Mad About the Hatter (10 page)

“It’s the Neverglades. Thusly named because some things get in, but never get out.”

“Never? What about us? Maybe we should go back.”

“There is no way back. Look.” Hatter pointed behind them. There was nothing there but a semisolid screen of tangled trees and limbs, lianas, roots, and vines. The fence they’d just climbed was gone.

“Shit!”

“Oh, yes, undoubtedly, and of all sizes, shapes, and densities. I’d watch my step carefully if I was you.”

Henry grabbed Hatter’s arm, his fingers digging uncomfortably into Hatter’s flesh. “Why would you bring us here?”

“You said you wanted to go to the Red Queen’s castle.”

“So? I never said take us by way of the bowels of hell.”

Hatter sniffed loudly, although more to cover the Neverglades stench than for any dramatic effect. “The way to the Queen’s castle changes. It’s a security measure she put in after Alice’s last visit. You never get there the same way twice unless you’re riding in her personal coach.”

“Nice of you to mention that!”

“Would it have made a difference? No? I rest my case.”

“But you said things never get out of here!”

“Open your ears. I said some things get in but never get out. Not all things. There’s a chance we’ll make it through.”

“A chance?” Henry grabbed Hatter’s other arm, no doubt making a matching bruise on that arm with his clawlike fingers.

“A good chance. Although if we stand here much longer, that will swiftly decline into no chance. Creatures that live in the Neverglades tend to claim any objects slow enough to catch as dinner.” He nodded toward a long, scaly beast lying nearly submerged in a brackish pond. Only the nostrils and red eyes peeked above the waterline. Hatter knew that just below the surface was a wide mouth full of very sharp teeth.

It was slowly drifting toward them. Hatter could almost feel its reptilian smile. “That crocodile, for example. It’s looking at us like we’re a pair of Grade A prime chops.”

He grabbed Henry’s hands and pried them off. Keeping tight hold of one—he didn’t trust Henry not to fall behind, and didn’t fancy the young man’s odds if left with the crocodile—he pulled Henry along as he slogged through the swamp.

Black muck sucked at his shoes and the cuffs of his pants. Slithery, scaly things, some finned, some fanged, swam through the brackish water, slipping between their legs and brushing against their calves.

Small, furry bats flitted above their heads, feeding on the enormous mosquitoes that called the swamp home. He could hear the leathery whir of wings, and felt them beating close enough to his head to cause a breeze. Every so often, a bat would settle on top of his hat, as if claiming it for its personal roost, and he would wave an arm at it to shoo it away.

“Hatter….” Henry’s voice sounded thick with fear.

He gave Henry’s hand a reassuring squeeze, although he admitted he didn’t feel very assured himself.

The light was always gray in the Neverglades, murky, as if it were perpetual twilight, impairing vision and impeding movement except for those denizens who made the swamp their home. Hatter knew of many besides the crocodiles and bats, and all of them were equally dangerous and hungry.

Indistinct shapes moved through the twisted and tangled tree limbs and roots all around them, some seeming muscular and cunning, others sinuous and clever, but all potentially deadly. He began to speak, keeping his voice even and steady, as if the sound of it was an audible amulet to keep evil at bay. “The creatures in the water aren’t the only hungry beasties in the Neverglades. Keep watch for a triangular fin cutting through the leaves above us, Henry. Tree sharks make their home here. Curious creatures, they can swim through the thickets of leaves, darting out to take a bite of whatever creature pauses too long below them.

“Crocodiles lurk at the edge of deeper water, waiting for some poor unsuspecting soul to wander too close to the rim. Piranha monkeys, swamp bears, and pygmy tigers live here as well, all of them much too happy to drag you home to their lairs to snack on at their leisure. The key to survival in the Neverglades is to keep your eyes open, and always keep moving.”

“That’s fine with me. I have no wish to spend any more time here than necessary. We could run, couldn’t we? The faster the better.”

“No, that’s not a good idea at all! The faster you move, the harder the mud and muck sucks at your feet trying to slow you down. Move too quickly, and you’ll find yourself stuck standing still, a perfect target for any of the hungry creatures that live here.”

“You know, I’m beginning to really, really hate Wonderland.”

Hatter clucked his tongue. “Don’t judge the whole of Wonderland by the few places you’ve seen so far. Most of it is quite beautiful. For example, the Diamond Fields are particularly brilliant at harvest time, when the diamond fruit sparkle like a million fairies in the moonlight.

“There’s the Frozen Lake, forever frosty even in the highest heat of summer. It’s a favorite vacation spot, as is the Caramel River, with its smoothly flowing, utterly creamy waters. There are many pleasant towns, as well, filled with interesting people and creatures. Wonderland lives up to its name, by and large.”

“Well, based on what I’ve seen so far, it sucks.”

“Exactly my point. You’ve seen us only at our worst. You should give us a chance before passing judgment.” He spotted a gray, triangular fin in the leaves above his head and ducked, pulling Henry down with him, and just in time. A pointed maw full of sharp, crazily angled teeth dropped down toward them from the trees, snapping closed with the sound of a hundred scissors slicing, missing their heads by inches. It returned to the thicket of greenery just as quickly as it appeared. Hatter watched in relief as the fin moved swiftly through the leaves, heading south.

Hatter gave Henry’s hand another squeeze. “Perhaps we should discuss this later and just concentrate on walking at a steady pace. The sooner we’re out of here the better, and I’d very much like to leave without any chunks of me missing.”

T
HEY
TRUDGED
through the thick sludge for hours, or at least it felt that way. Hatter couldn’t really be sure. The light never darkened or lightened in the Neverglades, but remained a steady gray, and he certainly couldn’t see the sun or moon through the thick canopy of vegetation above his head. It might be dawn, noon, or midnight, or sometime in between. He had no way of telling how much time had passed since they entered the swamp, and therefore, had no idea of how long it would be before they cleared it again.

He still held Henry’s hand. It was warm, the grip strong. It was a good hand, a sturdy one, created for hard work and perfect for hand-holding in general. He wondered how many other hands it had held, and if any of their owners were special to Henry.

To his surprise, he found himself hoping there was no particular set of hands waiting at home for Henry. He liked the feel of Henry’s hand in his, and more, found himself beginning to like the rest of Henry as well. Perhaps he had misjudged Henry when they first met in the Anthill. Perhaps Henry wasn’t as much like Alice as Hatter had surmised.

He tried to sound casual. “So, Henry, do you see much of Alice? Do you get along well?”

Henry snorted. “Alice and I are like onions and ice cream. We don’t mix often, and in the rare circumstances we do, it’s usually a disaster.”

Aha! He was right. Henry wasn’t close to Alice, and seemed to dislike her almost as much as Hatter did. That came as a bit of a relief, although Hatter wasn’t exactly sure why he should care.

“I know why I don’t like my sister—I have a lifetime of reasons, actually—but what did she ever do to you, Hatter?”

Hatter decided to be honest, something he usually strove to avoid whenever possible.
How very unlike me,
he thought,
perhaps I’ve caught an illness of some sort. I’ll need to see the physician, I suppose.
He plunged ahead anyway. “Many, many years ago, I was cursed by Time to spend eternity living and reliving a Tea Party with Dormouse and the White Rabbit. Over and over again, drinking the same damnable cup of tea, eating the same stale cakes… It was awful, but I suppose I got used to it.”

“What’s that got to do with my sister?”

“Oh, well, she stumbled upon our Tea Party, you see, and rudely invited herself to join us. Then, she nitpicked and picked nits terribly, going on and on about the simplest mistakes, asking question after question, so much so that she even managed to upset Dormouse, a difficult feat for certain, since, as I’m sure you already know, dormice are practically comas with legs. Then she stormed off, leaving the rest of us to sort it out. And why? Because I asked her a simple riddle. Time was so upset by her behavior, he forgot about the curse and let us all go.”

“But wouldn’t that be a good thing? Ridding yourself of the curse?”

Hatter shook his head sadly. “You would think so, and perhaps once upon a time I would’ve felt the same, but I’d been in that damned Tea Party for so long, most of the people I knew and cared about were long dead! My family, my friends… I would’ve been happier if I’d been left to drink tea for eternity.”

Something shadowed Henry’s eyes, something that looked suspiciously like sympathy to Hatter. “Sorry, Hatter. She’s a true twit sometimes. At least, she was when she was little. She’s changed some since she got married.” Henry blushed, as if he were somehow to blame for his sister’s shortcomings.

“No worries. I’ve adjusted rather well, I think.”
Except for the part where I nearly lost my head, of course, but I needn’t burden Henry with all that.
Hatter summoned up a smile.

“So, what was the riddle?”

Hatter blinked. “What riddle?”

“The one you asked Alice. What was it?”

“Oh, that. Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Huh. That’s easy. I’m surprised Alice didn’t know the answer.”

“We’ve already established that you’re much smarter than your sister.” Hatter glanced at Henry out of the corner of his eye to see his reaction to the small compliment, and was pleased to see a smile curve Henry’s lips. “So, what is the answer?”

“Ah. Because they both produce notes.”

Hatter blinked again. “Huh. Yes, I guess that works, doesn’t it. Good show.”

Henry tugged at their joined hands, but Hatter refused to let go. “So what is the real answer?”

“The real answer?”

“To the riddle. What was the original answer?”

“Um, you guessed it.” Hatter cleared his throat and refused to meet Henry’s eyes.

Henry’s eyes narrowed, and Hatter knew he’d been found out. “You didn’t know the answer when you posed the riddle, did you? That’s what made Alice so mad.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Hatter grumbled, but he brightened a few moments later. “Look! We’re nearly out of the Neverglades!”

Sure enough, the light ahead was slowly becoming brighter, cutting through the dense dimness of the Neverglades swamp, and chasing away the shadows. Hatter picked up the pace, anxious to leave the swamp and all its deadly, toothy residents behind.

Only after they’d cleared the last of the dismal swamp and stood under the bright Wonderland sun once again, did Hatter realize he was still holding fast to Henry’s hand. Henry seemed to realize it at the same time, because they dropped each other’s hands and took a step away, neither meeting the other’s eyes.

Hatter took advantage of the moment to scan the area, trying to figure out where they were. He knew in an instant. The sweet, syrupy, yeasty smell on the breeze gave it away even more than the gently sloping foothills in the distance. They were on the Sugar Plains, which eventually led to the Confection Mountains.

“We have a few hours left before sunset. Best to keep walking.” He hoped they’d have enough light to get up into the gently rolling hills before needing to make camp. The area adjacent to the swamp was relatively flat, and dotted with sweet-smelling wildflowers. It would come as a relief after all the turmoil they’d suffered since leaving Caterpillar’s Lair, but Hatter knew it still held its own unique dangers.

One glance at the gray smoke gently puffing from the mountaintops told him the ovens were warmed up and ready to bake in the Confection Mountains. If that were the case, then it wouldn’t matter whether it was midnight or high noon. Trouble would come for them either way, and there’d be no talking their way out of it, either. The Bakers were not a rational lot when it came to plying their trade.

“W
HAT
’
S
THAT
smell?” Henry lifted his nose in the air and sniffed. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it reminds me of my grandmother’s kitchen.”

“It’s nothing. Your imagination. Keep walking.”

“No, it isn’t. I can smell it. It smells warm, and spicy, and sugary… and familiar.” Henry took another couple of deep breaths. “I know! Cookies! That’s what it is. I smell cookies baking.”

“You’re daft. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Do you see a bakeshop anywhere nearby? Keep walking.”

Henry glanced at Hatter, then took a longer look. Hatter was chewing the inside of his cheek, and worry lines creased his forehead. He looked frightened, although about what, Henry couldn’t guess. After escaping the monstrous ants in the Red Anthill, and managing the backward nature of Drawrof, and navigating the treacherous Neverglades, their walk across the flower-strewn meadow in the bakery-scented breeze was almost a vacation. What terror could the smell of a fresh, oven-baked treat possibly hold? “Hatter? What is it? You need to tell me. You look practically scared out of your pants.”

Hatter’s eyes bulged, and he swallowed hard. “You don’t know where we are, do you? Those are the Confection Mountains we’re approaching!”

“So? What’s so frightening about that? They don’t look difficult to climb.”

“The mountains aren’t the problem. It’s the Bakers we need to worry about. Their ovens are built into those foothills.”