Of Steel and Steam

by Pauline Creeden et al.

  “Hatter has that effect on people,” he explained. “It’s harmless.”

  Still adorning his dazzling grin, Hatter swerved his gaze around the table and slapped down his hand, knocking over a saucer and silver spoon. “Tea time!”

  The table cloth tugged under the pots and plates.

  A pair of tiny paws appeared opposite me. Two pointy ears popped up and twitched, followed by the rest of the creature.

  I found myself sitting opposite a hare, a rather intoxicated hare. It yawned loudly and a gust of liquor-breath hit me from across the table.

  Two other animals emerged from under the table.

  Soon, I was sitting among the strangest party of creatures I could have ever imagined.

  A drunken hare, the mysterious and still-grinning Hatter, a mouse wearing a tiny pink beret, and perhaps the most peculiar of the bunch—a purple dodo at the far end of the table, taking notes on a giant sketchbook.

  I rounded back to the mouse in the pink beret.

  “I know you!” I pointed at her. “I saw you in my room at the court!”

  Mouse lowered her lashes and growled, “You saw nothing, girl. Tell anyone, and I’ll let the whole of Spades know you lost a battle against curtains.”

  Hare erupted into a fit of giggles—and I couldn’t help but stare at his peculiar get-up. A lopsided top-hat perched between floppy ears, a row of crooked teeth, braided whiskers, and a mis-buttoned waistcoat.

  Hare’s buckteeth glinted beneath the stars as he kicked out his furry feet and held his bulging belly.

  Night’s breath was hot on my ear. “They’re not so bad. Enjoy their company while they are here.”

  “You met them when you were in Spades before?”

  “You could say that.” Night drew back to his chair and looked down the table at Hatter, who hadn’t taken his fierce, sparkling gaze off me. “I haven’t beaten my craving for your jam scones in two years. Give them up.”

  At the mention of scones, tension tore across the table.

  Hatter lunged for a lemon-yellow tureen. But Hare was faster.

  Before Hatter could grab the lid, Hare mounted the stand and glared at Night over his shoulder.

  “My scones! Mine!” shouted Hare.

  Excitement sparked in Night’s plum-eyes. Something real in him. A truth behind a mask. It was dark, dangerous and beautiful.

  That same pull from the village Square wrapped around me, stronger than ever, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

  I knew it was ridiculous, but in that moment, it almost felt like we were bound. One.

  A wicked grin slid across Night’s face as he leaned forward. “Careful, Hare. Last I saw, there was a grouchy beast under that tureen. Hungry, too.”

  Hatter grinned an even wickeder smile than Night. Mouse whimpered and ducked behind a sugar-cube pile.

  “Wha—” Hare shivered. “What s-sort of b-b-east?”

  Night leaned further over the table, until he practically laid across my lap. He rested his chin on his fist and whispered, “A Jack ... Russell ... Terrier.”

  Hare whimpered again, the pitch grating over the dining table. His ears drooped down to his face and his whiskers twitched.

  Hare trembled. “Wh-Who’s tha-att?”

  “Oh, it’s not a who, but a what.”

  Pity blossomed within me, and I tried to swallow back the lump in my throat.

  No matter how annoying an animal was, I just couldn’t rid myself of the soft spot I had for them. Back home, I refused to entertain any of the hunters or fishers, even if my options were limited when it came to men. I didn’t speak to my mum for weeks after she killed my cow.

  So watching Night tease Hare left me with a deeper feeling of guilt than my killing of the robber did.

  Folding my arms over my chest, I said, “A Jack Russell is a small dog.”

  Hare flinched. It wasn’t the reaction I’d hoped for.

  With a sharp glare directed my way, Night added, “The sort of dog that hunts rabbits and hares. Can’t you hear it growl?”

  With a cry, Hare leapt off the table. The cloth shimmied for a moment, then went still. He’d hidden somewhere underneath.

  Night sank back into his chair, but he wasn’t entirely satisfied with his mild torment of Hare. The tight set of his jaw betrayed his frustration. I had a sneaking suspicion it was aimed at me for spoiling his cruel sport.

  I tried to divert him back to his excitement. “I want one of those scones you talked about. I’m starved.”

  Hatter chuckled and removed the tureen lid.

  Steam came up from the bowl in ribbons and carried the flavour of sweet, sugared jam. I licked my lips and sat up straight.

  “Oh—oh!” Mouse jumped up and down. “One for me!”

  Hatter flicked a mint leaf at the rodent. “None for you. You’ve had your fill, ravenous rodent.”

  Ignoring Mouse’s sulking, Hatter dished out two sponge-like scones, then spooned dollops of jam and whipped cream next to them. He tilted back his hat, revealing the dark tones of his smooth skin and lemon sheen of his cat-like eyes.

  Hatter studied his work. Unsatisfied, he turned to sprinkling chocolate and peppermint flakes over the cream dollops.

  “Buttermilk scones.” Hatter touched his palm to his chest. “One of my finer creations.”

  He slid the dishes across the table. My narrowed eyes settled on Mouse who wiped trickles of drool from her whiskers.

  I reached for a plate, keeping a close eye on the ‘ravenous rodent’.

  Night scooped up a scone before I could even pick the very one he took—the biggest of the two.

  “I wanted that.”

  Night spread jam over his scone. “You’ll learn that if you want something at this table, you’ll have to be quicker about it.”

  Suspicion darkened my eyes. “If we were in the game, you would let me have it, wouldn’t you?”

  With a dark smile, he brought the scone closer to his lips. “You’re beginning to sound like a true player.”

  So his gentlemanly act was just that. An act. All for show, all for the watch-globes. The strategy was probably what earned him his memories back.

  Turning my slitted eyes on my scone, I massacred it as though it had been the one to offend me.

  Hatter’s gaze pierced through my skin each time I shovelled a bite into my mouth.

  Night cleared his plate first. He leaned back in his chair and eyed the three pieces I had left.

  My glower said it all—Try it, and I’ll stab you with my fork.

  My eyes didn’t lie.

  “Scrumptious?” Hatter sat eagerly at the end of the table. “Just the right amount of buttermilk, and a dash of lemon peel. And—” His eyes darkened to burnt yellow as he clasped his hands. “—the secret ingredient, of course.”

  Through a mouthful, I managed, “Bes’ ‘cone eva ‘ad.”

  Mouse huffed, threw me a dark look.

  With her whiskers held high, Mouse scurried down the table to a rose-patterned teacup. But just as she tried to leap over the cup, she tripped on the rim. A splash of brown came up after her.

  They fussed over Mouse.

  Hatter snatched a damp cloth and Hare re-emerged from under the table and plucked Mouse out from the cup.

  As Hatter wiped down the damp rodent, I took the distraction to lean closer to Night. He poured two breakfast teas.

  I whispered, “It’s still late dusk. The sky isn’t getting any darker.”

  He slid a full teacup closer to me. “I’m pleasantly surprised you have it in you to kill someone.”

  I blanched. “What?”

  Night leaned back in his seat. “Aren’t we stating facts for the fun of it?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I—I just meant that it’s a little late for a tea party.”

  “Not for him.” Night jerked his head to Hare.

  Hare had gone on to pour clear liquid from a metal flask into his teapot.

  Whatever was in t
hat flask stunk as bad as the tavern in Crooked Grove.

  “Maybe we should go,” I pressed.

  Night draped his arm over the back of my chair. “Time moves much slower here. Take the night for what it offers. Food and tea that won’t cost you buttons, some relief from the watch globes, no crooks lurking around the corner.” Night’s gaze lowered to my lips a beat. “Relax,” he said “Enjoy the night. When the sun comes up here, we’ll leave for the court and make it back before breakfast.”

  Time wasn’t moving here. He was right about that. Or, at least, it was crawling by at the speed of a tired old snail.

  I needed a rest. But that gnawing sense of mistrust still stirred inside of me. Trusting Night wasn’t terribly unlike trusting a Queen’s Trickster.

  Before I could make a decision, Hatter cleared his throat.

  All gazes drew to him as he climbed onto the table and raised his empty, chipped teapot. “We have a new face tonight and a familiar one. Old and new friends.”

  Hare raised his flask and burped—a bubble floated from his mouth.

  Hatter kicked the bubble away.

  “In honour of our special guests, I propose truth time!” He snatched off his hat and held it to his heart. “I am Hatter and I declare myself the architect to the Ringmaster of the Hatterthon!”

  My brows shot up to my hairline.

  Architect to the Ringmaster.

  Hatter wasn’t the Ringmaster. He only worked for a ghost behind a veil.

  The small discovery brought the masked thief to mind. Paris. Paris and his trickster magic. Paris and his deceptive smirks, ability to appear anywhere at any time, and his knowledge of my progress in the game...

  Drenched in cold tea, Mouse shivered in a napkin. “I am Mouse, wife of Dormouse, and I declare myself sopping wet, like a fish!”

  Hatter looked down and chewed a teaspoon. His voice was a mere whisper as he asked himself, “Are fish wet? Is water wet? What a thing to consider.”

  “I am March Hare—” He paused to hiccup, and another bubble escaped his buck teeth. “—and I declare myself out of honey-brew!”

  Night hesitated as we all looked to him. “I am Night, of many places, and I declare myself ... a contestant.”

  Hare blew a raspberry, which sent Mouse into a fit of giggles.

  “I remember when you were fun,” said Hatter before he turned his gaze on me. “Shall we be fools enough to hope you’re far funner than your companion?”

  “That’s not a word,” I said. “It’s more fun, not funner.”

  Horrified, Hatter turned his back to me and jumped into his chair. When he brought his glittery lemon eyes to me, he said, “I have decided, just now, that the pair of you make quite the match. Like cream and jam, ink and parchment, roses and rain.” His face wrinkled as he fell to silence. Then he muttered to himself, “Roses in the night.”

  “Well,” I began uneasily. “I—Uh...I’m Shoshanna Rose and...”

  My throat tightened. I tried to say ‘I’m not all that interesting’ but the words strangled my throat like a heavy hand.

  “I—”

  “Your lies have no place here!” Mouse looked fiercely over the napkin at me. “No truth, no voice!”

  The very second a truth touched my brain, it flooded my mouth and fell off my tongue. “I hate public speaking.”

  The invisible grip around my throat loosened. But no one was impressed by my honesty. Hatter stared at me as though I was little more than a chipped cup.

  Shifting in my seat, I added, “Baths are a horrible necessity. They prune my toes and fingers … I think baths are worse than a toothache. And … um, my favourite tea is peached sea-salt.”

  “Tea!” shouted Mouse. “Tea time!”

  Hare sniffed his empty flask. My awkward and not-so-brilliant truths went forgotten.

  “Allow me!” Hatter clapped his hands together and slid back in his chair, until his chin pressed into his collarbone.

  Horrified, I watched as he brought up his feet—

  My face twisted the same way it did when I spent too long in the bath. Disgust danced with horror.

  Hatter poured the tea with his feet! His toes poked out of tiny holes in his purple, woollen socks. With his free hands, he gestured for Night and me to join him. “Come, roses and midnights. Sit with me.”

  The silent Dodo at the end of the table popped up beside me. I had a spare moment to reel back before it shoved me out of the chair and over to the plush armchair on Hatter’s right.

  Night didn’t need guiding—or aggressive ushering. He strolled around the table and sank into the seat opposite me.

  Dodo waddled off, back to scribble more notes.

  I’d never seen a dodo before, let alone seen one write. I watched her claws manoeuvre the quill and her eyes swerve from guest to guest in a constant loop.

  Hatter sipped his tea. His sparkly eyes settled on me, eyelashes casting long shadows over his high cheekbones, and the grin faded from his red-painted lips. Without the manic grin on his face, sorrow burned in his lemon eyes.

  Hatter pushed a full, hot teacup into my hands. Before I could bring it to my lips, he lunged over the corner of the table and grabbed my arm. “How do you like my creation?”

  Startled, I lowered the teacup to the table and studied his manic gaze.

  I slid my arm out of his tight grip. “You mean the Hatterthon?”

  “Yes!” He drew back into his chair and raised his arms, as if bestowing a blessing upon his kingdom. In a way, I supposed he was. “My marvellous creation, poisoned by greed and violence from the Sister’s door! Spectacular, isn’t it?”

  The dark shadows flickering behind his eyes betrayed his bitterness. I almost felt sorry for him. The way he spoke, it carved a hollow hole in my heart for him.

  Hatter wasn’t in control of his own game. He worked for the Sisters and the mysterious Ringmaster.

  “Still, petals are there to be found for those who look,” added Hatter, his voice a near indecipherable murmur. I suspected he was speaking to himself. “And petals make flowers, and flowers are beautiful. Beauty … Can beauty live in a realm of blood?”

  Night and I shared a look. His was matched with a comforting smile, one that eased the tension coiling in my body.

  Even if I didn’t trust him, Night was the only constant around me in the dangerous game.

  I managed a tight smile in return.

  Hatter relaxed in his chair, his eyes sharp once more, and back on me. “Which part of my wonderland entices you most? The magic? The secrets? The prize to go home?”

  “Revenge.”

  The word slipped from my tongue before I could stop it. The answer rattled me, and I blinked away the dazed look from my distant eyes.

  Magic was in play, I didn’t doubt it for a second. Magic not unlike the sort that forced me to tell the truth earlier.

  “I … I’m not sure why I said that,” I admitted, ashamed. “I want to go home. That should’ve been my answer.”

  “Best be certain before you seek,” said Hatter darkly.

  A blanket of stillness seemed to drape over the glade. Time paused forever, and no one moved—or breathed. Nothing was heard. Not even a beetle on a blade of grass.

  Then, Hare hurled a teacup across the table and erupted into a fit of laughter.

  Night caught it before it could smash into his cup. At Night’s glance, Hare hiccupped and sank into his seat, so low that soon all I could see were his ears and terrified eyes.

  Hatter seemed not to notice. His white teeth were bared in an unfitted grin. Even as Night piffed a teaspoon at Hare, Hatter’s quiet stare never faltered. And with each passing second, that dream-like sensation crept back over me until I relaxed in the chair and smiled lazily at Hatter.

  My skin began to tingle and my toes curled in my boots. The feeling reminded me of when me and Holly drank Marybelle’s special tea.

  We’d giggled like lunatics for hours, fallen into the muddy pig pen, stolen meat pies from
the bakery and vomited behind our dad’s workshop. It hadn’t been until late afternoon that sleep had taken us. Lock had found us passed out on the bales of hay behind the cottage.

  “I’ve seen you before,” Hatter said after a while. “Some time ago, back when time moved.”

  “It’s not possible,” I said. “My village doesn’t have visitors from Spades.”

  “I am not from Spades.” Hatter dropped a sugar cube in my tea. “I once lived on your side of the world before I sought refuge with the Sisters.” Hatter shot me a sad smile, meant to mask the pain that danced like ghosts in his lemon eyes. “In return, I serve them now, and soon I will serve another.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about that.” My words echoed off the stillness of the glade.

  I looked around.

  All the guests were quiet.

  My gaze drifted from Night—whose eyes were glued to me over the cup he sipped from—to Mouse, who was sprawled out on a saucer, drenched in milk.

  Hare had emerged from the edge of the table and leaned over a very real mud-cake, with worms poking out the sides.

  And Dodo, perched all the way at the far end of the table, had stopped taking notes and poured every ounce of her focus onto me.

  “Did I say something?” The silence of the table pressed down on me. I lifted my hands to my lips and checked for spots of jam or a milk-moustache. “Is there something on my face?”

  “A thousand freckles,” Mouse said, her voice so soft that it barely reached the others. “And a giant nose!”

  I sneered at the milk-coated rodent. But our exchange didn’t snare a laugh from anyone at the table, not even the drunken Hare. A seriousness had blanketed them all, one that churned my stomach the way pig-pie did.

  “I have seen you before,” repeated Hatter. He inched closer. “You were as pretty as a fine hat, back when time moved.”

  “Beauty and bee-holders.” Night stirred his tea. “I happen to think she’s as pretty as a whole hattery, in time and out of it.”

  Aghast, Hatter slapped his hand to his chest.

  I hid my blush with a long sip from a teacup bigger than a pot.

  “My, my.” He shook his head. “She looks a right fright!”

  My scowl turned on Hatter and I slammed the teacup on the table. “How can you talk about my looks, when you look like you’ve just crawled through a river of mouldy teabags to a blind hatter and a mad tailor.”