Hatter

by Daniel Coleman

  “I’m sorry, Hatta,” said Chism. “This is how it has to end. He dies, I die, and everyone can forget the schism happened.”

  The center of the meadow was deafening with caustic color but empty of sound. To Hatta’s relief, Palida still used her mirrors to observe the scene. He admired her consistent quirkiness. Frequent nervous looks passed between the rival queens.

  From where she sat, Cuora watched the scene with one hand on the red armor of her guard to still him. As if pleading him to stay out of it, she shook her head at Hatta. But there was no other way, no one else to intervene.

  Looking back to Chism, Hatta said nothing. He could only shake his head.

  “You were right, brother,” Chism insisted. “We are here for a reason. This is the only way.”

  Hatta knew his brother was wrong. He would not be party to violence of any kind. “No,” he said, still shaking his head and walking toward Chism.

  In a low voice, he heard Ollie say, “I’ve got him, Jay.” Hatta couldn’t believe how calm Ollie was, staring down an arrow at a man he intended to kill.

  “Wait,” Elora told him, clinging to her husband. “Let Hatta try.”

  Torn between blocking Ollie and going to his brother, Hatta chose Chism. He could only do what he could do.

  With every step, Hatta expected Ollie to release the arrow. There was no way he could stay wound that tight for long.

  “Don’t try to stop me, Hatta. If I don’t do this now there will be war. Do you want war?” Chism stressed the vile word, knowing how Hatta despised it.

  “No,” said Hatta. He repeated himself in hushed tones. “No, no, no, no, no.” In a matter of moments he would be close enough to touch Chism. The sword was unmoving, but Chism’s feet shifted and he was breathing rapidly through clenched teeth.

  His brother had always been the confident, steady one. Maybe I’m getting through to him!

  Without thinking, Hatta reached out and slowly wrapped his hand around Thirsty’s tip. The sword seemed to pulsate with filth. Knowledge of the blood shed by the blade almost made Hatta release it, but that would mean death to the duke, death to Chism, and most likely a bitter war.

  Eyes locked with his brother’s, Hatta pulled with slight resistance. The sword was sharp and it dug into his hand, but Chism held firm. Tensing against the pain, Hatta pulled harder, wondering how much force it would take to cut his hand in half.

  “No,” begged Chism, intensity gleaming in his black eyes.

  Hatta just returned the word. “No.”

  Even though he was much smaller, Chism’s grip and arm strength were considerable. Hatta increased the force of the pull and felt the blade cut his palm, sensing his face twitch in response to the pain. In the corner of his vision, bright blood oozed between his fingers and around the blade. It was the color of life, the color of his heart. But he kept his eyes fixed on the black recesses of Chism’s.

  “You’ve shed my blood, brother.” Tears ran down his face and showed in Chism’s as well. “Mad or not, I still love you enough to stay right here.”

  Chism finally broke the gaze and gasped when he saw what he had done with Thirsty.

  Hatta knew he had won.

  ***

  The blade did not come away instantly, but almost imperceptibly the duke’s blanched jowls fell into their natural droopy position. Then a hair’s breadth of space appeared. Then a finger’s width, and a hand. Hatta gradually relaxed the tension on the blade, but Chism felt no desire to put it back to Jaryn’s throat or through his heart.

  With a loud sigh, Chism let Thirsty fall to his side. The duke checked his throat for blood and looked around, ready to run.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, brother,” said Chism. But I’m afraid you’ve just killed me. A fine reward for loyalty and trust in his brother. Hatta took a step to the side and pulled his hat down so the brim was even with his eyebrows.

  Ollie still had an arrow ready to fly and some of the Elites drew closer. Without a hostage Chism would surely be overpowered and killed. But the pain of drawing Hatta’s blood hurt worse than the knowledge of his own death. He tossed Thirsty to the ground, where it landed on the carpet with a dull thud, and for once it didn’t beg to be hefted.

  Jaryn scrambled from his chair, shrieking, “Elites! Seize him! Kill him! What are you waiting for?” He hid behind Queen Palida’s large mirror, peeking around like a corpulent baby terrified of a monster.

  Tjaden and Ollie looked at each other uncertainly, but the point of the arrow continued to stare at Chism. From behind them, Elora placed a hand on each of their shoulders and shook her head when they turned. They both wordlessly let their weapons fall to their sides.

  Hile, the Elite from Quicksilver Squadron was next to speak. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “This is what started the division in the kingdom. I was there. I saw it.” He kept his sword, but lowered it.

  The other Elites followed his example.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Queen Cuora. Addressing Chism, she proclaimed, “Knight, I revoke your pardon. Now someone off with him so we can get back to what we came for. Knave, deal with him.” She motioned expectantly and Brune slinked forward like a hungry dog.

  Chism considered diving forward to retrieve Thirsty; Brune was no match for his skills with a sword. But he quickly dismissed the idea. He had drawn Hatta’s blood today, and would not add another drop. Brune would finally have the payback he longed for.

  The brute was only a few paces away, moving toward Chism with a sadistic look. He raised his sword. “I told you I would get even.”

  “Yes!” said Hatta, moving to stand between them. “Get even. Yes.”

  Why now? thought Chism. Of all times to completely lose touch with reality, Hatta, why now?

  Brune halted, looking confused and eager. Apparently he also wondered if Hatta was insane. He looked the part, standing unarmed with his hat too low in front of the fully armored Knave.

  “I intend to,” said Brune. “Out of my way, tweedle.”

  “Get even right now,” continued Hatta, squirming like a worm on a hook. “Get even with me, for leaving boots in the road, and coins, when you left Shey’s Orchard. I know you appreciated them. I know because you said ‘thank you’. I heard when you said it and now, and now you owe me. So kindly repay me by not killing my brother. It would be the decent thing to do.” He looked as confident as a hen demanding a favor from a fox.

  At first Brune smirked and Chism was sure the knave would run Hatta through for merely suggesting mercy. Or at least thump him with the hilt. Part of him hoped Brune would attack Hatta without killing him, giving Chism a reason to renege on his personal ceasefire.

  “You owe me,” he repeated without looking up.

  Brune’s expression grew thoughtful. Then cheerless. “AAAGH!” he shouted and threw his sword onto the carpet to join Thirsty. “I didn’t ask for your favor!” Grabbing some coppers from a pocket, he hurled them toward Hatta, missing for the most part. “And I didn’t ask for your coins!” He stormed away from the pavilion.

  “Will wonders never cease?” The Queen of Hearts chuckled audibly. “Who would’ve thought the Knave of Hearts actually had a heart?” Growing more somber she said, “Somebody follow orders and finish this. Or I won’t have time for croquet before dark.”

  From Chism’s left, a noble’s dueling sword flew forward and landed on the growing stack. For the first time, Chism noticed that Duke Enniel was present, and had added his epee to the peace pile. Chism hadn’t seen the duke since rescuing him and his family from bandits nine months previously.

  “I’ll spill no blood today,” said Duke Enniel. “My family lives because of that young man.”

  Another of Queen Palida’s nobles, a tall man with flowing golden hair, stepped forward and removed a small knife from his belt; he wore no sword. Before the man could speak, Hatta looked at him and said, “I already know you. You’re a traveler not a noble. You were dirty, starving, worried that your woman might die.�
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  The man blushed, and a few nobles snickered. “My name is Duke Raouf,” said the man. “Certain individuals objected to my choice of a wife and we were forced to elope.” A few of the other nobles tittered behind raised hands. “Regardless, the rations you proffered surely kept us from begging and possibly from starving. I pledged that if ever I was in a position to aid you, I would return the favor.” He added his small blade to the heap of metal.

  Lopin came forward and wordlessly pitched his sword in, as did a few other nobles that Chism didn’t recognize. The Elites and Fellows retained their weapons, but kept them sheathed, or in Ollie’s case, shouldered.

  With a sneer, Cuora looked at Markin. “Wonder of wonders, soldiers with soft sides. What are you waiting for, Marky? Aren’t you going to join the peace party?”

  When he stood she exhaled and rolled her eyes. Chism expected Captain Markin, no, King Markin, to vacillate, but with a defiant glare for his queen, he placed his sword at the top of the mound.

  With the entire assembly unarmed, King Antion rose and walked to the center of the tent, showing more poise than a ten-year-old should possess. “This truly is a day of wonders, Cuora. And now that the swords are out of the way, I have a proposal.”

  As King Antion laid out his plan, Chism whispered to his brother, “You’ve done it. You’ve saved the kingdoms.”

  Hatta turned to face him, wearing a concerned look. “What? I…” He looked around and saw the pile of blades on the carpet. Recoiling, he asked, “I’ve done what?”

  “You’ve ended the war. For now at least.”

  From what Chism could see, under his hat Hatta looked perplexed. “How could I? I’m just a hatter.”

  “You did what you do and somehow, you’ve done it. And saved my life as well.”

  Chism watched as Hatta’s eyebrows unfurrowed and the rest of his face relaxed.

  “I did it,” he repeated. “It’s impossible, and I did it.” The delight finally reached his face and the corner of one side of his mouth rose in his typical smile. “Impractical. Unbelievable. Not possible. But I...did it.”

  Then something happened that Chism had never seen. A tug started high in Hatta’s cheek and slowly the other corner of his mouth turned up, producing a full smile on his brother’s face. His eyes had always held a hint of instability, but now there was no mistaking the full blown madness.

  Chism knew his brother was completely mad because for the first time in his life, Hatta’s smile wasn’t hiding anything or forcing emotions he didn’t feel. His brother looked truly happy.

  ***

  Somehow he had done it. It was impossible. Of course, he hadn’t really done it; only a madman would believe that. But he didn’t care. For the first time in his life he didn’t even attempt to discern truth from madness, because he was happy. Not a happiness that he had to coerce onto his face, but joy that came from within. Unforced and undoubtable.

  And it felt wonderful.

  How had he ever believed it was better to be a sane nobody who was prone to uncomfortable situations than a madman who honestly believed he had saved two kingdoms and thousands of lives?

  Why did I wait so long? he wondered and chortled to himself.

  “Don’t worry, brother. I’ve done it. I’ve saved the kingdoms like the Cheshire Cat and the hare said I would.” So Chism wouldn’t have to mention it, he added, “And, yes, I realize I’m completely mad!” This time he guffawed.

  It was so easy not having to feign sanity. No more would two sides of himself battle for dominance. No more putting on a false front like the haze in his mirrors. Hatta was complete. It took going mad to save the kingdoms—I truly have done it, he assured himself—and he counted it a bargain. Or was it saving the kingdoms to go mad? Either way, as far as he was concerned, his work was done.

  As he turned and entered the sea of grass, he chanted merrily.

  Tripita tripe, does Chism like

  to scurry and swish and dash.

  Perfida pratt, the shoehouse rat

  nibbles on Ander’s moustache.

  He hooted at his cleverness. Ander didn’t even wear a moustache!

  Cheshire sidled up to him, as did the color-changing rabbit, only appearing at the peak of each hop then sinking into the shin-high grass. Hop. Bronze. Hop. Emerald. Hop. Ash. The colors were truly impressive, but the whole affair seemed just a touch too ideal. Even in a perfect world there was such thing as too much perfection.

  “Pardon, Mr. Rabbit. Or Ms. Rabbit if it so fits.”

  On its next leap the hare shouted, “Haigha!” It was tangerine-colored.

  “Excuse me?” said Hatta.

  “Haigha.” Hatta waited until the hare surfaced again, this time azure. “It’s my name.”

  “Ah, I see. Well would you mind toning it down?”

  “You mean the hopping?” asked the pearly hare.

  “Of course not the hopping. You’re a rabbit after all.”

  “Fish swim…” Auburn.

  “…birds fly…” Navy.

  “…and hares hop.” Cardinal.

  “I never imagined myself asking this,” said Hatta, “but it would be the colors I’d like you to moderate.”

  “The colors?” The crimson almost made Hatta rethink his request. It was the exact shade of Chism’s persona. But if he could find the strength to leave his true love, he could go through with his request.

  “Yes, the colors. I’d prefer if you didn’t display them so.”

  After the next hop, the indigo rabbit didn’t resurface. “What color would you prefer?” it asked from below grass level.

  “Prefer?” said Hatta. “Oh my, how kind of you to ask. I’m tempted to say white, but I think that would be taking it too far. Perhaps a grainy brown? Like the color of a rabbit?”

  A moment later, it appeared, looking every bit like a brown hare.

  “Thank you, Haigha. I do hope it wasn’t much of a bother.”

  “None at all, my friend. But I am perplexed by the request.”

  Resuming the trek, with Cheshire loping at one side and Haigha hopping on the other, Hatta explained. “I do realize I’m mad as a hatter, but a world that is too perfect is a façade that’s difficult to believe. Any world I imagined would never have a plain brown hare. It would more likely contain a multi-hued or color-changing hare. And I intend to continue to be the man who saved the kingdom. It just feels so safe.”

  “If there’s a more sound argument…”

  “…I’ve never heard it,” replied the hare between hops.

  “I thank you.” Turning his attention to the left he said, “And I thank you, Cheshire.”

  “For nothing, Hatta. I merely told you it would happen. You were the one with the courage and skills to accomplish it. ”

  “Yes, I do have a fair number of skills, don’t I? Naming colors, hatting, talking to animals, saving the kingdoms, friending…”

  With a smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat’s, Hatta continued to enumerate his vast array of talents as he left rulers and soldiers, kingdoms and Provinces behind.

  Epilogue

  Chism whittled as he rode under a canopy of half-naked trees, the leaves crunching beneath hooves providing percussion for Ander’s upbeat whistling. Other people talked about the beauty of fall colors. For Chism the sounds and textures were crisp and exceptional.

  Both men were clad in blue. The color meant nothing to Chism, but the Sword and Circle embroidered on his chest, however, meant everything.

  Squirrels, deer, foxes, toves, and hares scampered away as the pair wound through the forest. This part of Maravilla contained more animals than any other Chism had seen. The Queen of Hearts—Chism refused to think of her as the Red Queen—had selected the land for that very reason. She knew the animals pleased Hatta, and that he had a way with them. Located only twenty miles from Palassiren, she set the land aside as a safe haven where Hatta could live undisturbed.

  The two kingdoms were still independent, the Provinces ruled
by the White Queen Palida and Maravilla ruled by the Queen and King of Hearts, the Reds. In the Kirohz Valley, the factions had created a league of kingdoms. In mockery of the wondrous display of peace at the parlay, the Red Queen suggested the name Wonderland, and the other nobles agreed. Trade and goodwill would pass between the borders as it always had, but each had its own rulers.

  The clearing with Hatta’s home finally came into view. Asymmetry usually annoyed Chism, but the house Hatta built was so wonky it couldn’t even be described as uneven. Using the money remaining from his mirrors, Hatta hired carpenters from Palassiren to build it, under his close supervision. The result was a multi-storied home with angles, curves, and balconies and a decidedly impractical look. Hatta was thrilled with it.

  As with previous visits, Chism found Hatta at tea at the long table in front of his house. He appeared to be alone. While he was within view, but out of earshot, Ander said under his breath, “I didn’t think it was possible, but his colors are even more outrageous than before.” Hatta had always arrayed himself in a variety of shades which Chism couldn’t distinguish, but Ander’s words were confirmed in fewer solid colors and more checkers, stripes and patterns.

  His new hat was checkered, like his old town hat, but there were intricate underlying patterns as well. A small card with the price of the hat was tucked inside a band just above the brim. Ten silvers, six coppers. A ridiculously high price for a hat, yet they sold faster than Hatta could make them.

  After Chism and Ander dismounted, Hatta came to stand very close and said, “Greetings, brother.”

  Hatta struck hands with Ander who said, “You’re more colorful than ever, Hatta. I swear if a rainbow could mate with a mountainfull of wildflowers, the offspring could pass for your twin.”

  “I thank you, Ander,” said Hatta still wearing his full smile. “I call this new hat color farcical. Introductions, then.” Signaling a particular chair pulled back from the table he said, “Ander, this is Cheshire. Cheshire this would be Ander.”