Chapter Three: Among Mad People
"Here," Chesh said, holding out the March Hare's handkerchief. Theodore stared at it, dumbfounded; he hadn't even noticed the Cat picking it up. Shaking his head, he took a step back—and only then noticed that they had appeared in front of the entrance to the Tea Party.
"Oh no. I am not going in there. Give it back to him yourself," he snapped, turning away. "I have to get back to the Palace."
"Oh, come on," Chesh said. "After I went to all that trouble, too—just take it and walk in. At least with them you're not in danger."
"No!" Theodore yelled. "I hate him! That pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed—"
"Sickening, cruel, selfish, petty jackass. I know. You think I don't feel the same way?" There was a long pause, and the Cat sighed. "Come on—just take it back. I'll go in with you, and then I can give you a lift to the Palace."
"Not worth it," Theodore grated through clenched teeth.
Chesh raised an eyebrow. "No? The Duchess is bound to ask him about it next time he comes over. What do you think would happen to you if she heard he'd never got it back?"
Theodore whirled on him. "You wouldn't—" One look at Chesh's face stopped him dead in his tracks. "You would. Oh... oh dear..."
"It's not personal. I don't want to go in there any more than you do. If you come with me..." He shrugged uncomfortably.
"Oh," Theodore said, understanding. "You don't want to go alone."
"Bang on. Here," he said, once again holding the handkerchief out to Theodore. The Rabbit stared at it, revolted.
"Do I have to touch that?" he pleaded. "You saw where it was—and it's the Hare's—"
"She asked you to bring it back," the Cat said quietly. "She's unstable enough that she might explode if she found out it was me who gave it to him—even if you were with me," he added.
Giving the piece of fabric in question a distasteful look, the Rabbit reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pair of elegant men's gloves. Chesh raised an eyebrow.
"I refuse to allow that disgusting piece of refuse to make contact with my skin," Theodore said, glaring at it as he slid them on. Chesh just rolled his eyes, grinning, and tossed it to him. Theodore caught the handkerchief with a grimace. It smelled like something floral and rotten; he wasn't sure if it was the Duchess's perfume or the Hare's cologne, and neither thought appealed to him.
"It's sickening to think that they—they're—"
"Fucking. Yeah." The Cat gave a dry laugh, swinging the gate open. "Believe me, I make sure I'm far away on the nights he comes over."
Theodore was silent, biting back the urge to retch.
"Come on," Chesh said, swinging open the gate. "Let's get this over with."
The Mad Tea Party was laid out on a banquet-sized table in the March Hare's garden. Though there were literally dozens of seats, only three were ever occupied—but the food never seemed to go bad and the tea never got cold, no matter which seats they were in this week. The Mad Hatter had always had problems with time.
The Hatter in question was sitting with the March Hare and the Dormouse about two thirds of the way down the table, drinking out of an ornate peacock blue teacup. When he saw the Cat and the Rabbit approaching—the latter considerably more reluctantly than the former—his innocent face spread into a wide grin. The Hare, however, sniffed condescendingly and got to his feet, looking down his nose at them.
"Don't be ridiculous. Can't you see there's no room?"
"No room," the Dormouse mumbled in his sleep.
"That's absurd," Theodore snapped before the Cat could reply. "There's plenty of room. Look at all the empty space."
The Hare sniffed again. "There's no room for you," he said.
"That's fine," Chesh cut in, arms folded across his chest, watching the Hare with his head tilted slightly to the side, expression curiously blank. "We just came to return some lost property."
"Oh, no, no!" the Mad Hatter interrupted, getting to his feet. He was smiling widely and there was a slightly dazed twinkle in his bright green eyes. "We can't have that! You simply must stay for tea. This is a Tea Party, after all."
"We just came to give something back to the Hare," Theodore said, shooting the Hare in question a poisonous glare. He loftily ignored it.
"Oh, but you simply must stay for a cup," the Hatter pleaded, gesturing around the table at the wide array of assorted teatime paraphernalia. "Only a few minutes. It is tea time."
"But it's scarcely past noon—" Theodore began. Chesh cut him off with an urgent gesture.
"Of course we'll stay," the Cat said, overriding the suddenly mute Theodore. His voice was considerably warmer than it had been when he spoke to the March Hare. "But not for long. We have somewhere to be."
"Certainly, certainly!" the Hatter said expansively, beaming, sitting back down. The Hare resumed his seat next to him; Chesh and Theodore were left to find their own places among the teapots and sugar bowls.
"Chesh, what are you doing?" Theodore hissed under his breath as they sat down. "I thought we were just giving the handkerchief back! We shouldn't have to stay, it's not tea time, and I don't see why you stopped me from saying that—"
"Play along for the Hatter's sake," Chesh whispered back, draping himself over the tabletop. "I'll explain later, I promise, just, please, follow my lead."
Bewildered, Theodore sat back, looking over the Tea Party. He had never spent much time with the Mad Hatter; since making the March Hare's acquaintance years back, he had done his best to avoid him utterly, and as the Hare was always with the Hatter, that meant avoiding him as well. It was really all for the best: the Hatter was obviously, if harmlessly, completely mad, and Theodore never knew what to say on the odd occasion that they did interact. Now was no different. Having the March Hare casting suspicious and hostile glares at both himself and the Cheshire Cat wasn't helping matters.
Chesh, however, seemed to suffer from no such misgivings. Cheerfully ignoring the Hare, he poured tea for both himself and the Rabbit, dropping two sugar cubes and a splash of cream into the drink he passed to Theodore. The Rabbit took it, only dimly surprised that Chesh knew how he took his tea. The Cat, he noted absently, drank his tea with so much cream that it was almost white, but no sugar.
Giving and approving nod, the Hatter opened the conversation. "Wonderful. I do hope you enjoy your tea. It's so nice to have friends drop in for a visit."
"I'm afraid we're not here for a visit," the Cat said apologetically before Theodore could comment.
"Oh," the Hatter said, wilting a bit. "Business, then?"
"I'm afraid so," Chesh admitted. "Though that's not to say we're not your friends."
Across the table, the Hare sniffed condescendingly. Theodore shot him a dark glare.
"Quite," the Rabbit added. "Though the same need not be said of him." The March Hare's only reaction was a superior smile.
"Now, please," the Hatter protested. "There's no reason for animosity! We're all good company here!"
"Some better than others," the Hare muttered, flicking his eyes at Chesh.
Theodore bristled, glancing at the Cat to see his reaction, but, strangely, he didn't appear affected by the comment. In fact, his face had returned to that same carefully held blankness it had shown when he had addressed the Hare previously.
"I suppose you might say that," he said, turning away from him indifferently, putting only the very faintest stress on the word you. He picked up his teacup, sipping elegantly, as if perfectly unconcerned. Theodore tore his eyes away from Chesh's lips to sneak a glance at the Hare. His eyes widened in surprise; the normally perfectly poised Hare was flushed with suppressed fury.
Chesh distracted Theodore from his confused contemplation of the Hare's emotional state by setting his teacup down. "So—to business, then?"
"Oh—oh, yes!" the Hatter said, eagerly seizing on the change of subject. "What did you come for?"
"We're returning something of the Hare's," Chesh reminded him gently. He nodded to Theodore. Fighting back a grimace of distaste, Theodore rose to his feet.
"I had stopped by the Duchess's on an errand when she requested that I return this," he said, voice frosted over with politeness, as he removed the folded handkerchief from his jacket pocket. "If I may say so, I think it needs washing," he put in delicately, handing it over to the March Hare.
The Hare took it with a disdainful sniff. "What right have you got to comment?" he asked rudely. Theodore bristled.
"As much right as anyone!" he shot back. "The least you could do is be grateful I returned it!"
"I have no need to be grateful to low-bred swine such as you," the Hare spat, rising to his feet.
"Now, please—" the Hatter pleased frantically, wringing his hands. "My dear sirs—Harlan, Mr. Rabbit, there's no need to argue, please—"
"There's no need for him to be so rude!" retorted Theodore, standing up angrily.
"Theo, don't—" Chesh began, but it was already too late; the Hatter had snapped.
"If we can't all sit and have a nice tea like civilized people, I will stitch all of your lips shut!" he shrieked, jumping to his feet. His already flushed face had taken on a dangerously purple hue. With a squeak, the Dormouse awoke, toppling from his chair. Immediately, Theodore shrank back. Unnoticed, the Cat rose to his feet, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Just give him a moment," he murmured.
"There's no need for that, please," the Hare was saying, trying to calm the Hatter. He was having no success.
"Oh, shut up, Harlan!" the Hatter snapped, spittle flying from his lips. "You're as much to blame as anyone!"
"You're just over-stressed," the Hare continued. "The excitement of company. Calm down, please—"
"Don't you tell me what to do—"
"We need clean cups. Let's move down," the Hare interrupted, changing tactics.
And just like that, the Hatter calmed. "Oh, of course," he said, shaking his head out. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. What was I angry about?"
"It doesn't matter," the Hare reassured him. He turned to Chesh and the Rabbit, his eyes going hard. "I think you should go."
"Quite right," the Cat said blankly, turning around. "Let's go, Theodore," he added, putting a hand lightly on his back. The Cat was trembling almost imperceptibly. Theodore glanced at him in surprise; his eyes were hard with rage.
"Goodbye!" the Hatter called after them as Chesh led Theodore out of the garden. "Come again soon!"
Theodore glanced at the Cat; Chesh's throat tightened sharply. He didn't speak until the garden gate had closed behind them; when he did, Theodore almost missed his quiet words.
"Goodbye, Benjamin..."
Startled, the Rabbit stared at him, wide-eyed. Chesh caught his look, but didn't offer any explanation. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "I'll take you back to the Palace."
Theodore could only nod, taking his hand and tucking close against the Cat's comforting warmth as the world melted and faded around them.
After that, Theodore got used to the Cat appearing outside his house every morning. Sometimes, if he'd been caught up with cleaning or had a late start, the Cat would simply drop him off at the Palace; more often, they would walk along Theodore's normal route, talking away the morning. It was on one of these mornings that the Rabbit finally worked up the courage to ask about the events that had transpired at the Mad Tea Party.
"Chesh?" Theodore started that morning as they headed off into the Wood; by that point he had become quite comfortable with addressing the Cat by his personally-declared name. "What happened that day, at the Tea Party...?"
Chesh was silent for a moment. "I suppose I did say I'd give you an explanation," he said finally. "You're wondering about Benjamin, aren't you?"
Theodore nodded wordlessly, hardly even daring to speak the name himself. In Wonderland, it was customary never to address one of the denizens—Wonderland's unofficial nobility—by their real names unless they had introduced themselves to you. The ordinary folk, those who lived in the villages on the fringes of the realm, weren't so formal, but those who lived in the central regions had their own peculiar customs—perhaps originating out of the respect owed to them for their individuality and power. Theodore was on the bottom rung of power as far as denizens were concerned, reflected by his residence on the outskirts of the central area; the Mad Hatter, surrounded by the Tulgey Wood, was surpassed only by the King and Queen of Hearts, and, of course, the Cheshire Cat.
Theodore's question had knocked the Cat's usual good humour out of him. Dropping down to the ground from hovering cross-legged in the air, he tucked his hands into his pockets, looking down in thought. Finally, he spoke; his voice was quiet.
"Benjamin... the Mad Hatter... was... the closest friend I ever had."
The Rabbit blinked. "Your friend? But—he didn't seem..." He trailed off, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say.
"I know. We didn't seem to be close at all, did we? I didn't even use his name."
Theodore bit his lip, then nodded.
The Cat sighed softly. "I knew him years ago... things were different then."
Theodore frowned. "Different?" He wasn't sure what to make of that concept. Though years passed in Wonderland, nothing ever really seemed to change. It seemed to him that he had always been the age he was now. If he thought back, he was pretty sure he had dim memories of his childhood—but when he tried to fit a face to any of the people in his imagination, he came up with nothing.
"I know," Chesh said. "Things don't change here. At least, that's the way it appears. But we're not locked in stasis. People can change—and they can be destroyed."
Theodore said nothing, not sure how to react. The Cat hardly noticed—he was lost in his own memories.
"I asked you to take tea with them for his sake. You remember how he thought it was tea time at noon?" he asked, glancing at the Rabbit for confirmation. "He had a quarrel with Time a while back. Around him, time doesn't move. His watch is always stuck at half past four—and the fact of the matter is, he never remembers. He has absolutely no short-term memory."
"Oh...," Theodore said softly. "It's a—a symptom of his madness?"
"He's not mad!" the Cat said sharply, looking up at him.
"But you said—"
"That everyone in Wonderland is mad, yes, I know. Didn't I tell you already that it was a joke? No one is mad here."
That startled Theodore. "But—but everyone's so—"
"No one is mad here," the Cat repeated.
"But the Queen—the Duchess—"
"Are not mad. That's something different," Chesh said. His voice was tight.
Theodore was about to open his mouth to ask, but something in the Cat's eyes warned him off. He was silent for a moment, then, tentatively, returned to their original subject.
"So... the Hatter is...?
"He has an illness," the Cat said, "brought on by exposure to toxic chemicals. Mercury poisoning."
Theodore's eyes widened, sucking in a small gasp of comprehension. "Oh. So he... he's..."
"He's very sick," the Cat said quietly. "God, if you could have seen him in his younger days... he had such a sharp wit—he was just brimming with ideas. He had always been strange, but never mad—a brilliant eccentric. He never had to fight to cope with Wonderland. He coexisted perfectly... just like me."
Unable to speak in the face of the Cat's grief, Theodore said nothing, watching him silently, his heart breaking in pity.
"We first met at one of the Queen's balls," the Cat said quietly. "I'll admit, at first, the only thing that drew me to him was his body—he was fucking gorgeous. I had him in bed within the hour."
Theodore choked. "What?"
Chesh sighed. "Don't be like that. It was years ago. He was easy to flirt with and it was fun."
Not trusting himself to speak, Theodore turned away, cheeks flushing darkly. He would never admit that the first emotion that had flashed through his heart was a fierce jealousy.
"It's just the way I am, Theo," the Cat said quietly. "It was a style of friendship that suited us both. When we first met, that was all we cared about—but then I discovered his intellect and we found so much in common... We'd talk for hours, some days, about everything we could think of... philosophy, politics, science, art... Sometimes we'd tell stories until the middle of the night, and, yes, sometimes we slept together. We were great friends for years. The March Hare, though... well." The Cat let out a dry chuckle. "He hated it."
Against his will, the Rabbit found himself listening. "Is that why he hates you so much?" he asked quietly.
The Cat chuckled again. "He's incredibly jealous of me. You see, he's been friends with Benjamin since Wonderland began—but every time he's tried to progress farther with their relationship, he's been rebuffed."
Theodore blinked. "You mean they've never—"
"No. The Hare has never managed to convince him. Benjamin told me about it all those years ago—he saw the Hare as such a close friend that he was almost a brother—whereas I'd slept with him first, then become his friend. It has caused the Hare no end of frustration. You see, the Hare is the sort of person who demands an absolute emotion from all those around him—be it hatred or love."
"So it's not enough for him to be friends with the Hatter?" Theodore asked.
"No," Chesh said. "He wants you to utterly despise him or be completely in love with him. Either way, it becomes an obsession—and it puts him in your attention."
"That's why you were acting so indifferent to him!" Theodore said suddenly.
"Exactly," Chesh said, nodding. "Nothing makes him angrier than not being able to have an effect on you. If you scream at him, he just smiles smugly—but if you pretend he's invisible, he'll be steaming in under thirty seconds." The Cat let out a sigh, suddenly downcast again. "Pissing him off is the only small revenge I can have against him now..."
"What happened?" Theodore asked quietly.
"Benjamin became ill," Chesh said simply. "He started to lose control of his mind... then his memories started to go. It was heartbreaking—he knew exactly what was happening. We stayed friends for some time, but every day it got harder for him to keep up a coherent conversation... and then one day, he just... forgot about me."
Theodore's eyes widened in horror. "F-forgot...?"
"That was the end of our friendship. I still went to visit him, but he couldn't remember anything from day to day. As time went by, he withdrew, getting more and more reclusive, clinging to the few things he still knew—and at last, all that was left was his oldest friend—the Hare."
Theodore met his eyes, overflowing with pity and sympathy. The Cat held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, speaking in a low voice to keep himself under control. "The Hare moved him into his own home to look after him. He's always loved controlling people—that's why he wants them obsessed with him. Now he had the ultimate control over someone. It's disgusting, what he's done to him—he's turned him into his little pet."
The Rabbit choked. "You—you mean like—"
"No. That's the only small consolation I get—Benjamin is still lucid enough that he won't let the Hare fuck him. But I don't know how long that will last..." He shrugged helplessly. "There's nothing I can do to help him. The Hare won't do anything to help Benjamin remember; I haven't been alone with him since the day he forgot me. Just like that, I lost him completely."
"Chesh, I—I'm sorry..."
"Don't be," Chesh said. "It's not your fault. Someday, though—someday I'm going to make the Hare pay."
It was hard for Theodore to keep his mind on his work that day—a bad situation to be in on the best of days, and especially bad on that particular one. The Queen—or, rather, the King on the Queen's behalf—had decided to hold audiences that day, and needed their messenger boy-cum-herald at court to announce their supplicants and keep procedure. They would have been better off asking someone else; all day, the Rabbit was a bundle of nerves, dropping his scrolls, reading the letters upside down, mixing up names and titles, fumbling over simple words. Within the half hour, the King was tapping his ever-twitching fingers against the seat in impatience; even the dreamy Queen had begun to take an unfavourable notice.
"I-if it p-please your Majesties, the next sup-p-plicant is Mr. D-Dodo, who has travelled from the shores of the, the Pool of T-Tears for an audience today—"
"Speak up, Darwin," the King snapped for the third time.
"Y-yes Sir, I mean, your Majesty, I—I—"
"And for god's sake, man, stop stuttering!"
Trembling under the King's gaze, the Rabbit could only stammer and shake. Oh, god, he needed his pocket watch—
"There, there," said the Dodo, coming up behind him and slapping him strongly on the shoulder; Theodore's knees buckled under what he assumed was meant to be a comforting pat.
"Yes, Mr. Dodo, what is your matter today?" the King said wearily.
"Your Majesties, I have sought an audience with you over a manner of the gravest importance to the loyal citizens of Wonderland. It has recently come to my attention that the common, that is to say, the ordinary townsfolk, for of course there is nothing common about the citizens of your great realm..."
Try as he might, Theodore couldn't keep his mind on what the Dodo was saying. He has always been something of a long-winded bird, and the Rabbit had much on his mind that morning—not least of which was the monarchs' current mood. The Queen was looking unusually lucid, her hot brown eyes fixed on him.
"Mr. Rabbit? Excuse me, Mr. Rabbit?"
"Darwin!" barked the King. Theodore jumped.
"Oh, ah—yes, your Majesty—the proclamation, of course, I'll—right away—" he stammered, fumbling around in his waistcoat for the scroll—he'd had it only a moment ago—
"Not the proclamation, Darwin, the letter!" the King snapped.
"The—the—the—" Theodore looked around in confusion. The Dodo helpfully offered him a letter.
"My suit?" he reminded the bewildered Rabbit.
"Oh—oh, of course! My apologies," Theodore said, taking it from him and turning towards the throne.
"There you go," the Dodo said kindly. "You just deliver that right into the hand of her Majesty."
Theodore swallowed hard. Both King and Queen had their eyes on him.
Steeling himself, he made his way towards them, trembling as he bowed at their feet. Maybe he'd get lucky—maybe they'd let him go for the day.
He almost snorted. And maybe the Cheshire Cat would one day stop being incomprehensible.
He rose to his feet, handing the letter to the Queen. "Your Majesty," he murmured politely, hoping she'd be taken by it and he'd get off lightly.
No such luck.
Without warning, her face split into a wide grin and her hand snaked out, catching him roughly by the throat. "Oh, how lovely," she sing-songed dreamily. "I've caught a little rabbit. We'll have rabbit stew tonight... I'll just twist off his head... off with his head, darling, off with his head!"
Gasping for air, Theodore shook his head violently. "No—your Majesty, please—"
"Such a lovely little rabbit... you'll be so lovely with your insides dripping out..."
"Sire, please—" Theodore choked, turning his eyes to the King.
"Now, dear," the King said calmly, as if this were an ordinary morning in court. "Come now, leave him."
"No!" the Queen shrieked suddenly, jumping to her feet. Throwing the Rabbit to the floor, she whirled on a startled guard, yanking his sword from his sheath. In a moment, she had turned back to him, sending the sword swinging down in a wide, clumsy arc. Theodore rolled out of the way, scrambling back in terror as more guards poured in at the sound of the Queen's scream, trying to subdue her. In moments, they were in disarray, blood streaming as their unstable Queen hacked and slashed, her face spreading wide in maniacal laughter.
"Off with their heads! Off with their heads! Off with everybody's heads!"
The supplicants scattered. The King slowly got to his feet. Theodore, wide-eyed, crawled away, scrambling up into a run. And as the Rabbit turned and fled, he heard the King's voice behind him, distantly: "She was about due for another episode anyway..."
Theodore had barely made it to the outside the throne room when the Cheshire Cat appeared beside him, his expression murderous.
"Theo, let's go, hold on," he ordered, grabbing the Rabbit's hand and pulling him close. Unthinking, Theodore clung to him; they vanished from the hall just as the door burst open, the carnage spilling into the main Palace. The Rabbit buried his face in the Cat's chest, hiding from the sounds of violence as the noise became misty and silent around them. Then he felt the heaviness of reality and when he opened his eyes, they were in front of his own house.
"You're going to be okay?" Chesh said, letting him go. Theodore was distracted by the loss of the Cat's warm arms.
"Where are you going?" he cried, panicked. He couldn't go, not now, not when the Rabbit was in such a state—
"Back to the Palace," Chesh said grimly. "I've let that situation go far too long. It's time I did something about them."
"You've let the—Chesh, what—" Desperate, the Rabbit snatched at his hands, trying to pull him close.
"Please, Theo, I have to go! I promise you, you're safe here—I'll be back as soon as I can, I swear, but I have to go!" And then, without another word, he pulled his hands from Theodore's grip, vanishing without so much as a flicker, leaving Theodore trembling and alone on his front step.
He stood there, shivering, gasping for breath as his shaking grew worse, and dimly he realized that this was more than his usual nervous temperament. Almost choking on the sudden fear that welled up in his throat, he spun on his heel, frantically throwing the door open and fleeing inside. Panicking, he fumbled in his pocket, desperately looking for his watch; when he finally found it, he almost dropped it, and he clutched at it frantically until he had it safe in his hands. Fingers clumsy as he stumbled through the house towards his bedroom, he flipped it open, needing that calming watch face as he frantically pleaded, please no, god no, please don't—
He collapsed on the floor of his bedroom, hands shaking as he held his pocket watch—but the second hand was moving so fast, it was so dizzying, and his heartbeat was thumping three times as fast as the tiny clock hand—he was staring at it, willing it to calm him, desperately counting the seconds, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, but his vision was getting blurry and he couldn't hold on any longer—
The watch slipped from his fingers with a dull thump as the world around him grew fuzzy and numb. Shaking and crying, he just managed to curl into a ball before his body was wracked with spasms—then, overwhelmed by an uncontrollable panic, he gasped in air, screaming and screaming until he imagined he could feel his throat tearing itself up. As he felt his tenuous grasp on the world fade out while he sobbed and trembled on the floor, he heard his thoughts echoing dimly with a surprising clearness, reminding him, the attacks don't last, just ride it out...
Panic attacks don't last...