Disclaimer:

Michael nags me on the net,

Howl, have you finished?

No, I haven't, cachau bant.

CHAPTER TEN – SWORDPLAY AND HATPINS

'GRAAAAAAGH!'

'What in the name of all Underland do you think you are doing?'

Edith tripped and went crashing to the ground, rolling across the cobbled white stones of the small courtyard, a sprawled mass of arms and legs. She sat up, dazed, and waved her stick-sword in the direction of the double of Mally she seemed to be seeing.

'Battle-cry?'

'B-battle …? Get up, you numpty.'

Edith staggered to her feet, almost tripping up on one of her sleeves again.

'And get those stupid-looking things out of the way,' Mally added.

Edith tossed her head haughtily, rolling up her sleeves with a great dignity which was unfortunately wasted by the way the stick she was using as a mock sword kept waggling in the air as she rolled.

'Now try again,' said Mally as she finished on both sleeves, 'and watch me carefully. You lunge forward, like this,' she demonstrated, stabbing the air with her hatpin, her footwork perfectly timed.

Edith's footwork was not so careful. She almost tripped yet again, this time on the hem of her dress, nearly impaling herself on her own stick.

Mallymkun had been attempting to teach Edith to lunge for the whole morning. After breakfast they had traveled down to one of the deserted courtyards in the lush gardens, thin mist from the waterfalls hanging around them. Edith had already managed to tear the hem of her dress in three places, and the girl's knees were so thoroughly scraped that Mally was considering moving onto the grass instead.

Mally had chosen to start with lunging, thinking that Edith would take to the sudden violent action like a duck to water, but she had simultaneously over and under-estimated the girl. Edith put far too much strength into her lunges, and her footwork was, to put it mildly, atrocious. She tired herself out by stabbing the air so viscously that she kept lunging forwards all the way to the hard ground – Mally knew if she couldn't restrain her energy she wouldn't hold up in a fight at all.

By this time Edith was getting hot-tempered, as usual. Mally was beginning to lose patience with her.

'No, Edith!' Mally said for what felt like the thirteenth time. 'You can't do that – you can't run in screaming and waving your weapon at everything under the sun!'

'Then what do you suggest?'

'If you'd just watch –'

'Oh, it's so exciting!'

Both Mally and Edith whipped around to see Isolda peering out from a hedge corner, her hands clasped to her chest. A familiar shrinking head of white was peeking out from behind her, his eyes wide.

'You – you,' Edith spluttered, outraged, 'you were watching –' She turned bright red to the very tips of her ears.

'Shouldn't you be gushing over something else?' said Mally, crossing her arms and coming to stand beside Edith. 'Something inside?'

'Oh, oh, I'm sorry,' said Isolda, like someone apologising for spilling tea, 'erm … he's taking me on a tour of the gardens,' she explained, indicating Pig. A trademark sweet smile spread over her face. 'It's all so incredible. I've never seen such splendour.' A tragic shadow flitted over her face. 'Only that's not saying much, I suppose. I didn't have a comfortable upbringing.' She looked noble and tragic for a moment, like a woman who had been deserted by her lover and was about to throw herself off a cliff over it.

'Hmm,' grunted Mally. She looked at Edith. She was clenching and unclenching her fists, and seemed to be having an internal struggle over whether or not to punch Isolda in the face.

Pig, on the other hand, was watching Isolda with a mirrored tragic expression, as if he ached to hold her.

'But anyway,' said Isolda with a freshening breath in and out, smile snapping back into place, 'you're so doing ever so well.'

'"Ever so well"?' said Edith with an air of utmost disgust. 'Are you blind? I'm doing terribly.'

Isolda giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

'Sorry,' she said, dropping her graceful fingers, 'it's just that I remembered … you looked a little funny, you see. Not that you weren't doing splendidly, it's just, well … you weren't doing it quite right.'

'And I suppose you know how to do it right,' snapped Edith.

'Well, yes, actually,' said Isolda, her blue eyes modestly lowered.

'Of course you do!' Edith laughed derisively, waving her stick around in a rather hysterically scathing manner. 'Of course she does!'

'If I may?' A delicate palm was extended, and Mally found herself highly doubting that anyone with such smooth hands could be an expert swordsman.

Edith approached the older girl reluctantly, inching forwards with her nose wrinkled as if beauty and a pleasant disposition were infectious. She pressed the stick into Isolda's hand at arm's length and then backed away to stand beside Mally again, arms crossed, scowling heavily.

'It's more, well, sort of like this, you see,' said Isolda, and the stick spun in her hand, she darted forwards, and, with perfect balance and grace, thrust the stick into a non-existent target. Not for a moment did she scuffle or slip or slide, and when she was done the stick was spun around again and offered to Edith, who looked from it to Isolda and back again with narrowed eyes, perhaps suspecting trickery. Pig was in absolute awe, his mouth ajar.

Mally struggled to find an imperfection. The woman's footwork and force and control was flawless, and her balance was not a bit off.

'Didn't need all those twirls,' she said grudgingly.

'It's really quite easy, sweetheart,' said Isolda, addressing Edith and ignoring Mally's remark completely. 'You shouldn't have so much trouble with it,' she smiled.

Watching Edith, Mally thought for a heartbeat she saw something flash in her eyes, something that was more than anger and closer to absolute humiliation. The next second it was gone, torched by the sudden fire that raged up in its place.

'Get out.'

Isolda looked perfectly startled. She stepped back, one hand raised to her chest in innocent confusion.

'Who, me?'

'Yes, you, slurking you!'

'Edith,' Mally started, but their voices were louder than hers.

'I was only trying to help.'

'I don't care, I hate – I can't – ' Edith stumbled over the words erratically, 'I know, I know I can't do – I don't need you to tell me I'm – Oh, just go, before I strangle you!' she howled, snatching the stick out of her hand. Isolda stumbled back in surprise, eyes wide. Pig stepped out from behind her, shielding her with his skinny body.

'Now, just a moment, Miss Edith –'

'And you had better go too!' Edith bellowed, her hair almost rising on end in fury.

'Edith, CALM – DOWN!'

'Get off me, Mally! Go on, before I stick you both! And I don't care that I'm useless at lunging; I've got a stick and I'LL USE IT!'

From the look on her face Mally could believe it.

'Go on! Get! Shoo!' she screamed wildly, brandishing her stick like an old lady's cane. 'Go on!'

Pig shrank away from her, plainly, (and it was hard to blame him), terrified by the display. Then he seemed to remember Isolda behind him. He straightened slowly, painfully, as if struggling to bring himself to his full height. Edith stared him down fiercely – dark eyes into light, shooting a narrowed glance from his clenched fists and then back to his face, her own fists tightening around her stick as if daring him to just try it.

Mally half expected him to collapse back into his normal, cowering self any moment. But he didn't, returning Edith's glare with growing confidence.

'You – you leave her alone,' he said forcefully, his voice barley quavering.

'I will if she leaves me alone,' Edith growled, her lips barely moving.

'Edith,' said Mally pointedly.

At the sound of the reprimand Edith broke off the glaring contest resentfully. Pig spared her one last triumphant glance before turning away and leading the wide-eyed Isolda with him.

Breathing heavily, Edith turned back to Mally, rolling up a sleeve that had fallen down. Her face was flushed red, and the little scratches she bore from the various tumbles she had taken earlier in the day glowed angrily.

'I hate them,' Edith declared, throwing her stick to the ground the better to roll up her falling sleeves. 'I hate them both. Ugh, and these stupid … sleeves!'

'You can't just hate Pig, you barely know him. And he's a nice boy.' Mally crossed her legs on the ground, watching Edith fume like a fresh pot of tea, flailing over her sleeves. 'Just give him a chance. People act …' she paused, a half-sigh escaping her tiredly, 'they act different when they're in love.'

She saw Edith shoot her an odd, furtive look; a look that she rather uncomfortably felt scan her for something. There was the slightest of gaps in the conversation, a gap that was somehow very awkward.

'Yes, well,' Edith continued bitterly, bending to pick up her stick, 'he didn't exactly give me a chance, did he?' Her sleeves fell down again and she let out a cry of rage, grabbing a hank of her own hair in anger. 'Oh, you stupid! Fold! Slurking, urpal, prigglit, sach …' her words descended into nonsense Outlandish vulgarity as she fumbled with her stick and her long, scuffed, embroidered sleeves. 'He's just like all of them back in the Otherland! You have to be special, you have to be pretty, you have to be nice – all the time! What happens if you weren't born that way, what happens then?' Her voice had taken on an almost hysterical edge now, shrill and seething. 'Nobody takes any notice of you at all unless you scream at them, that's what!'

'Edith!' said Mally, half shouting herself.

The girl jumped, dropping her stick with a clatter.

'What?' she snarled, snatching it back up. 'You can't tell me off, Mally, you sound like my mother!' It was a sign of how angry she was that her voice barely hitched on the last word.

'If you start talking to me like that again I'll be worse than six mothers to you!' Mally snapped back. Then she bit her lip, trying as usual to be the calm one. 'Look. You're getting tired, and you're getting bad-tempered. Maybe we should leave this for another day.'

'What other day?' Edith turned away from her, pacing like a chained creature, sleeves everywhere. 'I've already wasted so much time and I need to find Alice! The Hatter's gone off into the forest again with the Stone, and he's had nearly two days' head start, and that's where the Evisceraker came from and I am not going to be that defenceless again, I am not giving this up, and I am not leaving this for another day!'

As her words reached a crescendo Mally snapped. Alice, Alice, Alice; it was always Alice, everything came down to Alice. It was her; she was always the reason behind everything, behind everyone. Without a second thought Mally whipped out her hatpin-sword – a flash of silver blade that was blissfully lightweight and perfectly balanced in her hand – and slashed at the hem of Edith's dress. It got awfully frustrating sometimes, being the calm one.

Edith turned and looked down at her in surprise, stumbling back.

'Then go! If you're so worried about your precious Alice why aren't you out chasing her already like the rest of bloody Underland?' Mally shouted, fury coursing through her tiny body, all of a sudden it was too much to hold all at once and it spilled out of her. 'Why don't you go and find Alice of Legend and take her back to your safe little pastel world Up Top so she can complete your lovely little family in your cosy little house? Why don't you both go and just grow up, because you don't need us anymore, and that's all we are to you; we're just imaginary friends to play with until you're too old for dollies! And one day you'll look back on us and laugh at how silly you were for believing in us, and how you must have been half mad to dream us all up; but guess what? After you wake up, the dream keeps going. And all the while we're down here going on with our lives, hurting and breaking and all going mad and waiting, always waiting for someone who is never coming back!'

Just as suddenly as it came, well over seven years of anger and bitterness was gone, and all that was left behind was the raw hurt that had been hiding behind it. It too seemed far too large for her tiny body, like a giant was squeezing her heart in its fist. And she wished, oh, she wished she were bigger, and then maybe the pain would not be so crippling. It spread from her heart into her throat, stinging, and it made her knees give way. She heard her hatpin clink as it fell to the ground with her. She could have died of shame.

After a long moment hunched into herself she heard Edith scuffle into a sitting position in front of her.

'We missed Alice too.'

'What?' Mally looked up, raising her head from her hands slowly. The girl wasn't looking at her, was watching a snap-dragonfly across the courtyard.

'How can you have missed her?' said Mally, fixing upon this, upon anything to stop her voice from cracking, 'She was always up there.'

'And she was always down here. She'd sit with us at the dinner table and she'd talk with us about the company's business and she'd tell me stories, but she was always down here the whole time. Like … like the most important piece of her was never quite in step with the rest of us. Was she like that with you?'

Mally thought back to the years when Alice used to visit; how she'd arrive at the Clearing with her eyes shining and her lips curled into a smile. She remembered how she'd laugh at Thackery's antics, how she'd learnt so fast to duck anything he threw her way; how she and the Hatter would swap tales, Alice leaning on the tabletop, tilted towards him with that special just-for-the-Hatter smile on her face, utterly involved in every word he said; how much Mally's heart sighed in relief whenever she noticed that the man himself didn't realise that every look Alice turned upon him was so special, so just-for-him, and how much her heart stung when she noticed that he only didn't realise because he was just as immersed in Alice as Alice was in him. She remembered the time Alice had waited with her a whole night, sitting up without yawning to wait for the Hatter to return from a trip to Marmoreal; how the two of them had talked until the morning sun began to touch the tips of the trees and the Hatter had returned, pleasantly surprised to find them laughing about some long ago adventure. How for that one night Alice had returned to being that little girl with wide eyes and a little blue dress, who couldn't say 'Underland' properly, no matter how much Mally had tried to teach her.

'No,' she said, almost smiling, 'she wasn't.'

When she pulled herself out of old, half-repressed memories of sunny afternoons, Mally saw that Edith was looking at her, and had been for some time. It was a look that shot straight through her like an arrow, some unidentifiable emotion filling the dark eyes.

'You're lucky,' said the girl, turning away. Mally could see her blinking, before turning back to her with a very familiar expression of curiosity. 'Mally?'

'Hmm?'

'Why were you so surprised, before? When I said that Alice told me about you?'

Mally looked down at her hands, fidgeting with her hatpin sword.

'You said she told you I was her friend?'

'Yes,' said Edith, with another one of those uncomfortable scanning looks of hers, 'weren't you?'

Mally fidgeted with her hatpin sword more than ever, the metal smooth and shining, comforting and familiar under her fingers.

'When she was a little girl … a little girl not much younger than you …' Mally shot a glance at Edith, 'but when she got older … I – I don't know.' She looked away almost impatiently. 'I thought she didn't like me.'

She heard Edith snort, and turned to see her wearing a faintly amused look now.

'That's funny. She always thought you didn't like her. How pointless.'

Mally felt a tinge of surprise at this news. That Alice – perfect, flawless Alice – could ever doubt her own likeableness.

'Why should she worry about anyone not liking her?' said Mally, not looking up from her hatpin, frowning at how harsh her own voice sounded. 'Everyone she ever met loved her to bits. It didn't matter if you always stuck around, if you were always there even if she never was – especially when she never was; the moment she walked into the room she lit up everyone's face. Everyone here would go to the ends of the earth for that woman.'

'And the Hatter is.'

Mally gripped her sword tighter, holding it close to herself, watching as she tilted it to catch and reflect the light.

'He gave me this, you know.' She didn't know how it slipped out, but it did. 'Long, long time ago now. Long time before little Alice showed up. He was friends with my brother first, you see. I'd wanted a real sword for so long, only you can't – you can't get them in my size. Tarrant Hightopp was visiting the house, swapping teas with my brother, when he saw me and my sister play-fighting out front. He said I showed promise; could be an expert one day. He gave me one of his own hatpins – he picked me out of all my sisters and my brother. No one had ever picked me for something before; no one can ever hear you in a family that big. But he picked me. I never felt so special in all my life.'

Edith was silent, and Mallymkun could feel those ever-watching eyes on her, taking everything they saw in. Mally gripped her sword, half-despising herself for letting that little story, so precious, so treasured, so hers to share with nobody else, slip out. And still she kept going, the words flowing out of her uncontrollably.

'Tarrant never could get rid of me after that. Stuck with his friend's kid sister. Didn't seem to mind so much though.' She smiled softly to herself, down at the sword in her lap. 'We were so close. Him, and me, and Thackery; that was the way things went. That was the way they were meant to be. And then the war came, and Thackery went mad, and Tarrant half followed him – up and down without control, and me the only one in the world who could calm him. And then Alice came. And then Alice left. And whenever she wasn't here … Tarrant … it was like – like … the most important piece of him was out of step with the rest of us.'

She couldn't look at Edith.

'I didn't feel so special after that.'

Edith remained absolutely silent, and Mally thanked the heavens. She dreaded stifling comfort, she dreaded feeling the girl's hand on her shoulder to lend some well-meaning but humiliating support.

Mally continued; 'You know, I sort of want to find her. If that would make him better. Better like he used to be before he ever met her.'

And then, at last, came words from the girl beside her.

'You blame her for it.'

Mally looked up and found herself shot through with another awkwardly penetrating gaze. Yet there was no anger there in the dark eyes, no sorrow; only that familiar curiosity, as if the girl had spent her whole life locked away in a cellar and was only just now learning how people behaved.

Just when Mally thought she couldn't bear the aching familiarity of that curious gaze any longer, Edith's eyes flitted away for a second, and when they flitted back they were full instead with a resigned sadness.

'He really does miss her awfully, doesn't he?' she said.

'Yes,' sighed Mally, rubbing her hands against her eyes. 'Awfully.'

That night Mally couldn't sleep. She pattered down the corridor to Edith's room and knocked on the door.

'Come in.'

The little girl was sitting at the window, which was opened wide. A white blanket was drawn around her tightly against the fresh chill; her silhouette seeming so much larger than Mally was used to.

'Hello, Mally,' she said as the Dormouse clambered up beside her.

They sat in silence for a moment as Mally struggled to find the words that would put her mind at ease.

'Edith …' she began, 'about what I told you today …'

'I'm not going to tell anyone.' She spared her a glance to smile at her, then turned back to the open window.

'You're unusually serene tonight,' said Mally, amused by the uncharacteristically dreamy look on her face.

She didn't answer, gazing out at the stars. They were so high up in the towers of the White Castle that it seemed they were sitting amongst fields of stars rather than looking up at them, and Mally felt her stomach flip with a sudden thrill as she realised this. The crescent moon smiled down at them like a wide, curving grin, disembodied in the sky.

'It's funny,' said Edith after a while, 'this place. It reminds me of what it was like to be a child.'

You are a child, Edith,' Mally pointed out.

'I'm thirteen!' she said, much affronted.

'Oh, of course,' said Mally with a roll of the eyes, 'terribly grown up.'

Edith pulled a ghastly face and made as if to push her off the window sill.

'Oh, just try it,' dared Mally, prompting a snort of laughter from the girl. 'The queen said your leg should be better tomorrow.'

Edith rubbed at it, as if she'd just remembered the wound. The bandage had been removed earlier that evening, and the skin underneath had been oddly pink and shiny.

'Your crashing idea of lunging probably didn't help it much,' said Mally.

'But I'll be able to travel again?'

Mally looked at her. There was something desperate in her countenance, the look of someone longing to do something.

'I suppose.'

'Then we can leave tomorrow?'

'Yes.'

Edith leant back against the window frame and said no more, satisfied.

They fell back into the comfortable silence that comes between friends, watching the stars around them twinkle and shine long into the night.

Far miles away, deep in the heart of Tulgey Wood, the Hatter was getting rather distressed. He had fallen onto his knees at some point, and he wasn't sure when. All he knew was that he could feel the dirt under his hands, damp and tactile. His position was the least of his problems.

He could feel himself going up and down inside, like a crazed thermometer, filled to the brim with mercury that had nowhere to go but up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down –

He could see his clothes morphing through colour after colour before him – the lace and sleeves poking out of his jacket sleeves were reeling through a spectrum of violent reds, electric blues, shocking purples, poisonous greens –

He had to find that dratted snake. He had been so foolish, so unbelievably dim-witted; never trust a Tree Serpent –

He could feel his skin prickling. His hands were shaking, clawing into the dirt –

Up and down, up and down; he didn't know what he was feeling –

Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream –

Concentrate –

'Hatter! Calm down!'

'Calm down, Hatter! Hatter!'

'Hatter! Hatter!'

'Tarrant Hightopp, will you PLEASE, CALM DOWN!'

'Calm down, Hatter!'

'Hatter!'

Two hands on either side of his face. Cool and smooth and steady and so unafraid.

'Do you have any idea why a raven is like a writing desk? I'm frightened, Alice. I don't like it in here, it's terribly crowded.'

But she was there and for the space of the heartbeats that she was holding his face so soothingly his mind cleared completely and he could see. He could see her looking straight at him, all brown eyes and golden hair and perfect lips, lips that were moving, talking to him.

He had to find her. He couldn't let the Stone be lost. He couldn't let her be lost. Lost, lost like so many others.

At that thought his mind cleared, and his heart lurched with a sudden pain. Oh, please don't let her be lost. Not now, not when he'd been balancing on the brink of her being lost to him completely for so many years, not now when he'd finally rediscovered some hope. He'd already lost so much where she was concerned; so many opportunities, so many days, so many years, so much time. Seven years he'd wasted not looking for her, he should have searched long ago; should have gotten the courage to venture Above whether she wanted him or not and seek answers. And he should never have taken her on that boating trip.

He fell asleep in the early hours of the next morning, sprawled in the dirt from the now sadly familiar exhaustion, his hands tucked into his sleeves to stop them from shaking.

Mally and Edith left the next morning on a, (white), horse. Queen Mirana had waved them off with two packs stuffed with food and camping materials, slung on either side of the horse.

'I packed for you last night,' she had said to Mally aside with a knowing smile. 'I thought the girl would be eager to find her aunt. You know, Mallymkun,' she added, strapping the camping pack on more firmly – it seemed to be quite heavy, 'you don't have to go.'

'Got to keep an eye on the kid,' said Mally gruffly, 'Alice would have wanted me to.'

'You never did things because Alice wanted you to.'

'Sometimes I did,' said Mally, with the slightest touch of defiance.

The Queen smiled a little sadly, then, transferring the Dormouse from her shoulder to the saddle, she said more seriously, 'Mally. When you find him … If you can't find her …'

'I'll look after him,' said Mally stoutly, 'I always have, haven't I?'

Edith had arrived then. She seemed to have not so discreetly ripped the sleeves off her dress. The Queen cast a slightly horrified eye over this, but let it pass.

'Fairfarren, Mally,' she whispered before turning away, 'and good luck. You may be needing it.'

Now Mally was riding on Edith's shoulder, clinging in place as the horse trotted through the hilly, green countryside, travelling by the pebbly roads. They would cross paths with the occasional fellow horseman, and once a horse-drawn cart loaded with chattering children with downy light blonde hair and wide smiles; their parents at the reigns.

They passed through three towns, full of houses built from straw and sticks and brick, townspeople gossiping and talking on the streets. Mally watched Edith drink all the mundane sights in like honey, almost laughed at it. For a few hours she could forget worrying about the Hatter, and whether they would find him and Alice, as Edith pointed and exclaimed at the gramophones she saw in the shop windows, and the outrageously colourful clothes the people wore.

'Look at that woman's hat!' Edith cried, pointing shamelessly at a lady crossing the street, her proud head bearing a hat with a finely crafted ship in a bottle nestled amongst a ruffle of blue sea waves and frilly sea spray. Mally didn't have the heart to tell her not to shout so, even as the lady sent them an affronted look.

'It's one of the Hatter's,' said Mally proudly.

'It's amazing!' She was looking back, straining for another look. Then another costume caught her eye. 'Look at that skirt! It looks like someone splashed a rainbow all over it.'

'The fashion here's tending towards the like of Witzend. They're very colourful in the West.'

'So much colour. It's wonderful.' Edith turned back to face the road, chuckling slightly. 'I don't think I could live amongst all that colour every day though.'

By nightfall they had reached Tulgey Wood. The horse had tired surprisingly quickly, and it took some persuading and a good deal of water to convince it to continue further into the woods.

'Just a bit further,' said Mally coaxingly, 'just a bit further.'

Finally the horse stopped in a small clearing near the darker parts of Tulgey Wood and refused to move an inch further.

'Edith, carrots, in the pack,' urged Mally as the girl slid off, stumbling onto the forest floor. 'Quickly.'

'Which one?'

'Left.'

Edith moved around the horse to the pack on the other side and struggled with the strap on the lid of the pack.

'How do you …?'

'Twist the … oh, here, let me.' Mally scampered down Edith's arm and leapt onto the pack to untwist the metal knob holding the strap in place. No sooner had she done so than a horribly familiar blonde head popped out like a jack in the box, gasping for air; slender arms stretching out. Mally was thrown right off the pack and into the air.

'Mally!' Edith cried, lunging forward to catch her and slipping on her long skirts.

Mally found herself landing heavily in Edith's outstretched palms, on her back and dazed. The world lurched alarmingly and the trees blurred as Edith scrambled to her feet. Mally could feel her near trembling with anger.

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?' she thundered at the stowaway.

Mally couldn't make out the meek reply from Isolda. All she could discern was that the reason for the woman's sudden appearance had something to do with fairy godmothers.

'We are not your fairy godmothers!'

Another soft mumble of words from Isolda.

'I don't care one bit about your "Destiny"!' snapped Edith. 'You do believe in the silliest things.'

Mally sat up, rubbing her head dizzily. Isolda was staring at her and Edith with a wide-eyed expression of mixed horror and guilt.

'What do you think you're doing here?' said Mally abruptly.

'I had to follow you,' said Isolda, tilting her chin more confidently, 'you're to lead me on to where my Path shall further lead me.'

'What?' spluttered Edith. 'What – what does that even mean?'

'Isolda,' began Mally testily, 'we are not your fairy godmothers. We are not your godmothers, we're not even your friends! I am a Dormouse, and Edith is an undersized thirteen year old, and we ain't fairies! And if you ever call us that or anything like it ever again I will personally rip your prissy little mouth out! Understand?'

Isolda had nearly vanished back inside the pack, and now all that was visible of her were two blue eyes and two graceful hands. The blonde head nodded.

'Good. Now get out of there.'

Isolda hastened to obey, sliding out of the pack without a scuffle.

Edith strode over to the pack and peered inside.

'You emptied it out just so you could stow away!'

'I had to, Edie, please understand,' begged Isolda, her hands clasped.

'Don't call me "Edie",' said the girl stiffly, moving away from her. 'How can you have thought you'd be welcome? Isn't it blindingly obvious enough for you that we don't like you?'

'Every young hero or heroine must undertake the Three Tests,' said Isolda, 'it's a sub-category of the Rule of Three.'

'That's blethers,' said Mally, 'all that fairytale stuff. Rule of Three, and "the eldest sibling makes no fortune", and all of it.'

'Not to mention knights in shining armour,' muttered Edith.

'I will find my Prince,' said Isolda steadfastly. 'I know he's out there somewhere.'

'Yes, I suppose he's galloping across deadly terrains and battling a dragon for you right now,' Edith retorted.

At that moment they heard a shuffling noise from the direction of the horse. They turned to look, just in time to see another familiar head of white emerge from the remaining pack, supposedly filled with camping gear.

'Pig?'

'Pig?'

'Pig?'

'AH!' He turned, standing and visible above the waist. When he saw them he toppled straight out of the pack and crashed to the ground, trailing rope which had entangled itself around his right ankle. In half a moment he shot up again like cork, shaking the rope off his foot.

'Isolda,' he exclaimed, 'sweet cream puff! I have come to pledge my love to you!' He tried to extend an arm out with a flourish but only managed to bruise his elbow against the edge of the pack. 'Ow.'

Isolda sighed prettily.

'Again?' she said wearily. 'I told you, Pig, you're just a kitchen boy. And you've already gone white in the hair and you can't be more than twenty.'

'I'm twenty three,' said Pig quickly.

'I'm afraid we just don't have anything in common.'

'Oi, hold on,' said Mally, taken aback, 'you stowed away too?'

'I shall never leave my love's side!' he swore, looking at Isolda.

'I am not your love,' she said, folding her arms and turning her perfect nose up at him.

Pig grappled for words, seeming at a slight lost as to what to do, then suddenly dove back into the pack, rummaging into it, his head disappearing.

'Fmmphmph!' he said, his voice muffled.

'What?' sighed Isolda impatiently.

'Flowers,' said Pig as he emerged. He thrust a bunch of half-wilted springroses at her. She didn't take them, instead eyeing them from a safe distance as though they might be diseased.

'I sat on them about five miles back,' he said apologetically.

'Look, this is all very touching,' snapped Edith with crossed arms, 'but now you've had your reunion will you take it elsewhere? You've already wasted enough of our time.'

'I'm not leaving you,' insisted Isolda.

'I'm not leaving Isolda,' insisted Pig.

'Well, we're leaving you!'

'Edith, don't be so childish,' said Mally, rubbing at her forehead. She could feel a headache coming on.

'They started it!'

'I am not going to referee an argument between the three of you!'

'Well, good, because we don't need a referee!' Edith turned to the other two before Mally could open her mouth. 'Mally and I are going to find Alice.'

'I thought we were finding the Hatter!' frowned Mally.

'Oh, your precious Hatter!'

Mally flinched, stung. She jumped off Edith's hand, landing on the forest floor with a glare.

'What about your precious bloody Alice?' she shouted.

'Listen,' started Pig, trying to step between them.

'Stay out of it!' both yelled. Pig stumbled back hastily, knocking into the horse, which – exhausted and short-tempered – started, and kicked out with its hind legs, whinnying in panic.

'Oof!' gasped Pig as he narrowly avoided being kicked in the stomach, staggering out of the way, tripping up on his own feet and falling onto all fours.

Mally started ahead, meaning to calm the horse, which was still rearing and pawing the ground in something akin to frightened indignation, then she realised that she was far too small to be of any use. She cursed, gripping her hatpin sword instinctively, as Isolda stood rooted to the spot in useless astonishment, and Edith began dancing around the horse, trying to grab its reins.

'Woah, boy! Calm down – ah!' The horse reared up and Edith fell back, tripping on Pig, who was climbing to his feet, and bringing them both down like a pair of dominoes. While they scrambled around on the forest floor in a panic the horse neighed, affronted, and charged away into the woods.

'Wait!' shouted Mally in desperation, scurrying along the ground. 'Come back!' She knew it was no use. The horse was only a mute animal; it had no ability to understand or comprehend a word she was saying.

Mally soon lost sight of it amongst the thick trees and came to a halt, panting. For a moment she turned from side to side, lost, then her sharp ears pricked and picked up the sounds of an argument. With a sigh she scurried back in its direction.

'We were just getting started and already you've both ruined it!'

'I couldn't part with her!'

'I can't part from my spirit guides!'

'Oh, so we're your spirit guides now?' said Mally as she reached the glade, hands on hips and severely unimpressed.

Edith was in the midst of a screaming match with Pig and Isolda. All three were flushed from shouting; Edith was scowling, Pig was looking stubbornly lovesick, and Isolda had the rather sickening expression of one who was most woefully wronged.

'I can't Diverge from my Path –' she began.

'Don't talk to me about not Diverging from Paths,' snorted Mally, 'I know people who make their own.'

'Please, don't make me leave,' begged Isolda, 'please.'

The more her bottom lip trembled the more Mally wanted to tell her exactly where she could stick her Path, her Destiny, and her Prince Charming.

She could see Edith trying to catch her eye, shaking her head.

'You're leaving in the morning,' said Mally as firmly as she could muster. 'Both of you. We'll camp here tonight.'

With that she sat herself down just as firmly, resolving not to move no matter how much she got screamed at. The three humans burst into uproar.

'Camp?' repeated Edith, as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'But there's still at least two good hours of travel left!'

'I can't leave you!' cried Isolda, promptly bursting into tears.

'Now look what you've done to her!' exclaimed Pig, dropping the flowers and starting forward to comfort her. She shoved him away.

'Just send them home now! Please, Mally?' Edith crumpled down beside her.

Mally noted the use of "please", amused by her friend's apparent total despair.

'You need to learn how to put up with people you don't like, Edie,' she said.

'Don't call me that,' she moaned, covering her ears and cringing comically. 'Nobody's called me that since I was a child.'

'Well, I think it's still fitting then.'

'I gave you flowers!' Pig was saying, trying to get close enough to Isolda to hug her comfortingly.

'I don't want flowers! And I'm allergic to springroses!'

Pig was instantly horrified.

'Yes,' pouted Isolda, 'now do you see what you could have done to me?' She turned away with a flurry of pink skirt and immaculately groomed curls.

'I'm s-sorry, I – I didn't know –'

'Well, now you do.'

'Let me make it up to you. Please. I can prove my love!'

'How am I supposed to put up with a full night of that?' said Edith despairingly.

'You'll survive,' was Mally's dry response.

No amount of begging, tears, screaming, or shouting could budge Mally's decision. The four of them started to set up camp; or rather, Mally and Edith started to set up camp whilst Pig darted around the area fetching soft things that Isolda might be able to lie down on without dirtying her dress.

'All I wanted was a soft bed,' said the woman, sitting atop a carefully made bed of moss two hours later. 'Surely we could have found an inn nearby.'

'Inns are out of the woods, Isolda, for the tenth time,' growled Mally from across the dimming fire. 'And we have no money.'

'We could have begged a place.'

'The people here can't afford to give things away. Even after all this time, we're still rebuilding after the Bloody Reign.'

Edith was curled into a tree root a small distance away. She seemed to have her hands over her ears and her eyes screwed shut.

'Pig found some mushrooms, Edith,' called Mally. 'Come eat something.'

The girl shook her head.

'They're not exactly Marmorean pastries,' said Pig, with an apologetic glance at Isolda, 'but they're not bad.'

Isolda heaved a very heavy sigh and refused to look at them.

'I don't eat mushrooms,' she said.

Pig's face fell.

Mally made her way over to the balled-up Edith, waving a toasted mushroom on a stick under her nose.

'Edith, it's good,' she sang coaxingly. 'You haven't eaten all day.'

'M'not hungry.'

'Rubbish.'

She poked at Edith's mouth with the mushroom. The girl spluttered, opening her eyes and pushing it away.

'Mally!'

'You're just sulking, that's all.'

'Maybe I am,' she said, sticking her chin out, 'I have a right to sulk if I want.'

'C'mon,' said Mally more seriously, 'they're not that bad. Well, she is. But –'

'That girl,' spat Edith, as though "girl" was a derogative adjective of deepest loathing, 'is driving me insane.'

'Don't worry, we're all mad here.'

Edith threw her a half-hearted glare, the corners of her mouth twitching.

'I'm serious.'

'I'm serious too.'

'And if he uses the words "azure", "honey", "alabaster", and "strands of pure gold spun by the angels" to describe that girl's appearance again …'

'I'll let you punch him, alright?'

Edith huffed, then smiled wryly at Mally.

'I'll be back in a minute,' she said, getting to her feet suddenly.

'Where are you going?' frowned Mally.

'I'll get some more firewood,' she said dismissively, slouching away into the darkness.

'No, Edith, wait –'

'I'll be fine, Mally.'

'Don't go off the path!' she shouted to her disappearing back. 'Edith!'

'Mallymkun?'

'Hmm?' Mally turned to see Pig eyeing the mushroom she was holding hungrily.

'Are you eating that?'

Time passed. Isolda fell asleep, golden hair spread in a cascade around her. Pig settled a respectful distance away and watched her contentedly.

'Pig,' hissed Mally.

'S-sorry?' he said, twisting around.

'Don't do that. It's creepy.'

'Oh. O-okay.' He dutifully turned over onto his other side and seemed to drift off into an almost instant sleep.

'I wish Edith was that obedient,' Mally whispered to herself. She sat up, looking into the darkness around the glade. It was horribly reminiscent of her last night in Tulgey Wood. With the memory of the Evisceraker her stomach flipped sickeningly and she stood. Edith should have been back a long time ago.

Casting one last glance over her shoulder at the sleeping pair by the fire, she started off onto the dark path, trying to follow the girl's scent. Predictably it led off the path soon enough, following instead some higgledy-piggledy rows of squimberry bushes.

'Edith!' called Mally. 'Edith, where are you, you great useless lump?'

The trail led on and on, deeper into the forest. The trees grew closer together, some entwining themselves around one another, and Mally remembered with unease the tales her brother used to tell of the curses laid upon 'lover trees'.

Further on Mally almost tripped on several sticks and pieces of bark that had been gathered on the ground. She frowned at them, puzzled. Why had the girl left them there? Then with a sudden chill Mally realized that they hadn't been carefully laid down. They had been dropped.

Suddenly, from somewhere in the darkness to her left, a girl's scream split the night air.

Mally charged towards it without a second thought.

A/N:

But Michael will still nag me,

Oh, and by the way,

This story is still not mine.