Stiltskin (Andrew Buckley) (43 page)

“No, I want to do it now.”

“As you wish. I still feel I owe you a great debt. Should you ever need me, simply call and I’ll find you. Best of luck, Robert Darkly.”

The Cat looked to the corner and the room began to distort as the fabric of space and time frayed at the edges and a door opened. It floated in the corner of the room, and Robert approached it with as much confidence as he could muster. He hadn’t been through a door since his last return from Othaside in pursuit of Rumpelstiltskin, which now seemed like an eternity ago. He placed the chain around his neck and held the vial of blood in front of him.

“I wish to go to the Tower,” he said in a clear voice and then stepped through the doorway, which disappeared in a flash along with the Cat.

Robert stepped out of a door and stumbled onto the cobblestone bridge. Rain bounced off the stone and dark clouds blanketed the sky. Robert looked down the long bridge to the Tower. It rose ominously, and somewhere high above, a shrill scream rang out. The last time Robert had seen the Tower, he had been at a distance. Up close, it looked far more terrifying: dark, sinister, creepy, and a variety of other words describing bad things.

“It’s times like this that I wish I had a voice in my head to speak to,” said Robert.

Lightning flashed across the sky.

That was appropriately timed
, he thought and began his walk across the bridge. He was halfway across when he stopped and approached the edge of the bridge to look at the vast moat. He remembered seeing something in there when he was here last. And sure enough, there they were. The moat creatures moved beneath the surface, massive worm-like creatures writhing and turning, churning the waters above. One swam beneath the bridge and Robert could see the eyeless face, large mouth, and rows upon rows of teeth as it yawned and swam endlessly on through the water. Robert staggered back and hoped he never had to see one up close as long as he lived.

Eventually, he reached the end of the bridge and stood before the massive stone gate. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do from here. Truthfully, he’d been expecting guards and maybe even a locked gate, but as no one was immediately available and the gate was wide open, Robert decided to just walk in.

Inside the gate, he stood in an open courtyard that led to the entrance to the Tower, the door to which was also wide open. Firelight flickered inside.

“What you doin ere?” squidged a voice somewhere beneath Robert’s waistline.

Robert looked down to see something brown and nasty staring back at him.

“Who are you?” said Robert.

“I’m the Guard Troll, ain’t I?” said the Guard Troll. “Who arr you then?”

“I’m Robert Darkly. I’m an Agent, well, not a full Agent, I’m in training.”

“‘Course you is,” said the Troll. “What you want then?”

“I’m here to see my father.”

The Troll began to snicker in a guttural sort of way and then stopped abruptly. He squinted his dark little eyes at Robert and scratched a long fingernail across what was probably meant to be his chin.

“You’re the one ee talks about all tha time. Always blabrin bout his boy.”

“So he is here?”

“Oh aye! Couldn’t tell at first, mind you. Bit dark out ere and yur muther no doubt muddied the waters, so t’ speak. But no mistakin the resemble… the relsembla… the sim-lar-it-ies.” The Troll stared at him. “Come wi me then.”

Robert followed the Troll as he slouched his way across the courtyard, through the entrance, and into the Tower. The Troll took a right and headed down a long, wide hallway lined on either side with cell doors. Sinister, dark, and in certain cases, inhuman faces stared out from behind their bars. The ugly creature stopped at the last door on the left and hesitated.

“You sure you allowed t’ be ere?” asked the Troll.

“Of course,” said Robert calmly. “Why would I be here otherwise?”

“S’true,” agreed the Troll, nodding to himself. “U gots a visitor!” shouted the Troll at the cell door and raked a long fingernail across its surface.

Robert heard bolts slide back and the door creaked open.

“Take yerself some light,” said the Troll pointing to one of the candles mounted on the wall.

Robert took down the candle, took a deep breath, and entered the cell.

The door creaked closed behind him and the locks slid back into place.

The cell smelled funny, and as Robert turned, he felt a stab of sympathy for the inmates here.

“Whhoo arree yyouuu?” asked a voice from the dark.

“My name is Robert Darkly. I’m here looking for my father.”

There was a quick intake of breath from the darkness and Robert swung the candle around to illuminate a thin, pale figure sitting perfectly still on a straw bed. His dark hair hung in dribs and drabs around his shoulders and his skin looked stretched across the bones of his face. His eyes were dark and he snapped his head up to look at Robert, who jumped. The man laughed hysterically and slapped his knees.

“Well, well, well. My son, my son.”

“You’re my father?”

The Hatter made a sad face. “Aww, you were expecting something grander, maybe? Sorry, sonny boy, what you see is what you get. Unless, of course, you’re blind.”

“Who… who are you?”

The Hatter sprang to his feet and in two strides had his arms around Robert in a hug.

Robert dropped the candle, instinctively broke the hug, and pushed the Hatter back.
I guess I did learn something in training
.

“Aww, no hugsy wugsy for daddy? Heartbreaker!” said the Hatter and giggled.

“Who are you?” said Robert again.

The Hatter bowed low. “My name is Marmaduke Ethel Seidfried Hatteracus but you, like all others, will know me better as the Mad Hatter.”

Robert took a step back and retrieved his candle. “You’re the Mad Hatter? My father, the Mad Hatter?” he said. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Not totally sane yourself, are you, my lad?” said the Hatter with a raised eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t say I’m mad. I was hearing a voice for a while, but it turned out I just had a Cat in my head.”

The Hatter stared at him blankly.

“I’m not mad,” said Robert again.

“Well, I am, and here I am, and here you are.” The Hatter sat cross-legged on the stone floor and looked up at Robert through sunken eyes. “I imagine you have questions, so please feel free to ask. It’s the least I can do after missing every single birthday you’ve ever had.”

Robert felt an intense discomfort being here. It wasn’t the cell, it wasn’t the stench, it wasn’t even the thought that he’d probably get in trouble for being here. It was he: his father, sitting cross-legged on the floor like a kindergarten student waiting to be read a story.

“I had four questions. One was to ask who you are, but you’ve already answered that. Why did you send me the message through Rumpelstiltskin?”

The Hatter clapped his hands excitedly. “The answer to that question is the best and most glorious and it should be left until last. Ask me something else.”

“Okay. I’ve been told a couple of times that I’m not human. As you can imagine, this comes as a bit of a shock. I also heard that you’ve lived an incredibly long life. So my question is; what are you?”

The Hatter made a sad face. “That’s not a very interesting question Robert. I was hoping for something more creative.” He sighed. “I am exactly what you see before you. Nothing more and nothing less and I’ll always be this way.”

“But how have you lived so long?”

“Because I can.”

“That’s it? That’s your explanation?”

“If you want more interesting answers, then ask more interesting questions.”

“All right. What happened to my mother?” The question had been bothering Robert ever since he’d been told that his mother had died during childbirth because of what his father had done to her.

The Hatter clapped his hands. “Much more interesting! Bravo, Robert. Bravo! Your mother never really understood me. But she constantly tortured me. She loved me, but then again, she couldn’t stand me. She adored me but terrified me. She was beautiful and hideous all rolled into one. She was the love of my life and my darkest enemy. In the end, she did not want me.” The Hatter looked at his hands lost in a memory. “But I still desired her, so I took her.”

“You… you took her by force?” Robert forced the words out.

“Depends on your point of view,” said the Mad Hatter, and Robert could feel the malice in the tiny cell.

“You’re sick.”

“And then, by hereditary inheritance, so are you. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, could be years and years and years but mark my words, boy, you’ll turn into me eventually.”

“You’re wrong. I’m my own person. I’m training to be an Agent.”

The Hatter spit on the floor. “Agents! That ridiculous Agency and their rules. Look how easily their world would have collapsed if the Dwarf had succeeded with his plan.”

“But he didn’t. I stopped him. I stopped Rumpelstiltskin.”

“And now you’re going to become one of them.” He spat again, this time closer to Robert. “Obviously, you’re no son of mine.”

“Under the circumstances, that doesn’t sound like a bad option.” Robert walked to the door and shouted for the Troll to let him out. He could hear the creature slapping along the stone floor somewhere down the hallway.

“Am comin! Am comin!”

Robert turned back to the cell and came face to face with the Hatter, who had moved silently from his sitting position. He smelled like the bottom of a hamster cage, and Robert had a slight gag reflex. The Hatter’s eyes were wide and unblinking.

“Don’t you want to know the answer to the ultimate question?”

“Would you mind backing up a little?” said Robert.

“Why did I send you a message through the Dwarf?”

“Anytime now would be good, Troll,” said Robert, over his shoulder.

Another inmate seemed to be screaming, and Robert could hear the Troll trying to calm him/her/it down.

The Hatter leaned in and spoke quickly. “It’s all about the blood, you see. Everything here runs on blood. Your blood, my blood, the blood of the White Rabbit. Everyone’s blood!”

“It’s a commodity,” said Robert remembering the White Rabbit’s words.

“Yes!” shouted the Hatter. “Priceless! And like any commodity, it can be traded. Working with the Dwarf was easy. He was such a twisted little soul that he just wanted the chance to get out, but it would have been impossible without Jack’s help. He acted his part well, but then, he always did enjoy hitting me. That muscle-bound moron served as the perfect catalyst. So old and so bored, he jumped at the chance to cause some chaos and in doing so, he made the ultimate mistake. He entered into my world! My beautiful, pretty world of chaos.”

“You’re not making sense.”

The Hatter gripped Robert’s sweater. “I knew you’d come. All this, the Dwarf, Jack, the plan to ruin the doors! It was all for this moment, right now!”

Robert heard the Troll scratch his nail down the cell door and the locks slid away. The door cracked open.

“You wanted me to come here,” said Robert as realization gripped him.

The door opened and the world fell to chaos. The Hatter smashed his forehead into Robert’s nose, snatched the silver vial from around his neck, and bodily threw his son back into the cell.

“Whatz th―” began the Troll but was quickly silenced as the Hatter kicked him hard in the throat, throwing the creature back into the hallway. The Hatter leaped out of his cell and slammed the door behind him.

Robert threw himself at the door and pushed his face up the bars as the Hatter laughed uncontrollably. Blood trickled from Robert’s nose and his head felt like it was splitting in two.

“What are you doing?” said Robert.

The Hatter kicked the Troll again. “It’s a commodity, my son, a commodity. It all comes down to a simple trade. You for me and me for you. Enjoy your stay in the Tower, I’m sure we’ll meet again one day. Hopefully, you’ll have edged more toward madness by then. Ta ta!”

The realization flooded into Robert’s mind.
This was why Rumpelstiltskin escaped
.
He thought he was supposed to finish his plan and open the doors for everyone, but that wasn’t it at all.
The Hatter just needed someone to deliver a message to me.
Everything else from then on just led him one step closer to the cell he was now occupying. His father had tricked everyone to get what he wanted. He’d moved people around like pawns and now he was free.

Robert wished he hadn’t come here. He wished that Lily was here with him. He wished that his father was not the Mad Hatter; portrayed in the stories of Othaside as a fun, tea-party-throwing, crazy person but in reality, a sadistic, murderous psychopath.

The inmates were shouting and screaming, no doubt riled up by the Hatter’s escape and the injury of the Troll. Robert couldn’t take it anymore. He’d been tricked by a master trickster, he’d been offered a new life and now it was all at risk, along with his relationship with Lily. He banged on the door as his own blood dripped to the filthy floor, and as desperation overtook him, he began to cry.