Furthermore(30)

Alice closed her eyes and hugged herself, more terrified for Father than ever before. Furthermore was brilliant and frightening, and though she’d only seen a small slice of it, she could now understand perfectly well why Father had been so enchanted. But it was becoming clear to her that Furthermore was full of quiet dangers, and it would not be wise to be too easily distracted. It would be simple to get lost here—lost and destroyed—and she had not realized that Oliver had been looking after her all this time, quietly convincing this world to leave her unharmed.

The truth was, she hadn’t trusted Oliver. Not really. He’d hurt her somewhere deep—wounded her pride and her vanity —and it made her cold and hard and stubborn. But she could see now that she was being difficult, and fighting Oliver would do them no good. Father needed her, and that meant she had to trust Oliver, no matter how nothing he thought she looked.

Oliver lifted her chin with one finger, and when their eyes met, they both apologized. Regrets and reconciliations, all at once.

Oliver almost smiled.

Alice almost did, too.

Then she slipped her hand in his and held on tight.





HERE WE GO





They walked for days. Weeks. Months and years.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Oliver said. “It’s only been fifteen minutes.”

“But I’m cold.” Alice sneezed.

Oliver stopped to stare at her. “Yes, I daresay you are.” He looked a bit defeated as he looked her over. They were friends again and making their way out of Slumber, feet pounding the cobblestoned path. “Alright,” he said, pulling her close. “Don’t worry. We’re almost there.”

But almost there was still too far, and the farther they walked, the farther the town stayed behind, keeping its lights with it. They’d wound their way through the center of Slumber, Alice’s eyes eating up what her stomach could not: the fire-like glow; the slinky black backdrop; the hustle and bustle and the sounds that came with it. It was chilly but it was alive, chimney-puffing and storytelling and snips of conversations the strangest strangers left on sidewalks.

They were leaving it all behind.

“So where do we go?” she asked Oliver. “To get the pocketbook?”

“Up,” he said cheerfully.

“My goodness, Oliver, have we learned nothing in the last half hour? Up is not an answer.”

“Right,” he said, startled. “Right, forgive me. I meant up, you know, in the sky. I hid it in the clouds, you see.”

Alice was beginning to realize that the explanations she’d so desperately sought were now only adding to her confusion. She was no longer certain she wanted to understand Furthermore.

In any case, she felt another sneeze coming, so she let go of Oliver’s hand and grabbed on to his tunic, bracing herself for the impact. But the sneeze was a false alarm, and when it passed it left her sniffling; she could feel her nose slowly growing numb. The last dregs of the sun’s heat had left them, and warmth was in short supply. “So, Oliver,” she said, still sniffling. “Tell me. Why did you fail?”

“What?” he said, his body tensing.

“To free Father,” Alice said. “Why did you fail to bring him home the first time? What happened?”

“I . . .” Oliver trailed off. “Well . . . I . . .”

He seemed to be making a decision right then; a decision that would say quite a lot about the direction of their friendship. Would he trust Alice with his insecurities? Could he dare to be vulnerable in her presence? Which would it be, hmm? Truth or omission, truth or omission, truth or—

“I just wasn’t good enough,” he finally said.

(Ah, a bit of truth, then. Refreshing.)

“I hit a dead end. The final steps stumped me, and I knew I needed help.”

“And you needed my help?” Alice asked, flattered and suspicious all at the same time.

Oliver stopped walking and locked eyes with her. “Yes,” he said softly. “But you know why, don’t you? You can imagine why?”

“Because he’s my father?” Alice guessed, searching Oliver’s face for answers. “Because you need to know something about him only I can tell you?”

Oliver’s gaze faltered. He offered her a smile and said, “Well, we’ll talk more about it later, won’t we? For now,” he said, perking up as they walked on, “we should pay close attention to where we are. Furthermore is always awaiting our distraction. There’s always a trick, always a catch, always a danger smarter or sillier than you think. It’s a strange and terrible land to get lost in,” he said. And then, more sadly, “It’s probably why your father couldn’t get out.”

“Right,” Alice said, startled. “Of course.”

It was another tiny pinch of a reminder, but it was enough. Alice had worried and wondered about Father for three years, and now here they were, so close, so close.

And still, so very very far.

Alice had dreamed of a reunion with Father the way some people dreamt of fame and glory; she’d acted out the motions hundreds of times; she’d imagined every smile, every tear, every clinging hug. And yet, somehow, it was much easier to dream of Father from afar, because being this close to him now only filled her with fear. What if their journey went terribly wrong? What if she ruined everything with a simple mistake and Father stayed gone for good? It would be infinitely more difficult to live with loss if Alice had herself to blame for the lack.