine, while Chef Cook-a-Doodle-Doo is operating a cook-pot, and there's some fellow who looks like an executioner, with an axe, exchanging nods with a rooster who's part of the line-up.

Today's contestants appear to be Miss Dark Horse, Monsieur Frog, Mister Pig, Mister Rooster, and a surprisingly confident Mister Snail (the latter pulling a wooden cart, as if he wouldn't have enough problems with speed even WITHOUT it). All of them (even the snail, SOMEHOW) are dressed up in their Sunday best -- which, while it looks rather smart, really doesn't seem entirely appropriate attire for taking part in a race.

Miss Dark Horse managed to get her friends front-row seats (partly thanks to Achilles flashing his credentials as a member of the press -- which, surprisingly, seems to actually have some bearing even here in Wonderland). She smiles and waves and blows a kiss to the crowd (or was that to Achilles specifically), while twirling her parasol. Beside her, Mister Pig is looking flushed from the heat and excitement, squinting through his monocle and adjusting his top hat, and keeping his piggy nose held high.

Mister Rooster struts about, well, like a rooster, waving his wings to the cackling cries of joy from his fellow hens and cocks in the stands. (There are more than a few horses as well, incidentally, despite the scarcity of them on the track.) Monsieur Frog hops from foot to foot, leaning down and doing stretches and looking the most like a serious runner - save for his outlandishly garish outfit that makes him look something like a cross between Napoleon and Harlequin.

Mister Snail has the most trouble looking dignified, especially as strapped as he is to his cart. It seems to be curiously stuffed with junk under a tarp, as if he were so bold as to weigh himself down. A large filigreed "S" is emblazoned on the near side of the cart (and quite possibly has a match on the other). Although he is still shaped more like a snail than an "animal-person," he somehow manages to fit into a three-piece suit, with top hat and monocle, and it's best not to think TOO much about how such a thing is managed and yet he is still readily identifiable as a SNAIL, complete with eye-stalks, shell, and slime trail.

There's a band playing, much cheering, and such a festive atmosphere that Integra appears to have completely recovered from the shock of the mayhem back in the banquet hall, as she squeals and cheers and claps at every opportunity. It's easy to miss a lot in all the confusion, and Achilles discovers that he somehow missed someone tucking a note into his hat band when he wasn't looking. How'd THAT get there?

It appears to be an invitation. "YOU are cordially invited to a Haberdashery Party at the Mad Hatter's Estate, located THAT WAY, to be held YOU KNOW WHEN. Don't forget to bring a head! And don't lose it on the way!"