Hatter

by Daniel Coleman

  Thougts of Cuora raced through his mind. She was entirely different than the woman he always imagined he’d fall in love with. So much more. New verses rolled through his mind as he wound through Palassiren toward the palaces.

  I painted her a gushing thing,

  With years perhaps a score;

  A little thought to find they were

  At least a dozen more;

  My fancy gave her eyes of blue,

  and hair like lemon drink;

  I came to find the blue was brown

  the auburn black as ink.

  As Hatta approached the gatehouse leading to the inner city, his step halted a bit. But it was in vain; the guards admitted him immediately, glancing admiringly at his new attire.

  The meeting with Cuora was set for midday, but when men had arrived at his small, empty shop to repair the roof two hours before noon, he couldn’t bear to stay for the repairs. They had already been paid out of the proceeds of the mirrors, and he had no desire to recall the conflict with the landlord. Cuora was holding audience, and he decided to spend the remainder of the morning watching discreetly until she finished.

  After climbing the colorful steps to the palace, Hatta paused to take in the large entry chamber. The ceilings were the highest he’d ever seen, supported by thick, red marble columns. A wide staircase matched the exterior steps, white at the bottom intensifying into red at the top. It led to the living quarters, and was flanked by two hallways on the ground level. The one on the left led to the kitchens and laundry areas. Hatta followed the hallway on the right toward the throne room and noticed two of his mirrors, both red, on the walls of the corridor.

  Stopping in front of one, he admired it in its new setting. The brilliant silvery crimson was a perfect adornment for Cuora’s elegant home. Even though Cuora assured him she had plenty of uses for other colors, he found himself wishing he’d made more red mirrors. If he ever made more they’d all be red.

  Seeing his new clothing in his own mirror hanging on Cuora’s wall brought a heartfelt, but crooked, smile to his face. His whole life only half of his mouth turned up when he smiled, but it mattered little because today his smile was deep-seated. Rich purple hair hung out from under his town hat like energized thatch off the edge of a roof. The stain from the berries was uneven and had started to fade, so Hatta had purchased high quality dye in the marketplace the day before. The green of his hat and purple of his hair matched perfectly the bruise around his left eye. But his bruises and pains couldn’t even touch his exuberance.

  Enthusiasm? he thought, searching for the perfect description. No, ebullience.

  Pleasing chills raced up his arms and down his spine when he heard Cuora’s voice from the throne room, but he was too far to make out the words. By the time he reached the doors she was done speaking and the only sound was a wailing woman. He motioned for the guards at the doors to remain quiet and leaned just out of sight of the room to listen to Cuora’s audience.

  A commanding guard ordered, “On your feet, woman. Or you’ll be dragged to the stocks.” The whimpering faded as the woman left the throne room by another exit. Hatta was puzzled at how the woman could be so unhappy in Cuora’s presence, and why Cuora didn’t act to save the woman as she had rescued him.

  A clear voice brought Hatta back to the moment. “The next case, my Lady. Harkonin, a merchant, was caught in the act of holding a meeting in which he denounced Lady Cuora and Captain Markin. He called for the heads of the aforementioned Council members and proclaimed support of Lady Palida and the Provinces. The gathering was witnessed by one of the city guards as well as a bird trader. Both have given sworn testimony to Harkonin’s treason. The matter now rests in my Lady’s hands.”

  The silence from the throne room was so sudden, Hatta wondered if the doors had been closed, until he realized he was leaning against one of them.

  A proud man’s voice broke the calm. “Those reports are exag—“

  “Silence!” The woman’s voice had the finality of an axe.

  Could that be Cuora? Though the word was not directed at Hatta, he felt it like a slice across his heart. He was glad she couldn’t see him cringe.

  She continued in a quieter, accusing tone. “Did you or did you not call for my head?”

  The man did not answer at first. A shuffle of feet and slow jingle of chains told Hatta the man was fidgeting. “I…simply stated that the kingdom would be better off in Lady Palida’s hands.”

  “Guard,” said Cuora, “are the witnesses present?”

  “Yes, my Lady.”

  “Have them speak.”

  Hatta heard people moving around the room, and regretted his decision to visit Cuora at court. Eventually a man spoke. “Well, my Lady, you see, he said we needed to start an uprising. An insurgency he called it. And he said your heads were the price of peace for Maravilla.”

  “It’s true,” said a woman. “Just as the guard said. And, asking m’Lady’s pardon, Harkonin said your head was the first we needed, and Captain Markin’s would come easy.”

  “What say you, Knight? You know Marky? Would his head pop off like a dandelion without me?”

  The Knight must have nodded or shaken his head because Hatta didn’t hear an answer.

  More silence pulled Hatta toward the room, but he was careful to stay hidden. In another jolting voice Cuora demanded, “Do you swear to your testimony, under penalty of death?”

  “I do,” said the guard witness.

  “Yes, m’Lady,” said the woman.

  “For the crime of treason, the sentence is death.” Was Hatta imagining it or did she sound indifferent? She continued in the same tone. “Off with his head.”

  Sounds of struggle came from the throne room, and the condemned man shouted as he was dragged from the chamber, “Down with Cuora! Down with Markin! Unite Maravilla under Palida and Antion!”

  It took a moment for the proceedings to sink in, and when Hatta realized the full significance it hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut. He ran back down the corridor to find somewhere to sick up, but only made it as far as his mirror before losing his breakfast.

  No, he thought. That didn’t really happen. I imagined it, or this is a horrible dream, or…or…or…

  But he knew without a doubt that he had witnessed Cuora’s true nature and just as surely knew he could never stay in Palassiren. Not with someone who could send a man, a real person, to his death. And without compunction.

  The kindness he had seen in the alley by his shop was the anomaly. In the course of deciding punishment of the landlord and restitution for the damage to the roof, she’d made an exception when she treated him gently. A counterfeit benevolence.

  Loving a woman who was able to so easily condemn men to…he couldn’t even think the word. But it would tear him apart every day.

  Tears ran, mixing with the gorge on the floor below his mirror as Hatta pleaded, trying to convince himself that what he had heard was a figment of his madness. That he had misinterpreted the unseen events. But he knew immediately the argument was hopeless. It had to be sanity because it didn’t make him happy; it gave him no hope as his mad thoughts always did.

  The reflection that looked at him from the mirror was not the same man that greeted him on his way into the vibrant palace. That person had known hope and joy. His clothes were the same but the colors had fled. The man who looked back now knew nothing but sorrow and disappointment. And pain, the multicolored bruise reminded him. This man’s mood had always been one color. A drab, monochromatic humor.

  Wiping the fluids from his face with a coat sleeve, Hatta shambled from the black palace, telling himself, A touch of loneliness is better than a ton of misery.

  Chapter 21

  Royalty

  A hundred ninety seven. A hundred ninety eight. Lady Cuora approached, but Chism didn’t stop his sword patterns. A hundred ninety nine. Two hundred. He sheathed Thirsty and faced Lady Cuora. Something serious was afoot for her to call on him, especially this earl
y in the morning. Bloodshot eyes underscored by dark folds told Chism she hadn’t slept well, if at all.

  “What is it, my Lady?” Is that the same dress she wore yesterday? He wondered if the red, puffy eyes might be from crying. It seemed impossible from Cuora.

  “I need you to find someone. A mirror maker. Tardad knows where his shop is.” A middle-aged servant stepped out from behind Lady Cuora and offered a small bow.

  “Of course,” said Chism. “Are you…hurt, my Lady?”

  After considering for a moment Lady Cuora shook her head. “The mirror maker was expected at the palace yesterday. I…I should’ve sent someone last night. When he left the palace his purse was so fat, I just hope he hasn’t done anything unwise.” Her hands wrung dryly at her midsection.

  “I’ll go immediately.”

  “Take my Knave, but just him and Tardad. I don’t want to startle him with a crowd.” She turned to walk out of the yard, but paused. “And don’t, under any circumstances, allow my Knave to treat him roughly.”

  Chism cursed his bad fortune, brooding his way to Brune’s quarters with Tardad in tow.

  “Wake up, Brune,” yelled Chism, pounding the door. He couldn’t make out the exact words of Brune’s reply, but it included several vitriolic curses reserved for early mornings. The door was not bolted, so Chism pushed his way in.

  The knave’s arms flew to cover his eyes from the lamplit hallway and he muttered, “What do you want?” A ceramic mug crashed against the wall near Chism’s head, the pieces breaking again as they hit the floor.

  “Get dressed,” said Chism, picking a crumpled tunic off the floor and tossing it to him. “Lady Cuora has business for us.”

  Brune continued to complain as he crawled from his cot, loudly relieved himself in a chamber pot, and dressed. “Sometimes I wish I would’ve stayed in Shey’s Orchard,” he said, finally joining Chism in the corridor.

  “Where?” asked Chism. What are the chances of that?

  “Shey’s Orchard. It’s between here and Far West Province.” After wiping the sleep from his eyes he shuffled along the tiled floors. “It’s got a fine inn, and I was second only to the innkeep. I’d be giving the orders by now, instead of waking in the middle of the night to run errands for someone else.”

  Though little of the week Chism spent in Shey’s Orchard was in the town itself, he knew the inn was barely big enough to require two stories. But Chism wasn’t about to reveal anything about his time there, so he listened to Brune brag about how important he was in the “grand city” of Shey’s Orchard as they meandered through the outer city toward the marketplace. Caught up in tales of his glorious past, Brune didn’t bother to ask about their destination.

  The little alley that Tardad led them to could not be more out of the way, making Chism wonder how the man ever sold anything. There was no answer the first time Chism knocked so Brune stepped in, preparing to kick the door in.

  “No,” said Chism, blocking the door. “We do this my way.”

  Brune grabbed Chism’s shoulder. “Says who? Get out of my way.”

  Chism swung his foot behind Brune’s knee and used the larger man’s momentum to take him straight back into the dirt. He left the surprised Knave floundering like a cockroach. With his back turned he added, “Says Lady Cuora. And if you touch me again, even she won’t be able to protect you.”

  “I owe you for that one,” said Brune from the ground. “And I hate to be in debt.”

  “Anytime you want to throw the knife,” said Chism absently as he tried the door. The hinges creaked as he pushed it open. “Hello? Mirror maker?” I didn’t even ask the man’s name, he chided himself.

  No answer came. Enough light trickled in from the door to let him see the shop was empty except for a single mirror on a wooden framework. A door at the back of the shop opened into small, vacant sleeping quarters.

  The mirror was the same style as Lady Cuora’s new purchases, and inspecting it further, Chism found a note. During extra tutoring at the Elite Academy, he’d learned to read. Angling to allow light from the doorway to shine over his shoulder, he read the six words, written in careful script: For the Queen of my Heart.

  “What’s it say?” asked Brune from the doorway.

  “It’s for the Lady. You can ask her.” Chism suspected she would tell him, but he would enjoy seeing Brune writhe in ignorance until then.

  They walked in silence back to the inner city, and found Lady Cuora pacing in the entry of her palace. When the pair entered alone, with Chism carrying a mirror, her eyes filled with tears.

  “No,” she uttered as they approached. Chism passed her the note, wondering if he imagined the tremble in her fingers, then held the mirror so she could look into it. There was no way to know how a woman who routinely ordered a dozen executions before lunch would react. Her two guards sensed the tension as well and shifted uncomfortably.

  The note and mirror only combined to increase the flow of tears. With a shaky voice she managed to say, “I knew it. That’s why I couldn’t go myself.” She attempted, unsuccessfully, to blink tears away as her hand traced the wavy border of the mirror.

  “What does the note say?” asked Brune. His underbite and heavy eyebrows made him look ready to rip someone’s throat out. “I’ll find him and make him pay. Just say the word.”

  Her eyes sharpened as they swept to Brune, changing instantly from grief to tempest. “Summon Marky, Knave. Tell him to meet me in my throne room. Knight, escort me back to the shop.” She stormed from the palace, down the ornate stairs and into the courtyard. Chism motioned the two bewildered guards to follow and rushed to keep up with her.

  Once back in the small alley, Cuora entered the shop with reverence. The guards stood by either side of the door while Chism tried the only other shop in the alley, where an old tailor was bent over a table.

  “Excuse me,” said Chism. “Do you know where the mirror maker went?”

  Looking up through spectacles, the old man said, “No, but he departed in a hurry. I don’t know what occurred, but he looked as if someone ripped his very heart out, and took his soul for good measure.”

  Chism was about to interrogate him further when Lady Cuora pushed past him. “Do you recognize this script, tailor?” She held the note out.

  “I should,” he answered. “It’s mine.”

  Stressing every word, Lady Cuora asked, “Where is he?”

  “I just finished telling your man that I don’t know. I’m awfully sorry.”

  “What did he say before he left?”

  The old man scratched his bald head. “He wanted me to show him what I knew about making hats.”

  “His exact words?” Every syllable was precise as the Lady fought to control her temper.

  “He said, ‘Would you consider teaching me to make a hat I might hide in?’ As close as I can remember, anyway.”

  “And you did?” asked Lady Cuora.

  “As much as possible in one evening. He already knew quite a bit, though I can’t say I agree with his views on style. But he’s got a skill as a maker. He’ll manage.”

  “Tell me every word he said to you last night.”

  “Begging your pardon, Lady, but my mind doesn’t work like that anymore. He babbled on about going to mine cinnamon or synonyms. It didn’t make any sense to me. I always thought cinnamon grew in sticks.”

  “Cinnabar,” said Lady Cuora.

  “That might have been it,” said the tailor with a shrug. “Still means nothing to me.”

  “It’s a red ore from which mercury is extracted. What else did he say?”

  “Not in so many words, Lady, but I could see he cared for you something fierce.”

  The emotions on Cuora’s face were impossible to read. Rage? Loss? Confusion? She breathed deeply. “Send word to the palace if you recall anything else. I would be most appreciative.”

  She fled the shop and hurried through the outer city. Summoning one of the guards with a finger she ordered, “Muster the El
ites in the courtyard in front of my palace.”

  Dismissing him, she ordered the second to gather her entire personal guard and have them assemble with the Elites, fully armed and armored. He hurried off as quickly as the first.

  Alone with Lady Cuora, Chism asked. “My Lady, what does any of this have to do with the mirror maker?”

  She stopped abruptly, and Chism had to backtrack two steps. “It’s time for a change, Knight. It’s long overdue.” At a faster pace, Lady Cuora started toward the palace. “I thought I could be two people, a ruler first and foremost, and a woman on occasion. I believe impossible things on a regular basis, but that pushed the limit.”

  Captain Markin paced the throne room when they entered. Brune gave Chism a jealous look, but his former Captain didn’t even notice him. His attention was focused on Lady Cuora. “You look ghastly, Cuora. What is it?”

  “This nonsense of rule by council is over. We should have expelled the young king along with his traitorous mother.”

  Markin’s mouth hung open. “But, he’s the son of King Barash, who was the rightful ruler of Maravilla…”

  “And is now dead,” finished Lady Cuora. It was obvious she didn’t appreciate Captain Markin questioning her. “The Provinces defy us. Why should we allow the son of their queen to rule here, even as a figurehead?” Markin knew the question was rhetorical and waited for Lady Cuora to continue, which she did only after closing her eyes and drawing a slow breath. “You and I will be married. I will rule as queen with you by my side as king. As an afterthought she added, “And Antion can run crying to his mommy.”

  Captain Markin froze, his face like the unbelieving visage of a man rescued from the headsman’s block.

  But Lady Cuora took no notice and spoke low, to no one in particular. “Cuora the woman is gone. I am a ruler. A queen.” Without looking at the note in her hand, she tapped it against her open palm. “Yes,” she continued quietly. “I am the Queen of Hearts.”