Disclaimer:

Draco's there at close of day,

Nagging half my life away,

And by the by and by the way,

Harry borrows toys to play,

But cannot say she owns them, nay.

CHAPTER ELEVEN – THE HATTER MEETS A SQUIRREL

After three days more of searching for the thieving Tree Serpent the Hatter realized he hadn't eaten for quite some time. He hadn't slept either, not properly lie-down-and-close-your-eyes type of sleep.

'That's not good,' he muttered to himself as he trudged along, stumbling half-blindly without looking where he was going; eyes only for the flash of scaly tail. 'That's not good at all. I need to find the snake – the Serpent – I need to find him, and how can I do that when I am collapsing where I stand – walk. Trot, totter, stumble, fumble, pace, advance, stalk, skip – no, no skipping.'

He frowned to himself and almost tripped over an overgrown tree root.

'I really must find some scones,' he told himself sternly. 'Although I rather get the feeling I'm running out of Time. I could always ask him for more, I suppose, but then we've always been out of sorts with one another. And it wasn't my fault, I told him – "I really didn't mean to" I said, "I didn't mean to murder the Time" – but Thackery did insist on beating Time so vigorously to keep pace, and one can't help but sing fast when the beater insists on beating allegro. Too fast, too fast. I think I skipped some parts entirely – no, no skipping.'

A breath to clear the clutter in his brain.

'No. Find the snake – the Serpent. Find the Stone. Find Alice. Find, find, find, find, find, find –'

He stopped as he heard a noise somewhere up ahead. He was well off any path here, and quite lost in the semi-darkness. The trees grew so closer together that Tarrant had lost track of whether it was day or night or in between.

As he drew closer the noises merged into the sounds of a heated argument.

'I told you – I NEED IT!'

'Nathty little liar!'

'I didn't lie! I changed my mind!'

Tarrant approached the speakers carefully, peeking out from behind a tree. In the half-darkness he made out the furry shape of some small woodland creature, who he at first mistook for Mallymkun. Then a bushy tail waved into view and he saw it was in fact a Squirrel, currently shouting in a high-pitched voice to none other than Batibat the Tree Serpent.

'You thaid you'd return it to me!'

'It's not yours and I know it isn't,' declared the Squirrel, 'if anyone's a liar it's you.'

It was only then that the Hatter noticed what the Squirrel was clasping so tightly to its chest. It was now wrapped in a different white fabric, but the shape and the faint voices it was emitting were unmistakable.

The Serpent reared up above the suddenly tiny Squirrel, hissing and baring immaculate white fangs. She stood her ground.

'It's – not – yours,' she repeated dangerously.

'No,' said the Hatter, stepping out from the behind the tree and feeling more in control than he had in days. 'I do believe it's mine.'

Both heads snapped towards him and he was met with identical pairs of wide eyes. Tarrant watched recognition dawn on the Serpent's thin face, closely followed by an audible gulp.

'Did ye mam not teach ye it's rude to touch what disnae belong to ye, Serpent?' he growled, advancing on the Serpent, who backed down and inched away from him. 'I suggest you find some other shiny object to pilfer.'

The Serpent shrank.

'Tho thorry,' he lisped in a voice as slick as oil. His tongue darted out once before he turned and slithered away, disappearing swiftly into the dark spaces between the trees.

The Hatter turned to the Squirrel, who was watching him with something akin to begrudging awe.

'You'll be wanting this, I suppose,' she said, offering up the Stone before he could even open his mouth to ask for it.

'I … yes, thank you,' he said, rather surprised, taking the Stone.

The Squirrel watched as he unwound the white cloth. The voices filtered out to him quickly, all enraged and shrieking.

'THE INDIGNITIES OF IT!'

'I WILL NOT BE BUNDLED ABOUT LIKE SOME COMMON GARDEN PEBBLE!'

'Please! Gentlemen, ladies, please,' said the Hatter, distressed by the burst in volume. 'Soften your tone!'

'Soften my tone? SOFTEN MY TONE? As if I haven't got a right to shout whenever I feel the need to make my opinion heard!'

'I wanted to ask,' said the Hatter gently, treading on eggshells, 'where to go to find Alice.'

'ALICE! By the gods, man, is she all you ever think about?' This voice descended into a ranting babble of angry language, drowned by its companions.

'Please –'

'OH, FINE! Go left,' grunted the old man, 'And be damned.'

The Hatter hastily bundled up the violently protesting Stone once more and stuffed it into his pocket. He was about to turn left when he saw the Squirrel was still standing there, frowning at him expectantly. He hesitated mid-step.

'Er … I'm afraid I have nothing to give you as payment –'

'I don't want payment,' snorted the Squirrel, scurrying to his side, 'I'm coming with you. And you're not fobbing me off this time. Or running away the second you get a chance to.'

'I … what?'

'It's me,' said the Squirrel, rolling her eyes.

'I beg your pardon?'

'It's me,' she repeated, gesturing towards herself.

He looked at her in confusion.

'Is it indeed?' he said.

'Me,' she said again. Seeing his blank look, she sighed, 'You know,' she hinted, and mimed a silent hissy fit, stamping her foot and pulling a face.

'Oh!' he said, nodding, 'yes, yes; when you say 'me' you mean 'you' and you are … er –'

Her patience snapped in two.

'Edith!' she cried in frustration.

'Oh!' he said. Then he frowned, staring at her. Something niggled at him. There was small silence as he puzzled over it. 'You know, it's funny … but I could have sworn you weren't a Squirrel the last time I saw you. In fact you looked nearly, well, you were distinctly little-girl-shaped.'

Edith the Squirrel winced.

'Yes,' she said, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. 'I had a bad run-in with … well. A few nasty things. And a Serpent. And a feral cat. It's a nuisance being a small Animal, I don't know how Mally puts up with it. Everything wants to eat you.'

It took some time to extract the entire story, in its complete and sense-making entirety, from Edith.

'Perhaps,' began the Hatter as they sat down that night, facing each other over the fire with mirrored frowns, 'it might be an idea to start with exactly how you were transformed into a Squirrel.'

Edith's frown deepened slightly, and she grimaced again.

'Well, she thought it would stop me from getting away, you see,' she said, 'most people don't like being turned into a Squirrel.'

The Hatter stared at her for a moment, then blinked in slight confusion.

'I'm sorry, what?'

'She thought that I wouldn't leave until she turned me back into a girl,' said Edith.

The Hatter bit his lip.

'Perhaps,' he began once more, 'it would be a better idea to explain exactly who "she" is first.'

'But you said to start with how I got turned into a Squirrel –'

'Yes, I know.'

There was a more than slightly resentful pause from Edith.

'You're confusing,' she said irritably.

'I'm confusing?'

'Yes.'

'Well, you – you …' he flapped an arm at her in indignation, 'you're more confusing.'

'You are so much more confusing than me.'

'Excuse me! I'll think you'll find that you're more confusing than I!'

'I was only doing what you asked me to!'

'Yes!' he snapped, feeling rather stupidly childish all the while. 'And in a roundabout … just – just purposefully confusing way!'

'Purposefully confusing? Are you saying I was going out of my way to confuse you?'

'Confuse, befuddle, irritate, annoy, bewilder, baffle, STUPEFY! No, no skipping –' he clapped a hand over his mouth before he could regress any further into ranting, although the word "find" squeezed its way past his lips before he regained complete control.

The little Squirrel looked at him like he had just grown another head and sung a harmonized duet with it.

'Mollygaggers,' she muttered, seemingly to herself.

'I believe you'll find the correct term is "gallymoggers",' he said, lowering his hand slightly. 'If you're going to insult me in Outlandish I'd rather you do it properly.'

'I'm not an expert,' she said defensively, showing off her brutish scowl once more, 'I only know the basics. And swearwords.'

'Of course,' said the Hatter, dropping his hand with an annoyed, tense half smile, 'a beautiful, ancient language, untested yet upon one's tongue, and the first thing to learn is how to graphically curse in the most vulgar way possible.'

'From what I heard,' she retorted immediately, 'you aren't exactly squeaky clean when it comes to cursing.'

The half smile on his face felt tense enough to snap in two now.

'Just tell me your story,' he said, his voice low and a little too dangerous for his own liking. This child wore his patience thin.

She just glared at him for a moment, then seemed to decide that she had pushed her luck far enough, and began.

She and Mallymkun had left Marmoreal after a day to come and find him, Edith explained. However, they hadn't gotten far before they discovered that Pigmeckun Duke and a woman named Isolda had stowed away in the large side packs.

'And who is Isolda?'

Edith gestured wildly and cursed vehemently in Outlandish, insulting the woman's ancestry, ability to basket weave, and ability to do something rather more vulgar, though Tarrant guessed, (correctly), that that particular phrase had probably been picked up from Mallymkun and the girl probably didn't fully understand its implications.

'And Pig's sworn never to leave her side for longer than it takes for her to go to the toilet, and she's sworn never to leave our side until she's happily married to her imaginary Prince, so Mally and I were stuck with them both – and they wouldn't stop talking!' Edith moaned, rubbing her hands over her furry ears as if they were still bruised from the experience.

She had wandered away from the camp that night in the hope of getting some respite from the pair, and had stumbled into a trap. The next morning she had woken to find herself trussed up in a cramped wood cabin cluttered with silver daggers, cauldrons, poison'd entrails and the like, with a disfigured old woman looming over her head and poking her with a ladle. The woman, apparently, was a witch, and Edith, apparently, was soon to be an ingredient in her "hell-broth".

The witch had asked her quite politely if she was a blaspheming Jew by any chance, and Edith had replied not quite so politely that she most certainly was not. The witch had then proceeded to pace about the cabin ranting about how hard blaspheming Jews were to come by these days, as were newts, blind worms, adders, and birth-strangled babes.

'And don't even get me started on how I had to travel all the way to the Crim Coast just to gut that shark! And the last dragon was slain years ago so how I'm going to get hold of a scale I don't know …'

The witch had continued with this for some time until she noticed that Edith was struggling to untie her ropes, and threw a hex at her hard enough to slam the girl against the wall of the cabin.

'Oh, I'm sorry, dearie, but I can't have that. I'll be needing to turn you into a newt or an owlet when I find where I put the right spells. A frog even. You know, everyone thinks frogs are easy, but they're really rather fiddly,' she added conversationally as she wove a Squirrel spell around the dazed Edith, 'it's a matter of getting the whole amphibian thing right, in my opinion. The organs have to be in exactly the right place. Now, Squirrels on the other hand, well, not to blow my own trumpet or anything, but I like to call them my specialty. Simple spell, quick and easy; and it keeps people in place. I'm the only one who owns the counter-curse, you see,' she said pointedly, tying off the mid-air spell and tightening it sharply.

The witch had then dropped the newly Squirrel-fied Edith into the last spare cage, (one filled with bits of junk she had evidently picked up out of mild interest), locked it, and swept out to search for more ingredients; safe in the belief that even if Edith managed to escape her cage, she wouldn't leave without the counter-curse.

The moment she had left, the cabin had burst into a cacophony of voices from all sides, most of them abusing the witch.

'Stupid woman.'

'So how'd you get caught?'

'She thinks she's so clever!'

'She's as blind as a bat! No offence, Arthur.'

'None taken.'

'Did she get you in one of her traps or did she make her house look like gingerbread again?'

'Everyone, please!'

The cabin was filled with forest critters, ranging from bats to dogs to a bad-tempered goat. They had accumulated over the past year as the witch set about gathering ingredients, and they were scheduled to be slaughtered when the ingredient list was complete. Understandably, they weren't very happy with their present situation, and were planning to escape, regardless of the witch's tactic of hiding all the counter spells on her person at all times, because as Arthur the Bat said, it was "better to be a live Bat than a dead human".

So far the Animals hadn't managed to construct a successful Escape Plan, as their Escape Plan Meetings always escalated into full-out arguments over what exactly their Escape Plan ought to be. It had previously taken them a month to decide that they should start with unlocking their cages, and even then there were still some disgruntled mutterings that they should start with somehow knocking the witch out first.

Later that day the witch had returned, hauling a large, squirming sack through the door with her. She dumped it by the hearth, exhausted, before collapsing into an armchair and wiping her brow with a filthy cloth which left streaks of dirt across her forehead. She shot a fire spell at the hearth, and was fast asleep within a matter of minutes. The sack too, stopped squirming, the trapped creature inside evidently giving up its struggle.

'It was about then there was a ripping noise and a pair of fangs tore through the sack,' Edith continued.

'Batibat.'

'Is that his name?' said Edith, raising her eyes momentarily from the fire.

'I had the pleasure of meeting him beforehand,' said the Hatter bitterly. 'Go on. What did he do when he got out of the sack?'

'Well, he slithered about on the floor for a bit gloating because he was the only one who wasn't caged. Then he started slithering about on the witch looking for something while everyone was at him begging to be let out of their cages.'

'You too?'

'I was trying to bargain with him,' said Edith haughtily, as if the very idea of her begging for something was ludicrous, 'I asked him what he was looking for.'

'The Stone?' guessed the Hatter.

She nodded, '"A shiny stone wrapped in white cloth" he said, so when he turned his back I picked up a stone from the junk in my cage and ripped off the hem of my dress to wrap it in. Then I waved it in his face and said I'd give it to him if he got me out of the cabin safely.'

Tarrant couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

'And then when you both got out of the cabin and into the woods the stone you chose magically turned into the real Stone?'

Edith shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with her tail.

'Well … yes.'

The Hatter's eyebrows shot higher.

'At least, I think that's what happened.' Edith leaned forward, her whiskers twitching, 'I think that when the witch stole the real Stone off Batibat when she caught him, she enchanted it to make it look like just any old ordinary stone. She wasn't a very good witch, but she must have had at least half an idea of what it was.' She sat back, seemingly pleased with her own deduction. 'Then when we crossed the threshold of her home it turned back into its true form.'

'And you didn't?' said the Hatter skeptically. 'And how did she get the Stone into your cage without you noticing?'

Edith's face fell.

'It's the only way I can explain it, alright?' she said hotly.

'How do you explain the rather amazing coincidences that Batibat just happened to be captured by the witch at the same time as you, and, (assuming that she somehow dropped it in without you noticing), that said witch put the Stone in the same cage as you, and that it only took a day and three quarters to find me in this impressively vast forest?' he said pointedly, folding his arms.

'Will you just –' Edith went to fold her arms, then realized she was copying his stance, and jerked them back down into her lap, huffing out a frustrated sigh, not meeting his glare for once. 'I don't know,' she shrugged with the defeated air of someone who was getting very tired of all this; rubbing her palm against her forehead, brow furrowed. 'I just don't know.' She sighed once more, and then fell into a bitter silence, staring into the fire; her shoulders slack.

The Hatter started to feel a little silly with his arms crossed, and shifted to lean back on his hands instead, though he continued to shoot Edith a glare every now and then.

For a long moment neither spoke, until the girl said something that caught his attention.

'I hope Mally's alright.'

Edith was hugging herself with her scrawny, furry arms; frowning at the dirt at her feet, genuine concern showing on her face. She caught him staring at her in puzzlement, and pulled a face.

'What?'

'You're worried about her,' said the Hatter, tilting his head.

'Of course I am,' the girl snorted, 'she's my friend.' A mixture of pride and defiance ran beneath the words.

'She is? Well, that's … different,' was all he could reply.

'I know,' she said, hugging herself tighter, shivering and pulling her knees up to her chest.

Tarrant frowned more deeply, and looked at her a second time.

'You're different.'

Her dark eyes met his, but she said nothing, and he couldn't help but compare their colour to Alice's – those eyes he hadn't seen in years, brown and full of youth and warmth. Edith's eyes were brown too, but darker; dark enough to be nearly black, empty of both youth and warmth and full instead with an unforgiving, watchful sharpness that made him feel uncomfortable. The eyes themselves were bad enough, but to see them sitting in the face of a child was plain unsettling for him. He could see the accusation of the family he had drawn Alice away from in those eyes; so grave and silent that they made the Hatter's mouth twist into an ironic half smile.

'"Then this ebony bird beguiling, my sad fancy into smiling,"' he recited, '"by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore … ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –"'

'How do you know so much Overland poetry anyway?' interrupted Edith, seeming just as disturbed by the sudden poetry recital as he was by her.

'Alice,' he replied simply. 'She used to bring me books. We'd read them to each other sometimes … And we'd make up stories. So many stories. "A tale begun in other days, when summer suns were glowing – a simple chime that served to time the rhythms of our rowing …"'

Edith watched the Hatter stare into the dancing fire, colours shifting in his eyes; green and blue and yellow and faint purple. He seemed so sad and so lost for a moment that she very nearly felt sorry for him. Then she remembered the anguished eyes of her own mother, pleading with her blindly and calling for someone who wasn't there.

'Why are you doing this alone?' she said, shooting the question at him like a poison tipped arrow. 'Why won't you let anyone help you? You're not the only person who cared about her; she doesn't belong to you.'

If the words stung as much as part of her had intended them to, the Hatter gave no indication but to avoid her gaze completely.

'I need to do this myself,' he said, frowning absently as he spoke, 'because it's all my fault, you see, all my fault, and I simply must put right the mistake I made before everything's ruined forever.' He sighed. 'If we could just go back to the way we were. We were happy.'

'Things can't ever just go back to the way they were,' snorted Edith. 'And besides, what if they did? You'd never know if you'd missed out on something that came after all those bad things, something that made all the sorrow worthwhile. Doesn't everything blow over eventually?'

That wry smile appeared again.

'In a world where time doesn't work properly, there's nothing that can heal wounds, I suppose,' he said quietly, half to himself.

'What are you talking about, "all your fault"?' said Edith after a moment of silence. 'What mistake?'

'"A boat beneath a sunny sky,

Lingering onward dreamily,

In an evening of July.

Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing –"'

'Hatter! What mistake are you talking about? What did you do?' persisted Edith, leaning forward. The Hatter ignored her completely, his body stiffened and his eyes staring – the colours in them shifting and changing.

'"Long has paled that sunny sky,

Echoes fade and memories die,

Autumn frosts have slain July …"'

'Hatter –'

'"Still she haunts me, phantom-wise,

Alice moving under skies,

Never seen by waking eyes –"'

'HATTER!' She was on her feet, screaming – he was shaking, his hands were shaking; she was desperately trying to snap him out of it, trying to stop him but unable to go anywhere near him. 'STOP! Please, stop!' She felt so tiny, so helpless, and she could see her mother before her, shaking her and calling for Alice.

As she cried out Tarrant felt his mind clear painfully, and he could see straight again. The world sorted itself out from the jumbled mass of colours, and he saw a trembling Edith standing across the slowly dying fire from him. She was scared of him, he suddenly realised. She was absolutely terrified. Sickening remorse washed through him. He was a monster – a monster, out of control.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm find.' He shook his head, frowning. 'I mean, fine.'

The niece shook her head, stepping away from him warily, her black eyes watchful.

'No, you're not.'

'I'm sorry,' he whispered meekly again. 'I can't help it. I scare everyone away and then it gets worse when everyone's scared away. Then there's only me. And my mind. But don't be afraid. I wouldn't hurt you.'

She wrapped her too-thin arms around herself, shivering.

'Wouldn't you?' she said coldly, swallowing.

'You are close to someone I care about very much.'

The girl choked out a laugh, 'That doesn't make any difference. It wouldn't make any difference if I were your own daughter.' She sat down on the ground again, crossing her legs.

Tarrant tilted his head at her.

'What a strange thing to say.'

She laughed again.

'Says the man with two voices,' she said, staring at the ground determinedly.

'You won't look at me now.'

She looked up at him then, in surprise, as if she'd only just realised what she was doing.

'You've remind me of … things I'd rather not be reminded of.'

'Things you would rather forget?'

'Yes.'

Tarrant thought this over to himself.

'People like me are best forgotten then?' he said quietly.

The girl stiffened.

'She never forgot you, Hatter. She never could.'

'Promise?'

'I promise,' she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. 'She always came down here.' There was something accusing about the statement, and she looked straight at him, as though he was the one to blame.

'And she always went back up there,' he said, mirroring the bitterness, returning the glare.

Silent and unspoken, their thoughts behind the two sentences hung in the frozen air.

She came down here for you.

And she went back up for you.

You're the reason I never had her.

You're the reason I was always waiting for her.

The two of them sat there, the niece and the hatter, locked against one another in the same purpose, and simultaneously missing Alice.