The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor

others.
    ―Well, at least we have these crusts,‖ Alyss said.
    ―A hearty food if ever there was one,‖ replied Quigly, trying not to sound too disheartened. He divided the crusts into eight portions, claiming he was full before he finished eating his share.
    But Alyss could see that his bright, cheerful manner was forced, even a little sarcastic.
    She stayed awake after the others had gone to bed. I have to think of something. Why can‘t I make the flower sing? Because my imagination was nothing special after all, that‘s why. So think of something. I will. I will I will I will I will.
    ―I know how we can get as much food as we‘re used to having,‖ she told Quigly in the morning,
    ―but we need Charlie, Otis, and Esther to help.‖
    ―Whatever you say, Princess.‖
    He wasn‘t very enthusiastic, didn‘t seem as though he much wanted to talk to her. He‘ll be happy afterwards, once our stomachs are full.
    She dressed in the finest coat she could dig out of the alley‘s heap of clothes and blankets, and she used her own saliva to wash the dirt from her face and hands. With the stub of a pencil, she wrote out a list of meats on a small square of paper, then she led the others to a butcher‘s shop that she and Quigly had often passed.
    ―Stay hidden behind the carriage here and wait for my signal,‖ she told them, and entered the shop.
    ―And what can I do for you today, young lady?‖ The butcher was a large, beefy man with a ruddy face. He wore a bloodstained apron.
    ―I‘m supposed to get these for my mother.‖ She handed him the list of meats.
    ―Hmm. Seems like a lot for you to carry.‖
    ―Our carriage is outside but the driver is off on another errand.‖
    She gave him her biggest smile and he couldn‘t help but believe her. Mere circumstances could not disguise the warm look of a princess.
    ―Let‘s see. It says here, one eight-pound rump joint…‖
    He walked through an opening into the back of the shop and she waved for Quigly and the others to hurry inside. They grabbed the chickens hanging in the window, the sausages and hams, Alyss helping load them up when their arms were too full to reach for more.
    ―Hey!‖
    The butcher dropped the joint and scrambled from behind the counter. The orphans bolted out of the shop, scattering in different directions.
    ―There y‘are!‖
    A passing bobby caught Alyss by the collar of her coat. She slipped out of it, her dirty street urchin‘s clothes visible for all to see, but she only got a few steps farther before he caught her again.
    ―Let me go!‖ she said, imagining a tuttle-bird flying in the man‘s face or biting the hand that held her, neither of which happened.
    Quigly had paused at the end of the street and was looking at her, a chicken under each arm, his pockets stuffed with sausages. Maybe he‘d come to her rescue? Maybe he‘d risk his own safety and do something clever to free her and they‘d both get away?
    But no. He turned and sprinted around the corner, out of sight.
    Alyss never found out if she was the only one of the orphans who‘d been caught that day (she was), but even before she‘d been roughly escorted to the Charing Cross Foundling Hospital, where she would live until she was adopted by the Liddells, and even before she realized that she would never see Quigly Gaffer again, she had started to think that maybe it wasn‘t worthwhile getting attached to people. All they ever did was betray you. They betrayed you by leaving.
    Alyss tried not to hear when a warden at Charing Cross opened the door to a large room with cots lined up in two rows against the walls, children screaming and yelling and fighting, and said, ―Welcome to your new home.‖

CHAPTER 17
    F OLLOWED BY an angry mob, the Frenchmen brought their prisoner to the Court of First Instance in the Palais de Justice. People pushed and shoved one another, trying to get a better view of the proceedings. The air in the room quickly became hot and stale from so