Dragging his shoes along the cobblestones, the young Hatter trudged toward his family’s shop. He perked up when he noticed Alice standing in the shadows. Perhaps drawn by her colorful tunic or the hat on her head that he himself would later create, he skipped over to her. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into the shop.
Inside, the small space was cluttered with the tools of the trade. Hung around the top of the room like a border of wallpaper, hats of all shapes and colors beckoned to customers. Cabinets of threads and ribbons were tucked against the far wall, and hat stands and mirrors stood waiting near the door. At the back, beyond everything, Alice saw a staircase, which she guessed led up to the family’s living quarters.
Zanik, who had his nose buried in an account book, glanced up, his eyes briefly focusing on Alice.
“We’re closed,” he said.
Hatter ran around the desk to join his father.
“Papa! Look!” he cried. “A customer with a lovely head. Right here!”
“I’m sorry, miss,” Zanik continued, ignoring his son. “You’ll have to come back another time.”
Zanik shut the ledger with a snap, tucked it under his arm, and moved toward a back room. Alice knew he wanted her to leave, but she stayed put, waiting for an opportunity to broach the subject of the future with Zanik now that she was there.
“Oh, and, Papa, look!” Hatter clamored at Zanik’s side, tugging on his coat.
“Not now, Son,” Zanik said firmly.
“I made something for you in school,” Hatter continued. He flopped open his schoolbag and dug into it.
Zanik sighed. “I keep telling you I’m busy. What is it?”
Caught up in their conversation, both Zanik and Tarrant seemed unaware that Alice had lingered in the shop.
Hatter pulled out his present, his face full of hope. Alice felt a jolt, her heart fluttering at the sight of the tiny blue paper hat cupped in his hand.
“A hat!” Hatter exclaimed as he held it out proudly.
“This? Let me have a look.” Zanik took the hat and began to examine it. “If my son is going to make a hat, he will make a proper one. Do something, do it right, eh? Look here”—he jabbed at the hat—“the band is crooked.”
As Zanik’s fingers poked at the band, the paper ripped. In the stillness of the shop, the sound echoed. Alice cringed; Hatter looked like he’d been slapped.
“Ah. Oh. Hmm,” Zanik muttered. “Well, cheap materials. There’s your lesson. Tell you what, tomorrow I’ll help you make a real hat, Son. Not one of these pretend ones, eh?”
Zanik balled up the paper hat and tossed it into the waste bin. Hatter’s eyes brimmed with tears as he saw it arc through the air. Fleeing from the room, he passed his mother on the stairs. Though Tyva reached for him, he barreled past her without a word.
“You’re too hard on him, Zanik,” Tyva said as she joined her husband. She did not notice Alice by the door, either.
“I’m hard on him because he has great potential.” Zanik’s mouth twitched slightly. “It’s how my father was with me, and his father with him.”
He walked to his desk and opened one of the drawers. Inside, Alice saw a sea of green-and-white Swizzles. She stepped forward slightly to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. The movement caught Zanik’s eye, and his head snapped up. With a quick push, he shut the drawer.
“Miss, I told you, we’re closed,” Zanik said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Alice bowed her head and backed out of the store, her expression pensive.
Time shifted irritably in his chair. Alice still hadn’t shown up for tea and the Hatter was becoming tiresome—as were his companions. Time’s eyes drifted to where Mallymkun danced in circles on the table and the March Hare bounced up and down as he poured himself some tea.
Leaning far too close, Hatter continued babbling. “I mean, are you really who you say you are?” he asked. “Or do you exist at all? Some say Time is an illusion.” Hatter reached forward to poke Time’s face.
Time swatted Hatter’s hand away. “I am not an illusion!” he snapped. “Could an illusion do this?”
Time ripped open his cloak and vest and grabbed hold of the second hand of his heart clock, forcing it still. Instantly, the world froze. The Dormouse balanced on one foot and the stream of tea from Thackery’s pot looked like a ribbon, its edge stopped above the cup.
Hatter patted his chest to make sure he was still able to move, then studied his two friends. He stooped to peer closely at the tea.
“Actually quite impressive,” Hatter admitted.
Time let go of the second hand and everything lurched back into motion…including the tea.
Sploosh! The liquid splashed down onto Hatter’s face. Blinking rapidly, he straightened up, tea dripping from his eyebrows.
Time’s breaths came in heavy pants and his shoulders sagged slightly. “Now, when is Alice coming?” he asked impatiently.
Hatter’s lips twitched. Imagine Time’s not knowing the when of something. Surely this all-powerful being would be aware of every event in every second. Time might be easier to fool than he’d thought.
Hatter sprang around Time’s chair, leaning over one shoulder, then the other as he fired questions.
“Is it true you heal all wounds? Do you fly when you’re having fun? And why is it you wait for no man?” His voice rippled with a manic energy.
“We have such a lovely Time here!” Mallymkun cried, rocking back in laughter.
“The best Time ever!” Thackery said, joining in the fun.
Pausing behind Time’s chair, Hatter reached down, his fingers delving into the tufts of hair on either side of Time’s face. “Look!” Hatter giggled. “I’ve got Time on my hands!”
Mallymkun leapt over a teacup and slid up next to them. “Yes, but Time is on my side,” she crowed.
“Oh, oh!” Thackery rushed around the table, a teapot wobbling in his hands. “Now I’m serving Time!” The March Hare’s ears flopped forward as he bent to pour tea into Time’s already full cup.
“I’m racing against Time!” Hatter shouted, running in place next to Time’s chair. “I’m passing Time!” He zoomed away.
Thackery giggled.
“I’m beating Time! I’m killing Time,” Mallymkun said, banging her fists on Time’s shoulder.
“I’m saving Time,” Hatter countered, plucking the Dormouse off their guest.
“I’m losing Time!” Mallymkun stretched out her hands as Hatter carried her away, then dropped her onto the table.
Hatter circled back, then popped up behind Time’s chair again and grabbed his arms. “Look, look,” he cried. “Time is flying!” He flapped Time’s arms up and down.
Thackery and Mallymkun doubled over in laughter.
“No, no, wait!” Hatter said. “Time is crawling. C…r…a…w…l…i…n…g!” He wheeled Time’s arms slowly through the air.
“Enough!” Time bellowed. Flinging the Hatter off, he jerked to his feet and, with narrowed eyes, rounded on him. “She’s not coming, is she?”
“I never said she was, old bean,” Hatter said nonchalantly. He sauntered to a chair and slid into it. “I merely said I invited her.”
Time’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “What? You! You—you…” he stammered in rage. He took a deep breath, then continued more calmly. “Nicely done, sir. But now it’s my turn.” His eyes glinted menacingly. “You were asking when ‘now’ is?”
Time lifted his cloak once again to reveal the clock in his chest. The hands read 5:59.
“Now is precisely one minute to teatime,” Time continued. “And until young Alice eventually joins you for tea, it will always be one minute to teatime.” He smiled smugly. “Enjoy your little party.”
Spinning the clock in his chest backward, Time disappeared.
Hatter tried to stand up but couldn’t! He pushed his arms down harder on the chair’s arms and strained with his legs, but it was no use.
He was stuck in place.
/> “What? Wait, what’s he done?” Mallymkun asked. She and Thackery both twisted in their own seats, squirming to get free.
“The blighter’s stuck us all at one minute to teatime!” Hatter slumped back in his chair. “Slurkingsluvishurksum!” he swore softly. That had not gone as expected.
FURTHER IN THE PAST, a young Queen Elsmere was elbow-deep in flour as she rolled dough in the Witzend Castle kitchen. Normally, she loved baking—she found a certain tranquility in the act—but at the moment, the queen was feeling far from peaceful. At the table behind her, her six-year-old daughters squabbled as they tugged back and forth on an almost empty plate of tarts.
“You’re eating all the tarts!” Mirana complained.
“You can have the crusts,” Iracebeth said, licking berry juice off her fingers.
Huffing in annoyance, Queen Elsmere spun toward them. “If you can’t get along, there will be no more tarts for either of you,” she declared. “Now out of my kitchen. Scat!” She shooed them away with her rolling pin.
Reluctantly, the girls slid off the bench and headed for the door. With one last longing look over her shoulder, Mirana followed her sister out of the room.
Then she paused, watching Iracebeth trudge away in the other direction. Her sister was most likely going off to play with her ant farm. Mirana waited until she was out of sight.
Cautiously, Mirana turned around, poking her head through the doorway they had just exited to scan the kitchen. Queen Elsmere bustled around, chopping vegetables for dinner and tossing them into a large pot on the hearth. Her mother must have sent their cook home for the night. She did that whenever she wanted the kitchen to herself to calm her nerves. Mirana hesitated, knowing her mother was already in a bad mood. But the plate of tarts was practically calling to her. And she never got the juicy berry parts with Iracebeth around.
When Queen Elsmere turned her back to the door to wash some carrots at the sink, the princess seized her chance. She darted across the stone floor, snatched the tarts, then whirled back through the doorway as her mother spun around.
Queen Elsmere shook her head as she spotted the empty plate. “I told them…” she muttered.
With light steps, Mirana dashed up the spiral staircase to the tower bedroom she shared with Iracebeth, shoving the tarts into her mouth as she went. Ducking into the circular room (her half decorated in white, Iracebeth’s half decorated in red), she gobbled up the last tart, its tangy sweetness filling her mouth. She sighed happily.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Mirana looked around in a panic. Burying a twinge of guilt, Mirana quickly swept the crusts onto the floor and under the bed on Iracebeth’s side. As the door creaked open, Mirana straightened, her hands clenched behind her back.
Iracebeth walked in, carefully balancing a jar of ants. She stopped and peered at her sister suspiciously. Mirana was standing on Iracebeth’s side of the room and had a shifty look on her face.
“What are you doing?” Iracebeth asked.
“Nothing,” Mirana said. Sliding past her sister, she raced out the door.
Iracebeth shrugged and continued into the room. When she got to her side, she flicked open the ant farm on her nightstand and slowly poured the ants in.
“Here you are!” Iracebeth trilled to them. “A nice new home. I hope we’ll be friends.”
As she bent to watch the ants settle in, she noticed a speck on the floor by her bed. She peered closer. Was that a tart crumb?
The door creaked open and her mother strode in, Mirana in tow.
“What did I tell you?” Queen Elsmere’s voice was sharp as she faced her daughters. “No more tarts!”
“I didn’t eat any tarts!” Iracebeth protested.
Elsmere’s gaze landed on the floor. “Why are these crusts under your bed?” she asked.
Iracebeth’s eyes widened as she pieced the truth together: she hadn’t eaten any tarts in there, but Mirana had been on her side of the room.…Her chest aching at the betrayal, she pointed at her sister. “She put them there!”
Elsmere turned to face Mirana. “Did you, Mirana?”
Mirana’s face was pale and she shrank back from them.
“You did! Tell her,” Iracebeth insisted. Mirana had stolen the tarts, so Mirana should be the one in trouble.
“Tell the truth, Mirana,” Elsmere said. “Did you eat the tarts and put the crusts there?”
Mirana’s lips trembled. She couldn’t bear it when her mother was mad at her. “No,” she said. Her voice was small and wavered slightly, but then she looked up at the queen, her face sweet and innocent.
Iracebeth’s jaw dropped. “But you did! You’re lying,” she cried. How could her sister do this to her?
Elsmere had heard enough. “The tarts are under your bed,” she said to Iracebeth. “Don’t blame your sister. She’s innocent.”
“No! It’s not fair!” Iracebeth stamped her foot.
Elsmere reached for her daughter’s arm, but Iracebeth dodged away and fled down the hall, sobbing.
Gong! In the town square, Alice stopped at the sound. Snowflakes landed on her eyelashes as she stared up at the clock tower.
“The stroke of six!” Alice exclaimed. She looked around frantically, hoping to spot Iracebeth, but there were no little princesses in sight.
The only creatures in the square were a fish gentleman in a top hat, who was holding an umbrella to ward off the snow, and two frog men in delivery uniforms, carrying a grandfather clock.
Gong!
There! A young girl of maybe six or seven years old hurtled down the street, tears streaming from her eyes. Her head was unremarkable, perfectly normal in size, but Alice recognized Iracebeth’s heart-shaped face and pouty lips. She had been normal once upon a time.
Gong!
“The clock! She’ll bump her head,” Alice cried. She had to stop it!
Diving forward, Alice knocked a frog deliveryman to the ground. One end of the clock thunked down on the street.
“Oi, what—” the frog man yelled.
Gong!
Alice sat up triumphantly, oblivious to the frog’s complaints. But Iracebeth was still running blindly into the square. The young princess now avoided the frog men, but the gentleman fish was directly in her path.
“Careful, miss!” the fish spluttered.
Gong!
Swerving too sharply, Iracebeth slipped on the snowy cobblestones and flew toward her father’s statue at the center of the square.
“No, no, no!” Alice cried.
Gong! Iracebeth slammed into the base of the statue. Several white rosebushes around the statue, which were already bent under the snow, rained petals on the princess.
With a pitiful whimper, Iracebeth sat up slowly, her hands alternately cradling her head and swatting away roses.
“My head!” she wailed. “Oh, my head, my head! Stupid roses!”
The frog men and gentleman fish rushed over.
“Is your head all right, miss?” a frog man asked.
“Careful, it’s swelling up!” The fish gasped.
Alice stepped back under an awning. There was nothing she could do. She’d failed…again. Iracebeth’s skull puffed out and tears poured down her face. King Oleron and Queen Elsmere ran into the square and immediately knelt at their daughter’s side. Princess Mirana followed them, her eyes wide.
A tear rolled down Alice’s cheek as she watched King Oleron lift little Iracebeth into his arms. Walking beside them back to the castle, Queen Elsmere held Iracebeth’s hand and murmured reassurances. Mirana trailed after them, guilt written across her face.
“You cannot change the past,” Alice whispered sadly. As she turned away, she noticed the window of Hightopp’s hat shop glowing.
Inside, she could see Zanik bending down. He stood back up, a crumpled blue paper hat in his hands. Smoothing the paper out, he ran his fingers along the feather, a smile on his face. Then he tucked the hat into his breast pocket, right above his heart.
Alice froz
e, remembering the rest of Time’s reprimand: Although, I daresay, you might learn something from it.…
“He kept it,” Alice gasped.
Memories whirled through her head.
Time’s room of Underlandians Deceased—Higgens, Highbottom, Highview…There were no Hightopps on file!
A furious Iracebeth threatening vengeance on Zanik at her failed coronation.
A hopeful young Hatter holding up a paper hat to his father.
Zanik’s secret stash of green-and-white candy—the very same candy Hatter would get from his favorite tree.
And finally, the blue paper hat hidden inside the trunk of the same tree, the ground outside charred but the paper hat untouched.
“They’re alive. They’re alive!” Alice cried happily. Zanik must have hidden the paper hat he’d kept for all those years in the tree to give his son a sign that they were alive! Hatter was right! She twirled with joy.
“Oof!” Alice smacked into Time. He was dusted in snow, and his eyebrows were drawn so close together that they looked like one long white caterpillar.
Latching on to her with a clawlike grip, he hauled her into the nearest shop, which happened to be a clockmaker’s.
The place was dark and abandoned but for the hundreds of chiming clocks hanging on the walls and resting on shelves. They came in all shapes and sizes, some hammered from metal, others carved out of wood. In the light streaming in through the window, Alice could see deep crags in Time’s face. He looked like he’d aged twenty years since she’d last seen him.
“You have no idea how reckless you have been! The dangers you have courted!” Time shook her arm as he spoke. “If I hadn’t caught you—”
His eyes bulged slightly and he paused to gasp for breath. Letting go of her, he clutched at his chest.
The clocks in the shop all stopped mid-tick and Alice was caught in a bubble—frozen. Only this wasn’t Time’s doing. The clock shop’s walls pushed outward, then contracted with a snap and continued to press inward. As Time swung his head to look around, his body moved at a fraction of the speed it usually did. A bolt of panic ran through him. The clocks in the shop all began to chime and whirl—some moving forward, others backward.
Alice in Wonderland- Through the Looking Glass Page 8
