Chapter 3

As he sat in the box, he could tell from the swinging motion and a pattern of lights and shadows crossing the cracks that the box was suspended and moving. He tried to think of what his options of escape were, mostly because being trapped in a box like a cat being taken to the vet was never a good thing, but also because it was far too quiet in here and it left him alone with his thoughts.

He hated being left alone with his thoughts. His thoughts were like those rude guests at parties that kept asking questions he didn't know the answers to; like "So, when are you going to stop flirting and start a real relationship?" or "What are you doing with your life these days?"

At the moment, he had several thoughts at the same time. One was analyzing every possible way of escaping, another was annoyed about how his right arm still had that pins-and-needles feeling, and a third that sounded like a disapproving mother (not his mother, he thought, though he couldn't be sure since he had no memories of her) telling him that this is exactly what happens when one cavorts with random women at seedy bars.

What, one runs through a mirror and ends up in a swinging box with padded walls? He retorted mentally.

Yes. The mental disapproving matron answered. Serves you quite right.

And because it was starting to feel claustrophobic in both the box and his head (plus his arm was still bothering him), he punched the floor.

Then he fell.

Rather shocked at his own strength, Hatter barely managed to snag the edge of the box with one arm before plummeting below. Once he had taken a moment to survey his surroundings, his grip on the edge got considerably tighter.

He was dangling at least fifty feet in the air, above a wide expanse of water. He looked around and noted that whatever weird metal thing that was carrying the collection of boxes was heading toward something that looked like a city.

So, option A, stay where he was and glide toward the sketchy looking city with the other padded boxes on strings, or B, let go and possibly plummet to his death, or drown in the lake, and try to swim to the sketchy city.

A sudden bump jostled the box, dislodged his grip, and made the decision for him.

Plan B it is, he thought, then crossed his arms over his hat and tried to keep his legs straight.

After hitting the water and sinking quite a ways down, he fought back up to the surface, made sure his hat was intact, then struck out towards civilization. He swam for what felt like hours, and dragged himself onto the closest solid surface. Coughing out the inevitable water he had swallowed (and trying desperately not to think about what was living in that water), Hatter rested his head on the ground and drew in the largest breaths he could.

His breathing exercise stopped as he looked across the ground and suddenly noticed a dead rat in a cage and the questionable-looking boots next to it. Turning his gaze upward, he saw a scraggly man with a long raincoat, large waterproof hat, patchy beard, and (what captured Hatter's attention the most) a nasty knife that seemed to have all sorts of unsanitary blobs on it.

Adrenaline gave him enough energy to jump up and get in something of a defensive stance in front of this probable madman.

"Don't even think about it, buddy," He cautioned, and hoped the exhaustion in his voice was taken as confidence, or even danger. Though that might be a tad optimistic, considering how his day had gone so far.

Perhaps a tale of bravery would convince him. "I just punched my way out of a box carried by a metal flying thing, so just put the knife away."

The man's eyebrows knit together, then fear flashed across his face as the same metal flying thing that Hatter had described floated into view.

Scraggly Rat Man dived behind some pallets, and Hatter had enough common sense to follow. They hid until the thing had rumbled past, then his companion glanced between him and the patchwork metal bug.

"You're an Oyster!" He cried, pointing accusingly. Hatter felt that he ought to be offended. "I'm a workin' man – don't want no trouble."

"Suits see us together, we both be dead!" As the man Hatter decided to name Ratty grabbed his dead rat in cage and prepared to rabbit, Hatter realized that he had no clue where he was or how to find Charlotte and however creepy this rodent-catcher was, he was the only lead available.

"Hold it! I need directions!" Hatter shouted as he followed the scruffy man further into the disreputable warehouse.

"Go away. Can't help no Oyster." The man grumbled as he continued on.

Hatter racked his brain, then fell back on a method tried and true throughout the ages. "I'll pay you!"

As he thought, the offer slowed the rat-catcher's steps and caused him to turn back. Hatter hurriedly reached in his pockets and pulled out a damp bill.

"What's that?" The other man stared at the paper with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Hoping it was enough, Hatter shrugged noncommittally. "Twenty bucks."

Ratty squinted at him. "Bucks?"

"I'm looking for a girl that was kidnapped and brought here," Hatter explained, half wondering what the currency was different here, and where 'here' was exactly. "If you help me find her, it's yours." He held out the money and hoped the man was tempted.

"An Oyster like you?" Ratty questioned, and thought Hatter wasn't sure what an Oyster was, it seemed likely both he and Charlotte were classified as such.

"Yes?" He hazarded.

With a raised eyebrow, Ratty took the twenty, sniffed it and then licked it. Hoping that was a sign of agreement, Hatter flashed one of his charming smiles and offered his hand.

"I'm Hatter, by the way."

Ratty's expression froze. "The Hatter? The Harbinger of Legend?"

Hatter's smiled faltered at this, and he wondered if he had just employed the services of a madman. "Look, not really sure what you're talking about, but the girl I mentioned – she's probably still stuck in that flying beetle thing. Do you know where it's headed?"

His face lighting up, Ratty pointed excitedly. "You, come with me."

As he sped off, Hatter glanced around and wondered how bad of an idea this was.

"Quick, quick!" Ratty called back.

But then again, what choice did he have?

He sighed, shrugged to himself, and genuinely hoped things were not going to get any more complicated.