Hatter (26 page)

For as long as he could remember, Chism spurned any sort of physical contact. Even now, caught in a thick web of kindness, under the spell of a master, he longed to push away. To run, or fight. But his brother’s voice gave him the strength to abide the embrace. “Do you care to know what I feared?”

Chism’s muffled sobs were his only answer.

“I was scared we couldn’t be together. That perchance we were too different. That if I didn’t run we might stop loving each other. I could abide Father, but I couldn’t abide falling apart from you.” After a pause, he added, “But that was before I learned about opposites and complements.”

Chism couldn’t bring himself to return the embrace, but he forced himself to accept it, and stood darkening the shoulder of Hatta’s coat with tears.

As if suddenly realizing something, Hatta added, “Just like I ran from Cuora and from Shey’s Orchard and Frenala. It seemed impossible that everything could turn out as I hoped, so I ran. Even though it meant traveling with that cantankerous mule.”

A blubbery chuckle escaped Chism. He withdrew slightly and his gentle brother retracted his arms. “I’m glad you don’t have to be here alone any more, Hatta.” For a moment Chism wondered if his brother’s touch was magic. The pain he felt had abated, along with the deep grudge. And lack of pain was clear in Hatta, his emotional mirror.

“Alone isn’t what I’ve been. Twice the Cheshire Cat visited.”

“Who?” asked Chism. It wasn’t the first time Hatta had invented fantastic creatures.

“Cheshire. He’s a Cheshire Cat. You should see how he turns on and off his colors. I wonder if you wouldn’t be able to see him at all since he relies so much on color?” His fingers bridged and touched his lips. “You two just have to meet.”

“Speaking of that, let me introduce you to Ander.”

He led Hatta outside to where Ander stood with a staff-length stick, poking it into a shallow vat. “What kind of potion are you brewing?” asked Ander.

“Oh, it’s not a potion, but beaver pelts that fell into my vat of crude mercury. It wasn’t until this morning that I noticed them.”

Ander was captivated by the sodden hides. “Do you mind if I experiment with it?”

“Feel free. If you didn’t have a use for them, they’d both be ruined! I’m Hatta.”

“Ander.” He looked over Hatta, who smiled nervously. “You’re as colorful as a flock of peacocks, lad.”

Some of Hatta’s anxiety faded and he offered a small bow. Ander slapped him on the back. “I think you and I will get along wonderfully.”

Chapter 23

Run

Within a month the roofless shack became a livable home and the kiln was ready to extract mercury from cinnabar ore. Hatta spent his days mining cinnabar and making hats. Not very good hats, even by his own assessment, but each one was superior to the previous. Fears that had plagued him for years regarding being reunited with Chism proved unfounded.

Hatta felt as close to his brother as the time they ran away to live in a tree. Chism was four at the time, so Hatta had to be nine or ten. Rain on the third day sent them running home wet and hungry. And even without the weather, Hatta’s foraging skills weren’t sufficient to provide for them.

While he went about hatting and mining he watched for the Cheshire Cat, but was disappointed. However, Ander’s development of a versatile new material—using the beaver pelts and dilute mercury—offset some of his frustration. It was both soft and strong, and readily accepted dyes. Felt, he called it. The first thing Hatta used it for was a pair of half-gloves for Chism that covered only the thumb and first finger of each hand. In times of nervousness he could stroke the new gloves for hours without chafing or bleeding.

Over the following month, Hatta perfected his hats. His skill with dyes was not sufficient to make intricate patterns such as the turtle shell, but some of the color combinations between brim and top were ambrosia to his eyes. He ignored the stiff constraints most hatters followed and let his designs flow. Instead of straight cylindrical hats, he allowed curves, with tops extending beyond the circle of their brims. The brims were wider than the standard fashion since Ander’s felt gave him the versatility he craved.

Chism and Ander seemed content to pass the days in their own pursuits. After sending a message to Cuora, which Hatta declined to add to, they settled into a relaxed schedule. Some days they played chess, others Ander accompanied Chism and Hatta into the hills in search of cinnabar. What shocked Hatta were the hours Chism loitered around Ander while the older man drew or tinkered. His brother had a friend, and Hatta couldn’t be more pleased for him.

His coin purse was still fat and he owned everything he wanted. Hatting was a fascinating venture, with much more flexibility and fewer constraints than mirror making, yet the urge to run started to chafe like a burr between his shoulder blades. There was no explanation, but he knew running would ease the prickle, let him relax. But at the same time he had too much of running; it was time to stay put for a while.

Even the glorious hats couldn’t make him happy. And the direction, or directionlessness of his life led to further stagnation. He knew sequestering himself and spending time mining mercury and hatting was not going to solve it.

The battle between madness and sanity continued. On one hand, his ambitions to mend the rift in the kingdom seemed completely illogical. On the other, when he thought of what would make him happy it was staying away from fighting and conflict; the sane thing to do was stay put. Usually sanity and happiness were at odds, but in this case the conditions that should make him happy only resulted in unease. The only way he felt he could be happy was by pursuing the unlikely chance that he might be able to mend the kingdoms, but that was sure to lead him into conflict, thereby producing unhappiness. Sometimes he thought in circles for hours.

During weekly trips into Marrit they heard of increased strife between the Provinces and Maravilla. No progress, or even effort, had occurred toward reunification. Lady Palida led the Provinces as their queen, but no word had reached far enough north regarding Antion and how he would fit into the new government. Skirmishes between Maravilla and the Provinces were common and, according to rumor, escalated daily.

One talkative shopkeeper claimed both kingdoms were drafting able-bodied men into their armies. “Gobbling ‘em up like a hungry sow,” he said. Motioning to Chism he continued, “The boy’ll probably be exempt, even though he’s got a sword. They haven’t said anything about making boys fight. But you two look healthy enough, purple and white hair aside.”

Chism smirked, but held his tongue. As repulsed as Hatta was by war—even thinking the word made him want to spit—he had to admit the idea of being conscripted while Chism sat out was enough to send anyone into a stupor.

The secluded mining camp and home should have provided Hatta with a sense of security from the storms that raged across kingdoms, but the feelings that he needed to leave persisted. The thorn in his back kept prodding him toward the road, and only his devotion to Chism gave him the strength to resist. It was unclear what kept Chism and Ander close, but he was glad they weren’t caught up in the turmoil.

Halfway through a sleepless late spring night, Hatta lay awake on his cot naming the shades of shifting silver cast by the full moon, when Cheshire sauntered into his room. The creature was as easy to see in the shadows as in daylight. It wasn’t that he emitted light, but light wasn’t needed for him to be visible.

“Good morning, my boy,” said Cheshire in his casual tenor voice.

“Yes, and to you,” said Hatta, sitting up on his low cot. “I’ve given it thought and I’m still of the opinion that you’re real.”

Cheshire’s grin remained the same width but his eyes brightened. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that, but I must ask how you’ve come to that conclusion,” he said, settling into a comfortable position at the foot of the mattress. His confident grin made Hatta want to smile forever.

“Well, Tjaden said he met you. And many people know Tjaden because of…you know, the Jabberwocky? Chism even said he knows Tjaden from being Elites together.”

“That’s proof enough for me.” The Cheshire Cat stretched languorously. “And might I add, it feels wonderful to be real.”

“I thank you. No, actually you’re welcome. Yes, that’s it.”

The pair sat in silence for a few moments, Hatta reveling in Cheshire’s presence.

Eyes closed, but still smiling, Cheshire said, “You’ve stayed here longer than I expected.”

“Me too. But we’re leaving soon. Tonight, methinks.”

“A wise choice. Soldiers are about in the region to conscript more recruits, who presumably will be sent to yet other towns to conscript more soldiers, who….You get the point. I just couldn’t bear to see one such as you forced to endure that.”

Hatta felt as if whatever held his stomach up had suddenly been removed, and he grasped his belly to stabilize it. After a few deep breaths he said, “I should tell Chism. And Ander.”

Rising quickly to walk into the front room, Hatta turned to thank Cheshire, but just caught the faintest glimmer of the oversized smile fading away. “I thank you,” he said into the air, then hurried out.

“Chism,” he said, nudging the foot of his brother’s mattress.

Chism shot to a sitting position with fists raised, making Hatta glad he hadn’t tried to shake him awake. His brother sprang from the bed, still ready to defend himself.

“It’s nothing,” said Hatta. “Except that we ought to go.”

“Go where?” Chism started to calm and wiped sleep from his eyes.

“It’s not the where that’s important. It’s the going.”

“What are you talking about, Hatta? More bizarre dreams?”

“How could I dream if I haven’t yet slept?”

Chism sighed and pressed his temples with fingertips. “It sounds like you’re running again, Hatta.”

His insecurity returned at the mention of his unexpressed fear. “I…think I’m not, but even so, I’ve at least told you this time.” Chism, who still hadn’t met Cheshire, wouldn’t understand the forewarning.

“Tomorrow,” said Chism, climbing back onto his cot.

Hatta shook his head, but wasn’t sure if Chism saw. “No. Tomorrow is only good for tomorrow. It should be tonight.” He only knew one way to convince his brother. “I’ll most likely leave in an hour and I don’t relish the idea of separating from you again.”

He left his brother and stepped into Ander’s room. “Ander,” he whispered.

Amidst some unintelligible words, Hatta heard, “…breath that could infest a chicken with maggots….”

Scrubbing the crawling sensation off his arms, Hatta spoke louder. “Ander. It’s time we left.”

The shaggy-haired man sat up and stretched. The feral silhouette was frightening, so Hatta backed out of the doorway and said, “You’ll want to pack. For the journey.”

Hurrying away without turning his back he heard Ander say, “Did you have to wake me from such a wonderful dream?”

Hatta dressed in his accustomed traveling suit: maroon jacket with apricot pants. And of course, the turtle shell-patterned hat. He packed his other suits of clothes, his hats, and all the felt that was cured enough. After tucking away the bulging coin purse and heavy vials of mercury, he was ready to go.

Chism and Ander went about their preparations in silence. Hatta was just glad to see them going along with the journey. Within the hour, the three men and their four horses started on the two-mile path that led to the Northern Spoke.

The scrub oak was just tall enough to obstruct their moonlit view, even astride the horses. Except for insects and the hooves scraping on gravel, the night was quiet and the horses easily managed the slow pace along the familiar trail. Hatta had to remind himself to not talk out loud to the horses with his brother and Ander present. They would be bad-tempered enough about the hasty departure; any other odd behavior might cause contention. So he satisfied himself with pats, touches and quiet praise. At one point he leaned close and whispered, “I can’t say how glad I am that you’re not a mule.”

The animal nickered in agreement.

Two hours later, grayish-blue light leaked from under the eastern horizon as they approached the outskirts of Marrit. “Shame we didn’t think to bring vittles,” said Hatta. “If we care to wait in Marrit for a shop to open we might buy some.”

Chism chuckled, a sound that made Hatta want to whoop with joy, and said, “Ander and I packed plenty of food, Hatta. Enough for weeks, if not more.”

“Wonderful! It looks as if this journey’s destined for success.”

They skirted Marrit, and traveled at night for the next two weeks to avoid towns and large groups of people. When Chism or Ander asked about their destination, Hatta simply said, “South.” They seemed glad just to be leaving the Provinces.

Half a day away from the Fringe Road, the outskirts of another small town appeared at sunrise. As Chism started to lead them into the woods, Hatta heard a gruff voice from shadows on the side of the road. “Halt. Name yourselves.”

The sound of steel sliced through the morning as Chism whipped Thirsty free and ordered, “Name yourself first or die a bandit’s death.”