Chapter 13: Alice

The Hatter leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Alice's temple, glares apocalyptically at her collar, and then clamors down the steps. Alice glances at Hamish, meeting his equally wide eyes, and then hurries after the Hatter. Surely, that particular combination of actions cannot be as benign as they seem?

She's right.

"Hatter!" she calls breathlessly as a woman's surprised shriek reverberates up the stairs. Alice very nearly somersaults her way down to the landing outside Iracebeth's suite in her haste to prevent the Hatter from doing something very messy.

Slamming a hand against the partially open door, she charges into the room and is greeted by the sight of the Hatter's claymore held to the queen's throat. Iracebeth's face is pale with fear but her cheeks red with mortification. Personally, Alice can think of worse things than being caught in naught but a silk kimono and her knickers by the Hatter. Especially when his lean hips are wrapped in naught but the Hightopp colors.

"Th' key," the Hatter hisses, "'r yer royal jammies'll b' ruined."

The sword gleams in the lamplight as he repositions the blade across her neck. Gasping for breath, Iracebeth points a shaky finger at the vanity.

Snarl still curling his dark lips, the Hatter growls, "Fetch."

Alice blinks at his command and Iracebeth pales further. Could it be he'd guessed how Alice had been treated by this woman? Alice makes a mental note to never underestimate the Hatter's deductive reasoning and intuition.

Iracebeth's hands shake as she removes a brass key from an ornate, carved onyx jewelry box and offers it to the Hatter. He plucks it deftly from her grasp, so deftly that Alice is sure he hadn't even touched her skin.

"Watch 'er," he growls at Hamish who, with gun in hand, steps forward to prevent Iracebeth from interfering.

Alice gulps as the Hatter stalks toward her. With each step, a small measure of his barely-leashed fury fizzles out of him. His eyes are nearly verdantly green again when he comes to a halt in front of her. Wordlessly, he offers her the claymore. She accepts it from his warm hand and clutches it in both of hers. Her grip tightens on the pommel as he hunches down and, with his thumb and forefinger, gently nudges Alice's chin up.

Perhaps it's her imagination that she can feel his breath on her neck and cheek. She blinks up at the ceiling of the room, his thumb now under her chin, supporting rather than directing. She feels a tickle of irregular pressure through the thick, too-tight leather of the collar; she hears the grinding of gears and a soft, brassy click! and then—!

The Hatter's fingertips softly caress her jaw – deliberately! – as he reaches for the collar. She winces as the thing is carefully peeled off of her sweaty, raw skin and then breathes a sigh of relief when it is lifted away completely.

Alice lowers her chin, but the Hatter's firm touch stops her. "Nunz," he growls, examining the state of her neck.

"It's nothing," she hurries to reassure him. Although she doesn't want his touch to abandon her, misrepresenting her injury would not be a very responsible thing to do. Unfortunately.

"I shoul' make tha' creature wear 'er auwn bludy yoke," he snarls on a breath.

Alice grips the sword tighter and fights a shiver.

Seeing this, the Hatter merely tosses the blasted thing aside and reaches for a handkerchief. "'Twill b' cold ou'side," he explains, wrapping it carefully around her throat.

"Thank you," she whispers. "Are we ready to go now?"

He nods.

"Go?" Iracebeth shrieks, ignoring Hamish and marching forward in her lingerie. "You're not going anywhere! STAYNE!"

The Hatter snorts out a dark chuckle. "I don' think he can hear ye."

Iracebeth's face twitches with panic. "STAYNE!"

Briefly, Alice closes her eyes, imagining herself in this woman's place. Stayne had been a waste of a man, but Iracebeth had loved him; she had believed in him. Over the course of the day, Alice had learned at least this much. She can't let Iracebeth discover her king's death the hard way. She just… can't.

"He fell from the battlements," Alice tells her gently.

"What?" she demands in a breathless voice.

"It was an accident—"

"Where is he?" Iracebeth doesn't wait for an answer to her own demand. She charges toward them. "STAYNE!"

Hamish steps in front of her. Iracebeth, with her normal-sized head, is a very small woman, but she manages to shove Hamish out of her way. The Hatter scrambles for possession of his sword. Alice relinquishes it to him with numb fingers and a premonition of regret.

Before the woman can throw herself upon them or skewer herself on the claymore, Hamish grabs her around the waist and bodily tosses her aside. She crashes into the balcony doors which fly open under the impact. The wind screams into the room, much as Stayne had screamed during his fall. Perhaps Iracebeth had told herself that she'd heard only the wind, not her lover plunging to his death.

"You killed him?" she screams, getting to her feet and lunging toward Hamish, her fingers curled into claws.

Hamish twitches with panic. The gun goes off and the bullet smashes into the ramparts on the balcony. Iracebeth reaches for the gun in hands. Alice lurches forward, intent on assisting. With that manic, mad strength, Iracebeth could very well pull Hamish over the side of the tower wall!

Beside her, the Hatter seems to have realized the same thing. His longer legs carry him a half a step further than her. They are a mere moment away from Hamish and then—!

The gun flies out of his grasp and tumbles out of sight into the ravine below. Hamish then very smartly draws back his right hand and strikes Iracebeth across the face with his open palm.

"Calm yourself, madam!" he orders in a frightened screech.

Iracebeth staggers back a step, blinking with shock. Slowly, she lifts one hand to her stinging cheek. "Stayne is dead?" she whispers brokenly, tears filling her eyes.

"Aye," the Hatter replies. Before their eyes, the woman collapses to her knees upon the balcony. The wind whips her long red hair but she doesn't seem to notice. Nor does she seem to be aware of the fact that she is barely dressed. Alice considers reaching out to the woman, perhaps throwing a cloak over her shuddering shoulders.

She glances at Hamish who seems to share the same inclination if his doubt-filled expression is anything to go by. The Hatter, however, manages to put things back into perspective, "She collared Alice."

Hamish blinks and straightens, a vengeful light entering his eyes. "Indeed. Let's be on our way."

Alice glances back once as they cross the room toward the door. Iracebeth still sits, sobbing on the cold stones. The Hatter ushers Alice into the stairwell and Hamish closes the door behind them. Soundly.

There is no more mention of their escape, but there is no need. With a decisive nod, the Hatter merely resumes the lead.

Departing the tower is a simple process. At the second floor landing, Hamish places a hand on the Hatter's shoulder, halting his charge down the steps. The two men exchange a glance and then the Hatter wordlessly hands over his top hat. Donning it, Hamish strides down the remaining flight of stairs and out into the open. Alice hears him speak to the guards briefly:

"I believe his Majesty requires your assistance, sirs."

"Ar, do he?"

"Yes, he's dropped something of importance from the top of the tower." Say, himself? Alice muses morbidly. "The one who brings it back to him will be well rewarded." With a grisly view. Alice winces.

Hamish's invented announcement is all that's required to get the wolf and vulture to scamper off, abandoning their posts.

Huddling in Hamish's stylish jacket, Alice hunches into the warmth and solidness of the Hatter's body as they hurry from the Tower of the Black King and out into the cold night.

Next: Chapter 13, Part 2 in which Hamish admires the Hatter's new shoes...