Chapter 6

It had been raining that night, Hatter remembered. A positive downpour; the worst they'd had in a while. It didn't rain often in Wonderland, but when it did, it was a serious situation for those who lived in the city. Even light showers could be dangerous. You had to watch out for debris falling with the runoff from the higher levels—Hatter himself had been concussed by a mailbox one time—and when it stormed, things became downright deadly. The streets would flood, taking on currents that could easily sweep a person off their feet and over the edge of the walkways, which by the end of the first hour turned into lethal, multi-story waterfalls. No one, no matter how far down in the city you were, ever survived that trip. If the fall didn't kill you, the crush of the water would. Hatter's teashop was even more dangerous to visit than the usual places, because you had to cross a bridge in order to get there—a bridge that had no rails to keep you from being spewed over the sides should you lose your footing on the way across.

Only the most desperate for Tea ever came on those days. They'd stumble in, twitchy and soaked to the bone, begging for whatever emotion it was they were out of. As much as Hatter disliked dealing with such customers, there was no denying the benefits of having them. The more desperate they were, the more he could get away with charging them, which meant more food and supplies for the Resistance. And at the same time, it increased his standing with those at the Casino, since they saw his bad weather business dealings as proof of his dedication and loyalty to the crown (no matter that it was at no real risk to him, the stupid buggers).

So that was why, when Dormie came shuffling into his office that night, agitated and rambling about a customer, Hatter had agreed to see them. By then, it had been raining for well over three hours. Whatever this customer wanted, they had to want badly. And that meant that even if no one else visited, he still had a chance to end the day having made a substantial profit. Dodo would be happy and so would the Red Queen. A win-win. Not the ideal outcome, of course, but for a Hatter who wanted to help the Resistance and keep his head, it was the best he could do.

"By all means, show them in," he said to Dormie, jumping up from his chair and circling around the front of his desk, snatching his hat from off the rack as he passed by and popping it on, setting it at a jaunty angle over his messy hair. His assistant nodded and scurried away.

Hatter shook out his sleeves, straightened a ring that had slipped sideways on his finger, and struck a pose he'd slowly been perfecting over the past five years of doing this job. Hip against the desk with his hands loosely gripping the edges, shoulders slightly slouched, legs extended, ankles crossed. Casual yet collected; the perfect balance. You didn't want to come across so intimidating that people were too scared to do business with you, but at the same time you needed to make sure they remembered who was the one in control, lest they forget who needed who. It was a pose that had never failed him before and it wouldn't have failed him then—if the person who had stepped into his office been anyone besides the White Queen.

He recognized her right away, though until that moment he had never before seen her in person. Over the centuries, she had been depicted in a countless number of works, from children's picture books to historical texts. In fact, Hatter had caught Dodo reading about her from both sources on more than one occasion when he'd come to drop off provisions, and he was never able to resist ribbing the older man for his hopeless crush, even if it did always lead to a pistol in his face and a swift boot from the Great Library.

Hatter had to say, neither the pictures nor the many flowery descriptions had done the woman justice. It was as if the pictures had all been painted in washed out pastels when she was clearly made up of bold colors. And the descriptions, while getting across her beauty in a dizzying array of flattering similes, had failed to note the core aspect that made her beauty so shocking. Namely, the predator-like aura she wore around her like a cloak, enhancing her allure while at the same time giving it a dangerous edge. This was no dainty queen, for all that she was slim and delicately featured.

"Are you the one they call Hatter?" she asked.

He nodded dumbly. She was the same height as him and yet she stood in a way that made her seem feet taller. Hazel eyes, unnaturally bright, bored into him, sizing him up and cutting him down in one hot glance. Her skin was the color of tea with only the slightest bit of cream added to it. But no sugar, Hatter thought irreverently.

She pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing a free-flowing mane of hair beneath it, and rude though it was, Hatter stared. Her hair was, in a word, stunning. Long and white and curled at the ends. There was nothing to compare it to. Snow? Starlight? Those clichéd descriptions didn't do justice to such pureness. Every strand shone with health and strength. If someone told him it had prehensile abilities, he would have believed it without doubt.

"You… you're…" he stuttered.

"You recognize me?" Her smile was pleased, dignified, and sharp all at once. "Wonderful. That means we can skip introductions and get right down to business. After you offer me some tea, of course. That is a courtesy that should never be skipped. Really, you should've asked that before anything else. Where are your manners? Hidden in your other hat, perhaps?"

Hatter shook his head, had been shaking his head the whole time she'd been speaking. Because as quickly as he'd recognized her, his mind rebelled against it. This had to be a trick. She was a fake. She had used something—magic, make-up, a combination of the two—to impersonate the late queen. There was no possible way…

"You can't be her," he said, pushing away from his desk with sweaty hands and circling around it—for Time, for cover, for a need to move when there was nowhere to go. He supposed he could have made a break for it out the back door, but another glance at those hawk-like eyes and he decided he didn't quite dare. "The White Queen's been dead almost two hundred years," he said, as much to himself as to her. "Ever since the Red Queen first rose to power. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone knows what the ruling Hearts have told them," she corrected scoffingly. "Surely you've been working with the Resistance long enough to know by now that not everything touted as truth really is such?"

Of course he had. Of course he knew. But there were still limits. And the idea that the White Queen lived—and furthermore, was currently standing in his office as if it were perfectly reasonable to be there—was another thing entirely.

"Might we carry on with business while you are deciding?" she asked when his only response to her query was another incredulous shake of his head. "I really have no time to dawdle here while you struggle with your disbelief."

"What business could you possibly have with me?" he said, reaching over to clutch the back of his chair. "You're clearly no' here to purchase Tea."

She laughed. It was a full-throated cackle of pure amusement and it raised the hair on the back Hatter's neck. "Goodness, no. Actually, I came here to give you something."

"Give me something?"

She made a curt gesture in the air with her hand, and that was when Hatter realized she had not come alone. Four other men stood a respectful distance behind her, one holding a long, leather case. It said something about the woman's presence that he had not noticed them until that moment, for they were not the sort of men that he would normally overlook. All were tall and built, with colorful, layered outfits that he wouldn't have minded trying on himself. One of them was even wearing a nice bowler.

The one holding the case stepped forward. By his lined face and graying hair, he was significantly older than the other three men, who all appeared to still be enjoying the later stages of youth. One look at his hardened expression, however, and Hatter knew that in a fight, this was the man to beat. Well, besides the woman herself, who Hatter suspected was ten times more capable than all of them combined. But then, she was claiming to be the White Queen. It only stood to reason that she would also be powerful.

Without a word, the older man held out the case to her. From the folds of her cloak she pulled out a small golden key. She unlocked the case, re-pocketed the key, and pushed open the lid, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as she did so. Hatter tried to see what was in it, but the angle was wrong and her back was in the way. He let go of his chair and crept a few cautious steps closer, but halted abruptly when she reached in and pulled out a full-length sword.

She looked up, caught his stunned expression, and smiled a smile that was full of knowing and pride. "You know what this is, don't you?"

How could he not? As many pictures and books there were of the long lost queen, there were easily as many about the most famous weapon in all of Wonderland.

"It's the Vorpal sword," Hatter breathed, drinking in the sight. So understated, the design, almost primitive, and yet more magnificent than any sword made before or since. Its hilt was plain, without any ornamentation at all, not a single etching or jewel. Its blade was abnormally thick but still deadly sharp at its edges and point. The size and weight made it look unwieldy to the point of being impractical, but the woman held it up as easily as if it were a goblet she was preparing to make a toast with. And that's when Hatter knew—

"You really are the White Queen."

She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

"And you want to give this to me?" he asked, pointing to the sword.

"I do."

The deal was too good, the chance to own something so treasured too wonderful. Beneath his awe, suspicion stirred.

"Why me?"

Her eyes narrowed at his sudden curtness. "Because someone is coming soon. Someone very special who will need this sword if she is to have any chance of surviving her trip here."

Hatter felt himself relax a bit. So she wanted him to play the middle man. Even the White Queen, it seemed, had his number. At least it put him back on familiar ground. Still...

"Why no' hold onto it and give it to her yourself? Surely tha' would be the safest way."

"Are you admitting that you will abscond with the sword should I leave it in your possession?" the White Queen asked, sounding not the least bit worried or affronted. "Do not worry, I've already taken your, hmm, capitalistic tendencies into account, and have come up with a suitable safeguard should the temptation to make a trade or sale in the interim prove too big a temptation for you."

"You distrust wounds me," said Hatter, though inwardly he wondered exactly how she planned to safeguard such a thing, and was both amused and impressed that she had thought to do so. And a little insulted. But mostly amused and impressed. "I meant no such thing by my question," he assured her. "I was merely curious as to why you picked me, is all. It seems like a pretty important job to leave to just anyone. Even your boys there should be more than capable, shouldn't they? No' that I'm unwilling to do it, with the right compensation. "

"My boys and I have other things to attend to," she told him. "I am going on a trip, you could say, and will not be around to see this done personally, nor will they. And you needn't fret about compensation. I think you'll find your reward for doing this to be more than adequate."

"Will I?" He would be the judge of that. "You still haven't answered my question, though."

One finely shaped eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

Hatter dropped all pretense of light-heartedness and faced her fully. On this point, he would suffer no lies or attempts to mislead him. He hadn't survived all these years because he'd had blind faith in people. He'd survived the way anyone in Wonderland who wanted to live to a decent age survived: by trusting no one.

And so he asked again. "Why me?"

The White Queen matched his solemnity. "Because you are the Hatter."

"People have been known to call me that," he conceded. "But I don't see what that has to do with anythin'."

"It has everything to do with it. You have been officially titled as the Hatter." Her gaze went distant. More softly, she added, "And Alices always find their Hatters."

"Alices?" Hatter frowned, uneasiness joining his suspicion. "You don't mean… You can't think that Alice—the Alice—is coming here? She was an Oyster. Long dead and gone by now in her world."

"I assure you, she is coming. And she will need this sword by her side when she arrives." The White Queen reached out to him. "Now, your hand."

But Hatter didn't give it. In fact, he backed up a couple steps. He was starting to think he knew why the Red Queen had been able to get away with pretending her fellow highness had died so easily. Because the White Queen was not, in fact, completely sane. She thought Alice was returning to Wonderland? Impossible.

"You're hand," she said again.

"No," he replied, backing up a few more steps. "No, I don't think so."

Her expression darkened. "You think to defy me?"

"I think," said Hatter carefully, "That you have the wrong guy. You said you needed the Hatter. Well, that's not me."

"Of course it's you!" she snapped. "Is that not what everyone calls you? Is that not what you call yourself?"

"But it's just a nickname!" he exclaimed. "For cryin' out loud, I'm not the Hatter! My great-uncle, he's the one you're looking for. He's the one the stories were written about, not me. And he's been dead for nearly as long as Alice has surely been, so—"

"Yes, he was a very good Hatter," the queen agreed dismissively, "his unfortunate madness aside. But make no mistake, you are the Hatter now. And you will take this sword and see that Alice is protected by it."

"You're crazy," Hatter said bluntly, then wished he'd bitten his tongue at the look of cold fury that swept over her face. Now was the time to make a break for that back door, he decided.

He made to run, but the queen's well-dressed lackeys must have guessed his intentions, because they were on him in a blink. He punched and kicked, but though he'd been in his fair share of brawls over the years, these men were well trained and deadly determined. He clocked one just as another grabbed him around the shoulders from behind, and then the older guy appeared in front of him swinging his carrying case, and pain exploded in Hatter's head. He didn't even register falling. One minute he was up, the next he was on the ground trying to make his vision un-blur and his limbs do something besides tremble.

The White Queen crouched down in front of him, sword in hand. Her expression was stern and implacable. "Enough," she told him, and plucked up his right hand, holding it with just the tips of her fingers. "Relax now. This may hurt a bit."

"What are you—" But that was as far into the question as Hatter got before pain erupted up his arm, stealing away his breath. The throbbing in his head didn't even begin to compare. This pain was excruciating. Agony, plain and simple.

He tried to pull free from her grip, but found his body wouldn't cooperate with him. It was as if she'd taken away his will to struggle. And all the while, it felt like someone was shoving a blade up his arm, from his wrist, passed his elbow and all the way into his shoulder. Like his muscles were being cut apart, his tendons sliced, his veins slashed. He thought he'd pass out from the pain—welcomed it—but he stayed conscious. From his collapsed position, he had a clear view of the sword hanging down in front of him. If he'd been able, he would have grabbed it and run Her Highness through, royalty be damned. It was a matter of survival, because she was killing him; she had to be. Death was the only thing that could follow such excruciating pain.

The sword flickered before him. At first, Hatter thought his vision was going. But no, it was just the sword that was becoming harder to see. It was turning transparent, and becoming more so by the second. Fading away.

What in the hell?

Impossibly, the pain intensified, flaring like poisoned fire through his blood, and Hatter only half-managed to choke back a scream. The sword flickered once more and then vanished completely. At the same time, his pain also began to dissipate, though aftershocks kept him thoroughly incapacitated. He managed to turn his head just enough to meet the White Queen's gaze. She didn't look away.

"It is done," she told him quietly, letting go of his hand. "Now, there is only to wait. I wish the both of you luck."

Hatter would have responded with something deservedly offensive to that, but he was too busy—finally!—passing out in order to do so.

When he came to, the rain had stopped and the White Queen and her men had gone. His arm no longer hurt, and when he checked, there were no bruises or cuts marking his skin at all.

It might have been reassuring to some; it didn't reassure Hatter.

He headed out front, finding his assistant passed out at his podium like usual. When the small man didn't stir at his increasingly loud shouts for him to wake up, Hatter raised his fist and smacked it down on the podium's glass top, gavel-style, to scare him awake.

The glass shattered and the steel support base crumpled like paper. Dormie toppled over with a squeak while momentum almost had Hatter face-planting in the sharp remains of his destruction. He gaped. He hadn't meant to hit it that hard. He'd pounded on Dormie's podium plenty of times in the past and had never put so much as a crack in it. So why all of a sudden was it so weak?

No, he thought as he stared at his hand in dawning realization. It wasn't the podium that had suddenly become weaker. Rather, it looked liked he had just become a whole lot stronger.

It had taken a little while for him to get used to it, to learn how to call up the extra strength and how to hold it back. But slowly his comfort with it grew, and after meting out several rather spectacular beatings to some of his more violent customers who'd come to his shop looking to use force as their method of trade, word starting getting around. His arm even received the honor of getting its own name: the Sledgehammer. Knowing the true weapon that allowed him to deal so much damage, Hatter found the name amusing. If only they knew.

And so time had past, and nothing much changed. Hatter thought about the White Queen from time to time, usually accompanied by a half-smile and a shake of his head, maybe a toast in her honor if he happened to be drinking. His opinion about her sanity and the reasons for choosing him never changed, but like his rainy day customers, there were perks to the exchange he couldn't refute.

And then Alice had come.

He'd told Ratty the same thing he'd told the White Queen: She wasn't Alice. She couldn't possibly be the Alice any more than he was the Hatter. Age aside, the young woman looked nothing like their past savior. Hadn't acted like her either. She was just an unlucky Oyster with a coincidental name. He'd planned to take her to Dodo, use her ring as payment for the man's help—with a cut for him, too, of course—save her boyfriend if possible, and then get her the hell out of Wonderland before rumor of an escaped Oyster named Alice could get out and send the populous into a panic. There'd been no reason to tell her about his arm, and no reason to confide in her about anything besides how they might get her home.

Of course, none of that had worked out. For the better mostly, in his opinion, but he still never got around to telling her the truth about his arm or about the White Queen. About… so many things. And after leaving Wonderland, well, he couldn't say why he hadn't come out with it all then. Alice had certainly asked him often enough. She was forever trying to slip in questions about his past whenever she thought he wasn't paying attention or when the mood was particularly relaxed. He wanted to blame his hesitation on some lingering magic the White Queen had cast on him when he hadn't been looking, but he knew that wasn't it. It was him. It was entirely his own issue.

And now it was too late to tell Alice anything.

Hatter pulled himself from his regretful memories and faced the woman on the couch opposite him. The White Queen looked exactly same as the last time he'd seen her, still that perfect mix of dangerous beauty and cool, royal dignity that left him anxious in a wholly unpleasant way. She sipped tea from a small china cup, watching him like a predator with prey it didn't find particularly appetizing but was debating devouring anyway, and Hatter was grateful that he was at least back to his normal size for this surprise reunion. He had a feeling he was going to need every advantage he could get.

Tea service was set out on a low wooden table between them. His own cup had already been filled and prepared to his specifications by a serene looking servant, but he was disinclined to drink it (for obvious reasons). Surreptitiously, he tested the metal bands linking his wrists together. Even when he applied all his strength, they wouldn't even bend. More of Her Highness's magic at work.

A throat cleared itself behind him. Hatter glanced over at the far corner where the queen's four henchmen stood at the ready. There were older now, and scruffier. They had also lost their sense of style. The oldest one who had made the noise shot him a warning look. Ah. He hadn't been surreptitious enough, apparently. Hatter cocked an eyebrow and shot him the finger—an Oyster gesture Alice had taught him that he enjoyed immensely. Even if the old crony didn't know exactly what it meant, he could surely deduce the implication. By the man's dark scowl, he did.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Hatter."

Hatter twisted back around. The White Queen set down her cup, the clink of china echoing in the spacious sitting room. Her movements were precise and unhurried. As fast as Time had flown by during his forced trip here, now it seemed to have stopped completely.

"You should not have left Wonderland like you did," the queen told him, her voice soft. "Did you think to escape with the sword after all? Even after you assured me you would do no such thing?"

"That's no' why I left," said Hatter. "I didn't even think about it. Not until afterwards."

The White Queen met his gaze and held it. "You have no idea how upset I was when I heard. What if we weren't able to bring you back? The sword would be lost forever in the Oyster world. Our most precious piece of history, our greatest weapon ever created, gone."

"Is that why you had me brought me here? You want to take the sword back?" He'd suspected as much the moment he'd recognized her men.

"Eventually, yes. I was going to just wait until your death, when the sword would return to me naturally. But that will not happen if you are in that magic-less, Oyster world. And since I can no longer guarantee when, and more importantly, where you will meet your end, I will have to extract it beforehand. We can't very well have you running off with it again, can we?"

"But you're lettin' me keep it," clarified Hatter. "For the time bein'."

"Yes. You may have need of it yet, and I have need of you alive."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The White Queen plucked up a bite-sized piece of apple tart from off a tray and held it up. "It means that I am not sure what the outcome of forcibly removing the sword from your arm will be," she said. "And since you are essential to my plans, we have no choice but to hold off for now." She turned the small dessert this way and that, inspecting it from all sides. A few crumbs broke off and fell onto the table.

"What plans? And what do you mean, you're not sure of the outcome?" demanded Hatter. "What kinda outcome are we talkin' about here?"

"At best, you'll suffer some muscle atrophy. At worst, the removal could send you into shock and kill you." Finished her inspection, she popped the tart into her mouth, closing her eyes as she savored the taste.

Hatter stared at her, his mind reeling. Removing the sword could kill him? So much for thinking he could just hand it over and be on his way. He should've known things couldn't be so straightforward. Living away with Alice for so long had made him too trusting. He was going to have to wise back up quickly or he was never going to get out of this alive.

The White Queen either didn't notice his upset or didn't care, because she finished her tart with a delicate swallow and went on. "That is why we will proceed with our other matter of business and return to this problem later. Priorities, dear Hatter, are a must during times of war."

War? The thought of being at war again scared him almost as much as the thought of dying. The last time they had been at war—truly at war, not just that brief coup Alice had headed—Wonderland had barely survived it. There was a reason Wonderlanders had been so susceptible to the Teas when the Red Queen had introduced them. When your world lay in pieces around you, your family and friends lost, who wouldn't turn to a drug if it made you forget all that?

"And this other matter of business… I assume you're referring to these plans of yours?" Hatter said. "These plans where I am, for some reason, essential?"

"Yes."

When she said no more than that, instead opting for another sip of tea, Hatter bit back his frustration and said, "Care to fill me in on it?"

"Whether she cares to fill you in on it isn't the right question," a voice said from beside him. "It's whether she will or not that's your true concern."

Hatter looked over and stiffened. Because what he was facing was a mouth. Just a mouth, free floating with nothing attached to it. It was twisted up in a manic grin and filled with teeth, all of them sharp and too close for comfort. He edged back in his seat.

"Although even then, asking 'will she, won't she,' is a coy way to going about it," the mouth continued. "Better to take a more direct approach; cut right to the heart of the matter. 'What are these plans of yours?' you could ask. Or, 'What does my involvement entail?' Truly, your word skills are rudimentary. I expected more from the Hatter."

"He was trying to be polite, I'm sure," said the White Queen airily.

"Is it not possible to be both polite and direct?"

"For the Hatter specifically, or for people in general?"

"The Hatter would bungle it, I have little doubt. But for others, it is a question worth pursuing, don't you think?"

The queen flicked her fingers. "I think I grow tired of this exchange. Reveal yourself properly now, if you would, Cheshire. You know how much I detest seeing only that monstrous grin of yours."

As Hatter watched, two bright eyes appeared, followed by a fuzzy, bewhiskered face. An overlarge body complete with paws tipped with deadly long claws shimmered into sight, and with final a swish, so did a tail. The mythical Cheshire Cat, in the flesh.

"To be both polite and direct: is this better, your majesty?" it asked.

"Quite," she said. "I assume your appearance here means you've done as I've requested?"

The cat nodded. "The Red Queen has been freed and escaped successfully. She should be here in the next day or so."

The White Queen smiled. "Marvelous."

Hatter was not so thrilled. The Red Queen was still alive? Damn Jack to hell, mother or not, what was he playing at, keeping that kind of dangerous person around? And now she was free, and coming to team up with the White Queen? For war?

As if this news wasn't bad enough, the Cheshire then added, "Alice is on her way as well."

The White Queen's smile turned positively luminous. "How delightful! I'm so glad she's decided to join us. Keep an eye out for her, will you?" she said to her men. "And let me know that the moment that she arrives."

In unison, they replied, "Yes, your majesty."

Cold dread filled Hatter's gut. He wasn't surprised to hear that Alice was following him. He'd known she would. He knew her, he knew how far she'd gone for Jack, and he flattered himself to think she liked him at least a bit more than she liked that heartless Heart. But he couldn't let her come here. He had to escape and intercept her before she could do something rash and dangerous and get herself killed trying to save him. If the White Queen hurt her…

His fears must have shown on his face, or maybe the queen's powers were even stronger than he'd thought, because she said to him, "Do not worry, no harm will come to Alice. The opposite, in fact. In truth, you should be more worried about yourself, since I'm sorry to say, these next couple days are going to be rather unpleasant for you."

At that, the queen's men stepped forward and the Cheshire Cat ghosted into nothingness. Hatter jumped to his feet, but with his hands bound, there was very little he could do to fight them off. In short order they had him secured, and at their highness's command, led him away.

A few minutes later, the Cheshire Cat reappeared on the abandoned couch, grin now absent. It took up Hatter's neglected tea and added more cream.

"It looks like it will rain soon," it said.

The White Queen picked up another tart and inspected it just as shrewdly as she had the first.

"Good," she said. "We could use some rain."