Hatter

by Daniel Coleman

  A group of a half dozen soldiers waited for breakfast in the day room. They all wore dark blue, and half of their uniforms bore the Circle and Sword emblem. Elites and Fellows. Though he never had trouble with soldiers, they brought painful thoughts to mind, especially those wearing the Circle and the Sword. Hatta ducked into the kitchen and found Tellef scrambling to assist a cook who was preparing porridge and bacon.

  Without taking his attention from his duties, Tellef greeted him. “How did you sleep, Hatta?”

  “Like a bear in winter, thank you. Where might a cobbler be found?” He smiled uneasily. Tellef and Brune were not friends and Hatta didn’t want to explain his shoelessness to Tellef.

  “He’s not the best in the kingdom, but Whit should be able to mend any problems you’ve got. You’ll find him right up this street, a hundred paces toward the wabe.” He didn’t notice Hatta’s socks.

  “I thank you, and wish you a pleasant morning.”

  Hatta started to hurry out, but heard, “Oh Hatta…”

  He poked his head back into the kitchen but kept his feet carefully concealed and showed Tellef a crooked smile.

  “Have a seat out there. Breakfast will be ready in no time.”

  “The offer is kind, but I’ve matters to attend to that don’t want to wait.”

  “Suit yourself.” Tellef looked up for the first time. “I really am sorry about last night. I hope you don’t hold a grudge.”

  “No, grudges don’t agree with me. What’s past is forgotten and forgone.” He smiled again and let the door swing close. Pulling his hat as low as it would sit, he made his way past the soldiers and into the street.

  Whit’s selection of boots was disappointing. Only two pairs of boots fit, and both were an unremarkable tan. They’d do in the short term, but Hatta would have to fix that. He thanked the cobbler, paid him six coppers and went in search of Tjaden.

  He was directed to a home on the outskirts of town, surrounded by orange and lemon trees. Some rows of trees were bare, but ripe fruit hung on others. When he called at the door the man he assumed was Tjaden’s father emerged and looked at him curiously. The gaze made Hatta forget why he’d come. The only thing he could think about was how embarrassed he felt about giving away his pants.

  “Did you get your pants back?” The man was stoic.

  Hatta didn’t know how to take him so he forced a smile. “Yes, thanks. My name’s Hatta.”

  “Mikel. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Sir. Would these be your trees? The colors are splendid. I especially care for the deep greens and orange.”

  “Thank you, Hatta. With the wedding today I need to—“

  “A wedding! Yes, of course. You wouldn’t be Tjaden’s father?”

  “I would. I mean, I am.”

  “Ah, yes. Where might he be found?”

  Mikel chuckled. “Tjaden’s the only one not helping with preparations. He went with Ollie to their little archery range, just on the other side of those lemons.”

  “I thank you.” After a quick smile Hatta turned toward the lemon trees.

  “Hatta.”

  The sick feeling in his stomach returned. Before he had a chance to apologize for the previous night, Mikel said, “You’ll be at the wedding won’t you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Hatta blurted, not registering what Mikel had said.

  “I said we’d be glad to have you at the wedding. It’s in the wabe at brillig time.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. What if I did something inappropriate? Or forgot to do something appropriate? Or did something appropriate at an inappropriate time?” Considering the possibilities, it was a miracle anything ever turned out right.

  “Don’t worry about last night. I heard Brune left town, and as far as I’m concerned we’re better off. The town owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  Hatta didn’t see it that way, and his guilt clashed with the relief that Mikel held no hard feelings. He didn’t know how to express it so he grinned and turned back toward the grove. The man meant him well so he tried to sow Mikel’s name in his mind as he passed between lemon trees. Mikel. My-cull. Cull oranges. My-cull. It might work.

  Before he was out of the grove he was startled by the swang of a bow and thunk of an arrow. He followed the sound and came upon the short friend of Tjaden, who appeared Tjadenless at the moment.

  Swang! Thunk. The weapon seemed to shout profanities at Hatta. One arrow was lodged in a bullseye forty paces away with two just outside of it.

  “You’re almost an excellent bowman,” he said, startling the shooter, who was a few years younger than Hatta.

  “What do you mean ‘almost’? You won’t find a better archer in fifty miles. Maybe a hundred.”

  “Why don’t you get them all in the bullseye?”

  “Every weapon has limitations. The wind can shift. Not all arrows are perfectly fletched and balanced.”

  “I know a fletcher who makes perfect arrows. He’s the best there is. The king’s advisor requested arrows for the soldiers but the fletcher was disinclined. He refused Captain Mark—, Mark—,” Markum? Markellin?

  “Markin,” said the archer.

  “Yes, Markin. The fletcher only makes arrows for sharpshooters. He might make them for you; he’s the best there is.”

  “Yeah, you said that. Who is he?”

  Hatta thought for a moment. “Either I can’t recall his name or he never told me. Perhaps it’s Fletcher.”

  “You mean he is a fletcher? He makes arrows?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “In Frenala, it’s north of here. Were you in the company of Tjaden when he fought the Jabberwocky?”

  “What? No, I wasn’t. You’re a bit odd, what’s your name?”

  Hatta’s heart sank. His efforts to put on a normal front weren’t working. “Hatta.”

  “I’m Ollie”

  “Ollie. Ollie. Hmm, that might be tricky. Would you know why he killed the Jabberwocky?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? It was a monster that terrorized the kingdom. Would you rather have it still killing humans?”

  “No, I didn’t mean he shouldn’t have killed it. But it seems the kind of thing one would have a reason for. What’s that medal for?” He pointed at a metal rectangle on Ollie’s chest. It was white and gold and featured a wicked claw.

  “I helped Tjaden kill the Jabberwocky.”

  “I was told you weren’t there when he slew it.”

  “Yeah, I was the one who told you that. I punctured its wing with an arrow a week before Tjaden found it. The injury helped him kill it.”

  “I’m saddened I never got to meet it. What would a creature like that tell you?”

  Hatta didn’t expect an answer, but Ollie said, “I’ve never heard anyone wonder about that. It actually told Tjaden and Elora a lot.”

  Ollie nocked another arrow and continued before Hatta could inquire. “You’ll have to ask them about it, though.”

  Swang! The jarring bowstring made Hatta flinch like a bird. Thunk. Another near bullseye.

  “If you had better arrows you might hit the bullseye every time. Do you always wear your uniform?”

  “No. Tjaden’s getting married today and I’m his witness.”

  Swang! Flinch. Thunk.

  Hatta took a small step back and asked, “Weren’t you telling me about the Jabberwocky?”

  “I only got close enough to shoot some arrows at it, the day King Barash was killed.”

  “Why did it kill the king?”

  “Why would a watermelon wear waders?”

  “Ooh, a riddle? I don’t know, why would a watermelon wear waders?”

  “No, I was just saying I had no idea.”

  “I heard the new king is very young.”

  “I’ve met him,” Ollie said.

  “Would he be smaller in stature than you?”

  “Of course. He’s only nine years old.” Ollie
looked offended.

  “You’re short but you’re not a small person. I can tell these things sometimes.”

  Ollie’s expression changed from insulted to intrigued. Hatta smiled and felt the familiar calm come over him, and hoped it affected Ollie the same way. If nothing else, it hid the cloud inside his head from outsiders. Better they think he’s happy rather than mad. More and more Hatta wondered if the reverse was true.

  The silence discomfited him. “Have you shot many people?”

  Ollie shook his head. “Never. But some day I’ll have to and I’ll be ready. Tjaden’s an Elite and I’m his Fellow. Do you know about the Elites?”

  Hatta knew more than he wanted to. Forcing down painful memories, he looked at the plain brown boots to hide his pained expression, and Ollie mistook it for ignorance.

  Ollie explained, “Elites are the best of the best. There are no better soldiers in the world. Each Elite has a Fellow, kind of like a partner, but more in the background. Tjaden and I just graduated the Academy less than a month ago. Soon we’ll start going on missions.”

  Hatta blinked and gulped to clear the traces of tears. “Where?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a lot of conflict on the border with the Western Domain.”

  “Will you have to…kill people?” Hatta hoped no one he loved was ever Ollie’s target.

  “That’s what we do when it’s necessary. We’re soldiers.”

  “Is there any other way? To build peace?”

  “It’s much more complicated than that. It would take days to explain…”

  Swang! Flinch. Thunk.

  “…but right now I need to find Tjaden. The wedding starts in a couple hours.”

  “Yes, that’s it! Tjaden’s why I came. Where is he?”

  “He went to his brother’s house to dress.”

  He smiled at Ollie. “Well, might we descry him?”

  “Tjaden might be a bit distracted today. He’s full of nerves and needles.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Hatta. “Perchance a discussion will help ease his nerves.”

  “Suit yourself,” Ollie said as he headed to retrieve his arrows. He returned with a full quiver. Walking toward the town he said, “It looks like you’re already dressed for the wedding. You’ll be there, right?”

  Hatta had no excuses. Though he was sure he’d do something to ruin another occasion, he agreed to go.

  “Why did you leave Frenala?” asked Ollie, slowing to allow Hatta to meet his stride.

  “I…had to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I had to.”

  “That’s not a reason,” said Ollie.

  People usually didn’t ask so many questions. But Hatta’s mind was unfogged. Some days his fate seemed cloudy, but today his destiny shone as clear as a twinkling star.

  “I’m actually a very important individual,” he admitted humbly. It wasn’t something he bragged about, but he had accepted his fate. “It wasn’t safe for the kingdom if I stayed there any longer.”

  “Are you a noble or something?”

  Hatta shook his head. After looking over his shoulders he whispered, “Someday I’ll save the entire kingdom.”

  Ollie looked dubious. That wasn’t uncommon on the few occasions he had revealed the truth about his destiny.

  “If memory serves, your Tjaden did the same, Ollie. Why not me too?” Stated that way it did seem a little mad, but that didn’t change the truth of it one iota.

  “I can’t argue with that,” admitted Ollie. “But Maravilla doesn’t exactly need saving right now.”

  Hatta wasn’t sure how to respond, but he noticed the leaves change from a deep green to the paler yellow-green of lemon trees. They’d passed the last row of oranges. Hatta stopped to examine the trunks, curious if the lemon trunks were yellower like the leaves.

  Ollie distracted him, “What about your family? Do they still live in Frenala?”

  “Frenala? They were never in Frenala.” What a strange question, thought Hatta.

  Ollie’s eyebrows rose. “Are you an orphan?”

  “Orphan. That depends on how you mean.”

  “How I mean is someone whose parents are dead.”

  “Yes, well in that case you mean me.”

  “Me too,” said Ollie without joy. “Since I was four.” He waited, but Hatta had said enough.

  Ollie continued. “My parents died of an ague, along with half a dozen other townspeople that winter. What about yours?”

  The tread of their footfalls on the gravel was the only sound. He didn’t want to talk about his family any longer.

  “Shall I tell you what I can’t make sense of?” asked Hatta. “Insanity. A curious word indeed. After all it means the opposite of in sanity. Perhaps outsanity would be more accurate. Do you think it might catch on?”

  Ollie stopped and waited for Hatta to turn and face him. “Hatta, what happened to your mother and father? What did they die of?”

  “If you put it that way, Mother died of Father and Father died of Brother.” He stared at the peppery brown gravel, feeling alone. “Hatta, he just ran. He loved his brother too much to stay.”

  Chapter 4

  Shoeless

  Smoke from the fire drifted by Chism, who sat on the ground in front of his tent. He felt an urge to inspect his horse again to make sure the hobbles were applied correctly and the tether was tight, but he’d already checked it twice. His throwing knives had been inspected and wiped down and now lay just inside his tent. Thirsty, his sword, was at his hip.

  Still he couldn’t relax. He removed a palm-sized piece of leather from the pouch at his waist and began stroking it with his right thumb. After one hundred rubs he passed it to his left hand. One hundred strokes with the left then back to the right and his anxiety receded.

  Other than Ander, who spent his free time tinkering, the other men in his squadron passed their evenings in idle conversation around the campfire. But Chism had no use for ingratiating them or becoming friends. It was enough to know that each man would risk his life for any other of the squadron.

  What’s friendship compared to brotherhood?

  The previous three days of travel had kept Chism busy and he hadn’t needed to use the leather since the night before the rescue of Duke Enniel. His calloused thumbs barely felt the smooth leather, but the repetitive motion soothed him. The squadron had camped early today near a stream, giving Chism more time than he wanted.

  Voices from the nearby fire rose in pitch. Chism was on his feet and moving toward the flickering light before he realized it.

  “If Lady Cuora had her way the entire army of Maravilla would cross the border and kill every man in the Western Domain, even though only one in a hundred is a raider.” Chism recognized Dugar’s voice as he entered the clearing.

  Caroon, Dugar’s Fellow, said, “Why would she do that? She doesn’t care about what happens in the Provinces? She’s safe in the center of the kingdom.”

  Dugar responded, “Lady Cuora cares because anyone who defies Maravilla deserves to die. There’s no middle ground with her. A guilty sentence almost always means death.”

  Chism moved into the circle of the conversation but didn’t speak. Four soldiers sat in the fire’s glow. Two of them were seated side by side on a log and the other two stood upwind of the smoke, making it impossible for Chism to fit into a symmetrical pattern. Five wasn’t a good number anyway, and he shifted uncomfortably as the discussion continued.

  Poking at the fire with a stick, Banivar sighed and said, “Do you Provincials ever talk about anything besides how much you hate Lady Cuora? She’s strong and just. I don’t know why that bothers you so much.”

  “She’s one member of the Council but she acts like she’s queen,” said Caroon. “If Lady Palida wasn’t there to temper her rulings, half of the population of Palassiren would have a death sentence. We’ll be better off when King Antion is old enough to hold court.”

  Ulrik, a seasoned Elite from one of the Easter
n Provinces spoke up. “We’d be better off with Lady Palida as queen. This nonsense of a nine-year-old king with so many advisors is absurd. It’s no wonder nothing is being done about the raids and incursions from the Western Domain.”

  Chism took a small step toward the older soldier. His voice was subdued, but anger began to roil inside him. “Watch your tongue, Ulrik. You’ve sworn fealty to King Antion and the Council. Your blather borders on treason.”

  “I’m loyal as a pup, and you’re as young as one,” said Ulrik. “Stay out of discussions that don’t concern you.”

  Chism didn’t speak, just drew a knife and threw it into the ground two feet in front of the older soldier. Ulrik couldn’t ignore the challenge.

  He sprang to his feet, but didn’t move any closer to Chism. “Just like an untrained pup, always looking for a fight. I yield,” he spat as he turned away from the fire. As he walked away he muttered, “There’s no talking to you.”

  The fire popped and crackled in the silence. Nobody spoke and one by one the other soldiers wandered to their tents. The ends of a few small logs protruded from the fire ring unburnt. Chism arranged the nubs in the center of the fire and stayed until the flames died.

  He was awake before sunrise, meticulously passing through the forms with Thirsty. His brother of all people had named the sword saying that once it tasted blood it would be ever thirsty.

  The thought of his brother forced him to stumble during a thrust, so Chism started again from the beginning until only his body and Thirsty existed. The rest of the soldiers in the squadron knew better than to approach him when he was going through his morning routine. One or two close calls had been enough to teach them.

  On Tuesday it was his custom to also practice the bow. Typically a Fellow’s weapon, most Elite’s didn’t bother to learn it. But in some situations a bow was superior to any other weapon, and Chism didn’t want to be found unprepared. He was finished before the chow bell rang. After breakfast the soldiers broke camp and continued on the road.