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  The Dormouse had hoped that the rocking of the rickshaw would soothe him to sleep, but it wasn’t to be. He grew desperate.

  ‘You’re looking at life in a tail-about-nose kind of way,’ the Dodo told him. ‘Try topsy-turvy instead. You’re forever nodding off and missing fantastical events. Aren’t you fed up with it?’

  The Dormouse was. He was also heartily sick of being tickled awake. He resolved to stay up for the rest of his days and enjoy every adventure Wonderland had to offer, starting with the Night Court. ‘Bring it on!’ he squeaked.

  ‘Good mouse,’ the Dodo said approvingly. ‘There’ll be time enough to sleep when you’re dead.’

  The Trout braked so suddenly that the Dormouse and Dodo were catapulted over the handlebars. A crowd was surging towards the courthouse across a garden lit by fireflies. The Knave of Hearts clutched a flaming torch, and the March Hare raced in circles. For safety, the Dormouse sat on the Dodo’s head.

  The courthouse was nothing like the Oak Tree Court to which the Dormouse was accustomed. It was a vast round room with many tiers of benches, one half crammed with the Mad Hatter and his friends, and the other with mock turtles and other creatures.

  There was also an enormous tank in which twelve dolphins glided and turned triple somersaults.

  ‘We’ve been conned,’ the Dodo said with disappointment. ‘The Trout has brought us to an aquarium.’

  ‘Those show-offs are the jurors,’ grumbled the Sheep, who was knitting furiously. ‘The lawyers had a beast of a time finding dolphins that didn’t know everything about everything. Luckily, a fisherman happened upon these in an unexplored lagoon in Pixienesia.’

  She gestured at the floor, and the Dormouse saw that it was a giant map of Wonderland. Pixienesia was a rare paradise in the turquoise waters of the Spacific. Elsewhere in Wonderland, fires kept breaking out in the south and west, and the Mock Turtle had forecast tsunamis and flooding in the north and east.

  ‘These dolphins had never heard of the Queen, much less the Queen Bee,’ the Sheep went on. ‘Their only fault is that they’re eternally optimistic. But then nobody’s perfect.’

  ‘All rise for Judge Eagleburger,’ barked a clerk, and the White Rabbit blew his trumpet.

  The Dormouse shuddered at the word eagle, but an ancient man in a black robe tottered to the judge’s bench. Once seated, only the top of his crooked grey wig was visible.

  ‘Won’t his size be a problem?’ ventured the Dormouse.

  The Dodo was extremely offended. ‘What do you have against the vertically challenged?’

  ‘Nothing, I—’

  ‘ORDER IN THE COURT!’ barked the clerk. ‘In the case of the Queen –’ he bowed deeply – ‘versus the Queen Bee –’ he waved dismissively at a beehive – ‘the Queen will be represented by Darius Shifty.’ He beamed as a smarmy man in a pin-striped suit and red tie swaggered in.

  ‘The insects,’ the clerk sneered, ‘will be represented by a bird – if it doesn’t eat them first. Ha ha!’

  A stray bee stung him on the behind to teach him some respect, and he ran wailing from the court. A new clerk seamlessly replaced him.

  A raven walked with quiet confidence to the front of the court.

  ‘That’s Raven Black,’ the Sheep confided to the Dormouse and the Dodo. ‘The bees chose Mr Black because he can remember nine things at once. The Judge can only remember five: tea, milk, sugar, shortbread and retirement.’

  ‘How many can Mr Shifty remember?’ asked the Dodo, watching the lawyer sneak a sip from a hip flask.

  ‘One – if he’s lucky,’ the Sheep said sourly.

  The Dodo and Dormouse cast a worried glance at the Queen, who was seated on a gold chair, wearing a periwinkle-blue dress, pearls and a simple diamond-and-ruby crown. The King was sprawled at her side in his naval uniform, looking baffled.

  Mr Raven Black began: ‘On May twelfth, after the King had ordered the beheading of the last of the palace gardeners—’

  ‘What of it?’ the King said sulkily.

  ‘. . . the Queen commanded a scullery maid to lop the head off every flower in the palace gardens,’ continued Raven Black.

  ‘Why am I being bothered with this trifle?’ screamed the Queen.

  ‘Your Majesty, we are here to determine whether or not you have the right to continue living in such a grand manner and ruling over the Queen Bee and her family when you’re the sort of person who stops dahlias singing and, therefore, starves bees.’

  ‘Who gives a fig about one or two flowers when there are a trillion others?’ shrieked the Queen. ‘And whoever heard of a dahlia singing?’

  Raven Black put a potted plant on the witness stand. ‘Ms Dahlia, what would you say to Her Majesty’s question, “Whoever heard of a dahlia singing?”’

  ‘I’d say she must be as deaf as a knight in a rusty suit of armour.’

  The Knight rose to protest, but the weight of his helmet caused him collapse back into his seat with the noise of ten thousand falling saucepans.

  ‘Order in the court!’ pleaded the Judge, but nobody heard.

  When at last there was only the whimpering of bats with burst eardrums, the Dahlia continued: ‘Every flower can sing better than any choir of angels. Well, except for the Red Hot Pokers – they make a noise like a chainsaw. The rest of us sing for the joy of seeing the rising sun and to make our friends the bees happy. They need us to stay alive, and we need them.’

  ‘Thanks, Ms Dahlia,’ said Raven Black. ‘My next witness is the Queen Bee. Do you solemnly swear to give the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, my lady?’

  ‘I do, Mr Black,’ said a muffled but dignified voice from within the hive.

  ‘Why are you suing the Queen?’

  ‘Because, in common with many of her species, she lacks the wisdom or kindness to have power over us. Were that not the case, she would not have instructed her late Head Gardener to put weed killer on the lettuces, destroying seventeen hives of bees.’

  ‘What of it?’ the Queen replied haughtily.

  ‘Because without bees there’ll be no flowers, birds or honey,’ the Queen Bee said tearfully. ‘Everyone knows that honey is better than money.’

  ‘It most certainly is not,’ huffed the King. ‘I’d rather eat fifty-pound notes spread with Marmite any day of the week.’

  ‘I am rather partial to honey,’ confessed the Queen, ‘but I can easily switch to jam tarts, avocado on rye, plum cake or English muffins with smoked salmon and cream cheese.’

  She started to drool, which was not dignified in the least.

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ the Queen Bee. ‘Without bees to pollinate fruit trees and crops, there’ll be no strawberries, avocados or plums, nor wheat or rye to make tarts, muffins or cake, or feed the cows or goats that make cream cheese. If you can’t grasp basic science, you are not fit to rule over my bees.’

  The Queen was apoplectic. ‘I know more about science than a MUCLEAR FIZZ-ASSIST. I can tell a rose from a daisy. Can you?’

  There was a smile in the Queen Bee’s voice. ‘You mean, can I tell a Rosa auscrim from a Bellis perennis?’

  ‘If you speak French again, I’ll have you beheaded!’ screeched the Queen. ‘What have the French ever done for us apart from eat snails?’

  ‘Objection!’ cried Darius Shifty. ‘I’m absolutely mad about snails sautéed in garlic.’

  The blackbirds agreed, although they preferred them raw.

  ‘In fact, I was speaking Latin,’ the Queen Bee told the Queen. ‘The point, Your Honour, is that my most humble worker bee is vastly more intelligent than any royal. If the Queen knows so much about physics, she’ll be aware that the hexagon in honeycomb is believed to be the most perfect shape in all of nature.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Raven Black. ‘Your Honour, I rest my case. Your Honour . . . are you asleep?’

  ‘Don’t be impertinent or I’ll lock you up and throw away the key,’ ranted Judge Eagleburger, smotherin
g a yawn. ‘Dolphins of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour. We find the Queen to be a dimwit unequal to the challenge of anything harder than catching sardines, and possibly not even that. By no means should she be living in splendour or ruling over anyone with more personality than a jellyfish.’

  ‘Off with his flippers!’ screamed the Queen. ‘Battered dolphin and chips for tea.’

  Judge Eagleburger bashed his gavel. ‘Silence, Your Majesty, or I’ll hold you in contempt. I sentence you to be stripped of your palaces and ermine robes. All gold and jewels must be sold in aid of a bee charity.’

  ‘Yay!’ cheered the Dormouse, wondering why no one else was celebrating as the Queen had hysterics and was taken away by soldiers. ‘The bees won!’

  The Sheep shushed him. ‘The trial isn’t over. This is just the first case of the night. This is not about warring queens and lame-brained kings. It’s All Animals versus Almost All Humans. At stake is life itself.’

  As the Dormouse prayed once more for sleep, a strong smell of burning arose from one side of the Wonderland map, and water began to gush out of the other.

  Raven Black approached the bench. ‘Your Honour, I implore you to halt the trial. There are wildfires in Chilli and Chimesia, and a monsoon has caused flooding in Myndia.’

  ‘Never heard of them,’ snuffled the Judge. ‘The trial must go on. Next, we have Foxes & Friends versus the Hunters. Call your first witness, Mr Shifty.’

  ‘We absolutely must hunt foxes!’ roared the Master of Hounds. ‘The dogs would be bored senseless otherwise. Besides, foxes eat chickens.’

  A fox took the stand. ‘You eat chickens too,’ he said smoothly.

  ‘That’s different,’ insisted the Master. ‘Foxes, like mice, are vermin.’

  The Dormouse squeaked with alarm at this and at the rising waters, which swept him and the Dodo past the Gryphon on a brisk current.

  Raven Black said, ‘Who decides?’

  ‘What-oh?’ roared the Master of Hounds.

  ‘Who decides which animals are to be treasured and which are to be eaten or dragged from their dens?’

  ‘What an extraordinary question! Everyone knows that Cheshire Cats, the Queen’s horses, retrievers, beagles and labradoodles are to be cherished, while foxes, rodents, pigs, carthorses, pigeons, pheasant, ducks, deer, mongrels and March Hares should be shot, abandoned on the roadside, or fried for breakfast.’

  The Fox said, ‘But how do you decide who to kill or keep? Is it intelligence? Any fox or mouse is miles smarter, faster and more cunning than any spaniel. Is it looks? I see the Duchess is wearing the pelt of my cousin, Renard, as a scarf, so she must think our red fur handsome?’

  ‘Madam, why do you wear fur?’ Raven Black asked the Duchess.

  ‘It’s fashionable,’ she snarled. ‘Frankly, mink and tigers that don’t want to give up their fur are selfish. Bald people manage perfectly well and save a fortune on shampoo.’

  Raven Black turned to the Master of Hounds. ‘Sir, why do you put antlers on your wall?’

  ‘Any imbecile knows they’re cheaper than chandeliers!’ roared the Master. ‘What use are they to deer anyhow?’

  ‘We need them for fighting and—’ began the Stag.

  The Master butted in: ‘Fighting is wrong.’

  ‘You do it,’ the Stag pointed out.

  ‘That’s different.’

  By now, the smoke on one side of the courtroom was so thick that the Mad Hatter and Knave of Hearts were wearing masks. The Sheep was up to its belly in muddy water and struggling to keep its knitting dry.

  Raven Black said, ‘Your Honour, I beg you to stop the trial. There are floods in Llamarama . . .’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘. . . and every home has been razed to the ground in Caldermania.’

  Judge Eagleburger paled. ‘Will there still be unicorns?’

  ‘Almost certainly,’ lied Mr Shifty.

  ‘Then the trial must go on. Next, the Polar Bears are suing the People.’

  The Dormouse was certain he was hallucinating. He was now sitting on top of a paddling Dodo, alongside a duck, a flamingo and an anxiously floating walrus.

  A polar bear took the stand and told heart-rending stories about losing her loved ones to hunger and loneliness as the ice melted and whales were hunted to extinction in Polarfornia. ‘Please, people, consider the plight of my cubs – and yours,’ she wept. ‘Let’s save Wonderland.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ jeered Darius Shifty, summoning the King. ‘How do you feel about the melting of the Polarfornia ice caps, Your Majesty?’

  ‘Jolly glad you asked,’ the King said importantly. ‘Melting ice is infinitely better in a mulberry wine spritzer. It’s easier to get in the glass. Anyway, how can you say Wonderland is overheating when just last week my favourite toboggan and three soldiers were buried in an avalanche?’

  ‘I rest my case, Your Honour,’ Mr Shifty said triumphantly.

  ‘And I mine,’ Raven Black said with sadness.

  The water was now so high that the Judge was in a rowing boat, and the dolphins had left their tank and were leaping over heads. The Dormouse felt quite dizzy. Over the crashing of waves and wailing of fire engines, Judge Eagleburger shouted, ‘Dolphins of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?’

  “Your Honour, we find that anyone dull enough to drag innocent creatures from their burrows, hang antlers on their walls, or prefer crushed ice to happy bees, dahlias and polar bears should be banished to Pluto and never again given power over anything more exacting than fish guts. Nurses, librarians and unicorn-wranglers aside, humans are no good for anything apart from making plum cake and providing sanctuary for obese golden retrievers. Clearly, animals are superior in every way.’

  Creatures of all shapes and sizes erupted in wild jubilation.

  ‘Animals rule Wonderland!’ the Walrus cheered.

  The Judge bashed an oar on the prow of his boat. ‘Mr Shifty has appealed on the grounds that Raven Black is cleverer than he is and, therefore, had an unfair advantage. I declare a mistrial. The Queen and Lesser Mortals will continue to rule Wonderland.’

  Back in his nest, an immense weariness came over the Dormouse. His eyelids drooped, and he wished the White Rabbit would stop rushing about the forest reporting that the royals had had their heads chopped off by accident before the verdict was overturned.

  Unluckily, Dinah, the cat, was being sworn in as Queen because no one else could be found of sufficient entitlement.

  The Dormouse had drunk a lot of lavender tea. He was not entirely sure he was still conscious when the Dodo, in despair over the cruel verdict, decided that he would ask Alice, the girl who’d dreamed of being a scientist or, perhaps, a novelist, to bring Tyrannosaurus rex back from the dead to help the Planet sue the People.

  ‘Are you mad?’ said the White Rabbit, panicking. ‘It’ll crush us underfoot and devour us with one bite.’

  ‘True, true.’ The Dodo frowned. ‘I’ll specify that it must be hamster-sized.’

  The Dormouse said sleepily, ‘If Alice is to bring any animal back from extinction, wouldn’t you prefer a dodo friend?’

  The Dodo was insulted. ‘I don’t need the competition.’

  At that point, sleep blessedly claimed the Dormouse. His eyes squeezed shut. ‘Wake me up when it’s all over,’ he murmured, ‘and only for good news.’

  The Knave of Hearts

  by Lisa Thompson

  When I revisited Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, it struck me that we never hear the final verdict in the trial of the Knave of Hearts. He stands accused of stealing the Queen’s jam tarts, yet we are distracted from the case by Alice growing bigger and bigger and the cascading of the pack of cards. She awakes by the bank and we forget all about the Knave and his trial. Was he found innocent or guilty of the crime? Does he still have his head? This character was a gift. With the Knave of Hearts telling his own story I could use one of my favourite writing voices – the un
reliable narrator . . .

  Lisa Thompson

  I quite like my head. In fact, I’d say I’m rather attached to it. My chin is pointy, and when I walk into a room, my nose arrives well before my eyes do. But, all in all, I think it’s rather a splendid head. It seems unbelievable to think that once upon a time our remarkable and extremely-supremely wonderful monarch the Queen of Hearts wanted to remove it.

  ‘Off with his head!’ she’d cried in front of the court, after I had been so wrongly accused of stealing her jam tarts last summer. Her cheeks turned as red as the tarts themselves as she glared at me from her throne.

  I did not doubt for a moment that justice would prevail. A thief? Me? Absolutely not. I am the Knave of Hearts! Loyal subject of the royal household. Devoted servant and bearer of the most precious of treasures – the King’s crown. I am trustworthy, and I am true. I would not steal a breath from a kitten or a drop of rain from the heaviest of clouds.

  Needless to say, the ridiculous trial was over in moments, and the whole matter was forgotten, and my duties continued as they should.

  One of my most important responsibilities is to accompany the Queen and King as they take their afternoon tea. Tea is taken in the palace conservatory at three o’clock and consists of:

  * twenty-seven egg sandwiches

  * nine pots of tea

  * five jugs of milk

  * three bowls of sugar cubes

  * and a giant tiered cake stand containing thirtyone jam tarts

  While the royal couple take their tea, I stand beside them holding a crimson velvet cushion bearing a crown.

  It is the most important job in the whole of the royal household. A crown must be in the King’s presence at all times.

  ‘But why doesn’t he just wear it?’ I hear you ask. This is a very good question and one that has been whispered into my ear by a few brave subjects. If the Queen overheard, her response would most definitely be, ‘Off with their heads!’