‘I am not—’ She paused. Digging her nails into her palms, she continued, calmer, ‘I feigned nothing with Jest, but as I said, that is all between Jest and the King and me and has nothing at all to do with you.’
‘He is my oldest and dearest friend.’ Hatta glared at her, making Cath feel like a weed to be plucked. ‘I do not wish to see him hurt.’
Her face was burning, self-loathing pulsing against her temple, when her eye fell on a bowler hat on the corner of Hatta’s desk, wrapped with green ribbon. ‘What is that doing here?’
Hatta’s gaze dropped and one eyebrow had shot up when he looked at her again. ‘In case you had not noticed, I make hats.’
Shaking her head, she reached for the bowler cap, but Hatta batted her away. She frowned. ‘That’s the Turtle’s hat, the one he was wearing when he . . . when . . . during the festival.’
‘How observant you are.’
She stared at him. Waiting.
He stared back.
Catherine lifted her chin. ‘Did this hat have something to do with the tragic thing that happened?’
‘You’ll have to be more specific.’
‘You know precisely what I’m talking about! Did this hat . . . Hatta, are your hats dangerous?’
‘Dangerous! Bah!’ His tone was scathing, harsh with ridicule. But a moment later he was marching around the desk and into the main showroom and shooing away the two Owls. Upon seeing the look in his eyes, they were quick to flutter out the door without complaint, and Hatta swung around the sign to read CLOSED. He slammed the door shut and stormed back to the office. Catherine had not moved.
‘Am I right?’ she continued. ‘Your hats . . . they change people, don’t they?’
‘You have no idea what you’re speaking of.’ A careless flick of his fingers enraged Catherine further.
‘Then explain it to me.’
He chortled. ‘My, my. I cannot recall the last time I was thus ordered around. What a fine queen you will make.’
‘I am not going to be the Queen!’ she yelled, and relished a spark of pride when the Hatter jumped at her raised voice. She continued with chilling composure, ‘The King has not proposed, but should he, I have every intention of rejecting him.’
He gawked at her, disbelief written sharp across his features. ‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Believe what you will, but stop changing the subject. These hats – Mary Ann’s bonnet makes her capable of bigger dreams, and Margaret was certainly changed when she was wearing that rose, and now the Turtle . . . that darling Turtle . . .’
‘The Mock Turtle, you mean. Call him what he is.’
‘He was a real turtle before he put on that!’ She gestured to the bowler hat. ‘How can you be so callous? If this was your doing—’
‘The hat had nothing to do with his transformation. I only have it because he came to me this morning asking for my help. I tried my best to assist him, but he was beyond my reach. Wretched creature he’s become, but not yet desperate enough.’
‘You were going to give him a different hat to change him back?’
He waved his arm through the air. ‘You misunderstand completely, but it’s no business of yours.’
‘But your hats do change people. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve felt it. They’re dangerous, Hatta. You have to stop!’
Their gazes warred with each other, a heady silence punctuated with the drum of Cath’s heartbeat.
Hatta looked away first. Rounding back to his seat, he collapsed into it and folded his hands over his stomach. ‘My hats are not dangerous, and I will not have you spreading such damning rumours.’ His lips thinned. ‘But they are special. They are unique from any other hats found in the great Kingdom of Hearts, and as I told you before, I come from a long line of very fine hatters.’
‘I’m not interested in solicitations.’
‘You asked a question. I’m answering it.’
‘I wish you would do it in fewer words.’
He smirked. ‘Yes. Fine. They change people. They improve them. But that does not mean this hat was at fault for the Mock Turtle. Satisfied?’
‘Not at all. How are you doing it?’
‘I don’t do anything. I only make my creations from . . . unique materials.’
‘Unique in what way?’
He studied her for a long time and she began to doubt he would answer the question, before he finally said, ‘The materials with which my hats are crafted all come from the lands of the Red and White Queens.’
A shiver skittered down her back. ‘Of course. You’re from Chess, like Jest and Raven.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘He told you that?’
‘Yes. Because he trusts me.’ Her voice had an edge, and she could see the jolt of annoyance that flashed over Hatta’s features.
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.’