Mad About the Hatter (11 page)

“So? I like cookies and cake. I particularly like gingerbread, although I also enjoy chocolate chip cookies, but—”

Hatter gasped and stopped, clamping his hand over Henry’s mouth. “Shh! You can’t take sides! That’s a sure way to get dead!”

Henry pulled Hatter’s hand away from his mouth. “Will you please stop doing that?” He scowled, and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sick and tired of your double-talk and riddles and nonsensical blathering. Tell me what’s going on, or I’m not taking another single, solitary step.”

Hatter wrung his hands, and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We’ve no cover out here. I’d hoped to get past the foothills and up onto the mountain before the ovens were fired up, but I was wrong. We need to find someplace to hide. Maybe we could pick some of those flowers and use them as camouflage.” He reached down and plucked a daisy, holding it up to his face. “Can you see me?”

“Seriously?” Henry raised one eyebrow. “Of course I can. It’s a freaking daisy.”

“Damn.” Hatter tossed it away, and scanned the ground. “Then maybe we could dig a hole. I might have a shovel somewhere.” He pushed a hand into his pocket and began to feel around.

Henry grabbed both of Hatter’s arms, and gave him a little shake. “No! No camouflage, no hole digging, no hiding. Not until you tell me what’s going on!” He gestured toward the empty meadow and the hills beyond. “There’s nothing out here but us!”

Hatter’s eyes were huge and practically glowing with fear. “The Bakers must be at war again. That’s the only reason why the ovens would be lit at this time of day.”

“The Bakers?”

Hatter nodded. “They’re a race of giants who live up in the mountains and supply all of Wonderland with baked goods. Cookies, cakes, tarts…. Every baked treat comes from here. Their huge ovens are built into the foothills.”

“So?”

“Don’t you understand? The ovens are never fired this late in the day. They’re only operated in the wee hours of early morning! The Bakers go to work in the middle of the night.”

Henry lifted a shoulder. “So they decided to sleep in and bake later in the day. So what?”

Hatter swore softly, as if Henry were an idiot who failed to grasp the most rudimentary of explanations. “The Bakers are dedicated to their craft. Each clan has their own recipes, and each of them insists theirs is the best. Usually the Court of Confection settles disputes, but sometimes war breaks out between them. Then the hill ovens steam day and night baking their armies. It’s the only reason the ovens would be hot in the middle of the day!”

Poor Hatter looked terrified, but really… a cookie army? What sort of damage could that do? All you’d need is a glass of milk to defeat them! A chuckle bubbled up and out from between Henry’s lips before he could stop it.

“It’s not funny!”

“Well, yeah, it sort of is. Hatter, we just came out of a swamp filled with tree sharks and crocodiles and other toothy, hungry nasties I don’t even have a name for, and yet here you are, knock-kneed over a bunch of cookies!” The chuckle deepened into a true laugh that shook Henry’s shoulders and brought a tear to his eye.

Hatter sputtered with indignation. “Don’t laugh! There’s nothing funny about war, cookie or otherwise.” He looked off into the distance, but his gaze seemed to turn inward. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I was only a small child during the last Confection War, but you never forget something like that, never. The noise. The smoke. The icing.” A visible shiver raced across his shoulders.

Henry bit down hard on his tongue to stop laughing. Hatter was truly terrified. “I’m, um… sorry, Hatter.”

Hatter looked away and lifted his chin. “As if I believe you.”

“No, really. I’m sorry.” He really did feel badly, and placed a hand on Hatter’s arm. Henry knew from experience that being mocked wasn’t pleasant. People had laughed at him his entire life because of Alice’s tales. “Please forgive me. I was out of line. It must have been awful for you.”

“It was. The Bakers are not known for compassion.”

Henry took Hatter’s hand and patted it. He nodded toward the hills. “That’s not such a huge mountain range. Perhaps we can find a way around them.”

“No. There’s no other way to go.” Hatter shook his head. “The Neverglades are behind us, and going backward won’t do us any good anyway. To the east lies the Endless Sugar Sand Desert. People rarely go there, and only someone with a death wish would attempt to cross it on foot.”

“If no one goes there, how do you know it’s endless?”

Hatter gave him a dark look and pulled his hand away. “First, it’s right there in the name. It’s not the Practically Endless Sugar Sand Desert, you know. Second, no one who tried to cross it ever came back. They’re either dead or still walking. In any case, it doesn’t sound particularly pleasant to me.”

Henry smirked. “Maybe they reached the other side and liked it better there, and that’s why they never came back. Didn’t you ever think of that?”

“And maybe they’re lying out somewhere on the scorching hot sugar sand, with nothing left to them but a jumble of bleached bones. Prove me wrong, and I’ll happily lead the way in.”

“Point taken.”

“Really, I do live here, you know. Why must you question every word that comes out of my mouth?”

Henry thought about it. Why did he? He had the sneaking suspicion it was because Hatter—and Wonderland in general—was tied so closely to Alice. Since he’d spent nearly his entire life disbelieving her, doubting Hatter seemed a natural progression. “Sorry. You’re right. I guess I have issues with anything Wonderland-related. I never believed Alice’s stories, you know. I always thought she made it all up to get attention. I guess I owe her an apology when I get back.”

“Hmph.” Hatter nodded. “She was utterly annoying, a pain in virtually everyone’s posterior, and no one was sorry to see her leave here, but the one thing she wasn’t was a liar.”

Henry nodded, and sought to change the subject. He found talking about Alice’s virtues to be an unfamiliar and uncomfortable pastime. He pointed to the west. “What’s that way?”

“Venom River. It’s a waterway that begins at Headless Falls, just west of Caterpillar’s Lair. It cuts through the Confection Mountains, and empties into the Undead Lake. The water is poisonous and acidic. It’s a river of rocks, rough, roiling whitewater, and swirling vortexes that’ll melt your raft out from under you and the flesh from your bones within five minutes of setting sail on it. And that’s only if you can manage to navigate the shore to get to the water in the first place. The banks are the feeding and breeding grounds for venomous snakes, basilisks, spiders, and an especially ferocious species of firedrake.”

Henry suppressed a shudder. “And you really call this place ‘Wonderland,’ huh?”

“Yes, of course. It’s named that because many parts of it are wondrous, but also because it’s a wonder anyone ever survives some of it.” Hatter grabbed Henry’s hand and began to pull him along toward the hills. “Our only choice is to go over the hills. Once we’re in the mountains, there will be plenty of cover to keep us hidden from the Baker armies as we cross. Let’s go. Keep your head down, and if you hear someone yell ‘fire’… duck.”

T
HE
MEADOW
gradually grew steeper, wildflowers and grasses thinning, thickets of thorny bushes growing more abundant and closer together as they approached the base of the first hill. It was the largest one in a collection of six. The gently rolling mounds were the gateway to the Confection Mountains, which rose up sharply behind them. Hatter said people called them the Six Mother Hounds.

“They are aptly named,” Hatter said as they stared up at them, “because each one is a bitch in her own right.”

Ice covered the first and largest hill in a glittering, slippery-smooth glaze. Hatter said it never melted, not even when the huge oven buried within it grew hot. The ice made it nearly impossible to scale.

The second hill was a volcano, continually spewing lava in snaking, steaming streams, and belching gray clouds of ash and gas high into the air. Hatter said the air near that one stank of brimstone, and killed birds that made the mistake of flying too close to its poisonous clouds. Several fell out of the sky as Henry watched, horrified.

A lush tropical garden covered the third hill. Even from a distance, Henry could see trees heavy with colorful fruit, and ribbons of sparkling water threading through the foliage and unusual rock formations. He smiled. “Let’s climb that one. I’m hungry.”

“Are you daft? That’s Forgetful Hill. Eat anything, drink anything on that hill and you’ll instantly forget everything you ever knew. Not only difficult subjects like arithgebra and quadrometry, but simple stuff, like who you are, how to walk, how to talk, how to eat, and how to breathe.”

“So, we won’t eat or drink anything. It still looks safer than any of the other hills.”

Hatter shook his head. “You really don’t think it would be that simple, do you? The flowers on Forgetful Hill produce a narcotic pollen. It’s thick in the air over there, and unavoidable. The pollen is toxic, and is so powerful you won’t be able to resist eating or drinking everything in sight.” He pointed toward the hill. “See those lumpy pale things scattered around the hill?”

Henry nodded. “You mean those rock formations? Yeah, I see them.”

“Those aren’t rocks. Those are the calcified bodies of people who stupidly believed the pretty little hill was safe.”

“Oh.” Henry bit his lip and considered the remaining three hills.

Hatter pointed to the next hill. The hill seemed to float within a huge ball of water. “That’s Shark Hill. Care to venture a guess why it was given that name?”

Henry didn’t have to guess. He could see sharks of all different sizes swimming through the water, including several species he knew and many others he didn’t. Hammerheads, tiger sharks, bull sharks, and at least three tremendous great white sharks continuously circled the hill, along with purple sharks, striped sharks, and one that looked almost as big as a whale and ate several smaller sharks as it swam.

Hatter drew Henry’s attention to the fifth hill. It seemed to bulge and shrink randomly, as if something were encapsulated within it and struggling to break free. Considering everything he’d seen thus far, Henry was inclined to believe that was happening.

“That’s Egg Hill. Nobody’s sure what’s incubating inside, but whatever it is, we’re all fairly confident it’ll be ugly and hungry when it hatches. Which, from the look of the cracks crisscrossing the surface, might be any time now.”

That left the final and largest hill. Thorny brush covered it, but Henry couldn’t make out anything living, pulsing, bulging, swimming, spurting, biting, or glowing on it. “What’s that one?”

“Stinging Hill. It’s covered in brambles that sting like wasps.” He looked at Henry. “Are you allergic to bee stings?”

“No. Not that it means I like getting stung, though.”

“Ha! I expect not. I ask because the brambles contain minute amounts of venom, much like bee stings. In any case, it’s Stinging Hill or one of the others. Take your pick.”

Henry looked over the six hills again. While climbing Stinging Hill might be a possibly painful experience, it seemed the least likely to kill them. “Maybe if we run fast enough we won’t get stung.”

“I suppose stranger things have happened. So, Stinging Hill it is. Remember, keep your head down and your eyes peeled for the Bakers’ armies.”

I
T
WAS
much tougher going than Hatter remembered. Then again, he hadn’t been in the area since he was a child, and children were notoriously limber. No matter how carefully they stepped, the thorny brush snagged on their trousers, biting through the fabric to scratch the skin beneath. This wasn’t like taking a few bee stings. This felt as if they were wading through a pool filled to the brim with pissed-off hornets.

“Ouch! Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.” He lifted his knees up high as he stepped, hoping to give at least one leg at a time a respite from the biting thorns, however temporary.

Henry took a different approach. He took long, awkward hops through the thorns, looking like a whackweed-smoking rabbit. His method didn’t seem any more successful than Hatter’s, but Hatter admitted it was far more amusing to watch.

Or would be, had Hatter been in any frame of mind to be amused. As it was, his legs were beginning to feel flayed of skin, leaving his muscle, sinew, and nerve endings raw and screaming, putting him in a slightly less than jovial mood.

“We should’ve taken our chances with Egg Hill.” Henry sounded a little out of breath, no doubt from all the intense hopping he was doing. “Whatever comes out of that hill—ouch—can’t possibly be any worse than these thorns.”

“Never say never. Ouch. I’ve learned the one thing all creatures great and small, be they human or animal, have in common upon being born is hunger. I would rather be stung than serve as some newborn nightmare’s first meal.”

“You can’t possibly know it would want to eat us. Ouch. Maybe whatever is in that egg is a vegetarian.”

Hatter looked at him askance. “After seeing all you have of Wonderland thus far, do you really think things would work out that way? Ouch.”

Henry snorted. “Maybe, ouch, but then I would probably automatically turn into a giant zucchini and be eaten anyway, wouldn’t I?”

“Ouch. Now, you’re getting it.”

“You’ll pardon my saying, ouch, but so far Wonderland sucks big, fat, hairy monkey balls.”

Somehow, despite the stinging pain, Hatter laughed. “That it does, my friend. At times, that it does.”

T
HEY
CRESTED
the hill and paused at the top to gain both their breath and a brief respite from tramping through the stinging brambles. Before them, at the bottom of the hill, was a narrow valley.

Within the confines of the valley stood row upon row of brown, manlike figures. One look told Henry they weren’t human. Their heads, hands, and feet were too large and too round, and their bodies, when viewed sideways, were too flat.