Hatter (23 page)

Gripping and releasing the fine piece, Chism asked what he had come to find out. “Are we friends, Ander?”

“May your tongue fall out of your mouth and be eaten by a hundred cats! What kind of question is that?”

Chism waited for an answer.

“Of course we’re friends, you pig shaver!” spat Ander. “What did you think we were?”

Shrugging, Chism said, “Partners. Warriors. Brothers?”

“That too,” said Ander. “All of those.”

Chism wondered how he could misinterpret their relationship for so long, and began to question whether he had other friends he hadn’t considered. None came to mind.

“I admit sometimes I wish you’d be cursed with incurable eyelid spasms for all the trouble you cause me, but I’d do anything for you.”

“Thanks, Ander. I….”
I what? I’m really bad at this
friend
stuff.
“Thanks.”

After another hour with Ander and his inventions, Chism ate lunch in the kitchens then returned to Lady Cuora’s throne room. Dumb Brune was already in position.
There goes my perfect day.
At least he didn’t speak to Chism.

Within a quarter hour, Lady Cuora returned, still looking uncharacteristically content.

“Did your new man friend visit today?” asked Brune, managing to imbue the question with impropriety.

“No. I forbade him,” said Lady Cuora, sitting on her padded throne. “Today was entirely too busy. As if my
man friend
concerned you, Knave.”

Somehow Brune’s manner resonated with the Lady. His rise to power from some obscure town had been pure luck of compatible personalities. Brune pressed the subject. “When will I have the pleasure of meeting the man who has so transfixed my liege Lady?”

“He’ll be here tomorrow, Knave. But unfortunately you won’t.” She gave him a teasing smile, the kind that only encouraged his improper behavior, while causing his countenance to darken.

With a pouty look, Brune asked, “Where do you need us to go?”

“Not
us.
Just you. My Knight was off today so he’ll have the chance to attend audience tomorrow.”

Boring duty is better than Brune duty
, thought Chism. Brune looked offended to the core.

“Don’t worry, Knave. You’ll have your chance to meet him. If I have my way, which I always do, he’ll be around for quite some time.”

Chapter 20

Black

Tunes came easily to Hatta’s lips as he strode confidently toward the inner city. If the streets were empty he would’ve skipped.

After months of fading clothes he’d finally refreshed his wardrobe. His new pants, light and dark yellow striped, complemented his coat which was the color of a clear summer sky. Even in the largest city in the kingdom he’d been unable to find a cobbler with purple leather, and had to settle for turquoise. The color was definitely growing on him. If Cuora liked his somewhat faded clothes two days before, these would surely impress. The purchase of the clothes and a few weeks supply of food hadn’t noticeably lightened his new purse.

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 early 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.