Hatter (21 page)

After hurrying to retrieve the saw, Hatta thanked the tailor over his shoulder and added, “I’ll most likely bring it back today.”

Stacking two barrels, Hatta climbed onto the roof of his small shop. Estimating the center of his shop, he pried half a dozen wooden shingles up in a square. There was no purchase point in the boards under the shingles, but one of them had a knot along an edge. Using the wooden end of the saw, he pounded until the knot fell into his shop, leaving a perfect eye hole into his shop.

After descending to move his mirrors to the safety of the back room, he climbed to the roof and commenced sawing. The sun was still above the horizon when the hole was complete, but just barely, so he clamored down, knocking over the barrels in the process. He ran into the back room of his shop to retrieve his mirrors and hastily leaned a few of them against the walls.

When he stepped back to view the improvements, the fading sunlight reflecting from all directions brought tears to his eyes, and he knew the morning and midday light would be even more spectacular. He spun in slow circles letting his eyes drift from jade to violet to rose to sky to peach until the light gave out. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

After returning the saw to the tailor, along with his thanks, Hatta ate the last bite of apricot and went to bed. Just like the first night crafting mirrors in Shey’s Orchard, his excitement kept him awake for hours. Something good was coming soon.

By the time the sun rose in the morning, Hatta was in front of his shop waiting for his luck to change. One mirror was all he needed to sell and he could earn enough to buy food for a couple weeks. Just one mirror.

After an hour, a servant from one of the palaces visited the tailor. He was dressed in a dull red-trimmed vest. It had probably been bright at some point, but now showed months or years of use. As soon as the man exited the tailor’s shop, Hatta approached him.

“Would you spare a moment to look at my fine mirrors?” he asked, reaching to corral the servant toward his shop. He’d never been as forward with any potential customers, but he was in high spirits.

The man allowed Hatta to lead him into the shop where the new light shed life onto his creations. But to his amazement, the servant wasn’t interested in mirrors, stating that his errand was for cloth. The servant left Hatta standing flabbergasted, staring around the room at his mirrors.

Sometime later Hatta heard another voice coming from the tailor’s shop and his expectations rose again. After shaking his head to clear it, he went to gather another customer but was disappointed to see it was only the landlord.

“Hatta,” said the large man in a booming voice. “How goes your business?”

“Greetings, landlord. Business goes well. I feel I’ll sell my first mirror today. Would you be in need of a mirror perchance?”

“I’ve already got a mirror, but I’ll take a look.”

After bidding farewell to the old tailor, the two walked toward the shop.

“You’ll see they’re very unique,” said Hatta as he followed the landlord into the shop. The man stopped suddenly and Hatta walked into his back.

He must be shocked by my inimitable mirrors,
thought Hatta, smiling. But the landlord wasn’t even looking down at where they leaned against the walls. Mouth hanging open, he stared through the hole in the roof.

“My shop…” His mouth moved but it took him a moment to form words. “What have you done to my shop?”

“It’s for the light, you see? That’s why I couldn’t sell any mirrors. Light just couldn’t get in.”

The landlord’s gaze shifted to Hatta and his eyes narrowed. He had always been a shade of green, but in a matter of moments Hatta saw a red undertone, just like the bandersnatch before it ran.

Frumious landlord,
thought Hatta.
I’d rather be back with the bandersnatch.

“You cut a hole in my roof for
these
?” His mouth formed a frown around the last word and he picked up the lavender framed mirror and threw it toward Hatta. Luckily his anger blinded him, and he missed, but the mirror struck the doorframe with the tinny sound of a too-thin bell. None of his mirrors were made of glass, but the metal was badly dented. Hatta went to retrieve it, but the landlord grabbed him first.

“You’ll pay for this, you tweedle-headed cretin!” Spittle flew from his mouth and using the lapels of Hatta’s coat he slammed him against the wall.

“But I haven’t money.” Hatta wanted to crawl into a ball in his back room until the landlord went away, but the large man’s grip was much too strong.

In a quieter, but much more threatening voice, he said, “You’ll pay if it has to be paid in blood.”

Ducking and raising his arms above his head, Hatta wriggled out of the maroon coat. There had to be a way to make it right, smooth things with the landlord.

“I can…I can fix it.” He would flee the city, but he couldn’t bear to leave his mirrors behind. The tailor’s door was closed, no relief there. Hatta hurried to where the barrels lay toppled in the street. As he started stacking them, the incensed landlord stormed after him, throwing Hatta’s coat into the street with a yell.

“Don’t fear, I’ll just start right away.” With shaking legs Hatta started climbing, but he was no further than halfway up when his legs were pulled out from under him. He fell faster than he thought possible and struck his chest on the lower barrel.

Pain filled his upper body. All the air in his lungs was forced out and refused to come back in. Heavy fists and feet pummeled him, even as he struggled for a single breath.

I’m going to die.

Even worse, his killer was angry with him and he’d never have the chance to make things right. Coarse words singed his psyche as blows bruised his body. Just when he needed distraction more than ever, Hatta couldn’t think of a single rhyme.

The blows unexpectedly stopped, and if not for intense pain and lack of air, he would have thought himself dead. Opening one teary eye, he peeked past his own protective arm.

The landlord lay face down alongside him in the dirt of the alleyway, struggling against two red-clad soldiers or guards. He was ranting about the roof of his shop and blood payment. Hatta knew he should feel safe, but couldn’t bear to come out of his defensive posture. Gasping breaths along with profuse tears caused him to choke and cough, but he didn’t dare come out. Silently he longed for the safety of his town hat.

A woman’s harsh voice cut in, making Hatta retreat further into the safety of his arms. “What is the meaning of this?”

The landlord finally spoke in coherent thoughts. “He cut a hole in my roof, Lady. He’s a dimwit, true, but he has no right to ruin my shop.”

“A hole in a roof isn’t justification for a hole in a man’s head. That’s why we have magistrates, fool. Now it’s you who’ll be judged, not him.”

Breath returned in racking sobs, but Hatta didn’t dare uncurl from a fetal position. He felt a hand on his shoulder and cringed, but it was a soft, supportive hand.

“Let me see you,” said the woman’s voice in a commanding but gentle tone. For some reason her small kindness caused renewed blubbering.

“Are you the mirror maker?” she asked. She had his full interest and with a deep breath he was able to control his sobbing.

“He’s a menace is what he is!” shouted the landlord, but the woman’s touch was a shield.

Knowing she was there, he found strength to open his eyes and slowly lower his arms. Through tear-blurred eyes, he looked into the face of an angel. Twisty black hair fell in thick strings around a simple face with fiery brown eyes. And her cloak was more vivid than a fresh strawberry.

It took a moment to remember what she had asked. “Um, yes, I would be the mirror maker.” Pain registered from somewhere, but it was a dull feeling somewhere in the background.

“How badly are you hurt?” she asked. “I haven’t seen anyone smitten that soundly in some time.”

“I’m definitely smitten, but I don’t think I’m hurt.”

If the startled grin on her face was an indication, she caught his meaning. “Well then,” she cleared her throat and stood, “let’s see to this situation.”

She walked confidently into the shop, considering the hole in the roof and the battered mirror in the doorway. Hatta watched her with wonder; she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

In a matter of moments she was satisfied with her assessment of the scene. Ordering one of her attendants, she said, “Pay the landlord damages for the roof, minus the cost of the ruined mirror, then take him to the magistrate. And let the magistrate know I won’t be disconcerted if he spends a few days in a cell before trial.”

The guards pulled the landlord up roughly and bound his arms. Hatta turned away from his hateful glare. He doubted the man would ever forgive him.

As the guards led him past the Lady she stopped them with a small signal and addressed the landlord. “Count yourself lucky my Knave is on errand with my Knight. He’s not nearly as gentle or forgiving as I am.”

Just like his conflict with the mule, part of the weight lifted off Hatta’s shoulders as soon as the landlord turned the corner. When the Lady spoke to him, he forgot the rest. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve sought you, mirror maker?”

“Hatta,” he managed, finding it difficult to speak in her presence. She was red. Not in color, but in personality. As red as anyone he’d ever met. She turned slowly toward the shop. It was easier to speak to her back. “And what would your name be?”

“I am Lady Cuora.” She was in the shop, but he couldn’t muster the courage to follow. Rejection and even scorn from other customers bounced off like hail on a turtle’s back, but Cuora had come specifically to see his mirrors. He had never felt so…he wasn’t sure exactly what he was feeling. Vulnerable? Indebted? Adoring? An overwhelming connection and yearning.

Hatta was more than smitten. He might be in love, and it was new territory. The darkest day of his life had suddenly become the most vibrant, and the price he paid to meet Cuora was worth ten times the beating.

But he still couldn’t bear to watch as she inspected the mirrors. She had delivered him once today; hoping for more would be unreasonable.

I should run,
he thought.
Better to carry the memory of rescue than rejection.

Half a dozen retainers and guards stood in the alley waiting, but only gave him infrequent glances. One of them was the servant who had been in his shop earlier that day.

That would be how she found my shop
.
But how did she know to look in the first place?

Then he remembered a black-haired Lady in red, brusquely inspecting Elora’s mirror before she left. That
was
a convoluted route.

Though it hadn’t been long, the distraction was enough to keep him planted until Cuora came out of the shop. When he saw her, he was unable to flee.

Cuora considered him as if noticing his bright clothes for the first time. He had always been proud of his garish attire, but under her gaze he wished the apricot of his shirt was as rich as the day he bought it, and the blue of his pants a touch brighter. It had been a while since he could afford new clothes or dyes. And there lay his maroon jacket in the dirt of the street.

“How much for your mirrors?” she asked.

Hatta would have given them to her if she asked, but her tone let him know that wasn’t an option. He only wanted enough to buy food for a while. “Half a silver, Cuora.” Hers was one name he’d never struggle to recall. “For one mirror, that would be.”

“Hogwash. Half a silver?” She sniffed and looked back into the store.

She hates them
, thought Hatta.
Is it too late to run?

Turning back, she said, “I would never consider adorning my palace with something so cheap. They are worth ten silvers apiece, and that is what I’ll pay.”

Ten silvers!
He hadn’t saved that much in a year in Frenala.

“That would be too much,” he insisted, “and one of them isn’t for sale.” Pulling away from her gaze he went inside and picked up his last mirror.

Six colors infused the mirror’s uneven edge; shades of blue, green, yellow, orange, red, and purple. They were subtle and incorporated into the metal in the perfect blend. As with all of his mirrors, the outer part was hazy, but in his masterpiece a slight haze continued toward the center, clearing up by degrees. The inner portion, just large enough to see a face, was as lucid as any mirror, but appeared impossibly clear in contrast.

Cuora stood beside him. He angled the mirror to look into her face and almost dropped it when he saw her beauty. The image of perfection.

Gripping him with her gaze she said, “But this is the most magnificent of them all. I look through the haze and see—”

“Madness?” offered Hatta. “Sanity?”

Less bold than he’d seen her up to that point, she said quietly, “Most people are not the front they put on. Everyone has factions inside battling for control. In your mirrors I can see all of myself, not just the face I have on at the moment. Both halves – Lady and woman.” In an even quieter voice she said, “I can see you more clearly as well. Not just this,” she laid a hand on his cheek. “But this,” her hand went to his heart.