The Hatmakers

by Tamzin Merchant

  “I agree,” Cordelia muttered, tugging at her sash. “Maybe I’ll try it.”

  Sam giggled. “Cook’d ’ave a tantrum! I’d love ta see that!”

  “At least you don’t need to worry about the Thieftaker anymore,” Cordelia said.

  “Why?” Goose asked.

  “He was still in the workshop, trussed up in the ribbons, when the Newgate Prison guards came to arrest him for staging the assassination attempt at the theater!”

  Goose grinned, imagining that sight.

  “Cordelia Hatmaker! Lucas Bootmaker! Sam Lightfinger!” a voice called.

  All three of them jumped and hit their heads on the table.

  “Uh oh,” Goose said. “We’re in trouble.”

  Sam tried to creep away, but Cordelia held onto her foot.

  “Come on, Sam,” she said. “Let’s face the music together.”

  They crept out from under the table, wiping crumbs off their faces. Sam took another slice of cake in case it was the last chance she got.

  The princess was standing on the stage, looking splendid in the Peace Hat that Cordelia, Goose, Sam, and Cook had made for her. Even though the Peace Hat had been through a lot, the golden spire star still twinkled and the Sunsugar halo glowed and the feathers shimmered and the Leaping Bean hopped. The princess smiled when she saw the children come out from under the table.

  “There you are!” she beamed. “Please come here, Cordelia, Lucas, and Sam!”

  Feeling very hot and prickly with the eyes of the audience upon them, the three of them shuffled up onto the stage.

  “Thank you, with all of my heart,” the princess began. “This hat you Made stopped a war. As a celebration of your immense bravery, I present each of you tonight with the Order of the Golden Heart.”

  The princess pinned golden heart-shaped medals onto their chests. Sam immediately bit hers to see if it was real gold (it was). Goose was as red as a Firechicken and Cordelia felt as though a dozen Sicilian Leaping Beans were dancing in her ribcage as the audience cheered them.

  Cordelia took a deep breath. She had something she wanted to say. She didn’t exactly know the words to use but she knew what she was feeling, and she wanted to give it a voice.

  “Makers!” she began.

  The crowd fell silent. Every Maker in London stared up at her. She swallowed. Now that she had their attention, she had to continue.

  “Um … We’ve been Making for centuries, but we always focus on—on the first part of our name: Cloak, Glove, Watch, Boot … Hat …”

  She tailed off as she glanced at the closed door of the Canemaker workshop and wondered for a long moment about the nine-year-old girl who for years had burned bitter from the loss of her family.

  “Uhm, I mean … What I mean to say is: we’re all Makers,” Cordelia continued. “Half of our name is the same. Let’s never forget that. Again.”

  It was not an elegant speech, nor was it a long one, but it did not need to be. It was exactly how she felt.

  There was a small smattering of applause, but in the middle of the Makers, Aunt Ariadne, Uncle Tiberius, Great-aunt Petronella, Cook, and Jones clapped loudly and long. Cordelia smiled at them and wished everybody else would stop staring at her.

  The king (who had refused all footwear since being freed from the Addlesnake shoes) leaped to his bare feet. “Now we shall have dancing!” he cried.

  The chairs were cleared as Cordelia, Sam, and Goose clambered down from the stage on shaky legs. Goose was pulled away by his parents, but Uncle Tiberius leaned down and whispered in Cordelia’s ear, “Your father would be very proud of you, little Hatmaker.” Then he flourished his green handkerchief in front of his face and sobbed freely.

  Cordelia gazed around at the milling crowd, at all the Makers freed from the Tower, and the king and princess freed from an evil lord. She had stopped a terrible war. Her father would have been tremendously proud of her. That knowledge should have made her glad. But there was only a sad stone in the middle of her stomach because he was gone.

  “Cordelia.” It was Aunt Ariadne, looking down at her with serious eyes.

  Oh no, Cordelia thought. She’s going to tell me off for Making another hat without permission. In front of everybody!

  “I spoke very angry words to you, little Hatmaker,” her aunt murmured. “I told you, in fury, that you were too young to Make a hat. But I was wrong—I am sorry.”

  Suddenly Cordelia found she had her own apology to make. In a rush, she gabbled, “No, Aunt, I was wrong! I shouldn’t have done that with Sir Hugo’s hat—I’m sorry!”

  But her aunt put her finger to her lips. “You truly are a Hatmaker now, Cordelia.”

  She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a little velvet-wrapped parcel.

  Cordelia took it, feeling the soft material in her palm. She gazed up at her aunt in amazement. “Is this—”

  “Open it.” Aunt Ariadne smiled.

  In the folds of velvet lay a beautiful golden hatpin. An aquamarine as big as a blueberry glowed on the end.

  “I know you’ve wanted one for a long time,” Aunt Ariadne said.

  “Yes!” Cordelia cried. “I’ve wanted one forever.”

  “What’s that?” Sam asked, poking her nose over Cordelia’s shoulder. “Looks valuable!”

  “It is valuable, Sam!” Cordelia beamed, sticking the hatpin through her hat. “It’s got special magic in it, like my aunt’s, to make me a proper Hatmaker!”

  “Oh, Cordelia, my dearest,” her aunt said, laughing. “The hatpin doesn’t have any special magic! Nor does mine!”

  “But I felt it,” Cordelia insisted. “I felt the special magic in your hatpin when I put it in my hair. It was like … like lots of ideas and energy and excitement all singing through me.”

  Aunt Ariadne shook her head and smiled. “It’s just an ordinary hatpin, Dilly! Those ideas and energy and excitement come from you.”

  And before Cordelia could quite grasp this unexpected fact, the royal music makers began to play a merry polka, and everyone turned to watch the king begin to dance.

  A few steps in, His Majesty whirled Sam along with him. Sir Hugo pirouetted impressively and Princess Georgina allowed him to lead her into the dance. All the other Makers hung back. The Bootmakers stared suspiciously at the Hatmakers, while the Watchmakers eyed the Glovemakers. The Cloakmakers frowned at everyone in general.

  Then someone wove through the crowd and grabbed Cordelia’s hand. She stumbled as she was pulled through the throng. Cordelia was astonished: it was Goose! He towed her determinedly to the middle of the room.

  In front of a hundred people, Goose turned to Cordelia and bowed.

  Cordelia grinned and bowed in return. Then Hatmaker and Bootmaker joined hands and embarked on a rather eccentric series of dance steps. Clearly their ex-governess had failed to teach them to move in a dignified manner. They romped rather than danced. Sam whooped as she saw them rollicking past her.

  “Why isn’t anyone else joining in?” Goose panted.

  “When you’ve been mortal enemies for a long time, I suppose it is quite difficult to just start dancing together,” Cordelia mused, spinning Goose in a circle.

  As she twirled Goose under her arm, she saw Mrs. Bootmaker scowling at them.

  “Your mother’s expression could freeze fire!” Cordelia shuddered.

  Goose chanced a glance at his mother, tripped over his feet and staggered to a stop. Mrs. Bootmaker glowered down at him like an iceberg about to sink a ship.

  “Lucas Bootmaker, come here at once,” she growled.

  Goose stared at his feet, now frozen to the spot, though they had been dancing a polka only moments ago.

  Mrs. Bootmaker’s lip curled. “Lucas!” she snapped. “Here! Now!”

  The music makers stopped playing their violins, bows sawing the air as they gawped. Goose was still frozen, staring hard at his polished boots. There was a dangerous silence.

  Cordelia flicked her eyes from Goose to his mo
ther. She thought she could hear the very air between them sizzling.

  Then, in a tiny gesture of defiance, Goose’s foot began to tap. He raised his chin and waved a hand at the music makers. They snatched up their instruments again and started playing a fast jig.

  And then the whole of Goose was dancing.

  He wheeled around and grabbed Cordelia’s hand, twirling her wildly. The music was wild and the dance got faster and faster until everything but Goose’s face was a blur.

  “Aren’t you in terrible trouble?” Cordelia gasped as they jigged.

  “Just keep dancing!” Goose grimaced, hopping up and down in time with the music and clapping his hands.

  He had a slightly panicked look in his eyes and there was sweat glistening on his forehead, but he grinned.

  “I’m proud to be your friend, Cordelia Hatmaker.”

  CHAPTER 44

  HOURS LATER, CORDELIA LAY IN BED, HER father’s gold-buttoned jacket draped over her and her eyes wide open in the dark. The night had never felt so big and she had never felt so small in it.

  After all the excitement of the past few days, she was finally alone. And, at last, Cordelia had to admit one simple fact to herself.

  “You’re gone, Father,” she whispered. “You’re never coming home. We saved everyone, but … I couldn’t save you.”

  A floor below, in the room that had once been Prospero’s, Sam Lightfinger snored gently into her pillow. After two nights spent under the bed, tonight Cordelia had managed to persuade Sam to get into the bed. And now she was sleeping soundly.

  But Cordelia couldn’t sleep.

  She gently laid the jacket aside, padded over to the window, pulled up the sash and looked out. London was slumbering. The moon was whole in the sky and the rooftops and spires of the city were silver-gilded.

  The stars can take you anywhere if you know how to read them. Her father’s voice came back to her. They can take you on a grand adventure and they can lead you home.

  Cordelia searched the sky for Polaris, the North Star. The star you set your compass by. For several heart-thudding seconds she could not find it among the rabble of tiny lights.

  Then she saw it: the North Star.

  It winked in a friendly way.

  Cordelia squinted. There was something else in the heavens, making the stars around it flicker and blink.

  It was getting closer and closer, flying straight toward her, coming lower over the rooftops, skimming the chimneys.

  Cordelia snatched up her father’s telescope and pointed it skyward.

  It was a bird, with moonlight luminous on its wings. And, as it swooped down over the glinting greenhouse, Cordelia recognized—

  “AGATHA!”

  The speckled Quest Pigeon cooed softly as she landed on Cordelia’s outstretched palm.

  “I thought you were never coming back!” Cordelia whispered.

  She could feel the bird’s heart fluttering, as fast as her own. Agatha bobbed and flurried in her hand, making a strange rattling sound. Cordelia lifted the bird carefully so she could reach the message bottle.

  There was no note inside.

  But there was something far more important: the seashell painted with her mother’s picture.

  She had last seen it around her father’s neck as he bent to kiss her goodbye before setting off on his next voyage …

  Now here it was, cupped in her hand.

  Remember what you are made of, littlest Hatmaker.

  Cordelia fastened the chain around her neck and the shell rested right over her heart. Feeling it against her skin gave her courage.

  “You know what this means, Agatha,” Cordelia whispered, looking up into the wide night sky, full of possibilities. “Somehow, my father is alive.”

  Agatha cooed in an encouraging sort of way. She fluttered to Cordelia’s bedside table and blinked a bright eye at the piece of paper lying there. It was the paper that had been hidden in Prospero’s telescope.

  “It’s blank,” Cordelia sighed. “The ink was washed off in the sea.”

  But Agatha cooed again.

  The ink.

  Like a lightning strike, Cordelia remembered what her father had once told her:

  They’re special inks! One is invisible, but becomes visible when exposed to the heat of a candle flame. One can only be seen by starlight. One only appears on a Tuesday. They’re all good for sending secret messages.

  She snatched up the paper and held it close to the candle flame—the paper remained blank.

  “What’s today, Agatha? Tuesday!” She looked down at the paper. Nothing. “Only one thing for it!”

  Cordelia dashed from the room, Agatha fluttering around her head in a flurry of excited wings. Together they whirled up the rickety ladder and burst out onto the roof.

  The world was awash with starlight.

  Heart pounding, Cordelia unfurled the blank paper and held it up to the soft dazzle of the stars as Agatha landed on her shoulder.

  In front of her eyes, glistering silver lines began to appear on the empty page.

  “It’s ink that can only be read by starlight!” she whispered.

  And suddenly she saw what it was.

  Cordelia Hatmaker was holding a map.

  GLOSSARY

  Here follows a brief but useful list of ingredients most potent and valuable to an Apprentice Hatmaker.

  Angelite Enamel—Ceramica angelicus—Pale blue and with a pacific, soothing quality, this enamel is often used in conjunction with volatile metals. It also pairs well with wood from the Ardor Tree. Promoting tolerance and equilibrium, Angelite allows the wearer to enjoy the benefits of the metal or wood it is paired with, without suffering the bad behavior it might otherwise induce.

  Angelus Shell—Concha angelus—A whorl-shaped shell found in the clear waters of the Paragon Sea. The nymph that sheds this shell leaves an echo of its sea song inside it. Hung from the brim of a hat, the Angelus Shell creates a chiming sound that comforts and uplifts the soul.

  Athenian Owl—Bubo minervae sapiens—Only found in the Platonic Forests at the base of Mount Olympus, this extremely wise bird goes to great lengths to avoid humans. A person skilful and subtle enough to locate the owl may win a feather by answering a riddle designed to test their wisdom. The feather can be used for cleverness, concentration, contemplation, and other arts of the philosopher.

  Benevolence Buttons—Boutons bienveillante—A general term referring to any buttons that have been embroidered with a Friendship stitch. Benevolence Buttons decorated with Fellowship Knots are most potent for fostering feelings of goodwill toward humankind.

  Braggart Buttons—Boutons bosset—Although these buttons are bright gold in color, they are actually made of brass. Tempered in a fire that must be constantly pumped with bellows and fed with leaves of Radiant Bay, these buttons are useful for promoting self-confidence in the wearer. They should only be worn by a person who is struggling with low self-esteem, otherwise they provoke boastfulness and obnoxious self-congratulation.

  Brown Study Spider—Aranea badia studiosa—A distinctly hermit-like spider, often found living in the spines of books or between pages of sheet music. Silk from this spider can help the user to stick to their tasks unwaveringly.

  Common White Dove—Columbula alba—The milk-white feathers from this gentle bird inspire a peaceful frame of mind, encouraging compassion and thoughtfulness.

  Concord Moss—Bryophyta concordia—An emerald green moss found in the Forest of Arden. It is made of long strands that grow remarkably quickly, knitting together as they extend. When woven into creations, a strand of this moss inspires diplomacy.

  Cordial Blossoms—Flora benigna affabilis—Ranging in color from palest cream to buttercup yellow, these blossoms have a delightful scent and a sparkling pollen that (in ancient Celtic tradition) is said to be a blessing if it falls upon one’s head. The blossoms are used to imbue the wearer with a sense of glad-hearted kindness for fellow human beings.

  Drowslip�
��Primula somnulenta—Like its cousin the Cowslip, this flower is bell-like and delicate. The flowers are indigo blue and thrive in shady woodland. Silk ribbon is woven from the soft petals using a special loom, and the weaver hums quiet lullabies while working. These ribbons are used on nightcaps, as they cause a pleasant drowsiness when worn on the head. Only a few inches of ribbon are needed for a nightcap, or a permanent state of sleep may ensue.

  Dulcet Fireflies—Lampyridae hēdus dulcis—Small, bright-tailed fireflies from the southern swamps of the North American continent, these sweet-natured insects enjoy flitting into shadows, bringing their hopeful light to dark places.

  Dwam Threads—Droom draad—Threads twisted with dream strands. They can be made of silk, cotton, trains of thought, wool, or copper. Excellent for embroidering nightcaps. Use on a daytime hat causes absent-mindedness and a slumberous mood.

  Elysian Eagle—Aquila elysiana—The feathers of this majestic bird appear to be plain black, but bright sunlight reveals their rainbow iridescence, containing all visible colors, as well as some invisible ones. A dropped feather from an Elysian Eagle is considered a great blessing: it will encourage the wearer to understand and accept themself fully and courageously.

  Fathom Glass—Speculum cassandrae—Glass made in a clear-flamed fire out of sand from a well-used hourglass. The glass will help the wearer to answer questions clearly and to have clarity of purpose when contemplating the future.

  Flabbercrest—Avis obstupefio—A bright scarlet bird from sub-Saharan Africa. Approximately three feet tall, when threatened or trying to attract a mate, a three-foot feather springs from its crest, doubling its height. This crest feather is dropped once the desired effect has been achieved and is used in Hatmaking to most impressive effect. If worn too long, the feather can fill the wearer with quarrelsomeness or insufferable cockiness.