Playing Hearts Read Online Free PDF

began to see a vast glow of white
something in the further recesses of the cave. Was that—could it be?—a mountain
of knitted wool ? And in front of it, a small white sheep, knitting. He
almost blended into the mountain of wool, so similar were their colours, and
although he looked quite sleepy, his hands manipulated his knitting needles so
quickly that they were a blur. Hare still looked nervous, and even Hatter
seemed watchful now, his purple eyes for once intent and focused. I curled my
fingers into fists, vainly trying to tell what was happening, but they were only
talking, and I couldn’t even guess at what they were saying because I was at
their backs. The sheep, whose face I could see, was impossible to read.
His mouth wasn’t formed for talking, and though the nonsense of Underland meant
that he could and did talk, it didn’t make it any easier to read his
lips.
    The first idea I had of
something wrong was the sheep’s knitting needles. They had been a blur, but now
they stuttered and slowed. I saw Hare’s big feet tap the rocky cave bottom
twice, an unconscious twitch. His one good paw wrapped tightly around his crutch
as though he was preparing to hit something with it. Hatter, very slowly, took
off his hat. I found myself gripping handfuls of riverside grass, my fingers
dirt-and-grass-stained, as the sheep’s knitting needles slowed still more. I
still couldn’t tell what he was saying, but Hatter and Hare’s body language
said that when his knitting needles stopped completely, something very dreadful
was going to happen.
    Then his needles did
stop. The little sheep slipped from his seat and stood upright, his knitting
dropping to the ground. When the knitting hit the floor Hatter and Hare were
already running, Hare bounding ahead on his powerful back legs and his crutch
waving madly, and Hatter legging it with his top hat gripped in one hand. And
then, from the mountain of knitting behind the sheep, something big and
dreadful began to stir. Something that uncoiled to display claws and fangs of
the sharpest...wool? This huge, fanged, clawed beast arising from the knitting was the knitting. Only it didn’t look soft and cuddly and stuffed. Its edges and
curves were all deadly sharp, and there was a wicked gleam in its mad, knitted
eyes. It wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before. It wasn’t dragon, or
basilisk, or wyvern, though it looked a little like each.
    My point of view was
suddenly twitched around. Now I saw from the front as Hatter and Hare
desperately pelted for the front of the cave, behind them a monstrosity in
coloured wool leaping free of the white wool around it. Hatter’s mouth said
something like: “Jabberwock!” and in his eyes I saw deep, desperate fear. He
didn’t think they were going to make it.
    “Run,” I said, in a small,
panting voice. They weren’t moving anywhere near fast enough. The Jabberwock
had fully uncoiled, and over their bobbing shoulders I saw it pounce forward, a
terror of gaping mouth and arm-long teeth. “ Run !” I screamed again.
“Hatter, run!”
    A painful show of light
flooded the ripples as Hatter and Hare burst from the cave, the Jabberwock breathing
hot over their shoulders. It threw the forest outside into high relief, and for
a moment I saw the forest fold over the ripples, a piece of it disappearing in
the fold. It depends, Hatter had said; it depends on how it’s Seen. I reached
out a shaking, grass-tattooed hand and pinched the forest between my fingers,
making the rest of the forest disappear, just for a moment. Underland
fractured, or drew together, or perhaps it really did fold. Hatter and Hare
stumbled from the forest and into green hills—I released my pinch of
Underland—the Jabberwock soundlessly howled its enraged disappointment to the
forest canopy—and they were somehow safe. I sat up, my pulse thundering in my
ears and my hand clasped to my chest, still dripping wet. Hatter and Hare, so
far away yet so easily reached,