Allice in Mysterious Land (ON HOLD)

9: Curious

"How can you be so sure?" Roy asks for the umpteenth time. The clattering sack sways like an over-speeding swing, prepared to bash down any obstacles ahead.

We aren't passing the way we came. Compared to the trees on the previous route, these trees are like giants, and those are dwarves. The canopies entirely shield us from the harsh noon like mushroom caps. Bugs and birds alike are oddly absent. Aren't there supposed to be more nest materials here?

"Oi." A pebble hits my forehead. "Why aren't you answering?"

"Let's ask a newspaper collector in Dogson. He'll be happy to supply you with proofs." But once he gropes his pockets—possibly looking for his phone, my tongue is frozen in place. "Are you doing that?"

"My father has a friend who collects everything, even brooms."

"It was supposed to be a joke." I gulp down a nervous chuckle.

Roy snorts as he types. It becomes louder as his eyes meet a young scientist's photograph, barely gray-haired with a less-cruel smile. "I can't believe Jorge was more than a scientist; he's a roboticist. Why hasn't Sandra told me? Her dad is a zoologist, and they worked on a project together—" His eyes widen, like he just swallows a huge fly, and he masks his shock with a series of coughs, which sound like a dying engine.

I squint when a cave's mouth appears in the distance, shrouded in vines and parasitic branches of an enormous, bent tree. Weeds spread out like a welcome mat. Oddly, there aren't any other trees in a radius of two feet. "Why is this part deserted?"

Roy presses his smile as he paces to the cave. "Save that for another time."

Strangely, this cave is missing its natural humidity, which is supposed to exist since sunlight can't grasp into it too far.

The leaves blocking the entrance smells like chemical against dew. Roy plucks the final leaf on the frontmost vine. Before I can respond, the vines flick away. As if their limbs are controlled by machines, they settle back to their spots once we've entered. Subtle lights shower above us, casting our shadows like children on the walls. It takes a fully craned neck to view the map-like reliefs on the ceiling.

Roy carefully places the sack on a plastic-wrapped desk at the cave's edge. He tosses a white coat to me. Along with it comes a face mask, like the one he wore against the police. "Everything should remain clean in my lab." Various trinkets, old and rusty, pop out from the sea of actual junks as he unties the black sack. "Ah, lucky these were sorted before.

Is this really his lab? The floor, although not covered with tiles, remains dirt-free. Spiders are common in rainforests, but no webs are hanging here. The furnitures are countable by both hands, with only standard ones like shelves, tables, and stools. A huge chest, chipped with age, sits on the corner of the lab like it's the elder amongst the others.

Roy's title is clear—Mr. Scientist. But definitely not the next Jorge Zaragoza.

He scurries to a shelf full of odd objects. I tail behind him. My mouth slacks open beneath my mask at his collection of screwdrivers, colored cables, blacksmith's protection helmets, and others I'm unfamiliar with—especially those from the latest era.

His eyes lit up as he briefly addresses me. "Whenever I'm in a creative mode and Sandra's in that treehouse, this is where I go. Just to think, sometimes. That place is too small for this big head." He chuckles, pointing at his temple. He looks like a cat being proud of its... antiquity.

I chuckle back. "Anyone would die just to work here." Lame praise, yes, but—

"Not Sandra's dad, though." After scooping all the needed items in a small basket, he tips his head to a lone stool next to the shelf. "Take it and sit with me."