Chapter 4


"Tick, tock, goes the clock

Round and Round the sun dial

Snicker- Snack, there's a crack

Time falls dead upon his back…"

Helen was singing to herself again, a new little rhyme that sent a chill up along the Hatter's back. She was mad, there was no doubt about that. However, it was a madness that seemed unnatural for one such as her. She had come from Alice's world, a world that the Hatter himself had never seen. Yet she was nothing like his old friend. One would have thought that she would have had the same train of the thought as Alice if she had come from the same world. Contrary wise, she was the exact opposite of Alice in such a way of thinking.

"Do we have any bread?" The Dormouse asked, moving across the table as she searched for a clean spoon.

"I know how to make a loaf," said Helen, reaching up to place her gloved hands within her tangled mane of curls. "You'll need flower, plucked from a hedge. You'll want to be sure that the hedge is on a proper sized acre of land, it can't be from any sized ground."

"What if the flower is in a garden?" The Hare asked, his beady eyes watching Helen with keen interest.

"Well, if it is in a garden, be sure that the bed is hard, they'll be awake then. You don't want to pick them when their bed is soft, they'll be asleep. It wakes them up and they give you such a nasty talking to."

The Dormouse giggled at this, grabbing a spoon that was just the right size for her hand and scampering back to her chair. "Did you pluck one when they were asleep?"

The look on the woman's face was priceless, her olive skin taking on a less than pleasant hue. "Such a ruckus she had made! I had to put her back lest my ears would fall off…" She trailed off and turned her dark eyes to the Hatter. "Inkwells make lovely little flower pots. The Raven always said to keep one empty should a flower wish to live in your home…"

It had been going on this way for sometime now, time being a funny thing here in Underland. The longer she sat there at the table, the more she spoke. Though much of what she said would have made little sense to those from the world she had left behind. The Hatter had been sipping his tea, watching the strange woman as she spoke of ravens and shadows just before pausing and staring off into the distance. She would sit there for awhile before she would start singing rhymes. At first it was the lullaby that sounded like Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat but now it was a rhyme about clocks and time.

She started to sing it now, since he had not responded to her comment about the Raven and inkwells. Occasionally, her gloved hands would twitch before reaching out to brush the table cloth, as if hoping to find something. The Hatter noticed each time she moved, there was no shadow to be seen, despite the light that was cast upon her from the setting sun. She was growing agitated as she continued to sing the rhyme, her hands moving about the table and then over the air around her, as if searching.

"She has no shadow you know." Chessur was floating above her head, his large green eyes watching the Hatter. "That is interesting, don't you think?"

"No shadows please," said Helen in a whisper, a gloved hand reaching up to brush against her marred cheek. Once more, that look of clarity appeared in her dark eyes, her gaze moving up to stare at the cat. "He stole my reflection…" She looked to the woods, the clarity disappearing back into the madness from which it came. Her gaze was searching the shadows that grew darker just beyond the trees. A moment passed before she got up from her chair and started to walk in the opposite direction from the wood which she had come. "'How, now,' the Raven cries, flying through the trees toward the shadowed plain. 'Nevar more, the shadows play.'"

The Hatter stared at the retreating back of the woman, her tangled, dark mane of curls swaying with every step she took. A thoughtful look settled on his chalky features, his electric green gaze following her as she disappeared into the wood the lay on the other side of the clearing.

"Are you just going to sit there Tarrant?"

The Hatter glanced up to find the Cheshire cat floating around him, his trademark grin growing wider as he saw the look of confusion on the man's face. He tucked a paw just against a furred cheek as he stared at the claws of his other, turning them this way and that. "I don't recall there being anything said about a Mad Helen walking about Tulgey Wood this day."

The Hatter stared at the cat for heartbeat, recalling what day it was and knowing what Chessur spoke was the truth. The Oraculum had foretold of each and every major event that was to happen each day since the Beginning of Underland. There had been no foretelling of a mad woman wandering about Tulgey Wood, either before or after, especially not this day. Rising quickly to his feet, he managed to duck a tea tray that the Hare had flung his way, holding carefully onto his tattered top hat.

He moved with purpose, his orange hair moving stiffly against the rising breeze, though his hat remained firmly on his head. He was aware that Chessur was following behind him for a moment before the cat disappeared. Chessur reappeared ahead of him on the path, floating on to catch sight of a white robe hanging on the branch of a tree resting off the pathway. The Hatter continued to walk, keeping Chessur in his sights as the cat disappeared around the tree.

He stopped beside the white robe, staring at it thoughtfully before he heard laughter. He looked around the tree and caught sight of Helen sitting on the ground. With the robe discarded, one could see the extent of her burned flesh, her white shirt being near sleeveless. Her gloved hands were holding onto a little wooden horse, its tiny wings buzzing gently as it rocked from one hand to another. Chessur was floating beside her, grinning at the Hatter as the man made his way around the tree.

Helen glanced up at the Hatter, her smile a sight he had not been expecting to see. "A Rocking- Horse Fly… Have you any sap? I would like to feed it."

The Hatter did not respond, he moved closer and sat down on the ground beside her, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a pinch of sawdust and reached out to take her gloved hand. He turned her hand up and let the sawdust fall upon her palm. The Rocking-Horse Fly let out a buzzing neigh as it swung itself to her palm and began to eat. They watched the insect in silence for awhile before it ate its full and swung itself away onto the nearest branch, its little wings buzzing all the while.

Helen watched the insect disappear behind a leaf before turning her eyes toward the Hatter. "How does the raven see the shadow that lies beyond the tree?"

The Hatter frowned in response, pondering the answer to the question. It took him a moment before the answer came to him and he looked at her, a smile appearing on his pale face. "With a candle, of course."

Helen's smile faded from sight, a haunting look appearing in her dark eyes. "Candle… How, now…" She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. "Pass the eighth square and you shall find a feast fit for a queen." She dropped her hands and stared at them, taking in the sight of the black ink and blood that stained her gloves. "The Queen of Spring shall rule Underland on that glorious Frabjous Day... The Outland has not and will not see Spring, only Winter, so they say…"

"The Outland?" Chessur floated closer to the woman, his large green eyes studying her as his tail began to twitch on agitation. "What of the Outland?"

"How, now… No shadows please…" said Helen in a whisper, bringing her hands closer to her marred cheek as she stared off into the distance. "How, now… Little dream… The end of Witzend… The Raven writes of a dream weaver… Kaloo Kalay… An oyster for your jam…" She closed her eyes and began to hum the lullaby from before, her hands twitching every so often.

The Hatter had been quiet then entire time she had spoken, the rhymes and riddles that eased so freely from her lips was the only true clues as to why she was here. A light frown tugged on the corners of his lips as he studied the ground about the woman's feet. Where Chessur floated beside her, his shadow seen so easily upon the grass, there was no shadow beneath her twitching form. Even in Underland, that was not a common sight and it surely was not a good thing.

"This could mean something Tarrant." Chessur's grin had faded slightly, his luminous eyes studying his old acquaintance. "Something has happened, is happening, or will happen and there is no word of it in the Oraculum."

"How could that be?" The Hatter asked in turn, his frown growing deep as he studied the Mad Helen, who had begun rocking herself back and forth. "The Oraculum tells of each event of each day in Underland."

"Yes, in Underland. Not the Outland."

A look of understanding swept across that pale face and he looked at Helen, seeing her a little more clearly now. "She came from the Room of Doors, did she not?" He turned those electric green eyes toward then cat, hoping that it would be a positive answer.

Chessur merely grinned and shrugged in response. "Perhaps we should find that Raven she is searching for."

"If it can be found, would it know where she came from?"

"Mirror, Mirror, don't you cry, I shall sing a lullaby…" Helen had broken through their conversation with another one of her rhymes. She moved and rested her head against the Hatter's shoulder, her hands clasped upon her knees. She began to twiddle her thumbs, staring intently at the sight of Hatter's mismatched socks. "Red and Blue are just for you but words are ever nimble…"

He seemed taken by surprise at first but he relaxed slightly, trying not to laugh at the feel of her tangled curls tickling him under his neck. "Do you speak the truth Mad Helen?"

"Always try," said Helen in reply, her thumbs continuing to twiddle away. "I think of it before speaking and write it down afterward." She paused at this and raised her head to look at the Hatter. "Have you a codfish I could borrow? I need to write before they run away."

The Hatter smiled in reply and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I left it a home. I would forget my head were it not so firmly attached to my neck."

"I cannot say the same for myself," said Chessur, a wicked grin playing on his furry face as his head floated around them. "I do think we should be getting along Tarrant. The White Queen might want to have a word with this one."

"Yes, of course Chess." The Hatter got to his feet and reached a hand down to help Helen. She reached up to grab his hand and pulled herself up in a graceful manner. She was staring off into the shadows that lurked behind the trees, watching for something that she seemed to be afraid of.

"No shadows please…" Her hand twitched in Hatter's and she looked up at him, her dark eyes pleading. "How is a raven like a writing desk?"

"How?" The Hatter stared at her, that question was one that had never crossed his mind. It had always been why. "I haven't the slightest idea…"

"We could do a few sums, if you like." Helen smiled as the Hatter released her hand and she moved to grab her robe from the branch. "That might help to find the bread the Dormouse was looking for."

The Hatter laughed at that, a dizzying sound that made the mad woman giggle as if she were being tickled. He was still laughing as he walked back onto the path that led to Marmoreal while Helen followed after him. She was feeling very safe and very at ease; the shadows would never get her with Hatter here.

Chessur floated behind the woman, studying her with a thoughtful grin as he watched her begin to do a few skipping steps behind the Hatter, a sort of dancing walk that seemed to strike a cord in his memory. Where had he seen such a dancing walk before? Curious…