Mad About the Hatter (3 page)

Cat clucked his tongue at her. “No, Majesty, not now. You know the rules. Off or not, no in-betweens.”

“Oh, well…. Fudge.” That was the closest the Queen ever came to an expletive. She could order beheadings enough to flood Wonderland with an ocean of blood, but having a four-letter word pass through her lips was simply too gauche for her to stomach. Even the mild confectionary oath she managed caused those in the throne room to gasp in shock, including Cat and Hatter. “Then both their heads shall roll as soon as possible!”

“That’s the spirit, Your Redness,” Cat purred.

Hatter blinked, and forgetting for a moment it was his head so recently in jeopardy, lifted it from the carpet. “Whose head are we talking about now? Is it mine or someone else’s? Is it coming off or staying on? And why? I’m really quite confused.”

“Yes, we’re speaking about your head. It’s staying on, for now. The why of it is… is….” The Queen pursed her lips for a moment. “Cat, tell me again why I must keep his head on his shoulders?”

“Boy Alice asks for him, and in turn, we need him to bring our visitor to us for questioning.”

The Queen shrieked and slammed her hands over her ears, knocking her diadem askew. Her feet kicked a rapid beat against the chair legs. She pointed at Cat. “You know it is against the law to say that name in my presence! Off with your head!”

Cat’s body disappeared again, and he rolled his overly large, green eyes. “Majesty, try to stay focused, yes? We’ve just discussed that already.”

Pouting, her cheeks mottled with red fury, the Queen lifted her chin in defiance. “Oh, well, then off with his head, instead!”

Hatter leaned up on one elbow and asked again, more confused than ever. “Off with whose head?”

“His! His!” The Queen jumped up and stamped her tiny feet. Her gown swished around her like a garnet flood. She bared her teeth, her voice slipping between them in a venomous whisper. “Boy Alice!”

Now Hatter was intrigued enough to heave himself into a sitting position. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a full cup of steaming hot tea, then noisily sipped it. It was, after all, nearly four, and he never missed teatime if he could help it. Blame it on the long practice he had at the never-ending Tea Party with Dormouse and Rabbit. “Might I inquire as to who this ‘Boy Alice’ might be? That doesn’t sound like a proper name to me.”

Cat rolled to his back, scratching playfully at the air. “So says the one named after an insane haberdasher.” He rolled back and grinned at Hatter. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle a skillet?”

Hatter frowned, drained his cup, and carefully replaced it in his pocket. He chose to ignore the remark rather than admit Cat had a point. “Who is this person called ‘Boy Alice,’ and why would he be asking for me?”

“Majesty, cover your ears.” Cat waited until the Queen finished shooting him her blackest and fiercest scowl, and slapped her palms against her ears again. She began humming a ditty that might have been catchy had it not been so awfully off-key. Cat turned toward Hatter. “We don’t know his true name yet. He is, as best our reconnaissance tells us, Alice’s brother, which is why we’ve referred to him as ‘Boy Alice.’”

Hatter’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth popped open. “You mean… the Alice?”

Cat nodded. “Do you know of anyone else by that name in Wonderland?”

“I wasn’t aware she had a brother.”

“Well, it seems she does, and now he’s here, and asking for you.”

“Me? Why me?” Hatter frowned, his fingers worrying one of the large purple buttons on his slightly worn, slightly shiny brocade vest. “I don’t know him. Never met the chap. Barely knew his sister when she was here. It all seems a bit forward, don’t you think?”

“Ah, that’s the question, isn’t it? We don’t know why he’s here or why he’s asking for you. He refuses to answer any questions. Not even from Caterpillar, and you know ‘Pillar has ways to make people talk.”

Hatter smirked and nodded. “Most potent whackweed north of the Rabbit Warren, and don’t get me started on his mushrooms.” He glanced at the Queen. Her singing had grown louder and more off-key than before. Her cheeks were as red as her gown, and her frown was so deep you could hide treasure in the folds on her forehead. She was clearly as frustrated that a relative of the much-hated Alice dared step foot in Wonderland, and that said relative, again like the loathed Alice, refused to be forthright about their business in the queendom or follow protocol by visiting the Red Castle first off, as she was at her own inability to have anyone’s head chopped off.

He looked at Cat for answers. “So, we haven’t the foggiest idea what his name is, why he’s here, or what he wants with me?”

“No.” Cat gestured toward the Queen. “Majesty thinks he wants the same thing she thought Alice wanted, mainly to overthrow her regime. If you recall, just before she left Wonderland, Alice was Queen… for a very short time.”

He remembered. It was probably the best and happiest five minutes the queendom ever knew.

He glanced at the Queen again. If she grew any angrier, Hatter worried her head might explode.
Not that it would necessarily be a bad thing
, thought Hatter,
but she’d make a horrific mess, and I’m in the splash zone
. He knew better than to give voice to that particular thought, and wisely kept it inside his head where it belonged. “What does Her Majesty wish me to do?”

As if unable to contain her ire any longer, the Queen lashed out and cracked Hatter on the head with her scepter. It made an unsightly dent in his top hat. “Imbecile! We want you to find Boy Alice and chop off his head!”

Cat tsk-tsked her. “Now, now, Majesty. Think. What did we say earlier?”

The Queen rolled her eyes, then turned her head, refusing to make eye contact with Cat, and mumbled half under her breath. “People can’t talk once their heads are removed.”

“Correct. And what do we want Hatter to do?”

She sighed heavily. “Find Boy Alice and bring him here so we can ask him questions.” She quirked an eyebrow, and curled her lips into a sly smile. “And then chop off his head!”

“And Hatter?” Cat prodded. “It occurs to me he should be given some sort of reward for bringing Boy Alice in, else he might not be very accommodating.”

The Queen huffed and made a face, as if the words were bitter enough to choke her. “Oh, very well. If he brings Boy Alice to me, he can keep his own head.”

“And…?” Cat nudged her.

She bared her teeth. “And I shall grant him a full pardon for his crimes.”

“Excellent. You are quite magnanimous, Majesty.” Cat turned his grin toward Hatter. “Understood?”

“I’m mad, not deaf.”

The Queen rewarded him with another knock of her scepter. “Then why are you still here?”

Hatter swept his hat off and, after punching out the dents, bowed low. His hat—not to mention his body—had taken enough of a beating for one day. “I’m off.”

Cat laughed, rolling to his back. “You can say that again.”

Seriously, sometimes he hated that damn Cat.

Hatter narrowed his eyes and straightened his hat, running his fingers smartly over the brim. He strode out of the throne room, back straight and head high. He tried not to worry overly much, but it was difficult. He had no idea what sort of trouble Cat and the Queen were sending him to meet this time. When he’d met Alice, although he’d known her a very short time, he’d very nearly lost his head as a result. What might he be in danger of losing with Alice’s brother?

H
ENRY
SAT
up, rubbing his head. It ached, not as if he’d bumped it, but as if he’d been sick, although to the best of his knowledge he hadn’t been. He squinted at the bright sunlight beaming down at him, but quickly averted his eyes before the intensity seared his corneas. When had the sun risen, and where had he been while it was rising? Last thing he remembered, it’d been nighttime, and he’d been feeling fine.

Where had he been? He tried to think, fighting through the cobwebs in his mind that obscured his memories. Oh, yes. He was beginning to remember, although everything was still foggy. There’d been a party. It’d been a dinner party, hosted by his sister, Alice, hadn’t it? He frowned, trying to remember more.

There’d been pizza, he remembered that much, but cheese and pepperoni wouldn’t cause memory loss, would it? It never had before.

Wasn’t there an argument? Well, of course there’d been. That might not be a memory as much as a good guess. He and Alice always fought. In fact, it was a rare occasion when they didn’t trade words. Sometimes fists flew. And on one memorable occasion, they sent a half-dozen fine china plates whizzing at one another’s heads.

This hadn’t been just any old brother/sister argument, though, had it? No, it’d been
the
argument, the same one they’d carried on since they were kids in one form or another. She insisted she’d fallen down a rabbit hole, and then later, stepped through a looking glass into a fabulously topsy-turvy world called “Wonderland.”

He’d
insisted Mother must’ve repeatedly dropped her on her head as an infant, and if she continued to insist rabbits wore waistcoats and dormice held tea parties, he might just need to talk to Alice’s husband, Phillip, about arranging a nice long vacation for her at the local insane asylum. Perhaps a few hundred volts of electricity between her ears would be sufficient to unscatter her brains.

Honestly, he couldn’t wait for June, when he would at long last reach twin milestones in his life within days of each other—his eighteenth birthday and his high school graduation. The combination would free him, and he planned to leave his parents’ home, his sister, and their shared past in his dust as he bolted toward a future free from lunatic tales of pocket-watch-wearing rabbits and head-shearing Red Queens.

A future where he would be free to be himself, where there would be no hiding, no ducking his head, no pretending he didn’t hear the whispers and taunts about his crazy sister, and no remorse at leaving it all behind.

Then Alice apologized for making him upset, and handed him a glass of punch. He almost hadn’t taken it. It was just so out of character for her to give up and concede the argument so quickly that he felt strongly something was wrong. He wouldn’t put it past her to try to poison him. There was no love lost between him and Alice, not since she’d disappeared and returned with those wild stories of hers.

He was certain to the very core of his being that Alice’s unbelievable tales were blatant cries for attention, tolerated from a seven-year-old, perhaps, but not from a grown girl in her teens, and certainly not now, from a married woman in her early twenties. She was his older sister by several years—she should be setting a good example. He was old enough to handle the truth of whatever horrible thing had happened to her when she’d disappeared.

Even if she truly believed her audacious lies, he felt wholeheartedly her disappearances and refusal to tell the truth of where she’d been had driven their father to the bottle, and their mother to an early grave.

Nowadays, their father rarely left his suite of rooms, staying in a mind-numbing state of inebriation. He didn’t care if the house caught fire as long as long as his liquor was delivered. Henry doubted he’d seen his father more than a half-dozen times in the past year. Heard him, yes. Father’s drunken tirades were practically legendary. But
seen
him? No, hardly ever. It was just as well—Father was a mean drunk who often let his fists talk for him. Another reason Henry counted the minutes until he could leave home forever.

Henry placed the blame for his father’s condition directly at Alice’s dainty little feet. To Henry, their father was an unapproachable giant who’d always ruled their home with an unbending, unyielding iron will. Surely he would never have sunk so low had it not been for the weight of Alice’s ridiculous lies pulling him down.

Then there was their Uncle Leonard, his mother’s brother, who’d arrived several years ago, soon after their mother’s death, and hadn’t left since. Uncle Leonard was kind enough, Henry supposed, but even he believed Alice’s tales. That was the extent of Henry’s family, and no one, not a single soul in the house, sided with him against Alice.

Not only could Henry never bring himself to believe Alice’s nonsense, he could never find it within himself to forgive Alice, either. There were many times when he could barely abide being in the same room with her. If only she’d apologize, tell the truth about Wonderland, admit it was a dream or a fabrication, and tell what had really happened to her, then maybe. However, as long as she insisted her lies were the truth, he wanted no part of her. In fact, he’d only agreed to attend the party because Alice’s husband, Phillip, asked. Phillip was a nice enough fellow, and Henry had always liked him. After all, it wasn’t Phillip’s fault Alice was bonkers.

Last night her smile seemed genuine, though, and he’d taken the drink from her hand. Now it seemed he should’ve listened to his instincts. What had she put in it? It looked like punch and smelled like punch, but it definitely hadn’t tasted like punch. He remembered a complicated taste filling his mouth, the flavor reminding him of butterscotch, fig pudding, liver and onions, and cabbage all rolled into one, singularly horrid combination. Before he could complain, though, the taste was swiftly followed by a feeling of the world shifting on its axis, and then… nothing.

Nothing, that is, until he’d awakened on a soft bed of moss, with spikes of pain in his head and the taste of dirty feet in his mouth. He spat on the ground, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand—for all the good it did him. The taste clung to his tongue like a frightened toddler to its mother’s skirts.

One perfunctory glance around told him he was in a garden, but he didn’t have the foggiest notion who the garden belonged to, or where it was located. Nothing looked even the slightest bit familiar to him. It wasn’t the lovely, carefully tended rose garden at his parents’ home where he still resided, nor the far more pedestrian patch of daisies and forget-me-nots in Alice’s yard. Nor was it a garden in any park he frequented, nor did it belong to any one of a number of his friends and acquaintances. He’d never seen it on his school grounds, or anywhere in town. No one he knew would have a garden such as this attached to their homes. It was altogether too strange, too odd, too… too.