"Has there been any change?" The doctor looked down at the young girl on the bed before him. She was wearing a yellow knee-length dress with white stripes at the bottom, a white pinafore overtop outlined in red, striped stockings, and her blonde hair was held back with a wide black ribbon.

The nurse rose to her feet, and then shook her head. "No, sir, we still don't know what caused the episode. Completely unresponsive."

The doctor marked an initial on her chart. "Her vital signs are still stable, I see. I'm curious about this case, when I'm done with my rounds I'll set aside some time to look into her situation more in-depth. Of course, keep me advised if anything happens."

The nurse nodded. "Of course, sir."

As the doctor left the room, the nurse leaned over to peer into the girl's face. "Pretty little thing," she said, then, "oh!" as the girl's eyes snapped open, revealing spheres of gleaming silver.

The nurse had turned her head to shout, "Doctor! Doctor, she ..." When the girl's left hand raised up, caressing the nurse's hand. The nurse looked down, then staggered. "?rotcoD" Vertiginous, she glanced down at her name tag. 'kralC yaM' it read. She staggered, unable to process the topsy-turvy data that came in through her sensory receptors. "?em ot od uoy did tahW"

The girl wandered through the hospital ward, her touch inverting all those she came across, her expression as blank as it was on her awakening. As she meandered to the outside, a ferocious wind whipped at her, and she barely acknowledged the tornado which tore across the landscape, though the winds buffeted fiercely at her. As it came close, the tornado dissipated into the spring breeze, and a small ramshackle house wafted down to the ground.

As the girl stared unaffectedly, through the opening door came another girl with her red hair in pigtails, wearing a blue and white checked gingham dress as well as a glittering silver corset which compressed her waist and was matched by a pair of silver shoes. Accompanying her was a third girl, floating through the air with dark hair and a wild look to her eyes, carrying panpipes and wearing only clothes made of leaves and cobwebs.

The first girl smiled and approached the blonde, as the floating girl accompanied her words on the pipes. "You must be lonely, being as you are." She extended a hand of friendship, though avoided actual touch. "Come, join us Lost Girls, we will have adventures and much excitement."

The blonde girl smiled for the first time, and without a word, the three walked back into the house, just as the slow breeze picked up speed to become a storm which tossed the house back into the sky.

The evening brought police and press, as is its wont. The hospital was cordoned off as costumed bobbies sought to keep back the inquisitive, and a harried police inspector dealt juggled cell phones, as she attempted to console politicians on one hand and issue orders to the bobbies on the other. She did not see, at first, the leather-clad woman descend from the skies.

She stood, tall before the other woman in her spiked heels. "Inspector Thomas?" she said pleasantly. Her smoky, unknowable eyes assessed the situation calmly.

Dai Thomas glanced at her and said in a distracted voice, "Ah, Viceroy England, this way." She began a quick walk toward the hospital interior.

Viceroy England did not move to follow, but withdrew a riding crop from her boot and slammed it into the palm of her left hand. The sound was like a crack of thunder, silencing the crowd, and the other woman froze in place. "Is that," she hissed, "any way to address your superior?"

The police inspector bit her lip, and kneeled quickly on the ground. "I'm sorry, Mistress," she said, wincing at the shame of the public rebuke. "Please walk ahead, Mistress."

Viceroy England smiled in satisfaction, "Much better." She tapped Inspector Thomas lightly on the shoulder with the end of the crop. "You may rise," she said, as she entered the hospital.

The two women strode into what looked like a disaster zone, patients crowding the hospital floors, many strapped to their beds, all apparently delirious, gabbling incomprehensible syllables. Her quick eyes sought out what appeared to be the head doctor in charge of the unit. As protocol dictated, she quickly assessed whether his position was one dominant or submissive to her own, and chose to approach him as an equal. Inspector Thomas trailing slightly behind and to her left, she approached the white-coated man. "Doctor Elrod Sanilav?" she said. "Viceroy England, assisting the police in their investigation."

The austere-looking man smiled, and assessed her similarly. "Thank you for coming," he said. "Of course I have heard of the famous Viceroy. I'm glad the government has taken our request seriously … this is more than just a medical matter."

She looked up and down at the dizzied patients. "Can you tell me what happened to these people?"

The doctor paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "It all began two days ago. A young girl, Alice Fairchild, was found last night in her parents' home, staring into a drawing room mirror. She did not respond to her parents' voices at all. She resisted any attempt to move her away from the mirror, but once that was done she became physically unresponsive as well, before she was brought into our care." He walked the two women over to the room the former patient had been occupying, cordoned off with police tape.

"Her family members drew our attention to the fact that the child's hair-parting was now worn on the other side, and on examination it appeared that the positions of the organs in her body had been reversed. Apparently in consequence of this, Alice Fairchild could no longer keep down or digest her normal food," he sighed, "nor did she appear to benefit from nutritional IV's. At any rate, possibly related to the peculiar weather conditions we experienced in the city last night, something awoke her … and whatever plague infested her seems to have spread to many of our staff and other patients."

Viceroy England crested her fingertips and placed them under her chin for a second. "But the people I saw … they weren't unresponsive at all … at least, not how I think of it. They seemed hysterical."

Doctor Sanilav nodded. "Whatever she did or spread as a carrier, it's affected my staff completely differently. Sadly, they appear to be suffering from the same physical reversal and nutritional incapability as Miss Fairchild. However, their sensory systems appear to have been rendered reversed as well … and in some cases, the logic centers of their brain appear to have shut down completely."

"I see. So, tell me ..." As Viceroy England began her inquisition, the other woman's cell phone interrupted her. "By your leave, Mistress," she said quickly, and at her silent nod, she picked it up. "Inspector Thomas."

She listened for a moment, then finally clicked off. Face pale, she turned and said, "Oxford."

Like a bolt of black leather lightning, Viceroy England shot out the window and into the skies. En route she wondered whether she ought to contact her partner, Morgan. The boy's gypsy background and his shapeshifting abilities may turn out to be useful if the opponent is as sinister as she suspects. It was the witching hour when she arrived, and she held her riding crop aloft, channeling energy through it to illuminate her surroundings.

Later, as she explored the city, she came to the central business district, an area of old neoclassical architecture which overpowered and shadowed the streets below. Banks, stock exchanges, and other financial institutions dominated the area. She saw the streets had been decorated like for a party... this in addition to things wrecked, shops broken into, street and shop signs cast in mirror image.

She blinked, and stated sarcastically, "My word. We've stumbled into the other side of the looking glass." She jerked a thumb at a backwards 'Pots' sign. It should probably say 'Stop.' "Anyone got any idea on that?"

She felt a sudden chill in the air, and a shift in the wind which raised the hackles on the back of her neck. She whirled around to see a tornado barreling down the street directly towards her. She muttered to herself, "de Sade's balls!" before the wind seized her, flinging her into the air like a toy. She struggled against it, fighting her way to the calm center of the storm. She hovered for a moment to get her bearings, and then looked up, to see that suspended above her was a small ramshackle house. Suddenly, the tornado dissipated, leaving only calm midnight air. The house plummeted downwards, crashing atop her, leaving only her boots with their 8" spiked heels extending out from under it.

She lay for several moments, dazed, and was awakened by the sensation of someone unbuckling and removing her boots. She scrambled forwards, crawling underneath the house, until she found what appeared to be a weak spot in the wood flooring. Aching from the bruising crash, she elbowed her way through the floorboards and entered the single room which made up the house.

The only furniture was a king sized bed in one corner of the room. She walked over, and ran a fingertip over the expensive silk sheeting. The rest of the house was in poor shape... doubtless the endless crashing to the ground couldn't have been good for its foundation. Hastily tacked onto the walls, however, were a series of prints by David Hockney. She raised a quizzical eyebrow, and walked out through the front door.

From behind her, she heard a voice. Dorothy, her red hair in pigtails, laughed. "Welcome behind the looking-glass, my friend. Do you like how we have redecorated?"

Wendy, clad in leaves and cobwebs, cried, "That burst of light meant superheroes! I knew it was!" and began to stamp about wildly. "It's spoilt, of course!" Here she looked at Alice, who immediately sat down on the ground. She said in a calm voice, "Of course you agree to have a battle?"

Viceroy England shook her head to clear it. She wrinkled her lip in distaste as she saw that the pigtailed girl had stolen, and was wearing, her boots. "My, but you are a trio of naughty little girls. A battle? If that's what it takes."

With a quick and feminine grace, Wendy drew forth a curved sword from a hilt round her hip, and flew forwards, slashing at the heroine. Viceroy England, still recovering from the house crash, barely managed to avoid her blade. She drew forth her riding crop, and two duelists floated upwards into an airborne, deadly dance.

Metal on magical leather sparked, and Viceroy England queried her opponent, "Why the Hockneys?"

Dorothy bounced a little as she overheard. "He's such the quintessential British artist, he appealed to all of us, dear."

"Pop art," Viceroy England sneered, "and surely you know his camera obscura theories have been thoroughly disputed?"

Dorothy shrugged, "An artist is worth more than his views. If you want to truly understand... go ask Alice."

Viceroy England glanced downwards as the small blonde girl stood and reached up to touch her bare left foot. Alice said, "I know what you're thinking about, but it isn't so, nohow. Contrariwise, if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic." The heroine felt the world flip beneath her, and suddenly the alterations made to her surroundings made perfect sense. Every detail brought itself to her senses in multiple, overlapping layers, resembling the overlapping images in Hockney's photographic collages. "ees I ... I" she mumbled, as she tumbled to the ground. She looked up at the three girls standing before her. "sessertsiM," she said, and crawled forward to lick at the toe cap of Alice's mirror-polished shoes.

She felt the buckles of her bodice loosened, and a chain attached to the spiked collar she had worn as mere decoration before. Soon, she crawled naked before the three girls, only her collar and her fingerless leather gloves adorning her body. The tug on the collar seemed so comforting and right, as it guided her way.

She was led on a parade through the city, past the other Masters, Mistresses, and slaves of the city, and for the first time felt herself in union with the exposed slaves which one found on the streets of every major city on her world. Another tug brought her to her feet, and she found herself attached to a post. She could barely process the sounds and images as they came to her through her inverted senses, but she found a sort of peace by focusing on the collar around her neck.

Wendy raised her sword and began to slap at the woman's buttocks with the flat of it. Her steel-hard skin resisted any pain or damage, but she still felt the humiliation. Finally, exhausted, the girl stopped to lower her sword. "Nothing doing with her," she sighed.

Dorothy smirked, "Hasn't all been time wasted, look at her blushing... she's all embarrassed. Let's see if we can humiliate her a bit more." She unclipped the leash from the post and pulled the heroine back down to her hands and feet. "Kneel," she said.

The girl's voice pierced through the great blooming, buzzing confusion surrounding the woman. She shifted position so she was kneeling with her legs spread wide, hands rested upturned on her knees, her back straight, her eyes downcast. "Touch yourself, slave."

"?ssertsiM" The woman blushed bright red. "... I ... esaelp"

Dorothy leaned down, and struck the woman in the face with her own crop. "Don't sass me, you cow. You heard me. I want to see you frig yourself."

The woman's hands trembled and her cheeks burned. A whimper escaped her lips.

Dorothy tapped her foot impatiently. "Do you need me to discipline you further, slave?"

"?enilpicsiD" the woman queried. She closed her eyes, and looked up. "Discipline," she said. She spoke slowly, as she sounded the words out backwards to herself, syllable by syllable. "In ... order ... to .. . discipline ... others ... one ... must first ... discipline oneself." She glanced up, and the riding crop jerked Dorothy backwards, until she landed flat in a tizzy. The crop flew back into Viceroy England's hand and she stood, tall and proud, before the trio. "You ... naughty little girls," she hissed through clenched teeth.

Wendy flew forward, sword in hand, but Viceroy England had prepared herself, snatching the weapon from the girl and twisting her arm behind her back. As she howled in protest, the heroine felt a sudden chill, and immediately soared over to where Dorothy stood with her arms raised. "None of that," she asserted, grabbing the other girl's arm and twisting it likewise. She smiled to herself as her enhanced perceptions brought the still air to her attention.

Frogmarching the pair to the post, she chained them by the wrists. She saw Alice attempting to escape down the street, and soared over to block her way. "Enough of your tortured logic," she said, as she reached out and took the child's hand. Instantly, she felt her senses return to normal. "You have some explaining to do, little girl," and she flew her back to chain her aside her companions. She drew forth her riding crop, using the leather tip to upend the girls' skirts and take down their underclothes, revealing their pale white buttocks to the world.

* WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! *

"Ouch!"

"Oooowww!"

"Aaaaooowww!"

She smiled contentedly as she continued the corporal measures she knew were required in this situation, ending the case as she did all of her's. She knew the girl Alice would eventually have to be brought back to hospital, to undo the damage she had done to the other patients and staff, but that was in the future. She raised her crop again.

* WHAP! *

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Dai Thomas and Alan Davis character illustration copyright Marvel Comics Inc.

Viceroy England and the Lost Girls copyright Michael Norwitz.

Alice Fairchild's unfortunate condition was suggested by the unfortunate fate of another Alice in "The New Traveler’s Almanac," League of Extraordinary Gentlemen V2#1; some of Doctor Sanilav's analysis of Alice Fairchild is paraphrased from that book.

For more on Viceroy England's universe, consult Mark Shakespeare's "Leather World: A Cross Time Caper" at http://lubakmetyk.infinology.net/others/shakespeare/DandS.htm which provided inspiration for the closing segments of this story.