Page 47

His jaw tightened, but he seemed to make the conscious decision to not be riled.

He leaned back and picked some lint from his waistcoat.

“I’m sure he had his reasons for telling you as much.

But I am from Hearts originally. Grew up in my father’s hat shop before his untimely end encouraged me to search for my fate elsewhere, lest a similar fate find me. I found that fate in Chess.”

“But… how? How did you find it?”

He shrugged. “A maze, a looking glass, a well… an abundance of desperation. It’s not all that important.

What is important is that my journey taught me how I could avoid the madness that’s plagued my ancestors, and also how I could become the greatest hatter who has ever lived, on either side of the Looking Glass. ”

He examined his nails. “I met Jest there, and he introduced me to the White King and Haigha. I was poor and alone, but the King granted me a pawnship, and it was determined that Haigha and I would become his royal messengers, skirting the edges of the battlefield to run correspondence between the Red and White Queendoms. On our travels I collected materials to be turned into hats for the Queen upon my return. I gathered pebbles and flowers and bones and I began to develop my reputation. Not just as a pawn or a messenger, but a hatter. The finest of hatters.”

“I don’t understand,” said Cath. “You went there to escape the fate of your father, so you wouldn’t go mad. Why become a hatter again?”

He held up a finger. “That is the trick of it. You see, Time works differently in Chess.” He pulled out his pocket watch and let it dangle like a pendulum over his desk.

“Sometimes he moves forward and sometimes he moves backward, sometimes he goes fast or slow and sometimes he pauses altogether. But as long as I keep moving, as long as I am always moving in the opposite direction from Time, he can never find me, and I can never meet my fate.”

His voice had a strange cadence to it, almost harmonizing with the quiet tick-ticking of the watch, and Cath wondered again if he was already mad, despite what he said.

She swallowed back these thoughts, determined to hear his story to the end. “But now you’ve come back to Hearts. ”

“So I have.” He snapped his fist around the watch and dropped it back into his pocket. “Jest and Raven required a guide to help them across the Looking Glass, and the King and Queen needed a messenger to report back on their…” He hesitated.

“Mission,” Cath supplied. “Jest told me they’re on a mission to stop a war.”

His face turned briefly sour again. “And did he tell you what the mission is?”

She wished with all her heart that she could say yes, but he hadn’t. She shook her head again.

“Thank goodness for that,” he muttered, then sighed.

“Anyhow, I was the only one who knew the way, so Haigha and I came along. I had not expected the happy discovery that awaited me here in my childhood home. This side of the Looking Glass, all those baubles were no longer simply pebbles and bones. They do not make regular hats.”

“They’re dangerous.”

“They are marvelous. No longer does a hat complete an outfit—now it completes you. I am providing a great service to the people of Hearts and I am going to go down in history as the greatest hatter this kingdom has ever known, and as I can return to Chess whenever I wish, I will not need to lose my sanity for it.”

“But what do they do?”

“Anything. Everything. They can make you a little braver, a little stronger, a little more charming or interesting or intelligent—”

“Or they might turn you into an ingredient for soup!” she bellowed. “You know your hats change people, so how can you be so sure this hat didn’t change the Turtle?”

He rubbed his temple. “My reputation is the foundation on which this business is built. I would do nothing to harm that.” He trailed his fingers over the ribbons and buttons and feathers scattered across the desk. “We can’t all be so lucky as to be offered the hand of the King, after all. ”

She ignored the jab, scanning the table’s accoutrements.

His hats were quirky and whimsical and beautiful in their own strange ways.

And now she knew they were more marvelous than even the sign outside proclaimed.

Hatta would receive acclaim as a great hatter, and also an artist, but only if his reputation remained untarnished.

It wasn’t unlike what she wanted to accomplish with her bakery. Though she didn’t care to be wealthy, she did want to make a living on her craft. She wanted people to appreciate her not for a pretty face or a family title, but for what she could make with her own two hands.

“I apologize if I offended you, Hatta,” she said, before she could change her mind. “I did not come here to argue with you. I came to make you a deal.”

“Ah, yes. Your proposal.”

Swallowing hard, Catherine reached into her purse and pulled out the proposal she and Mary Ann had spent all night writing and revising. “You have my word that I won’t tell anyone about Chess or the questionable properties of your hats. On two conditions.”

He massaged the bridge of his nose, but didn’t stop her.

“One: You must be sure your hats are safe to be worn, and stop selling them immediately if you find evidence to the contrary.”

“A business with faulty merchandise does not flourish. I don’t require your nagging to tell me this.”

“Fine. But you might find my second request to be a little more unconventional.” She took a step closer. “I want you to give me a loan.”

He balked. “A loan? What—of money?”

“Yes. Businessman to business… woman. I’m starting a business of my own, but I require an investor.”

He laughed, an enormous booming laugh. “I cannot wait to hear more.”

She set the folded letter down on Hatta’s desk, pressing it into the wood with the pad of her finger. “Enclosed in this letter you’ll find my proposal for Sweets and Tarts: The Most Wondrous Bakery in All of Hearts. ”

He grunted. “How quaint.”

“You’ve tasted what I can make. Whatever your personal feelings toward me, I ask you to consider this as a businessman. People will come from all over the land to sample the richest cakes, the sweetest pies, the softest bread they’ve ever known.”

He stared at her for a long time, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he said, “You plan to open a bakery.”

“That is correct.”

“And you want my help.”

“I want a business loan. It’s all lined out here—payments, interest, everything.” She felt very smart saying it, and was glad she’d broken down and asked Mary Ann for help in drafting the proposal.

There was another long, long silence, before he said, “And tell me, Lady Pinkerton, does a queen have time to run a bakery?”

She bristled and answered, enunciating carefully, “I am not a queen.”

“No,” he said. “Not yet.”

The twitch in her eyebrow worsened.

Pressing his own finger into the letter, Hatta pulled it toward him across the desk. But he didn’t open it. “I admire your gumption more than I care to admit. You remind me something of myself.”

She bristled again.

“But no, I do not believe this would be a wise business decision, as I do not believe you will be successful in this endeavor.”

It was like being slapped—so strong, so unapologetic the rejection. “How can you say that?”

“The macarons were impressive, but in your haste to blame me for the unfortunate incident at the festival, you have overlooked another possibility. Potentially incriminating evidence that others will not be so quick to dismiss. In fact, I wonder if you are so insistent on finding fault with me because you have something to hide?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Turtle—that poor, darling thing—had only moments before his transformation eaten an entire slice of your cake.”

She froze.

Until she’d considered it might be the hat, this had been her fear, though she had hoped no one else would make such a connection. She hated to think he might be right—blaming his hats would mean she could stop questioning if she, herself, was involved.

Because it was only a cake. Only a spiced pumpkin cake.

“Of five judges,” Hatta continued, “he was the only judge to sample your dessert. Naturally, people are beginning to wonder if it wasn’t your cake that resulted in his unfortunate change.”

Her heart thumped. “I’ve cooked dozens—hundreds of cakes and never has anything like this happened before.”

“It only takes one.” Picking up Cath’s letter, he started to shred it into linen strips, not even bothering to break the wax seal. Her jaw ached from clenching as she watched hours of careful planning ripped apart.

“Besides,” Hatta said, tossing the shredded paper back at her.

It wisped and fluttered and clung to the fabric of her gown.

“I have a personal rule about not entering into business with spineless creatures. No snakes. No slippery eels. And worst of all, no fickle women. Play coy all you like, Lady Pinkerton. Cling to your belief in your own innocence. You know as well as I that you’re going to break at least one heart before this is over, and I want nothing more to do with you. ”